Etsy Fanatic

So I have become a complete Etsy fanatic!  For those of you who don't know, is a website where anyone who makes anything can sell their wares.  There are SO many creative homemade items and vintage pieces on this website, it is a shopper's dream (and can be very overwhelming!).  For my first purchase, I found these adorable knitted owl toboggans for the girls.  The seller is Babeestiches and she makes some adorable items!  I am seriously about to snatch this giraffe toboggan up for Lilly (as if she needs two toboggans) ...

While I was in a creative mood (and clearly a mood to shop), Mom and I also found some beautiful jewelry, the proceeds of which go to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation.  I found this necklace at Lora Elizabeth Stamped Jewelry .  This woman's jewelry is beautiful, but even more important, she created this piece with her daughter, Grace, in mind, who has Cystic Fibrosis.  When I saw it, I had to have it. 

It is a good thing I budgeted for Christmas or I would never be able to afford my new expensive habit of shopping for unique, handmade items!

P.S.  If you are inspired to check out Etsy, you should also check out my Nanny's Etsy site - Whimsy Bits by Ash.  She made matching t-shirts for Liv and Lilly like this one...

And matching pompom t-shirts like this one...

And a necklace like this one for me for my birthday!

As you can tell, she is very talented!

C...A...T...S...Cats! Cats! Cats!

I have discovered that Liv is a much bigger basketball fan than a football fan (compare these pictures to those going to her first football game).  I think she likes the cheerleading outfit better than the oversized sweatshirt and toboggan.  As you can see, we are growing her bangs out and while the process is painful (most of the time she refuses to wear it back in a barrette), she looks so adorable with no bangs.  It makes her look so much older, don't you think?  My baby is growing up way too fast!

Dancing Queen!

Liv starts her spring semester at the Little Gym on Richmond Road this week.  She graduated from her Funny Bugs/Wiggle Worms class and we have enrolled her in a dance and gymnastics course.  It involves tap, ballet, and gymnastics.  Of course, she is only 3 1/2, so the regimen is not too rigorous, but I thought it sounded fun.  We had to buy her tap and ballet shoes (do you have any idea how expensive those are?  I paid almost $50 for both at Payless Shoes of all places!).  She absolutely loves the tap shoes - surprise, surprise.  We also bought her a few dance outfits and inherited a few dance outfits courtesy of Anderson Bowe for her to wear - because honestly, the fun of taking a dance class is twirling in your tutu, isn't it?  This is a picture of Liv trying on her new dance outfit and tap shoes.  She loves to twirl!

Buh-bye 2010! Don't Let The Door Hit You On Your Way Out!

I would like to say that I am sad that 2010 is over, but I am not.  I am relieved.  Sad to say, but it was one of the most difficult years of my life.  The first four to six months of 2010 are a fog to me - I barely remember anything but grief and sadness.  Lilly's diagnosis really marred 2010 for me and it makes me quite angry that I have disliked the first year of her life so much.  This should have been one of the best years of my life, but CF really put a wrench in it.

The latter half of the year has been an attempt to recoup, but 2010 has continued to pound on us.  Earlier in the year we lost my eccentric Great-Aunt Edna and by Labor Day we lost my Papaw.  Less than a month later we almost lost my Uncle Freddy.  Uncle Freddy continues to attempt to recover at St. Joseph East, but after multiple surgeries, he is yet to be healthy enough to go home.  Finally, we lost my Great-Aunt Rainey, my grandmother's sister, and one of the matriarch's of our family.  Frankly, as far as health goes, this year has just plain sucked.

All this was on top of us attempting to adjust to the financial and emotional strain that a second child (particularly one with a chronic health problem) places on your marriage and your life in general.  I think I spent most of 2010 on my feet and I cannot remember the last time I actually laid down and read a book (this is compared to me reading 2-3 books a week a year ago - a stress buster I desperately miss) and just talked with my husband about something other than money or kids.  Add the additional stress of trying to care for 2 small children while your husband is gone for most of the week, and I can safely say that 2010 was exhausting - physically, mentally, and emotionally.

That said, the year still had its moments.  It is, after all, my first year with Lilly, who alongside her sister, light up my life.  Anytime I get down, all I have to do is to look at those girls, and my spirits lift.  They are truly a blessing.  I also finally found the courage this year to recognize how unhappy I was in my professional life and found a new job that both challenges me and gives me the balance I have always sought.  Further, Jeremy and I have learned that we can handle so much more than we ever thought.  We are a much stronger couple, and much stronger individuals, than I ever imagined.  I can't complain in that regard.

Regardless, I have counted the days, hours, seconds until 2010 was over.  I am praying that 2011 is happier and healthier.  Every year, Dear Abby posts a New Year Resolution poem in her column.  I think a portion of it is exactly what I wish for 2011, as 2010 has taught me to take it one day at a time:

Just for today:  I will live through this day only.  I will not brood about yesterday or obsess about tomorrow.  I will not set far-reaching goals or try to overcome all of my problems at once.  I know I can do something for 24 hours that would overwhelm me if I had to keep it up for a lifetime.


Just for today:  I will be happy.  If my mind fills with clouds, I will chase them away and fill it with sunshine.


Just for today:  I will accept what is.  I will face reality.  I will correct those things I can correct and accept those I cannot.

So 2011, I will just take you one day at a time and pray that you will be kind to me and my family.

Liv's New Bicycle

Geared up and ready to go!

So excited!

A long way from home...

"Daddy, I can do it all by myself!"

Mommy and Lilly bringing up the rear...

So excited to be out in the 60 degree weather 

(after half a foot of snow only a week prior)!

Sad Christmas Memories

Christmas was wonderful this year, but I actually struggled a little this month because it brought back so many memories of our Christmas last year with Lilly and the phone call we received just days before Christmas that she may have cystic fibrosis.  I don't know why it bothered me so much, but just when I think I have a handle on things, I tend to have some bad days, so I shouldn't be surprised.  While I was reading through some support group blogs, which helps me when I am down, I came across this post.  It was not written by me, but everything this mother says describes exactly how I feel on a daily basis and I feel like I could have written it, at least the parts of dealing with your child's illness (I admit, I think towards the end it lays a pretty big guilt trip on people for not donating to the cause - not my intention at all!  I don't really agree with that, but I can definitely understand her frustration if nothing else.)

Some days... 

Some days Its ok. Some days I can think positive. I can see the light in a childs disease. I can see her fight, her innocence in thinking 20 pills a day is normal. I can work hours of breathing treatments and airway clearances into our schedule like ballet class or nap time. I can ignore when she coughs and when she tells someone with her sweet little voice in passing she has a cold and I can smile and keep going with out having the urge to tell them it isn’t really a cold, that to call it that would be like calling cancer a bug or aids the flu. Some days I can hold my breath while she coughs and then ask her questions like what would you like for lunch? or what did you do today? I can act like it doesn’t pull at my heart, like I’m not every-single-time saying a prayer in my head fighting to keep my legs straight and not bow down on my knees right then and there. Some days I can talk of a cure and tell people about the enormous strides we’ve made in science and how some children are living into their 30’s, 40’s and beyond. I can say this and skip around the thought of the ones who don’t. I can tell about her blood work and x-rays, about how at 4 years old she already has inflammation and irreversible lung damage with out picturing them, her tiny lungs. Without watching her breathe in and out and wondering each time if she’s breathing in a new bacteria, a new illness that will cause more little foggy marks in radiographs that should not have to be taken of a child this small. I can talk with a grin of the other things that fill our lives and how a disease will not stop us doing these things that we love. 

And somedays I can’t. 

Today I can’t. Today telling our story and reading others makes me ache to the bone and causes tears that overflow and just will not stop. I think about every time I read the words ‘he’s doing good’ and how they’re followed by a ‘for now’ and every time I hear a “we’re lucky” it’s followed by a list of things that haven’t happened ‘yet’ and how only one or two hospital stays a year is considered a healthy cystic fibrosis child. I think about how this effects us, where we’ll fit into this picture. I think about how healthy my child looks, thick glossy blonde hair, gleaming blue eyes, rosy ness in her cheeks and not a sign to strangers that her body is fighting with everything it’s got. I think about how funny it is that in one breath I can know with all of my being that someday she’ll be in pain and I won’t be able to stop it and in the next breath I can feel bad about asking for donations. Worried Ill make someone feel uncomfortable or be too pushy. I think about the guilt this causes as a mother and the confusion it causes as a person. Today I don’t care. Today I cry, my body heaving and my head aching with never ending relentless thoughts. Today I want a cure so bad I can feel it in my pulse. Each muscle straining with the weight of it, each nerve tingling and my head fuzzy with the energy I put into willing God for it. Today I wonder if her cracked nails are the beginning of clubbed fingers and toes. I wonder if she’ll be allergic to the antibiotic I have to put her on tomorrow like the three previous ones we’ve tried and if so, how will she do with her first I.V. I picture needles in her veins where scars will be later. I picture bruises on arms small enough to wrap my thumb and first finger around. Today I wonder how I will stay strong. Today all politeness is gone. I’m angry at those who will not donate five dollars; those who watch me, listen to me and do not ask more questions. I want emotion, reaction out of everyone. I want to be selfish and sink into my own pain. I want to know that it’s ok for a mother to have grief. I want to make each and every person I know realize that children are dyeing of this. My child could die of this, probably will die of this. Today it is not ok that there is not a cure. Today it is not ok that every person I know, that knows my daughter is not fighting for a cure with all of there hearts. 

Tomorrow it will be ok. I will understand. I will know that when someone has a thought of this, tries to imagine it, even has an emotion for it, it will be gone by the time they think of their next meal. It will be no more real or urgent to them as some ones kid who is sick. And I’ll be ok. I will recognize the formalities of life and its ties to mans experience. I’ll know that what we don’t see or touch in our own lives cannot be ingrained in us. That when it is not our child gasping for air and coughing until they vomit we cannot understand. It is not our fight. And I will be thankful for those who do brave into our world. I will identify the immense selflessness it takes to walk into such pain and be a light. To take someone’s grief and make it your own. To donate and walk and educate when it is not your child. To willingly glimpse a reality that is not yours. 
Today is today, not tomorrow or some other day but today. And today I cannot understand your happiness, your guiltless existence, your ignorance, your reality…only my pain. 
~Bree Alsman

Christmas at Nanny and Papaw's House

Must...

get...

away!

My girls :)

My hubby :)

New bicycle!

Thank you Nanny!

Thank you Papaw!