(This one’s for Cathleen, for her gentle reminders!)

My son’s a big kid, no doubt about it; “My Gentle Giant” as I like to call him. So when he told me, round about May, he wanted to play football, I was hesitant to say the least.

But I’ve always told my kids that I don’t care what sport they do, they just need to do something. So, somewhat reluctantly, I began looking into signing him up. As fate would have it, our local sports club had closed football registration already. I did my part I told myself – and Arjay. Maybe next year.

A few weeks later my husband found a league that was looking for boys. Damn fate!

So he’s now playing, and loving, football. Of course, they haven’t started tackling yet. We’ll see what happens then.

The other day I was watching him run laps, with all his teammates, save one, ahead of him. (Arjay will likely not be the running back.) But as they round the turn and head in, I watch Arjay, with eyes fixed on the jersey in front of him, engage the afterburners; his eyes on the prize, baby!

Watching this sudden display of competitive fire, I was brought back to my days as an athlete. I remembered, with surprising clarity, how solitary sports can be. If  team camaraderie is the foundation of organized sports, personal drive and dedication are the building blocks.

All of a sudden, I was completely removed from my son. I was an outsider looking in. And it really hit me; he is not me and I am not him.

He is a person; little and big at the same time. He is his own, unique, person. He is the one looking at the jersey ahead of him and deciding he can, and must, catch him. He is the one pushing himself to complete all the exercises. He is the one who refuses to give up even when he’s exhausted.

I sit on top of the hill and watch this little stranger and I’m filled with awe. I realize that when he talks to me, he is sharing a part of himself; a self that is different from my self and I should treasure that. I don’t have to agree with everything or say yes all the time. But I must recognize and acknowledge the individual who is, whether he knows it or not, telling me what’s he’s all about.

Now if I could just get him to show that same sort of perseverance when he’s doing his chores…

A while ago, I was out to lunch with some friends. There was a fair few of us so a couple of tables had been pushed together to make room for everyone. We were laughing and talking and having a good time in this very fine restaurant in Manhattan. And as I sat there with my very fine friends, in this very fine restaurant, I took a sip of water from the very fine glass and placed it back down on the table.

The time space continuum then hiccupped and everything around the glass – including me – slowed down to a near standstill as the it stood solidly on the very fine, white tablecloth before inexplicably falling over and breaking, spilling water and ice all over the table.

I saw the glass tipping but did nothing to stop it as my mind reeled trying to make sense of a glass just spontaneously lying down on the table. But as the water began dripping down between the tables the cogs in my brain slipped back into place. I realized I was sitting at the joint of the two tables and apparently they weren’t precisely the same height. The glass balanced for a second on the uneven joint before falling victim to gravity.

Life is like that sometimes. You see something that seems wrong somehow and even as you struggle to define the nature of what’s amiss you sense the train wreck coming, but do nothing to step out of the way.

How many times, in the context of our relationships, do we watch the train’s approach and do nothing? Too many times, I’m afraid, and usually because we don’t want to seem judgmental.

As I think back, I can recall a number of occasions where I surely did see that big ‘ol locomotive bearing down. And a tiny voice in the back of my head waved that big ’ol red flag and said “This ain’t good!” And I stood planted firmly where I was, and I did nothing and the train rolled right over me.

In one case it was a friendship I had with a woman who was living a real-life Montel Williams show. I was supportive when she told me about her bad marriage. I “understood” when she consistently failed to discipline her children. I was there for her when she needed rent money. I…well you get the idea.

At some point the cogs in my brain, once again, slipped back into place and I started thinking clearly. After trying to help her latest boyfriend – and being taken advantage of in the process – I deleted her number from my phone directory, removed her email from my computer and didn’t look back.

It sounds easy, but it wasn’t. I struggled with the decision; should I tell her why I was ending it? What do I say? Am I doing the right thing?

In the end, I’m convinced I did do the right thing. To allow myself to stay mired in her drama and be taken advantage over and over is not being a friend, it’s being a doormat.

But what did I learn? For one thing, I am better at pulling the plug on relationships that I see turning into black holes, sucking all my energy. I can, and have, cancelled business meetings rather than waste an hour with someone that would clearly not be a qualified prospect or partner.

And sometimes, I watch in amazement as a seemingly stable glass of water lies down, inexplicably, on the table.

My son has a fish tank – two actually. The big one has a bala shark. It started with two sharks, but as sometimes happens, now has only one… But it is the other tank of which I speak now. The little one.

He’s got a little goldfish in there. I don’t know what the life expectancy is for these guys, but our average has been 6 months – maybe. If you’ve ever owned a fish you will recognize the progression indicative of imminent failure; the fish will move swiftly from swimming upright to slightly pitched to one side to completely vertical until finally they are upside down in the water floating a mere fraction of an inch from the gravel. The only movement at this point is the slight wave created by your rapid tapping on the plastic tank to confirm that the fish has, in fact, expired, and yes, you may now, without fear of biting guilt, flush him, with proper respect, to his eternal rest.

But this guy is different. He’s got a fighting spirit that would do Rocky proud. We’ve had him for about a year and I have been hearing the bell toll for weeks now, but it seems it does not toll for he. He’s been swimming along the aforementioned progression, yet bounces back with surprising verve. On most any morning I can walk into the room and see him floating belly up, rocking gently in the water. Yet, as I tap, tap, tap on the tank wall, he’ll look around, then slowly, almost reluctantly, roll over and begin doing laps.

Generally, after the initial fascination of a new fish wears off (usually in about 3 minutes), I don’t pay much attention to the tank except when called upon to clean it. Yet, I confess to an almost daily pilgrimage in this case. I wonder if today’s the day. Will he be swimming or “swimming with the fishes?”

What if we all lived like this fish? What if we marched – or in this case, swam – to our own rhythm? Going against the tide takes some chops. People will want to know what you’re doing. They’ll tap on the glass to get you’re attention and try to get you swimming with the rest of the school. But no great innovation has ever come from doing what everyone else was doing.

It’s OK, even necessary, to look at things from a fresh perspective; from upside down and sideways. Tackling the same problems in the same way will yield the same results. But swimming upside down, rising and falling with the tides (or filter as the case may be) changes your perception not only of the question, but the answer you seek. So go ahead and swim against the tide. Be different.
Just don’t stay upside down too long. You may get flushed.

I was at the appliance store the other day and as I was waiting at the counter an older gentleman was arranging to take delivery on some appliances he had purchased. As he was making the arrangements with the store owner he made it perfectly clear that they could call the house and speak with his wife, but it was he, in fact, that made all the decisions.
As I’m getting myself into a right lather about what a so and so this guy is, he says it – “I have the last word in everything. And it’s always ‘Yes, Dear.’”

He got exactly what he wanted; a big chuckle out of everyone in earshot. And while he may play the hen-pecked husband to audiences in local shops, I’ve no doubt that he knows how to rule his roost with sly wit and a fair bit of indulgence as well.

For all his self-deprecating humor, he points us to a quasi-universal truth; the key to a happy home is really a happy spouse. If one is discontented it’s pretty hard for the other to be otherwise.

It’s like when Rajesh and I play volleyball; I can’t [read: won’t] play on his team. He’s ubercompetitive and I’m just happy to get the hell out of the house (though I must confess spiking on him gives me more than a small amount of satisfaction). So if, by some sinister twist of fate we end up on the same team and heaven forbid the team isn’t playing up to snuff I can just feel the frustration seeping from his pores. Mind you, he covers it up pretty well, managing to purport himself as if properly socialized. But a wife knows. Now I can’t relax because he’s all stressed so I’m stressed because I just wanted to have a good time but now I’m not able to because he’s so stressed which is causing me stress so now I’m playing like crap so he’s even more stressed…well, you get the idea. He’s not happy. I’m not happy.

And then of course there are the hormonal cycles. Nuff said.

But if somehow, you can find that delicate balance between your needs and his, between self-indulgence and partner-indulgence, you’ve done something remarkable. It’s not easy to do and even harder to maintain. Life shifts and things change. So you must adjust your balance to adapt to the new conditions lest your once happy home falls into disrepair. But when you get it right it’s really amazing.

Even more amazing than when they learn they can always have the last word – so long as it’s “Yes, Dear.”

Time is relative

Now I’m no physicist and I certainly don’t want to take anything away from Albert Einstein’s many achievements, they guy was apparently pretty bright, but seriously, did he need a Ph.D. to figure out time was relative?

Talk to any mother, talk to a business owner, pretty much any individual who takes in oxygen in this day and age and they will tell you time is relative.

It seems to me, time passes much as Elaine Benis (of Seinfeld fame) danced; big twitch, pause, twitch, twitch, pause, jerk and pause, jerk, jerk, pause.

The day starts with such promise. Everything seems possible as I approach my desk bright-eyed and bushy tailed. OK it might be more accurately to say “puffy-eyed and dragging tail”, but the point is I am ready to be productive.

But the day shapes up like this. Check email. Twitch. One hour gone. Work on HTML coding for client. Twitch, twitch. 3 hours gone. Take a phone call. Jerk. 15 minutes. Respond to emails. Jerk. Facebook. Jerk. Another 30 minutes. Photo search for advertising campaign (mock ups due tomorrow). Twitch. Jerk. One hour and daughter is getting off the bus. Another day gone and, while I have been productive, the To Do list has managed to grow faster than the pile of dirty laundry on the bathroom floor.

So, in homage to Mr. Einstein I have developed the following mathematical formula to calculate how many tasks will be left incomplete at the end of any given day.

You may not be as learned as I in Time and Mathematics, so I will explain. You begin with the open items on the To Do list (I to the power of O). You subtract the items you have completed (I to the power of C) you add the sum of your energy by the power of the number of children you have (E to the power of K) divided by parents (h + w) and your husband or partner’s schedule (h to the power of S). You will get the number of items you started with to the power of 3.

I’m waiting for notification from the Nobel committee as I write this. I believe Al would be proud.

Have you ever been to a networking meeting? They can be painful; a bit like middle school but without the acne.

But, like middle school, networking is a part of life; a rite of passage if you will. But for many of us, we don’t actually graduate from networking. So, like the photos of us with the Farrah Faucett hairdo now cropping up on Facebook, networking lives on.

As a business owner, I’ve gotten used to networking and have become rather adept at inserting myself into strangers’ conversations. It seems strange at first, you must overcome years of social training, but it can be done.

Last week I attended just such a function. It was a new Meetup for folks like me that work out of their home. It was a great group of people and a really well-run meeting. We got a chance to network of course and introduce ourselves to the group. I chatted a while with two new friends, an interior designer whom I had not met before and a sales manager whom I had. We had a very enjoyable conversation over lunch. At the end of the meeting we shook hand and went our separate ways.

As I sat at a red light on my way home, I looked over to see my new friend waving and smiling. I laughed and waved back. That simple gesture, a smile and friendly wave, reinforced the feeling of good will we had developed over our lunchtime conversation and solidified a new business friendship. And there’s the secret. Effective networking is about being friendly and being yourself.

When I first started out, I felt like I always needed to be “The Professional;” formal and all businesses. But once I started to relax and act more like myself, not only did networking not seem like such a chore, and a nerve-wracking one at that, it actually became fun. I found people that I genuinely enjoyed talking to and that, for the most part, really wanted to be helpful.

Go figure. The simplistic advice we’ve all heard a million times in middle school apparently does hold water; “just be yourself.” And don’t be afraid to offer a smile and wave.

We’ve all seen it. They all have it. The THING from which they cannot be parted. For my husband it’s his T-shirts.

Today, I came home to discover my husband wearing his beloved T-shirt. I promise you it was so tattered I dared not look at it too hard lest it evaporate from his torso like steam rising from the sidewalk on a hot summer day.

The collar was scarcely attached. The hole under the arm was so large he could safely grow a new appendage and still comfortably don his treasured chemise.

When I suggested, ever so gently – as you might image – that we give it it’s long-overdue final rest he scoffed at the very idea.

Change is hard under normal circumstances, but when it comes to clothing, it is often near impossible. I confess, myself, to having kept sandals well past their expiration. But change is good. Really. Let’s stick with the example of clothing.

We wear clothing mostly to give us protection from the elements and to provide some varying level of modesty as dictated by society and our personal level of exhibitionism. Sometimes, when we’re lucky, we find that one special item that fits these criteria and makes us feel fabulous on top of it all. It might be a power tie, or too-sexy sandals – or a T-shirt that’s as comfortable as it is threadbare.

So its understandable when we don’t easily give up these articles. It feels like we’re giving up an essential element of ourselves.

But at some point, we are forced to recognize that the frayed remnants of our favorite jeans just don’t cut it anymore. We are thrust out into the wider world in search of a new favorite pair. We finally muster the courage to face the mall. We boldly stride into Gap or Macy’s. We rifle through stacks of jeans, wondering when the hell low-riders came back into style and where a self-respecting woman in her past-20s is supposed to find something to replace our Precious. But we soldier on and finally pluck up several pairs to try on. Nothing. On to the next store, and maybe the next.

Finally, it happens. We find something new. Maybe it’s an updated version of its predecessor. Maybe its something else entirely. Something we didn’t know we wanted or liked, but discovered we did.

Change. It brings opportunities and it forces us out of what’s most comfortable into what might be.

So embrace change. And if others in your household don’t share your enlightened view, sneak the T-shirt out in the trash.

The other day as I was dropping the kids off at skateboarding I ended up entangled in a debate over my son’s helmet. It’s not what you think. He WANTED to wear it, but it was too big because the damn thing is, in fact, an adult-sized helmet purchased by – and I cannot emphasize the point enough – a certain individual who shall remain nameless, but is NOT me, is male and to whom I am married.

Normally, of course, I am the family’s sole voice of reason regarding all things “safety”. At that moment, however, my son filled that role as he showed me how “wiggly, jiggly” the helmet was on his little dome. I assured him, while tightening the straps until they were nearly embedded into his chin, that he would be fine. “You really want me to take that risk?” he asked me incredulously. Truthfully, I just wanted him in the class so I could get my errands done. But rather than confess this to my precious child, I ran home and fetched his ski helmet and rushed back.

Risk and fit. Those were Arjay’s concerns. His helmet was too big, it was wiggly, jiggly and he was not willing to risk hurting himself. The kid’s no dummy.

In life though, risk is important. Not life-threatening risks mind you (you will never catch me sky-diving – though I can claim to have bungy-jumped once) but the kind of risks that make you grow as a person. The kind of risks we take every day when we make ourselves emotionally available or when we call on a prospect for business.

Take risks and find out what fits you and makes you feel secure and confident. Keep what fits you and get rid of the rest.

But when your child take up a new sport, don’t risk sending your child out with your spouse to buy the right equipment!

I tend to be old school. I don’t fuss too much (OK, not at all unless I have to) when the kids come to me with some complaint or ailment. And if it’s in the morning before school unless there is some bodily fluid seeping out of you in mass quantities, Kid, you better saddle up, ’cause you ARE gettin’ on that bus!

This morning Arjay starts complaining about his back hurting.

Um hmm. Ok. That’s too bad. Can you finish your breakfast please? No I can’t go to school today. It really hurts. This is the first I’m hearing of it. How long has it hurt? For DAYS! But I thought it would go away. Did you brush your teeth? Your lunch box is in your backpack. Mommy! It really hurts.

So I take a breath, lift up the back of his shirt and see…a tiny bug bite.

Yes, I see it. No, I don’t believe it is life threatening. Yes, I’m sure it’s uncomfortable. No, you’re not staying home from school.

I’m not completely heartless, so I offer to put some cream on it. And his reply is so nonchelant, it takes a minute to sink in. “Nisha already put some on.”

There was no marching band, no flags or balloons. It just was. A simple gesture of kindness; a sister putting cream on the bug bite on her brother’s back. Wow.

This quiet act proved to me what a thousand requests to see the latest Zach Effron movie couldn’t: my little girl is growing up.

While I know they are no longer babies, my kids are still “my babies.” I want to enjoy them while they’re young because time is passing too damn fast. While it’s nice sleeping in on the weekends, I recall fondly of years past when they wouldn’t have dreamt of hunting for Easter eggs without rousing us at 6:30 to go with them.

I know I can’t keep them from growing up, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wish it to take a little longer. It may seem like it’s taking forever from where they stand. But from where I stand it’s been in the blink of an eye.

But they are no longer babies. And I can’t keep them from growing up. So the best I can do is cherish the memories, revel in the process and stock up on cream.

I don’t know about you, buy my kids want food, like, every day! And several times a day usually. And apparently it’s not just them.

My daughter had a friend over recently and they both wanted to eat. No problem, I’m prepared; snacks in the drawer, drinks in the fridge (water & milk, what do I look like a restaurant?).

So our young guest reaches to get a glass out of the cabinet. I look up to see a somewhat terrified look on her face; “Can I let this go?” she asks me.

You see we have some new fancy-schmancy cabinets in the kitchen. They open up rather than out and are supported by equally fancy-schmancy hydraulic hinges. (I don’t know if they are REALLY hydraulic, but they’re pretty fancy nonetheless.)

But this girl doesn’t know this. She made a reasonable assumption that a door opening up into mid-air will drop down. She might only be in fourth grade, but she does have a rudimentary knowledge of how gravity works.

What happened here, my friends, is a classic example of poor communication. She thinks, “If I let go of this door it will fall and break and then I’ll be in a boat-load of trouble.” I’m contentedly working on whatever I’m working on at the moment, confident in the knowledge that the door will open gently and hold itself open until closed by a deliberate hand.

It occurs to me, this kind of miscommunication happens all the time; between parent and child, between husband and wife, between…well you get the idea. Whenever you have two people trying to communicate there is a good chance of a similar disconnect.

I think of all the times the following scenario has played out in my house: I wish my husband would take the kids for a couple of hours so I could relax or work or do something around the house. He sits down to watch the game on TV, enjoying some prime, weekend down-time. I start feeling agitated because the kids aren’t engaged and as a result are bickering about some perceived injustice. My agitation turns to annoyance which quickly turns to anger as I try to concentrate on whatever is in front of me at the moment.

I’m mad at the kids for making a big deal out of something that clearly, to me, is irrelevant. I’m ticked at my husband for ignoring the chaos that the kids are creating.

So I do what any self-respecting wife would do, I start harping at my husband for never helping me around the house, not appreciating me, being more preoccupied with a stupid game, etc. etc. He does what any self-respecting husband would do; looks at me like I have three heads and tries to figure out what the hell just happened.

It’s the classic spousal bait and switch. I pick a fight about something that may, or may not, have anything to do with what I am actually upset about. And more to the point, I never asked for what I needed, which resulted in, surprise, surprise, me not getting it.

This same scenario is frequently played out with children. “Get ready for bed” you say. Two seconds later (or after a protracted argument) the kids show up in their pajamas. You start to see colors because you clearly meant “Take your shower, brush your teeth, put your toys away, get into your pajamas and get your nighttime reading” WHY do they always test you?!

We often assume that our meaning is clear. When we make these assumptions however, we are setting everyone up for failure. We are disappointed when our “instructions” aren’t followed. The other party is confused by our disappointment. Our disappointment may turn into frustration and anger. Their confusion turns into defensiveness and resentment. And the beat goes on.

I try, though admittedly I don’t always succeed, to askew the mantra “Do want I mean, not what I say” for the more productive “Say what you mean, and mean what you say.”

Because although I know there’s a hydraulic lift, that doesn’t mean everyone else does. And I’d much rather answer the question “Can I let go?” than pick up scattered shards of glass from the kitchen floor.