How to parent like the best manager in baseball.

“There are only 2 seasons, winter and baseball.”~Bill Veeck

Now that the regular season is under way, winter must be over.

It’s time for some baseball.

There is nothing like the sensory experience of the ballpark.  The taste and smell of a ballpark hotdog.  The sounds of a crowd standing after a Francisco Lindor playoff home run.  The sight of Andrew Miller striking out the side.  The feeling of a high five after Cody Allen tallies that sometimes elusive 27th out.

Oh, the ballpark.  So many things can be learned at the old ball yard.  It’s a place where parents can share stories of memorable moments and create new memories.  I remember taking our son through the turnstiles for the first time on a hot July afternoon.  He soaked it all in.  Wanting to go on my shoulders so he could see as much as he could.  After the game we walked by the spot where Jim Thome hit one out of the Jake (yes, I still refer to it as the Jake and always will).  On another evening, we stayed well past his bedtime to watch Corey Kluber strike out 18 Cardinals and work a no hitter into the seventh.  We met Onion, Mustard, and Ketchup and watched them race in the Hot Dog Derby.  Multisensory memories that he will take with him long past I am gone.

But there is one more I want him to learn.

The Tito Principle.

Terry Francona has been managing our beloved Indians for the last four seasons.  In his first, he took us to the playoffs.  In his most recent, we were one game away from the World Series Pennant.  Both were seasons he won AL Manager of the Year.  He won 2 world championships with the Boston Red Sox.  And I firmly believe he will do the same here in Cleveland.  Why?

The Tito Principle.

If we try our very best to…

play to our strengths,

and stay in the moment,

then, we will find internal content and peace.

This statement does not go only for the diamond.  It goes for life in general.  For all of us.  No matter our age.  But most importantly, it speaks to how we raise our children. 

Playing to our strengths

Michael Brantley played only 11 games.  We lost Carlos Carrasco with a broken hand.  Danny Salazar spent four different times on the disabled list.  Yan Gomes broke his hand.  Trevor Bauer had a mishap with a drone.

Yet we still made it to the World Series.

Tito played to our strengths.  Make the game shorter with a bullpen of Brian Shaw, Andrew Miller, and Cody Allen.  Create a schedule where your work horse ace can pitch as much as possible.  Hope that you get a timely hit from Frankie Lindor, Jason Kipnis, or Jose Ramirez.

As a parent or teacher, play to your kids’ strengths.  I remember when our son was two and he would stay awake until after 11PM.  We couldn’t pinpoint it at first.  He would go right down for nap with no problem.  We investigated deeper.  We compared the events around his nap to those around his bedtime.  In both parts, he ate prior to sleeping.  He also read and listened to music before both.  What was different?  Bath time.  Turns out, by the end of his day his sensory bucket was empty.  He had nothing left and it would put him over the edge.  We decided to start showering in the morning when his sensory bucket was full.  We played to our son’s strengths.  Thus, he started to fall asleep earlier and earlier.  Be like Tito, play to your kids strengths.

Stay in the moment

Have you ever listened to a post-game interview or a press conference with Tito?  When asked about next weekend’s pitching matchup against the Tigers or the long road trip that lays ahead, Tito has a typical response.  “We will worry about that when it is in front of us.  Our focus is getting better every day and concentrating on today.

Wow, if that is not great advice for anyone, I am not sure what is. 

As a parent of a son who has a unique set of needs, we must be in tune and aware in every moment.  I think we can get lost in worrying about when the next meltdown may be.  But if we are truly in this moment right now and learning, your child will notice.  One of our favorite explorations is the beach.  It is a quick ride and an enormous science experiment waiting to be explored.  Find these moments to share, stay in them, and learn together.  I need to remind myself to put the phone down or forget about the clothes hamper that exploded from the closet.  I try my best to remind myself that they will only be this little once and time is a non-renewable resource. 

Oh, I can’t wait.  Only four more days until the corner of Carnegie and Ontario will be rocking.  More teachable moments at the ballpark with our kids.  Maybe this season will be the one we will learn about winning with dignity.

Best of luck to Skipper Terry Francona and our beloved Indians.

Go Tribe!

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad…

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Terrible

Horrible

No Good

Very Bad…

 

Friend.

 

It’s me; I am.

 

That email that got piled on and lost in the line of gmail onslaught that buzzes to my phone, computer, and wrist.

That Facebook message that I know I haven’t responded to yet but the little red alert stares at me each time I reach for my phone.

The space and silence between phone calls, text messages, and get togethers because when the dust settles I just need to feel the quiet or a quick run instead.

Here comes that social event I’m trying to avoid because I just ran out of energy to put that face back on to muscle my way through small talk and meeting new people.

Because I am paralyzed, begging the world to just stop spinning, stop moving, stop doing. My world is frozen but everyone else moves in a graceful dance around me.

When I run out of words to talk about it, describe it, or feel it anymore and all that comes are tears. I just can’t put on the facade today.

I keep getting up with the sun and putting one foot in front of the other. I don’t remember all of the steps but my Fitbit logged them in the fog of the day so I must have carried on.

In the wake of carrying the weight of parenthood, parenthood of a child with special needs, the diagnosis, the blame, the guilt, the balance, the treatment, the full time job, I need you. I need you now probably more than ever. You see it though; you see the heavy shoulders and the sullen face.

I didn’t even ask how you were doing, but please ask me to go walking with you again.

I monopolized the entire conversation, but please ask me to go get coffee again.

I went silent but you keep inviting me; even when the no’s outnumber the yes’s.

I couldn’t keep from crying and you offered a hug.

You keep me accountable for the three good things in my day when I otherwise wouldn’t find them.

You bring me coffee and a scone.

You write a quick note on a card with a gift card inside.

When I feel like a failure you are a constant reminder that I am not.

You leave something kind and unexpected on my desk for me to find.

You send me picture of us that is at least a decade old and feels like a lifetime ago.

You keep me putting that one foot in front of the other. When my world stops or becomes too heavy you keep going. You show me that I can keep going too.

Thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

Halloween! Can you help me?

Dear Neighbor:

I am a 4-year-old little boy in your neighborhood and I am really looking forward to Halloween.  We have prepared in many ways for this day. My mommy made me a really cool rocket ship costume.  She used a nice soft hoodie and found some comfortable sweatpants which are materials that I like the feeling of.  I tried some of the other rocket ship costumes from the store, but they felt itchy and scratchy.  It may not be the fanciest costume you see this evening but it was made with a lot of love and care.  One of my favorite costumes Mommy made was my Clifford one.  I wore it for two years in a row!

 

There are certain things about Halloween I really like.  I really like dressing up and pretending to be a rocket ship and running in the yard.  Running, moving, and playing help me rebalance with all of the things that are going on.  We all take in our environment differently using our senses.  A lot is going on at Halloween for me.  The sounds, lights, smells, textures, motion and gravity are all sending messages to my brain that can sometimes be confusing.  I have to use the toolkit that mommy, daddy, and Miss Anna (my Occupational Therapist) have taught me to assure I am comfortable.  I really want to enjoy Halloween like many other kids do.  We have practiced using strategies so I can enjoy Halloween because my mommy and daddy said it is better to try than to avoid.  Can you help me, please?

 

You probably have seen us walking the neighborhood with our dog.  We have practiced our route so I know where to go next.  I feel comfortable on our street but if I do not know or recognize you, I may act very shy and reserved.  I will be walking with a group of friends which helps me feel safer and less anxious.  We may have some picture cards to help communicate how we are feeling or what we are thinking.  I will have my sunglasses and headphones with me as well.  I will make sure I do some heavy work and eat a good supper before I head out. 

 

My mommy and daddy talked with me about the difference between spooky, silly, and scary.  We talked about maybe seeing big flashing lights, machines that have smoke, and loud music and sounds.  We will start trick or treating when it is still light out so I feel more comfortable.  If your house has a lot of scary music or monsters in the yard, I may tell my daddy our safe word and we will go to the next house.  I am working on using my words to tell my family and friends how I feel.  Sometimes it’s hard to explain what is going on inside of me so we have safe word and I use it when I am starting to get anxious.   If you see me go to the next house, please don’t be mad or upset-especially if I do not recognize your house.  My parents talked to me about empathy and how others may feel.  I am glad you really like Halloween and decorate your house.  I am still learning and maybe next year I will be more comfortable to visit your house with the lights or sounds.  I really like lanterns and soft lights.  I may carry one with me.  I have learned to navigate new environments each day and I am still growing.  Maybe we can talk the next time we walk to the park?

 

I am very excited about all of the possible treats!  Two of my buddies who I will be trick or treating with have allergies.  You probably wouldn't be able to guess who has what unique need.  We painted a pumpkin teal to let people know we have some treats that are not food.  We were going to count how many teal pumpkins we will find.  Did you paint one teal and have safe treats?

 

I will do my best to say “trick or treat!” and to be polite.  Sometimes mommy and daddy will need to remind me.  We have prepared quite a bit to get ready for Halloween and some of the little things I may forget.  When there is a large bucket in front of me, please be patient with me.  A lot of my friends will know exactly what they want, it may take me a moment find mine.  I have to order things in my head for it to make sense and it sometimes takes a minute.  If I do decide on which piece, I may accidentally grab two.  It won’t be on purpose; I am working on my fine motor with Anna using different tools so I can have a stronger grip.  I may dig a bit to find the right one I like.  I have some favorites like tootsie rolls, gummy bears, or anything else that is chewy.  Please don’t be upset with me if I do not like what you have to offer and politely choose not to take one. I am not trying to be rude. I avoid certain tastes and textures because they don’t feel right in my mouth and just because it is candy, doesn’t change that.

 

When I am excited I start moving faster and faster with little awareness of where my body is in space. Mommy said I may need to slow down a bit to feel comfortable again and to keep from tripping or bumping into my friends accidentally.  I will be super excited but at a certain point by sensory bucket will be empty for the day.  I may have to go inside a little bit earlier to help me stay on my routine for bedtime. I will need to clean up and get some rest so I am ready for school tomorrow. 

 

Thanks for reading my letter.  It makes me feel good that you are in our neighborhood and are trying to be flexible, empathetic, and patient with me.  With your help, Halloween is going to be a great experience for me.

 

Love,

Your …

 

Neighbor

Son

Grandson

Brother

Cousin

Nephew

Friend

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What looks ordinary…

We have been using occupational therapy for a year and a half now. I know of families who go to more therapy appointments that we do and I know of families who go to less. Regardless, it’s emotionally draining. The appointment is only the tip of the iceberg. The day-to-day grind is where we take what we have learned in therapy (from our oh so patient and kind occupational therapist) and apply it to our all day, everyday.

What looks like an ordinary, every child does that, kind of activity has a whole new meaning when the senses are not taking in the environment properly. We are constantly finding ways to stretch and balance messages to his brain to create new pathways that will take in what the senses experience in order to participate in daily activities with ease.

The Playground

What looks ordinary is my child is getting exercise and socializing with peers, but really this is outdoor therapy.

It is a place of heavy work, proprioceptive and vestibular input, much-needed spinning and swinging, and challenges for him to find the courage to try to climb just a little bit higher each time.  

Repetitive joint compressions from stomping up the stairs and running across the bridges.

It’s about successfully covering skinned knees with the sticky feeling of Band-Aids that once took his breath away.

The Beach

What looks ordinary is my child is having fun but really it is a place of true calm for him as he hears the water crashing against the shore. It is a place he feels like every other kid and can through his worries into the wind.  This is where he dances, finding his happy place on the shoreline in his own little world.

There is order in lining up rocks or shells. It is a collection of sorted and like items to bring home. It is a heart shaped rock saved just for mommy.

It is where burying his body in the sand sends the right message to his brain; where chasing birds gives him the appropriate space to let his motor run and muscles work.

It is the place where he overcame the fear and pain of sand rubbing against our skin to experience the euphoric rush that is the seashore.

The Swimming Pool.

What looks ordinary is my child learning how to swim but really it is a place for him to have the all over pressure of the water surrounding his body.

It is tolerating the feeling of wet fabric close to his skin; overcoming the fear of putting his face and hair into the water.

Finding the right accommodations of sun shirts and just the right fitting goggles.

Constantly practicing putting sunscreen onto his skin so that slowly but surely he can do it without cringing and pulling away.

It’s trying not to be the helicopter mom sitting off to the side and using her zoom lens to watch for signs of triggers or meltdown to come while still giving him the independence, confidence, and freedom he so deserves.

As we say goodbye to summer and hello to fall and soon winter; as you see my son raking and jumping into piles of leaves, shoveling snow and sledding down hills, literally bouncing off the walls at Sky Zone and running up and down the soccer field, know that these ordinary looking experiences are making an extraordinary difference for him and for our family. 

Love/Hate

Anger is powerful emotion. It destroys and distances relationships; secludes and isolates people. I see it flicker in my son’s eyes like a flame. I feel it ache in my bones when it gets the better of me. These moments are the most raw between us; certainly not part of my proudest either. Broken doors, broken feelings, broken spirits. With every fierce meltdown early on in our journey I felt he was different, less himself, distanced. I have never been so mad at anything in my entire life and angry would be one of the last words anyone would use to describe me.

 

I am not mad at him. I have a love hate relationship with Sensory Processing Disorder. My mom always said that hate is a strong word… I think the shoe fits.

 

I want only to be the one that takes the anger and hurt for him as a shield, but I can’t.  Why him? Why us? Why Sensory Processing Disorder? These I may never know. The anger bubbles up at certain stretches of time and sometimes it lingers longer than others. I force myself to find the positive, focus on the good, and be a protector and guider of him and all that he is.

 

The fiery moments fueled by the traffic jam that is Sensory Processing Disorder are fewer and farther between now that we have worked so hard together as a family to better understand, seek support, and implement strategies. For every moment anger creeps back in, I reflect on how it has changed us, me, for the better.

 

I fear the next anger uprising because sometimes there is no warning. Other times it can feel like an anxious ticking time bomb; knowing it will detonate. He has made me quick on my feet and better able to spontaneously problem solve.

 

I hate that he never stops, seems to be run by a motor and it’s exhausting to keep up with. I love that his little legs have already pedaled their way to a two-wheeler, skated their way to hockey lessons, and run up and down a soccer field with the most energy and excitement I have ever seen.

 

I live in a constant heightened state of awareness of the onslaught of environmental splatter. I love that he has made me more sensitive to what is around me and how it affects others.

 

I thought I had a grasp on parenting out of the gate with my multiple degrees of education and child development. He has kept me humble and honest.

 

I hate that the sounds of everyday life sometimes require headphones and directions need to be repeated over and over again but I love the look on his face when he listens to the pure sound of a violin.

 

I live in a world just one meltdown away at any moment. He has taught me not to care what others may think and not to judge or criticize. You don’t know what you don’t know.

 

For all of the lows there are equal highs. He has taught me balance.

 

I hate that he has to feel different but I love that he is unique.

 

He is so fixated and orderly that the rigidity drives our every move but he can identify any car on the road, can give you a slue of fascinating facts about our solar system, and builds Lego creations in a flash.

 

I hate using my CPI training hold but I love his compression hugs.

 

Some days, appointments, and meetings are heavy and emotional. He gave me a better appreciation for laughter and a sense of humor. He has given me a spark and strength. I am a better teacher and advocate.

 

I hate the constant night waking. He has taught me to relish the simplicity of a full nights sleep.

 

With the rage comes his passion. He has given me a true understanding of unconditional love.

 

For every anger filled question of why, there is a silver lining. Sometimes I have to step back and look closely to find it, but it’s there. It is the time of year when dandelions are blooming; some see the weed and some see the wish…

 

Please consider sharing a comment or a personal experience that you have had.  Together, we can raise awareness.  Please consider joining us for our special events as well.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, which one is he?

So, which one is he?

As we shared more of our story and met new people, that is usually one of the first questions that is asked.  Besides being a “mini me” version of yours truly, our hope and goal is that observers can’t tell.  It means that the therapy and the tools that Team Ogilvy are trying to provide our son are working.  For now.  It is always there; always will be there. What may work today for our son and his unique set of needs may not be the tools that work tomorrow. What sets him off today, he could be indifferent to tomorrow. Every day is a new adventure.  We will continue learning about each other and what we can do to grow.  Our hope is that our son has a tool kit to draw from in those experiences that make him feel anxious or out of sorts.  It could be a certain activity that regulates the feelings inside and brings him back to center.  It could be a question that we ask him to trigger a tool he may need to apply for himself.  Our aim is for him to be able to draw upon these tools independently.  As days go by, the tools become more comfortable to use.  It has taken Emily and I some time to identify the types of triggers for him. 

 

A few months ago, our son and I were playing on the bed.  He longs for crashing and jumping as one of those mechanisms to bring him back to center.  As he partakes in his variety of crashing moves that resemble a WWE match, we like to talk.  I ask questions that I hope will spawn answers that can help me understand how he is feeling.  On most days, he shares very little and tries to change the subject.  It’s how he is.  Very little is shared about school or his day.  But on this particular day, he offered up much information.  My goal is to scaffold with him to identify where things are coming from using the “3 why” method.  For example, 

 

Me: “Why do we need to jump today?” 

Our son: “Because it makes me feel better.”

Me: “Why does it make you feel better?”

Our son: “Because it spreads the blood out.”

Looking dumbfounded and highly confused (which is a regular look for me), my response was…

Me: “Wait, what?”

 

As you can see on this day, I didn’t even get to third “why.”  He totally blew my mind.  He looked me square in the eyes and said, “Daddy, it feels like all of the blood is right here.”  As he pointed to the center of his chest, he continued by saying, “jumping and crashing, spreads the blood out.” With his hand he showed me how it spread out to his limbs as if almost releasing him from an inner cage. 

 

I was floored.  I felt as if I was in a foreign country and I was able to finally communicate with someone.  Our son was able to give us a small tidbit into what he felt, in his own words.  As far away as I felt in the bathtub months prior, I felt a few steps closer to him on this day. Now I know.

I looked at him and smiled for a second and thought to myself, “No sh*t.” He of course, in his tremendous candor and bluntness, snapped me back into the moment.  He looks at me and says, “We need to keep going so the blood can spread out.  Come on, Daddy!  You don’t want the blood to go back, do you?”  And with that, we were back to crashing.

 

He inspires me with his strength and perseverance every day.  His persistent fight to regulate.  It is what you don’t see.  He doesn’t know any different.  It’s who he is.  He fights so hard to hold it all together sometimes.  Emily and I have tried our best to build a supportive team around him. From our pediatrician...to our caring family...to our thoughtful friends...to his understanding and flexible teachers at school...to his therapists who push him to grow at each session...and his beloved “Auntie.”  They are all members of Team Ogilvy.  This group of wonderful people help our son to be himself…to feel confident…to feel comfortable in his own skin.  To be my superhero.

Which one is he you ask?  The one that drives his mother and I crazy.  The never ending puzzle.  The one that inspires me in the pursuit of growth as we navigate this world together. 

 

Which one is he?  Hopefully you may never know based on his unique needs.  The hope Emily and I have is that he will be noticed for some crazy idea he has or some project he creates.  Through communication and questioning, we will learn more about our son and as a result, learn more about ourselves.

 

We can raise awareness for sensory processing together!  There are two great ways to connect with us and join our Super Hero Team.  

1.  Please consider joining us for our Open Houses, Mini-Sessions, or Sensory Camp if this sounds familiar.  We would be happy to help!

2.  Like our Facebook page or follow us on Twitter!

Thanks for all of your support.  Have a great weekend!

Now I know.

I don’t have all of the answers… Who are we kidding? I probably don’t even have half of them. I’m not a doctor, psychiatrist, psychologist, or therapist. I’m a mom, a wife, a teacher and my perspective comes from these experiences.

 

Although signs were there since infancy and looking back now, I see all of them and then some; year two was by far the toughest for my son and for me. The terrible two’s they say. I dug deep into my child development tool belt, put my mommy armor on and got to work.  We “super nannied” it with the best of them.  We did time outs, I put him back into his toddler bed for literally hours, and we sat at the dinner table crying over chicken potpie.  

 

I didn’t know tantrums were really meltdowns.

I didn’t know that the anxiety of transitioning was so high.

I didn’t know that the texture of foods mixed together was unbearable.

 

I could never tie his shoes tight enough. Forget wearing any clothing I had picked out for him. Pick your battles, they say. Getting him out of his fleece “softy” pajamas during any given day was a feat. Sleeping through the night was a figment of our imagination. Cry it out, they say. He was motor driven by an activity level that never seemed to satisfy his need.

 

I didn’t know that constant pressure gave him a sense of himself in space.

I didn’t know certain fabrics felt like sandpaper on his skin.

I didn’t know that the sound of the refrigerator on another level of the house kept him from sleeping.

I didn’t know that his need for gross motor input was a constant for balance and discovery of body movement.

 

We turned clothing inside out and cut all tags out. I could never place the seams of his socks perfectly enough so he wore them inside out. It’s your parenting, they say. Band-Aids made him panic and at one point pass out in my arms. He’ll grow out of it, they say.  The sound of a garbage bag opening made him cover his ears and hide.  Baths in the evening, yikes.

 

I didn’t know light touches to his skin were all consuming thoughts.

I didn’t know the feeling of pulling a Band-Aid off had passing out as a coping mechanism.

I didn’t know loud, unexpected sounds were painful.

 

We arrived at his three-year well check. He wore one of the typical gowns provided and you would have thought he was wearing a blanket of thumbtacks. It took all we had to get him to keep it on long enough for our pediatrician to enter the room.  I remember the moment our doctor asked if there were any other reactions to touch that seemed similar to his reaction to the gown. It was like the flood gates had opened and without even having to think about it, I rattled off a laundry list. It was like I was waiting for someone to ask me that very question, but I just didn’t know it. A pressure had been lifted off of my chest as though I had been keeping it all hidden there. Hidden from judgment and criticism.

 

We walked out of that appointment with a referral for an occupational therapy evaluation and with it came a sense of relief. I wasn’t a horrible parent. I wasn’t making it up. I just didn’t know. This was the beginning of knowing and understanding and it made a space for kindness and compassion to follow. That day, I became one step closer to my son. I see him and I hear him. Now I know, and this was the beginning of our journey together through the lens of sensory processing differences.

 

If you have ever felt this way as a parent, we strongly encourage you to please consider joining us for our Open House or a program.  We can do this, together.

I didn't know what to do.

I didn’t know what to do.

I have worked with kids in some capacity since I was 16 years old.  I could connect with children in the classroom, on the field, and in the gym.  But there I was trying to wash him in the bathtub, an arms length away from our blue-eyed little boy feeling a million miles apart. 

 

I didn’t know what to do.  And it hurt.

 

It was the first time, and probably the last, that I had raised my voice to this little red headed “mini-me.”  We both had a range of emotions running through us.  Frustration.  Anger.  Sadness.  Disappointment.  I couldn’t comfort him.  I couldn’t calm him.  I couldn’t ease that inner feeling of upset that he obviously had.  He could't put the words to how he felt.  And to make it worse, we were 500 miles from home.

 

I didn’t know what to do.  And it hurt.  And I think I scared him.

 

I am sure the whole street may have heard us.  By the time Emily came rushing in, she could tell how upset I was at myself and at the situation.  Why was he so upset over a simple bedtime routine? Why was he feeling this way?  What could I do better to help him from responding this way to us?  I desired the opportunity to wrap my arms around him and tell him it would be ok and we loved him.  I wanted to wash away his upset and let it drip down the drain.  But I couldn’t.

 

Some of the answers to these questions we have discovered and lived in to.  Some we feel we have a grasp on one day, and then lose the next.  Still others sometimes feel like an incredible master lock that we wonder if we will ever crack the code.

 

All I know is this.  I love this little boy.  He is my super hero.  He has made me a better person each and every day I have been around him.  Despite the meltdowns, the days we feel we are speaking different languages, or the times he lashes out, I would choose him in 100 lifetimes, in 100 worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find him and choose him.

 

Without a doubt.

 

If you have ever felt this way with your child, I hope you join us on our journey.  Feeling on an island can sometimes be a recurring emotion that you may have as a parent when your child has these moments.  When you can’t figure it out.  When talking makes it worse.  When you think a hug may make it better, but it over stimulates your child even more.

 

Trust me, we get it.  We have been there.  Let’s travel together on this voyage.  For our kids…and our grandkids…and our great grandkids. 

 

Our goal is to encourage, enlighten, and educate about sensory processing through family based integrated activities.  Our goal was to give our son every possible tool in his toolkit that would help him navigate through the wide ranging life experiences that he may come across.

 

I made one promise to our son after this experience.  He would never walk alone.  We would pursue growth.  Together.  We would learn and flourish.  Together.  Side by side.

 

We all have our tough days, but we can band together to form a tribe with the same mission.  We very much appreciate your courage to connect.  Please like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/couragetoconnectcle to walk with us!

 

We hope to see you at our Open Houses as well!