March 2012 – mom's musings

Getting Over It

Today was such a marvelous day in South Carolina that I just have to share a few tidbits, especially since there were a few lessons thrown in for good measure.

I’m skipping the part about insomnia, something I’m always plagued with the night before a big event like the Cooper River Bridge Run. You’d think I was expected to be a front runner or something! So I got up at 4:30 a.m. and headed off to Charleston to “get over it.” The race was to begin at 8:00, and since I was in the K-group, I figured it’d be 8:30 before I crossed the Start line. Boy, was I wrong.

Because of a problem with the bridge (never found out what), it was almost 10:00 before I finally headed towards the bridge and Charleston. While waiting, I entertained myself by watching some zany people. I also chatted with some cool ones. My favorite new stranger/walker/friend is a woman who was diagnosed with ovarian cancer a year ago. After six rounds of chemo, she was pronounced cancer-free. Today she was doing the Bridge to celebrate life and health. Before we parted company, she extracted a promise that I’d make an appointment for a physical next week

Walking and jogging, I crossed Shem Creek and headed toward the bridge. One advantage of being at the back of the pack is that the people there don’t take themselves so seriously. They laugh and tell funny stories and encourage one another. They also take time to stop and take pictures. My favorite family shot was of a couple cradling a baby between them. The baby was wearing super size sunglasses, and the father had some weird hair going on. I think it was a wig. I smiled as I thought of how neat that picture would be to the family as the child grows.

I spied several men wearing red dresses, and two of them were walking near me. Feeling brave, I told them that they won the prize for originality, creativity, and pure guts. “Thanks,” they said. Then one of them told me that he had considered wearing his blue ensemble and then opted for the red. “Good choice,” I said. “It makes a bolder statement.”

As I passed other walkers and joggers, I overheard snippets of conversations, some of which were quite interesting. About three miles into the event and almost halfway over the bridge, I heard a man say, “Sometimes I think it’s just pure luck.” His walking buddy replied, “Yeah, but perseverance is important too. Just sticking to something and not quitting can make a big difference.” I wondered if they were psychologists, career counselors, professional employees, or regular guys who were trying to figure things out. Whatever their status, their philosophy applies to just about every area of life.

And the music! Oh my gosh, it was fantastic. That’s an understatement. The bands and the sounds they made were awesome beyond words. Some were so good that race participants took a break to dance along the way! At a street corner in downtown Charleston, we were greeted by an Elvis looking crooner with a great voice. The band performing at the park was ultra talented and entertaining. So were the men and women who danced on stage. Their costumes were original and “fun,” and their joie de vivre was contagious.

And the food. It was great too. I sampled an apple, some ice cream, and a bagel. Oranges, bananas, yogurt, and water were available too. The vanilla and chocolate ice cream tasted so cold and creamy as I stood listening to the band on stage and watching the dancers. I looked up at the clear blue Carolina sky, glimpsed the American flag, and then caught sight of a father dancing with his daughter on his shoulders. What a morning!

To no avail, I tried to get together with Lauren and Kelly. I didn’t see Ben, Lisa, or Lynn either. Still, it had been a fun morning, and reluctantly I left to walk towards the busses that took race participants back to Mt. Pleasant. On the bus, I sat next to someone who had completed the Chicago Marathon, and I enjoyed listening to her story.

Tonight as I remember all of the upbeat sights and sounds, there’s only one downer. Not only after we got into the city, a man missed his footing somehow and fell to the sidewalk. I heard a couple of people scream, and startled, I turned just as he hit the pavement, blood gushing from his forehead. I hope he’s okay tonight.

And I hope the 44,000 folks who “got over it” had a swell time. And I hope you’ll join us in 2013.

I Can Do This

I have little Brooke on my mind this morning. It’s amazing what you can learn from a 6-year-old.

In need of a grandchildren “fix,” I recently drove to Rincon, GA to see one of my daughters and her family. Since their parents couldn’t seem to get much house and yard work done with the four older children around, I volunteered to take them to Dairy Queen for lunch and to the local park for fun. Energetically, they ran from one end of the park to the other and from one piece of equipment to the next before congregating around the monkey bars.

Brooke stood on the platform, poised and ready to reach out for the monkey bars. Her little face was a portrait of concentration. Twice already, she had attempted to cross over from the small platform to the one on the other side, and twice she had struggled right in the middle.

Then a little girl, a stranger, came along. Without appearing to even think about it, Vanessa reached out her right arm, grabbed the first bar, and continued all the way across until she landed safely on the other side. Brooke and I both watched her and noticed that she had a certain swing in her maneuvers. Rather than just reaching for one bar and then the next, Vanessa turned her little body from side to side, motions that seemed to propel her forward. She made it appear effortless.

Soon tiring of the monkey bars, Vanessa scampered away to find other equipment to play on, and Brooke once again ascended to the platform. Standing at the ready, she said, “I can do this.” I couldn’t help but smile, loving her determination and confidence. Again, “I can do this,” this time a little more assured. “That’s my girl,” I said. “You can do it.”

After reciting “I can do this, “ once more, Brooke grabbed the first bar, and imitating Vanessa’s swing approach, she quickly reached the other side. Almost giddy with the sense of accomplishment, she tried it again. After watching her older sister have several successful attempts, Emma clamored up on the platform. I got a little tickled as I heard her say, “I can do this.” Her face scrunched up with determination, she repeated the phrase another two times just like her older sister had done. Since Emma is younger, shorter, and not quite as coordinated as Brooke, I wasn’t quite as certain of her success. Truthfully, her little arms couldn’t even reach the first bar. She was so resolute, however, that I knew I had to help her to succeed.

“Want me to hold you up?” I asked.

“No. Just put me close enough to the first one so I can grab it,” she said. “But don’t hold on to me.”

“Want me to stay close?” I asked, knowing that if I weren’t right there, she’d likely fall to the ground below.

“Uh-huh. And put your hands beside me, but not on me until I tell you to,” she demanded.

I followed Emma’s instructions, and although I pretty much participated 50/50 in the short distance between the two platforms, she did it!

Hands down, my favorite psychological term is elf-efficacy, the belief a person has in her ability to accomplish something. This belief is reportedly more important than a person’s actual ability. If Brooke had had low perceived self-efficacy, she wouldn’t have made it across from one platform to the next despite her physical ability. While I’m on the subject of lessons, Brooke also demonstrated the power of a good example. Because of her determination and success, little Emma gave it a shot. Hmmm. And Emma taught a lesson too: people need support. People need others close enough to catch them if they fall but not too close.

The more I think about that afternoon in the park, a half a dozen situations and their inherent lessons spring to mind. I’ll save them for another day, however. Today, thanks to my granddaughters, I’m working on my self-efficacy.

The Candy Man

Ethan is two weeks old today, and I’m remembering the day of his birth. I took care of his big sister Olivia (delightful experience) while we waited, waited, waited for news of his safe arrival. When her father called and told me that his 8 pound, 9 ounce son was here and that he wanted me to come to the hospital to meet the “little guy,” I gave Olivia some hugs and kisses and left her in the care of a neighbor and friend. Off I went to meet Ethan Paul. Above is one of the many pictures I took that night, a favorite because of the way Amanda is cradling her new love.

When I walked into the atrium of Northside Hospital to meet my new grandson that evening, I was immediately transported back to a day nearly two years ago. On that day, May 29^th, 2010, several family members had gathered at the hospital to await the birth of Olivia Jayne, my son and daughter-in-law’s first child. I remembered the excitement, mine bordering on giddiness, as I climbed the stairs to the waiting area that morning.

That day we walked and talked and snacked and waited. And then we waited some more. We were allowed in and out of Amanda’s room for part of the day, and then the medical personnel shooed us out. As Teri, Amanda’s mother, and the rest of us waited and chatted, there was a feeling of expectant anticipation. We knew the moment was close, and yet there was nothing the four adults could do. It was in the hands of the doctor and Amanda. And God of course.

Chitchatting about various topics, none of them too serious, we hardly noticed the arrival of an older African American man who came to join our group. Truthfully, he didn’t so much join us as he just filled up an empty seat for several moments. There are lots of couches and chairs arranged in various combinations, and we had grown accustomed to sharing “our space” with an assorted crew of people as the day had progressed. He was just another seat filler…or so I thought.

The four of us continued to chat, and I tried to establish some eye contact with the newest member of our cluster. It was to no avail, and I could tell from my surreptitious glances that to him we might as well be pieces of furniture . He seemed blind to his surroundings and was dealing with some inner turmoil or heartache. For the entire ten minutes he sat amongst us, the man slowly and methodically ate M & M’s. He didn’t tilt his head back and jiggle several at a time out of the bag. No, he ate one by one. I wouldn’t say he was savoring them, but rather that it was something to do, something to assuage his pain.

That’s when I noticed a tear streaking down his cheek…and then another and another. I only saw his right side, but I’m certain the tears were coursing down both sides of his face. The juxtaposition between our emotions and his couldn’t have been more different or more obvious. Seeing his pain almost made me feel guilty for feeling so much hopeful happiness.

I’d like to say that someone offered him a tissue and that we became shoulders to cry on. But no, that didn’t happen. We continued on with our lighthearted banter and tried to ignore him, not because we didn’t care but rather because we respected him and his anguish. He’d built an invisible wall around himself and seemed to be saying, “I’ve got to get myself together before moving forward.” It was a private thing, and we all sensed and respected that.

I don’t know his story, but the cliché, “A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down” always comes to mind when I think of that elderly gentleman eating M & M’s on a May afternoon in Atlanta. I know that even when life seems intolerable and full of stress and loss and heartache, there’s always something good going on too. The sweetness could be in the form of some chocolate, or it could be some birdsong (like I’m listening to right now), a beautiful sunset, the laughter of a child, or the budding of some pink azaleas.

Today on Ethan’s two-week birthday, I’m thinking and hoping that the candy man’s pain has eased and that he has some joy in his life. I know I do. And I’m thankful to this man for the reminder that while there’s pain, there’s sweetness too.

Prolonging Your Life

Most people’s blogs have a theme. Cooking, preparing for a marathon, losing weight, becoming successful at work, becoming more spiritual, and decorating one’s home are popular themes. But this blog? Well, this blog is a hodgepodge of whatever I happen to be thinking about. It might be social commentary on single parenting, a travelogue of a recent trip, or some opinions on the presidential candidates (stay tuned for this one).

I have other blogs. One is about women in the Bible, one centers on teaching, and one focuses on psychology. The latter is reserved for my students and is a great way for us to get involved in a little psycho babble. And lest I forget, I recently got involved in a writing blog with my writing group, and as soon as we get a little more participative, I’ll share the link. This is my favorite blog, however, because this is the one where I can write whatever I want to. Just because Mom’s Musings doesn’t have a theme like religion or culinary arts, that doesn’t mean that it lacks focus. It’s focused on my musings.

Today I’m musing over the contents of a book I’ve been reading entitled The Survivors Club by Ben Sherwood. It’s a virtual fount of interesting and useful information that we can all apply to our lives beginning today. Always intrigued by who survives disasters and who doesn’t, what makes a person resilient, and what factors determine our longevity, I’ve been captivated by the stories and research provided by Sherwood. In fact, I’m reading it on my Kindle Fire and have highlighted so many passages that it’s ridiculous.

I’ve learned that surviving, whatever that might mean to you, doesn’t depend on a single factor. Several are involved in beating the odds. For example, the Central Park jogger’s friends describe her as indomitable. While that’s true, it’s also true that her massive brain injuries might have aided in her recovery. Unable to remember the attack, she wasn’t tormented by flashbacks or nightmares. Then there was the story of a man who awoke to find himself in the ocean in the dark wearing his undies and a sweatshirt. He had no recollection of how he got there, but apparently he had fallen off of the cruise ship. He managed to stay awake and afloat all night, and he feels that the secret to his survival was sheer will power and his ability to stay calm and focused. That counted for something, of course, but his prior military training and physical fitness gave him an edge that the average Joe wouldn’t have had.

But what about the ultimate survival? What about living a long, happy life? What determines how long we live? Is it heredity? Is it a 50/50 split between heredity and environment? While both are important, lifestyle, personal choice, and plain old luck figure into the equation too. According to the book, genetic factors influence about 25 percent of our longevity. This fact is especially intriguing when you consider that 80 to 90 percent of our height is determined by our parents’ heights. I can’t wait to share this information with my sister. Our mother died of cancer when she was only 71, and my sweet sis thinks we’re going to succumb to the big C too. Maybe so. Who can predict the future? All I can say for certain is that Ann and I are medium tall because of our DNA, but other factors are going to determine whether we live past 71.

Longevity depends largely on the decisions you make and the things that happen to you on a daily basis. According to Sherwood, it’s never too late to make changes to prolong your life. Before mentioning some of those changes, I need to mention that life expectancy is more complex than eating right and exercising. While those activities are important, so is your geography. People who live in Andorra and Japan live decades longer than those living in Swaziland and Angola.

If you want to prolong your life, here are some tips. Exercise, limit saturated fat, wear a seat belt, and install smoke detectors. And here’s one I like: listen to what your mother told you, including wearing a coat when it’s cold and a hat when it’s raining. Be sure to get enough sleep, eat your fruits and vegetables, and get a moderate amount of exercise. A final suggestion is one given by Madame Calment, a French woman who lived to be 122 years old: SMILE.

So here’s my plan. I’m going to put on my happy face, go into the kitchen and grab a banana, and then go out for a three-mile walk. I’m also going to check the batteries in our smoke detectors. What about you? What’s your plan?

Laps around the Couch

I love the two young women in this picture. I love their joie de vivre too. And then there’s their “just do it” attitude that prompts them to try new things regardless of what other people might say.

This photo was taken just a few moments after we’d enjoyed a nice lunch with various family members in Manteo, NC. The lunch was to celebrate five of us completing events related to the Outer Banks Marathon, Half Marathon, 8K, 5K, and Fun Run. My brothers and I completed the half marathon, and Elizabeth and Sarah Beth ran/walked the 8K. It was a picture perfect day (trite but true expression), especially in terms of the weather. The Outer Banks setting added to the awesomeness too. What’s not to savor about briskly moving along beside the Atlantic Ocean and catching glimpses of pirates, Jockey Ridge, sea birds, and gorgeous homes along the sound?

I’ve been participating in events such as this for over 30 years, and I’ve never heard anyone say, “I’m so happy with my time!” It’s more likely that I’ll hear excuses for failure to go the distance in record time. “I didn’t’ sleep well last night,” is a frequent one. So are the following:

*“I’ve been sick this week.”
*“I really haven’t had a chance to train.”
*“I’m not used to running on this terrain.”
*“I’m used to cooler temperatures.”
*“I do my best running later in the day.”

Regardless of their truth or originality, they’re all excuses.

Although my niece Sarah Beth did exceptionally well in the 8K, she wasn’t completely happy with her time. But then, a few minutes after her finish this is what she said, “If anyone dares to say anything about my time, I’m going to say something about their laps around the couch!” When I chuckled at this, she continued, “I mean really. How can anyone say anything about my time when their only exercise is pressing the remote?” That’s my girl, SB!

The family talked about this concept the rest of the weekend. Why is it that people criticize others when they haven’t done anything of merit themselves? And why does it bother the “just do it” folks to hear putdowns? As another example, I often hear people making fun of the people on American Idol, and although I don’t watch that show, I know enough about it to know that the performers sing a heck of a lot better than their critics.

As I told my daughter and niece, it doesn’t matter what your time is, how your performance stacks up to others, or whether you win a prize. What matters is that you get into the fray and give it a shot. It’s better to “just do it” than it is to run laps around your sofa and poke fun at the ones who are going the distance. Plus, the girls had their picture made with a pirate, earned a cool medal, and enjoyed the post-race ambience at the track.

They’re always naysayers, critics, and bullies, but you have to ignore them and their negativity. Their comments don’t matter, not one iota. And I think this applies to just about any endeavor in life. Whether you take pictures, write poetry, or bake wedding cakes, you just can’t let the critics hold you back.

TLC and Reality Checks

A lunch conversation brought to mind a few more thoughts about fathers and their importance in the life of a child. As we talked about the roles mothers and fathers, it occurred to me for the umpteenth time that they are indeed different. Mother Nature coded us differently from the “get-go’ and that 23^rd pair of chromosomes continues to affect our thinking and behavior throughout our lives.

While there are exceptions to this, women are the nurturers. Men are the fix-it people, the ones who see a problem and want to solve it right away. Women want to make things all better, and men want to tackle the issues head on. This way of thinking even affects the way parents handle issues with their children.

Parents look ahead to the future and feel uncertainty, anxiety, and perhaps even downright fear when they consider their children stepping into it. The world is fraught with danger and peril, and each parent wants to prepare the child for it. Their ways of preparing youngsters for the world of tomorrow is different, however. Mothers are more likely to see the possible dangers and warn the child to be cautious and careful. Fathers, on the other hand, are more likely to tell the child to step up to the plate and be strong.

The different parental approaches remind me of the difference between justice and mercy. Both are good; both have their value. And yet too much of one without the other is potentially harmful for the development of a well-rounded and responsible individual. When our children were small and would wail, “That’s not fair,” I was inclined to commiserate with them and agree that while it isn’t always fair, that was just the way it was. “Sorry, Sweetie,” I’d say. Their father, on the other hand, would often quip, “Who says life is fair???”

Sometimes parents can switch off and take turns between nurturer and tough guy, but a child needs both approaches. He or she needs justice AND mercy. Sometimes she needs a big dose of TLC and sometime she needs a reality check. When my daughter Carrie was a college student, she was having a little too much fun, and her grades were slipping. I gave her some encouraging pep talks and reminded her of the importance of education. Truthfully, I don’t think it fazed her at all. Her father told her that if her grades didn’t improve, the gravy train was over. That got her attention, and she immediately began to turn things around.

Maybe some single parents are able to be both the nurturer and the task master, the one who tries to make things “all better” and the one who encourages the child to “man up” (even with female children). But me? I needed both mercy and justice when raising children, and I think most households do.