Center Stage

Last month my family experienced a bit of medical drama. My son was playing second base during a very intense baseball game. The score was 3-2 in our favor in the 4th inning and all of us in the stands were cheering for our boys to hold their opponents back.

The other team has a great player who stepped up to bat and we were all nervous about him hitting a homerun. Instead, he hit a high pop fly between the second baseman (my son) and right field. My son backed up intending to catch it, but didn't call it out. The right fielder rushed forward with the same intention and didn't call it out. The inevitable occurred and my son fell backward and hit his head on the right fielder's knee. He got up a bit dazed but seemed to be okay. In an extaordinary feat, the right fielder actually came up with the ball and the play was saved! We groaned and then cheered in unison. The coaches ran out and asked all the right questions and my son gave all the right answers and the game resumed.

Another batter came up and popped another fly ball to my son who caught it for the third out - like a pro! The crowd was ecstatic! Then, suddenly my boy began to cry and appeared to be in distress. The coaches all ran out and talked to him but couldn't make sense of why he kept talking about what he'd forgotten.

The parents around me were all expressing concern, so I went to the dugout to see what the hullabulloo was about. I admit to thinking that my boy was over-reacting as he usually does as an 11 year old. I was ready to tell him to "man-up"! But, I quickly assessed that he didn't know what he was talking about and his brain circuits seemed to be on standby. His team mates could see I had suddenly gotten serious. They packed up his gear for him as I questioned my son and then I stood up straight and announced quickly that we were leaving for the hospital.

I couldn't walk fast enough as my mind replayed the recent tragedy about that actress, Natasha Richardson, dying of what seemed like a minor head injury on the ski slopes. I can't explain the way all my motherly instincts kicked up a notch when I realized my child may really be in danger. I had horrible visions of a tiny blood vessel in his brain leaking slowly as we raced toward my car. Everything seemed to move in slow motion although I was told later that I had moved myself and my son out of there with lightening speed. My heart was in my throat as my baseball friends helped me get our stuff in the car and wished us God Speed as I spun out of the parking lot.

My son continued to sound like a broken record all the way to the hospital. He kept repeating, "Did I get hit by the ball?", "Where are we going?", and "Are we going to the game, now?" til I thought I'd scream in frustration. I started off answering his questions truthfully, but when I realized he wasn't retaining my answers, I just started saying "yes" to all of them instead of wasting my breath. It turned out, after spending four hours in the emergency room with some strange people and $1700 later, that he had a mild concussion with amnesia and was going to be just fine. He has never remembered the actual incident, but since it's not necessary for college, I figure that's alright.

The lesson here: In baseball, always call, "I've got it!" when going for the pop fly. And, try to avoid the ER on Friday nights if at all possible.

Most of our friends expressed appropriate concern by calling or texting the next day to make sure our son was alright. However, there's always those one or two people who get all caught up in other people's drama and insist on making it there own. The coach, for a short time, blamed himself for letting my son continue to play after the collision. Guilt, Guilt, Guilt! I was able to convince him finally that he needn't lose any more sleep about it.

Another parent (I'll call her Patty) apparently was crying at the field after we left it - as if my son had died. She made up a story that my son had hugged her in his delirium and lamented to her about how he couldn't remember anything. (He was never anywhere near her during the whole incident.) Patty also told several people (not present at the game) that my son had been violently ill on the field after his fall. (Not true and ewwww!)

I began to feel like our experience had be intruded upon and made a spectacle of by someone else's unwarranted needs and behaviors. Granted, it was a disconcerting situation, but it was not tragic and I resented anyone trying to make it so. For the next two weeks, every time we ran into someone from our baseball field, I found myself subjected to the most bizarre rumors.

Most of us appreciate a little sympathy or empathy, but stealing another person's drama to gain center stage...oh, please! If you find that you are one of these people, try noticing the reaction you truly get from those who have known you a while - averting or rolling eyes, stepping away, mumbled "oh, really's"- to your seemingly amazing stories. Is that really what you are shooting for?

The lesson here: Being on center stage when you haven't been called there can have the effect of making you an outcast.

Redneck Whisperer

There's the Horse Whisperer, the Dog Whisperer, the Sales Whisperer, and now...the Redneck Whisperer!

My husband and I practice a rather disconcerting method of communication. Disconcerting to others, at least. For us, it is just our way. We have been together for most of our lives and have always bantered with teasing and incessant sarcasm. I imagine, to others, that it must sound like we are always on the verge of a major argument, but a major argument between us is rare. We know where the lines are drawn and are usually careful not to cross over. When it does happen we are quick to address it and all is well.

One day, we were bantering about the traditional roles of men vs. women regarding the household chores - an age old argument. I was trying to help him understand that I am tired of working outside the home and doing everything inside the home on top of it. A woman can only do so much before cracking up and I was feeling fairly close to going on a major shopping spree for therapy! So, we were discussing the benefits of his helping out and it went something like this.

Me: "I am feeling overwhelmed lately with the housework and would really appreciate some help from you."

Beloved Spouse: "Uh, huh." As he stares at his computer screen.

Me: "Hello! Did you hear me?" Looking a bit peeved.

Beloved Spouse: Looking up at me finally, "Sure, Honey, what was that again?"

Me: "I said I would really appreciate it if you could start doing your own laundry seeing as how you work from home and all. It would be easier for each of us to do our own laundry and that way you can't complain about the moldy smell when a load gets left in the washer too long. You'll be here to get it done yourself."

Beloved Spouse: "Um, yeah, I guess so. I'm just so busy, though. But, I see what you're saying." He smiles wryly at me then and adds, "Maybe I could get my girlfriend to help me out..."

Me: "Uh, huh. Tell her while she's at it she can do mine, too." Not the least bit phased, "And, maybe I should get out the old iron skillet and knock it upside your cheatin' head." (Imagine what you will.)

Beloved Spouse: "That's my little Redneck Whisperer!"

I have to admit that I like the title! It made me smile and, as I said, all is well. He's doing his own laundry, sort of, and I'm happy with his effort.

What a Woman Wants?

I've been reading a book of essays, Women in a Man's World, Crying, and it is really making me think. Some of the essays are about how women have fought to be equal and the effect it is having on us now - both good and not so good.

I admit to feeling proud of our hard fought almost equality, but also admit to wondering how much good it's done for us in the end. I love being able to have a career, but there are more days now when I would love to just stay home and spend time decorating my home, taking my child to school, picking him up from school, having time to actually fold laundry before putting it away, ect.

Instead, I run to work, work, then run from work to school activites, then to sporting events, making dinner somewhere in between, picking up the living room in between that, and finally climbing into bed to read a good book only to fall asleep in the middle of the third paragraph from exhaustion. The next day looks pretty much the same. I wonder...is this what our predecessors intended?

January Blues

November and December are so full of excitement and activity that January seems almost disappointing once the decorations are down and put away in the attic again. I love all the glitter and shine of the holidays! It makes me smile to walk around the neighborhood and stand in awe of all my neighbors creative accomplishments with blinking lights and Christmas lawn decor. Now, after the 12 days of Christmas are done, all the lawns are bear and rather sad looking.

January is a time for re-evaluating our goals and starting anew. Some of us get overwhelmed with the prospect of it all. We ask ourselves, "What do I want to do differently this year than last?" And, "What is still left undone from my previous list of goals?" It can be enough to make one want to sit down on the couch and escape into M.A.S.H. or I Love Lucy reruns.

I've read a few articles and blogs lately where people are touting "unresolutions" instead of resolutions. I'm on board with that line of thinking. It certainly makes it easier to talk about what you won't do (inertia) versus what you will do (take action). People seem to naturally lean towards inertia for some reason. I have to work hard to convince my clients to concentrate on what they can do. But, what if not doing something is a good thing and leads to something positive. I suppose it's all in how you look at it, right?

Let's make it a game! I'll start.

I will not clean up my son's room for him just because I can't stand it anymore.
I will not waste my mind or time watching silly TV shows when I could be reading a good book.
I will not obsess over being disorganized as it's fairly obvious after all these years that organization is just not in my DNA.
I will not miss an opportunity to play boardgames with my family just because the laundry is piled up. (They can help me with it after I've beaten there socks off in Monopoly. I'll even pay them with my fake millions!)
I will not get frustrated about my son's baseball schedule because he's growing up and I will never get this opportunity again.
I will not say "Yes" to things that bring out my passive-aggressive tendencies.

There. Now it's your turn. Happy New Year!