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Photo by Amy Corbett Storchot entirely surprisingly, just a few days after writing about our "normal and quiet" week, Noah somewhat predictably cratered. He came down with a nasty stomach virus, and it really took a terrible toll on his sensitive little system, and he promptly gave back a good portion of his self-regulation gains.

We were treated to concerned notes from his teacher about his anxiety levels, a lot of tantrums, a bunch of moments where we were like, "Oh God, remember THIS? I thought we were done with THIS" as Noah rolled around on the floor of a shoe store because there is NOTHING more terrifying in the world than having to try on new shoes, especially when your mother absented-mindedly suggests that you try on two new shoes at the same time to save a few minutes, even though they are different and don't match and thus completely strip you of your ability to walk, OMG.

Another week, another letter that sends me into an alternating tailspin of introspection and/or agitation. I should probably start having somebody else open my mail, don't you think? This week's baby step of a development in our special needs journey was a letter from Noah's school. Half form letter, half personalized pre-IEP meeting invitation to come observe the classroom environments currently on the table for next year. For kindergarten. Gulp.

Mere hours after I posted a 1-minute, 8-second video equivalent of a Rocky-style fist-pump on the top of the art museum steps on my personal blog, we received a letter from our insurance company, informing us of their Final Determination re: coverage eligibility for Noah's occupational therapy.

The video was a single scene from a birthday party, in which my son is having a great time on an inflatable obstacle course activity. That single scene easily includes a good six or seven "things" that he previously could not tolerate, at all. Six or seven typical childhood "things" that we've never once been able to take for granted.

I truly believe that Noah's current state and success and behavior is directly attributable to the OT he's received over the past 12 months.

So of course, our insurance company has decided not to pay for any of it.

This week was an oddly quiet week for us, quirk-wise. If you know what I mean. Which I hope you do, because even I'm having a hard time figuring out how to put this into words. At least without accidentally dropping some words that tend to cause offense in the special-needs-parenting community. Like "fine" or "normal."

We LOVE Thanksgiving at our house. We do it up BIG TIME. Even though we rarely have actual guests or friends or family in attendance, my husband and I cook up enough food to feed a lazy, gluttonous army of competitive comfort-food eaters.And Noah has never, ever once taken a single bite of any of it.

Noah came home from school yesterday with bright blue fingers. At first, I thought it was paint. And my heart soared.

Turns out, it was actually blue marker. But still. He didn't even notice it until I asked about it, and after examining his hands for a minute, he nonchalantly went back to his snack of a granola bar and juice.

"I drew a fireman," he explained. "It got all over my hands."

So I've sung the praises of our school district's special education and early intervention services quite a bit, haven't I? Sure, we've had some problems, some arguments, some skeptical looks shot across the conference table, but for the most part, our experiences have been primarily positive.

And that's generally the story I tell to parents I meet online and real life who ask for advice or guidance about what to do when they're standing with a new diagnosis in one hand and no real road map in the other.

If you had been in our house on Saturday morning -- possibly in the vicinity of the upstairs bedrooms -- I would not have blamed you for hearing the ensuing ruckus and jumping to the conclusion that my husband and I were very possibly setting our 5-year-old on fire.

We were (SPOILER ALERT) not setting him on fire. Or setting his toys on fire. We were not doing anything more than trying to get him dressed.

For ... (deep breath) ... SOCCER PRACTICE.