Post Holiday Relief Syndrome (PHReS)

If you celebrate a holiday around this time of year, any holiday, it’s likely you have been crazed since the end of November. Between creating, addressing and mailing holiday cards; planning gifts for teachers, friends, family; Yankee Swaps, making food for parties; hosting parties (whew!), there seems to be so much to do, you think you’re never going to live to tell about it.

I was in the supermarket today and felt a bit of a relief. Many of shelves were empty, and there were very few people shopping. I felt a sigh of relief. A phrase popped into my head - Post Holiday Relief Syndrome (PHReS). You know you have this if you experience one or more of the following:

1. You realize you don’t have to address, buy, cook or wrap anything.
2. You are relieved to know you don’t have to go to a mall (except maybe for the after-Christmas sales or to return something, but that can wait).
3. Work is a little more relaxed for the week, or you might even have the week off, and you can sleep a tad later than usual.
4. If you go into the supermarket or another store, you don’t have to wait 30 minutes to check out.

We do have one more holiday to celebrate, and that is New Year’s Eve. To be honest, Brad and I lay low on that night. If we make it to midnight, great. Most times, we go to sleep, I wake up around midnight, nudge him, kiss him Happy New Year, roll over and fall asleep. We wake up to a new year.

Enjoy your PHRes and may 2011 bring health, happiness, peace and love.

“Let your fingers do the walking…”

“…through the Yellow Pages…” Remember that jingle? I thought of it the other day when I was drafting something for work. But in my case, it's "let my fingers do the writing." It seems I am unable to draft a piece of writing using pen and paper. My brain doesn’t work as well as it does when I apply my fingertips to a keyboard in front of a computer screen.

In addition to shift in the process of writing, my handwriting has gone downhill over the years. I could blame it on the fact that I type more than I write, and I type more quickly than I can write. My theory only goes so far, as my husband is also on the computer all day, and he has nice handwriting.

I took Typing from Mrs. LaVigne at Framingham North High on an electric typewriter. I used a typewriter in high school and in college, but only for final drafts. I wrote drafts by hand. Although Dartmouth College had one of the most innovative and sophisticated computer centers in the country, I still used my Smith Corona. I dabbled on the Mac, but would still think “This is neat, now where’s my typewriter.”

One night during winter finals in senior year (1986), I was happily typing away at a paper, and the power went out. Cries of frustration resonated through the dorm. Mine might have been a little quieter, as I at least still had what I had written. I could touch it. Some students didn’t save their computer files, and lost pages and pages of final exam papers. I was somewhat relieved I hadn’t fallen prey to the beginnings of the computer craze. I certainly wasn’t going to start now.

Fast forward to business school at Babson College in 1990, I owned a PC with WordPerfect and Excel. I even taught myself enough in WordPerfect to launch a newsletter for the business school students. I wrote papers, created graphs and charts for my finance class. I used the VAX email system at school to communicate to other students and some professors. This is when I found out that I could get my thoughts down a lot faster using bits and bytes than a #2 pencil.

It is now 2010. Next year, I will be celebrating my 25th college reunion. I look back at my evolving appreciation for computers and how it can improve my productivity. And boy oh boy, if I had had a little bit of financial savvy, I would have invested in Apple and Microsoft.

When using a computer to write, I can remove entire thoughts without seeing a mess on the page, find synonyms, embed graphics and charts, change fonts. The draft-to-final version takes less time. And I know I don’t use half of what I could be using. I write really fun letters to Abby at Camp Tel Noar, which might include some posts on her Facebook page, photos of us or her cousins in Atlanta and different fonts and colors to spice it up. We have a color printer, so she gets some good material at rest hour.

The other day, Abby and I were playing school. She was the teacher. She is always the teacher. Abby or Miss Jennings, as she called herself, asked me to write a paragraph about my family. She gave me a piece of white lined paper and a pencil. I looked at her. She asked me what was wrong. I shook off my slight panic and said it was nothing. I picked up the pencil and started to write. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I felt liberated!

After “Miss Jennings” corrected my paper, she returned it with a big smiley sticker. She said, “The smiley is because the story is really good. But your handwriting is awful.”

Video killed the radio star. And the word processor killed my penmanship.

Note: This blog post was drafted using Microsoft Word. No pencils or erasers were sharpened or harmed.

An Adventure in Parenting

I want to thank my friend, Cece Doucette, for this post.

One day, Cece told me about the time Adventure Bear came home from preschool with her daughter, Zoe, to sleep over for a few days. One day, Zoe was playing with Mr. Bear in the leaf pile… and forgot… and Daddy mulched him!

I cannot resist sharing this story about the power of love and astounding creativity.

The Real Adventures of Adventure Bear!

December 5, 1998

Today Zoe came home from school with great excitement. She had a little canvas tote bag containing a small teddy bear and a journal. Adventure Bear had come to stay the weekend with us!

Zoe introduced Adventure Bear to her baby sister Julia in the car. Throughout the weekend he helped us with our holiday preparations. He helped put the stamps on our Christmas cards, came with us to pick out a tree, and even wrote a letter to Santa!
(Poor Zoe though, when she and Daddy put the letters in Santa's mailbox at the library, she stepped in dog poop for the first time! They came back into the truck and I asked if someone had bad gas. Neither of them did, so I said, "Someone stepped in dog poop!" Sure enough, it was on the bottom of Zoe's shoes. We took them off and threw them into the back of my truck. Zoe was so mortified she started to cry! But Daddy cleaned them off the next day and I put them through the washing machine. All was well!)

Back to Adventure Bear… Daddy was working out in the yard, and Julia and I went down for a nap. Zoe said she wanted to stay outside with Daddy. She and Adventure Bear played in the yard, and after a while I heard her come into her room for a nap too.
I woke up and got ready to go to the Ashland tree lighting ceremony. I told Daddy it was time to go. He said he'd lost track of time and wanted to mulch some leaves he'd put into a pile up front, before it got dark. He had waited until we woke from our naps so as not to disturb us.

Meanwhile, I went upstairs and woke up Zoe. She got ready too, then in a panic remembered she'd lost Adventure Bear in the pile of leaves. As she's telling me this, I'm hearing the mower mulching leaves out front! I slipped out to the porch, and there on the corner of the deck was part of Adventure Bear's head! The nose was hanging off, ragged stuffing was popping out and both ears were gone!

Daddy just looked at me and said the head flew out of the mower. Well, we had to get going, so I went back into the house. Zoe asked if I'd found Adventure Bear. I told her we needed to leave for the tree lighting ceremony and assured her that I'd find him later.

Meanwhile, Daddy and I were in a panic. Adventure Bear had been mulched! How do you explain that to a three-year-old, and all of her classmates? Not to mention the teachers… However, it looked like most of the pieces came apart at the seams, so perhaps there was some hope for recovery and repair.

At the tree lighting, Daddy confessed that Zoe had asked him to help her find Adventure Bear before her nap. He was caught up in what he was doing and didn't remember to help her look for him… a terrible way to learn a lesson in listening.
After we got Zoe to bed, I asked Daddy to walk me through the scene of the crime. With a flashlight, he showed me where the pile of leaves had been, where the head came flying out, and where he'd dumped several loads of mulched leaves in the backyard. We ran our hands through the mulch and Daddy found a big clump that had been the body. It was in rough shape.

Daddy had to put his tools away and clean up some stuff in the yard, so I continued to search with a flashlight. Fortunately, we were having Indian summer so the air was mild. After much sifting, I recovered one ear, then the other, and the little red ribbon that was around Adventure Bear's neck. The only thing still missing was one arm. Daddy went back out and looked again, three times through the mulch piles, but couldn't find it.

I took a picture of the damage for posterity, then spent the rest of the evening reconstructing Adventure Bear on the couch with a needle and thread. As the damage was pretty extensive, Daddy was afraid Adventure Bear would look like Frankenstein when I was done. First I reattached the nose, then both ears, and stitched up the back of his head. The head actually looked pretty good -- Daddy is lucky to have married a gal who can sew!

The body was another story. There were a number of rips that weren't on the seams. But one by one , I fixed the boo-boos. If we could only find the missing arm!
Daddy came downstairs with two other brown stuffed animals, wondering if we could do a transplant. The furs were different shades of brown, so I suggested we hold off until we look for Adventure Bear's arm in daylight.

Zoe asked for Adventure Bear in the morning and I told her we had to get ready for school. I promised to look for him that afternoon. I said he was playing a really good game of hide-and seek. She thought that sounded fun!

After I brought Zoe to school I grabbed the rake and sifted through the mulch again, to no avail. I finally gave up as Julia was in the truck and I didn't want to leave her alone, and I had to get to my six-week postpartum checkup. I brought Adventure Bear and his journal with me. There was a picture of Adventure Bear and Max in the journal, and I hoped that perhaps I could find an identical bear in a store somewhere. I stopped into 135 Discount and CVS but there were no like bears and none of the other stuffed animals had matching fur.

After I picked Zoe up from school we went to the library. She asked if I'd found Adventure Bear. I said yes, and left it at that. She asked for him again when we got home, and I distracted her. After I put her to bed, I heard her calling me. She wanted to sleep with Adventure Bear! We told her Adventure Bear needed to be cleaned. Then Daddy cuddled with her in bed and pretended to be Adventure Bear.
I needed one more day to see if the Fabric Place had a matching piece of fur from which I could whittle out a little arm. Well, the Fabric Place didn't have what we needed, nor did JoAnne Fabrics or A.C. More. But Toys R' Us had another little teddy with matching fur J.

With Julia in my arms, I did a fur graft from the new teddy bear's back to Adventure Bear's front. I patched in a new piece on his belly and created a right arm. Julia was getting impatient, but I managed to reattach the head to the body. Then I washed and ironed the red ribbon and stitched it back around his neck. By the time I picked Zoe up from school, the reconstructive surgery was complete! She was so happy to see Adventure Bear peer over the seat at her!

Zoe's always asking me to "tell a story from your mouth, Mommy" – as opposed to out of a book. So, that evening, as Daddy was coming in the house, I said, "I've got a story to tell you, Zoe…Once upon a time there was a little girl who brought home from school a little teddy bear and his journal…" I went on to relay the adventure, and her eyes were wide with amazement. As were her Daddy's when he saw Adventure Bear put back together!

The Dirty Dollar

In 1982, I was a freshman at Dartmouth College. I received some great letters from my mother, but one was so special, I still keep it in my wallet 28 years later and counting. The paper is torn along almost all of its three creases. It’s still quite legible, and it still has a one dollar bill tucked neatly inside. I call this my “Dirty Dollar.”

The letter was dated “Saturday,” and I know it was in May (you will see why soon enough).

She began:

Hi,

Thank you for the wonderful Mother’s Day cards – both very appropriate (thank you for considering me your friend!).

Even as a clueless ‘shmen in college, I remembered to send her a Mother’s Day card. And yes, I still consider my mother to be my friend.She continued:

Today, Dad was in the woods getting dirt to plant grass seed over patches of the front lawn, & as he’s walking past a pile of leaves at the beginning of the woods, he spotted the enclosed dirty dollar. He figures it’s yours because you always raked leaves for him.

Admittedly, I still get a bit teary-eyed at that part.

Here’s the final part:

So, how about that, a lucky dollar for you. If you want to, save it, dirt and all. We went shopping for Dad today – he bought three pair of slacks and three shirts! How about that?
How are things up there? Good, I hope. Everything is fine here. We’re having dinner with Sally and John Mack tonight.

Love you, Mommy

A few years after I graduated, I absentmindedly left my wallet somewhere. Sure, I was upset that I had lost my license, which is a pain to get, some money (not too much in there) and maybe a credit card. But what truly bothered me was that I had lost photos of family and friends, and, in particular, my dirty dollar.

Several months had passed, and I received a call from a gas station in Framingham saying that they found my wallet. I jumped in my car to retrieve my belongings. Sure enough, no cash, but everything else was intact, including the dirty dollar. That was a very happy day.

A piece of Dartmouth stationery and an old, dirty dollar bill – priceless.

Cheerio but be back soon

Abby has been living at Camp Tel Noar for the past seven weeks. We have seen her twice. Else, our primary means of communications has been through letters.

As a camper, you write a letter because it is required. You write big, sometimes with markers and fill a small page. As a parent in the 21st century, I type my letters (mainly because my handwriting is horrid), and add photos. I want it to be fun and something she looks forward to receiving. I include the basics of who’s doing what, but I have learned not to ask too many questions because they don’t get answered. Sometimes I send a check list, which she can respond to and send back. Instead of saying, “I miss you,” I might write something like, “I know you’re having a great time” or “I hope you’re trying new things.” Also, including photos of her cousins or her brother “in case she forgot what he looked like,” lets her know she can still have a little part of home while she’s away.

One recent letter from Abby was particularly well written and very funny. This is the unedited version:

Hey,

Today, we had a day trip to York Beach. There, they had an amusement park, a zoo a beach, and a boardwalk. It was in York Maine. The waves were huge. The water ice cold. I bought a chocolate covered banana and maple fudge all for $6. I had so much fun. I miss you. I hope your having a fun summer. Make it last.

Xoxo
Abby

As a camper years ago, the summer flew, and I was sad to leave. I didn’t want to leave my friends and a place on a beautiful lake where I was active nearly 24x7 doing what I loved… sports, sports and more sports. I sprinkled drama, boating and other activities of course, but I loved the community and camaraderie of camp.
Sure enough, I received a letter from Abby the other day stating, “I am so sad to leave camp.” It is comforting to know she loves camp and is having the time of her life. At the same time, she didn’t say, “I don’t want to come home,” which makes me feel good. She can love to be in two places.

Unlike my camper days, Abby isn’t able to call home (unless something is really wrong). On the other hand, years ago, there wasn’t a great Web site called Bunk1.com which the camp uses to post photos and newsletters, to keep the parents informed of the goings-on. It’s fun to scan through the photos and suddenly see her beautiful smiley self appear. Sometimes she is in her Shabbat finest; sometimes she is dressed up for some sort of performance or camp activity.

With all of this, Ari has been loving life as an only child. He attends the Ashland Recreation Department day camp and has been working very hard on his baseball skills. He’s been heavy into his bird watching, and we’re having a lot of fun with him.

So the question remains, do I miss Abby? Hmm. Let’s review the pros and cons of her being away:

Pros: The house stays neat. There is no arguing between children. It is easier to remember to pick up one child from camp. It’s easier to handle just one child, leaving time for fun things for the adults. It is nice to spend time with my youngest child. When he is at a friend’s house or grandparent’s house, the parents get time alone. It is great practice for her and us when she goes to college, provided she goes to college and lives on campus.

Cons: She’s not here to talk with, go shopping with, argue with, clean up after, tell to stop bickering with her brother, tell to read. I can’t pick up a phone to say hi when I’m at work. I can’t drive her to her friend’s house. I can’t watch her new dance moves, or hear her laughter and beautiful voice. I can’t help her make a decision, or be there if she’s sad, or celebrate a success.

There might be just as many pros as cons but the value of the cons outweighs the everyday challenges of life with two kids. And should a parent really evaluate this decision so logically? Admittedly, when Abby first left, it didn’t quite sink in. We saw her only 10 days later when she sang the National Anthem at the Boston Lobsters, and then on Visiting Day at the 3 ½-week mark. We were busy. And although I would think about her, particularly when I’d pass by her very neat room, I didn’t pine away.

But as the saying goes, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” Or “You appreciate something when you don’t have it.” I could go on and on with clichés, but the bottom line is she’s my little girl, and I love her. I know I’m doing right by her to send her to camp, but I miss having her around. It’s as simple as that.

Next year, Abby will likely return to her beloved Tel Noar, and her younger brother might be joining her for the second half of the summer. Two kids away at the same time. I had better start preparing myself now. Actually, before that, I need to prepare my washer and dryer for the onslaught of camp clothes.

Growing Up

“…If growing up means
It would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree,
I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up. Not me.”

We all know those words from “Peter Pan.” And as I look to becoming closer to the age of 50 with every passing day, I realize that I have never really grown up. Sure, I do grown-up things like work and manage a house, but I also love to play.

“…I don't want to wear a tie.
And a serious expression
In the middle of July.”

Who really wants to wear a serious expression when it’s a glorious 80-degree day?! I drop my son off at camp in the morning and am slightly jealous that he’ll be able to play and be outdoors for the next six hours while I sit at a computer. Yes, I had my day, but who says I still can’t have my fun?

I love to play catch with Ari before camp and take him to the ballpark in the afternoon, or go swimming. I have even been known to join a playdate if the boys need an extra for wiffle ball. On the weekends, we’ve been going bird watching at different places, such as Drumlin Farm , The Broadmoor and the Mt. Auburn Cemetary.

We also enjoy reading together, going to movies and playing games. Quite simply, I love spending time with him. Maybe I am adult enough to appreciate this.

That is not to say I don’t love spending time with my daughter, Abby. She is mature for her age and fun to talk with, but she has different tastes. Instead of playing sports or going bird watching, she would rather go shopping, or better yet, invite a friend to go shopping, even on a beautiful sunny day. One day this spring, when I really didn’t want to go shopping, I said to myself, “Hey, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” I have learned that I need to let Abby be Abby. It keeps the peace.

On this day in spring, I let Abby and her friend go to a few stores, while I bought some lunch for myself and hit a couple of stores on my own. Pretty soon, I received a call from her that they were hungry and would I meet them at Au Bon Pain. We met, and I showed them what I bought. They liked one item and nixed two, so they went with me to pick out other clothes. I ended up shopping with them and having a ton of fun.

There is a line between being a parent and being your children’s friend. But I have found you can blur that line, and it can give you credibility and respect. For the most part, when you want to do what they want to do, you’re validating their interests, and you’re allowing them some freedom.

You cannot spend every waking moment with your children. That isn’t healthy for you or them. They need to socialize with their peers, and so do you. But it is really important to spend time together. Sometimes they can do things you want to do, and other times you can make the plans. Balance it out.

The other day, we visited Abby at camp. She will be spending 3 ½ more weeks there. I know she’s having a grand time, and it’s the best thing for her, but I miss her. Next year, Ari would like to go to overnight camp for a half session. That means I won’t have any children at home for 3 ½ weeks. Holy cow. I might have to play with the kids down the street.

“…'Cause growing up is awfuller
Than all the awful things that ever were.
I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up,
No sir,
Not I,
Not me,
So there!”

Will on-court coaching help or hurt?

I have been thinking about this topic for a while and… I believe on-court coaching should be allowed in professional tennis during the game changeovers. There. I said it.

There are many so-called purists who feel that it is totally inappropriate, such as this writer.

Then, I found this article from 2008, saying that on-court coaching will be allowed at all women's tournaments next season, apart from the four grand slams.

I cannot think of another sport which doesn’t allow coaching. Even golfers have a caddy to whom they can turn for a little advice. Doubles players (tennis) can help one another. Why is singles so special, so pure?

The event that triggered this thought was Serena Williams’ outburst in last year’s US Open. I think that if she had had a coach on court, he or she might have been able to step in for damage control.

Additionally, we all see players looking up at their coaches and families during a match. And many times the TV will pan in on the coach making some sort of motion. So, at least make it legitimate.

I do not expect that a coach will have in-depth conversations on the odd games when players switch sides. But the coach can give a pointer or two, and maybe offer a little strategy. The player will still be the one doing the work on the court.

A USA Today article in 2006 noted,” Fairness is another issue because many players can't afford to travel with coaches. Some coaches work with more than one player, creating potential conflicts of interest or at least awkward situations.” This point is well taken, But I think a tournament could supply a coach to any player who doesn’t have one. As far as a coach who works with more than one player, that can get tricky, but I think it’s doable for a coach to work with more than one player during a tournament.

The article in The Telegraph says that the fans tuned in will be able to listen to the coach’s comments. This could be very interesting and either trump the commentator’s analysis, which might be a good thing, or complement it. We might hear commentary on the commentary.

My good friend and teammate Lyn Calkins, who is an excellent singles and doubles player, remarked, “[Singles] is a very lonely game. That's one of the reasons it's a turn-off for a lot of kids, (i.e, my first-born, who prefers being on a team). Honestly, I think that's why I'm enjoying doubles so much these days.”

The bottom line is that tennis players must love to practice and love the competition. The pros must also encourage the fans to keep playing and learning. On-court coaching can level the playing field and keep fans actively engaged and growing with the sport.