I wanna hold your hand

I do not mind showing affection to my husband in public. I’m not over-the-top with it, but I have no problem giving him a kiss or a hug, holding hands, or putting my arm around him if we’re walking somewhere. Heck, he’s my husband, I love him, and I’ll kiss him if I want to.

I also get the biggest warm-and-fuzzy feeling seeing other people, particularly those of the senior generation, show affection. I was driving in Framingham the other day. The temperature outside was about 75 degrees, so there were many people out walking. I saw two women on their power walk, a couple of teenagers strolling with a purpose, probably meeting another buddy or two, and then a few singles here and there. A normal summer day.

Then I saw a couple, probably in their mid- to late-60s (young by today’s standards, I know), walking at a decent clip and holding hands. They looked like they were involved in a good conversation. I couldn’t help but smile. My mind wandered to how they got to this point. Perhaps they’ve been married for 30 years or more, raised a couple of children and are maybe even enjoying grandchildren. They looked like they were enjoying each other’s company. They are in the empty nest phase of their lives.
Brad and I are in this temporary empty nest time while the kids are at camp.

Although we don’t spend every waking moment together, it’s nice to focus just on us. Typically, our lives and schedules are focused around the children and their activities. But even for a brief time, we can recharge and enjoy each other’s company without guilt. Our children are safe and having a wonderful time as they learn and grow in a community without their parents.

Three words came to mind when I saw the couple holding hands. I hadn’t ever described Brad and my relationship in this way, but I feel we can:

Communicate. Connect. Life partners.

I will wanna hold his hand for a very long time.

Lucky Charms

My son was convinced that when my mother and father, his Nanny and Poppie, attended his baseball games, the team won. It was as simple as that. They were the team’s lucky charm, according to a 10-year-old boy. To be honest, it seemed to be true. Some might think it is crazy to associate the presence of two grandparents to winning baseball, but if you ask my 10-year-old son, their beloved grandson, it was a tried and true fact.

It all began during the spring AAA baseball season, and continued to the summer Sizzler league. During the spring season, the team went something like 5-5. My parents attended at least some of the 5 winning spring league games. Over the summer, they were able to attend the final game of the regular season, when the team pulled out an exciting 3 – 2 win with a walk-off run. So, of course, Ari begged them to attend the first game of the playoffs. Sure enough, the team won another nail biter, 10-9, with a walk off hit by the same player.

Then, things got a little tricky. The weather for the 2nd game of the playoffs was extremely hot, perhaps too hot for my parents. I might add that we were to play the strongest team in the league.. the one which demolished us 23-0 in our first game of the season.

Ari asked my parents many times if they would come, and my mother was torn. She wanted to attend more than anything, but wasn't sure she could bear the heat and humidity. She found a solution and told Ari, “Come to my house and I will give you something of mine. In case I cannot be there, you will at least have something from me.” She gave Ari a silver dollar with a lovely note taped to it, which he promptly taped to the inside of his baseball bag.

My mother started to question me, “Does Ari really think that we make the team win?” I said that it must give him some level of confidence when he sees them there. I couldn’t speak for the rest of the players, but in Ari’s mind, he could conquer the world with Nanny and Poppie looking on.

When do you tell a child that there is no Tooth Fairy, for example? Do you let him play it out and grow into it or do you rip off the band-aid, so to speak, and give it to him straight?

In this case, I saw no harm in letting it go. I didn’t discuss it with him either. I didn’t try to determine if there was any logic involved or simply wishful thinking. My son is a smart boy who can calculate math in his head, but he’s still only 10.

Well, as it turned out, my parents did make that 2nd game of the playoffs. And the team lost, although not as badly as they did in the first game. That was that.

On the way home from the game, I decided to talk with Ari about his belief. Did he really think Nanny and Poppie were his lucky charms? Did they make the team win? He looked at me with his sweet face and replied, “Not really, but it certainly made them feel good.”

I just smiled and realized just how smart my son really is.

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.