tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38664093938684222272024-03-12T19:25:03.736-07:00Lissabird Makes GoodLissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.comBlogger93125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-76592825152981921982014-10-16T23:49:00.000-07:002014-10-16T23:59:09.115-07:00Ketamine Sometimes I think I'm psychic. It's not a skill I can call upon when I need to find my keys and we are late to <br />
Kindergarten (again) but every now and then I just know how some facet of my life is going to work out. For example: As I listened to my mom cry about everything that went wrong in her life, I knew with unmovable conviction that I would not share her fate. I would be happy. Like, fairytale happy.<br />
<br />
I was right. <br />
<br />
I also knew that someday Science would hand me a little blue pill that would take all my pain away. I have been able to see this mythical pill in my mind since I was a child. A beautiful tiny blue oval of relief.<br />
<br />
And I was right again.<br />
<br />
<br />
I may have never found my Little Blue Pill if it weren't for the fact that my life got really hard awhile back. Not, like, busy-mom-raising-two-kids hard. But three-out-of-seven-people-you-love-most-betrayed-you-while-you-face-possible-crimnal-investigation hard. Is that a thing? There should be a better word for it. <br />
<br />
Even though I spent years ignoring the connection between stress and chronic pain--because that made the pain seem arbitrary, imaginary--both stress and pain were running away with my life in tow. My flare up was ridiculous. Since I don't really like to talk about my flare (up) lets just say that when I could no longer tolerate shoes I knew I had to go back to the doctor.<br />
<br />
I did not know where to start. I felt frustrated by every doctor I'd ever seen, so I opened up Google to find someone new.<br />
<br />
And I found the most unexpected thing.<br />
<br />
A doctor, essentially 5 blocks from my home, was treating RSD/CRPS with ketamine infusions. I have been reading about other RSD patient's experiences with this drug for years, and eventually planned on traveling to one end of the country or the other to find a doctor willing to try it. But there he was 3.7 miles from my played-out-red front door.<br />
<br />
My dance with Special K (because that's what the kids are calling it) was fascinating. I had very little idea what lay in store, so when I felt the first drips come through my IV, and the outpatient surgical center literally started to swirl before my eyes like a drunken cartoon character's hallucination, I tried to let go of any semblance of control I had over my mind and enjoy the ride. However, I had a terrible migraine and my body was no longer responding to reasonable requests. I was paralyzed and in agony. I was unable to speak to ask for help. It was, quite possibly, the worst thing that had ever happened to me. And it was only made worse by that fact that the entire staff couldn't stop talking about some guy they knew who had committed suicide over the weekend. They went on and on about how he did it, and where. Then they told stories about every person they ever knew who had attempted or succeeded at the same gruesome feat. There I was trapped in my migraine, and feeling like the ketamine had ripped open my very soul and exposed it to the light. Like I was able to take a peek into my subconscious for the first time (having never dabbled in drugs as a teen) but I was constantly being interrupted by these disgusting stories. I tried to ask them to stop talking about it.<br />
<br />
"Hello?" the nurse repeated into the phone. "We're still waiting on our order of Propofal." she paused to listen. "No. We can't wait until next week. Fine." She hung up. <br />
"Like I was saying," the other nurse chimed back in. "His wife found him in the car. In the garage. You know--dead," she whispered the last word.<br />
<br />
It was like their voices were being broadcast directly into my head. They seemed so much louder than they should have been. I writhed in pain and anger. I tried to explain how they were hurting my aforementioned delicate and naked soul, but I couldn't move my lips. I couldn't find my breath. I couldn't do anything to protect myself. But how could they know that my own mother had also killed herself? That I had sporadic waking nightmares of the gun. The blood. Her sadness. But besides that, I'm totally fine with it. I'm not even grieving anymore. Really.<br />
<br />
I know I somehow managed to cry, because the nurse wiped my face when she came back in to unhook the IV. My four hour stint in hell was done--for today, at least. "We'll see you again tomorrow, dear," she said. "The doctor will be back in a few to follow up." As she finished removing the IV from my arm, she pressed the gauze to the leaking hole, and gestured for me to take over. I lifted my hand to comply, which was impressive considering it weighed roughly 17 pounds. I failed to move my finger back in time so it got stuck in the tape she was smoothing over the gauze and my elbow. <br />
<br />
<br />
"How was your pain level during the infusion?" The doctors voice suddenly interrupted my withdrawl. <br />
<br />
"Uh," I eloquently replied, as I searched my brain for the instruction manual that came with my mouth. "It was, like... there. But not there...but different...somehow." That didn't come out right.<br />
<br />
He laughed at me. "How about we talk about it later." He turned to go.<br />
<br />
"But," I said and dropped my eyes to my hands, willing them to move in protest. "I had a problem. My head still hurts. And... the nurses. They kept talking about..." I searched for a way to gently say the s word, "suicide."<br />
<br />
His face twisted in confusion. He pulled the curtain aside and yelled to the nurse's station, "was anyone talking about suicide out here?"<br />
<br />
More confusion. A chorus of no trickled back. <br />
<br />
"No one was talking about that. You were most likely experiencing an auditory hallucination."<br />
<br />
I felt heat and shame cloud my face as the situation continued to render in my head. "I..." "My mom...<br />
she... killed herself." Did I really just say that out loud?<br />
<br />
"It happens," he said. "The hallucinations, I mean," and held out his arm to help me off the bed and into the wheel chair. The CNA came to push me out to the waiting room. The clinic was closed and every one was waiting to go home. I hoped she wouldn't say anything to me. Mostly because I was mortified, but I also knew I had zero chance of deciphering her accent in my current state.<br />
<br />
An all too familiar churning stole the spotlight in my mind as a barf bucket was conveniently thrust in front of me. I heaved and puked in my wheelchair with approximately five people watching. I was gray and shaking and rank when I realized that my husband would be bringing my children with him to pick me up. I pressed my finger to his name on my phone and waited for him to pick up.<br />
<br />
"I'm on my way. You were done sooner than I thought," he said not bothering to start with hello.<br />
<br />
"Please don't bring the kids."<br />
<br />
"Ooookay, what am I supposed to do with them?"<br />
<br />
"Find a neighbor."<br />
<br />
"But,"<br />
<br />
"They can't see me like this!" I interrupted, surprising myself with the desperation in my voice, and wondering when I was cast in a Made For TV Movie.<br />
<br />
"I'll be there as soon as I can."<br />
<br />
The nurse came back with a shot filled with something that would hopefully erase my memory of the last five hours of my life. Or something to make me stop puking. Either one.<br />
<br />
As soon as I got home I counted down the steps between the door, and my bed. I crumbled into a shape that was close enough to comfortable and closed my eyes, pretending that I didn't have to do it again tomorrow. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-69629068392822741352012-04-26T10:23:00.002-07:002012-04-26T10:24:35.583-07:00Hello? (echo, echo echo)Just in case anyone still has this blog saved in a reader, I have news: I started a separate blog about how to make jewelry, and my adventures selling it. http://lissabird.tumblr.com/<br />
<br />
Go see!<br />
<br />
I also fancied up the website: lissabird.com<br />
<br />
Thanks!Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-40086556834623604292011-02-10T08:40:00.000-08:002011-02-10T08:56:34.131-08:00How Quickly We ForgetThe brain is made to forget pain. When it is chronic, you never really get a chance to forget it. However, my approximate year spent in remission from CRPS/RSD and Fibromyalgia was pleanty of time. I was not 100% pain free, but compared to where I started, the relief was more than a dream come true. So here I am in my third trimester of pregnancy, and to put it mildly-- I hurt. A fair amount of discomfort is normal at this stage, but I'm quite sure that my nerves are more active than they should be since this didn't happen with my first baby. I've been dealing with all of the classics neurological pain has to offer with the shooting, stabbing and burning pains popping up randomly all over my body. The worst part is that I can't deal with it like I used to. I wince, gasp, and shudder. I feel like a brand new pain patient trying to find ways to cope, and failing. I have lived in pain for more than two thirds of my entire life, you'd think I'd know how to do this. But really, this ability to forget is a beautiful thing. It's the only way we ladies would consider having more than one child after all, but I would sure like to have my coping skills back. At least for another 5-8 weeks.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-34797089800373704932010-11-22T11:16:00.000-08:002010-11-22T11:40:17.148-08:00How Things ChangeChristmas was the hardest day of my year for a long time. Even when I still lived at home, the day would dissolve in tears and screaming most of the time. After I ran away from home it only got worse. I was alone, and intruding on my boyfriend's family... just watching from the outside. I couldn't sort out the part of me that wanted to go home, and rest of me that never wanted to see my mom again. It was a terrible day, and I almost never looked forward to it. That's life with mental illness. Days that should be the best, usually suck the most.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdZmVP_dssSZRWNDh8s_bxr9QIGkOTFQwl_68S3tRQhtY-ArfLNm8Qc_kb15FkgjONwlVC9XT2gOhusg_A7ZVC0Z9UWiB_PfbaYmcHKLIbH2_dgOYQMWNIz-EvRcWfh5ocKU803g-lteW/s1600/IMG_6817.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEdZmVP_dssSZRWNDh8s_bxr9QIGkOTFQwl_68S3tRQhtY-ArfLNm8Qc_kb15FkgjONwlVC9XT2gOhusg_A7ZVC0Z9UWiB_PfbaYmcHKLIbH2_dgOYQMWNIz-EvRcWfh5ocKU803g-lteW/s320/IMG_6817.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542460788641997138" border="0" /></a>Then a few days ago my three year old daughter was telling me everything she knew about Christmas. "There will be lights, and ornaments, and a tree!" she said. "Mama, is it time for a tree?"<br /><br />I actually caught myself feeling genuinely excited to put up a tree and decorate the house. I'm not saying that having kids magically makes the day better. It could easily be a terrible day for all of us if I chose to wallow in the past like my mom did and destroy any future hope for peace and happiness. Life is all about the choices we make. And things really can get better.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-45728871612529266962010-11-11T10:51:00.000-08:002010-11-11T11:58:30.268-08:00Well Hello Blog World,I know I am not the first person to feel this way, but somehow it's November.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja50Pk6scG9wu9xCHiAW6odpaLPyCmWQoc_GPTeZOoidTL3Bjp0UfR7Dr1yhjyCxgWSzt91ohTW_BJGg9QVp2yrzmdstwxYnV4LRYIDDafyVAOcmidLNrydapxf91e-7_FWXGhRsSLAOy2/s1600/IMG_9158.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja50Pk6scG9wu9xCHiAW6odpaLPyCmWQoc_GPTeZOoidTL3Bjp0UfR7Dr1yhjyCxgWSzt91ohTW_BJGg9QVp2yrzmdstwxYnV4LRYIDDafyVAOcmidLNrydapxf91e-7_FWXGhRsSLAOy2/s400/IMG_9158.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538376885543700066" border="0" /></a><br />Updates...<br /><br />Pregnancy is going well in terms of all the things I thought would go wrong. It took me quite a bit longer to get pregnant than I planned (note to self: planning such an event is just silly). I had hoped that I could slide right off the coat tails of remission to pregnancy, and control the pain better that way. I worried the longer it took that I would start feeling really crappy again at any time, but it didn't happen. There were days and weeks that were decidedly unpleasant, but on the whole my pain levels were the lowest I can ever remember. And they've pretty much stayed low in my new delicate state.<br /><br />So I would say I'm doing great... except for the new Divine Comedy of Hormones that is taking place in my body. Thanks to hormonal irritation, my gallbladder has called it quits. No more red meat, dairy, or greasy things-- let's just say anything that actually tastes good. There's the eczema, sciatica, heart burn, indigestion, insomnia, and graceless emotional outbursts. But on the plus side, my butt looks amazing. No, really. Perhaps my hiney deserves its own blog post.<br /><br />In other news, I've decided to give this business thing another go. A natural slow down in sales coincided nicely with my first trimester, near-comatose state, but I'm ready to make a run at this thing. In other words... Google gave me free advertising for a spell ;) There will be a few new designs for Christmas. Stay tuned.<br /><br />I hesitantly put some paintings in the Etsy shop, and watched them do nothing for a while... But then! Someone I don't know gave me money in exchange for art and said really nice things about my work. Let's hope she still feels that way now that they've arrived. It was very stressful to put my paintings in a box and send them out in the world to be seen (and judged) by others. But here's to getting the opportunity to try it again.<br /><br />Next up-- t-shirts and cute tiny baby things. I can't wait!<br /><br />Check out my new digs over at <a href="http://lissabird.com/">lissabird.com<br /></a>Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-74486396820839278112010-08-30T13:10:00.000-07:002014-10-16T23:38:15.713-07:00BFP!!!Good News, Everyone!<br />
<br />
I'm pregnant :)<br />
<br />
My stars, it's been a long time: about 13 months to be exact. I know that's just one month over average, but it felt like forever to me. The first time I was trying to get pregnant, I was excited, but not determined, because I didn't have the fever. But this time I was driven by this artificial goal of spacing my kids just right blah, blah, blah, and just really wanting a new baby. As a result, I went a little nuts.<br />
<br />
After several months of letting nature take its course (and nature failing miserably) I researched the crap out of the whole process. Throughout my research I occasionally landed on personal blogs, and repeatedly found useful information and comfort, so I thought I should write down my winning combination.<br />
<br />
Step 1: Get your crazy on.<br />
Your well-meaning friends and family will tell you to relax. Once you've finished punching them in the face, then you're ready to bust out the basal body temp chart and get to work. I resisted the temperature game FOREVER because I simply couldn't remember to do it first thing, and I also thought it was loony toons. However, had I been doing it all along, I wouldn't have wasted so much time. Once I started, I thought it was interesting, and rarely forgot to do it. fertilityfriend.com makes it easier to chart.<br />
Charting 101-- It won't quite predict ovulation (you can pee on a stick for that), but it will tell you when it's ok to stop trying each month. Useful info since you might ovulate later than you think... or not at all in my case. The chart will tell you that too, and then you can medicate accordingly.<br />
<br />
Step 2: Embrace CM<br />
That's cervical mucus. Read this-- http://www.babyhopes.com/articles/cervical-mucus.html<br />
<br />
As you get older the number of days with fertile CM decreases drastically. I thought I would help the process along with Pre-Seed. http://www.babyhopes.com/pre-seed-lubricant.html?gclid=CJflpdmG4qMCFR9PgwodEnnJ1g<br />
<br />
I only had to use it one month! I really think it made the difference.<br />
<br />
Step 3:<br />
Instead Cups... TMI?<br />
They help keep the good stuff next to the cervix longer than just laying flat. Enough said.<br />
<br />
Step 4:<br />
Endure the two week wait until you can start testing. I didn't find anything that made this part easier... except Aimstrip Pregnancy Test Strips. I got a positive on 10 dpo!! (days past ovulation) http://www.babyhopes.com/aimstrip_pregnancy-test-strips.html<br />
<br />
<br />
That's it I guess. I learned a lot more about my body and getting pregnant, but I think this is the really important stuff. I've been holding off the excitement, but I think this one is staying around :) I'm 8 weeks along and will have a new baby in April!Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-83253224393328836172010-07-28T21:44:00.000-07:002010-07-28T22:00:58.544-07:00CAPS left and right, just like that Dooce lady.Haven't been here in a while...<br /><br />But I have some big news worth firing up Blogger for: I can bend my ankle a tiny bit more. I know... I should have made sure you were all sitting down for that one. If that statement didn't knock you off your chair, then let me explain. RSD/CRPS caused my achilles tendon to shorten, which limited the movement in my ankle to just a hair past 90 degrees. That's not quite enough to walk normally. But over the last month or two I began to notice a change. The stairs got a little easier. When I danced, I found that I could bend my knee and my ankle at the same time (a little). Then finally, I thought I would try walking like a normal person (bending my knee instead picking my leg up, and swinging from the hip). IT WORKED! And it felt AMAZING. I haven't taken steps like that for 21 years. It takes too much concentration to walk like that all the time, but I'm practicing.<br /><br />In the past I have spent countless hours in physical therapy, or doing exercises at home to loosen my ankle, but it never budged. Here's the thing. I haven't been in PT. This just happened by itself. I feel like the RSD just let go. I was HAPPY with the huge pain relief I got from my Body Project antics, but now my body is physically changing for the better, and reversing some of the damage chronic illness caused. Happy doesn't begin to describe what I'm feeling now.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-24477513403229372952010-04-28T18:39:00.001-07:002010-07-28T22:01:51.080-07:00Put the Hammer Down!My mother-in-law forwarded this letter to me since I've had a rather adventurous menstrual cycle this time around. Let's just say it was 44 days long, rife with prego symptoms, and then turned out to be NOTHING. Which is-- let's be honest-- just awesome when one is trying her darndest to get pregnant. Anywho, have a laugh:<br /><br /><span style=";font-size:10pt;color:black;" >This is an "actual letter" from an Austin , Texas woman sent to<br /> Proctor and Gamble regarding one of their feminine products. She really gets<br /> rolling after the first paragraph. This was PC Magazine's 2007 Editors'<br /> Choice award-winner for the best letter sent via e-mail.<br /> <br /> Dear Mr. Thatcher,<br /> <br /> I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for<br /> over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the<br /> LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go<br /> horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of<br /> running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts.<br /> <br /> But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary<br /> Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough<br /> to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I<br /> can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a<br /> little F-16 in my pants.<br /> <br /> Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? I'm<br /> guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now.<br /> As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through<br /> my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be<br /> transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.'<br /> <br /> Isn't the human body amazing?<br /> <br /> As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no<br /> doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your<br /> customer's monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know<br /> about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our<br /> intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You<br /> surely realize it's a tough time for most women.<br /> <br /> The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America<br /> is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings<br /> me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of<br /> cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my<br /> uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive<br /> backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'<br /> <br /> Are you f------ kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of<br /> your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling,<br /> laughing happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything<br /> mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James?<br /> FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak, there will never be<br /> anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and<br /> Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to<br /> the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to<br /> end your life in a blaze of glory.<br /> <br /> For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you have to<br /> slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say<br /> something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or<br /> 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong'.<br /> <br /> Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective<br /> immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I<br /> have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though<br /> I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss<br /> your brand of condescending bullsh!t. And that's a promise I will keep.<br /> <br /> Always. . ..<br /> <br /> Wendi Aarons<br /> Austin , TX</span>Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-87903918970094301482010-03-24T14:30:00.000-07:002010-03-24T14:44:56.815-07:00The Body Project: UpdateI really think I've done it! I think the Fibromyalgia is in remission, and the RSD/CRPS is still there, but it behaves itself most of the time. My feet still ache when they get cold, or I exert myself too much. And I get pretty achy at night, but I am 31 years old, so I guess that could be normal. Considering where I've been, and how severe my symptoms could be, I'll take a few age appropriate aches and pains. I am still overly sensitive to small injuries that really shouldn't be painful, so I guess my central nervous system could work a little better but believe me, I'm not complaining. I know that another disruption could easily happen, but I feel like I have the knowledge and the ability to reverse it again.<br /><br />Speaking of being 31... I just had a birthday. I have been overwhelmed with caring for my sick family (and myself) so I have yet to post my thoughts about getting older.<br /><br />They are brief, but here they are:<br />I am proud of myself and my choices.<br />I believe that I have created happiness in my life, and that I deserve it.<br />Good for me.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-47642781004860845462010-03-13T09:39:00.000-08:002010-03-13T09:47:38.556-08:00Great News Everyone...I'm sick.<br /><br />No really, this is great news because I caught The World's Worst Cold from my daughter, and I didn't know it until my throat got a little scratchy.<br /><br />Back in the day when my immune system was not the greatest, I got sicker/faster/longer than anyone else. <br /><br />This time I was last to get it, and I'm not that sick. Here's the best part. The pain spike that always preceded and generally enhanced and lengthened illness-- the one that would send me to the bath tub 4 times a day, and to bed the rest of it since I couldn't tolerate the sensation on clothes on my skin, or even gather my thoughts enough to interact with other people through the fuzz of pain-- you know, that one? It didn't happen. Still hasn't happened.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-76119859379857516052010-02-11T08:53:00.000-08:002010-02-11T08:57:23.013-08:00Valentine's orders are done! Thanks everyone!<br /><br />But specifically:<br /><br />Thanks to Rosie for eating pop tarts and watching Sesame Street happily while I worked.<br /><br />Thanks to Kris for stepping over the mess Rosie left all over the house. I can clean it up now.<br /><br />Thanks to Somer for the quality control ;)Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-80205561272618920682010-02-05T09:30:00.000-08:002010-02-05T09:32:49.977-08:00It's working!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0JPw3Uv50DQcPD3syBbrbxfh4SOl3zJB4jPFfdLWe5hPD08GmYNkM4i23gvaXqhH6tUmi8Zi4p9kvZX8cigo4yx4av4GNigR8J1ZC0pABeWj1NJSkAbiFNsd81Q09EtJ6tuI0I2d1heV/s1600-h/IMG_2313.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0JPw3Uv50DQcPD3syBbrbxfh4SOl3zJB4jPFfdLWe5hPD08GmYNkM4i23gvaXqhH6tUmi8Zi4p9kvZX8cigo4yx4av4GNigR8J1ZC0pABeWj1NJSkAbiFNsd81Q09EtJ6tuI0I2d1heV/s400/IMG_2313.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434813263110139890" border="0" /></a>Here's a message I found in my inbox this morning:<br /><br />Lissa, wanted to say thanks for the awesome necklace- I LOVE it!! 2 people have already asked me about the "Live Love Breathe" and now 2 more people are schooled about CF. It's getting the word out there and making a fashion statement at the same time, haha<br />I bought a few more from you for some CF friends, we'll all be rocking them soon!<br /><br />AllisonLissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-29980049950052009782010-02-03T11:38:00.000-08:002010-02-03T11:42:35.112-08:00Come Over!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/object2/1931/24/n284154867951_7967.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 126px;" src="http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/object2/1931/24/n284154867951_7967.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><table style="text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" id="Time and Place" class="profileTable info_table" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td class="label">Date:</td> <td class="data"><div class="datawrap">Sunday, February 7, 2010</div></td></tr> <tr><td class="label">Time:</td> <td class="data"><div class="datawrap">12:00pm - 4:00pm</div></td></tr> <tr><td class="label">Location:</td> <td style="text-align: center;" class="data"><div class="datawrap">Nobrow Coffee and Tea </div></td></tr> <tr><td class="label">Street:</td> <td class="data"><div class="datawrap">315 E 300 S</div></td></tr> <tr><td class="label">City/Town:</td> <td class="data"><div class="datawrap">Salt Lake City, UT</div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />I will be at Nobrow Coffee and Tea this Sunday from 12-4 selling jewelry and paintings. Come by!Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-62838616504739420832010-02-02T08:36:00.000-08:002010-02-02T08:51:43.888-08:00Me and My Crackpot IdeasI have a crazy theory. <br /><br />My arms bothered me for the whole month of January. I thought wistfully back to December when my arms were peaceful and dare I say, nearly pain free, and wondered what had changed. <br /><br />I wasn't even making much jewelry, so my hands were getting a nice rest. What happened?! Such is the life of some one with Chronic Pain, am I right? The insanity of searching for the cause of the latest pain flare can even get fairly amusing. So imagine how heartily I laughed when I sat down at my work bench yesterday to do a little carving and discovered an amazing idea. You see, I use a Flex Shaft-- which is a motor with a hand piece that spins various tools like a drill bit, or a bur. After a good session of carving the clay for my jewelry, my whole body is energized, for lack of a better word. I think the vibration encourages blood flow, and acts as a giant tens unit, or chord stimulator. Maybe it overwhelms my nerves with white noise, because after a solid 45 minutes I can't feel much of anything in my upper body. <br /><br />My arms feel great today. It just goes to show, if you do what you love, unexpected benefits will follow.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-66985858829654250902010-01-30T20:45:00.000-08:002010-01-30T20:55:57.357-08:00Free tickets to Disneyland!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAr66e_UTxf3Agu4QZlen8w3wPJmc5N2RXVX6U2z97NrDtkhTXRVNwxgjlpjr02TYmjKVuYJcwEcSXG1nGueh2sIi6l8CDT2lcc2RTdpD1FFShgie1oqQL9klTTsA4NNgwkICab4SPObeK/s1600-h/disney.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAr66e_UTxf3Agu4QZlen8w3wPJmc5N2RXVX6U2z97NrDtkhTXRVNwxgjlpjr02TYmjKVuYJcwEcSXG1nGueh2sIi6l8CDT2lcc2RTdpD1FFShgie1oqQL9klTTsA4NNgwkICab4SPObeK/s320/disney.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432762481053045298" /></a><br />I went to <a href="http://disneyparks.disney.go.com/disneyparks/en_US/WhatWillYouCelebrate/index?name=Give-A-Day-Get-A-Disney-Day">this website</a> to find a volunteer opportunity and this is what I found! Life is funny sometimes.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-32044813560708822542010-01-29T20:35:00.000-08:002010-01-31T21:57:38.760-08:00TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS!! Part 1Yep. That's my goal to donate from my jewelry sales this year. Last year we raised just over $6,000, so I'm trying to almost double my sales. I'm not quite loosing sleep over it yet, but I am shaking in my boots. Although, life is much more interesting if you set your goals high, right?<br /><br />Why do I do it?! Because I can, I guess. I have been learning to make jewelry for a really long time, and now people are willing to give me money for the things I make (I am still blown away by this!). In the process I have been able to help spread awareness about crappy diseases like Cystic Fibrosis and ALS and raise money for research. I am extra excited about donating money directly to real people for needed medication or equipment. <br /><br />I love that I get to help other people, but I do it for myself too. Being able to work when I can, and not when I have to is an enormous help-- not only in caring for my daughter, but it also helps my health. I love that I can work with my body and not against it. I don't have to make chronic pain fit into a 8 hour work day anymore, because believe me... it doesn't work well most of the time. I feel so lucky that this crazy idea keeps getting bigger, and I have big plans this year to help reach my goal.<br /><br />January report... I expected this month to be slow after the holiday rush. I was grateful for the time off, and used it to work on new designs and my new <a href="http://lissabirdbaby.etsy.com">Etsy shop</a>. We have just about reached the $500 mark for January (I need to raise $800 per month to stay on track). That's not bad at all for the second slowest month in the life of an artist (sales are also slow in October as people get ready for the holidays). <br />So we'll see what February holds. Hopefully lots and lots of Red Heart sales!<br />(UPDATE!! January = $620... even better!)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeSPLI6O0fXdcBmmr_dPdpMc8fKgvfSFq1xrRdlvS0vClglIWwaHKU794e2bGExXlCtC4Fju2jdp5mYPRUAqYUtk7Uge7sOWDWWCuHhbbBHD5gcXVCafveUnU4tHFoyuX1MKr6JJLgjO_/s1600-h/IMG_2340.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeSPLI6O0fXdcBmmr_dPdpMc8fKgvfSFq1xrRdlvS0vClglIWwaHKU794e2bGExXlCtC4Fju2jdp5mYPRUAqYUtk7Uge7sOWDWWCuHhbbBHD5gcXVCafveUnU4tHFoyuX1MKr6JJLgjO_/s320/IMG_2340.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432584459469128290" /></a>Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-28957435054710847242010-01-26T09:23:00.000-08:002010-01-26T09:31:54.053-08:00Oh, Yoga.I skipped yoga last week because I didn't want to worsen the pain flare. But then I decided somewhere around Wednesday, that I should have gone because the stretching and the movement might actually break the cycle instead of making it worse. <br /><br />Well I went last night. The class was easier than it has been, but I'm still pretty sore. My teacher does a great job of reminding us to find our own pose, and not to worry about how bendy or intense our neighbors are. I'm pretty sure that the Relaxin (my favorite hormone name, ever) never left my body because I can bend like a noodle. It's the power poses that get me. Here's hoping I can turn the corner soon, and start feeling great again.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-87962391251919251472010-01-25T12:30:00.001-08:002010-01-25T12:35:20.708-08:00New Project... because just I'm bursting with free time!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wWJfasETSF90qaBRvPC8d8GE-fG5RE2k2F7gS_cbtU0eKWHx8u0y3Ad_-zpYxjTzaLHv8dqwnHZH4OT3n_CK1I3H_mFsBlGZYv4KORLW7dQLTzDGqDkKzSlG9DeZiAgwgsM1yHg_hvHO/s1600-h/IMG_2264-3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wWJfasETSF90qaBRvPC8d8GE-fG5RE2k2F7gS_cbtU0eKWHx8u0y3Ad_-zpYxjTzaLHv8dqwnHZH4OT3n_CK1I3H_mFsBlGZYv4KORLW7dQLTzDGqDkKzSlG9DeZiAgwgsM1yHg_hvHO/s320/IMG_2264-3.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430777642516805762" /></a><br />I have opened a new Etsy shop! After years of encouragement from friends and family, I am finally going to start selling my paintings (cringe!) I have been making samples for a few weeks, and I'm pretty excited about them. I have yet to hatch a plan for boyish designs though... thoughts? Requests ;)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQzIiO9aaQCmWHkbUn5m_eNSWf3R_syd98o7cZqVksvos3SJEwQEfBisqDo5V_rSH3e39pNaW-0KZfSB6WqHmx4EIwJXm-kRk1cn4aBAo96ySbevWz6k6T59jwRoZWH_ItzfT8qO8oB9F/s1600-h/IMG_2261.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQzIiO9aaQCmWHkbUn5m_eNSWf3R_syd98o7cZqVksvos3SJEwQEfBisqDo5V_rSH3e39pNaW-0KZfSB6WqHmx4EIwJXm-kRk1cn4aBAo96ySbevWz6k6T59jwRoZWH_ItzfT8qO8oB9F/s320/IMG_2261.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430777543527919826" /></a><br /><a href="http://lissabirdbaby.etsy.com">lissabirdbaby.etsy.com</a>Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-89038060503907883502010-01-21T21:21:00.001-08:002010-01-21T21:46:21.566-08:00I left my heart...I thought maybe I'd tell the story behind the new title picture. <br /><br />The husband and I used to live in the Bay Area, so we made frequent trips to San Francisco when we didn't have anything better to do. We would ditch the car and often spent the entire day roaming some part of the city. When we first started these walk-a-paloozas, the pain in my legs got to be such a pain in the ass that I honestly considered my wheelchair options. I figured that I would only use it in place of long distance walking, but damn it I had made it without one this long- (many people with RSD/CRPS are not as lucky). So I stuck it out. Eventually, it got easier.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7y-OIBOVU5BABpGyDytXQiKJSnb_vb1PXAodX87n1Geyasvsz-gD_QcdDQF06ut04b7naFM5rn-YrOgfHFPpBlUuaerCd8uFBgOcWOf4Gxu4pJTAyO9s8Nb3xlJ50K0GUI_Rh2Fy_jSQR/s1600-h/IMG_1922.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7y-OIBOVU5BABpGyDytXQiKJSnb_vb1PXAodX87n1Geyasvsz-gD_QcdDQF06ut04b7naFM5rn-YrOgfHFPpBlUuaerCd8uFBgOcWOf4Gxu4pJTAyO9s8Nb3xlJ50K0GUI_Rh2Fy_jSQR/s320/IMG_1922.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429434726712381106" /></a><br /><br />One of my favorite things to do in the city was chase a flock of wild parrots that lived on Telegraph Hill. The sidewalks get so steep up there that they are actually stairs. I'm assuming this is to prevent calf muscles from detaching altogether, but the endless stairs just hurt in a whole new way. I was walking up said stairs, but also planning to sit down right there on the ground in the very near future when I stumbled upon some public "art."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2kTfJQGZIfqYzrJXcmKNvmbJ-4zxts-c7cqGkOTw5edIj2GxhbooM3mj0VTTUszaxgtpybQTIwHRtg0GLi2W7c8JEZaG0XXlNZSL4vnzyjTf-ECHK94xU9giJs1QdKBeityE-uGrRAA0/s1600-h/IMG_3010.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2kTfJQGZIfqYzrJXcmKNvmbJ-4zxts-c7cqGkOTw5edIj2GxhbooM3mj0VTTUszaxgtpybQTIwHRtg0GLi2W7c8JEZaG0XXlNZSL4vnzyjTf-ECHK94xU9giJs1QdKBeityE-uGrRAA0/s320/IMG_3010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429434973272125746" /></a><br /><br />I now had a slightly more elegant reason to stop hiking while I snapped a picture of the steps. Even with all the gardens, bridges, and other really fancy things I took pictures of in that city, this one remains my favorite, because it was the most unexpected bit of encouragement when a girl really needed it.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-38348086191313791462010-01-20T11:51:00.001-08:002010-01-20T11:54:23.724-08:00Time for an interventionMore than my average amount of free time<br /><br />Plus<br /><br />Hormone Replacement Therapy<br /><br />Plus<br /><br />Unrestricted access to hair cutting sheers<br /><br />May equal disaster<br /><br /><br /><br />The Progesterone is going great btw ;)Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-66474531530783734622010-01-20T11:15:00.000-08:002010-01-20T11:18:48.183-08:00The Most Adorable Husband, Ever!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_rKHNzlEr42El36CsVi5V6cX1b3WeoHrDszDBxoLbUMp5dLCQTR-Po4rxjHz2hSx-Lf1WE34QdHhCZpyHnfPiAx_nn1wnpMOnK_XgjNQb4g6B3HYV_mYz7Oe-mB2fQfxt5ZUFCxpWp5U/s1600-h/IMG_2219.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_rKHNzlEr42El36CsVi5V6cX1b3WeoHrDszDBxoLbUMp5dLCQTR-Po4rxjHz2hSx-Lf1WE34QdHhCZpyHnfPiAx_nn1wnpMOnK_XgjNQb4g6B3HYV_mYz7Oe-mB2fQfxt5ZUFCxpWp5U/s400/IMG_2219.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428903020568426354" /></a><br /><br />Kris signed Rosie up for her first dance class, and every Saturday morning he skips and jumps with her. The sheer cuteness is overwhelming.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-11461542453989198262010-01-19T08:38:00.000-08:002010-01-19T09:00:22.588-08:00To SleepThere is very little that's more important to my ability to function than sleep. This seems like a really obvious thing to say. Everyone needs to sleep. But it wasn't until recently that I realized how much better I could feel after an actual night of sleep. For most of my life, I thought I was doing it right, but I would often wake feeling sore and exhausted, like I had been swimming laps between the sheets all night. <br /><br />As I laid awake this morning, I was desperate to fall back into a cozy slumber, but knew full well I'd never get there since my daughter was also laying awake and whining, "I can't sleep momma..." I reflected on my college years and how careless I was about sleep. It was my first, "I wish I could write myself a letter" moment, so that I could tell myself to get some self respect, and go to bed.<br /><br />Then I recalled Rosie's poor sleeping habits (all my fault, and I swear I'll get it right next time) but I must be crazy to want another baby. Between the general discomfort and insomnia at the end of pregnancy, and the nursing around the clock circus, I'm guaranteed to feel worse than I do this morning for the next few YEARS. But... one thing I've never (not even once) been accused of is being sane. Crazy it is. Still waiting for baby number 2.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkDvsBhtADogOcaCrBr1XlyvBZRtlm8Da-P5tOqDFzeZV73zgTLORA-jrPcdne4BzsREav40WWTR7KzTgxqGOXcLasGT2_jWtW3NcJPXa8K1mj1ZbL2mDlEgpuhTy7_0pMIR7llepiMmCg/s1600-h/IMG_2169.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkDvsBhtADogOcaCrBr1XlyvBZRtlm8Da-P5tOqDFzeZV73zgTLORA-jrPcdne4BzsREav40WWTR7KzTgxqGOXcLasGT2_jWtW3NcJPXa8K1mj1ZbL2mDlEgpuhTy7_0pMIR7llepiMmCg/s320/IMG_2169.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428496669907110418" /></a>Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-7784632776495200312010-01-17T20:54:00.000-08:002010-01-20T11:20:14.428-08:00SetbackI knew I shouldn't have said I was feeling better out loud.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-78016836119596542542010-01-15T16:16:00.000-08:002010-01-15T16:40:54.729-08:00Open Lungs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3zvS5nCWCgE0nkZl7qOMyGctVpViZM7ubvuhdKfdhYxCmgcwNhNsPuv5rT8B7NqrqnIpfSEKVvojDzaNKZ-bxvGPmSpEx0rUY8vILO1N6bGO4EWBgQQlJjEr_ilNYwnA8ZUt4xvy2ko2o/s1600-h/IMG_2185.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3zvS5nCWCgE0nkZl7qOMyGctVpViZM7ubvuhdKfdhYxCmgcwNhNsPuv5rT8B7NqrqnIpfSEKVvojDzaNKZ-bxvGPmSpEx0rUY8vILO1N6bGO4EWBgQQlJjEr_ilNYwnA8ZUt4xvy2ko2o/s400/IMG_2185.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427124976855895010" /></a><br /><br />When my darling friend <a href="http://lovetobreathe.blogspot.com/">Somer</a> told me about needing an oxygen concentrator (which helps her breathe... apparently her insurance company, which denied the claim, didn't feel breathing is necessary) I had an inspired thought. The small amount of money that I am able to raise would have a bigger impact if I gave it to actual people with Cystic Fibrosis in addition to funding research for a cure. So I created a Special Edition Red Heart, and attached a pretty hefty price tag to it. I figured I would sell two or three a month, and eventually it would add up to the $3,000 we needed to buy Somer's oxygen concentrator. Twenty-one Red Hearts were purchased in the first 24 hours. Less than two months later, we had raised the entire $3,000. I am constantly amazed by people's generosity.<br /><br />I am excited to add this new design to my collection! $15 of each sale will be set aside to help someone else with CF breathe a little easier.Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3866409393868422227.post-18062877693646561252010-01-14T09:09:00.000-08:002010-01-20T09:37:01.568-08:00RoseI admire that Rose is so sure who she is and her place in the world.<br /><br />"I want to take off my jammies!" She says.<br />So I help her get her feet unstuck.<br />"Take off my shirt!"<br />So I take off her onesie. I know this process is heading towards the blue Cinderella nightgown she has been wearing since Monday. No other set of clothes has been acceptable.<br />"But then you'll be naked."<br />She runs down the hall to find her "Lady dress."<br />"Can't you see that you're naked?" I ask.<br />"No, I'm Rosie."Lissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04478820957952777464noreply@blogger.com1