Danann Tyler

Meet Danann. 

Please take the 51 seconds to meet her in this video first before reading ahead. 

Danann is the sweet daughter of a high school friend of mine.  She’s 9.  If you watch all the clips about Danann you’ll learn that at the age of 4 she was so depressed and despondent living as a boy she threw herself in front of a car.  Think about this for a second.  A four year old child was suicidal.  Can you imagine the amount of pain and heartache she must have been feeling at that time?  This wasn’t a case of mommy and daddy wouldn’t give her a toy she wanted, this wasn’t a temper tantrum over an outfit, this was clinical and serious.

Danann was born a boy.  In her own words, she knew as early as 2 years old that she was supposed to be a girl.  That her outside didn’t match her inside, and the incongruity she was living with every day, even at that young age, was the cause of more emotional turmoil than most of us experience in our lifetime.  Danann is transgender. 

Let’s back up a little bit.  What is transgender?  According to the American Psychological Association, “Transgender is an umbrella term for persons whose gender identity, gender expression, or behavior does not conform to that typically associated with the sex to which they were assigned at birth.” (http://www.apa.org/topics/sexuality/transgender.aspx) Being transgender doesn’t mean a person is gay, although they can be.  Being gay doesn’t make someone transgender.  At a basic level, being transgender is a state of identity in which a person’s brain is wired for one gender, and a person’s genitalia are wired for another.  Transgender is not the same as cross-dressing. 

This is a very real, very documented state of being.  There have been transgender figures throughout history and you can easily find the research and information by using amazon and google.  That’s not what this post is about. 

This post is about Danann and her acceptance in society as her true self.  We all want to be seen for who we really are.  Regardless of what our individual struggles are, we want people to see us, our authentic selves, and we do our very best every day to present our authentic selves to the world around us.  Danann’s parents were advised from a medical professional that it was in Danann’s best interest to let her present as female much earlier than many transgender kids because of the extreme distress that she was experiencing in being forced to live as a male.  Almost immediately, Danann’s parents could see the difference in their child.  She became happy and engaged in the world around her.  The sparkle came back into her eyes.  And who can blame her?  All you have to do is watch that video up there to see what a joy her presence is in the world. 

One of the things Danann wanted to do was be a Girl Scout.  As we all know, the Girl Scouts preach inclusiveness and diversity in ways the boy scouts never have.  The Girl Scouts would be a perfect place for Danann.  That is, until the CEO of the local girl scouts in Danann’s conservative California county caught wind of Danann’s appearance on Ricki Lake.  Girl Scouts of Orange County, through the CEO, informed Danann’s mother that Danann could not be a full-fledged girl scout.  She could be an “independent” Girl Scout, who would be allowed to go on field trips but not participate in troop meetings or earn badges.  The CEO felt it was her duty to inform other parents in the troop that Danann wasn’t a “real” girl, and told her mother that this was all her fault for their activism in raising awareness about transgender children.  This sort of “separate but equal” treatment of Danann is unacceptable.

Now, lest you think that all Girl Scout councils are created equal, they are not.  A transgender girl in Colorado was allowed to join her local troop.  When Danann’s mother brought this information to the Orange County organization, she was told that all states are different.  So if you are a transgender girl living in Colorado, you have access to the Girl Scouts and everything they provide, but if you’re a transgender girl living in Orange County, California, you’re out of luck.

Let’s be clear.  A 9 year old girl is being denied the opportunity to participate in Girl Scouts because she is different from the other girls.  The Girl Scouts of America publishes a document entitled “The Architecture of Inclusion,” and nowhere in the document does it say that this inclusiveness of the Girl Scouts does not extend to transgender girls.  When you tell a transgender girl that she isn’t a “real” girl, you are perpetuating the myth that she is just playing dress-up, that what she is feeling and dealing with isn't real.  You are telling her she isn’t worthy of being seen as her true self. That she is less than.

40% of transgender adults admit to having attempted suicide.  The same rate in the general population is 1.6%.  Let that sink in.  In a world where kids and adults would rather DIE than live as someone who they are not, don’t you think we have a responsibility to understand these kids?  Don’t you think we have a duty to include them in the walks of life they want to participate in?  Why do we cheer when a girl wants to be on the football or the wrestling team, but we can’t wrap our minds around a little girl wanting to be a girl scout like all of her friends?  Because that’s all this is.  A little girl, who is bright, and erudite, and just happens to have been born in the wrong body, wants to contribute to the world by being a Girl Scout.  What’s so wrong about that?

I want to believe that once the National Girl Scout organization catches wind of this, things will change.  And that’s why I’m posting this.  To get the word out and to hope that someone who can do something for Danann, and all the other girls like her, will read it and take action.

The Girl Scout Law says:

I will do my best to be

honest and fair,

friendly and helpful,

considerate and caring,

courageous and strong, and

responsible for what I say and do,

and to

respect myself and others,

respect authority,

use resources wisely,

make the world a better place, and

be a sister to every Girl Scout.

Honesty.  Fairness.  Respect.  Courage.  I don’t know of another girl who more exemplifies these traits than Danann. 

With or without the Girl Scouts, you make the world a better place, Danann.  If only the rest of us could make the world a better place for you to be, we’d be a lot better off.

If you’re interested in emailing or calling the Girl Scouts of Orange County, the contact information for them can be found here:  http://www.girlscoutsoc.org/who-we-are/staff-directory. 

Small Hours

There’s something so bittersweet about Christmas night after the kids go to sleep.  The space under the tree is empty, trash bags are filled with wrapping paper that so carefully covered treasures only hours before.  It comes and goes so quickly.  I barely realized it was here and it was gone.

But it was a wonderful day, one in which my adorable son exclaimed “I can’t believe this is really happening” as I set up his and his sister’s new iPod touches, and a day he declared the “Best Christmas ever.”  He’s quite the expert now, having been through 7 of them.

The kids made out like bandits this year, and the adults didn’t do too shabby either.  Despite being in the midst of the winter crud, both kids were thrilled with everything they opened and were more than happy to sit and watch others open presents and enjoyed spending time with their family.  It was beautiful to see them wait expectantly while their auntie or their Nana Deborah opened presents they were more than excited to give them.  This was the first year they really shopped for us and for each other, and they truly seemed to delight in the joy of giving as much as receiving.   Well, almost as much.

We’re still fully entrenched in the magic of Santa, thankfully.  At 2 oclock this morning, I woke to Julia’s coughing over the monitor, and I went in to check on her.  When I went into her room, she told me she “went downstairs and Santa came and he brought Nate a bike!!!!”  I said, “I know, and there’s a whole bunch for you, too, isn’t there?”  Yes, she replied, and I asked her to lie down and go back to sleep.  She begged for me to snuggle with her.  I squeezed in next to her in her twin bed, and asked her to close her eyes and go to sleep.  “I can’t,” she said breathlessly, “I can’t stop thinking about the presents!”  I giggled with her and pulled her close so she could match her breathing with mine as I slowed down and drifted off.  I slept with her like that for about an hour or so, before moving back to my own bed.

One of our traditions is the family service at church on Christmas Eve.  It includes the children’s pageant, and at the end the children of the congregation are invited to sit up at the front to view the scene and listen to Dean Baker give a special sermon directed at them.  Every year, we have encouraged our children to go up front with the other kids, and ever year they go, but only because one of us accompanies them.  Until this year.  For the first time, they went up and didn’t look back.  They sat attentively, responded in all the appropriate places, and came running back when it was done.  They followed along and sang with the words in the church program, reading the words all on their own.  They sat at our fancy Christmas Eve dinner out and behaved themselves as if we go out to fancy dinners all the time.

As grown up as they seemed last night, when I climbed into bed to snuggle with my daughter last night, I marveled at how much she’s still my baby girl.  Her little body still fits so easily in my arms.  She still comes running when she’s hurt or doesn’t feel well.  And while “snuggle with me” may just as easily be a stall tactic as it is anything else, I know that asking for such a thing won’t be part of her repertoire much longer.

Christmas, for me, has always been a milestone marker – much like birthdays and the start of the school year.  I’ve struggled a lot this year with watching as my kids transition to true schoolkids.  And yet, instead of seeing them this Christmas as the big kids they are becoming, I felt like I saw in them a glimpse of the part of them that will always be my babies.  The way my daughter snuggles into me when she doesn’t feel well and the way my son comes running for a thank you hug without any reservation and almost knocks me over – these are the moments I’ll be able to put in my pocket and take out years from now when the days are filled with rolled eyes and “leave me alone.”

I love Christmas, for so many reasons but, in large part because it forces me every year to take stock – to remind myself that I have so much to be thankful for.  It’s so easy to get lost in the minutiae of the grind – work, infertility, money – and forget to take pleasure in the little things.  Not the presents or the big fancy dinner, but the time spent enjoying each other’s company.  The memories.  The love.

Merry Christmas, and whether you celebrate the holiday or not, I hope the spirit of the holiday reaches your heart the way it does mine and reminds you to stop and breathe in the little wonders in your life.

These small hours.  These are the ones that matter.

Worthy of Their Memory

I need to talk about something else.  I need to think about something else.  And then, talking and thinking about something else seems selfish when there are others who are living it.

Yesterday morning was a hurried, rainy day drop off at school.  I gave hugs and kisses from inside the car and shooed them off to the dry cafeteria where they meet on rainy mornings.  I cried when I left.  My friend Amy texted late in the day to say that the kids all seemed blissfully unaware during her time volunteering in the classroom, and I finally exhaled. 

Today was a “regular” day.  One where I hang out with them on the playground and walk them to their classes.  And as I rounded the corner to leave I saw the police car parked in front of the office, and the officer standing guard on the sidewalk.  I instantly teared up, and as I walked by him I could barely get out, “thank you for being here.” 

I’m not going to use my blog as a space to air or discuss my political views on where we go or what we do from here.  I refuse.  I will participate in the larger discourse, I just don’t feel right engaging in it in this space.  I will take the same challenge Mel did, from Dyke in the Heart of Texas – to remember at least one name of a victim, so that the killer’s name is not what I will remember. 

This is Avielle Richman.  She had curly brown hair and loved horses and swimming.  And when I see her I see my daughter.  I will remember Avielle.  I will remember her when I kiss my kids at drop off, and when I tuck them in at night.  I will remember Avielle as the face of Sandy Hook.  When someone talks of Adam Lanza, I will whisper Avielle’s name twice, because her name should be associated with Sandy Hook rather than his. 

In President Obama’s speech in Sandy Hook, he said:

God has called them all home.  For those of us who remain, let us find the strength to carry on, and make our country worthy of their memory.

Worthy of their memory.  There is much work to do here.  And I think we start by never forgetting.  By always bringing with us the memory of how we feel about that heinous day.  No matter how passionately we argue about the politics, we cannot forget that there are faces behind the statistics. 

Avielle.  May we always be worthy of your memory. 

Heartbroken

It would be easy to say I’ve been numb since the news hit Friday morning.  The truth is I wish I had been numb.  Numb would be preferable to the sheer horror, the shock, the abject fear and devastation that I’ve cycled through all weekend.  The only thing that stopped me from driving to the twins’ school and bringing them home is that I knew it would only frighten them unnecessarily.  And since I had no intention of telling them what happened, I felt like it was more appropriate to allow them to finish their day as if it were any other day rather than assuage my fears by confusing them.

Friday was supposed to be “date night.”  We were supposed to get a rare night out while the kids hung out with their auntie and went to the movies.  I couldn’t stomach the thought of them being away from us any longer than the school day, so I texted Heidi and asked her if she was ok with a family dinner out.  She agreed.  She, too, had spent the day off and on in tears, turning off the news only to have to turn it back on again.  I had a work event to attend in the afternoon, and begged her to tell me once she had the kids with her.  She texted that there were many more parents at pickup than normal – my guess is the after-school programs were markedly sparse Friday afternoon.  Blissfully unaware of why their teachers were squeezing them extra tightly as they sent them off for the weekend, the twins were eager to tell stories of cupcakes and projects and tales of playground antics.

When I finally walked through the door after a tearful drive home, I could barely contain my emotions.  Julia asked me why I was crying, and Heidi told her I had missed her all day.  That seemed to satisfy her.  And when Julia and Nate took to the couch to play with the iPads so I could get ready to go to dinner, I took a step into the hall and sobbed for about 5 minutes.  We spent a nice evening at dinner and Christmas shopping, and when it came time to put them to bed, I sat with each of them just a little longer, hugged them both a little tighter.

I’ve spent most of the weekend staying away from the news.  It’s too much.  And facebook is worse.  The yelling and screaming at each other about the politics of tragedy, as if somehow anything anyone says about the “musts” and the “shoulds” will change anything at all.  No matter what we do from here, it won’t change the fact that 20 innocent babies died.  It won’t change the fact that teachers sacrificed themselves to save their students.  It won’t change the fact that dropping all of our children off at school tomorrow will be petrifying in a way we never wanted to imagine.

Today was a run day.  I’m a week off in my half-marathon training because of a fender bender two weeks ago.  So instead of 8 miles today, my scheduled run was 3.  It wasn’t raining, so I opted for an afternoon run outside.  As soon as I stepped outside in the cold I could feel the tears well up.  I knew where I had to go. 

The twins’ school is just over a mile and a half from our house.  I’ve used our route to school as a running route many times before and used the school as my turnaround point – a halfway point of sorts.  Today it was my destination.  As I rounded the second to last corner before the school I struggled not to cry.  I crossed the street in front of the school and could see a pink jacket on the playground, discarded, no doubt, by a student playing at recess who got too warm and then neglected to pick it up on the way back into class.  But when I saw that jacket, laying there on the playground, I lost it. I walked the short distance between the “big kid” playground and the kindergarten playground and sobbed. 

I needed to be there.  I needed to see that it was the same place.  I needed to see that it’s the same place I’ve dropped the twins off at and picked them up from over a hundred times.  I needed to cry there today so I don’t cry there tomorrow.  

I caught my breath and started back towards home. 

Tomorrow, I have to load the kids in the car, drive them to school, and leave them there.  I will never look upon the simple task of dropping them off at school the same way again.  Our mornings have been frustrating the past few weeks, and I always make sure before I leave school that each of them has had a hug and a kiss and an “I love you.”  Nothing will change for them.   For me, though, it will become as my friend Mel calls it, an act of faith. 

I don’t know where we go from here.  As a society.  As parents.  As guardians of all the children, regardless of whether we are parents or not.  I just know that even as an adult, it’s possible to still have innocence left to be stolen. 

Proud Isn't a Strong Enough Word

The kids have been working in school for over a month on their holiday program.   We pick them up and they sing holiday songs in the car.  They sing holiday songs all over the house.  They sing holiday songs until we think they must be tired of singing these same four holiday songs and then they sing them some more.  They do “sincere choreography” (as in pointing down and then to their heart to signify “from the bottom of my heart”) to every song they sing.  They love to perform for us.

Julia has been through two dance recitals in her life thus far.  The first one I was sure wasn’t going to happen.  She went backstage with all those older girls and saw the size of the stage and completely freaked out.  I followed my instinct and stayed with her for a few minutes as they all warmed up behind the curtains and then left her with her teacher thinking my presence would likely make it worse.  She hit the stage and felt the spotlights and turned on the stage presence.  She loved it.

Nate’s never had a chance to perform in this way.  He’s played three seasons of t-ball and a season of basketball (with kids on his team almost twice his age), but never has he been on stage in a play or recital.  So when Wednesday rolled around and Heidi texted me “Houston we have a problem” I should have seen it coming that it might mean that Nate was experiencing some anxiety. 

At one point, during the first few weeks of school, his teacher had heard him making up his own lyrics to one of the songs they sang in class and she asked him to stand up in front of the class and teach it to them and he froze.  This is also the kid who tries to hide when people come to the house, even people he knows well.  But this is also the same kid who can be the littlest guy on a baseball team and yet have no problem taking his place at the plate or fielding grounders in front of a whole group of strangers.

So, Wednesday, he broke down with his teacher and told her he was scared about being up on stage.  Being the great teacher she is, she talked with him about it, and told us about it as well.  As soon as she told Heidi about it at pick-up, Nate immediately broke down.  I told her to tell him it was like going up to bat, and to ask his sister about her experiences.  (Incidentally, all Julia managed to get across to him was how scared she was – not exactly the helpful thing we were going for).  So when I got home we talked a little about it, and I told him that it was ok to be scared and that other kids were scared too.  And that I had a very special thing for him to help him that I would give him Friday morning before the performance.

Yesterday we tried to talk it up in terms of “aren’t you excited,” “won’t it be fun,” etc…  I told him it was ok to be scared and he wasn’t the only one nervous in his class. 

So, this morning, we all woke up and started getting ready.  The kids were encouraged to wear their “holiday best” so Nate was going to wear his Christmas eve outfit for church and Julia was going to wear last year’s Christmas dress (yes it still fits, no she’s not wearing it on Christmas this year).  When everyone was dressed and ready, I ran up to my jewelry box and took Nate to the kitchen table. 

“Buddy, this is a very special rock, called a worry stone.  You put it in your pocket when you have to do something that’s kind of scary and when you feel nervous or scared you can put your hand in your pocket and when you feel it you’ll know that your Mommy and your Momo and your Aunties and everyone who loves you is with you and everything will be ok.”  We passed the stone around to Heidi and Tara and Julia and all of us gave his rock a kiss and then he put it in his pocket.  He started to tear up and said, “But I’m still scared,” and I told him that was ok, but that the rock would help him.  Then I pulled Julia aside and she said, “But I don’t have pockets in my dress mommy.”  I told her that I had something else special for her, and gave her a necklace with a tiara charm on it (I wish I’d thought to go to the store in Old town that has crystals – next time).  I told her any time she was nervous she could put her hand up to it and know that we were all with her (of course we all kissed it for her too).  Off we went to school.

Nervously sitting in the school cafeteria, camera and iPhone in hand, the curtains opened and all the kindergarten children were distributed among the risers with a row of children sitting on the floor in the front, including Nathan and Julia, separated by only one other child.  Instantly, I could see Nate scanning the audience for us, and even though I’d made sure we sat smack in the middle near the front and all four of us were waving frantically at him he still wasn’t catching any of us in his line of sight.  You could see him start to panic.  The teacher was sitting on the cafeteria floor, just in front of the stage, so all the kids could see her.  She started to motion to him to look at her and he was trying, but he couldn’t stop the panic.  He put his hand in the pocket with the stone.  I moved out of my seat and knelt behind her so he could see me and pointed to where the rest of our group was.  I made funny faces at him, smiled at him, and sang the first song with him.  He cried pretty much through the whole first number. 

As the second song started, he started to relax, and lo and behold he even had a smile on his face.  He was enjoying himself!  I started to take more pictures and was able to catch Julia’s eye a few times and my heart swelled as she would give me a big cheesy grin.  One of the songs had a piece of choreography that had them putting their fingers to their noses, and she would cross her eyes just to make me laugh. 

Nate continued to smile and sing and do all the choreography.  His hand came away from the stone and he clearly was starting to have fun. 

20 minutes after it started, it was over.  The teacher turned around to me and mouthed, “He made it!” 

The curtains closed and I motioned that we would see them in class.  He so badly wanted to get up and tell the class he had been scared but it was fun, except as soon as he got up in front of the class the stage fright hit him again.  By then, all of us there to see Nate and Julia perform were in tears.  The teacher hugged him and let all the kids go out to recess.  I talked with her briefly about how we’d worked with him and she told me that he’d been crying about it in class.  Apparently, at one point he’d raised his hand to talk about being scared and Julia piped in, “That’s my brother, he’s nervous, he has two moms.”  Way to lay it all out there, girl.

All in all, I count today as a success.  Had he completely lost it and walked off stage, it still would have been a success because he tried.  But I’m so proud of his perseverance and his willingness to keep trying.  When we got them home, he hopped out of the car and said, “Today was a really fun day.”

It sure was kiddo.  I know I’ll never forget it.

My Fight is More Important than Your Fight

Sigh.  Another movie to use the R word.  I just don’t get it.  And I was really thinking this movie might be one I’d be interested in seeing.  Well, it’s not getting my money now. 

But, this post isn’t about The Descendants and how they shouldn’t have used the R word in the movie.  They shouldn’t have, and yes, I know it’s in the book.  But come on.  It’s gratuitous in both places and completely unnecessary from what I have read of the dialogue snippet.  (Disclaimer – I’ve neither read the book nor seen the movie, but I’ve read the actual dialogue posted elsewhere).

That’s not the discussion I want to have. 

The discussion I want to have is about the way many advocates for people with special needs automatically pull out the gay card when talking about why nobody stands up against the r word.  The general argument tends to go like this (paraphrasing from many different sites – not singling any one out):

“It’s much more socially acceptable to speak up against using ‘gay’ as a slur than it is to speak up against the ‘r’ word."

Some folks have even said that because there are gay people in positions of power in Hollywood that the “gay issue” gets more press than the ‘r’ word issue. 

Here’s the thing.  I agree.  I agree it’s become more socially acceptable to fight the gay slur than it is to fight the r word.  And these bloggers are probably right – there are gay people in power in Hollywood which is probably why the gay issue gets more airtime. 

Here’s my problem.  Why is it a competition between the two?  Why is it that in order to fight for one you have to throw the other under the bus?  As a lesbian mom completely against using the r word, every time I see one of these arguments it’s like a stab in the back.  Because I stand strong against the r word, and yet there are folks out there who are saying that the fight against using “gay” as a slur is something they see as an impediment to raising awareness against the r word. 

My belief is this:  We’re on the same train, headed the same direction, fighting for the same thing.  Instead of arguing that someone out there sees one as more important than the other, show how they are arguments cut from the same cloth.  Ultimately, isn’t that the case?  Both fights are about using derogatory words that reference something you can’t change about a person as hurtful slurs.  Equating what someone is with being unworthy. 

Now I know one of the big arguments is that the r word targets people who can’t speak for themselves, can’t fight for themselves, and therefore are somehow more deserving of us as advocates for them.  I’d argue that while this is true to an extent, there are MANY folks out there with disabilities who can self-advocate, and the generalization that nobody with special needs can self advocate actually perpetuates the myths surrounding raising children with disabilities.  Yes, there are kids who will not be able to self-advocate and we must do so on their behalf, but I think we need to be careful in the language we use even as we advocate so that we don’t unintentionally do damage to the very independence we try to build for the world’s population of people with disabilities. 

My other issue with this idea that we have to stand up for those who can’t stand for themselves, and therefore the ‘r’ word is more deserving than ‘gay’, is that this assumption neglects the thousands and thousands of LGBT young people who can’t stand up for themselves, whether due to unaccepting family, hostile school environments, lack of resources locally, etc…  Gay teens have an astronomically high suicide rate.  A few years ago, a co-worker of mine had a son in one of the local high schools.  His close friend came out and his father told him, “I’d rather have a dead son than a gay son.”  A week later the young man hung himself.  This was a CHILD.  Someone who felt like he had no choice.  Who didn’t believe he was worthy of living because the people in his life told him that what he was made him worthless.  Tell me that a gay 14 year old can self advocate while living in self-loathing.  Tell me that a gay 16 year old kid can self advocate while being sent to conversion camp to make him straight. 

The use of the ‘r’ word and the use of ‘gay’ as a slur are both unacceptable.  It’s easy to see how.  Substitute your child’s name for ever time you go to use either one of them.  Don’t say, “That’s so gay” when you think something is stupid, say “That’s so little Susie.”  Don’t say “That’s retarded” when you think something isn’t worth your time, say “That’s just so Timothy.”  Wait.  What?  How could you use a child as a synonym for something being stupid or worthless?

Exactly.

If you’re going to stand against hateful speech, stand against all of it.  But my fight against the ‘r’ word is not mutually exclusive of my fight against the use of ‘gay’ as a slur.  Because the bottom line is that we are all worth more than having who or what we are used as an insult.  It’s time to realize what we have in common is greater than what we have that separates us, and only when we realize this will we have the power to truly effect change.

Amazing

Kylen has a family!!!!!!  In just one day on the site, Kylen now has a family working very hard to bring her home as fast as possible.  It will probably be next week before we have information on Kylen's new family and hopefully a blog where we can follow their progress to bringing Kylen home.

Now, what this seems to mean is that Kylen is not being fundraised for in the same way.  I've been told to sit tight until Kylen's family has their own fundraising page and then we can help bring Kylen home.

In the meantime, there are SO MANY kids who are still waiting.  Go look at the kids on the Angel Tree.  They are listed in descending order of how big their current grants are.  Look at the faces of kids like Tabitha, and Justin.

Then.  Look at this face.

This is Suzanne.  Suzanne was born the same month and year and Nate and Julia.  She should be in kindergarten with them.

This is the face of a child who has been transferred.  Transferred?  Where?

To a mental institution.

More than likely she is in a crib.  Restrained.  Her head shaved so the caregivers do not have to deal with it.

A child.

Think about this for a second.  She's FIVE years old.  All she needs is a family to love her.  That's it.

Donate $5 to any one of these kids grant funds.  Suzanne has a Christmas Warrior named Sydney.  If you have a blog, Sydney is doing a blog design giveaway!

Here's the thing.  I know we are in a holding pattern on Kylen, but so many kids need our help.  Skip your Starbucks and donate it to one of the kids.  If you're feeling particularly generous, donate $35 and Reece's Rainbow will send you a Christmas ornament with the child's picture on it.

Share this post.  With as many people as you know.  Because maybe someone will see your post, look at one of those faces, and realize that's their son or daughter just out there waiting for them.