The In Between

There are oh, so many poseable moments in life. They are the moments most of us dream about... The first day of high school, senior prom, high school graduation, that weekend trip to the lake with all your besties - the one you still talk about about 20 years later. First day of college, the big engagement, the wedding day, sunset on your honeymoon, the day your first child is born... We can follow these moments in photographs because they are captured this way. Still images of a perfect life. Of making our dreams come true.

I was thinking the other day about these moments with my kids. As my oldest son begins his Junior year of high school, I find myself reminiscing about when he started kindergarten.  I have folders and boxes of photographs of all those milestone moments from his first 16 years. But when I think - really think - about all the most precious memories I have with him, it's not the photographed ones that come to mind.

It's the moments in between...

It's the late nights when he had trouble falling asleep, and I'd climb into his bed and read to him by flashlight so as not to wake his little brother, snoring softly in the next bed.

It's the impromptu snack after a rough day at school, sitting on the front steps licking peanut butter off our fingers, and staring at the little cowlick on the back of his head, hoping I never forget the way that looks. Or the way he smelled. Like a little boy; all peanut butter and play forts and popsicles.

It's the first nights after his dad moved out when I watched him walk from door to door at bedtime, just to make sure we were all locked up tight.

I have these with all three of my kids; those moments not captured on film.

Like the time we were in a car accident; The airbag dust had settled, and we'd determined no one had been seriously hurt. The police and ambulance had arrived, we were all standing on the side of the road, and I looked over to see Jack holding Ella in his arms, whispering to her that everything would be okay.

The time Connor had surgery and Ella got her entire kindergarten class to make a big get-well card. She'd written I Love You in big, bubble letters and when she handed it to Connor, he had blinked back tears and whispered "thank you."

The trip to Atlanta, when all three kids fell asleep, their heads on each others shoulders.

But I digress. These are the unplanned moments. The memories we don't realize are being made until after they happen.

I was talking to a friend the other day, who is going through a divorce. He mentioned that looking back, he can certainly recall good times they shared. The photographable moments. The requisite "romantic getaways," the family trips, moving days. And I realized as he was talking, that these in between moments are also very apropos to relationships. Sure, we've got our wedding photo in a frame, the ten-year anniversary trip to Mexico, births, and first-times galore. But what about those in betweens? If only we knew how very important those moments really are.  More important, maybe, than the manufactured ones. For these moments - these in betweens - are where the living is. The magic, really, that makes it all worthwhile.

Thoughts from Pre-Op

I find myself in familiar territory this morning. We've been through this before, Connor and I. The routine is the same each time. We arrive two hours prior to surgery. I sign the forms. He changes into the worn, blue scrubs. The nurses come in and I nod. Yes, i understand. No, he doesn't have any other conditions. Yes, he does have an allergy to dissolvable sutures. He watches sports on the TV hanging from the wall. I watch him. 

Yep, we've been here before, Connor and I. Six times before to be exact. But this time is different. This time, his little sister is having surgery, too. Her first. Their doctor will take out two chondromas from each of them. I've been promised that they will be able to share a room afterwards.

But right now I am so torn. They are in adjoining pre-op rooms. Their dad sits watching sports with Connor, and I lie with Ella in her hospital bed. We play 20 questions. And she asks 20 more. About her surgery, about recovery, about the nurses, the medicine, the doctors, the pain. I answer slowly, carefully. And smile. So that she knows everything's going to be fine. She's going to be fine. 

I love you, she says to me, prompting me to say our nightly ritual.

I love you, too, baby.

I love you more.

I love you most.

I hear the nurse in Connor's room. It is time for his IV. "Would you like to play 20 questions with daddy for a few minutes?" I ask Ella. She smiles and nods her ascent. Daddy and I switch places.

They prep Connor's hand for the IV. He gives me his free hand to hold. We talk about the Panic! concert he and his brother went to last night until the IV is in and taped. 

A few minutes later, I hear the nurses in Ella's room and switch again. I want to be in both rooms. I NEED to be in both rooms. In Ella's room, the nurse is preparing to give her a liquid medicine to calm her. At 7, she won't get an IV until she's asleep. It tastes yucky, I am told. I nod. I know.

I know.

Inside of a minute she is giggling.  I lie down beside her, look into her hazel eyes. 

"Are you having surgery, too, Mama?" She is being silly with me, but her question pierces my heart.

Yes.

Oh, yes.

In my heart, I am having two.

The morning goes this way, back and forth from room to room.  At one point, I stand in their adjoining bathroom, just so that I can see both of them at the same time.

Soon, they are ready to take Ella back. Thankfully, she is still feeling silly. Probably won't remember any of this. The doctor explains that they will take her back and have her breath into a mask. She'll fall asleep quickly, then get her IV. They run through the technical and I nod. Swallow around the lump in my throat.

Hey guys, this is my baby.

The nurse looks at me. We're going to take very good care of your little girl. I nod, thankful. I don't speak. I can't. 

Her daddy and I kiss her one last time. 

"I love you most," I whisper into her ear.

Connor and Ella blow kisses to each other. 

It's difficult to put into words what it's like to watch them wheel your child down to the OR. 

It is fear.

It is helplessness.

It is love. So much love.

And it is prayer. Always prayer.

It is times like these that I am thankful for my faith. For my ability not to question what's real, and what's imaginary. What is fable. What is fact. I hope that all three of my children find a strong faith that they can call on in times of helplessness. For what else do we have? Even Connor, who is driven by logic, facts, science. I understand all of that. I respect his questions, I understand his doubt. I have my own.

But not now. Now I pray. 

But I digress. Connor has fallen asleep waiting for his turn in the OR, a mix of exhaustion from a late night and nerves.

We've been through this before, Connor and I. And in fact, I've been through this once already this year. Jack dislocated his knee and broke his kneecap on the first day of Spring Break.  Literally 2/3 of his kneecap came off in the dislocation. In the OR, the surgeon repaired his tendons and then put the puzzle piece of kneecap back in place. Held it there with three pins that were removed in a follow-up surgery four weeks later.  

Hospitals are not new to this family. But all three of my kids in one year? That's a lot. 

But I digress. It has been said that if everyone threw their problems into a pile, we'd all rush to grab back our own. It's true. I am grateful that when the nurse runs through the checklist of health issues, I can answer "no" to each one. I am thankful that they will both get to go home in 24 hours (God willing), when so many other kids are here for extended stays.  There are so many things I am thankful for. There are so many emotions I could write about.

But not now.  Now, I pray.

Here's To The Good Ones

There are just two weeks - TWO! - left of our summer vacation. How did this happen? It seems that every year, the summers go by faster and faster. I was reminded recently that I hadn't posted a new blog since May. That's not to say that I haven't written. Far from it. I've written one short story, two magazine pitches, and a slew of marketing proposals in that time. I've also written about a thousand text messages (and yes, these count - of course - when you are super anal about using the Queen's English regardless of the medium).


Really though, I'd like to think that I've just been living. Enjoying these last weeks of summer with my family and friends.

Speaking of friends, I just spent the better part of a weekend at our lake house at Innsbrook with a very dear friend from high school (and her darling husband). She remembers more of those four years than I do... I'll admit that while I was in high school I worked very hard at trying to get out. I think I was trying so hard to grow up, to be an adult, that I missed out on being a kid.

I dated guys who had already graduated, I worked with college kids, and hung out with my older brother's friends the majority of the time. Which means I missed some important milestones - like my senior prom - simply because I thought they were childish. Which sounds absolutely foolish now, but nevertheless - it was true enough at the time.

I can remember at nineteen, my boyfriend telling his best friend (who was ten years older than me and married with two kids) that I was great, specifically because "She doesn't act her age... She's very mature." As though acting my age would have been a crime. Honestly, I was 19. I believe I was expected to act 19. The teen years are meant to be a bit selfish. A time of self-discovery.  Ah, but I skipped all of that (which is precisely why I went through it - finally - in my early thirties).

But I digress.

Lisa was a dear friend to me back then. We had some good times, lots of laughs. We reconnected during our 20th reunion, and then again about a month ago at dinner with another dear friend from "back in the day." And decided that a weekend on the lake would be a blast.

The weather was uncharacteristically cool and we spent the afternoon on the boat (out of the water) fishing, talking... just catching up.  A few drinks and appetizers later we headed down to the field for a country music concert under the stars, followed by more drinks around a bonfire. It was one of those weekends I'll remember, not just because of the beautiful weather or the great food, but because I realized that this person I met way back when, our Freshman year of high school, whom I liked immediately, is still someone I like immensely as an adult.  She has the same characteristics that have always made her special: genuine kindness, a great sense of humor and an easy going personality.

So, while I haven't been doing a lot of blogging, I have been doing a lot of living, laughing, relaxing and enjoying my time. It's precious, I know, because it does not last forever. Unlike friendship. The good ones, I've found, last a lifetime.

Bumper to Bumper

My oldest son turned 16 last month, and earned his driver's license soon after.
Between all the insurance quotes, and getting his grandpa's old car ready so that his first set of wheels would be in good working order, there's been so much going on that I didn't really have time to stop and think about my son.

On the road.

Alone.

We spent a good amount of time driving around while he had his permit. He behind the wheel, me trying not to grasp the passenger side door handle like a life preserver.

And I'm okay with it.

Really, I am. I trust him. It's the other drivers on the road that I abhor.  Every time I'm driving and someone pulls a stupid-driver-move, my worry starts anew.

Like last night... I'm driving home with my daughter. It's around 9:45. Dark. Not much traffic. I'm sitting at a red light at a major intersection behind a silver minivan. There are four lanes. Two are left turn only - onto a highway. We are in the left of the two lanes going straight.
Above my head, the two red lights over the turn lanes change to green arrows. Mind you, our stop lights were still red.
The minivan begins crossing the intersection. Two cars heading the other direction - and turning left - have to slam on their brakes.  Horns blare. The minivan's break lights go on for a split second - maybe she's confused - then she continues on her way. Right through the red light.

Upon hearing the horns, my daughter asks what happened.
"A lady just ran a red light," I told her, glancing in my rear view mirror to give her a reassuring smile.
"Probably on the phone," my daughter dead pans.

Probably.
It is these things I worry about. And I tell my new driver.
Daily.
"You have to anticipate the other driver's actions," I say as casually as possible.
He nods, serious.
"Never assume they're paying attention, ya know bud? Just because they have a red light doesn't mean they're going to stop."
"Got it" he assures me.

But you never know what's going on in the cars around you...

Case in point:

It's a brisk, winter day at the end of 2001. December 26th, to be exact.  I had just dropped Connor, who at the time was just four years old, off at pre-school and headed to the mall with my little guy, Jack (then 2) and my mom. Like most of America on the road that day, we were returning and exchanging gifts and cashing in on some gift cards. As we leave the mall, Jack is getting fussy. Strapped in his car seat, he starts to throw a bit of a tantrum. My mom pulls an individually wrapped life saver out of her purse. "Can I give him one of these?"

I glance over. Those individually wrapped ones are larger than their full-roll counterparts, so I thought it would be fine. Besides, I'd heard that Lifesavers were given their name because they had a whole in the middle - they were supposed to be safe because even if it gets stuck in your throat, you can still breath through that little hole.

"Um, sure," I say.

My mom unwraps the candy and hands it to Jack, who stops whining, smiles and pops it in his mouth.

I pull out of the mall parking lot, and follow the traffic down the street towards a major intersection. As I pull my mini van (yeah, I had a mini van) up to the light, it turns red, and I stop behind two other cars. A line of traffic forms behind me.

My eyes are on the light, waiting for it turn green, when I hear Jack cough. Once, twice.

"You okay buddy?"  As I turn my head to look back at him, he starts choking in earnest.  Crap.
"Jack?" I throw the car into "Park," unbuckle my seatbelt, pull off my jacket and climb in back.
 "Oh, God," I hear my mom say.
I try patting him on the back, telling myself to stay calm. "It's okay buddy."

His face is turning red. I unbuckle his car seat and start pulling his winter coat off of him.
"Beth!" my mom's voice sounds like it's traveling through a tunnel. She is yelling something about the light turning green.  Car horns are blaring. I don't care.
I pull jack out of his seat and stick my pinkie finger in his mouth. Nothing. I crouch down between the two middle seats in the van, turn him around so that he's facing forward, clasp my hands just under his sternum and start short pumps, in and up.

I hear him gasping and my mom yelling. Then a distinct "ping" as the lifesaver hits the front windshield. I can't remember if he started throwing up before or after the "ping" - or maybe it was somewhere in the middle.  Those few moments are a blur now.
I do remember that after the "ping," he started to cry.

As did I.

Exhausted, I pull him into my lap in the open passenger seat and hold him, whispering that everything is okay.
That's when I hear the sirens, and notice the mess of cars trying to get around me. I open the sliding door of the van and explain to the officer what had happened.
He escorts us down the street to a fire station, where a paramedic checks him out, and we clean up the van as best we can.


***
But I digress.

I was on the phone with a client the other day who also happens to be a new dad. His little girl is about seven months old.  "She just started crawling," he informed me (I could hear the smile in his voice). "So, I ran out and bought all those protective covers for the outlets, ya know? And those padded bumpers?" I nodded, though he couldn't hear me, as he continued, "I just wish I could cover every single surface in the house with those things, ya know? To protect her?"
I agreed with him around the lump in my throat.  "I know how you feel. My oldest just got his driver's license."
"Oh. Wow!"
"Yeah. I kinda wish I could cover every single road in the city with those padded bumpers." He laughed and I smiled. Wiped a tear (thankful it wasn't a skype call) and we went back to business as usual.

It is nice to have another driver in the house, though. He's been more than helpful, dropping his brother off at friends' houses, picking his little sister up from summer camp and whatnot.

From crawling to walking, school busses to driving... I guess all we can do is prepare them the best we know how, remember to breathe, and enjoy the ride...

Communication really is key. Anybody know where I left my key?

I'm a communicator by trade.

Since 1993 I've made a living marketing brands' goods and services. And since 2004, I've made nice income on the side writing - helping companies communicate via their website, print and web ads, brochures, press releases, training manuals, video scripts and the like.
So, really, I'm a professional communicator. Right? I know a thing or two about how to use the right words to communicate the message. Let's agree on that right off the bat.

Still with me?
Great.

So, why is it that there are still times when I might not understand a message being delivered to me? And when my message to others is misunderstood? I'm a professional, dammit!

Okay, but here's the thing.  Each of us comes equipped with a brain (yeah, yeah, that's questionable... I know you're reading this thinking, uh, yeah, not this guy I know...). But in general, let's agree that most everyone's got a little something upstairs.

The problem is, along with the brain power, that mass in the head is also filled with various messages, thoughts, and life experiences that give us our own world view, a different voice, and a unique filter for receiving said messages.

Case in point.  A few weeks ago, an old friend invited me to a baseball game. I'll state up front that this friend is male.  Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course (insert polite laughter among the men, knowing smirks among the women).  But it's been proven - in a published book no less - that men and women are from two different planets. And if the printed word is to be believed, well, that's like communicating with someone who, quite literally, can be roughly anywhere between 60 and 222 million miles away (this according to a scientific website - the distance changes based on the movement of the planets of course. But I find this very interesting because it also speaks to the fact that some males and females communicate very well together while others, well... not so much).

But I digress.  The morning of the baseball game, this friend (let's call him "T") called me apologizing. He had forgotten that he'd already invited someone else to the game, and forgot. Just like that, I was out. She was in. My mind received the message something like this: I realized I'd rather go to the game with her, so I'm essentially uninviting you. Sorry. I found out later from "T" that in his mind, it was more important to do the right thing. He truly had forgotten. He'd been reminded, and believed that the right thing to do was to honor the original commitment, regardless of what he wanted to do. In his mind, it was right vs. wrong. In my mind it was her vs. me.

See?

In case it's a bit convoluted, here's my point: Know your audience. This is absolutely essential.
What if you are "talking to" a very large audience? you ask.  Good question! This is why it's so important to make your messages clear and use the simplest language. I want to laugh when I read emails, blog posts, and articles that use "big fancy" words. Exactly who are you trying to impress? Simplicity is key. Be clear. Be concise. And leave no room for interpretation. That way, regardless of your audience, your odds of being understood will be that much better.

I love words.  Really.  I'm fascinated by them. How they can be put together in so many ways, to create so many meanings. I'm fascinated by where language comes from, how it's interpreted. And why it's misunderstood.

I find it fascinating, too, that writing is becoming both commonplace (now that the internet, blogs, e-publishing and texting has given everyone a platform and a voice) and a lost art (what with all the butchering of our language, proper grammar and punctuation).

What do you think of the great gender divide? Are we really so far apart in our communication? And I'm curious, is there anyone else out there who shudders when they come across a gross butchering of our language? What's your biggest grammar peeve?