This guy is Eliot, and when not signing Prokofiev's sixth, is just a simple 4ft 20 month old: he puts his shoes on top of the DVD player like everyone else, likes to bang pots and pans for vocal preperation (and to ensure that his mom has a last nerve), spins on the smooth tile floor using bowls with the best of 'em, and has a laugh that can be heard a mile away, contagious throughout. Unfortunately, he's experienced some rough moments during the past couple of months: an MRI, tubes were placed in each ear to alleviate a constant ear infection, of course with hair so befitting my grandfather he tends to lead with his head minus the little warning devices we call hair, so, he has some bumps and bruises, but yesterday his mother found out some pretty bad news. And while the extent of the news is known only to God, meaning that his condition could either really hinder Eliot's development forever, or it could pose no greater problem than those with learning disabilities. While therapy is a given and in the works, right now the ultimate gift for the two of them is your prayers.

(And if you don't know her, or want to know all there is to know about her, check out this interview at A5 1T 15. it's scandalous!)