Addy's New Best Friend: A Doll Like Me

When I first came across her page, she had 72 "likes". After a blog post by our friends over at Born Just Right, I knew Amy was going to have her hands full trying to fill orders of the adorable dolls she was making, who look just like their new owners. Suddenly, Amy was running a small business, and A Doll Like Me was born. Her page now has over 1,600 "likes", and shows no signs of slowing down anytime soon.

"I think the first doll I made was a zucchini wrapped in a towel on my grandma's farm...I'd like to think I've come a long way since then!" She definitely has. Amy creates each doll special for each child, giving so much love and attention to detail that the doll come out with just as much sparkle and personality as it's owner. She had been making dolls with vintage pillow cases when a friend of a friend, Macey, requested a special doll. One that looked like her-with an amputated leg. "That was my first experience with a limb difference of any type, and word traveled pretty quick on Facebook! I tried to stay ahead of it and contacted Jenn from Born Just Right to see what she thought about the idea. After Jordan got her doll, I realized how important it is for kids to have a doll that looks like them!" And it all snowballed from there.

Amy worked as a social worker in a pediatric oncology unit, where she saw first hand how body adjustment takes a toll. She watched as kids going through chemotherapy lost their hair, and always thought it would be neat to sew dolls without hair to comfort patients in their journey. It wasn't until Macey requested a doll that looked like her with a limb difference that Amy realized there wasn't already someone making limb different dolls. "More than any other toy, kids need to see themselves represented in dolls...whether it's skin color, hair color, no hair, or any other difference! I believe that it is validating because it just becomes a reflection of the recipient!"

Though she never intended it to become a business, things have definitely escalated to the point of her becoming a celebrity within the limb different community! Orders are flooding in, and the best part for Amy is that it's not just little kids who are receiving the dolls. From little ones like Addy, to an 11 year old girl overwhelmed with emotion when seeing her doll, to a 70 year old woman receiving a doll, the demographic is huge. "My hope is that little ones, like Addy, will never have to say "I wish I had a doll that looks like me"! Amy has even had people donate dolls to kids who otherwise couldn't afford to receive a doll of their likeness. One donor said it perfectly when he told Amy, "we all have it in us to be someone's guardian angel". What's even MORE amazing, is that $5 of each doll's price is donated to Camp No Limits. These dolls are making a difference in more ways than one.

Amy is doing something that no other mass production company can do. She is bringing dolls to children that look just like them. I remember thinking about dolls when Addy was born, and how one day she would notice that they had two hands, while she had only one. I even thought about trying to find a doll with soft arms to try and create one that looked like Addy, and I am so thankful I found Amy. When I ordered Addy's doll, I knew that while she may not understand how important and special her doll is now, there will come a time where she will have questions about her missing hand, and I will be able to use her doll to show her that she is perfectly made. She will see herself in the doll, and hopefully find comfort in her snuggly friend! We have affectionately named Addy's new friend "Sassy", and she has definitely made our little girl very happy already!

To order a doll of your own, visit Amy's Facebook page, A Doll Like Me, and send Amy a message along with a photo of the recipient so that Amy can work her magic! I'm sure she has a wait list going by now, but trust me...it's well worth the wait to see the happiness these dolls bring!

I Solved the Mystery...Sort Of

Several weeks ago, I sent an email to a company that specializes in finding people. I sent the email not really expecting to get anything in return, knowing that I would probably have to cough up some cash before I could get any real answers. Only armed with a name, an age, and a state in which the person was born, I was sure I didn't have enough information to even attempt to begin a lucrative search. I guess I should back up a little bit further.

I am adopted. I am adopted by two of the greatest people on the planet, two people that happen to be my biological aunt and uncle, but they have been mom and dad to me for 25 years. My parents have always been extremely transparent when it came to my adoption, as much as they could be with what little information they had to give me. The decision they made to adopt me becomes more and more profound to me the older I get, even more so now that I have children of my own. My mother knew that adopting me meant severing forever a relationship with her sister, and my father opened his heart and made me his daughter. They were patient with me as I struggled with an internal fight, always wondering what my life would be like if I hadn't been abandoned by my biological mother (let's  be clear: I hate using that term for her. The woman doesn't deserve to be called a "mother" in any capacity). All I had was snippets. Snippets of the past, snippets of my story, usually brought up at my great grandmother's house while pouring over old photos that showed my mom sitting next to a girl with buck teeth, horrible glasses, and hand sewn flannel pajamas. Any questions I ever had were met with conflicting answers, small pieces of the puzzle that never quite fit together. I was always met with the same answer in the end, "she's the only one who knows, we will never know".

My sophomore year of college, I suddenly felt the need for answers. I needed to know my past, so that I could more clearly see my future. I needed more than snippets. I told my parents I was ready, that I was preparing to make contact and make plans to meet her face to face, to finally hear my story. "Are you sure you're ready to hear what she has to say? You may not like what she has to say..." I could tell my mom was concerned, but I hid my nerves and with a brave face assured her I was ready to face the woman that left me all those years ago.

With the support of my family, the help of my best friend, grandparents, and a few stiff drinks in the lounge at the airport, I made my way down to Georgia. The plan was to stay at my grandparent's house and to have the woman I had never met meet me there, on neutral territory, where I would have a shoulder to lean on should things go horribly awry. I had lists of questions, pictures that I wanted explanations for, a need for the stories of my past, and a knot in my stomach the size of a Volkswagen. I settled into my grandparent's house, knowing that the next two days would fly by and I would soon be face to face with the woman that walked out of my life so many years ago. The anticipation continued to grow as my grandmother rehashed memories of my mother leaving, the months that followed, and the events that led up to my adoption. There were so many holes, so many loose ends to tie up, all of which I would hopefully have answers to in the coming days.

The day arrived. It was a total disaster. Without going into too much detail, let's just say that my lists of questions are still lists of questions, the loose ends are still loose, and my past is still a mystery to me. My questions were never answered, all I received was a web of lies strung together to look like a Nicholas Sparks romance novel, all total and utter bullshit. While the meeting didn't go as planned, some good things did come from it.

The tumultuous relationship with my real parents became clear to me. The grass was no longer greener on the other side, I knew that I was where I belonged. I spent several tearful conversations apologizing profusely to my mom, telling her how much I appreciated everything they had ever done for me. I realized for the first time in my life just how lucky I was, and how different my life would have been had they not adopted me. I was able to meet my half siblings, two people I shared DNA with, one of which I'm still in contact with. Perhaps the most profound thing I received from the meeting was a sense of peace. While I still had no real information about my past, I wasn't stuck wondering. I would just simply never know. I had faced the reality of the situation, I would never truly know what happened, why it happened, or how it happened, and for the first time in my life, that was okay. To be honest, I felt sorry for the woman. She couldn't be truthful to the one person who deserved the honest truth.

Fast forward. I now have children of my own. That feeling of sympathy for the woman that walked out of my life has changed. The sympathy is gone, and a more sinister feeling has taken it's place. I cannot fathom any circumstance in the world that would cause a woman to voluntarily walk away from her children. (Adoption is different, I understand that. This was a choice the woman who gave birth to me made knowing she was not returning, and did not let anyone know about the decision. This was abandonment.) What happened to me has shaped the way I raise my children. It has caused me to be afraid, fearful, and panicked. It has made me a helicopter mom in every sense of the word, and I believe that I have every right to be. I have worked hard to try to overcome some of those tendencies, especially with Addy, knowing she needs to be strong and independent. But I still feel extreme guilt every time I leave them, even if only for a few hours. I still panic when I leave them overnight, something that RARELY happens, and when it does, I'm obnoxiously checking my phone and calling to make sure that everything is alright. This has nothing to do with the people watching my children, it is whole heartedly my own anxiety. I never want my children to feel abandoned, unloved, or left behind.

So after all of that happened, I stopped wondering. Until Addy was born, I never felt the need to search out the other half of my DNA, my biological father. I know that Addy's limb difference is not genetic, but it got me wondering about my own genetics and what health risks are present on my father's side. So I started looking. I had a name, a state of birth, and an approximate birth date. I sent an email to a company, not expecting to have any luck. They sent me a few websites to try, a shot in the dark. A few clicks, and there he was. His name, date of birth, and date of death.

No more wondering. No more searching. It's all over with. The only other source of information about my past died four years ago, taking any information he had with him. That's assuming he even knew I existed, yet another question I'll never have the answer to. There was no flood of emotions, no gut wrenching pain, just an "it is what it is" kind of feeling. I'll never know. And that's okay. Because here is what I do know...

I have two beautiful children, a loving husband, a supportive family, an incredible life. I may not know my past, but I can clearly see my future. It's full of love, it's full of craziness, it's full of blessings. I am loved, I am full of love to give, and I am trying to make the best life possible for my children. I have everything I need right in front of me. And that's more than enough. 

Does She Know She's Missing Something?

Since Addy came into our lives almost eighteen months ago, there have been so many questions and only a few answers. Most of our questions, Addy has answered for us. She's shown us that she is able to figure things out, adapt, and improvise. There's one question that I find myself asking daily, more so lately. Does she know there's something missing?

We have watched Addy study her lucky fin so intensely that we wonder if she's putting two and two together. She will stare and pick at her little nubbins, she often points to her lucky fin and gives us a "what the heck?" look. She will reach into the trash can, using her left hand to hold open the lid, and reach in with her right arm, only to realize she can't grab the coffee filter full of coffee grinds laying on top to throw all over the kitchen. She will try to carry her juice cup and hold a toy, and struggles to figure out how to handle it all, but she always finds a way. Lately, there have been gloves. 

It's Winter, and it's freezing here. Keegan recently started preschool which means we venture out into the cold every day to take him and pick him up from school. He also gets to play outside if the weather permits, so Nana got him some really cool Batman gear to keep him warm. His Batman gloves have become one of Addy's new favorite things. As soon as we get in the door, Keegan begins stripping off layers, and no sooner does he pull off the first glove, Addy scoops it up and puts it on her lucky fin. Only on her fin. And then it happens: the look. The look that makes me wonder if she understands that she's missing a hand. That glove goes on and she starts clapping, and giggling, and showing it to us (read that as shoving it in our faces). She will wear it all afternoon if we let her. Is she excited to have more fingers? Obviously they don't work, she can't grab anything, or carry things easier, but does she enjoy the aesthetic look of them? I know that asking her these questions will only lead to one of her go to responses: nana, papa, turtle, bite, dog. She just can't express herself yet, and to be honest, I'm not sure I'm ready to try and answer her questions just yet. Yes, we have armed ourselves with as much information as we can over the past year, and I will of course be honest with her and try to explain her limb difference to her the best way I can. But I still fear hearing her ask me why she's different. 

I know that the community of friends we have built through different organizations will help Addy realize that being different is amazing. I know this because these parents have helped me. They have stayed in touch after only meeting one time, they have shared their stories of happiness and of heartbreak. They have explained to us the ebb and flow of this journey, one that we are only beginning to understand. My Addy is a force to be reckoned with. She will take the world by storm just like our other limb different friends who have been all over the media lately! Between Ezra Frech  and Tommy Morrissey sharing their stories on The Ellen Show, to Noah Galloway winning the "Ultimate Men's Health Guy" title and scoring the cover and the countless others spreading the word that anything is possible, our limb different friends are paving the way for our daughter and so many others like her, and I can't thank them enough. When Addy realizes she's different, and begins asking questions, I will be able to point to role models and our friends and show her that she is not alone. I guess I'm more ready than I thought, but that doesn't make it any less scary. Fingers crossed I have one more year of my blissfully unaware crazy girl before the questions start flying! 

Things I Want to Teach My One-Handed Daughter

The minute we found out baby number two was a girl, I squealed with excitement. Our dream had come true. We were blessed with a son first, and now a daughter would complete our family. We would have been just as happy with another baby boy. A second baby was a miracle in and of itself after two miscarriages, and a baby girl was just the icing on the cake. My mind raced as I began to picture tiny pink socks, a beautiful pink nursery, and a curly haired, blue eyed baby girl in my arms. A list began forming, a list of all the things I wanted to teach her, to pass on to her, to experience with her.

Addy's arrival initially sent all of those thoughts spinning, and left me wondering if I would be able to share those girlie things with my daughter. The fear of missing out on those things gutted me and shook me to my core. Now that Addy has shown us that conquering the world around her is not only going to happen, but happen in amazing ways... I keep adding to the list. Some of them will be tricky for her, some will be easy, and some have nothing to do with her only having one hand.

Teach Her How to Crochet
I learned how to crochet when I was ten years old, being taught by not just one of my grandmothers, but both of them. Each time I saw my grandma, she would teach me a new stitch, help me start a new project, and oversee my progress during our visit. I can still feel her moving my hands through the motions, and smelling her perfume as she leaned over the back of my chair to help me count stitches and fix my mistakes. Now that I have honed my skills, I find it relaxing to feel the yarn slide between my fingers and watch a project come to life. I want to sit in the floor with Addy and a ball of yarn and watch her figure out how to hold the yarn and needle. I want to watch her try, and try, and try, and get frustrated with it, and then try again. I want to share this hobby with her more than I can put into words, but I also believe that crocheting will teach her patience. Hopefully I can pass this along to her, and one day she will be able to make a blanket for her own child just like I did for her.

Teach Her How to Play Softball
I'm not sure I'm going to have to "teach" Addy how to play softball, maybe just help her play. There's no doubt in my mind Addy will figure out how to throw and catch a ball with only one hand, so I'll just offer to help her perfect her craft. Softball was a big part of my life for many years, both playing and coaching. I cherish the memories I have playing on a team, and cherish even more the memories I have from coaching. I want to spend our weekends at the ballfields watching double headers, and cheering on our girl as she proves to everyone that having ten fingers is overrated. I hope that even if Addy doesn't choose softball, another sport will give her the opportunity to prove to others that her limb difference is not a DISability, but an ABILITY.

Teach Her to Love Her Body
I inherited my big ass and big thighs thanks to my mother's side of the family, and only accepted them as being with me forever after meeting my husband...he loves my big ass. I spent years comparing myself to my stick thin and perfectly built younger sister. I have made peace with my body, knowing that unless I commit to starving myself and spending hours in the gym, I will never be a size 6. Yes, I have weight to lose, and I will lose it eventually. But even then, I will never come close to resembling a Victoria's Secret model, I'm just not built that way. I have grown two beautiful babies, I housed them in my belly for nine long months, and earned every stretch mark and both of my cesarean section scars. While I won't be showing them off in a bikini anytime soon, I am proud of them. I want Addy to grow up knowing that she is beautiful, regardless of what society deems as beautiful. She will be beautiful if she is a size 2, and she will be beautiful if she is a size 22. She will be beautiful with one hand. I know that she will at some point have feelings about her limb difference, but she will have her family, and an entire community of truly amazing people who will love her and help her through those feelings. I hope that she will love and accept herself, the way we all love and accept her.

Teach Her to Paint Her Nails & Braid Her Hair
This will be tricky, but it's a right of passage as a girl that you paint your nails obnoxious colors and braid each other's hair at sleepovers. I can't wait for Addy to have girls spend the night, pop them popcorn, line up the nail polish, and then listen to them giggle and squeal as they gossip about boys and sing songs as the top of their lungs. With the help of so many of our friends in the limb different community, there are plenty of YouTube videos and resources for us to pour over to help Addy figure out how to do these girlie things, but I'm sure she will have her own unique way of doing them. If all else fails, I can always take my girl for a mini spa day!

Teach Her How to Cook & Bake
When I was in the first or second grade, my mom tried a new recipe. She spent hours shopping for the exotic ingredients, and hours preparing the meal. Her intentions were in the right place, but as the smell started wafting from the kitchen, my sister and I quickly made up our minds that we were not eating whatever was about to be set in front of us. My dad, ever the supportive husband, told us that since our mother had spent ours preparing it, that we were going to eat it...no matter how awful it was. All of that changed after he took his first bite. A pizza was ordered, and the meal was ran down the garbage disposal. The lesson learned? Learn to cook, and learn to cook well. That old saying the way to a man's heart is through his stomach is true. Ask my husband. I want to pass down to Addy the family recipes that have been at every Thanksgiving and every Christmas dinner. I want her to have my grandmother's sugar cookie recipe, the one that people beg me for and that I refuse to give away. Selfishly, I hope that she will want some of my recipes, and carry on our traditions with her own family someday. I hope that she enjoys being in the kitchen, and that the cooking set I have hidden in my closet for her for Christmas gets put to good use.

Teach Her to Accept Others & Ask Questions
This is something I want for both of my children. Keegan has already shown us how big his heart is, and how amazing his soul is. You never know how a three year old will react to someone being physically different, it took him months before he ever mentioned anything about Addy's arm. When I took him over to Jenn's house for the first time, I wasn't sure what he would say about her being in a wheelchair. I had explained to him that she was in a wheelchair, but still...he's an unpredictable three year old (he thinks she has super powers...it's the cutest thing ever). We've been to several LFP get togethers where Keegan interacts with the kids and doesn't pay any attention to their limb differences. At a park this summer, he befriended a little boy with Down Syndrome, and they spent the afternoon being the "good guys" chasing away the "bad guys". I want them to be brave and ask questions instead of stare, because staring leads to hurt feelings...we've been on the tail end of it, it's not fun for anyone. I want to teach both of my kids that being different is a wonderful thing, something to celebrate, and a chance to educate. I hope that Addy will take notice of her brother's big heart, and follow in his footsteps of being a loving and accepting soul. Nothing would make me more proud.

These are just a few of the things I hope to teach my girl. The list will continue to grow as the years pass by. I know my husband has his own list of things he wants to pass down to the kids, probably more manly things like how to change a tire or tie the perfect knot. I would venture a guess that Addy will continue to teach us just as many things as we teach her. She has already opened our eyes to so many new things, and truly made us all better people just by being around her. She's my sassy little lady, and I know that she will do amazing things and shock us all with what she accomplishes in her life. I can't wait to watch my little girl become an incredible woman. Just not too fast...

As Unique as Her Name: Alsae's Story

One thing that is so important to me as a member of the special needs community, is to use my voice to not only educate others but to bring them together as well. I know how comforting it was for me to meet families who's children also have limb differences, feeling the love and acceptance from complete strangers who in that moment became friends for a life time. One of those people, Mallory, has a very special daughter who is as unique and beautiful as her name. I'm hoping that by sharing their story, and with your help, we might be able to bring them together with other families who share in their journey, and know the road they are traveling. This is Alsae's story.

Always happy, all the time!

Mallory and I met through the Lucky Fin Project. I was desperate to meet families, and wanted to organize a get together for soon after my husband's return home from Afghanistan. Mallory instantly volunteered to help plan the get together. We exchanged phone numbers, the texts started flying back and forth, and the rest as they say is history. We declared our daughters to be best friends, imagining them growing up and staying in contact just as Mallory and I do; always there to rejoice in their accomplishments, and pick each other up when things get tough. At the get together, we sat and compared stories, marveling at the thought of our special girls bringing us together. Our girls are only 38 days apart in age, and both have limb differences, but Alsae has had a much harder road, one that her and her family have handled with such grace and optimistic outlooks.

The list of Alsae's different diagnoses is long, and the list of surgeries and future surgeries is even longer. The point of me discussing all of her diagnoses is not to elicit pity, or feelings of sadness. Alsae is a happy toddler, she always has a smile on her face, a twinkle in her eyes, and the videos of her shaking her booty to "All About The Bass" would bring you to your knees in fits of laughter. Mallory has fought tooth and nail for every inch of progress they have made. After being accused of having postpartum by one doctor who didn't take her concerns seriously, assuring her that Alsae's neck was fine and that her refusal to eat was most likely reflux...advising her to add cereal to Alsae's feedings, Mallory knew in her heart there was something else going on and continued to fight to find the answers. Even after three months of fighting with that doctor over the list of growing concerns, Mallory was still being viewed as the overly paranoid mom, and was turned away from bringing Alsae into the office, something I cannot even fathom as a mother. Seeking help elsewhere, she found a new doctor that listened to her concerns and took them to heart. Finally after months of living in the dark, a geneticist finally gave Mally and her husband the answers they had been fighting for: limb reduction, and the rare diagnosis of Microgastria, a condition so rare that there are only 60 reported cases in the United States. In Alsae's case, her stomach is shaped like a tube instead of a pouch, making it hard for her to handle much more than an ounce or two of food during a feeding. Mallory would check in with me to find out how many ounces Addy was handling during feedings, and how much weight she was gaining, always concerned that Alsae was underweight and miserable during feedings. A g-tube has helped Alsae gain weight and made it possible for her to handle small feedings all night long.

Alsae's kidneys are smaller, and she has a splenic anomaly, both attributed to her Microgastria diagnosis. Her kidney's function normally, but extra precautions are taken because of her spleen abnormality. She has a small hole in her heart, one that they are watching carefully to ensure it does not become any larger, and hopefully fixes itself.

Right now, Alsae is currently at Helen Devos Children's Hospital in Grand Rapids, Michigan rocking a very bedazzled halo traction device in hopes of helping straighten a fixed rotary subluxation of the neck. Her C1 and C2 vertebrae don't line up properly, something that usually happens with serious infection or trauma, but Alsae's is congenital. This is thought to be the cause of her scoliosis, but that could possibly be attributed to the Microgastria and limb reduction. The fixed rotary subluxation has caused a 50 percent narrowing of her spinal chord, something that needs corrected. I'm happy to report that Miss Alsae has been doing amazing in the halo device, and that hopefully in two weeks time, they will have a set plan of action including a surgery to fuse her neck! This is a huge accomplishment for both Alsae and the medical team, as this line of treatment has never been used to help fix a subluxation! This will hopefully eliminate the need for Alsae to be in a vested halo apparatus for another several months! I couldn't be happier about her progress, it's been truly amazing seeing her take all of the therapy with a smile on her face!

Alsae's limb difference, an ulnar deficiency (an efficiency according to her rock star mama!), means that her ulna and radius are shorter than average. Just like her best friend Addy, Alsae figures out how to do just about everything! It's so fun to watch our girls figure out the world around them, and learn to do things in their own special ways. Mallory has been a pillar of strength through it all, she was the first person that really put Addy's limb difference into perspective for me. Even with so much going on in her life, she always checks in to see how the kiddos are doing, and to update us on Alsae's progress and the happenings in their lives.

Alsae is an amazing little girl, she continues to prove to all of us that she is truly something special. Her amazing smile and sweet personality are infectious, you can't help but smile when she's around! I know that Alsae is the product of her environment, an amazing set of parents that are her number one fans. "I always go with one of my favorite bible quotes and tell her that she is fearfully and wonderfully made, just as God intended!" She's a blessing to everyone in her life, and hopefully sharing her story will bring her together with other families traveling similar journeys! And yes, I will post updates about Alsae as I get them from her mama, any reason to put up more cute pictures, right?

Alsae being admitted for her halo device, look at that smile!

Meeting the cast of "Pirates Code" at Helen Devos Children's Hospital!

The little artist is ready to do some painting! Check out her bedazzled halo...so cute!

Limb Differences Are Not Scary!

My soon to be brother in law did an amazing thing for me the day Addy was born. While I was in the midst of an emotional hurricane, trying to see the sunshine through the dark clouds and torrential downpours, he was scouring the internet for information, support groups, blogs, anything that would help us learn more about our beautifully different baby girl (thanks again Dan!). He sent a lengthy email to my mom, telling her to share the info with me when the time was right. I'm sure he didn't realize it at the time, but what he did for me that day was life changing. It wasn't just information he was giving me, he was introducing me to people that would help me, change me, and become life long friends of our family.

One of the pioneers of the online limb different community is Jen Lee Reeves of Born Just Right. Her  daughter, Jordan, is a celebrity to families around the world, and recognized by the thousands of followers of the BJR blog. I got the opportunity to meet Jen in person, and we are still looking forward to meeting Miss Jordan. Every year, Jen and Jordan raise funds to give people a chance to attend Camp No Limits, a limb difference camp that allows kids of all ages and their families to attend a four day camp. Campers are given a chance to try activities out of their comfort zone, learn life skills, and exercises to keep them strong. They work together with mentors and counselors, and are given a safe environment to explore and discuss what having a limb difference means to them and how it affects their lives. It's an amazing camp, one that I cannot wait to attend with Addy as soon as she is old enough!

With Halloween around the corner, this month is an awesome opportunity to prove how limb differences aren't scary. A limb difference does not make anyone a monster. (Unless they choose to be one!) There's a special lesson kids learn in the limb difference world when they spend time together at Camp No Limits. Campers learn that being different teaches you how everyone is different, that we all have our own challenges and that there are many ways to overcome those challenges. 

Born Just Right has raised more than $10,000 over the years to send kids and family members to Camp No Limits, and I am asking you to help us continue to raise money! It takes $500 for each person to attend camp, so every little bit helps! Jen has put together an amazing collection of raffle items, all it takes is donating $5 to the Camp No Limits Fundraising site which gets you one raffle entry! If you donate more than $25, just add it up and enter the raffle again at another pay level. (For example, if a donor gives $50, they can put their name in under the $25 level twice.) You can view the raffle items here: http://www.bornjustright.com/2014/10/limb-differences-arent-scary-campaign

Thank you so much for helping raise funds for a cause that is near and dear to our hearts. I can't wait to help send some kids to camp, and I can't wait for Addy and I to one day be campers! 

It Was a Ruff Weekend...Goodbye Old Friend

The house has been too quiet since Saturday morning, and my eyes and tear ducts are still recovering. We haven't heard the snorts or coughs, there have been no races from one room to the next, and no one has squeaked when their ear got bit just a little too hard. We lost our Elvis this weekend, and we are all devastated.

Elvis came into my life a few days after a non eventful Spring Break during my freshman year of college. Most of the students were off on cruises in Mexico, or visiting friends at colleges who were on semesters, so the hallways in the dorm were peaceful and quiet. Those of us that were on campus enjoyed the calm before the storm, knowing that with Spring quarter came the festivals and street parties that made our livers quiver with fear and our parents fear for our sobriety. We made plans to grab a bite to eat at our favorite Mexican restaurant, which always led to a quick stop at the pet store to snuggle puppies...a cheap form of therapy. 

After stuffing ourselves with tacos, we made our way to the pet store ready for puppy breath and the inevitable scratches from tiny puppy paws and claws. I walked along the wall of cages, making obnoxious noises and faces at every slobbery, wet nosed, four legged ball of cuteness. And then, there he was. A tiny, and I mean fit in your hands tiny, black and white chihuahua. He had black tiny triangles for ears that folded over, just too cute to stand straight up. His tail was black with a white tip, and both of his cheeks and eyebrows were tan. His little black nose was smaller than a dime, and his brown eyes melted my heart. I flagged down the nearest store employee, asking to hold him immediately, feeling as if my heart might explode if he wasn't in my hands soon. 

My friend and I sanitized our hands and stepped into the little square box, anxiously waiting for the cuteness to arrive. Cupping him to her chest, the employee walked over to us, explaining that the puppy hadn't even been in the store a full day, and that we were the first ones to hold him. She passed him to me, I held him up to me at eye level, and he reached out with his nose and touched mine. I was done. He was mine. 

We would walk all over campus, stopping to make friends with anyone who wanted to pet Elvis, he was practically a celebrity in his own right. Some of the friends I still have today, I met because of Elvis. He became somewhat of a mascot, since he was being housed illegally in campus housing. We even managed to pass an inspection, putting elvis in a tote bag while two people poked around my dorm room, asking if I had any pets other than the beta fish on my desk. Elvis and Tiffany: bucking the system since 2006.

Elvis was there with me through college, also spending a significant amount of time at my parent's house. He was the man in my life until Nolan came along, and I knew that unless Elvis approved of him, Nolan and I wouldn't last long. The two were fast friends, truthfully, I think he liked Nolan more than me from that point on. Together, Nolan and I brought another four legged friend into our family, Bella, who would eventually give us a puppy, Woobie, who we still have today. 

Elvis was with me through Nolan's first deployment, curling up at the foot of the bed until he thought I was asleep, and then standing guard from his bed only a few feet away. He was waiting for us when we brought Keegan home from the hospital, curious about the crying baby taking up all of our time. He laid with me on the couch as I cried, worrying about Addy and her future, somehow knowing that I needed comforting. He grew grumpy in his old age, hiding for most of the day. He put up with the kids chasing him with toys, being stepped on by wobbly toddlers, and even let Addy crawl into the crate with him for a quick snuggle before he would high tail it out of there. 

We are all struggling without him. His absence has left a hole in all of our hearts, Woobie's too. After he passed, we let her in to see him one last time, allowing her the chance to say a goodbye. She went in and laid with him, whining and licking his nose. It was heart wrenching. She avoided their crate, and their bed, even waiting until today to eat again. I know that she probably didn't understand that Elvis was her father, but she was mourning the loss of her friend right along with us. Explaining Elvis' passing to Keegan has been a challenge in and of itself. Lots of questions, and lots of tears. 

It's been a rough weekend. We miss our friend. We miss our Elvis.

Wherever you are, I hope there are snuggly blankets, plenty of veggies, and lots of smelly shoes to stick your head in. You will be forever loved, forever missed, and never forgotten. Long live the King.

The night Elvis came home with me

My handsome man

"Don't worry mama, I'll fix Elvie's heart!"

Doing what he did best, snuggle

Our version of the Superbowl

Woobie misses her sidekick as much as we miss our Batman