Ford Motor Company partnerships: Helping to support breast cancer warriors #MoreGoodDays

Ford Motor Company has been part of the Warriors in Pink fight for 21 years, and they are not standing still. This year, Ford Motor Company via FordCares.com is helping families and loved ones to ensure "more good days" for breast cancer warriors.



The Ford Cares site offers several resources and partnerships that really empower people to find ways to support those they love battling cancer. One of those resources, Meal Train, is an online platform that allows friends and families to organize meal deliveries and more. Ford Motor Company is offering the enhanced Meal Train service FREE to those who enter via FordCares.com. 

And now, Lyft is getting involved with transportation services to cancer centers throughout the country! The folks at Ford are constantly working to create new partnerships to provide more good days for those battling breast cancer.

What can you do at home? 

• Visit FordCares.com to give someone with breast cancer a good day
• Start a free Meal Train
• Get ideas to help
• Set up a Lyft
• Even enter to win a Ford Mustang! 

It is all about easy access to tools and ideas for giving the people we love #MoreGoodDays - thanks to Ford Motor Company and their generous sponsors.

 Note: This post is not sponsored. I occasionally receive loaner vehicles to review on behalf of Ford Southeast. 

Assisting a neighbor: State Farm gives back to local causes

I participated in an Influencer Activation on behalf of Mom Central Consulting for State Farm. I received a promotional item to thank me for participating. 

Giving back is a common theme in our household. We are blessed with good health, amazing family, and everything we need. My daughter has a playroom full of toys and books, and we regularly take a moment to choose what she no longer loves to donate to others. She has grown up with an understanding that there are many other children in need, and it is our duty to share. She understands that once in a while, saying goodbye to her belongings allows them to go on to another child who will love the toys and give them a new life of more fun and new playtime.

State Farm takes "like a good neighbor" seriously. The State Farm Neighborhood Assist program is back, and it is time to vote, vote, vote for your favorite neighborhood cause. 4,000 causes were submitted to the Neighborhood Assist program, and the State Farm Youth Advisory Board has selected the top 200 wonderful and worthy finalists. The top 40 causes will each receive $25,000! That is life-changing funding for these local causes, and you can make a difference by helping decide which ones are the lucky recipients.  
 

Love does not live happily beside fear. #DomesticViolence

It's an old joke; my husband and I laugh about buying a shotgun when our daughter begins dating. We all want to protect our children from any hurt whether it be physical or emotional. No one messes with our babies!

But sometimes life takes people down a dark path and they can feel helpless.

October is Domestic Violence Awareness month.

Ladies, know your worth. Understand that your worth is bigger than you may have ever imagined. You are powerful, strong, beautiful, and have the ability to overcome life's hurdles. Sometimes love sneaks in and turns everything we know upside down. Sometimes, and unfortunately, it is not for good. Love does not mean being told where to go, how to dress, to when to speak. Love does not live happily beside fear. Or manipulation. Or spite.

Boston beauty - and kindness

The news on Monday afternoon was shocking, sad, and unthinkable. I clicked through photo galleries, watched videos, and chatted with friends on Facebook about the attack.

But above the pain,
After the shock,
Beyond the sadness,

We all saw action, heroism, and kindness. Strangers opening up their homes and wallets - and veins - to help. We saw people running towards the bomb sites to aid those in need.

My Christmas Wish

I love Amy Grant's version of My Grown-Up Christmas List. These days, our world seems consumed with anger, violence, greed, and hate. If we all had one magical Christmas wish and poured our energy into love and peace, maybe we would have a chance.

(song lyrics)

Do you remember me?
I sat upon your knee;
I wrote to you
With childhood fantasies.

Well, I'm all grown-up now,
And still need help somehow.
I'm not a child,
But my heart still can dream.

The day is here... again.

My sweet girl has eye muscle surgery again today. The first one was in January. The second was in March. In September, we tried bifocals for her. Surgery number three is our only remaining choice. Once again, we cling desperately to hope that this time will be "it". I am feeling good about it and look towards a happy day when all of this is in life's rear-view mirror.

Send us happy thoughts and prayers if you can spare a few today.

Surgery - 3rd time's a charm?

The pediatric ophthalmologist appointment went pretty much as expected. Mamas know these things. Her glasses are not helping the eye crossing enough. Our only course of action at this point is a third surgery, this time on the inner eye muscles, next to her nose. We do not know yet when the surgery will take place, but we will do our best to balance holiday events and recovery time - we want her to have every chance at a fun-filled holiday season.

My baby's eyes and strabismus

So, we have been on our "eye adventure" for 10 months. Amelia has strabismus, a condition where her eyes do not stay aligned all the time. Originally, hers floated mildly outward, called exotropia. We noticed this intermittently for most of her infancy, especially when she was very tired. We thought it would go away.

Three surgeries in nine months

Friday was not a good day. After Amelia's second eye surgery, she looked fantastic. Her eyes were straight for a full six weeks. Six weeks and one day post-surgery, however? We noticed some shifting again. She was no longer always looking at us with two eyes. We tried to make excuses... hoped it would go away.

But yesterday, we went in for her 12-week post-op check.

I hid my tearful face from my daughter in the waiting room. Nine weeks prior when we scheduled this appointment, it was with joy. It was to be our final visit before she "graduated" to an annual check. It was supposed to be our last one in 2012.

Not to be. We are looking at a third surgery in late September. Third! In a span of only nine months. At age four.

I was miserable most of Friday. Thankful for a friend who got us out of the house for some kid playtime; probably the only thing that kept me sane that day. At night, I peeked in on my sleeping little sweetie and felt my heart crack. I allowed the guilt and doubt to creep in. I felt like I did not protect her.

It is now Sunday night. I have had time to recover from the shock and heartbreak. I cried on my husband's shoulder. He shared his fears and sadness, but we agreed that we would move forward together as a family. As we have done twice before.

We are pretty strong with our power of three.

The doctor did allow a twinge of hope. There is a chance, albeit a small one, that this is an anomaly in her healing. What he called "a blip on the radar." We purposefully delayed the next surgery just in case. If we have any right to a miracle, I wait hopefully for it. Trying to keep my own eyes open for a glimpse of change.

Maybe, just maybe, September's pre-op will show a change for the better. If not, we will survive.

We can do this.

Here we go again

Surgery number two for our precious little girl is on the calendar.

It is sooner than we expected.

We hoped for a worry-free vacation and birthday celebration before having to deal with this again, but the doctor trumped our plans.

"No, it needs to be done quickly."

So here we go again. I tell myself that we're ready. I tell myself that it will be okay. I suck it up and show my strong, brave face to the world.

80% success rate this time. Same success rate as last time - and see how well that worked out? Humph. But 80% is good....

My child is healthy. My child is happy. We are blessed with a lovely home and loving family. We have fantastic neighbors and friends. We have nothing to feel down about. We are so lucky.

Right?

I figure if I keep telling myself that, it will help.

March 29th - here we go again.

It hurts.

Trying to stay positive. But it hurts.

The opthamologist saw Amelia this morning. We will be moving forward on a second eye muscle surgery in about 7 weeks.

My brain is at war with itself. A portion still thinks we did the right thing - her exotropia could have cause her headaches, reading problems, and plain old aggravation. She herself asked us to "make her eye stay still". That same portion of my brain knows that a second surgery is needed in 20% of patients; it is not unusual. But the emotional side wonders why we ever made this decision. Why did we do this to our child? What if she never had difficulties with her eyes the way they were? No one ever noticed that her eyes moved in the first place. What if we moved too quickly into medical intervention when she could have been fine just left alone?

If we had been told it was medically necessary, I think we'd be stronger right now. But we were told it was up to us. So we chose. (Why did we choose?!?)

My eyes well up with tears as the guilt presses down. I breathe and push it all away. I need to be strong. I need to be optimistic. I need to grasp onto some faith and find hope. This bump in the road could very well be a distant memory by summer. I cannot express how much I hope for that. Oh my God, if You can hear me... please know how much I hope for that.

So, say a prayer for us and wish us luck. Six more weeks of waiting, then we start this process all over again.

If I get through this, I may have to change my name to ToughMama.
Because this is absolutely the hardest thing I have ever done.

Those kind of parents

Amelia’s ophthalmologist once declared to us,

“That’s why I work in pediatrics. I love children. I don’t like their parents.”

He is an outstanding physician. His demeanor with our daughter is fun and effective. She likes going to see him. Steve and I, not so much. He is difficult to address. He is very quick to answer (push aside?) our questions. He would like us to sit back, stay quiet, and let him do his job.

This is where the trust comes in. We need to trust his depth and breadth of experience. He knows his stuff. He has treated literally thousands of children with the same kinds of eye issues as Amelia.

But when it’s my baby? Trust is much harder to put into practice. I feel like I get so flustered around this doctor that I never get my questions out. Sometimes if I get a question out, I feel like it is not completely answered – or at least to a level where I can soak it in and understand.

Amelia’s eye surgery was five days ago. She is feeling great, but still looking a bit rough and not seeing correctly. There are still “two mommies” and “two daddies” in her daily life. From what I understand, this could be completely normal. However, my patience is being tested big time. And I am failing this test.

Steve and I cannot be patient anymore.

I called the doctor today and he will see us bright and early tomorrow morning. So maybe I’m a pain in the butt. Maybe I’m an overreacting mother, the kind that drives pediatricians up the wall…

But ya know what? I don’t care. Both Steve and I need to know this is all okay. Hopefully after the appointment tomorrow, we’ll have the reassurance that we so desperately need.

Wish us luck! Prayers for our little lady’s baby blues are welcome too.

BBC in the AM!

My hopes for Bloggy Bootcamp Atlanta 2011:

• I hope I recognize a few faces. It is not easy to match tiny twitter avatars to real-life lovely ladies!
• I hope the food is good. And I hope we get snacks. I like snacks.
• I hope I kick my social anxiety to the curb and dive into some great conversations.
• I hope Bloggy Bootcamp re-energizes me, my creativity, and my writing.

I am awake way too late, but a little high-strung. Wish me luck! Off I go, bright and early....  

I wish for you...

Sometimes, a writing prompt gives me an immediate jolt of inspiration. I know what I want to write and how I want to write it.

This week, Mama Kat showed this image that's been floating around Facebook:

And Mama Kat asked... "Who does it make you think about?"

No pondering needed with this one. My thoughts went instantaneously to someone. Not a person who isn't making an effort in my life, but a person who needs to read these words, take them to heart, and get the dead weight out of her life. Forever.

I am not at liberty to talk about it here
    ... which probably makes for a pretty lame blog post.

But it is not my own life to analyze, nor my own life to discuss on the Internet.

But for those of you out there who allow others to manipulate your feelings?

I wish for you strength.

For those who accept letdowns from the same person/people time and time again?

I wish for you self-worth.

And for those who hang on tightly to someone who just cannot give back?

I wish for you power.

The power to know when the time is right... and finally let go.


- - -

When you hear the word cancer

Today's guest post is from a very special friend. We met through an online "expecting club" about four years ago. We were both expecting our first child in April 2008. She was having a girl, I was having a girl also. And at the time, we both lived in the same suburban area of Atlanta.

Life threw my friend a few curve balls along the way, but she refused to strike out. She has since moved away to pursue cancer treatment at MD Anderson, and she recently launched a very special project to bring smiles to others in need. Throughout all her trials, she has never ceased to amaze me with her poise and integrity.

I am honored to feature her guest post here today:

- - - -

When you hear the word cancer I believe part of your brain goes into a place where all of life’s what if’s, why’s and everything else all come crashing down at once. I imagine this is the feeling that anyone in a dark place feels. My brain worked like that for a moment when I was pregnant and hearing the words cancer, chemotherapy, radiation, and all sorts of other terms I did not comprehend. As my diagnosis and illness rocked along, I felt like those words or that far place would eventually be replaced by something grand. I had a healthy and beautiful little girl and I was oh so thankful for that. I continue to battle with my illness but how blessed am I to say that I am BATTLING. I never gave up and never will; I have far too much to live for and one little person who is ready to see her mama take on new battles each day.

In my journey I discovered that although the people closest to you want to be your support system, at times it can hit too close to home, be too difficult, or they are just not equipped to think along those lines. Sadly the person who is battling begins to feel isolated and on this island of uncertainty. After trying to recreate the wheel in my own support system, a light bulb went off. I can be someone’s rock, or I can tell him or her THANK YOU for fighting. I realize I am only one person, but I am a person who is fighting too!

I thought of ways to get my praise out there and really reminisced over the lost art of letter writing, sending and/or receiving mail other than a bill or junk! How awesome would it be opening a letter from someone who you do not even know thanking you for your courage, the heart that a higher power gave you to take on so much and still try? The Soaring Swallow Project was born.

The idea is simple. I ask people who know of someone who is battling or fighting one of life’s uphill battles to kindly give me that person’s address, and I will happily send out a letter to lift that person’s spirits. I absorb the costs, I do not expect replies (they are welcomed) all I hope is that the person who is opening that letter smiles, or knows they matter.

Everyone matters - sometimes we just need to hear it from someone else!

- - - -
"We cannot all do great things, but we can do small things with great love."
-Mother Teresa
- - - -

Follow the Soaring Swallow Project on Facebook

Visit her blog, Cupcake Earthquake

They never say "I can't"

An ant never believes that it is too little.

An ant never says “that’s too big”.

When an ant has a massive task ahead, he marches forward. He relies on friends, family, and neighbors. He is not afraid to seek their help. And together, this army of ants becomes powerful. They build higher and higher and higher, until the anthill rises far above their little heads.

Whenever we are in times of need, with tasks ahead that seem too big to bear, we should be more like ants. Not afraid to reach out to others; not embarrassed to ask for help. Despite life’s letdowns and looming obstacles, we can band together with loved ones and march forward.

We are about five hundred times larger than ants… just imagine what we can do.
Together.

- - -

We could all use this lesson now and then. But today, I post in honor of a close loved one who is facing what feels like an impassible hurdle. She is not too small, nor is she ever alone. Together, we will lift her up - and over. XOXOXO

If I had $1,000,000

"If I Had $1,000,000" is a song by the Canadian musical group Barenaked Ladies, circa 1992 or so. I was listening to it recently, and a thought crossed my mind:

What if I was given a million dollars - but had to give it all away?

Think about it. How would you spread the wealth? Wouldn't it be fun to give so much away?

If I had a million dollars to spread around, I would...

Hire a private team of specialists to work for, train, and support my sister-in-law in her continued quest for independence as a paraplegic. Since insurance companies are lacking and our government can't stop wasting money, we seem to be on our own. Without a doubt, a chunk of my million would go to creating the best Dream Team money can buy: a top-notch physical therapist, a brilliant nutritionist, and a tough but understanding personal trainer. One year in their hands, and she would be kicking some serious booty. Because she has it in her. She just needs help finding it.

Help fund research efforts at two of the best cancer treatment facilities in the world: St. Jude's for children and MD Anderson. I have to believe that we will find a cure for this hidden monster one day. Every single one of us knows a family, probably several, rocked by the evils of cancer. Enough is enough.

A day to remember

September 11th. 9-11. A day most of the world will never forget.

I was at work. In my office. I started hearing talk of a big plane crash in New York. I got on the Internet. Saw what had happened to the first plane and the World Trade Center tower. Listened to the newscasters. They said it may have been terrorism.

I called my boyfriend (now my husband). He was still asleep, sick that day. I told him to turn on the television. As he watched, we saw the second plane hit. We knew at that moment, this was no ordinary plane crash.

There was talk of more planes. One hit the Pentagon. One later crashed in a field. All air traffic was grounded. No one knew what was going on. Or, maybe we did know. But we were still in too much shock to admit it.

I called my parents. They had been out. Didn't know what I was talking about. I told them to turn on the TV. They gasped. No one could believe what they were seeing.

Some Atlanta-area buildings were closed. At that time, I worked in a building called the Financial Center, similar to the World Trade Center. It's unique in that a highway actually runs underneath it. We were told to go home.

For the rest of that day, the immediate people in my life were with me. We were glued to the television. Never have I, before or since, watched anything for 12 hours straight. We could not pull away.

September 11th, 2001 was a terrifying and heartbreaking day for our country. About three thousand people lost their lives. Heroes who entered the chaos to help save others. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers. Someone's children.

I'm sure some happy things occurred that day. I'm sure babies were born to ecstatic parents. Maybe some couples got married. Some students somewhere aced a big test. A teenager may have gotten his/her first car. Mine was just a regular day, until I visited CNN.com around 8-something in the morning to see what the talk was about. Then I did nothing. Just watched and felt numb.

I know we'll always remember what happened to us on that day. I will also never forget the feeling of the next day - September 12th. I drove into work at the usual time. American flags had popped up in yards overnight. Car rear windshields now sported flag stickers. People in Atlanta rush-hour traffic were nicer. Not driving rudely or erratically. Not in a big hurry. We were all just cruising our way down the interstates, going to work and school, making sure life would go on. By doing so, we made sure the bad guys didn't win.

Spreading the word

In terms of back-to-school, summer is pretty much over across the country. But us southerners still have hot weather, and we will continue to have have many kids in pools for the next few weekends.

I'm deviating from my usual blog content because I feel like I have to spread the word. For those of you who don't know, my sister-in-law suffered a terrible fall on July 8th and is learning to live life paralyzed from the chest down. We have spent countless hours at the rehab hospital with her. 100+ people are at this facility on any given day. And in the summer months, many of the injured patients, paraplegics and quadriplegics, sustained their injuries from diving accidents. Diving into pools that are not sufficient depth for diving. Diving into the ocean, not realizing a sandbar was underneath. Diving off a pier into seemingly deep waters.

I see kids flopping themselves into our neighborhood pool quite often. I see teenagers lunging into the ocean when we're on a beach vacation. And for the rest of my life, I'll probably cringe when I see those things. My daughter will not do those things when I'm around.

More than 850 spinal cord injuries occur from diving-related injuries each year. The majority of these result in quadriplegia - paralysis of all limbs.

Is this on your pool?

DON'T DO IT!

I don't want to cause fear or seem overzealous here... but I couldn't let it slide. As our summer heat winds down, just think an extra second before you let your child dive. Or throw them haphazardly into the water. And remember it next year. And the next. And the next. And for years beyond that. Most diving-related spinal cord injuries occur between the ages of 15 and 25. But they can happen at all ages.

Thanks for letting me be a little heavy tonight. I couldn't ignore it any longer.

We all love our kids! Even the teenagers.

Tearful shopping

I spoke again to a therapist about Amelia. I'm trying to be the "perfect mom" by making sure she isn't getting damaged by the stressful/emotional environment around here. I've watched enough Supernanny and Nanny 911 to know that most kid issues are the fault of the parents and/or environment. And I do not want to screw this kid up. She's too amazing.

Amelia really embraces her visits to the rehab center to see her aunt. She has never batted an eye at the wheelchairs she sees there. She's happy to ride along with her aunt or "steer" the wheelchair as she walks along beside it. But lately, Amelia has been acting strange. And I wanted to understand everything I could about how this may be affecting her - and causing some of these new behaviors.

We've been through two phases of separation anxiety before. Around 7 months of age and earlier this year. Amelia is in quite a serious anxiety phase now too. She cries and screams when I leave the room. She chases me upstairs if I'm simply going to brush my teeth. She wants to play with Mommy, sit by Mommy, sleep with Mommy. She's waking in the night and calling for us again. Amelia has pranced merrily into her classroom 2x/week for the past 11 months, but now she's clinging to me and crying again. Today, she begged me not to take her to school.

Hear that? It's the sound of my heart breaking.

We've had family members in and out of our house for a couple months now. And will for at least one more month to come. It's the least we can do for everyone while my sister-in-law is in the rehab center (we're the only ones that live in the Atlanta area). But Amelia's first question every morning is, "who is here, Mommy?"

She is very concerned with who is here, who has left, who is or isn't coming back. Even Daddy leaves for the day to go to work, and she has to confirm with me that he is (1) only at work and will (2) definitely be home tonight. With all of the in & out, I assume she sees me as the one who is always here. Always here when she wakes up, always there to pick her up from school. And I'm sensing some fear in her - maybe she thinks one day I'll leave while she's not looking.

Anyway, I got some fantastic tips for dealing with Amelia's new found anxieties. I'm supposed to not just respond to her concerns, but explain to her what they are. I've been saying, "Mommy always comes back" over & over again, but I should be prefacing that with, "You were afraid Mommy was going to leave, weren't you? You felt sad because you were scared without Mommy." Amelia is only two, so she needs help tying her emotion to a cause.

Check. I can do that.

The therapist also recommended that I get some special books for her. Books regarding family member illness, fears, and worry. So I took a trip to Barnes & Noble. I didn't find anything for our situation, or appropriate for Amelia's young age. Most of these books seem to hit more of the 4+ age groups. But the multitude of therapy books on the shelves was eye-opening. And I became sad. Even a little teary-eyed.

Books about divorce:
I Don't Want to Talk About it
It's Not Your Fault, Koko Bear

Books about cancer:
When Mommy Loses Her Hair
Can I Still Kiss You?

Books about death:
Help Me Say Goodbye
I Don't Have an Uncle Phil Anymore

Okay, A LOT teary-eyed. It hurts my heart to think of children who have to deal with such grown-up things. Kids should be happy, carefree, playing.

But things happen. More things than I had in mind, since I was keeping my tunnel vision on our own singular family situation.

Stop and hug your child today. And really feel it. That's what I'm going to do.