Tag Archives: school

W is for the Writing Center… and finding my special purpose. (Wink.)

Awesome Things, Recurring Themes, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I started working in the Michigan Tech Writing Center when I was a sophomore in college. I loved it there SO much– more than being an RA, more than rowing crew, more even than my actual major. I only worked 8 – 12 hours per week, depending on the semester, but those 8 – 12 hours were much more formative for me than any 15 – 20 credit course load I ever had.

The chem sci building-- where I basically lived for four years.
The chem sci building– where I basically lived for four years.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s good that I learned chemistry and physics and math (except differential equations– what a waste! I couldn’t even get a date out of that class, though I tried…) and such. It’s probably even good that I learned some things about myself by being an RA (which super sucked, but led to meeting my husband, so…) and rowing crew (which made my back, arms, and legs crazy strong for the year I did it, but just ended up being too much– let’s be honest here, I’m no athlete). Those are the things that made me look different from the outside, paid for my room and board, and filled in the bubbles on the GRE, but I’ve got to tell you, they are not the biggest things. The most influential things.

The most influential thing was absolutely, hands down, 100% for definitely sure the Writing Center.

The Writing Center. At an engineering university? That caters almost entirely to the most technically-minded of the nerds? In the middle of no where? I mean… the edge of no where?

Yes. The Writing Center. At Michigan Tech. Which is all those things, but such a hidden gem. (I should really recruit for the Huskies, I love that place so much.)

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I’ve talked a little bit before about my boss in the Writing Center, Sylvia Matthews, and how absolutely amazing she was (is, to be sure). And I really think that it was she, Jill Arola, and Nancy Grimm and their ridiculously insightful ways of thinking, living, and educating that made it the special place that it was.

You see, in the Writing Center, it wasn’t so much about the grammar and the punctuation and the sentence structure and all the other technical aspects of writing that tend to give the vast majority of people either a headache or a panic attack. It was about understanding and being understood. About using words to do that. And the things I learned. Oy.

As part of working at the Writing Center, all of the coaches had to take a small, one credit course in which we discussed pedagogy and techniques and experiences and the like. At the end of every semester of “work,” we all wrote reflections about our experiences and what we had learned. I saved a couple of them. Not sure how exactly… they’ve definitely survived several major paper purges since I graduated in 2005, but listen to this one:

I can’t help but feel like this shows the the Writing Center is the place where I am supposed to be and the work I’m doing is important.

That was in 2004!

Pablo Picasso once said, “The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away.”

Words, communicating with them… I think that’s my gift.

It’s not what I expected my gift to be. Nor is it what I thought it was or what I necessarily would have hoped for, but here we are. I think I finally found it.

It’s not like I just woke up one day in the recent past and liked writing or thought I was good at it.

No.

My “gift” found me a long, long time ago. The Young Authors thing-a-ma-jig at Lincoln (who remembers that big book? how good it felt to have your story “published”?) was always awesome for me in elementary school. I loved the Independent Study in English I did with my cross country coach, Mr. Moran, my sophomore year in high school… and even now I’m still proud of the essay I vaguely remember writing about Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles… no idea what it was about, but guys, it was good.

Later on, in college, I got this rave review on a biochemistry report:

An absolute pleasure to read, etc... yay yay yay! A+!
An absolute pleasure to read, etc… yay yay yay! A+!

Yep, kept that too. It made me feel awesome!

And I loved the writing center so so so much.

Yet, my brain, my logic, my ACT results and aptitude tests and interests had me convinced that it was science science science all the way. Science would lead me to success. I would cure something, help someone, do sciencey things and make the world a better place by being noticed, by making a big impact.

A little piece of me must have known that wasn’t true. Because if it were, I’d be a chemist somewhere… working at 3M, inventing polymers and interpreting spectra and such, because I could have done that after college. But it didn’t seem right. Something wasn’t fitting and I wasn’t happy. So I went to grad school… where I wasn’t happy… and tried to go to med school… but I realized that was a very expensive path to continued unhappiness… so I stuck it in grad school… and came to the end… and still wasn’t very happy with my options.

It took all that time for me to admit to myself that I didn’t want to be a bench scientist. I didn’t want to run a lab. I didn’t want to come up with new ideas and new ways to test them.

So what did I like?

Talking about it. Always. Telling other people about science, about medicine, about dinosaurs, about whatever.

Thankfully, the universe, powers that be, whatever, know better than I do… and ultimately I ended up where I am now, as a scientific research writer at a big clinic. Back in what is, essentially, a post-collegiate writing center! I’m finally in a place where I use my gift on the regular.

Well, half of it anyway.

The other half was definitely this blog.

An illustrative example for you…

At work, I say “epistaxis as a result of digital trauma…”

On the Internet, I say “nosebleed because you dug too deep. Get your fingers out of there. Geez.”

A different way of saying exactly the same thing. One gets published in the Mayo Clinic Proceedings (hopefully) and the other makes someone laugh, but get it while they’re laughing.

And that’s the other half.

The things that makes me the happiest about writing now, at work and on the internet… and the thing that made me the happiest then, in the Writing Center… was the impact it had on people. And on me. Equal and opposite forces. An action and a reaction. Both things leaving the encounter changed.

At work, I help people make their science understandable and accessible. I cannot tell you how rewarding it is to see something in print, to get a funding notice for a grant… but most of all, to have an author I’ve previously worked with come back an improved writer. That’s the best best. (I’m talking to you, Dr. Kanth!) I learn about crazy things like deformed pancreases and what a vitamin D deficiency really does to your body (it’s not just rickets, yo)… I take that away, and someone takes something completely different away from me. A better technique for incorporating literature into a Discussion section, a modified sentence structure, a new way to format a table. Some little piece of communication.

It always happened that way at the Writing Center too. There was this kid one time, a freshman that I coached, and a professor made him cry in front of his entire class during the first week of school when he pronounced a word incorrectly. My heart broke for him. Absolutely broke. There was little I could actually do besides listen and encourage him and help him to communicate better. And seriously, by the end of the semester, he was volunteering to speak in front of the class. I’m not trying to say that was necessarily because of me, but I do know that he and I were both changed.

Here’s what I said about it on December 7, 2004 (Writing Center reflection style, again)–

I have been continually impressed with Jason this semester. He has determination and work ethic like no one I have ever met. I can say with confidence that having been faced with the same situation, I would have become very apathetic toward my work, sure that I could do nothing to please the teacher. I would have been very angry, but Jason never was. As much as I feel like I helped him to come out of his shell, he showed me the way that a person can handle difficulties gracefully. Through all of these difficulties, I am really glad that I got to be Jason’s coach.

And I think that maybe, just maybe, that’s what Picasso meant. When you give your gift away, this intangible gift that is the purpose of your life, you don’t lose anything. The little space you opened up is filled with something even better, something different and new and exciting. A new facet on your perspective. And the person who took that little piece of your gift away? They grow it– they grow it into something completely new, and different, and exciting inside themselves. Like planting a seed, or rooting a plant cutting.

At least, that’s what Picasso said means to me.

Communicating with words, erudite and crass, is my mission and my jam, my calling and my thang. I can do it for science, I can do it for life, I can do it for the twisted workings of my brain, and I can do it for others.

For others though, that’s my favorite part. I can brag about my sister-in-law if she’s having trouble doing herself (she’s always have trouble doing it herself– Sister Doctor just got the biggest honor you can get in all of medical school and tells people it’s “just” an organization thing. Sigh.). I can proofread and format a resume for someone who has lost a job. I can fix up a poster when someone panics a week before a conference. These are the things I can do. The gifts that I can share. Always something in return, of course, even if it’s just the satisfaction of having been able to do something when I would otherwise be helpless. And I like that so much.

The Writing Center helped me to find my special purpose… not the same special purpose that Steve Martin came across a little prematurely in The Jerk (Trista, let’s watch that this weekend! trip to Family Video!), but a special purpose in the sense that his mom really meant it. I couldn’t have done what I do now if I hadn’t pursued all of the sciences, so I’m glad that I did the chemistry degree and the grad school with all the STDs and the like, but at the time, science was always the goal. Not so, it turns out! The Writing Center was to be the place I circled back to, in another form, yes, but the same idea. I work with authors with all ranges of education levels, backgrounds, accents, talent and skill levels on far more topics than I could ever possibly fully understand, but regardless of all that– I help people get their words out, to be heard, to share, and in return, I am constantly changed.

It’s funny that way back in 2004, I worked so hard with other Writing Center coaches to present on what we called “The Ripple Effect” at a writing center conference… but only as an abstract and beautiful thing that I mostly hoped would happen. Good news: it did. It does. Always.

Here we are at that sweet writing center conference-- Sylvia right in the middle :)
Here we are at that sweet writing center conference– Sylvia right in the middle 🙂

Well… this is awkward. I go searching to find a link to take you to the Writing Center website and find out it’s now called the Michigan Tech Multiliteracies Center. Makes sense. Still in Walker 107. A rose by any other name, I guess! More importantly, M for Multiliteracies is basically just an upside-down W for Writing… so… we’re good.

Oh wait... apparently I did know. I took this picture when I was there for Winter Carnival in 2012. Well then...
Oh wait… apparently I did know. I took this picture when I was there for Winter Carnival in 2012. Well then…

Be nice to me…

Instructions for Life, , , , , , , ,

… I gave blood today.

Have you ever given blood? When I first started giving, back in 2001, the Red Cross always handed out a sticker after you’d given. They said something along the lines of, “Be nice to me, I gave blood today” and oh my goodness… did I ever wear that thing proudly.

So proudly!

(Second in the amount of proud-ness only to my “I voted” American flag oval sticker. You know what I’m talking about.)

In the 13 intervening years, I’ve given a couple (a few? several?) gallons combined to the Red Cross, the US Armed Services Blood Program, and now the Blood Center of Wisconsin (BCW). I give regularly knowing that I’m a healthy young adult with a large blood volume (consequent to large body size) who’s not scared of needles, not prone to passing out, has no religious or other objections to blood donation, and doesn’t even get so much as a headache from it. (Plus, I really like Fritos and they almost always have Fritos afterward.) But more importantly, I hope that if ever I or a loved one ever ends up needing a blood transfusion someone else will have given. So while I can, I do. Especially given that there are many people who, for whatever reason, cannot.

I really cannot say enough good about the staff of the Blood Center of Wisconsin. Admittedly, I was bummed when I moved to Wisconsin and had to lose my “status” at the Red Cross, but I got my gallon t-shirt at BCW  a couple months ago and they’re always amazing. They call to remind me whenever I’m due to give, they come right to my work on a regular basis, it’s easy and quick, the staff are super friendly, they always congratulate me on my hemoglobin (thank you for recognizing that it’s not easy keeping it above 13!), and I’ve never, ever had a bad poke from a single BCW phlebotomist (knock on wood).

Also, Fritos.

Today was no exception regarding the awesome BCW staff. I chatted with the phlebotomist today about her sweet puppies and mine and by the time I was done (remember how I don’t have a ton of platelets? I fill the bag real quick– it’s awesome) I was pretty much good friends with Kathy and wanted to meet her sweet Gracie and Ivy (tox foy terriers) desperately. Then, while I was having my snack, I met a young MA (seriously– 19 years old, so young!) from orthopedics and we chatted over Fritos (I was not kidding, I really  love them), juice, and a BCW volunteer timing our 10 minute rest. She was so nice!

There were stickers afterward, of course, but they said something about being a hero and I couldn’t bring myself to take one. (Let alone wear it if I did.) I can donate, so I do. And while I hope that day never comes, if I ever need a transfusion, I hope very much that someone else would have donated for me. (Pure, unbridled selfishness.)

Had the stickers said, “Be nice to me, I gave blood today” things may have been different. Because I love that. Except I kind of feel like I had one on anyway. Because everyone was crazy nice to me today. And that’s when the sum total of many recent overly pleasant experiences struck me:

I have become my mother.

Sometimes I make my mom dance with me. It's awesome.
Sometimes I make my mom dance with me. It’s awesome.

Random segue, right? But hear me out.

Kathy, the phlebotomist, and I, are basically tight now. I know about her two sweet pups and the story of her previous pup being put to sleep when she turned 18 and got sick. I know how upset her rough-and-tumble, 72-year-old, tough guy husband was when that happened. She knows that I desperately want another dog and that I plan to guilt trip Seth for one upon reaching 2 years of infertility (heads up, babe!). I met one of the newest Marshfield Clinic employees and know now that she’s 19 years old, from the small town of Unity nearby (like small, guys, even compared to Marshfield, but it’s cool, she really likes small town living), that she graduated from high school early at 17 (me too!), and that she and I are both fans of Dr. Pathak from endocrinology.

Last week, I chatted with the lady at the pharmacy about the hand cream I was using and we discovered that we both love CeraVe– it’s amazing stuff! She was glad to know how much I like Vaniply for my hands though. She’ll consider it next winter.

In Phoenix, I chatted with a conference organizer when I checked in at the registration desk and found out that her brother-in-law is the football coach at Michigan Tech and next in line to take over as Athletic Director and don’t you just love the UP?

And I could go on.

This is my mom’s thing, though. People talk to my mom. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said to her, “How do you know that person?” and she responds, “I don’t.”

But, but, but… I’m an introvert. That’s not supposed to be something I do.

I’m confused.

My mom truly has a gift for connecting with people and I’ve always (always as an adult, of course) been impressed by that. She can talk to anyone about anything and it’s not even weird. Yes, as a child, it was embarrassing and I constantly had to get my ma-ommm-mmuh on to warn her that she was being overly familiar (like she cared), but something about it seeped in through the cracks. She took the genetic milieu she passed on to me and spiced it up with some wicked nurturing just in time for adulthood. In-ter-es-ante.

For the vast majority of my conscious life, my mom has worked with people who struggled in school. When I was really little, she taught adult ed to people working toward their high school diploma or GED. She worked nights then, something like 5 – 10 PM, and she often let me come with her to do dissections or other awesome things. Her students would come to our house. They played Carmen Sandiego with me… they took me trick-or-treating… they taught me the law of supply and demand as they understood it. None of these people were “like” us, but I didn’t know that. My mom was nice to them all; she truly cared about them all.

As I got older, my mom moved into elementary education. She taught then, and still teaches, in Willow Run, a notoriously tough district in the area. She is truly an incredible and gifted teacher, and she consciously chooses to put her time, energy, and considerable expertise into an underprivileged school district… not because she couldn’t go somewhere else, make more money, have more prestige, but because she loves those kids. She loves that community. And again, even though so many of those she serves have so little, they live lives so different from those in which my parents raised my sister, brother, and I, my mom has never looked down or spoken ill of anyone* as a result of their circumstance, their intelligence, their socioeconomic status. I have for my entire life been welcome into my mom’s classroom and, as an adult, she has invited be back to sub in her district, to do science experiments with her kids, to be Facebook friends with her fellow educators.

I think my mom and I would both agree that I’ve always (always, like since I was disturbingly young) been the more manipulative of the two of us. But while I was working to get out of a lie at the age of 4 (I liked to dress up like an old lady and invite my mom to make me some tea– tended to do the trick quite nicely), she always knew what she was doing– working the long con. And she wins.

But really, so do I. Good parenting, and all that. I’m glad I got to hear about Kathy’s dogs and the young MA’s childhood in Unity. And I bet they enjoyed talking about it and hearing about my own sweet pup and my time spent living in Washington, DC. Sharing is caring, and such. Because people are people, no matter what job they do or where they come from or where they’re going. My mom taught me that and apparently, it stuck.

My mom has always known what’s up, that life is better when you walk around acting like everyone is wearing a “Be kind, I gave blood today” sticker… except I think it’s safe to assume that Be Kind is enough. No blood donation necessary.

 

Do you see this woman?! How could you not want to chat with her?! HOW?! (Also, she digs the alligator, which is awesome.com.)
Do you see this happy and kind woman?! How could you not want to chat with her?! HOW?!
(Also, she digs the alligator just like the rest of the fam, which is awesome.com. Almost time for another Vonck family wedding! woot woot!)

*I’m not going to lie to you right now and I certainly don’t want you to get the impression that my mom’s a saint (because she sure-diddly-isn’t!), so I need you to know that this statement is true only because my mom’s a 100% equal opportunity complainer– rich kid, poor kid, he or she can be a “little s***” either way. (That’s my favorite one. Always made me laugh, especially considering that we’re not allowed, under any circumstance, to even say butt hole.)**

 

**My blog, I can say butt hole if I want.***

 

***Sorry, mumsy… won’t happen again. (Not even kidding, Seth, my 32-year-old husband, texts my mom to tattle should the banned phrase ever pass my lips.)

Profile in Awesome: Aimie Eckelberg

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One of the most popular Under the Tapestry posts to date was the Profile in Awesome featuring Aimee Rathbun.  And I can see why– Aimee really is  awesome!  And she makes for an absolutely riveting read!

Aimee Rathbun is actually one of only FOUR really awesome (Aimee/Aimie/Amy)s that I know. (That, by the way, is the plural of the name A-ME in all its different spellings. You’re welcome.) And for my second profile in awesome, I’d like to tell you about my co-worker, my friend, and all around awesome.com person Aimie Eckelberg.

Aimie started working in the Office of Scientific Writing and Publication shortly after I did in 2011 and good grief am I glad she did. For two reasons: 1) I don’t think I could survive in my job without her, but more importantly, 2) SHE’S AWESOME! She has since moved on to greener pastures as part of the Clinical Medicine and Research staff, but (fortunately for me) her office didn’t move. YAY!

Aimie on the far right-- pretty in pink, adored by her office-mates :)
Aimie on the far right– pretty in pink, adored by her office-mates 🙂

So I asked my friend Aimie Eckelberg to be my second profile in awesome. I was totally anticipating an uphill battle to convince her to participate, but was pleasantly surprised when she quickly said yes. (YES!) However, I perhaps was a bit too coercive and pressure-y (so sorry, Aimie, dear!) and she ended up asking not to write about herself. Although, it wasn’t so much her concern about writing about herself that did her in. Rather, it was her concern about writing about her family and not doing them justice that truly concerned her. Which of course, made my heart swell with pride for being able to call Aimie my friend and made me want to profile her all the more. Considering that this is only the second-ish installment in this series, I think you can probably forgive the departure from the norm.

There are so many things I adore about Aimie! She’s crazy nice, super cute, undeniably stylish, bright (like really bright), 100% mom-spirational, and the type of person who just knows who she is and what she’s doing and does all of it (and more!) in such an admirable way. It’s impossible not to just love her. (Or at least I assume it is, I’d like to see someone try!) To be honest, I loved Aimie from the moment she came in to interview. So much, that I creepily pointed out her perfect and flawless skin as a good reason to hire her. We did. But I’m pretty sure her skin was only part of the reason why.

Aimie grew up with her brother and parents in Spencer, Wisconsin… a town even smaller than Marshfield (believe it or not) just to the northwest of where we are now. Aimie truly embodies what it means (to me, anyway) to be from the Midwest. She is unassuming and hard working. Soft spoken, for the most part, but loyal to the core and unwilling to let something wrong go without taking action.

I absolutely love that Aimie is a local girl through and through. Every day, she demonstrates how much she believes in this community and truly makes me look forward to having lived here longer than not– to have roots in this town like she does. Last night, Aimie invited me to a campaign for Spread the Word to End the Word at her kiddos’ school and I went intending to take a couple pictures of Aimie doing her thang and to talk to Emma and Noah about what it is that, in their opinion, make their mom so dang awesome. I got way more than I bargained for. Of course. Because she’s Aimie. And I plan to tell you all about Spread the Word to End the Word and the awesome Harry and Company puppet show I saw later this week– it’s totally worthy of it’s own post and only goes to prove more and more why the things that Aimie are involved in are good things, for her family and for this community.

In fact, motherhood and kid stuff are the things that seem, at least in my opinion, to make Aimie tick and that’s what I really want to highlight about her.  Aimie is, as I mentioned, 100% mom-spirational and her kids are 1) awesome (likely due to good parenting) and 2) special in a lot of ways.  First off, Aimie’s two little bebes are quintessentially boy and girl and oh so different from each other.  I’m so impressed with how Aimie and her husband parent two such incredibly unique children. Unique and adorable children.

Do you see how adorable these kiddos are?! (Plus, Aimie's skin, right? Cover Girl-style flawless!)
Do you see how adorable these kiddos are?! (Plus, Aimie’s skin, right? Cover Girl-style flawless!)

One of the most amazing things I see about Aimie as a parent is her crazy perseverance.  I’ve only known her for a little over two years, and even in that short time, I have seen her find herself constantly in the position to have to fight, fight, fight for what her children need.  And she does.  She never gives up.

I suppose a little back story is in order. Aimie’s oldest child, Noah, is 10 years old and was born with spina bifida, the most common permanently disabling congenital condition in the United States, which results from failure of the spinal column to close completely. I’d love to say that Noah is completely normal despite his condition, but that wouldn’t be true. Because honestly, nothing about Noah is normal. He is an unbelievably bright and articulate kid. He is fascinating to talk to. (He challenged me to a magical dual last night, by the way. He also schooled me in HP trivia. Awesome kid!)

Noah is hilarious and independent and thoughtful and kind and, not only all of that, but he’s crazy athletic too. Under the tutelage of paralympian Tony Iniguez (like real deal was in the olympics in Beijing, coached in London, for seriously), Noah recently took up wheelchair racing and plans to someday attend the University of Illinois to continue his racing career. And it’s not just racing either! Noah plays sled hockey and basketball and loves just about every active thing he can get himself into– which is legitimately pretty much everything.

And Emma is just as special! It’s incredible the way her shy smile can light up a room. She absolutely beams. Although, the sparkly letters on the back of her Universal Academy of Dance jacket certainly help the case in that respect. Emma is super into dance, and really, really good at it– ballet, jazz, tap, you name it. And she got so into cheerleading this fall that Aimie dusted off her pompoms and practiced her cheers until she ended up as the coach! So fun! Go Tigers! All the little girls adored Aimie (what’s not to adore, right?)… especially when she was “weird”– and that’s a direct quote from one of the girls 🙂

So because her kids are so amazing and because it hurt Aimie to see them struggle at certain things, Aimie opened her big old heart and wrote a book about it. A children’s book.

In 2010, Aimie Eckelberg added author to her resume when she wrote a children’s book called Walk the Walk.

Walk the Walk. Available on Amazon.com.
Walk the Walk. Available on Amazon.

Walk the Walk tells the story of Jon, a little boy with special needs who turns a bit of bullying at the start of a new school year into an opportunity to teach other kids about differences and understanding. And this book has done just that over and over and over again. Noah and Emma’s classes have read the book, Aimie has brought it in and discussed it, Noah has used it as an opportunity to show off his braces and talk about his differences and pretty much always, his peers are fascinated. Aimie has spoken about her book and been an activist for children with special needs through the Children’s Miracle Network and Spina Bifida Association. Her name is passed around by obstetricians here at Marshfield Clinic looking to help families facing new challenges find a mentor. She inspired me to adopt a family this Christmas through the Pediatric Angel Fund. And she is a well-respected and admired member of this community.

The only thing is, despite all of this awesome, Aimie has eaten a large slice of humble pie and any and all of this is dragged out of her or made public knowledge in some other way… otherwise, you’d truly never know. (For example, another coworker, Deb, said to a physician lamenting Aimie’s absence from work one day, “Aimie has a child with special needs AND wrote and published a book about it for other children!” He was floored… and impressed!) But I want you to know how awesome Aimie is and for Aimie to recognize all of the good that she’s done.

To round out this profile in awesome, I really wanted to know what Noah and Emma thought about their mom’s awesome qualities. I’ve got to tell you, though, to them– she’s just mom.

I asked Emma first. Her response: She gives us candy!

To which Noah immediately replied, “Emma! Are you kidding?! She drives you to dance! And pays for your dance!”

So I asked Noah. His response: She pretty much drives me everywhere.

Good point Noah, much better than Emma’s. (sarcasm)

Although, they thought about it on the way home and came up with a lot more reasons. So many reasons that they made me a list and had Aimie bring it to me this morning.

So much awesome!
So much awesome!

Love it! Love it so much! She is a mom through and through, and that’s what her kids see– she loves them and cares for them, she feeds them, clothes them, houses them, she is smart, funny, patient, and giving. Normal mom stuff. And what kind of a testament is that?

A huge one, if you know about the behind-the-scenes. About Aimie’s struggle to get her children the care and support they need in various local school systems. About Aimie’s necessity to fill in and coach cheerleading at the last minute because someone else was going to let the girls down. About Aimie’s ongoing fight to make sure Noah and Emma have every single opportunity they could possibly want– be it educational assistance or wheelchair sports. And the two of them will likely never be the wiser… at least not for a while. Until they are grown up and truly capable of appreciating all of the good and amazing things their mom does. She’s certainly appreciated for it all elsewhere! She is certainly awesome.

Like I said in the beginning, Aimie has introduced me to a lot… and she’s awesome. I can’t wait to tell you about the Spread the Word to End the Word campaign later this week, it’s too cool!