Farmer Atticus

Tomato Picking

Since losing my little dreamhouse on Courage Street back in 2010, we’ve been renters. In the last five years we’ve lived in three houses that were pretty great, all things considered. And because we’ve had such good luck I haven’t been in a rush to re-enter the market. Plus, to be honest, I wasn’t ready to love again. I am such a home body – like, a literal agoraphobe – and a home is such an important symbol to me of the roots I long to put down and the safe place I long to create, that losing my first home of my own left a mark on me. (And of course there was the whole destroyed credit and no down payment thing that comes with having a foreclosure on your record. Curse you financial meltdown!!)

Our current house is just ridiculously gorgeous and great for us. We have amazing neighbors, Atti can use his wheelchair to get anywhere in the house, and this backyard. I mean. But it’s not ours. And I’m feeling those hunger pains again.

We went looking at a property last week and it was PERFECT. I can’t stop thinking about it. But they were asking A LOT because there were three houses on the parcel, and yet they were all trailers. To do what we’d want to do we’d have to tear everything down and build again, which would be great, except for the land being way too expensive for that to make any sense. But this land. I dream about it. Views of the mountains on one side, the valley on the other. Acres of rolling hills only ten minutes from Bear’s work. If only.

It might take us a whole other year to really get what we want because as God is my witness I’m never moving again. Bear keeps wanting to play conservative because he doesn’t want to be house poor again, I keep saying I don’t care if we’re house poor for a few years if it means that I never have to pack another box in my life. And I have my heart set on lots and lots of land. In part because I have big plans for a group home for gay kids who can work the farm to prepare for their future and save for college, but also just for Atticus. This kid is an outdoor kid.

When you spend your whole childhood in physical and occupational therapy, you get what they call “therapized.” He’s so used to being bossed around, picked up and lifted into position, told to do simple tasks that have no context, and eventually he’s gotten rebellious. At therapy he pretends he can’t stand or take steps, but at home, if there is a box of Cheerios on the counter out of his reach, he can suddenly master his body in ways I can hardly believe. It’s a constant battle to provide a reward or context that makes enough sense to him to keep doing the work it takes to move his body. And these days, it’s really hard to teach a kid to work.

But! If we had a farm! For a kid who loves playing outside so much every piece of clothing that goes on his lower body is ripped up from dragging against the concrete, whose back is as bronzed as the face of a cowboy but with a belly as pale as a lizard’s, who has callouses on his knees and his toes from the unique way he travels, on a farm, he would work.

Last night I told him that I would take him outside to pick tomatoes with me and we could send them to school for his teachers. He got so excited he jumped on my belly and giggled and refused to go to sleep. First thing this morning I got him dressed in his outside clothes as we sang about Little Atticus had a Farm and all the animals he would have and the tomatoes he would grow with a pick pick here and a pick pick there. We went to my little backyard patch and Atti – who you have to bribe to eat anything not carb based – ate every tomato that hit the bottom of the bowl. And then got entranced by “the little green ones” and picked tomatoes until he counted to 100.

He told me that the first animal he wants to get is a goat. And then a chicken so he can eat the eggs for breakfast. I want to get him a donkey he can ride around or pull him in a wagon. If we had a little donkey, he could take it hiking. Seeing how the world could open up for him in these old fashioned ways, I get teary eyed just thinking about it.

So for now we’ll have to make do with little tomatoes and wrangling cats. Because I am not settling for another house. When I move again, it will be for our Dreamfarm.


Atti Update

Baclofen pump

Atti stayed home from school today. We’re all recovering from the flu, but that’s not really what did it. It was his screaming and tears when we tried to get him up and ready this morning. This is not the first time either. It only started a week and a half ago and he’s already begged and cried his way out of three days of school.

This actually doesn’t have anything to do with school. He loves riding the bus so much he cries when he gets home. He loves his teachers, he loves the routine, he loves learning, but ever since his surgery my anxious little guy has ramped up into a kid who never wants to leave the house.

We tempt him with movies or his favorite foods or trips to special places like the zoo. Bear even took him to a water park and he begged to go home after minutes. Even with a rash guard covering his belly.

When he’s at home he’s happy as can be. As I type he’s making up songs and playing with his Kindle at my feet. He needs a lot more assurance than pre-surgery, but since that basically just means more snuggles, I’m not mad at that. I just worry about my little guy and his relationship to the big wide world.

Shortly after I married Bear, I went through a period of agoraphobia. I would shake and cry at the thought of leaving the house. I failed my last semester of college, I lost a job, the thought of leaving that front door caused me physical pain. Now I know it’s all part of the OCD/anxiety broth my brain is stewing in, but the conditions I was living in – not having the tools to be open and vulnerable to my spouse without letting all the pain of the world overwhelm me – took my typical level of compulsion to a place that made sunshine seem dangerous.

I think that’s what’s going on with Atticus. He has had a major, major, change to his body. Imagine how self-conscious you feel when you’ve put on a little weight. Remember how it kept you from applying for a job, or reaching out to someone you wanted to know. Now compound that by medical necessity, disability, and the fact that there is a giant medical appliance jutting out from his tummy instead of just a little normal extra weight. This poor kid is already so different in so many ways, but he also knows how beautiful he is. This threatens that. This is another threat to his ability to fit in.

He will get used to it. It’s amazing what you can learn to accept. And we have all the right people involved. I’m just trying to be very carefully tuned in to him. Most days I would just tell him “Tough beans. You’re going to school.” But there are some days when that would make everything so much worse. Days like today when he just needs to feel safe and tackling the world comes after that. It would all be so much easier if he could speak fluently enough to go to therapy, or tell me how to help. But he doesn’t, so we’re both stumbling through trying to figure this all out together. All I know is that my first job is to make him know that he is loved. So back to the work of snuggling, and pushing, and eventually he’ll get through this.


Atti gets his Baclofen Pump

Kid in Hospital Bed
After a year stuck in red tape hell, we FINALLY got all the approvals necessary for my little guy to get his next surgery. I kept thinking of this one as a quicky on the road to the two major hip reconstructions we have coming up, but boy was I wrong. This one was HARD. And totally sucked. For all of us.

Atti had a Baclofen pump implanted in his abdomen. The pump is full of medicine and releases it directly into the spine, where it can bypass all the side effects of taking something orally. In this case, Baclofen is a muscle relaxant which, if you’ve ever taken a muscle relaxant you know, makes you stoned. Sleepy and silly and incoherent is no way to go through life. So by having this pump he gets all the medicine he needs but he still gets to keep his clarity.

I didn’t realize until our pre-op appointment that he was going to be in the hospital for a week. Or that he’d require at least two weeks of recovery at home afterward. With all of Atti’s surgeries he’s bounced right back almost even before we left the hospital. This one was different.

Dad and Sick Kid

This time, we couldn’t keep his pain under control. He’s so stoic that he never cried, he just writhed around in bed with the pain written all over his face. The worst was when he’d wake up in the middle of the night begging for help. I will hear that little voice in my nightmares until the end of time.

I stayed with him in the hospital the whole time, and since it was Shriners we were spoiled rotten. I got a roll out bed next to him so I didn’t have to sleep in pushed together chairs or a windowsill like I’ve had to in the past. There was a day room playing music he liked and a cafeteria with decent enough food. But still, it was the hardest time I’ve ever had as a parent of a kid with medical needs. This hurt him so bad. The pain has been intense and bewildering. And it’s hurt how he feels about himself. And there’s nothing I can do but hold him and love him and try to save my tears for the bathroom, or at least where it’s too dark for him to see.

We’ve been home now for a couple of weeks and Atti is crawling around like nothing happened to his little body. The spasms in his legs are way down, we can get his legs open enough to easily change diapers, I think this is going to make a massive massive difference for my little hero.

But we still have some healing to do. Both of us.


Newsflash: In Vitro is hard!

Fertility Meds

Every time I think I’ve got the hard stuff of this year behind me and I’m ready to get back on the horse of regular life, the next thing comes along and knocks me flat again. We’re now at a year and a half of health garbage taking over my life – when it wasn’t outright threatening it – all with the hope of having another baby. This kid better be dang cute, that’s all I have to say. And, of course, it better exist.

I have gotten through the egg retrieval phase of IVF, which really really sucked. Like, bad. Over the years I’ve known hundreds of people who have done IVF and everyone said it was hard, but nobody really prepared me for exactly how hard it is. Granted, I am a medical marvel that will find every possible complication, but still. I had to put every single other thing in my life on the back burner and just do this. While Bear got Atti on the bus and raced home from work to pick him up, I laid on the couch watching old episodes of the Bachelor and moaning.

Every ounce of energy that wasn’t necessary for breathing was draining into my ovaries. I slept and slept and slept and I was still exhausted as my egg factories were kicked into hyperdrive, reacting to the oodles of medication I was taking every day. My belly was so swollen I looked like a waterbed, and I was covered from hip to belly button in giant bruises and puncture marks.

Since I’m one of those women who has pain during ovulation, and here I was hyper ovulating, it was not only exhausting, but PAINFUL. And even taking advil freaked me out, panicked I’d be causing harm to the eggs or risking the whole process. I used a heating pad to try and get a little relief but even then I was too worried about making hard boiled eggs to have it help much.

But all of that investment in energy paid off when we got news that there were over 30 eggs waiting to be retrieved. I went in for a quick procedure where they sedated me and then used a needle to aspirate up each of those little eggs. By the time I woke up they were already at the lab being joined by a sperm that had been individually chosen as the best candidate. I had visions of embryologists looking through their microscopes at a little sperm beauty pageant, the winner crowned and injected directly into the egg. Then we just had to wait and let nature take its course.

Of course, since I am, once again, a medical oddity, I had complications even from this little procedure. I had some bleeding that they couldn’t get stopped easily, which resulted in bleeding into my abdominal cavity. Apparently, I’ve learned the hard way, there is a major nerve that runs underneath the diaphragm and sends the impulse to move up and down to breathe. This nerve gets aggressively irritated by blood. So for nearly three weeks this nerve was driving me to distraction. The first night I felt like I was drowning, it felt like I couldn’t get my lungs to fill. Then as my body slowly, slowly, slowly absorbed the blood that was causing all the problems, I began to breathe easier, but I still had intense shooting nerve pain up into my shoulder. After a month of exhaustion making the eggs, I had another month of pain just trying to heal from getting them.

It was disheartening to watch the numbers go down at each stage of development – 30+ eggs retrieved, 16 fertilized, 12 grew to day 2, 8 made it to “blast stage” and on and on. I kept trying to remind myself that it didn’t matter how many embryos we had as long as we got a baby at the end, but it was terrifying to think of everything I’d put in to this process and know that it could all still go wrong at so many different points.

Just before we were ready to proceed to the implantation stage – where they put the embryos into my uterus and wait to see if a pregnancy is achieved – we got yet another twist thanks to my dang malfunctioning body. My hormone levels were out of whack and they felt it was best to wait before trying to get pregnant. So they took our little embryos and popped them in the freezer until I could get everything all cozy for them. I admit, I was crushed. This just felt one too far. After all the pain and exhaustion and sacrifice, to still not have it work out for us, I just about lost it. But once I could calm down and think it all through, I was kind of glad to have a little time to heal before launching into a pregnancy (knock on wood). This whole process has been so rough, it ended up being a good thing to be able to get myself back together before dealing with pregnancy symptoms on top of all the pain and exhaustion I’d just gotten through.

We’ve got four little embryos waiting for us in the freezer, and now we’re just waiting until I can dedicate another month to shots and daily office visits to see if all of this suffering of the last year and a half will prove fruitful. Hopefully August will be a lucky month. Hopefully those four little popsicle babies will actually make it into this world. And hopefully they’ll all be just like Atticus.


Atti’s Introvert Friendly Birthday Party

Birthday Party
For Atti’s whole life, any mention of a birthday party was met with screams and tears. Even attending other kids birthday parties were too much for him to take as he was humiliated by proxy with all the attention on the birthday kid. Even hearing Happy Birthday in a restaurant was enough to send him into redfaced earcovered dripping wet tears. And for a kid as introverted as mine? A birthday party really would be torture. All that special attention is great for an extrovert, but with my guy being too shy to speak, I can’t imagine a greater hell than opening presents while everyone watched.

So we did things just the three of us. I’d make a special cake, or he’d pick out a special present, but it really couldn’t get lower key. Until this year. Atti finally said he wanted a birthday party. We were so shocked I kept asking him over and over again. “Really? A birthday party? Do you want your friends from school to come? And church friends? Really?” But he kept saying yes, so I jumped on the chance to go absolutely crazy.

And I did. Special invitations, so so so much food (that will be coming later this week), lots of decorations, but I also kept one eye on Atti the whole time, making sure that I had built in some safeguards for my gentle little boy.

So if you have an introverted kid, here’s some tips I’ve tested out for you.

Dance Party
Don’t make your child play host. I made a music playlist and had it going on the computer so as people arrived I’d hand the kids a balloon to blow up or play with (as age appropriate) and told them we were having a dance party. We built the chaos of those early minutes into the party so I never had to ask Atti to go and take a kid to play. We were all just playing from the moment they walked in the door.

Cow Kiss
Create a safe space. For our activity we rented a petting zoo (hashtag country living privilege) but the point of it was to have something Atti could hide in while the other kids could still be entertained. If things got too overwhelming – which they did – he could hang back and make friends with a special calf while all the other kids ran around the backyard doing whatever they wanted. In a pinch a safe space could be a bedroom, or even your lap, but it helps to have a place your child knows they can check in for a few deep breaths to ward off the big overwhelming feelings.

Hit the invitation sweet spot. It might seem counter intuitive, but if you’re not having a party with a couple close friends, than the answer is to throw a rager. We invited a LOT of people. And we told everyone to bring their siblings and parents. We basically had an open door policy. What you’re looking for is reaching peak crowd. If you have enough people that you can’t all sit around and talk in one large group? You did it right. A crowd allows people to break off into smaller groups, people can disappear for a minute if necessary, your child isn’t the source of entertainment, and they can hang back as much as they need in order to be comfortable without anyone being worried or changing the fun of the party.

Throw out the program. It was really important to me that if we were going to throw a party, I wasn’t going to neglect Atti to entertain a bunch of other kids. Free form activities allowed me to make sure Atti was having a special time, but if the other kids were bored with the dance party, they could play with stickers set out on the table. Or pet the animals, or go crazy in the backyard, or play in Atti’s room. There were enough adults around to make sure nothing got broken, but otherwise I encouraged the kids to just play and let go of any plans of moving orderly from one activity to the other. Any kind of an activity that came with an expert to take charge would be great too, as long as they were warned not to single out the birthday kid.

Have a buffet style spread. I made so much food for this party. Partly because it was so much fun for me, but also because I thought of the food as another activity that could provide a distraction as necessary. I spent plenty of time around the snack table as a teenager, and I hang with so many introverted internet types that I know the punch bowl is a perennial comfort zone. So keeping with the motive of not having to control or lead anything, I had all the food out on the table and made it up for grabs through the whole party. Including the birthday cake. We didn’t sing happy birthday, I didn’t walk in with lit candles, we just had it on the table and about halfway through the party I started cutting it up and putting it on plates.

Make One on One time. When a stressed out overstimulated introverted kid starts getting overwhelmed, the LAST thing they want is attention drawn to that fact. If you can make some activities that require one on one time, you can release some of that pressure without anybody being the wiser. For us it was taking turns on the pony rides, but it could be facepainting, or a turn on the trampoline, or special cupcake decorating time, anything that lets the kid chill out on their own for a minute.

Forget the presents. This will not only save your introvert some unwanted attention, but it will make you a hero among parents.
Buying presents for kids parties is the worst! Who knows what some kid at school wants? You’re left spending money you don’t want to spend on plastic crap the kid might not even want. Boo. Instead we took Atti shopping and let him pick out his own presents, and then we had a couple other things – like his Big Boy Bed – that were surprises. If your kid really really has their heart set on presents, then maybe you could stash them in a back room somewhere so you don’t have to open them while people are at the party.

Throwing this party was a total dream come true for me. I’ve been waiting to go Pinterest crazy with a birthday party for Atti’s entire life! But one of my core values as a parent is not to make Atti’s childhood all about me. It has to be what he enjoys, in a way that he wants to celebrate, no matter how many adorable paper goods I’ve had to pass by. I think with this party we managed to make both of our dreams come true.


Year of Pleasures – Love Note

Love Note

Atti has a lot of trouble with fine motor skills. Those darn fingers of his won’t listen to do much more than follow the pointer finger around. So a lot of the therapy he does involves art so he can practice working with little pieces and give those other fingers a job. He’s still obsessed with the alphabet, so his OT gives him a lot of foam stickers to work with – it’s something he cares enough about to keep at while he’s frustrated trying to get the backing off the sticky part.

I visited him the other day and his OT helped him cut out a heart shape with special scissors, then asked what they should spell. I admit, this was my suggestion, but Atti got all excited and spelled it out himself. He was so proud of what he made he could have busted wide open, and so was I.


Atti’s Big Boy Bed

Big Boy Bed
The last month has been stuffed full of celebrations. So many that it’s going to take me weeks to share them all, which just feels heavenly. After the gauntlet of last year, this feels like full circle, surrounded with love and good news.

At least, bittersweet news. Atti turned 7 at the beginning of February. 7. Six felt like a big deal – going into first grade, looking so big – but with some of Atti’s delays I could still play at having my baby. Not anymore. He is big. He’s losing teeth all over the place, he’s got an adorable jack o’ lantern grin, he gets mad whenever I call him my baby, and he even changed the lyrics to one of our silly made up songs. He told me I can’t sing “he’s my sweetest little baby boy.” Now I have to sing “he’s my sweetest little super guy.” SUPER GUY! I mean, 1) How amazing is it that that’s the title he picked for himself, and then 2) MY BABY!! WAHHHHHHH!

New Bed
For this big boy birthday we figured it was time to give him a big boy present, so we hauled out the convertible crib/daybed/pile of rubble he’d been using his whole life and got him an actual twin bed. With a real mattress and not the plastic covered brick that babies need to sleep on since they’re too little for pillows. He is obsessed with it.

Every day he comes home from school and asks to play with his kindle in his bed. He sits in it and reads books, he leans over from it and plays with his cars on the floor. He jumps up and down so much that we have to readjust the rug every morning. There is so much victory in this moment. I keep thinking of him in the NICU, in his little isolette covered in wires, and I wish that I could go back and give myself a glimpse of this. That someday he’d be so healthy and happy and big. That despite all my fears for his future and his disability, I would still know what he needs, and even what he wants. I’d be able to communicate with him even without a lot of words and know that his deepest hearts desire is to be big, to grow up, to be independent, to be seen as his own little self. To be seen as the little super guy he knows he is.

I want him to be my baby forever, and he will be, but I never imagined how amazing it would be to get to be the mom of a superhero.



Atti Kiss

All of last year I felt like I was drowning. Whether it was the life threatening depression that turned out to be a med reaction to my endometriosis treatment, or the kidney stone that sent me to the hospital, or to finish out the year, freaking whooping cough, I was limping through just trying to make it through the day. In that condition I had to jettison every responsibility that was more taxing than breathing in and out and not dying. No more craft designing, no more blogging or Youtube-ing, no more contributing to the household. Bear has proven once again to be an exceptional partner and over the year he’s handled meals, organized help, and gotten Atti on the bus every morning.

As I’ve recovered, that last task was the one that loomed larger and larger in my mind. Slowly I started adding responsibilities back into my day. I’d do the laundry, I’d go grocery shopping, and then I’d fall ill again. I’d start to recover, blog through December, and then get sick all over again. But as I felt better and felt empowered to start picking the pieces up again, any mention of being responsible for waking up early to get Atti on the bus would send me into a panic.

You know that one thing that really isn’t that hard, but you dread it and so it grows and grows and becomes even more insurmountable to you? Like calling the credit card company or making the appointment or going to the DMV. It will just take a minute and then you’ll be done, but you can’t bring yourself to do it? And the more you put it off the bigger and bigger it grows until you just can’t see how you can possibly manage it? That’s how getting Atti on the bus became to me.

I should stop here and say – I know. This is nothing special for parents all over the place. And I am super lucky to have a partner who can take over for me for so long. But Atti also isn’t your typical nearly seven year old and getting him ready is A LOT more intense than shepherding him around the house as he dresses himself and eats his own breakfast. It’s a very physical labor that involves lifting and hauling and bathroom trips and trying to yank pants over his hips and putting braces on his legs and carrying him to his wheelchair and getting the heavy wheelchair full of kid down our super steep driveway without accident. It’s all the work you used to do with an infant, but that infant weighs 40 pounds. And is on wheels.

So it’s hard work that I wasn’t capable of for a very long time. Because I was too weak, because the most important thing governing my mental health is the amount of sleep I get and for a long time I couldn’t count on getting that by 7 am, and then because it had grown into this overwhelming and terrifying task loaded with shame. Because this is nothing special for parents all over the place, what was my problem? Because I love my son with ferocity and I couldn’t manage to do this for him. Because I was forcing my partner to carry all the weight of our family by himself. And that shame grew and grew until it threatened to bury me.

Today I got Atti on the bus. It was difficult, just like it is on my best day, but I managed it. And as I kissed him goodbye and he went through his morning goodbye call and response (“Ba-Bye! Have a good day at school! Mwah!” Repeat two times) I nearly broke out in tears. Because I did it. My fears of falling to pieces or not being up to the task didn’t come through. I have been beating myself up for months that I wasn’t able to do this for Atti, comparing myself to every other parent, and making the mistake that just because a task is common, doesn’t mean it’s easy.

I conquered this big shame covered complicated task and that means that I am officially back on my feet again. A little wobbly, but here.


2015 coming in with a wheeze


In case you’ve missed my whining on facebook or twitter or instagram, I have Whooping Cough.

Bear thinks it’s hilarious. He keeps asking me if I need to eat citrus for my scurvy. Or if I need to watch for symptoms of Scarlet Fever. Of course, I would get this stupid old-fashioned illness that most people get vaccinated for and never even think about. Of course I would.

Just before Thanksgiving I had such crippling abdominal pain I couldn’t move. I actually had to have Bear call the ambulance and a bunch of dicky EMT’s stood over me and yelled at me to stand up while they rolled their eyes at me laying on the bathroom floor in shock. Luckily my ER doctor was an angel and ran every test and determined that I had passed a kidney stone and had a kidney infection.

And all that is after six months of suicidal depression because of a reaction to medication.

So basically, it’s been SUPER FUN over here.

I had hoped that the New Year would bring me a new lease on health, or at least back to my typical state of functional enough poor health, but here I sit, unable to change the laundry over lest I exert myself too hard and have a coughing fit. I am so over this bullshit.

In good news, we have a new member of our fuzzy family and she is taking very good care of me. Every picture I have of her is blurry because it’s taken from about two inches away while she’s sitting on my chest. She takes her role as nursemaid very seriously. Her name is She-Ra because she’s my little princess of power, and she’s another purebred Ragdoll, this time with lynx point markings. I love her and say the stupidest and most ridiculous things to her in the stupidest and most ridiculous voice. I wish I could blame the cough syrup with codeine, but it predates that.

Since Cheetara died, I have been missing my own little companion. One of the reasons we love Ragdolls so much is that they pick their person and bond to them. Gizmo is Atti’s cat, Jem is Bear’s, and my lap has been empty for years. Finally, FINALLY! I’ve convinced Bear that that can’t go on any longer. We are a three cat family. I think he just felt sorry for my stupid sick body.


JORD watch giveaway

JORD watch
While I was sick I had to quit a lot of gigs. I left design teams, I returned products and money for posts I’d agreed to write, there were a whole lot of opportunities I had to let go of in order to get healthy. That’s hard on a whole number of levels. It’s hard to have your work suffer, it’s hard to feel like you’re burning bridges or letting people down, it’s hard to admit your limitations. Everyone was nice and understanding, but there was one company that went so far above and beyond that I have to brag about them at the same time I brag about their product.

Months ago, like maybe around Mother’s Day, the folks at JORD watches approached me about reviewing their product and hosting a giveaway. I went through my usual screening process, checking what the corporate values were, if the product was sustainable, and of course, whether I would actually spend my own money on the product. JORD is committed to using sustainable resources in the sourcing of their products, and when I first started learning about them they had just released a special watch design with proceedes going to the Pujols Family Foundation, a charity dedicated to those living with Down Syndrome and those in poverty in the Dominican Republic. The watches passed all my tests so I asked them to send me one that I could try out.

For real – it is indescribably gorgeous.

I love it. I truly love it. Wood is such a beautiful material that I love having something so fine to celebrate it. It’s not cold and it doesn’t trap my arm hairs like a metal band, but it also doesn’t sweat like a leather band. I wore this throughout a sweaty summer and felt just fine. It’s surprisingly light, and it’s so unique I get comments every time I wear it. It’s the best thing I’ve gotten in ages.

So even if all that happened was that I got a beautiful new watch I was totally besotted with and recommended it to you guys, it would be a successful partnership. But how the marketing manager I worked with treated me was what bumped this up from a post about showing off something pretty to an unqualified rave.

Like I said, everyone was nice. All the corporations wished me a speedy recovery, they all held doors open for me to come back, everyone was understanding and supportive. But they also have a job to do, so most of them went for the quickest resolution to our relationships. One company emailed me several times a week to make sure that we settled on square terms – not really easy for me to deal with when my health was such a concern, but never rude or unwarranted. JORD, however, just sent me support and well wishes and told me to take my time, they’d check back in around the holidays. They never suggested that I send the watch back – which would have broken my heart but they would have been well within their rights to do it. I never got an email that didn’t first address their support and concern for me, and by the way, could I just give them a timeline, and also, if they could do anything to help me they would.

I’ve worked corporate marketing jobs, so I know that one individual nice person can only go so far. That nice person has bosses with their own timelines and agendas. They want to know how their marketing budget is working out, where to put their future marketing dollars, and see some return on their investment. The fact that they set all that to the side, along with the concern that I’d never fulfill my agreement to them and just keep the watch with no marketing at all, meant that they prioritized respect for people over their business agenda.

How rarely does that happen?! As major chains make their employees come in on Thanksgiving, it’s getting harder and harder to find companies that make you feel like you’re putting your money in a good place. I’m so happy to recommend a company that makes a beautiful product made by good people.

wooden watch
And you can have one too! JORD has earmarked another of these beauties to give to one of my readers. Just leave a comment and I’ll pick a random winner on Black Friday. Good luck!

**Disclaimer** JORD gave me a watch to try but all thoughts and pictures and opinions are my own.