For the past several months I have been editing a book for a friend. Her story is one that is filled with as many ups and downs as a teenager’s daily life. But these are real problems and real dramas. Real heartache and real celebrations. And it has caused me to take a real look at things around me.

Her family was/is blessed with two beautiful, intelligent and very charismatic children. Then, God decided this wonderful family was not complete and needed another beautiful child. And in May 2011, a beautiful baby boy, James, was born. For reasons unknown, James was born with a heart defect and lived for four months in the hospital in Charleston. The story I’ve been editing is the daily journals of his parents’ time in Charleston with their sick son.

I’ve had so many emotions editing this book. Pouring over the words, letter by letter, I have come to know James. But even if I wasn’t a mother, this is a book that is filled with amazing stories, coincidences (more like God’s intentional actions) and hope. It has left me with so many emotions. When you first read the book you might wonder why God chose to take James to Heaven so young? But by the end, you realize God chose James to come to Earth and have an impact I can only HOPE I will have in my lifetime. You’ll have to read the book for yourself to see what kind of impact he had and continues to have. It’s pretty remarkable.

In thinking about it all, I wonder and get upset at all the sick kids in the world. The babies who never had a chance, the kids who have random accidents that are one in a million. Why does God choose for it to happen to them? Children are so beautiful and innocent, and many are in the hands of monsters that one can only hope to survive. But for those who aren’t? Who are born to wonderful, loving parents, why does He not give them a chance at life? And for that matter, why does he give babies to monsters to begin with!

I pray for Baby Ava every night, a baby I do not know but follow on Facebook. Her parents want her home so badly and she came home for only a day before going back. She suffers from many genetic issues but does not suffer from cuteness or lack of love. Her parents dress her up in new outfits every day for her daily Facebook posting. I prayed for Baby Izzy, who was a twin and had a healthy sister and older brother. I used to play basketball against her mom’s older sisters and vaguely remember her mother as a young girl. I pray for Tripp Halstead, who had a branch fall on his skull at daycare. Just a beautiful, innocent child not much older than my own son who is now recovering from a traumatic situation. I pray for all these kids just in case God can’t hear the other tens of thousands praying for them.

It is these times that my faith is tested. I know bad things have to happen and the world is often filled with as much evil as it is good. But I cannot understand why some children are born healthy and others not. Why some have their perfect lives ahead of them only to have it robbed. Why parents and friends have to go through the most horrible pain they can and bury their children.

But I know I must have faith. I know I must believe there is a reason. I think about Baby James and knowing his story in greater detail. The impression he left and the actions his life has inspired are truly miraculous. I know that without ever speaking a word, he said so much. So perhaps these other beautiful children I have not met are doing the same thing for their parents and friends. They are inspiring us to be better people and servants of God. They are teaching us to live the way we should, not the way we want. It is God working through a way that is not exactly how we would prefer, but maybe how it should be. Sometimes God says so much without directly speaking. He’s talking with no words.

Each day I tell my husband I love him. I give my son so many kisses I lose count. In church S was holding C and C grabbed S’s cheek and began smothering him with kisses. I watched, wondering what S would do. It was disruptive because like all toddlers, he wanted to do it over and over again. But at the same time, it was the most endearing thing in the world to have your child purposely grab your cheek, turn it and kiss you repeatedly. S returned the kisses and showered him with affection. After church, the couple behind us commented on how much he must love his parents, especially his daddy, because of his silly demeanor. It is moments like this that one could easily whisper, “no” to their child for being disruptive. But if it were the last kisses we ever got, wow, how much we would treasure them.

I don’t mean to sound morbid. In fact I hope my post is inspiring or honest. I struggle many days with believing everything will be good and turn out the way I want. I am human after all. But I also make sure everyone knows how I feel about them in case anyone needs reminding.

I Vow to Never take this boy for granted.

I recently read an article by Susan Patton, a Princeton alum and mother, who told female students to find husbands at school before they graduate. You can read it here.http://money.cnn.com/2013/04/01/pf/princeton-mom-women/?sr=fb040113princetonmom8p. Wow this article is a load of bullshit. I use the word bullshit not because I can’t think of a better word but because it firmly describes what I think of this woman’s point of view. “Find a man before you graduate because women have a shelf life,” ? What? I’m sorry, I spent my entire college career focused on three things:

1)   Getting an education/graduating

2)   Making some of the best friends of my life

3)   Experiencing said life to its absolute fullest and not regretting any of it.

Sure some parts of numbers two and three resulted in some not-so-wise decisions, but I also used them as stepping stones and growing pains, to be cliché, to come out a better person on the other side. Relationships, husbands in particular, were really not part of my vernacular. While I DID have a new crush every semester it seemed, the last thing I ever thought about was getting married.

I’m sorry Ms. Princetonian, but there is more to life, and college for that matter, than finding your potential mate. And a shelf life? Wow, for someone who is supposed to be very smart you sure make dumb comments. Why not send us back 70 years and tell us we can’t sit next to African-Americans or be anything but secretaries and teachers.

I can understand her argument that perhaps if you meet someone younger you have a longer time to play house and raise a family and then be traveling retirees at 59.5 years old. But we’re also not really all that mature at 22 and chances are, we are going to be different people in our 30s and perhaps, not think the same of our spouse as we did at 21. Women of my generation are rarely getting married that young. And for those of you who did, I think it’s great. I have nothing against young marriage if it’s meant to be, but i have very few friends who married right out of college and are still together. And i don’t know ANY of my friends who went to college solely to seek out a husband.

Like MANY of my friends, I am a successful, professional, woman. I am a mother who is happy in love and loving life. Yes, Ms Princeton-lady, I DO have it all. I have a job I love, have worked hard for and married my best friend. And if I’d met him while in college, surely I would have passed him by. Because the person I was at 21 is not the woman I was at 26 or especially 30, when we married. My priorities were completely different than what they are today. I was not mature. I was not ready to be a wife. I wasn’t ready to understand what it meant to compromise, sacrifice and make hard decisions. Most days my hardest decision was did I want to go to class or stay up pondering “The Big Lebowski” for another hour and skip my 8 a.m.

Today 8 a.m. is a luxury hour of which I rarely sleep past, but I wouldn’t trade it. I have to disagree with Ms. Patton in every regard. Women are older nowadays when they get married because we want to be self-sufficient, intelligent, mature and able to handle what life throws at us. Sure we like chivalry, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make our own money or know how to pump our own gas. We can still cook our family dinner and do all the traditional feminine roles, but we’re going to be doing it while checking email, paying bills and meeting a friend for lunch.

I’m no women’s lib fanatic but when reading this article I immediately felt a need to respond. The irony to me of course is that this woman is divorced because she felt that it was horrible to be married to someone not as smart as her. Maybe her husband felt it was just horrible to be married to someone with ridiculous ideas. Clearly she is not happy, so who is she to preach on the way someone should live her life?

Parenting a toddler is by far not my favorite age. While there are many joys at this age (20 months) there are also many challenges. In such a short span, I feel as though this stage has lasted the longest. I enjoy the sweet kisses and hugs and the moments he wants to snuggle, but those are few and far between. Meltdowns are quite the norm and tantrums, as much as I try to avoid them, are inevitable. And it seems to me that there are far more traits, or lack of traits, that comprise a toddler’s everyday life.

Patience. This word is nonexistent in my toddler’s life. Everything must be done at this. Very. Moment. If he does not have the toy or music he wants, all hell will break loose. Enter hard decision-time: give him what he wants at that instant and soothe the screaming headache that has just ensued, or try to teach him aforementioned word patience and do not give in. My jury is still out. It seems I am about 50/50 on this one. Some days I give in, some days I am Shee-Ra and can withstand the torture I am undergoing. I know it needs to always be the latter, and I certainly try, but somedays after a long day of work I think, “letting him watch his sign language video one extra time is not the worst thing. At least he SIGNED to me he wants to watch it “again”

Vocal Control. This is also something a toddler can’t seem to figure out. Being dissatisfied seems to equal screaming at the highest decibel possible. Sometimes I scream really loudly back, just to see what his reaction is. I don’t scream AT him, I will just let a loud noise escape my lips and typically it is enough of a distraction he forgets what he was crying about. I, on the other hand, look incredibly dumb but to be honest sometimes the yelling helps get out my frustration as well.

Super-human Strength. Toddlers seem to possess this amazing ability to NOT let you change their diaper. I don’t know if it’s because I’m trying to safely pin him down with one arm that leaves me unable to wrestle him with the other arm, or if he is really that strong. He can shoot his legs out straight to absolutely NOT allow clothes to go on or a diaper to be fitted in between these iron legs. When he is running from me, I swear he turns into RoadRunner and is able to outrun me in a circle around the house. Perhaps it’s because he’s lower to the ground and can take a sharper turn around the staircase than I, but somehow it takes two of us to put his coat on in the morning.

Fickleness. One day we love Elmo, the next day it’s Elmo who? What worked one time with a babysitter is now as successful as my Facebook stock. (sigh). Our bedtime routine was air-tight and solid. We told ourselves how lucky we were to be in this situation. Within a matter of weeks and new-found interests, our son hated every book he’d loved the day before, hated his “favorite” blankie and wanted a puppet show before bed, something we’d never done before. Typically, every afternoon is a guessing game as to what kind of mood he is in. It reminds me of some guys in my past lives…

Deciding mommy makes a better sticker page than the book.

Repetition. When the above-word is NOT in play, my son likes to do many of the same things over and over and over and over and over again. We can listen to the same version of Old MacDonald seven times in a row and when it’s done, he yells for “more.” He wants to play the same games every single night again and again. And we finish reading one book, just to start it from the very beginning, over and over again. And he even prefers to watch the same sign language video over and over, even though he has four to choose from.

Even though we swung for a while, this is his reaction to no more swinging.

Somewhere in all this mood-altering behavior I’ve read that the repetition is what makes them feel safe and comfortable, the fickleness is due to their minds developing and expanding their interests, the strength means their bodies and minds are growing, the vocals show their independence and the lack of patience is just because in their head, they think the world is ending or they’ll never get something again if I don’t give it to them. Disciplining, I’m sure no matter what the age, is hard. REALLY hard. To ignore your child when they want you or to tell them NO for their own good is not my favorite thing. But neither is the demands of someone with no attention span.

So I guess in all my complaining, I really have to take a step back and think this stage is really about raising a son who feels safe, whose mind and body are developing, who is becoming independent and who is asking for something that they love. Those things really aren’t so bad when I think about it this way.

How do you discipline this sweet face?

I just need to remind myself of this the next time I’m singing “Old MacDonald” out in public like it’s my favorite song on the radio.

Writing is cathartic for me. So I wrote this for myself, not really for the blog. Perhaps I’ll share with Cohen one day. But just in case anyone else felt like reading a really, really long post about an amazing dog named Grover, here goes:

Growing up I’ve always had dogs. We had a basset hound till I was 10 and then a schnoodle until I was 30. The latter lived almost 17 years. He died in my arms very peacefully. He was old, plain and simple. In my 20s and early 30s I had a townhome with about a fifth of an acre of a backyard. As much as I wanted a dog when I was in college like my friends or when I lived in the townhome, I knew it wouldn’t be fair and waited until I had a big yard. My husband and I finally bought a home together with an acre of flat grass and a natural area with trees and “wood-like” terrain. There were neighboring dogs and we thought, “this will do.”

Then we began looking for dogs. We liked the thought of a goldendoodle but at $1100 a pop, we weren’t interested in that. My husband rescued a weimereiner in his past but she had some problems and wasn’t a puppy when he got her. We wanted something we could raise, albeit hard, from a puppy stage.

We saw a craigslist ad for an 8-week-old puppy that was believed to be a goldendoodle or labradoodle. It would be about 50 lbs they said and non-shedding. Sean and I went to look at it and for $100 we brought him home. I’d always wanted to name my dog Grover and this one certainly looked like a Grover.

Cute Puppy

So began the hard work. We went outside every time we switched activities so he would learn to pee and poop outside. We rewarded for positive behavior. We tried to not scold unless we actually caught him in the act—something our dog books strongly encouraged. Dogs don’t know they’ve done something wrong after the fact. Positive reinforcement seemed to work well. We followed him around the yard with poop bags. Sooner than later, he was housebroken.

Sean was very big on teaching dominance. Grover was not allowed in the kitchen while we ate. He was not allowed to beg. He was not allowed to go outside until we said “okay.” He would stand with the door wide open and wait until we said okay. At first I wondered about these strict methods, but the more I read, the more I learned Grover wanted to be told what to do. It made him feel proud to have a pack leader and he knew who was in charge.

Because we both work during the day, next came time to train him with the invisible fence. Some people think they are inhumane, and I can certainly understand that. But Sean spent weeks training Grover. We didn’t just let him out into a yard to be shocked. We used the audible warnings and the flags before we ever introduced the shock. Sean walked the perimeter with Grover day after day letting him know when the collar would sound if he got too close. Grover had the beeps and the flags for cues not to get too close. We later introduced the shock and it was on a low voltage. He only got shocked once or twice and that was the end of his getting too close.

Fast forward a few weeks and we could leave Grover in the yard every day to explore to his heart’s content while we worked 8 hours. Sure enough, every day Grover would be at the top of the driveway at 5 p.m. His tall ears and tail wagging. I always wondered what he did during the day. Some days I’m sure he sat in the sun, which he loved. Other days he dug up holes that Sean so frustratingly filled. He chased a million animals that graze through our backyard and played with his myriad of toys. Grover was never good at letting go of a ball but loved to chase it and bring it back. You just had to fight his grip to get it back.

Family photo

As Grover started to get older, we started to realize how special he was. We also started to realize he was not going to be a 50lb dog nor a non-shedding dog. Grover left himself all over the house. For Christmas we received a nice check from Sean’s grandmother and decided to buy a Dyson Animal vacuum. We had reached adulthood for sure! Grover was also now a 77-lb dog that people stopped and always asked, “what is he?”

Not sure of his breed but what a handsome dog he is

We weren’t sure of his origins. At times he looked like a pitt bull when he was young. But his ears stood straight up. His ears were always something special. I thought they’d flop over when he was older bc they were lopsided. But then one day they stood straight up like a shepherd. His hair was kind of long like a shepherd too. But he had the light-colored muzzle and funny tail. We thought he was like a Dixie Dingo or better known as a Carolina dog.

Loving the great outdoors

Grover developed quite the personality. He loved to play fetch and eat sticks and lick people. He loved trips to the lake where he was quite a swimmer. He also got to go to the beach and enjoyed that tremendously. He loved being out by the pool but never wanted to jump in. We weren’t sure why, since he loved the lake so much. Once, my mom and I were on floats and my dad and Sean went out to go tubing. Mom and I saw Grover start to swim out to us and assumed he’d turn around to swim toward shore. He then started swimming out further and further toward the boat. It was at least 50 yards. I was eight months pregnant and although I am a strong swimmer, I could not keep up. Finally, Grover swam at least 100 yards and I was worried he would tire to swim back. My dad had to turn around his boat to go back and get Grover. Back on shore he would dig holes, run up and down the beach lapping the waves and burying his tennis ball. He was in heaven (practically).

Loving the lake

At home, Grover’s domain was the back yard. Our driveway has a slight slope and everyday when I pulled up from work, I would check the mail. Like a night sky, Grover was always there. Tail wagging, ears perked high, Grover was waiting for me. “HI Grover” I would yell from the driveway.  Some days I pulled up and my neighbor was already in my yard playing with him. Other neighbors would tell me they saw him outside during the day and he did this or that. There is a muddy, worn path that outlines the perimeter of our pool where Grover would run daily from one side of the yard to another. We joked that he looked like a greyhound sprinting around the curve. Sean worked so hard to repair the grass that Grover killed, either through urine or digging. Each week he would repair an old hole, only to find a new one.

When we came home every day, Grover would be there. We let him in to come have some comfort. Usually Sean would wrestle with him or I’d lay him down for a good belly rub. Our son would gleefully pet him and shriek with excitement just to be in his presence. Grover always sat there, patient and gentle. He was never one to be anything but protective and kind to his owners. Even baby owners that yanked on his tails.

So sweet to his brother

My favorite Grover story makes me look like a bad mother but shows how lucky I was to have him as a dog. One day I was in the kitchen and turned my back on Cohen. Not realizing Cohen was now mobile, I came to the kitchen only to find Cohen gone. I panicked and immediately walked toward the stairs. There going up one step at a time, were Cohen and Grover. Grover hopped up each step as slowly as Cohen did, protecting him from danger. I stood in awe and for a moment didn’t even rush to my son. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Grover was protecting Cohen. That beautiful trait was not something you could ever buy, it was loyalty at its finest.

When Cohen was first born, Grover came running upstairs in the middle of the night to inquire as to the shrieking newborn cries. This was not part of his VERY comfortable, normal routine. He would sit at the edge of Cohen’s room, never to come in unless invited. Many nights he slept outside Cohen’s room in fact, but never entered. It wasn’t until Cohen was much older that he could say “grove” and invite him in.

Waiting outside Cohen’s room

My family has a special attachment to Grover as well. We had only had him a week when he had to go to Charleston for a wedding. My sister Stephanie kept him while we stayed at a hotel. She was in love with this sweet puppy and took great care of him. From that weekend on, every time Grover saw her he would lick her incessantly upon arrival and jump in the bed with her at our house. He was so happy to have her home. My parents also loved Grover. They kept him many times for us, even though they were no longer dog owners, so we could go out of town. They would send us pictures of him while we were gone and let us know about his antics. Although he shed, they grew to love him as well—letting him in their boat and car for trips to the lake. At Christmas, they brought Grover stocking treats and would always go pet him outside when they arrived. Like always, Grover was there waiting with excitement, tail wagging, when anyone new came over. But he always seemed more excited when someone he knew was around.

I always envisioned having many, many years with Grover. I figured he would grow up with our kid(s) and we discussed needing a bigger car for road trips because we’d need to have room for 1-2 kids, luggage and the dog. He wasn’t a nuisance but a necessity in our life. He never asked for anything. He never asked for people food. In fact, he stayed in the den while we ate. He ate the same food every single night for more than two years. He would ask, however, to go outside when he needed to use the bathroom. Many nights I would sit lazily on the couch as he whimpered at my feet and paced to the door. My husband and I would say “not it” for who had to take him out. We had to remind ourselves that this minor inconvenience was pretty amazing actually, that our dog would tell us it was time to go out. Surely, we could be inconvenienced for a few minutes to let him outside to pee.

I can only hope we were half as good to Grover as he was to us. We sure did like to make him comfortable. When his $90 pet bed seemed to be too small, we got him another bigger one. He was laying half off of it, so we thought it was time for a new one. We found the biggest one possible, for a great dane or something, since Grover liked to spread out to sleep. That bed lasted only a few months before his jaws ripped it to shreds. We still had the expensive one and some days he would find it in another room and curl up in it. He started sleeping in the computer room when he wanted to get away from the noise of the TV. We called his apartment. If I asked, “where’s Grovie,” Sean would say, “the apartment.”

One of his many beds

Later, he would also start sleeping in the bonus room upstairs. The couch to be exact. This became his condo. When he would sleep in the sunroom, underneath a giant plant, we called this his fort. And on the days he slept just in his regular bed (the fourth one we purchased) this was just his “bed.” Sean even put a bed inside the homemade dog house he built him for outside. Not only did he have a doghouse but he also had a covered area that he could hang out under with plenty of space to run around and walk. I must add that Sean also installed a heat lamp on a timer for the doghouse. This dog in no way was put out whatsoever! Still, there were many rainy days I came home and yes, Grover stood at the top of the driveway soaking wet. Why he didn’t use the doghouse was unknown to us, but that was just part of him.

We started noticing in late January that he was throwing up and having loose stools. We immediately took him to the vet and got him started on some antibiotics. A couple days later he was not eating as much. He continued throwing up. We took him back. Special diet later and another few days, we noticed the ribs were starting to become a little visible. We noticed he was lethargic. His ears were not as perky. We took him back in to the vet for X-rays, blood work, the whole nine yards. $500 later, we learned he was fine. Special diet again and keep him inside during the day for a week. Our gracious neighbor took him out during the day and we monitored his outdoor time so that he would not eat his poo or sticks or anything too upsetting to the stomach. Meanwhile, more ribs were becoming visible. At each visit he was dropping major weight. Still, I figured the THIRD round of antibiotics would do the trick.

A couple days later, he vomited 4 times in 24 hours. He didn’t eat or drink for two days. I knew something was wrong. Back again to the vet. This time we asked for a referral to a specialist and the vet agreed, something was definitely wrong and out of their control. Two days later, and four pounds less than the last time we took him in, I took him to the specialist. She carefully let me tell her everything and I wept a few times trying to remember all the visits to the vet. She had read his chart but wanted my story. I could hardly remember which visit yielded which result. She told me she was VERY concerned about the weight loss and that he must be very ill. But she assured me we could hopefully find some answers with the ultrasound.

I waited 45 mins in a room alone, praying something would come back negative or positive for an easy fix. Right before he left me, the doctor told me she could feel something in his abdomen. I thought, Oh, Great! Maybe it is just a foreign body that we can remove somehow. Knowing how he loved sticks, perhaps it’s just a stick leftover.

sick and waiting at the vet.

The vet came back and told me she saw a very large mass attached to his intestine. Or else it was blocking her view of the intestine, she couldn’t know for sure. She said his lymph nodes were 4-5 centimeters and should be 1 centimeter at most. She said there were packs of them all over his body that were gigantic. And the mass, she just had no idea what it was but she didn’t like it. She could feel it from the outside. “He needs immediate surgery,” she said. I wept and wept. I knew in my heart something bad was happening. I called Sean and told him we would need to spend another $3,000 to try and save his life. Was that okay? He agreed. We’d been budgeting for a new bathroom but we couldn’t very well soak up in the luxury of a new shower and know we had never given our precious Grover a chance at life.

We brought him home that night (surgery was scheduled for first thing the next morning) and I sat with him on the floor for 30 minutes. I just rubbed his newly shaved belly and whispered to him. I told him I needed him for many more years and that he would be okay after tomorrow. I told him just to rest because tomorrow would be a long day and then he would feel better. I had no idea what tomorrow would bring but I wanted to believe he would be better soon.  Sean and I tried to get him to sleep in our bed that night, but after 10 minutes he retreated to his condo. He wasn’t allowed on our bed normally, although I secretly let him sometimes. Don’t tell Sean. So I can understand why it would be foreign to him to sleep there that night. When I am sick, there is nothing more comfortable than my own bed. And Grover’s condo was by far his favorite place to sleep.

The next morning I woke up, gave him lots of kisses and asked Sean to take my picture with him just in case. I think in my heart I knew it might be the last time I saw him but I certainly didn’t believe it. Sean dropped him off at the surgery center and we went to work. They didn’t let us come back so I figured we’d pick him up the next stay after a night in the hospital.

saying goodbye. He was so sick he could not lift his head even. This was not Grover’s normal personality.

A few hours later the vet called. Grover was opened up and the mass was attached to the intestine. The lymph nodes were indeed gigantic and there were more masses on his liver. She was 99.9 percent sure it was lymphoma, or cancer. My two-and-a-half –year-old pup had cancer. I NEVER saw this coming. Our choices were not so simple: 1) try to remove the very-hard-to-remove mass and then treat him with chemotherapy ($4,000) injections weekly along with medicine at home. He would live 3-6 months at most. 2) Don’t remove the mass and still treat with chemo and he would live 3 months at most. The vet said this was not really an option though bc he would surely be miserable and in pain because the mass was still blocking his intestine. 3) Option three, don’t wake him up from anesthesia.

When writing down the options on paper, I got to number three and my heart stopped. I think it had stopped at option 1 but it really stopped at option 3. I realized we were out of options. I lost it and cried and cried on the phone. I could really only choose option 3. Even if we had all the money in the world, we could only buy him 6 months at most and they wouldn’t be wonderful months. I would probably count each day as though it was his last and in the back of my mind I would probably think, “he is dying.” At least with option three, he was peaceful and asleep and never knew any different. Sean and the vet concurred: we would do option 3.

It has been a tough few days but I wanted to capture Grover’s abundant life while it was all still fresh. Cohen is a little bit confused about where “grove” is and it’s been hard to not see those ears at the top of the driveway. It’s been hard with the dog  bed empty, but I keep thinking he must be in the fort or the condo or the apartment. We’ve had so many wonderful friends send condolences and at times I feel foolish for being so upset. It is just a dog after all. But it wasn’t just any dog, it was our dog. Oour wonderful Grover. And now, I smile at all the wonderful times we had. What a truly amazing pet!

People frequently ask me what it is that I do as a copywriter. They think I sit around and write jingles or squeeze stress balls. They think I “play” or make things pretty. They don’t mean to insult me but that last phrase grates on my nerves like people who run in the street adjacent to a SIDEWALK! They don’t quite understand all that goes into the job of being a creative person. In any given day, my job will look like this:

8 a.m.: read  and answer emails. Some are quick fixes and others turn into a three-month project.

8:15: pipeline meeting to discuss the 200+ jobs we have in queue. We individually go over each one, from our database. Spreadsheets in general give me the willies. Sometimes these meetings are loooong and daunting and I want to pull my hair out. But they are completely necessary or else we’d have no idea who was working on what job. They tell us the status, the deadlines, the clients. These are what keep us creative people in check.

9: meet with my interns. I have two this semester who are writing and editing students and want to learn AP style. They want to learn to be better writers. I critique their work, ask them about their weekends, try to be their mentor and friend. Ask them to write a speech with just a few guidelines. Proof their Facebook posting for the day. Ask them to retrieve analytics from Facebook postings and add to our tracking sheet. They tell me their stories about their classes, challenges they face. I listen and try to remember what it was like at their age. It wasn’t THAT long ago but sometimes it takes me a while to remember what it felt like to be 21 or 22 and thinking OHMYGOSH! My life has to really start when I graduate in six weeks! Their fear is endearing and I try to tell them that chances are, their first job is not going to be their last and it’s okay if you don’t have everything spelled out today for the rest of your life. My interns make me feel so pathetic when I think back to my college days. They are all amazing achievers. Not overacheivers but just amazing. They can juggle being president of a sorority, interning, working an afterschool job, having friends and making a 3.6. WOW!

10: have some type of banter with clients or teammates about whether or not something is a split infinitive. Argue that they are okay nowadays. Yes, they are. Define our bullet policy for the 100^th time and tell someone that Clemson spells adviser with an “e” and not an “o.”

11: Go to a brainstorm/concept meeting with my team. This past year’s Annual Report spawned from one of these meetings. You can find it here: http://www.clemson.edu/administration/student-affairs/annual-reports/11-12/. It is a “game” theme and we created kind of a Candyland® feel to it as one would move throughout Clemson’s campus. This is a perfect project for a copywriter. It began with brainstorming the creative part. While the designer lays it out, the copywriter contributes significantly to the overall look and theme. I have to choose what content goes in every nook and cranny.

In this particular Annual Report, my interns and I sat down and wrote “game” cards, created a list of game-related phrases that would also tell the Student Affairs story. For the interactive version, I had to choose talent for the student videos. I had to write the scripts, coordinate the filming and even help direct the videos. I can be seen in one here as a last-minute prop: http://www.clemson.edu/administration/student-affairs/annual-reports/11-12/media/marielle.html. But she really was a student I worked with on that specific project. So we weren’t stretching the truth.

I had to analyze data from all of the various departments, who submitted their best of the best from the previous year. After hours and days of analyzing what deserved to go in the book, the entire content was decided by me! Kind of a scary task. Granted the VP would approve it in the end, but still!

Once the content was decided, it underwent rounds of proofing and editing. THEN it goes into the designer’s hands for a little while for layout. Typically we undergo several back and forth processes like this, “I have this one block of text and it doesn’t fit. Can you shorten/add to it to make it work.” And “hey I need just one more line to sound like the rest. What do you suggest?”

Once we feel it is the best it can be, we share it with others for feedback. Feedback regarding diversity among the photos, is the language inclusive enough, does it represent all of the departments within the division. Things like this that sometimes we need extra help with.

After several MORE rounds of proofing, we send it off to the printer. Then, my other job begins. As Webmaster I now create a “flip book” so that people in electronic-land can view it as well. Here we create new, dynamic content, such as the aforementioned video, to make it unique and not an electronic version of the printed one.

After clearing a hurdle like that, I will continue to answer emails in the day, usually have some type of last-minute-but-need-right-now request from someone higher up, and most frequent, meetings. People in colleges seem to enjoy meeting face to face. Most of the time I agree, that much can come out of meeting. But not all are so productive.

3: Begin speech for vice president. Research quotes for appropriate speech topic and update Web analytics worksheet with stats from most-visited websites.

4: Start winding down my day. Answer more Web requests, publish Web pages, respond to emails, plan activities and assignments for interns next day.

Twice a month my team of five goes to lunch. It’s nice to get out of the office. We have a creative director/graphic designer, an asst creative director/graphic designer, a part-time production manager, a full-time graphic designer and me, copywriter/editor/webmaster. We will do a creative exercise every now and again to keep our brains fresh. We take time to listen to one another and respect each other’s ideas. Rarely do things get heated. I’m pretty lucky to be a part of a team that is extremely talented and creative. We won the gingerbread contest and a lot of people said it was no fair, because we were the creative ones out of the 17 different departments. I say, too bad. You can be creative too. We made Peanuts characters for ourselves to hang on our doors. We have Magnadoodle boards outside our office to tell people when we are in meetings or at a different building on campus. Most people just say “out of office.” Instead of name plates, we have signs with our  office numbers on them and pictures of what we enjoy. For me, it is the outdoors and live music. Numbers people just don’t get me, and frankly, I don’t get them.

Me as a Peanuts Character. Pen in hair, pad in hand, AP-style Guru

My office door sign

award-winning gingerbread house

It takes all kinds of people to make this world run. My husband inspects parts for damage and is in quality control. To me, being stoned to death sounds more fun than that. My brother-in-law works an assembly line and loves his job. To me, I would probably suffer from insanity. But I know people who say they would never come to work if they had to argue over commas, point our gerunds or remember when a state is abbreviated for AP-style or postal.

I feel lucky that I come to work each day and am respected for what I do. Not everyone gets it and that’s okay, but at least my team appreciates the importance of having a writer. And as long as my boss’s boss’s boss, agrees, then I still have a job. However, ..she is a numbers person …

For many years, I never had a “Valentine” on Feb. 14. Like many single females I thought it was a Hallmark holiday and not something to really get all jazzed about. Today, I feel the same way for the most part, but enjoy a nice card or meal with my hubby.

But having kids seems to change one’s perspective on holidays and I found myself signed up for snacks at my son’s daycare and feeling pressured to bring cards and candy to school. My son is only 19 months with five teeth yet we were told to bring cards and candy or whatever and each kid would get a set of Valentines.

As someone who makes a living being creative and frugal, I figured I would do my usual gift giving, which is to make something (aren’t’ the best things homemade anyway) this Valentine’s season. My husband received a customized coupon book for all kinds of fun things he enjoys and a photo cube for his desk from our son. It contained family photos wrapped in one 4×4, six-sided cube. When my son was sick one day recently we pulled out some finger-paints and made a card to give to Daddy. And I found a website that would let you make your own card and mail it to someone, except it came three days early and my husband opened it thinking it was just something in the mail. (fail!) Using my go-to website for online coupons, I found that I could buy one and get one free, so I made another Valentine’s Day card for my sister from my son, since they are so close. Hers also arrived early L

All of this came together with about an hour of work but then; I was at a loss for what to do for my son’s classmates. I coach basketball and take a painting class so there is not much time for making 12 of anything. And in the same week I was babysitting my nephew. So I found printable, free, Valentine’s designs online and figured my husband could McGyver some wax paper into a pocket of some sorts with some Scotch tape. My nephew came over and it gave him great joy to help me bake some cookies for the wax-paper Valentines. Within 30 minutes, we made cookies, printed Valentines and assembled our little pockets of yummy delights!

I hoped these would be good enough for the classroom. I checked Facebook before going to bed and saw that apparently, Pinterest is now the go-to place for ideas, as it seems crafty-moms are fresh out of their own ideas. But I’m not knocking Pinterest as it has been nice for me to create a mood board for my bathroom remodel. As I perused Facebook, I saw four different moms who did the same thing for their kids’ classes. And lo and behold, my son received one of those same designs. Of course, they definitely trumped my wax-paper creation, but it started to make me wonder about what it will be like as my son gets older. Will I be expected to make these insane crafts just to be on par with everyone else? Does anyone NOT use Pinterest for something?

I had a friend talk about a class project her kindergarten student is expected to do and it certainly sounds like more of an adult project. Somewhere my mind began to race about what school will be like when my son is there. As his mother, will his projects be accepted if we DON’T make them for him? Will he receive a passing grade if the penmanship is third-grader-esque and not calligraphy? Will I be expected to have an art degree just to help him with his science project or diorama?

Hopefully my thoughts are exaggerated but one has to wonder how far people take schoolroom crafts and gift-giving. I used to like my homemade gifts and creative things because they were original and slightly imperfect. Now everything homemade looks like it came from Martha Stewart’s guidebook. I can’t cut worth a crap but I can write from the heart and sometimes a poem has to suffice as a Christmas gift or my song lyrics have made great Valentine’s Day presents.

I guess for now I’ll continue to make my own gifts and hope they provide enough pinterest [sic] for someone out there. But who knows if it will be enough for kindergarten.

My son’s card we made for Daddy this year.

The photo cube for Daddy’s desk, from C.

Some cute, free, downloadble artwork for busy moms to use. I repeat, FREE!

Hubby helps make wax-paper pockets to hold the cookies

I am a working mom. I have never wanted to be a stay at home mom and don’t feel bad for saying so. I have often wondered how stay at home mothers, who worked before, can go down to one income yet have a new mouth to feed (and clothe, change, etc). But that is really none of my business. I’ve always enjoyed working and have had a job since I was 15. I feel fulfilled at my current job and challenged on a regular basis. This is a rare thing, especially for a creative writer. I get to teach writing and speak about grammar with college students while also expanding my skills to include new media, video scripts, speeches for an upper-level administrator, brochures and booklets, and Web work. I actually enjoy going to work each day.

That is not to say I don’t miss my son every.single.day. But I also know he is in good hands. When shopping for daycares we found one that we loved, where several of our friends went and one that was close to our house. It was also at the top in price but you pay for what you get (I believe) with daycares. Because my husband worked 2nd shift for the first 10 months of my son’s life, I often relied on the daycare people to help me. THey would tell me things about his feeding habits, his sleeping, his preferences. Of course I knew a lot of these things as well, but it was nice knowing they paid attention to and kept track of his poopy diapers, bottles and naps.

As he is now in a toddler room, I love seeing the crafts he comes home with, reading about his day on a little worksheet (still recording diapers and naps and meals) and watching him through a window without his knowledge. He is learning valuable social skills that will help him when he goes to school. He is fine if we leave him with a babysitter or even stranger, because he has been without us all day. We can drop him off with minimal fuss because he always knows I’m coming back.

My one friend has told me when he gets older, the daycare will also help with potty training. I am sure this will be a big help as well to have some reinforcements of what is at home. Further, when it was time for him to transition from the infant room to the young toddlers, I was not thrilled. He could not walk or crawl yet but many of the kids were drinking out of sippy cups, sleeping on mats and sitting at table to eat. I thought, “he’ll fall out!” “He won’t lay down and nap!” But guess what, he sat there with his friends, drinking out of the sippy cup, eating at the table. He naps on the mat and sleeps like the rest of the kids. They have them all on a regimented schedule.

There are many days I wish I could stay home and snuggle with my son. But those days are often called Saturday and Sunday. On the weekends, we treasure our time together. we make up for the days during the week that we don’t get and often explore new places, play make believe, run around the yard, read books and spend quality time together. We go to church on Sundays, watch Baby Signing Time and Baby Animals and spend lots and lots of time hugging and kissing. I don’t feel as though I am missing out because my son is always so excited to see me at night and knows nothing else. And at the end of the day, I feel valued at work as well as at home.

Fun at Daycare

Fun at Home

I have nothing against stay at home mothers and I think it is a fabulous profession. It is definitely a full-time job and one that I admire. I just don’t think I’m up for it. I don’t think it makes me any less of a mother, I think, in fact it probably makes me a better mother than I would be if I stayed at home all day. BUt i have many friends who choose to stay at home and they are so fulfilled and happy. And that is wonderful. The one parenting thing I’ve learned or adopted is that you have to do what works for you. No two children are alike and no two parents are alike. Even within the same household. But for my family, we will always be working parents (unless the lottery or S’s inventions pay off!) and that’s the best we can be.

Sometimes Christmas letters or blogs can come across as extremely self-righteous and narcissistic. And maybe mine is and I don’t even realize it. In church a few weeks ago the pastor preached about how so many Christmas letters only seem to brag about their kids, their trips to X places, their jobs, their material things, their this’s and their that’s. I tend to agree. Even my own parents’ Christmas letter read that way to me and I know they are not pretentious or bragging. They were just sharing the news of their millionth cruise and latest wine excursion (That was also a cruise) and yes, I am jealous. I can only hope when I retire I will be able to do the things they do. But they work(ed) hard and play hard and when they are home they are quick to babysit my son and do nice things for us. And then the rest of the time they are off at Tenn games and cruising around the world.

A friend of mine’s year-end review posted more memories and experiences rather than just a list of expensive trips and things that won’t be used a year from now. I feel like that is more in line with how I’ve been feeling lately. Not to say any of the other is bad or negative, but I’ve just been trying to savor some memories lately because I feel that I moved too fast by many of them and spent so much time wishing for change in the early part of the year, that in some ways I might have missed something. So reflection is good.

Right around January my son turned 6 months and I can say that it is then that I finally started to feel like my old self. I love being a parent, but I don’t think I had any idea how hard it was in regard to taking over your entire self. Not just physically, that part was pretty easy, but mentally. There are so many struggles with being a new parent that no one tells you about or talks about. There are doubts and questions and times when you think the day will never end and he will never stop crying. There are times when I wondered why wasn’t he crawling or walking or doing this or that. There was the stopping of breastfeeding after 5.5 months and wondering if it was okay to stop? Then there was weight gain after stopping, which made me even more resentful.

There were the many months of praying for God to bring a new job to my husband, and He finally answered our prayers in May. But thankfully I had some friends and LOTS of family who helped me when I needed it most. I coached basketball and had a church friend take care of my son in exchange for my driving her daughter to practice. This helped us both tremendously. Getting to coach with my dad is an experience I am so glad to have had. Our little K, 1, 2-grade girls’ team was something I am grateful to have been a part of.

Another awesome experience this year was a sister trip. My sister is easily my best friend, outside of my husband, and we have talked about wanting to do a sister trip for a long time. We finally made it happen this year with a trip to Savannah. It wasn’t luxurious and was quite affordable but we made some awesome memories through our silly laughs, inside jokes (woman with a scarf!) and some fantastic food and shopping. But mostly, it was just a great way to bond somewhere away from home and experience some history while also making some.

My hubby and I got to go on a great kayaking river day trip this year ending in a friend’s back yard and went to the lake a few times on my parents’ boat. We treasure the outdoors so these were also great experiences. Another new-found love was the Swamp Rabbit bike trail where we spent Saturday mornings biking and showing our son the not-so-pretty side of our city. My sister and I found ourselves front-row at a Phish concert, something that never disappoints, and also found ourselves cheering on a very disappointing season of the Tennessee Vols. On the flip side, I did get to enjoy two Clemson games, who did NOT disappoint. But my allegiance to the Vols will never waiver.

In one year my son learned to crawl and walk, much later than most, but these were big highlights. He got a few teeth (still only four!) and we taught him sign language. We read the same books over and over and over again until I have them all memorized and can read them without even needing the book. We began eating real foods, brushing teeth, giving kisses on command, throwing balls around the house and loving to swing. We went trick-or-treating and met Santa and the Easter Bunny. He busted his lip, cried so hard he burst a blood vessel and showed me that his form of venting anger is to hit me in the face. The latter is something we are still working on. Mostly, he became his own little person this year and left the days of babydom behind.

He was also baptized in February, wearing the same gown I wore and my grandfather wore. My husband joined the church that same day and we have been regularly attending each week. I am even coaching church basketball again!

Perhaps one of my favorite experiences this year was getting to officiate a friend’s wedding. It was a challenge yet felt natural once it started and was an honor to perform. It was also our first extended road trip with my son for five days away and two time changes. Somehow, we prevailed, albeit many times we forgot things here and there and had to pull over for poopy diapers and dropped pacifiers.

There were many other highlights, such as getting to dress up like a westerner for a friend’s birthday in Cherokee, NC., having all my friends over for an 80s murder mystery party, meeting a friend for an all-day wine lunch, going to the wedding of my brother in law, celebrating Christmas three times, celebrating my 4^th year of marriage and 35^th year of life, and lots of other celebrations. But mostly it was a year, like all others, where there are highs and lows and memories being made. My resolutions are fairly simple this year…to try and be less messy with my never-ending laundry pile; (My husband even built me a closet to curb this bad habit.); To try and look less frumpy around the house. And to try to enjoy things as they happen.

This year Christmas was a little different. My son is 17 months and I envisioned him ripping through gifts, playing with them while we all opened ours and then us eating and having a fabulous day. It sort of happened that way…

Our morning began at 7:45 which was pretty good for a toddler. We got him dressed and had a few of Santa’s toys downstairs ready to see. He was immediately crying though due to a cold and wasn’t in the best of mood. I could tell this would not be the amazing moment of joy I had anticipated. Alas, we descended downstairs and my husband videoed C’s reaction to the Ballapalooza! After a while he got the hang of it and enjoyed the balls. Thankfully I had an hour before my parents came over and was able to make a breakfast casserole.

Some time later, my family arrived and chaos ensues. Presents, food all over the place and that damn casserole was still not done. We decided to open stockings since breakfast wasn’t ready and that was a bit chaotic as well. My son would not let me put him down and every time I did anyway, it was screaming and moaning that would wake the dead. This was not my idea of a peaceful Christmas.

Now almost two hours later, my eggs were still runny and the sausage was swimming thanks to a 25-year-old oven that works horribly. Back in the oven. We went ahead and started opening gifts, one at at time and I was amazed at all of the gifts around us. I truly felt like we went overboard. IT’s so easy to want to give people gifts and I know my family is just as happy yesterday as they were the year I made all my gifts in college. And I am one of those who is happier to give than receive. I love seeing everyone open gifts that they love and I spend lots of time thinking out what to get each person. But I couldn’t help but think about the girl on my angel tree and knowing that without my gifts, she might not have gotten anything else. Did the clothes fit? Did she even like those sweaters? And all of those others out there who did not have their name on an angel tree and what did they get?

Someone very close to me lives in a homeless shelter and it’s not because he is a bad person or a criminal or anything negative. He just needs some time to get on his feet and figure some things out. I especially thought about him yesterday and hope he enjoyed opening the gift card I sent him, knowing someone cared. I’m guessing on some level we would have all been disappointed if all we got was a gift card or JUST some clothes. My heart kept thinking about those in need and the weird juxtaposition of all of the gifts surrounding our house. There are lots of people out there who through no fault of their own, don’t have as much. It makes me question if we are just fortunate or if we perhaps go overboard.

Thankfully my family is one that shows their love through more than monetary things. I never grew up having the latest and greatest of anything but I also never went without. While some of my friends got brand new cars at 15, mine was 13 years old. But what my dad DID teach me was that hey, at least I got a car at 15. But we were always given everything we NEEDED and many times things we WANTED. I wish this were the same for every child out there.

My Christmas day lasted yesterday from 7:45 until 6 p.m. Two meals, lots of tears, some arguing, some laughing, and lots of squeals of delight from one very happy 17 month old. In the days leading up, I had two other Christmas celebrations with the in-laws and things were very similar. Wonderful meals, laughs, some gift-giving of some beautiful gifts and just enjoying being around one another. Some of our gifts were from the dollar store and others were from the hands of a talented soul. Some had diamonds on them and others were pictures of our family.

I’m not sure what the exact dollar amount is one should spend on Christmas and I’m not sure how much of helping others at the holidays one should do in order to spread the love. I do know that none of it would be possible without the birth of Jesus though and how much He gave in order for us to receive. I have told my husband we need to make sure our son grows up knowing others are not as fortunate and we need to give of ourselves not only at Christmas but especially at Christmas. I do not want him to grow up thinking Christmas is only about toys and things with no value.

There is a family in my church, a girl I coach on basketball, who makes ornaments themselves and sells them in the narthex before and after worship. They give the proceeds to an orphanage our church is affiliated with. In the bulletin one day, there was a note that encouraged people to check out the ornaments and it said, “Remember, in order for the X kids to receive, they must give.” I thought this was so profound because they were knowing that they must give their time and talents to support the orphans. I only hope my child will be as willing to give.

My day ended much better than it began. My son went down for a nap while we opened our gifts, one at a time, and once he awoke, it was all his turn. He played on his new slide for hours and slept 13.5 hours last night. It was truly a special day. I thank God for all He has given me and blessed me with this and every day. I just hope I will always remember the true meaning of Christmas and celebrate the love of Jesus and my family instead of the gifts taking up my entire living room floor.

Can You Spot the Toddler? 

Most weekends in my house begin a little something like this: Friday night, come home exhausted and change into comfy clothes, whip up something to eat that is typically microwavable or deliverable and void of the nutrition I try to give my family the other six days of the week, and settle into the couch for a sub-par Netflix rental (seriously, I can’t seem to get anything GOOD from Netflix lately). Our son is fast asleep upstairs and my husband and I might look over at one another with satisfying smiles as if to say “good job honey, we survived another week of this full-time-working-parenting thing.” The silence mingles with the TV’s special effects of aliens landing in the background, and by 11 p.m. I am struggling to keep my eyes open. The early morning is swimming around my head knowing it will come whether I want it to or not.

 But last Friday, we decided to do something different. Yes, there was still the pizza delivery and Netflix resting on the table, its envelope just waiting to be opened. But instead we did not turn on the TV. After putting our son to bed we decided to build a fire in our fire pit out back and have a date night. We took a bottle of wine out to the campsite, manipulated the monitor into the tree where it would stay in range, turned on some tunes, brought the dog out for some late-night fun and settled into our bonfire mode..

 The stars were in full force, and punctuated the navy sky. It reminded me of one of my favorite college memories. My friends and I were camping at a concert and after one too many drinks, I was trying to point out the constellations. Each of us leaned our head backs and stared up into the night sky. I pointed out what I hoped was the North Star, leaning to the left, while my other girlfriend pointed to the right that she saw it. Another girlfriend pointed to an entirely different section of the night sky, saying she saw the same cluster of stars that we really had no clue what they were forming. Our one friend noticed these silly ladies thinking we were all Galileo and proudly told us we were in fact not even looking at the same stars, and none of us were right.

Thankfully my star-gazing prowess has improved and I could finally point out the Big Dipper with my husband. His affection for the moon is always a joke we laugh about. “Look at that heavenly body” he once told me pointing upward. The fire crackled and the wine warmed our throats. The conversation was one of our week, our marriage and our love for whatever song was on the iPod at the time. As soon as the talk got too serious, the monitor would go off or the wine would run dry. The only special effects were the flames dancing around the brick pit my husband built for me a few years back. We laughed, realizing our dog had super-powers of seeing in the dark and could run circles around the uneven terrain in the yard. But alas, it was more so the fact that he spends all day outside and knows the yard like the back of his paw.

We lost track of time it seemed and for a while I felt as though we weren’t in our backyard. I realized how easy it is to lose track of “us” sometimes when life gets too hectic. It’s easy to think we are connecting over a shared smile or familiar and obligatory kiss good bye in the morning and “I love you” at night. None of it means we love each other any less, it just means we are comfortable and at ease. But without saying anything, it was obvious we both longed for a night like long ago. A good old-fashioned date night where connecting with one another was the thing that made us fall in love to begin with. Silly inside jokes and amazement at how far we’ve come. This is what Friday night should be. How I wish it would last forever.

If only we didn’t have a 6:30 a.m. wake up call on Saturdays.