<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36960228</id><updated>2011-04-21T19:39:00.893-07:00</updated><title type='text'>William says...</title><subtitle type='html'>...the darndest things. Things that shouldn't be forgotten.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Tim McLain</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07384295544768139020</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_PV2L2XdAZQM/TTMRU2ofQmI/AAAAAAAADKQ/vzerTJ_1uak/S220/2011-01-16_1039.png'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>6</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36960228.post-3185301489173401312</id><published>2008-01-04T08:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-04T08:11:54.839-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny Night Terrors</title><content type='html'>Ok, they aren't really all that funny. In fact, they're pretty scary. For the past two weeks or so, every other night or so, Will wakes up between 9 p.m. and 11:30 p.m. shouting out some pretty crazy stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's obvious that he's asleep, and some crazy stuff comes out of his mouth. Sometimes he acts like he's trying to find one of us, where's Mommy/Daddy, etc. Most of it doesn't make much sense. His body will flex, muscles tense up big time, and he isn't aware of us holding him or talking to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he goes into this mode, we quickly take him downstairs, turn on the TV to a show he likes, and wait till it passes. He'll suddenly stop, his eyes will focus, and it's as if nothing happens. No memory of it at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, he asked me about it, and I told him that he's been telling us that roses are RED in a loud way, then he'll switch to -- NO BLUE -- then WAIT GREEN! This sends him into howls of laughter -- he can't believe that his "terrors" are about something so crazy silly. It's pretty funny stuff to him!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's hoping this part of his development comes and goes pretty quickly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36960228-3185301489173401312?l=williamsays.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/feeds/3185301489173401312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36960228&amp;postID=3185301489173401312' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/3185301489173401312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/3185301489173401312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/2008/01/funny-night-terrors.html' title='Funny Night Terrors'/><author><name>Tim McLain</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07384295544768139020</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_PV2L2XdAZQM/TTMRU2ofQmI/AAAAAAAADKQ/vzerTJ_1uak/S220/2011-01-16_1039.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36960228.post-5020345767594985092</id><published>2007-12-31T08:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-04T08:15:28.310-08:00</updated><title type='text'>6th Birthday: Happy Dan</title><content type='html'>&lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4MRy5x7CqJA&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4MRy5x7CqJA&amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See all of his videos @ &lt;a href="http://www.mclainhome.com/newsite/__1207.html"&gt;mclainhome.com&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36960228-5020345767594985092?l=williamsays.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/feeds/5020345767594985092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36960228&amp;postID=5020345767594985092' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/5020345767594985092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/5020345767594985092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/2007/12/6th-birthday-happy-dan.html' title='6th Birthday: Happy Dan'/><author><name>Tim McLain</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07384295544768139020</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_PV2L2XdAZQM/TTMRU2ofQmI/AAAAAAAADKQ/vzerTJ_1uak/S220/2011-01-16_1039.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36960228.post-116256279292104810</id><published>2006-11-03T07:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-03T06:06:57.610-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Morning Routine</title><content type='html'>...his eyes open, he takes a deep breath, and a sing-song cadence begins until I reach his bedside:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Daaaady, I WANT you, were ARE you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I smile every... single... time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Daaaady, I WANT you, were ARE you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm coming William. Always will.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36960228-116256279292104810?l=williamsays.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/feeds/116256279292104810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36960228&amp;postID=116256279292104810' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/116256279292104810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/116256279292104810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/2006/11/morning-routine.html' title='Morning Routine'/><author><name>Tim McLain</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07384295544768139020</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_PV2L2XdAZQM/TTMRU2ofQmI/AAAAAAAADKQ/vzerTJ_1uak/S220/2011-01-16_1039.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36960228.post-116251243227608174</id><published>2006-11-02T16:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-02T17:57:07.580-08:00</updated><title type='text'>String Skills</title><content type='html'>When Will was just a few months old, I watched him do something pretty incredible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was laying on the floor, on his back. He was doing his best to turn himself over, rocking back and forth and doing all he could to make it happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a few minutes -- success! A huge grin spread over his face, and he looked all around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img border=1 src=http://www.mclainhome.com/william/sum02/802willbooks3.jpg&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. His eyes said, "What is that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He reached out with one chubby hand, and snagged one of his mom's long, blonde hairs from the carpet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as he had it firmly pinched between his thumb and index finger, he... rolled back over again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once he was safely on his back, he reached up with his other hand, and started to do something incredible. He slowly and prefectly ran his fingers back and forth, all the time the hair perfectly trapped between his fingers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This kept his attention for more than a half hour. His fine motor skills, even as a very young child, seemed very well developed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight, I clipped a long string from his new "Cars" jammies. You guessed it -- he's been playing with it for nearly an hour. Just winding it around his fingers, pulling it back and forth, like a toy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amazing stuff.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36960228-116251243227608174?l=williamsays.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/feeds/116251243227608174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36960228&amp;postID=116251243227608174' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/116251243227608174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/116251243227608174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/2006/11/string-skills.html' title='String Skills'/><author><name>Tim McLain</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07384295544768139020</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_PV2L2XdAZQM/TTMRU2ofQmI/AAAAAAAADKQ/vzerTJ_1uak/S220/2011-01-16_1039.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36960228.post-116240706459909634</id><published>2006-11-01T07:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-02T17:59:32.673-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Yummy."</title><content type='html'>That was Will's first spoken word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deb, Will and I, along with my Mom, were enjoying dessert at a Friendly's restaurant, just down the road from the &lt;a href="http://www.nczoo.org/"&gt;North Carolina Zoo&lt;/a&gt; in Asheboro. It was August 2002 I believe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He'd taken his first bite of chocolate ice cream from the tall, pewter dish, and he turned to us and said, simply, "Yummy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We whooped and hollered and "yayyy'd!" for a few mintes after that, long after we'd lost counts of his bites.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yummy." Somehow it's even more special than "mommy" or "daddy" isn't it? ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img border=1 src=http://mclainhome.com/WillCam/0901021.jpg&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36960228-116240706459909634?l=williamsays.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/feeds/116240706459909634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36960228&amp;postID=116240706459909634' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/116240706459909634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/116240706459909634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/2006/11/yummy.html' title='&quot;Yummy.&quot;'/><author><name>Tim McLain</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07384295544768139020</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_PV2L2XdAZQM/TTMRU2ofQmI/AAAAAAAADKQ/vzerTJ_1uak/S220/2011-01-16_1039.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36960228.post-116240626310330970</id><published>2006-10-29T07:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-02T18:01:05.973-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Daddy, where is my soul?"</title><content type='html'>"Well Will," I said, putting down my spoon next to my fresh bowl of Raisin Bran. "I think it's right here" -- as I point to my chest -- "wrapped around our hearts, deep inside. You can't see it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yea," said Will, tilting his head to the side and staring up and the light above the kitchen table. "I think it's a rainbow. Inside us."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's blue and yellow and..." he said, trailing off, his eyes moving back to mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat there, stunned. A rainbow? Of course. It's so simple. A prism cuts pure white light into every color -- a rainbow. Why wouldn't our souls look like a rainbow to a purely minted new human being?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is why this blog exists. William, my four-year-old, is speaking his mind on so many things these days. And his pure, amazing commentaries will all be posted here. To be shared, and adored.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Welcome to William says...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img width=300 border=1 src=http://www.mclainhome.com/newsite/DC1.jpg&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36960228-116240626310330970?l=williamsays.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/feeds/116240626310330970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36960228&amp;postID=116240626310330970' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/116240626310330970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36960228/posts/default/116240626310330970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://williamsays.blogspot.com/2006/10/daddy-where-is-my-soul.html' title='&quot;Daddy, where is my soul?&quot;'/><author><name>Tim McLain</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07384295544768139020</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='31' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_PV2L2XdAZQM/TTMRU2ofQmI/AAAAAAAADKQ/vzerTJ_1uak/S220/2011-01-16_1039.png'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
