When it really is the thought that counts

It's not just that Max spent part of his occupational therapy session last Thursday making a Valentine's card, a fun way to get him to use his hands.

It's not just that he decided to make it for me, notable because earlier last week when his music therapist and he made up a song to sing to his true love, Max chose Firefighter Angelo. "But you were second," the therapist reassured me.

It's not just that Max so carefully patted down the hearts, a feat of fine motor skills.

It's not just that he was even able to manipulate itty-bitty pom poms.

It's not just that he told the therapist he wanted to do a pattern, and he did.

It's not just that he grudgingly agreed to a pink ribbon, for me, because he is all about red.

It's not just the gigantic grin on his face when he gave it to me.

It's not just that he said, "It's uh oooh, Ohmmy!" ["It's for you, Mommy!"]

It's all of the above, and more.