Building Kid Steps

09/04/2026

Finish Strong Friday: FROM WHERE I’M STANDING

Last Friday, I told you about the incredible blood-orange moon I saw hanging in a completely dark sky before daybreak.

Well...here are the pictures. 😂

And you're just going to have to trust me when I tell you:

This is NOT what I saw.

These pictures were taken within minutes of each other.

Same place.
Same morning.
Same moon.
Same person standing there looking at it.

But look at them.

In the first pictures, my phone adjusted for the darkness so much that the sky looks almost like daylight and that incredible blood-orange moon looks a little like a blurry sun.

The last picture comes closer. You can see that it really was dark. You can see the lights from my vehicle. You can see a little more of the sky the way it actually looked.

But even that picture doesn't capture it.

And I started thinking...

How often do we do this to each other?

We see one picture.

One behavior.

One therapy session.

One interaction.

One moment in somebody else's day.

And we think we understand the whole view.

But we aren't standing where they're standing.

As therapists, we have a particular view of your child.

We have training. We have clinical experience. We have evaluations and objective data. We know developmental milestones and treatment strategies. We may recognize patterns that are difficult to see when you're living inside them every single day.

That view matters.

But parents have a view we will never completely have.

You know what mornings look like.

You know what happens when your child is tired.

You know what getting dressed can take.

You know what happens at the grocery store, at Grandma's house, with siblings, at bedtime, in the car, when plans change or when absolutely everyone has had enough for one day.

You know the victories that look tiny to everyone else but took months of work.

That view matters too.

A parent may tell us, “He does this at home,” when we've never seen it in therapy.

Both can be true.

A therapist may say, “She can do this independently here,” while a parent thinks, You should see what happens when we try that at 7:00 at night.

Both can be true.

Same child. Different exposure settings.

Neither one of us can see the whole iceberg.

And that's why communication matters so much.

Instead of deciding whose picture is “right,” what if we put our pictures on the table?

Tell me what you see. I'll tell you what I see.

Tell me what works at home.

Tell me what doesn't.

Tell me when the strategy I gave you sounds wonderful in a therapy room but absolutely does not work in your real life.

And let us share what we're seeing too—even when it may be hard to hear.

Because clarity and transparency bring more of the iceberg above the water.

And the more we can see, the better course we can chart together.

There is something else I believe deeply as a therapist:

I cannot save a child.

And I'm not supposed to.

My job is to guide.

To teach.

To challenge.

To encourage.

To provide tools.

To share what I know.

To help families see what may be possible.

And sometimes to say, “I think we need to try a different course.”

But the day-to-day trenches matter too.

Because whether a child has a disability or not, we aren't trying to create a life where nothing is ever difficult.

We're helping build a person who has tools for when life is difficult.

A person who learns to communicate.

To problem-solve.

To ask for help.

To try again.

To adapt.

To advocate for themselves.

To discover, little by little:

“Maybe I can't do this...yet.”

And eventually, our children have to begin navigating some of the course themselves.

That's why parents and therapists need each other.

Not because one of us has the whole answer.

But because we're standing in different places, and each of us can see something the other cannot.

So here's this week's Finish Strong Friday challenge—for parents, therapists, teachers, caregivers, and honestly, all of us:

Before you decide you understand someone else's situation from the picture you can see...

ask them what it looks like from where they're standing.

Listen.

Share what you see.

Be willing to put both views on the table.

You don't have to be standing where I'm standing to believe me when I tell you what I see.

And I don't have to be standing where you're standing to value what you know.

When we're helping a child chart a course, we need both views.

Because sometimes the picture is real...

and still doesn't come close to capturing the whole view.

Finish strong, friends. ❤️

09/04/2026

Happy Thursday

🌱 THERAPY THURSDAY | It Looks Like Crawling…

But our therapists see a whole lot more. 💚

We usually think of crawling as something babies do before they learn to walk.

So why might you see an older child crawling during therapy?

Because crawling brings a LOT of systems together at the same time.

🧠 Right side + left side working together
💪 Shoulders + core building stability
👀 Eyes + body coordinating movement
🖐️ Hands + joints + muscles taking in sensory information
↔️ Crossing midline and coordinating both sides of the body
🧩 Motor planning + body awareness figuring out where the body is and what to do next

And those foundational abilities are important far beyond gross motor development.

They are part of the sensory-motor foundation children draw on for things like sitting and attending, using their hands together, handwriting, visual tracking, moving across a page, and participating in reading and learning tasks. 📚✏️

Crawling also gives the body repeated opportunities to practice coordinated movement patterns that are part of early development—including patterns associated with the natural integration of early reflexes.

So when you see a therapist build a tunnel, put toys on the floor, or send an older child through an obstacle course on hands and knees…

They're probably not just practicing crawling.

They're working on the foundation underneath a whole lot of other skills. 🌱

👇 Take a look at this month's Foundations First: Why Crawling Matters for more of the WHY—and don't miss the Try This at Home ideas.

🏡 You can also find more information, videos, and family resources on the Parent Resources page at:

🌐 www.buildingkidsteps.com

Sometimes therapy looks like play.

But there's usually a whole lot happening underneath it. 💚

09/03/2026

🌱 THERAPY THURSDAY | It Looks Like Crawling…

But our therapists see a whole lot more. 💚

We usually think of crawling as something babies do before they learn to walk.

So why might you see an older child crawling during therapy?

Because crawling brings a LOT of systems together at the same time.

🧠 Right side + left side working together
💪 Shoulders + core building stability
👀 Eyes + body coordinating movement
🖐️ Hands + joints + muscles taking in sensory information
↔️ Crossing midline and coordinating both sides of the body
🧩 Motor planning + body awareness figuring out where the body is and what to do next

And those foundational abilities are important far beyond gross motor development.

They are part of the sensory-motor foundation children draw on for things like sitting and attending, using their hands together, handwriting, visual tracking, moving across a page, and participating in reading and learning tasks. 📚✏️

Crawling also gives the body repeated opportunities to practice coordinated movement patterns that are part of early development—including patterns associated with the natural integration of early reflexes.

So when you see a therapist build a tunnel, put toys on the floor, or send an older child through an obstacle course on hands and knees…

They're probably not just practicing crawling.

They're working on the foundation underneath a whole lot of other skills. 🌱

👇 Take a look at this month's Foundations First: Why Crawling Matters for more of the WHY—and don't miss the Try This at Home ideas.

🏡 You can also find more information, videos, and family resources on the Parent Resources page at:

🌐 www.buildingkidsteps.com

Sometimes therapy looks like play.

But there's usually a whole lot happening underneath it. 💚

08/28/2026

Finish Strong Friday: LOOK UP

Last Friday, I challenged myself—and all of you—to be where our feet are. To give ourselves permission, just once, to leave something undone and simply be present.

So, how did I do?

Well…there was no family game night. 😂

At first I thought, Well, there you go. Didn't do it.

But then I looked back at my week.

We put a new pig in the barn. For the first time, it was a new crew—Dad, Mom and Emma. No Wyatt. No Truitt. Just the three of us figuring out what this season looks like now.

Different.

But good.

The AC went out, which meant Emma slept in my room for two nights.

We did homework.

One evening Dad had somewhere he needed to be, which left Emma and me with the evening chores and supper, so we turned it into a little daughter date.

There was no game night.

But there were moments.

And I was there.

Maybe that's something I'm learning as a mom wading through a new season with no map—just a GPS of gratitude and a determination to make a little lemonade out of the ordinary lemons life hands me.

Because nothing is wrong.

But so much doesn't feel familiar yet.

Two of my children are away at college now, and apparently having two gone feels very different than having one gone.

The house is quiet.

There are fewer vehicles in the driveway. The groceries last longer. There is less to clean. And three out of our six chairs can actually be put up after I mop and STAY THERE.

I said I was looking for things to be grateful for. 😂

But even that is a little bittersweet.

For years, the noise, the mess, the food disappearing and things never staying where I put them were just ordinary life.

Now I'm realizing some of that chaos was simply evidence of a very full house.

And maybe that's why two moments this week stopped me.

Both times, all I had to do was look up.

One morning I was leaving for work in the dark to cover for someone. Dad had somewhere he needed to be too, which meant Emma would have to manage on her own for a while.

She's old enough.

She's capable.

But knowing your child can do something doesn't mean a parent always loves having to let them.

I was driving with that familiar tug so many of us know—the one that wonders whether we're giving enough to work, enough to home, enough to everyone who needs us.

It was completely dark outside. Daybreak hadn't even started.

And then I looked up.

There was this incredible orange moon hanging in a black sky.

It was beautiful.

So, of course, I reached for my phone and took a picture.

And the picture looked NOTHING like what I was seeing.

Because of the exposure, that deep black sky looked almost like daylight. And that beautiful orange moon looked more like the sun.

I had a picture of it.

But somehow, I hadn't captured it at all.

Then last night, around midnight, I stepped off a plane and looked up again.

Another remarkable moment in the night sky—one I wouldn't have seen from my own backyard.

I took a picture of that too.

And again…

The picture couldn't touch the real thing.

I found myself thinking about that afterward.

Maybe some moments simply can't be captured.

And maybe that's okay.

Maybe sometimes we're meant to stand there, look up, take it in and thank God for letting us see it.

Maybe the memory is enough.

Some moments aren't meant to live in our camera roll. They're meant to live in us.

And isn't that true of our children too?

Take the pictures.

Record the first steps and first words.

Take the first-day-of-school picture.

Capture the birthdays, the ball games, the performances and the milestones.

Those pictures become treasures.

But every once in a while…

put the phone down and just watch.

Listen to the laugh without recording it.

Watch the accomplishment with your own eyes.

Be the face your child sees looking back at them when they finally do the thing they've worked so hard to do.

Because sometimes the picture simply cannot capture the moment.

And maybe it isn't supposed to.

There is another BKS lesson tucked inside this week too.

We spend a lot of time talking with families about creating opportunities for children to communicate, move, problem-solve, participate and become more independent.

But those opportunities don't always look like “therapy.”

They're already tucked inside ordinary life.

Feeding the animals.

Helping with supper.

Carrying in groceries.

Doing homework.

Talking in the car.

Getting dressed.

Cleaning up.

Adjusting when plans change.

Waiting their turn.

Asking for help.

Trying something independently—even when it would be faster for us to do it ourselves.

Ordinary life is full of opportunities for growth.

Sometimes we become so focused on creating the perfect learning opportunity that we miss the one already standing in front of us.

So this week's Finish Strong Friday challenge isn't to add another activity to your list.

You've got enough on there.

Instead:

LOOK UP.

Notice where your feet landed.

Notice the opportunity hiding inside something ordinary.

Notice your child trying something they couldn't do before.

Notice the conversation happening in the car.

Notice the laugh.

Notice the sunset.

Notice the mess—and maybe, just occasionally, notice the little person who made it.

And maybe tonight ask your child one simple question:

“What was something good about today?”

Then tell them yours.

It doesn't have to be big.

Gratitude is something we can practice. And when we practice looking for the good in ordinary moments, we're teaching our children to look for it too.

I don't have a map for this new season yet.

But I'm finding that gratitude makes a pretty good GPS.

Last week: Be where your feet are.

This week: Look up from where they landed.

And when you find something beautiful there, don't worry so much about capturing it perfectly.

Sometimes the moment itself is the gift.

Be there. Look up. Take it in. Let it be enough.

Finish strong, friends. ❤️

08/21/2026

Finish Strong Friday: Be Where Your Feet Are

I did something twice this week that I don't normally do.

I played family games with my kids.

That probably doesn't sound like much. But for me? It was.

There is always something that needs to be done. Reports to write. Dishes to wash. A house that could use attention. Something I forgot. Something I need to prepare for tomorrow. And sometimes, when all of that is finally finished, I just want to sit down and do absolutely nothing.

The list is endless.

And as parents—and really, just as people—I think sometimes we become so busy doing things for the people we love that we forget to simply be with them.

But this week, twice, I let some of it wait.

I sat down.

I played.

I laughed.

I was there.

And you know what? The things I didn't get done were still waiting for me later. But those moments with my family would have passed whether I joined them or not.

That got me thinking about what it really means to finish strong.

Maybe sometimes finishing strong isn't getting everything checked off the list.

Maybe it's knowing when to leave something unchecked.

So here's my challenge for the week ahead—and I'm taking it right along with you because this is a struggle for me:

One time this week, give yourself permission to be completely present.

Leave something undone.

Put the phone down.

Play the game. Sit on the porch. Listen to the long story. Stay at the table a little longer. Take the walk. Laugh until your stomach hurts.

Whatever your moment looks like, let yourself be there without spending the whole time thinking about what you should be doing instead.

Because maybe being present isn't taking time away from what matters.

Maybe being present is choosing what matters.

And let's help each other do it.

Sometime over the next week, come back and tell me what you chose—or share it with a family member or trusted friend. Encourage someone else to take their moment too.

We weren't meant to do all of this alone. Sometimes we need someone beside us reminding us that it's okay to let the list wait.

Let's hold each other up.

The list will still be there. The moment won't.

08/20/2026

💚 Why do we teach core words?

When a child is learning to communicate, it can be tempting to focus on teaching more words.

At Building Kid Steps, we think about it a little differently:

Which words will help this child communicate more?

Words like help, go, stop, open, eat, in, out, yes, and no may seem simple—but they can help a child ask for what they need, make choices, join an activity, solve a problem, and tell us what they want.

That’s the power of core words. 💚

Our latest Speech Corner shares a little more about why we teach them—and why a word like “MORE” isn't always enough.

🎥 Watch here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBqP9aecH84

🌱 You can also find this video and more family resources on the Parent Resources page at:
www.buildingkidsteps.com

And this is where we're going next…

💜 Therapy Thursday

We’ve talked about the WHY behind core words.

Now we want to start showing you the HOW—what these strategies can actually look like during therapy and how they can fit naturally into everyday moments at home.

Because sometimes the biggest changes start with the littlest words. 💚

Building Kid Steps is a pediatric outpatient rehabilitation clinic for Speech, Occupational and Physical Therapy. We treat ages birth to 21 years of age.

08/19/2026

Come on out to the back school to school bash from 5:15 to 6:15 free sno cones and popcorn and crafts

08/19/2026

💛 WISDOM WEDNESDAY | The Power of Predictability

We’re about a week into the new school year for many of our kids.

The new backpack isn't quite so new anymore. They've met the teacher. They've found their classroom. They're beginning to learn the routine.

And maybe you're beginning to see some things at home, too.

More “NO!”
More tears.
More exhaustion.
More resistance.
Maybe even some behaviors you thought you had moved past.

Here's your Wednesday Wisdom:

Sometimes it isn't stubbornness. Sometimes it's uncertainty.

Think about how much has changed in one short week.

New schedules. New expectations. New people. New sounds. New places. New demands.

That's a LOT for a developing brain.

One of the greatest gifts we can give children during seasons of change is predictability.

Talk about what happens next.
Keep home routines familiar when you can.
Give a heads-up before transitions.
And remind them—through our words and our actions—“You are safe. I’m here. We’ll figure this out together.”

Predictability doesn't mean protecting children from everything new.

It means giving them a safe place from which they can become brave enough to try it.

Because predictability creates confidence.
Confidence builds courage.
And courage grows independence. 🌱💙⭐🌳

That's the heart behind The Power of Predictability in our latest Building Kid Steps Parent Resource Library.

And if this first week back has been a little bumpy at your house?

Keep going.

Sometimes confidence isn't built because something suddenly became easy.

It's built because something became familiar. ❤️

08/18/2026

🎉 REMINDER: BACK-TO-SCHOOL BASH TOMORROW! 🎉

Join us at Building Kid Steps as we celebrate our amazing kids and kick off a GREAT year with some family fun! 💙📚✏️

📅 Tomorrow
⏰ 5:15–6:15 PM — Come & Go
📍 4208 Retama Circle, Victoria, TX

Bring the whole family and enjoy:
🍿 Popcorn
🍧 Snow cones
🎨 Crafts
🎯 Games
💛 Lots of family fun!

Parking: Park out front, then come around back — the party will be under the trees! 🌳🎉

We can't wait to see our BKS families, honor our kiddos, and celebrate being BACK TO SCHOOL and ready for a wonderful year!

Come when you can, stay as long as you'd like, and celebrate with us! 🥳

08/14/2026

**Finish Strong Friday**

Some weeks the weight isn't one big thing.

It's the constant.

The constant remembering.
The constant adjusting.
The constant problem-solving.
The constant needs.
The constant feeling that just as you catch one ball, another gets tossed into the air.

And then there are the twelve things you remember on the drive home.

You know the ones.

The *“How in the world did I forget THAT?”* things.

Even better when you actually wrote it on a list...and then never looked at the list again.

This has been one of those weeks for me.

But it has also reminded me that not everything we carry weighs the same.

Some things are inconvenient.

Some are frustrating.

And some things are **heavy**.

Illness.
Loss.
Death.
Grief.
Watching someone you love hurt and knowing there isn't a single thing you can do to make it better.

This week, I had the privilege and heartbreak of simply being present with someone I love in the middle of unimaginable grief.

There wasn't anything to fix.

There weren't words that could make it better.

There was only the opportunity to show up and love someone through a moment I desperately wished they never had to endure.

And then life keeps moving.

That's the strange thing, isn't it?

The appointments still happen.
The phone still rings.
The reports still need finishing.
The children still need us.
Supper still needs figuring out.
The calendar keeps turning.

At our house, we're in another season of change. Children are growing up, heading back to school and college, and becoming more independent—which, I'm learning, occasionally means accomplishing exactly what needed to be accomplished in a way that looks absolutely nothing like the way I would have done it. 😉

And perhaps there is some grace to be found there, too.

Different doesn't necessarily mean wrong.

Sometimes we're simply tired. We've given our patience away all day, and by the time we get home, we have very little left for the people we love most.

Work is in the middle of the back-to-school shuffle too. There are reports that really do need to be finished, a manual I desperately want to put a bow around and call DONE, and materials and resources I want to create because I know they could help someone.

Soon there will be pigs in the barn and livestock judging and another season beginning almost before this one has ended.

And here's what I'm realizing:

**None of these things are unimportant.**

That's part of the problem.

Sometimes we're overwhelmed not because we're wasting our time, but because **so many worthy things are competing for the same finite hours.**

For the last few years, I've intentionally let some things wait.

Not because they didn't matter.

But because something else mattered more in that season.

There were lasts happening in my children's lives, and I knew I couldn't get those back.

Was I perfectly present?

Absolutely not.

But I tried.

And maybe some of the unfinished things in our lives aren't evidence that we've failed.

Maybe they're there because, for a season, **we chose something else that mattered more.**

Maybe you were raising children.
Caring for a parent.
Walking beside a friend.
Building a marriage.
Surviving an illness.
Grieving someone you love.
Or simply trying to be present for moments you knew wouldn't come again.

There will always be another project.

There won't always be another last.

And yet, if you're anything like me, grace is much easier to extend to everyone else.

Someone forgets? I understand.

Plans change? We'll figure it out.

Someone does it completely differently than I would? Maybe their way works too.

Someone is hurting? Check on them. Sit beside them. Love them.

And sometimes, **pay attention when something feels off.**

We don't always know what another person is carrying.

Sometimes grace is giving someone the benefit of the doubt.

Sometimes it's forgiving a mistake.

Sometimes it's patience.

Sometimes it's a phone call or a text that simply says, *“Hey, I've been thinking about you. Are you okay?”*

Sometimes it's noticing the person who seems a little quieter, a little more overwhelmed, or just not quite themselves—and taking the extra minute to check in.

Grace travels a lot of different miles.

And we never really know how much one small act of kindness, patience, mercy, or simply noticing someone might matter.

But when *I* forget something?

When *I* don't finish what I thought I should?

When I get home and suddenly remember the thing I absolutely meant to do that day?

Mercy gets a little harder to find.

We remind everyone else that they're human while quietly expecting ourselves to be superhuman.

We extend grace to the grieving.
The sick.
The overwhelmed.
The person who forgot.
The person who misunderstood.
The person whose way looks nothing like ours.
The person who simply couldn't do one more thing.

And somehow we stop just before that grace reaches us.

Maybe that's what I needed to hear this week:

**Grace should not stop before it finds you, too.**

We were never meant to be better at giving grace than we are at receiving it.

Faithfulness does not mean limitless capacity.

Sometimes finishing strong means recognizing which balls are actually yours to keep in the air—and which ones were never yours to catch.

Sometimes it means leaving something unfinished until Monday.

Sometimes it means checking on your people.

Sometimes it means sitting beside someone who is hurting when there are no words.

Sometimes it means recognizing that someone else's way doesn't have to look like yours.

Sometimes it means admitting, *I'm tired.*

And sometimes it means looking at what you didn't accomplish with a little less judgment and looking at everything you carried with a little more mercy.

I know I'm not alone in any of this.

I look around and see it everywhere—moms and dads, friends, coworkers, the families we serve—people carrying their own versions of the same load.

It doesn't always look the same. We don't all carry it the same way or even talk about it the same way.

But the burden is no less real.

Different jobs.
Different children.
Different worries.
Different lists we forgot to check.

Some are grieving.
Some are caring for parents while raising children.
Some are walking through illness.
Some are navigating work, marriages, finances, school, practices, appointments and deadlines.
Some are carrying things the rest of us know nothing about.

Most of us are simply trying to love our people well and be faithful with this one life we've been given.

Sometimes we need grace.

Sometimes we need to be the person who notices someone else might need it.

Most weeks, we're both.

I will not finish this week with every box checked.

There will still be papers on my desk.
There will still be work waiting.
There will undoubtedly be something I remember after I've already left.

But maybe finishing strong was never supposed to mean finishing everything.

Maybe it means finishing **faithfully**.

Still loving.
Still serving.
Still choosing kindness.
Still paying attention.
Still showing up.
Still trusting God with what we couldn't fix, what we were never meant to carry alone, and what simply didn't get done.

Because someday, the words I hope to hear aren't:

*“Well done. You got everything finished.”*

They're:

**“Well done, good and faithful servant.”**

So finish strong, friends.

Check on your people.

Pay attention when something feels off.

Give grace generously.

Receive it humbly.

And remember that grace may have a lot of miles to travel this week...

**but please don't let it stop before it finds you, too. ❤️**