The other day I did some housekeeping on Girl in a Party Hat, which included updating the blogroll, and I was struck by how many of my fellow bloggers have stopped blogging — or, at least, haven’t updated their blogs in a year or two.

I get it. I started my blog when Sophie was 5. Today, at 11, she’s so savvy she writes guest posts, wants to read what I write, dictates when I can and can’t take her photo (on Saturday it was okay, as long she added a long orange braid to the ensemble I was eager to capture), and the other day she asked to borrow my computer because, she says, she’s writing a book. Her self-awareness prompts the same in me. Some days, it does feel invasive, writing about Sophie. More and more, I self-edit. Or try to, anyway.

And yet I still feel compelled to do it. Last week, Brain, Child published a piece I wrote about Sophie and puberty. Last month, I wrote a cover story for Phoenix New Times about the year-long struggle to find a charter school that would take Sophie. My friend Robrt included some images of Sophie in a show at his art gallery. Once in a while, KJZZ (the local NPR affiliate) is kind enough to share the latest in what I’ve long called The Sophie Chronicles.

Oversharing or illuminating? (Wait — don’t answer that.)

Why do we write about our kids, document their every move on Facebook and Instagram, in blog posts and elsewhere? I don’t know about anyone else, and maybe my own reason is BS, but I’ll share it anyway. I began Girl in a Party Hat in an attempt to document what Sophie’s life is like, to show how similar she is to typical kids and also how different. And, to be honest, to figure her out.  Before Sophie, I had never found writing to be therapeutic (to the contrary, it’s always been a painful, tooth-pulling process for me — which sucks since I chose a career as a journalist) but GIAPH did become for me a sounding board and a confessional and I still find often that after I finish a post I feel a sense of peace.

Before Sophie, I’d never met another person with Down syndrome. If this blog or the other things I write help even one person to be a little less wary of people with DS, if anyone finds it relatable — parents of kids with or without disabilities — it’s all been worthwhile.

All of which sounds more defensive than I meant it to, and it’s not even the reason, really, that I set out to write this post. I wanted to tell you about My Star Wars Family. Whether you have a spare 4 minutes or not, stop what you are doing and watch it. It’s phenomenal. I don’t want to tell you much more than that.

When my friend Timothy Archibald recommends something, I know it will be stellar. Tim’s own photography — which I’ve admired since we worked together many years ago — is truly great.  I remember that he and I used to drive around crappy parts of town, looking for a story idea. Turns out, that’s the worst way to find a story idea. And ultimately, Tim had no shortage of ideas — he gets high profile commercial and editorial work and (something I recall from our days working together) he tends to find a personal project in an assignment. You can see it all at timothyarchibald.com. But my favorite work of Tim’s is about his older son, Eli. I’ve written about Tim and Echolilia before in a little series I did for GIAPH called “Should We Be Writing About Our Kids?” You can learn more at echolilia.com.

Four years later, I’m still asking the question: Should we be writing about our kids, particularly our kids with disabilities? Should we be photographing them, letting other people photograph them? I’m too close to my own work to say anything there, but when it comes to a journalist/artist named Annalisa Brambilla, the answer is YES.

When he posted the video, Tim wrote this on Facebook: I can’t repeat this enough: Brambilla was an outsider, a journalist, an artist, but these images feel like they were made by the family themselves, and some of them were. I do believe this is the way stories will forever be told when they are told well.

I completely agree. Make sure you watch My Star Wars Family.

Our trip to New York City was full of high points, but I have to say that the best moment came when Sophie met Leo.

I walked into a busy restaurant, looked around, and suddenly, this little boy I’ve been reading about almost every day for months leapt off the computer screen and into real life, before my eyes.

Sophie ran right up to him for a hug. (Contrary to popular misconceptions about people with Down syndrome, she doesn’t do that with everyone.)

I felt the tears well up even before I could take my coat off.

I need to back up. This will sound horrible, but there’s no way of saying it without just saying it (and somehow, reader, I bet you’ll relate).

I’m not a Support Group Kinda Girl. Not that there’s anything wrong with support groups. In fact, there’s a lot of good — and I know I’m missing out by avoiding the two (I might add warring — I do love that part — at least they were warring at one point not long ago) Down syndrome support groups in Phoenix.

I know. I know I know I know I know. But that whole thing’s just not for me. Maybe it’s because I live where I was born. I am incredibly blessed with family and friends and all sorts of resources (like a kindergarten teacher who continues to look out for Sophie even now that she’s in first grade, and plays a mean game of poker in her off time) to help us navigate all sorts of situations.

Even so, I didn’t realize something was missing — til I found it. The thing is, just because you have something in common with someone (say you’re both journalists, or both Jewish, or both obsessed with rick rack and vintage toys and certain kid books/movies/music, or both think way too much about things like where you live, or both have kids with Down syndrome), that doesn’t mean you’ll wind up friends.

Now, if you have all of those things in common and more, yeah, then it might happen.

That’s Maya.

I’ve written about Maya before, including on the occasion of a trip I took to New York last summer, when I got to meet her. (In person, that is — rather than on her blog. We had lunch by her office on a work day, hence no Leo.)

And I’ve said this before, but in honor of meeting Leo (and the fact that his parents schlepped him and his 2 and a half year old sister from New Jersey on a truly horrible day to meet us) I need to say again that starting a blog was a Really Important Thing for me not only because it gave me the ability to go on (and on and on — and on) about Sophie, but because it led me to some pretty terrific people. My (frankly) arm’s length suport group, including Robert Polk (who lives in Texas and has an adult son, Ryan, with DS, and goes by Bobby but will forever be RobertPolk to me) and Joyce and Sarah, and Cate and Starrlife.

And Maya.

Technically, Sophie’s an older woman (she’s got almost a year on Leo) but he towers over her, and we all thought they made a lovely couple. They ate scrambled eggs, french fries and ice cream, colored, and played with Leo’s sister Ellie. Sophie showed off her new life-like “Fur Real” guinea pig, which I think is really gross but Leo and Ellie appreciated. (Ray and Annabelle were at The Met with his aunt; I was concerned about another foot-through-the $180 million-Picasso incident with Sophie, so it was a good time to split up.)

We had a wonderful brunch and hung out at a bookstore and when Sophie and I said goodbye and settled into a cab, the song “Goodbye Girl” was playing and I had another cry — an I Heart New York But I Don’t Live Here cry, thinking about that movie, which is one of the movies that made me fall in love with New York when I was a kid — and I thought, I bet this song makes Maya cry, too.