We are currently a grassroots organization, growing with the help of some lovely and generous friends. Help us grow even more by becoming a corporate sponsor!
Who is eligible?
Any business that wants exposure in our print and online publications, as well as our social media connections.
How does it work?
There are several levels of sponsorship. Choose the level that is right for your business:
advertising: our rate is $10 a month, or $100 for 12 months pre-paid. For this fee, your ad (with active link) will be displayed at the top of our sidebar for all to see! If you choose the $100 a year option, we'll include your logo in our print media including our yearly press kit and the brochure that is included in all Care Bags. We'll also be sure to promote you via our Facebook page.
donations: anyone donating $100 or more in products or services gets free advertising space for a year at the top of our website's sidebar, as well as a logo in our print media (including our press kit and pamphlets included in each Care Bag). We'll also give you a shout-out on our Facebook page! Email us if you would like a list of services and/or products that we need.
Note: There is a $10 one-time fee if you need us to make a button for your ad. You are free to submit your own logo and button, no fee attached!
We love our corporate sponsors and are happy to discuss the above options or other ideas you may have. Email us with any questions!
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Two Years Ago Today
Two years ago today we had the best and worst day of our lives.
Two years ago today, I felt a "snap" and heard my daughter's heart rate drop off the monitor during a routine induction.
Two years ago today, as nurses frantically inserted an IV and pushed my bed down the hall to the OR, I prayed the hardest I have ever prayed in my entire life.
Two years ago today, I delivered my daughter in the scariest fashion imaginable.
Two years ago today, I learned that nurses are heroes.
Two years and one day from this moment, I met my daughter for the first time-- covered in wires, head wrapped in a cooling cap, and tube helping her breathe.
We were told she wouldn't make it.
We were told to expect the worst.
We were told that even if she did make it through that first week, we were not out of the woods and would probably need to decide to either take her off life support or be parents to a daughter in a vegetative state.
She was baptized in my arms. It took two nurses and a respiratory tech to get her there. It was the first time I would hold her, at four days old, and the last time I'd hold her for awhile.
That week, we watched our sweet girl double in size as fluid filled her tiny body, unable to get rid of it because her kidneys had failed.
I prayed the second hardest I ever had; this time I prayed she would pee.
We ALL prayed she would pee.
And then... she did.
That was the second happiest day of our lives, despite the fact the EEG showed little brain activity.
We hated that EEG.
Then came the moment of truth-- they weaned her off her seizure meds to see if her brain would wake up.
We waited and waited to see what damage almost an hour without air had done to her baby brain.
She opened her eyes.
She looked at her daddy.
Even with the doctors saying they still weren't sure if she would make it, and that she'd probably have significant brain damage, she tried to show us otherwise.
We should have listened to that little one, trying to tell us she'd be okay.
50 days after she was born, we finally took our baby home from the hospital.
So each 4th of July, when we see fireworks, we remember our own little firecracker. And we remember to never, ever, ever, ever, EVER give up...
...or take life for granted...
...or say "no" when someone offers help...
...or forget that God does listen...
{just like those little bitty babies, even when we think they can't hear}.
Happy birthday, dear Abby. You continue to amaze and inspire all who meet you every day. In the words of your doctor, no pressure, but there's a reason you are here. We expect great things from you, as you've already pulled off what most said was impossible.
Just remind me of this little story the next time you hit your brother or throw a tantrum because you want to stay outside, you little stinker. ;-) You are two now, you know.
Two years ago today, I felt a "snap" and heard my daughter's heart rate drop off the monitor during a routine induction.
Two years ago today, as nurses frantically inserted an IV and pushed my bed down the hall to the OR, I prayed the hardest I have ever prayed in my entire life.
Two years ago today, I delivered my daughter in the scariest fashion imaginable.
Two years ago today, I learned that nurses are heroes.
Abby, just moments after being resuscitated
Two years and one day from this moment, I met my daughter for the first time-- covered in wires, head wrapped in a cooling cap, and tube helping her breathe.
We were told she wouldn't make it.
We were told to expect the worst.
We were told that even if she did make it through that first week, we were not out of the woods and would probably need to decide to either take her off life support or be parents to a daughter in a vegetative state.
She was baptized in my arms. It took two nurses and a respiratory tech to get her there. It was the first time I would hold her, at four days old, and the last time I'd hold her for awhile.
That week, we watched our sweet girl double in size as fluid filled her tiny body, unable to get rid of it because her kidneys had failed.
I prayed the second hardest I ever had; this time I prayed she would pee.
We ALL prayed she would pee.
And then... she did.
That was the second happiest day of our lives, despite the fact the EEG showed little brain activity.
We hated that EEG.
Then came the moment of truth-- they weaned her off her seizure meds to see if her brain would wake up.
We waited and waited to see what damage almost an hour without air had done to her baby brain.
She opened her eyes.
She looked at her daddy.
Even with the doctors saying they still weren't sure if she would make it, and that she'd probably have significant brain damage, she tried to show us otherwise.
We should have listened to that little one, trying to tell us she'd be okay.
50 days after she was born, we finally took our baby home from the hospital.
So each 4th of July, when we see fireworks, we remember our own little firecracker. And we remember to never, ever, ever, ever, EVER give up...
...or take life for granted...
...or say "no" when someone offers help...
...or forget that God does listen...
{just like those little bitty babies, even when we think they can't hear}.
Happy birthday, dear Abby. You continue to amaze and inspire all who meet you every day. In the words of your doctor, no pressure, but there's a reason you are here. We expect great things from you, as you've already pulled off what most said was impossible.
Abby in front of the NICU where she spent her first hours of life
Just remind me of this little story the next time you hit your brother or throw a tantrum because you want to stay outside, you little stinker. ;-) You are two now, you know.
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