Set Point

A Different Kind of Champion

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Fri, 15 Nov 2013 18:08:00 +0000

I recently returned from the USTA League 40 & Over 4.5+ National Championships in Indian Wells, CA with nine other fantastic women. We reached the finals before getting edged out by Southwest. It was a great run. But I am not going to give you a play-by-play of the weekend. What came out of that weekend was much more than a set of great wins and proof that New England remains a dominant force in tennis in the United States.

What I am going to offer might surprise you. It begins with something one of my teammates, Kim McCrohon, wrote. She suffered a mild heart attack just prior to our first match at USTA New England Sectionals back in August. She was rushed to a nearby hospital while I was on court. We were devastated. This just doesn’t happen to people like us, we thought. But Kim kept her spirits up – even while in the hospital – and we knew we had to stay focused and keep our eye on the prize. She describes the anticipation of our results from sectionals:

“I kept getting texts from people wondering how I was. I’d respond quickly and then look again to see if I missed any call or another text from one of my teammates. Finally, it came. I picked up the phone. Two words appeared, “We won!” My mouth dropped, and I threw the phone on the bed. “Going to Nationals!” I proclaimed! My husband raised his eyebrows. “I’m going,” I said. “Heart attack, shmart attack, I’m going. Whatever it takes!”

Two weeks later, Kim’s doctor told her he didn’t think she would be cleared to go to Nationals. He knew the 4.5/5.0 level and thought it would be too strenuous for her just-repaired diagonal artery and its new stent – not to mention her battles with cystic fibrosis and diabetes. After some convincing, she was able to schedule her required stress test right before the team had to leave for Nationals.

After weeks of strenuous rehabilitation, medication and a strong will to overcome her aliments, Kim passed her stress test and was cleared to play with us at Nationals!

It was unbelievable. Just two months prior, Kim was lying in the hospital after a heart attack and now she was on the plane to Indian Wells with us all. Admittedly, we had been a little worried about her condition, but once she was on that plane with us, we all forgot and were just thankful she could join us. The flight seemed quick. We were all anxious to get there and practice.

The next day, we had two practice sessions. Everyone played. We all felt good. We were all equals. We were here for a reason and we all knew what it was like to work hard to achieve a goal. Kim inspired us. The title and pride that comes with it were the driving force.

At 7:30 a.m. on October 25, we played Middle States for our first match and lost a tight one 2-3. Then came Eastern. We knew we had to win to even have a prayer to stay in the running for the Final Four. We pulled that one out 3-2. The next morning, before our first match against Texas, we had a team pow wow. “We need the next two matches, and we need to win them big, 5-0 or 4-1,” our captain said. We also exclaimed, “Believe!” The team rallied and won 4-1. Believe. We then faced Pacific Northwest. Kim got the call to play doubles, and she was more than ready.

Kim and her partner played phenomenal tennis against one of the strongest doubles teams in the tournament. Although they did not win, the team pulled it out 4-1. Believe! It came down to Middle States and Pac NW that afternoon. New England had 13 individual wins to Pac NW’s 8. If Pac NW swept 5-0, we would be tied in individual wins and would have to look to individual losses or sets lost to determine who would go to the Final Four. We needed Middle States to pull out only one match in order for us to advance by one individual win. New England nervously watched the match. It looked like we had one chance with one of the Middle States singles players, and in fact, she did it. She got that one win, and New England got the berth to the Final Four.

One Sunday morning, we beat Mid Atlantic in the semis and then lost in the finals to Southwest. We all played great tennis but the other team was better that day.

We arrived home late Sunday night, tired and a little sore, but satisfied on many levels. It was a thrill to represent New England at the national level, some of us for the second year in a row. We appreciated being able to continue to fuel our passion for the game of tennis and make lifelong friends and fantastic memories along the way.

As for Kim –our inspiration– she writes, “This time of my life will always be embedded in my brain as one story that ended happily even though we didn’t take first prize. I’ve said it before, but I think it’s worth repeating, “Enjoy life, every moment of it.”

Dedicated to the 2013 40+ 4.5/5.0 New England team: Alison Albers, Sue Corey, Davida Dinerman, Pam Holding, Sally Kellogg, Jennifer Lesnick, Wendy McCabe, Kim McCrohon, Hope Pascucci, Deb Simpson, Maureen Sumner, Megan Storing, Nancy van Siclen.

Sentimental

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Fri, 16 Aug 2013 11:34:00 +0000

“Sentimental.”

One definition is: Of or prompted by feelings of tenderness, sadness or nostalgia.

Yup that’s me.

One example is of my overnight camp years. Having attended Camp Matoaka for 10 summers as a camper and a counselor, I have accumulated memories and friendships that will last a lifetime. Fortunately, there are many others who are just as eager to relive those days, and it doesn’t take but a photo of a loon on Facebook to trigger a slew of memories. Now that my children bleed camp (Tel Noar), I can experience the excitement first hand once again.

I am also sentimental when it comes to my children, who are now 15 and 12 years old. They are old enough to have memories of when “they were little,” as they say. We have more than a dozen movies of their childhood which we still love to watch. Although I didn’t keep every bib or blanket, there are a few items which are difficult for me to part with.

One of those items is books, some of which were mine growing up. I can look at a book, let’s say, “Harry By the Sea,” and remember when I would read that to them. If it is good shape, and most of them are, then I feel we should save it for their own kids, my grandchildren. School work is another problem area for me, especially for large projects or artwork. I figure they worked so hard on it, how can I just toss it? Maybe I don’t keep every single paper, but I have my fair share of worksheets, drawings and reports.

There is one item which I know I have kept too long. It didn’t really match the décor, and I haven’t used in a many years, but that sentimental value was overpowering.

The item is a white glider rocking chair.

That rocking chair accompanied me through midnight and daily feedings, hours of storytime, giving medicine and cuddling away sadness. I used to sing a song to each of the kids before bed, which recounted what they did during the day. We took pictures of the kids on that chair. Then they used to climb on it to read a book once in a while too.

Have I sat in said rocking chair in the last two years? Five years? No. But it was there and represented a time in my life which I didn’t want to give up easily. I think Brad would have given it up years ago, but he knows me well enough to even ask. So when I recently told him I wanted to give it to any of the several people in my office who recently had a baby or are going to have one soon, he said calmly, “That would be nice.” What he was really thinking was, “It’s about time.”

When I asked one man in my office, who recently became the father of twins, if he would like the chair, he responded with a resounding “Yes!” almost before I finished asking. Then and there I knew this was the right choice. He picked it up yesterday.

Why am I now able to give away this sentimental piece of furniture? Although I will never forget the past, and I might even dwell in it too long sometimes, I know there is so much for us in the future. I am on the verge of aging into a new decade. The kids are growing into amazing adults. I have a terrific husband. We still have both sets of parents and lots in the way of family and friends. I love my job, and I can still wield a tennis racquet better than the average bear. My present tense is “rockin’.”

There is a void in the corner of my bedroom, and I will think of that rocker for a few more days. But I can also picture my friend feeding his children, reading stories and making wonderful memories, just like I did.

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Sun, 01 Jul 2012 11:54:00 +0000

The Call Back

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Sat, 30 Jun 2012 22:58:00 +0000

The first challenge for an auditioning actor is to get a callback. That means the directors ask the person to return for another audition to read, improvise and spend time with the director and other decision makers. Getting a callback puts the actor on the short list of people who might be cast for the part. To get one, the actor must do something that marks him or her as a stand-out at the audition, and a possible fit for one of the roles.

But there is one time when you don’t want a callback. I had one on Thursday. Two days prior, my cell phone rang as I was getting into the car with Abby on our way to hit some tennis balls. The conversation went like this:

Caller: “Hello, Mrs. Dinerman. This is [forgot her name} from the Beth Israel Deaconess in Lexington. Your mammogram {here is where my head got fuzzy} showed something different from the prior year’s mammogram { I’m doing my best to keep a straight face. I don’t want Abby to see any change in my expression}. We would like you to come in this week for another scan when the radiologist will be here. Are you available on Thursday?”

Me {as I step away from the car to look at my schedule on my iPhone}: “Thank you for your call. Which one is it?”

Caller: “Let me look here…the right one.” {you can hear empathy in her tone}

Me: “Thursday should be fine. 11 am works.”

Caller: “Ok, I have scheduled you. Best of luck, Mrs. Dinerman, and have a nice day.”

Me: “You too.”

We hang up.

Abby asked, “Mom, who was that?” I said, “It was a client who needed to reschedule a call.” Abby said, “You’re lying.” I said, looking at her straight in the eyes, lying right through my teeth, “No I’m not. Let’s get going if we want to get a court.”

Now, I am sure that wasn’t an easy call to make for that woman, but her tone was very warm and understanding. And the fact that I had Abby with me forced me to nearly dismiss it. But my insides were all jumbled and all I could think of was, 'Thank God I’m going to do something active right now and have a distraction.'

As soon as I had time alone, I called Brad. As I heard myself saying the words, ”They found something different in my mammogram,” his voice dropped, but I know he wanted to be strong and try to allay my fears. He said, “Hmmm. {pause} Well, let’s not get too nervous until we hear what they say. It is probably nothing.” He was right about not getting too nervous.

The next thing I did was probe and groped my right one. I didn’t feel anything unusual. I felt fine. But that’s what they all say. Several of my friends have been through this. In fact, within the past five years, it seems like it hits one of my tennis friends every year. I once said, half jokingly, “Who’s next?” Geez, I didn’t think it would be me. Who does?

According to the National Cancer Institute, "false-positive results are more common for younger women, women who have had previous breast biopsies, women with a family history of breast cancer, and women who are taking estrogen."

Yet, the site also claims that:

"False-negative results occur when mammograms appear normal even though breast cancer is present. Overall, screening mammograms miss up to 20 percent of breast cancers that are present at the time of screening.

The main cause of false-negative results is high breast density. Breasts contain both dense tissue (i.e., glandular tissue and connective tissue, together known as fibroglandular tissue) and fatty tissue. Fatty tissue appears dark on a mammogram, whereas dense tissue and tumors appear as white areas. Because fibroglandular tissue and tumors have similar density, tumors can be harder to detect in women with denser breasts.

False-negative results occur more often among younger women than among older women because younger women are more likely to have dense breasts. As a woman ages, her breasts usually become more fatty, and false-negative results become less likely. False-negative results can lead to delays in treatment and a false sense of security for affected women."

Stay positive

Wednesday came. I stayed busy at work. I let my colleagues know that I have a quick doctor’s appointment the next day and plan to be back within the hour. {Please}

After work, I helped out at Ari’s baseball practice. In those two hours, I completely forgot everything except baseball drills. When I have a moment to myself in the evening, I started to think about it. I talked about it with Brad. I was nervous. He knew that. When will I fit in treatments? What will I tell the kids? My parents? In-laws? Friends? Work? Damn. The respect I have for my friends and family who have fought and won, and fought and not won, was just elevated 1 million times.

Breathe.

Thursday morning came. I kissed Brad good-bye, drove Ari to camp and then got to work. At 10:45 a.m., I drove to the BI in Lexington. The BI in Lexington is a terrific and convenient satellite branch of the hospital in Boston. I checked in, changed from the waist up and took a seat. The technician called me within five minutes. I walked into the darkened room with the mammography machine. She showed me my original scan from Tuesday.

“See that little circle on the bottom," she said, "that’s what’s different from last year’s scan.” {My mind turned to mush, as did my insides. This is what some of my friends have said – it’s pea sized. Focus. Focus on what she is saying so I can relay it to Brad}. “Sometimes the way the machine takes the mammogram, it doesn’t smooth out the breast enough and we see what’s simply a clump of fatty tissue. That is what we’re hoping for here.” {Please, make it that.}

I tossed my right one onto the machine. The technician positioned my body so I felt like I was going to fall over. But I stood as straight as I could and balanced myself so she could get a good scan. “This time,” she said, “I’m not going to start from the top. I’m going to start a little further down and get a clearer look at that bottom part. Ok. Hold there. Don’t breathe. {I can’t anyway}.

“Ok, Mrs. Dinerman. Please have a seat in the waiting area. I will have the radiologist take a look at the scan. I’ll be right back.” {Take your time. No, please hurry!} I sat for a minute and tried to watch the TV that is on. It was showing The View with Whoopie Goldberg, who, I think, was talking about women who wear make-up and those who don’t. Not really sure.

The technician then called me back in. “Mrs. Dinerman, we have good news.” {Exhale}. “In fact it was a small cluster of fatty tissue. We’ll see you again next year.” I thanked the lovely technician. I wanted to hug her, but I didn’t. {I’m clean}. I change and rush to my car to call Brad. We both smiled over the phone, and my eyes started to water, but I didn't cry. Instead, I smiled. {I’m relieved. I’m one of the lucky ones!} I drove back to work and continued my day.

My point: Sure, I had a scare, but that is all it was. I am not asking for pity. I have no right to ask for pity. As I mentioned, I know too many who have fought and won, and many who have fought and didn’t win. Women who are 40 years old, start getting checked each year. Despite the warnings, it's a start. At the risk of sounding political, with healthcare available, do what’s right for yourself and your loved ones. I am very thankful that I am able to get a mammogram and a pap each year to (hopefully) detect something early enough so, if it ever does decide to knock on my knockers, I might have a fighting chance.

Time

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Fri, 30 Mar 2012 11:17:00 +0000

by Ari Dinerman

Sometimes you really wish that someone could have told you something would happen in the future. Like if you were going to be sent to the principal’s office, or your relative were going to get sick And if you do know about that before it happens, you could prevent being sent to the principal’s office or you could find a cure for your relative’s sickness. Sometimes time is your best friend or your worst enemy.

Imagine...

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Thu, 22 Mar 2012 02:24:00 +0000

by Ari Dinerman, contributing writer

In the perfect town of Learn-a-lot, everything is so peaceful, so calm, so happy. In a town like this, you have learned so much that by the end of your life, you’ve learned too much. Your answer to a question would be as logical as it could be. There are no crimes, nothing. What is the point of living this life if there is no responsibility, and no more lessons to learn.

At the great ballpark

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 01:29:00 +0000

by Ari Dinerman, contributing writer

At the great ballpark, I see the ground balls being hit to all the positions on the field. While hearing all different fans begging for a comeback. In this stadium, you can hear that a lot. I can briefly taste the sand dry cigarette smoke streaming out from one’s filthy mouth. I am touching the armrests of my chair, feeling the rumbles of the stadium in disbelief. This makes me smell the salty French fries being carried by sellers walking up and down the aisles of the stadium, just like pacing back and forth, thinking what to do next.

Not Just Another Number

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Thu, 08 Dec 2011 02:56:00 +0000

I realize that there is war and disease and other devastation going on around the world, but I must admit I was sad about something entirely off-beat today. I had to replace my very first license plate, 345 ASA. That was my traveling companion for more than 25 years.

We all are associated with numbers. Our first home phone number, home address, Social Security number, college ID number, first apartment number, first boyfriend’s (or girlfriend’s) phone number, first house with spouse number. The list is endless. As we transition to different parts of our lives, we leave behind one number and take on another. But for some reason, giving up my 345 ASA was harder, as if I were giving up a friend - someone who has been there for me through many of my growing up stages.

Why did I need to turn in my good ‘ole companion? Apparently, its façade became too cracked and the dulled sheen wasn’t able to reflect well in the dark. There’s no escape. I could go a lot of ways with this. When Brad gets older, much older, and he begins to crack and wrinkle, will I replace him with a newer model? Hmm…

In 1986, when I graduated from Dartmouth, this plate held on for dear life to the back of my first car, a Ford Escort. This was a used car which needed oil every other day. In fact, it ran so badly that I had to take the license plate off... the car couldn’t pull that kind of load (ba dum bum). When I went to for grad school in 1990, it then graduated to an early model of a charcoal gray, boxy Toyota Corolla. It later knew the streets of Waltham and Framingham, when I was living in an apartment in Framingham and dating Brad, who lived in Waltham. In 1996-ish, when we were first married and started at the then , it was pleased to be toted on a newer taupe Corolla model. For the past five years, it has logged in more than 118,000 miles on my Toyota Sienna. My children could identify my car among others in a parking lot. 345 ASA has seen all of New England several times over and is intimately familiar with Ashland.

When I was at the Milford RMV, I asked the nice lady behind the counter if I could keep 345 ASA, she looked at me with a surprised and somewhat puzzled look and said, “Oh no!” I actually had to hand my metal pal over to a stranger in order to be (gasp!) recycled. I hope the next owners appreciate it.

So long 345 ASA. Welcome 919 LV5. Enjoy the ride.

My New Tennis Buddy

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 03:40:00 +0000

One of my favorite things to do is to spend time with my family. One of my other favorite things to do is play tennis. When I can put those two favorite things together, I’m in heaven.

Over the summer, my daughter decided she wanted to play tennis. I didn’t push her, but she came to that decision on her own. When she was younger, she had participated in a clinic or two, but it really didn’t seem to stick. She dabbled at camp, but there was no real love there. One of her best friends plays, so that certainly helped move the needle a little bit. I was happy to take them both out to our local school courts and hit the ball. Little by little, Abby could keep the ball in play and have a rally. That motivated her to play more. We’ve moved on to serves and volleys, which really legitimizes her game.

All of the logistical details will fall into place soon enough. But the other side of this is being able to share something I love with my teenage daughter, and have her love it back. Over the years, she has played softball, which I also enjoy. But she put that aside. She enjoys dancing, but even that hasn’t been high on her list. So I was facing two things: getting her involved in something worthwhile, and finding a physical activity to keep her in shape. Checking off both of these items, plus including myself in the mix—priceless.

She not only looks forward to playing, but she looks forward to playing with me. As she moves more deeply into the teenage years (she’ll be 14 in three months), I want to savor these times together – just the two of us. We try to play at least once during the week, usually a Tuesday, and once on the weekend. Before she leaves for school, she might ask, “Can we play tennis today?” Music to my ears. I smile and say, “I’ll call for a court!” Then, after school and work, we both look forward to putting on our tennis clothes and sneakers, grabbing our racquets and hitting the fuzzy yellow ball over the unwavering net as many times as we can.

Today, we played a fun baseline game with another parent and his daughter, and she played very well. This was a huge step for both of us. She can hold her own on the court and has the confidence to face opponents she doesn’t know.

My daughter and I do many things together. She loves going to the mall, an activity which wasn’t always high on my list, but which I can stomach better with her by my side. She enjoys playing board games like Yahtzee! And now I feel fortunate that we share the same passion of tennis. She recently announced to me that she wants to play on the high school tennis team. I smiled and said, “Well, we have some work to do, but I am happy to help you get there.”

I am Davida. And I like Words with Friends

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 02:20:00 +0000

Am I addicted? That’s debatable. I don’t shirk my responsibilities as a wife, mother, daughter, employee, volunteer, tennis partner or any other primary areas of my life. I don’t stay up to play until all hours of the night. I don’t do it at the dinner table. I also don’t play other apps, such as Angry Birds or or Solitaire.
I do like to play when I get a rare free moment during the day, or in the evening when I’m winding down from a hectic day. Does this sound defensive? Maybe a little.

I feel slightly guilty that I am not using my 20 or so minute of free time at night reading a book. I really should read more. But I have always loved Scrabble, and more recently Bananagrams, but we don’t play it very much at home. I have always loved the challenge of putting words together, particularly along a DW (double word) or most especially along TW (triple word) square. And if one of the letters is worth 5 to 10 points, woo hoo!

Right now, I am involved with nine simultaneous games going with a cousin from Florida, who beats me every time, and several friends from Massachusetts, Georgia and Texas. I can even send people little messages – like instant Chat with Friends.
Really, there could be worse things, like drinking, smoking or gambling. I don’t pig out on donuts or drink huge quantities of diet soda. Lately, my kids have wanted some of the Words action. Hey, it’s educational right? They said, we should play Scrabble more. That would be fine with me.

p.s. This week, my iPhone seemed to play possum. I learned how to reboot it, and it was fine. The first thing I thought of was, “Oh no! My games!” Not… “Oh no, my email! “Since they are in a cloud with my account, I really wouldn’t have lost them, but I guess it says something about this new little hobby of mine.

I wanna hold your hand

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Sat, 06 Aug 2011 22:19:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 00:41:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 00:32:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 02:59:00 +0000

“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

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Sun, 02 Jan 2011 01:37:00 +0000

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)

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Wed, 29 Dec 2010 01:42:00 +0000

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…”

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 22:13:00 +0000

“…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

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Sun, 05 Sep 2010 20:22:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 02:29:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Sat, 14 Aug 2010 01:25:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 23:12:00 +0000

“…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?

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Thu, 15 Jul 2010 12:33:00 +0000

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.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Raising a Child

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 11:45:00 +0000

I was a shy child. My mother said that when I was a little girl, I didn’t look at adults and hid behind her when they approached. That was, until age 5, when my kindergarten report cards would state, “Very bright but a little too social…” What changed? I don’t exactly recall a specific moment, but I do recall t my parents practicing dialogues with me. For example, “When someone asks you, ‘How are you?’ You should then say, ‘Fine thank you, how are you?’” They taught me that exposing myself to different subjects gave me ammunition to speak with people intelligently.

When I became a parent, it was interesting to be the one responsible for teaching little people how to interact and socialize. I wanted to be sure my children would feel confident expressing their voice to others, in a respectful way. I soon realized I had it a little easier than my parents did. My daughter was born talking. And her confidence gene was oversized. The challenge was to keep all of that gregarious energy channeled in the right way. She too received reports from school saying, “Very bright, but needs to work on self-control…” On the one hand, I knew we had to work on that and help her understand when it’s time to socialize and when it’s time to be quiet and listen. On the other hand, there was a little part of me that said, “Yesss!” She has since improved upon this self control.

It took a little longer for my son to start talking. His sister used to talk for him. But when he did talk, I knew he too would be very social. He watched his family and learned. He had a very easy disposition and was also outgoing. I know that’s not taught, but it can be fostered. For example, when we went to a playground, he had no qualms about asking another parent to push him on the swings. And once again, Ari still comes home with “Progressing” in the self-control category on his report cards. This is still a work-in-progress.

One characteristic I think is critical to foster in a child is a sense of humor. Both of my parents know how to do a “schtick” – start with something random and keep going with it. I learned how to find the funny in something or myself to keep life in perspective. There was great comedy in television with such classics as “I Love Lucy” and “The Dick van Dyke Show.” When I was about 10, my father exposed me to the wonders of the late, great Henny Youngman. This led me to delivering stand-up monologues at Camp Matoaka by age 11. I could make other people laugh! To me, there isn’t a more potent means of interaction than humor in the area of social skills.
Fortunately, I married a guy with a good sense of humor. And this trait this caught on for both kids, which has complimented their personalities and helped them stay grounded as good people.

I realize it’s hard to teach someone how to be funny or how to find the humor in something else. I think you can do it by how you react to situations. Sarcasm, when used properly, can be funny. Exaggerating an action can be funny. Some claim that humor cannot or should not be explained. Author E.B. White once said, "Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind.”

My point: There are so many traits we want to instill in our children – tolerance, determination, forgiveness, resiliency. However, I believe that having a sense of humor is the foundation for all of these characteristics. Tthe benefits of humor and laughter are enormous both emotionally and mentally. It can boost the immune system, reduce stress, relax muscles, lower blood pressure, increase our tolerance for pain, and hasten the healing process. This makes growing up more fun and carries a person far into adulthood.

Make New Friends, But Keep the Old.

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 01:12:00 +0000

“Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other is gold. “

We might learn that rhyme in nursery school, but it transcends our whole lives. This past weekend, Camp Matoaka in Oakland, Maine kicked off its 60th anniversary with a fabulous reunion. Huge thanks to Jason and Leslie Silberman, the camp directors, and Wendy Berliner, the assistant director, for spoiling us and helping us rekindle camp life even for a few days. I also want to send an even bigger thanks to the people who attended, without whom there would not have been a reunion… without whom there would not have been Camp Matoaka.

Granted, I know that everyone who attended camp didn’t love it. And I also realize that every moment of every day wasn’t all sunshiny bright. But we tend to forget the negative, or at least push it to the back burner, when there are so many good things to remember. I attended Matoaka from 1974 – 1983. Many things have stayed the same, and there are also new traditions, as I think should happen.

When we set foot onto the campus, we became Camp Matoaka girls again. I met campers who attended twenty years before I did and twenty years after I did. No matter how old or for how many years we attended, all of those years melded together. We were all the same. We all turned back time, and time stood still.

The campus is in tremendous shape thanks to the directors and staff, who have, over the years, continuously improved upon the facilities. But what puts the Magic in the “Matoaka Magic” is the people. On one level, it felt like we had never left. We played tennis, went sailing and horseback riding, swam, water skied, and challenged ourselves on the ropes course. We slept in the bunks and hung our bathing suits on the line outside. We talked about stuff… girl stuff. It was as if nothing had changed.

On another level, some of us hadn’t seen friends for 20-30 years, and we delved into what was happening in each other’s lives. Although we sat in the same space where we existed as campers, we were talking about spouses and children and adult issues. Although we were not campers anymore, for just a couple of days, we could be campers again.

Just like old times, as soon as our bottoms hit the benches at dinner, the singing started. Back in the day, we used to sing so much and so loudly, we’d get hoarse. I will admit, I got choked up when the songs and cheers began. My mind raced back to the 1970s, and I was a camper again. I saw Uncle Joe and Aunt Midge (Nathanson, the founders and first owners of the camp), I saw the room as it was. I heard the songs as they had been sung. When I pulled myself together, I started to sing and realized the words easily flowed out of my mouth.

Camp was a time to learn about community, about ourselves and about sharing. We used our bodies and our minds. We learned about being girls. Speaking for myself, I learned that I could be away from my parents for an extended period of time and be more than okay. I took risks. I tried new things. I developed a style and a being. I formed everlasting friendships and memories. Without a doubt, I would not be the same person I am today had I not attended Camp Matoaka.

Now, I am in my reality at home with my family, remembering the weekend through pictures and conversations. This feeling will linger for a while and will become part of the box of camp memories. Thanks to the phone, email, snail mail and Facebook, we are able to stay in touch and keep the Matoaka Magic alive.

As Michael Nathanson, Uncle Joe and Aunt Midge’s eldest son and second director of Camp Matoaka said, “Camp Matoaka provided the place, the Nathansons provided the opportunity. But it was always you girls who provided the abundance of SP-IR-IT, and for that we will always love you all!"

"Make new friends, but keep the old..." To me, they’re both gold.

Create a Community of Concern

noreply@blogger.com (Davida) — Mon, 17 May 2010 02:08:00 +0000

On Mother’s Day this year, I asked my children to raise their right hands. Then I asked them to repeat after me, “I [name] promise mom and dad that I will not drink alcohol or smoke anything.. ever. If I am at someone else’s house, and kids start to drink and/or smoke, I will call mom and dad to pick me up. I will not be ashamed of this choice because I know it’s the right choice.”

No, this isn’t brainwashing. It’s the first step to communicating with my children about alcohol and drug abuse. Granted, I have had discussions with my older one, who is in Middle School. I have asked if she has ever encountered a situation where kids were drinking or smoking and encouraged her to do the same. I have asked if her friends even talk about this. Brad and I occasionally drink in front of the kids. They also see us drinking wine during holidays. They see that we do not drink to get drunk. Most of the time, I don’t even finish my glass. We do not smoke. So far, I feel comfortable that my children are not interested in drinking and smoking, but I also know that things can change. Peer pressure and curiosity can get the best of anyone. We know it's important to keep reminding and keep communicating.

Rewind 6 days…

On May 3, I attended a forum through the Ashland Youth Substance Abuse Prevention Initiative. The objectives of the forum were multi-fold. First, it was meant to educate parents on the effects of substance use on a child’s brain development and growth. Second, it encouraged parents to talk about this topic with their children. Third, it asked parents to change the culture on underage drinking and drug use by delaying their children’s first use of alcohol until… adulthood. The overall goal is to help children make good decisions now, which will take them through middle school, high school and college. And learning about even the first objective, the goal becomes a no-brainer.

The first speaker was Mimi Fleury, one of the founders of an organization called Community of Concern This organization began in 1998 in response to a real need for a publication that could help both parents and students gain a better understanding of alcohol, tobacco and other drugs. Mimi and other parents from Georgetown Preparatory School in Bethesda, Maryland, wrote and published a booklet titled, A Parent's Guide for the Prevention of Alcohol, Tobacco and Other Drug Use, which is making the rounds nationwide. In fact, Mimi Fleury traveled all the way from Maryland to speak with Ashland parents.

Along with Mimi, Dr. Marissa Silveri delivered a tremendously powerful presentation on the neurobiological effects of drug and alcohol use. Dr. Silveri is a behavioral neuroscientist who holds appointments as Assistant Professor of Psychiatry at Harvard Medical School and Associate Research Psychologist in the Brain Imaging Center at McLean Hospital. She uses MRI to study teen brain development.

A child’s brain stops growing by age 5 or 6 and starts remodeling with little change in volume. But children can improve the speed or efficiency of neuron communication. Drinking affects the frontal lobe, which is the primary area for making decisions and strengthening common sense. As a result, alcohol and drug use alters the brain’s functionality and prevents children from making good decisions. Thus, it inhibits that remodeling and overall performance in school and in life.

Here are some astounding facts:

1. Studies show that a person who starts drinking before age 15 is four times more likely to develop alcoholism than someone who delays drinking until age 21.
2. In Massachusetts, urban and suburban youth use drugs in about the same numbers.
3. Teens who drink are more likely to drive drunk, have sex, fight and experiment with other drugs.

The forum also discussed ways to parent teenagers about drinking and smoking. One is to be a good role model. Another is to be clear about expectations. A third is to set limits and follow through. It is also important to be involved in your child’s life and help him/her become well-rounded. Encouraging children to try hard, do well in school and participate in extra-curricular activities will also divert attention in a positive direction. If you feel you need more help in guiding your child, reach out and seek out help from a social worker, guidance counselor, doctor, religious leader or teacher.

Parents and children must learn to trust one another to make good decisions. We can help our children to know what’s right and wrong. Get involved. Show your children you’re serious about this. Tell them about the effects of good and bad decisions. The more parents can show their children love, respect and acceptance, the more we’ll get them back to us. Keep the lines of communication open 24x7x365. The motto for the Community of Concern is, “Together we can keep our children alcohol and drug free.”