Must Love Blogs

My company recently held a fun event called The Schwartzies. It was a cross between the Oscars and the high school senior year superlatives. The Fun Committee sent out a survey asking people to vote for the “most likely to…” on categories such as “Best Bahstahn Accent,” “Best Phone Voice,” “Most Likely to Tweet,” and “Most Likely to Blog.” Well, guess what? I won “Most Likely to Blog.” I was certainly honored and slightly surprised. Then I realized I have had Set Point since March 30, 2008, nearly three years! I also do a fair amount of blog writing for company's blog.

My first Set Point post was titled, “The Grammar Sheriffs are Coming," at the end of which I wrote, “My point…Although I might not go to this length to reform the world of its grammatical flaws, I have been known to offer solicited and unsolicited corrections to just about anything that crosses my desk, home and work.” This continues to be true.

And over the past three years, I have written on a variety of topics for Schwartz, such as healthcare IT, social media, client accomplishments, trade shows and marketing.

The posts which I find easiest to write are those on which subjects I am most familiar, such as tennis, parenting, a place I have visited, psychology. On the other hand, I step out of my comfort zone and write about topics which I need to learn more about (uh oh, I ended a sentence with a preposition).

I might be driving and run a few ideas in my head for my personal blog.. did one of the kids do or say anything particularly interesting which taught a lesson and is worth sharing? Have I experienced a situation which is worth analyzing? At work, I talk with people to map out ideas and then take some on myself and assign others.
It’s not difficult to find a topic, but it is challenging to make it interesting and fun for the masses. I do my best, and hope even a couple of people take a peek and even learn a little something along the way.

My Point: Like everyone out there, my schedule can get busy. We are all bombarded with information. Blogging is a great way to get lost in your thoughts, figure out a problem and practice self-expression. It can be cathartic for the writer and beneficial for the reader. I can’t wait until I figure out what my next topic will be.

Three-Two-One... Contacts

“Mom, I really want to get contacts,” Abby said. We had had this conversation about eight months prior. She was on the fence then, and had heard about the challenges of how contacts fit on eyes with a stigmatism, and putting them in and taking them out, made her shy away from them entirely. Honestly, I cannot imagine sticking my finger in my eye and living to tell about it.

Then, at her recent eye appointment, we happily learned that although her nearsighted eyes haven’t entirely stabilized, they are getting worse at a slower rate. She asked the doctor, “Can I get contacts?” He said, “That is really up to you and your parents.”

Abby looked at me. “Mom, I really want to get contacts.” She proceeded to barrage the doctor with many questions. I know my daughter. When she has her heart set on doing something, she will do it.

She could get away without a new eyeglass prescription, and it was an even better time to consider a slightly upgraded prescription with contacts. That was it: Abby was determined to make this happen. She was tired of wearing glasses, although they look stunning on her. She could wear everyday sunglasses; she wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning her glasses anymore, which she really didn’t do in the first place. She would be free of four eyes.

So, we made the appointment to get fitted for contacts. During the first appointment, the doctor checked out her eyes and determined they were fine for contacts. He put them in and took them out for her. She found them to be comfortable and we realized there was no turning back. During the second appointment, Abby learned how to put them in and take them out on her own. She was a natural. She had no qualms about sticking her finger into her eye. The one challenge she had was pushing her long lashes away enough to get the discs in.

We bought the dailies, which we decided were not only more hygienic but easier to track and take care of, at least for this first round. She would wear a pair a day and throw them out. No hassle of cleaning them or finding them.

The next morning, it took her about 45 minutes to get them in. She was frustrated and cranky. She yelled at anyone who came within two feet of her bedroom. Both Brad and I offered to help, but she would have no part of that. Finally, with the help of my mother cheering her on by phone, she popped them in.

For the first few days, Abby was relegated to wearing them for up to five hours. Then she could keep them in for up to seven hours, and eventually, a full day. We went shopping on that first day, and she felt so grown up. I felt grown up for her. This was a big decision, and she pulled through. Just over a week later, Abby can pop them in as quickly as she can put on her glasses.

Last Tuesday, Abby turned 13. That’s thir-TEEN. She has always been her own person and, even a bit more mature than her age. We can see, this trend will continue. Wearing contacts is only the first step of many more in this next phase of her life. She will continue to make us crazy with the teen ‘tude, and she will continue to make us exceptionally proud. We’ll yell and we’ll hug. As she grows up, so will we. It gets harder to hold on to the past because the present and future bring rich and wonderful challenges and adventures to embrace. Welcome to the teen years! Buckle up and (hopefully) enjoy the ride.

To Our Son on His 10th Birthday

Our son will be turning 10 tomorrow, January 2. I looked back at the speech Brad and I said during his bris on January 10, 2001. There was a snowstorm that morning, but everyone mushed through the snow to our house to celebrate this special occasion with us. Abby was just shy of three years old.

Although this note is a decade old, the messages still ring true. And I have to say, he must have been listening that day because he's off to a terrific start.

Happy birthday, sweet boy. We wish you many, wonderful years of health, happiness, love, challenges and discoveries.

=================================================================================


To our newborn son, Ari Sherman Dinerman. With love, Davida and Bradley Dinerman.
a.k.a. Mom and Dad.

Today is a wonderful and special day that truly signifies a cycle of life. We are in our home with our most important family and friends to celebrate your birth and to continue a tradition that dates back more than 4,000 years in the Jewish faith, the ritual of circumcision. Ari, whose religious name is Rafi Shimon, has already told us that he is very pleased to not only been named for two extraordinary and important people his Great-Grandmother Ruth Dinerman and his Great-Aunt Sarah Cohenbut also to carry on the Sherman name.

Ruth, or Nana Ruth as she was fondly called by her 14 grandchildren and 15 great-grandchildren, was a woman who was always proud of her family and who always gave back to the community. She had a great sense of humor and a smile that was always available.

Sarah Cohen, Aunty Sally, or just Sah by those closest to her, was strong, animated and could bake and cook like no other. We remember her hearty laugh that rang through her kitchen. Sally was sincerely devoted to her family, her religion and tzedakah. We know that both of these wonderful people are looking down proudly right now.

To carry on the Sherman name will be an honorable task. The Shermans that precede you are a hard-working, talented and unique bunch. There’s also a tremendous sense of humor to uphold and pass down. And like Nana Ruth and Aunty Sally, we hope you too will possess a zest for life, family and tradition.

Ari’s name in Hebrew means “Lion of G-d” - strong and prominent. Rafi is one of four archangels and was one of the three messengers who visited Abraham and Sarah to tell them they would have a son. This symbolizes a high level of kindness and caring. Shimon means to hear or be heard. Listening, as well as offering sound advice at the right time, are great skills to develop.

Ari, you have just undergone a ceremony to “take a little off the top.” Please don’t hold this against us. We wish only the very best for you, and it is our promise that as you grow, we will offer you emotional, intellectual and financial support. We will respect your needs and desires, aspire to promote your natural talents, and help you nurture the characteristics your name represents.

We ask the same of you that we’ve asked of your sister Abigail:
• Discover and share the strengths and talents that are uniquely yours.
• Put your best into everything you do and leave each situation better than the way you found it.
• Seek and find that which is good and beautiful and joyous in all people and all things.
• Have a heart full of love, warmth and compassion.
• If you find someone without a smile, be sure to give him/her yours.
• Find peace within yourself and respect others.

To do all of this will take work and time. We are committed to you and to us as a family to make it happen. And please do not beat up your sister too much when she decides to use you to test her new dolly-dress-up kit.

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.