I eavesdropped on the beginning of the conversation and learned that the young woman was in need of money. She was pleading her case that she and the baby had been evicted from their apartment and she had been to several churches looking for assistance. The best they would offer, she said, was as day’s worth of diapers for her baby.
I have no idea if her story was legitimate, or if she was running a scam. I didn’t stick around to listen, keeping my head down and pointing myself toward my car. As I drove away, though, I glanced back and thought to myself, “There but for the grace of God, go I.”
In the next second, I wondered what I would have done if she had stopped me. My best answer was that I would have put her in my car and driven her to the grocery store. I would have bought her a week’s supply of whatever her baby needed – knowing full well it would have been at the expense of the food I needed to put on our table – but I couldn’t house her and I couldn’t pay her rent.
So ultimately, I would have not been able to help in any substantive way. She would still be telling her same story to another woman in the parking lot.
It is an odd sensation for me to be unable to help. I always have helped and I’ve never before been in a position not to be able to help. It’s ingrained in my very soul.
These are new waters for me to navigate. They’re making me feel very uncomfortable and tentative. I really need to find my way back, soon.
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These two women, separated by 10 years in age, were very, very different people. But, they did share a few commonalities. They died way too early in their lives (my mother at 69 and Suzanne at 60) after long battles with breast cancer, and neither one believed the end would come. Consequently, neither told anyone how they wanted to be remembered and what their final wishes were.
So, sitting through their final days and then planning their funerals was challenging for their families. How did they want their lives celebrated? Was their a final resting place that they preferred over another? What were the things they wanted to be remembered for and how should that be communicated to those who came to honor their memories? From the simple to the deep, their families were left to make their best guesses.
Whether it’s fear of death, denial or just plain disbelief, far too many folks leave loose ends when it comes to their final wishes. I’m not going to, so here they are – my wishes for when the end of my life happens.
- I don’t want to suffer and I don’t want to linger endlessly. If my death is imminent, then bring it on. Give me drugs to kill the pain and don’t do things that will make me live in pain and despair. (To my doctor friends out there, you know what you need to do.)
- Don’t let one single sad thought come into your mind. Remember me for my laugh, and then let out a laugh yourself. Life is far too precious not to find every opportunity to giggle, guffaw and laugh from deep down in your belly. Tell the funniest stories about me that you can remember again and again.
- There needs to be a serious martini party in my memory. Everyone has to drink at least one Grey Goose, very dirty martini in a toast.
- Take something of me to the beach and leave it. I have spent my life gaining strength from the simple pounding of the ocean on the sand and it gives me great peace to think that I will always have that in my life and death.
- Find a way to remember me for the values I’ve treasured in my life – kindness and compassion, the wisdom to listen, the good judgment to not judge others too hastily, the knowledge that there are many sides to a story and many different perspectives shared and unshared, and the belief that you will find goodness in everyone, no matter how big or small.
- Do one simple thing in my memory. Reach out to a deserving organization and volunteer, make a meaningful donation to a group that really needs it, or just find a way to show another living human being that you care and will be there for them.
- Finally, don’t stop living because I have. Those of you who know me, know what I stand for. Be fearless and carry it on.
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau is the author of WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
]]>Why? Was he being disciplined? Had he behaved badly?
He wasn’t being disciplined and he had not been bad. He was being singled out – along with four other classmates – for his snack.
]]>Why? Was he being disciplined? Had he behaved badly?
He wasn’t being disciplined and he had not been bad. He was being singled out – along with four other classmates – for his snack.
Back in August just before Little Bug started school, we received a letter informing us that one of his classmates has an allergy to tree nuts. His classroom would be a nut-free zone within the school.
Now, what that boiled down to was that if one of this child’s classmates brought food to school – lunch, snack, birthday treat, etc… – that contained nuts, that classmate would be required to eat outside the classroom in the hallway. Oh, they would be allowed to bring a friend along with them, if they wanted, presumably so they won’t be alone.
We’ve paid attention to what goes to school in the lunchbox, as a result. No nuts.
So, yesterday’s snack-in-the-hallway episode took us by surprise. The snack was a brownie – with no nuts. I had made them Sunday afternoon, and at Little Bug’s request had not included nuts.
I guess it’s an easy mistake to make. After all, brownies often contain nuts. So, I’m not condemning the action.
But, I do wonder what’s been created – and more importantly taught – with this policy. Plainly and simply, minority rules.
And just how does that prepare our children for the world they will inherit? Because, ya know, minority does not rule.
Over the years we’ve been in business, we’ve had a number of clients who are advocates for people with disabilities. I’ve learned something from them; people with disabilities don’t want special treatment or to be singled out. They want to be treated like everyone else.
Admittedly, some food allergies are life threatening. And, I don’t mean to belittle this.
But I think the lessons to be taught are tolerance, accommodation and inclusion, without singling out anyone. All of these kids – allergies or not – need to figure out how to get along in this world. My question is: Are we giving them the right tools in order to do so?
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau is owner of StoreyManseau, LLC, an integrated marketing agency, and the author of the working-mom blog WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
]]>This disaster of an economy has left my family and my business shaky, scared and wondering what 2009 has in store for us. So, naturally, the President Elect’s messages are really important to me.
Good start. He says that the economy is the first thing he’s putting his efforts into. Exhale.
]]>This disaster of an economy has left my family and my business shaky, scared and wondering what 2009 has in store for us. So, naturally, the President Elect’s messages are really important to me.
Good start. He says that the economy is the first thing he’s putting his efforts into. Exhale.
I’m sure I’m not the only one listening, nor the only one finding herself in this precarious place. Today, enough receivables came in that I can meet next week’s payroll and I could pay our home mortgage. That was a miracle, because the businesses that are our clients are struggling just like us, and often don’t pay us right away. Three of them went beyond 30 days last month.
Oh, God. He actually just said that “the dog” is a major issue! Really, not.
On Monday, I told one of my staff that if more business doesn’t come through the door in the next two weeks, I need to lay her off. It breaks my heart, because everyone on our staff is immensely dedicated to our company, and Adrienne is our best cheerleader. But, because she was the last one in, and because little work coming in right now is for the stuff she does, I needed to make a decision I didn’t want to make.
You see, I’ve gone through all of our reserves, have taken out a second mortgage on our house, have depleted our entire personal savings, have laid off my husband from our business, and the only choice I have is to put someone else out of work.
So, President-Elect Obama, I’m listening to each and every word you offer. I want to know how you’re going to help me, my family, my business and those I care about. I realize this is a huge expectation for you, but you’re the only thing I have to hang onto.
And, I’m not alone.
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau is owner of StoreyManseau, LLC, a marketing agency in Concord, NH. She is the author of WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
]]>Now, hate is a very powerful word. It brings out all sorts of venom. It’s a word I try very hard to not use, and try equally as hard to instill its true meaning in Little Bug. And, quite honestly, it’s difficult to hate someone you’ve never met.
I don’t hate Sarah. I just don’t admire her. And, therein lays my problem.
]]>Now, hate is a very powerful word. It brings out all sorts of venom. It’s a word I try very hard to not use, and try equally as hard to instill its true meaning in Little Bug. And, quite honestly, it’s difficult to hate someone you’ve never met.
I don’t hate Sarah. I just don’t admire her. And, therein lays my problem.
I am not passionate about Sarah Palin. (Actually, I am passionate about Tina Fey’s impression of Sarah, which makes me bust a gut.) I don’t feel anything, really, toward her.
She’s a working mom – like me. A fairly good speaker – and I like to think I can do that, too. She’s attractive, passionate for her beliefs and has been married to the same guy for a long time – all admirable.
So, I can’t figure out why I don’t feel a lot for her one way or another.
I was ecstatic when Hillary announced her candidacy, not because I so much agreed with her positions, but because she was a woman who was taking on male-dominated territory. She, too, was passionate about her beliefs, attractive, a great public speaker, a working mom and… oh, yah, the married-to-the-same-guy thing. Well, she is, but that’s another post…
Sarah isn’t Hillary. Maybe that’s the problem. Hillary – whether you like her or not – is very, very smart. And, well, Sarah isn’t.
Perhaps I don’t feel anything toward her because I’ve dismissed her. I don’t think she’s got what it takes – and, by the way, I felt the same way about W – so, I’ve set her aside. I can’t waste my energy, thought power and consideration to muster any emotions over Sarah.
As much as I can resonate with some aspects of Sarah Palin, she just doesn’t get my engine running. Too bad. I really wanted to find something in her that stirred me.
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau is owner of StoreyManseau, LLC, an integrated marketing agency, and author of WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
]]>I heard about it soon after midnight on Twitter. Joe Biden…Really!
If memory serves me, he’s the Presidential candidate who had to drop his bid when it was revealed that he had plagiarized work while a student at Syracuse University Law School. SU resonated with me, because I’m an alum there and I was embarrassed when this all came so publicly to light.
]]>I heard about it soon after midnight on Twitter. Joe Biden…Really!
If memory serves me, he’s the Presidential candidate who had to drop his bid when it was revealed that he had plagiarized work while a student at Syracuse University Law School. SU resonated with me, because I’m an alum there and I was embarrassed when this all came so publicly to light.
As a woman business owner, working mom and someone looking for inspiration in this dreadful economy and environment, I can’t say this move is what I was looking for. Now, I’ll anxiously await McCain’s Veep announcement, and hopefully it will be far more energizing.
With so many inspired options before Obama, this one leaves me shaking my head.
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau is owner of StoreyManseau, LLC, an integrated marketing agency, and is author of WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
]]>Seems back in November when this ailment first presented itself, I actually tore a rotator cuff in my right shoulder. I don’t know how or when, but I did.
]]>Seems back in November when this ailment first presented itself, I actually tore a rotator cuff in my right shoulder. I don’t know how or when, but I did.
I decided to learn more about my “injury” and looked it up. “It is an injury frequently sustained by athletes whose duties involve making repetitive throws, such as baseball pitchers, American football quarterbacks, swimmers, boxers, kayaking, fast bowlers in cricket, and tennis players (due to their service motion).”
Um, I wish! Truly, I’m a bit of a slug when it comes to athletics. Count me among those others who get the injury just from “wear and tear”. Yes, I’m worn and torn…in too many ways to name.
So the months of steroids and diligent physical therapy were all for naught. I am headed to the hospital for surgery.
This will be followed by four weeks in a sling and then four to six months of recoup time until I feel back to normal, I’m told. I asked the doctor if he could promise, ’cause, ya know, I REALLY CAN’T BE OUT OF ORDER THAT LONG.
As every working mom knows, you can perform many miracles in a day, and sometimes you can do it with one hand tied behind your back. But, really. This is my RIGHT hand, my lifeline.
Now I have all the respect in the world for southpaws. Some of my favorite people in the world have been lefties – my mother in law, my father, Janna Designer Extraordinaire. That they actually make that left hand perform beyond the perfunctory role of stabilizing things for the right hand is fascinating to me.
For the past 20 hours I’ve been contemplating when I can schedule this surgery into my life. I asked the doctor if we could do it yesterday, because our busy cycle in the business starts the day after Labor Day. No can do, he said.
OK then, let me think. There’s the start of school in a week and a half, and back to the routine of getting Little Bug up, ready and off every morning. The next day we finally have the meeting with that potential client who just took his company public. Yup, only been trying to schedule that one for A YEAR! Well, then, there’s the business trip to Florida in early September where I’ll likely need to set up for a trade show. Um, soccer season begins when school starts. Planning ahead for six months of meals seems pretty unlikely to me.
Looks like the juggling act will continue. This time with one hand…the left one!
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau is owner of StoreyManseau, LLC, an integrated marketing agency, and author of the blog WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
]]>I added that name almost 21 years ago. But how I ended up with the hyphen in between is far more interesting.
At the time I married my husband, Tom, I was a reporter at a national newspaper and had established a byline – the Holy Grail to reporters – of Laurie J. Storey. That byline was everywhere and people “knew” me by it. (They didn’t actually know me, but they felt like they did because they read my articles.)
]]>I added that name almost 21 years ago. But how I ended up with the hyphen in between is far more interesting.
At the time I married my husband, Tom, I was a reporter at a national newspaper and had established a byline – the Holy Grail to reporters – of Laurie J. Storey. That byline was everywhere and people “knew” me by it. (They didn’t actually know me, but they felt like they did because they read my articles.)
Hence, on the day after my wedding, my wonderful new husband informed me that I could call myself anything I liked in my private life, but he did not want his last name appearing in the newspaper, because, “I don’t want any of those nuts calling me on Sunday morning.” He was fondly talking about my following, my readers, my fans.
So, for two years, I led two lives. I was Laurie Manseau in my personal life – my credit card and checking account said so – and Laurie J. Storey in my professional life. And then, I made a discovery.
I was completing a writing assignment during my Master’s program on life for women in the clergy, and was interviewing the associate pastor at my church – a woman who had just begun her career and who knew me personally. A couple of hours into the interview she became animated and told me that if I really wanted to get some tips from a professional writer, that I really should meet this reporter that she knew went to our church, but had never met. “Her name is Laurie Storey.”
Identity crisis.
That’s the day I decided to hyphenate my name. Yes, it made for a big, old, long name. Yes, I got all sorts of congratulations notes from my “professional” audience on my new marriage, despite having celebrated my second anniversary months earlier. Yes, Tom would just have to learn to live with the fan club’s calls.
And, yes, today there are still implications. The airline and banking industry haven’t figured out that hyphenated names are mainstream. Deal with it!
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau is owner of StoreyManseau, LLC, an integrated marketing agency, and is author of WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
]]>But, we’re approaching the two-weeks-and-counting part of the end of summer and I now must do the inevitable. After all, how much longer can I put off making that trip to the shoe store to buy the annual pair of sneakers?
Little Bug’s sneakers are, well, atrocious. Yup, they’re downright worn out. Battered and tattered. Worn straight through to the inner lining. They have done their duty and now will be honorably retired.
I remember buying them last year, just about at the two-weeks-and-counting time. So much has happened in those twelve months since our visit to the wonderful shoe store where everyone takes care of you.
Little Bug was full of anticipation about second grade. It would be another year with the same teacher, who had been so amazing with him in first grade. We all breathed a sigh of relief that he’d be in good hands and have another year of encouragement and support. And, he was so excited to be returning to a classroom full of just about all the same classmates.
We had no way of knowing then just how personally challenging the next several months would be.
September and October went along quickly, but November and December were full of exhaustion and turmoil. My mom’s health began to decline quickly, after a four-year wrestling match with breast cancer, and Little Bug and I were on the road mostly every week driving 600 miles round trip to be on hand for doctor visits, treatments, support.
At the exact same time, business revenues took their annual hiatus as the close of the year approached. Less cash flow and sporadic time in the office didn’t bode well for the next few months.
By the time January rolled around, we hit our all-time low in monthly billings. Tom had to have back surgery – it was painful and frustrating for him. And, my mother had only a few more weeks of life left in her.
And, it broke my heart to think that Little Bug would not have her around to dote on him as a grandmother should. He wouldn’t have her to call to tell all about his latest success in school, or how his team had just won a game, or the great fort he and his friends had just built in the woods. They weren’t going to share birthdays together again – hers on the 17th and his on the 19th of January. He wouldn’t hear her words of awe at how wonderful it all was.
He was now only going to have eight years of memories.
The winter of 2008 turned out to be one of the snowiest on record in New Hampshire. I felt just darkness. I got up each morning, got Little Bug off to school and dragged myself through the day, until I fell into beg at 9 p.m. Then, I did it all again – day after long, dark day.
This year, Spring did not arrive with the traditional surge of business. People are just too afraid in this scary economy to invest in marketing right now, even though they know they should. By the end of May, some drastic and painful decisions needed to be made.
I cut back the hours of one of our staffers and laid off my husband. (We came to that decision together, and yes, he still is living with me, and no, he doesn’t flip me off whenever I walk in the room!)
A month later, school ended. The torn and tattered sneakers were going to have to somehow make it through the summer. (Thank God the sandals from last year still fit.)
Just about the same time, a colleague who owns another agency approached me about partnering with her. She had a staffer leaving and asked if we could support some of her workload. It gave me the opportunity to bring our staffer back on to her regular hours.
We have plugged along through the summer – as have the sneakers. Business has held steady for three months, and while we’re nowhere near where we were last year, we can continue.
Tom has recovered completely from the surgery and feels great – physically – and now is out in the job market, feeling frustrated and down – mentally. (I’m amazed he doesn’t flip me off and love him more each day for not doing it.)
Dad is finding his way through the days and months alone now. He told me the other day as we were discussing design options for the memorial to be placed at the gravesite, that he wished my mother could help him make this decision. He’s now learning how to make decisions on his own. (The spa he bought and had installed two months ago was a biggie. Way to go, Dad!!!)
Now the sneakers are sitting on my desk, staring me in the face with all their bumps, bruises, and ratty shoelaces. It’s time. The shoe store – and the lovely people who know just how to fit Little Bug’s extra narrow and long feet – awaits.
But unlike years past, these particular used-up sneakers will not find the trash can. Nope, they’re staying right here in my office. They’ll remind me about how we became a little tattered around the edges, but still made it through the year.
Laurie Storey-Manseau is owner of StoreyManseau, LLC. Her blog is WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
]]>Since his mom passed away 15 years ago from colon cancer, he and his
brothers have been religious in getting their colonoscopies every
couple of years. It doesn’t make the experience any less unnerving.
When it comes to that time, in that year, it always reminds me of the first time Tom had this procedure done.
]]>Since his mom passed away 15 years ago from colon cancer, he and his
brothers have been religious in getting their colonoscopies every
couple of years. It doesn’t make the experience any less unnerving.
When it comes to that time, in that year, it always reminds me of the first time Tom had this procedure done.
Let’s just start by saying that my husband is a literal kinda guy.
He’s the one who will read a sentence and interpret it in a way that
you never thought of and about as word-for-word as it comes.
That year, the night before the exam, when he read the directions
for the suppository insertion, he saw the drawing that showed a human
figure on all fours with one arm extending and arching over the head
and around the back following a dotted line to the – um – bee-hind. Tom followed those directions to the very last dot on the line. Of course, he missed the bee-hind. And even stranger, couldn’t figure out why, so had to repeat the exercise.
The next morning after a dreadful night of running, running, running
to the bathroom (neither of us got any sleep), I drove him to the
hospital for the procedure.
Now, I happened to work in the marketing department of that
hospital, in another building on the campus. I told him to call me when
all was done and I would drive him home.
A couple of hours later, my phone rang. The caller ID indicated it was coming from the hospital cafeteria.
Lawwwwr?
Yes?
I caaaan’t waaaalk. Can you come and get me?
OK. Stay right there and I’ll drive over to get you.
It was a beautiful summer day. I hustled to the car, parked not far
from my office, and drove along the hospital campus road toward the
cafeteria entrance. As I was approaching, I saw a street lamp pole in
the distance with something wrapped around it. I drew closer and
realized it was a human being – the one I had married.
Imagine this. I was responsible for marketing the caring,
compassionate and wonderful services of said hospital – my job. Here,
standing in broad daylight, was a shining example of how we dumped
patients on the roadside to hang off street lamps. AND HE WAS MARRIED TO ME!!!
Over the years, the procedure itself has gotten better and Tom’s
attitude toward it has improved greatly, even if it still brings
flashbacks at anxious moments.
Tom has been preparing since last night for tomorrow morning’s main
event. He started by reading aloud the instructions so that I could
help keep him on track today.
I’ve come to believe that the staffers who write these instructions
think their patients are just plain stupid. They start like this: “One
week before your colonoscopy – purchase one 3 ounce to two 1 ½ ounce
bottles of Fleets® Phosphasoda bowel laxative.” One week? What, does it
have to ferment or something?
The instructions go on to tell the patient just how and when to take
everything, how the patient will feel and that they should “Stay near a
bathroom.” Um, duh.
And then another duh moment. “Some people experience a chill or feel
cold after the bowel preparation…Keep extra blankets available in case
you feel cool after taking the prep.”
Of course, there was this gem of wisdom: “If your bottom becomes
sore, use soft toilet tissue and dab instead of wiping.” Yes, we all
needed someone to TELL us that.
Off we’ll go tomorrow morning, and this time within an hour of our
arrival, I know my husband will be snoozing on the table while his duty
is done. I’m glad. I don’t want to lose him to cancer.
And, I absolutely hope this time not to find him standing on the corner hugging a street lamp when I pick him up.
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau owns and operates an integrated marketing agency - StoreyManseau, LLC. She is author of the blog WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
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Like millions of people around the world, I saw his Last Lecture at Carnegie Mellon University on the Internet. It was profound. And, I watched it on a day when I really needed to hear something that would change my perspective.
His words so touched me that I found myself writing them down as I listened. It was a lecture, after all, and I didn’t want to miss the importance of the lesson he was imparting.
This morning, I pulled out my notes. I found a few gems that seem important to share.
Here’s what Randy said:
“Experience is what you get when you didn’t get what you wanted.”
“The brick walls are there for a reason”
“Your critics are the ones telling you they still love you and care. When you’re screwing up and no one’s telling you anymore, that means they’ve given up.”
I often wondered why Randy lived longer with pancreatic cancer than anyone could have imagined. Now, I think it’s because his message was so important that we needed him around to tell it to us again and again, until it really sank in.
He said at the end of his lecture that it was really for his children. His kids, his wife and his friends were all very blessed to have had him in their lives.
For those of us who eavesdropped on his Last Lecture, I’m thinking we were privileged to have had him as our life professor.
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Little Bug: Mommy!
Me: What’s up, Bug?
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Little Bug: Mommy!
Me: What’s up, Bug?
Little Bug: The Mac keyboard works!
Me: Cool!
Little Bug: 5 keys do not work.
Me: Which ones?
Very long pause…
Little Bug: Space Bar.
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau is owner of StoreyManseau, LLC, an integrated marketing agency. She is author of WIMS - Walking In My Sleep blog.
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We began working together a few weeks ago when she approached me and asked if my company could help her with her client projects, as one of her staffers was leaving.
Last night I thought about her question and realized that perhaps I was a bit more quiet because I have had a few experiences in the past six months that have led me to realize the roles we fill and the appropriateness of our actions in those roles.
Those experiences were really unpleasant and truly unappreciated. They’ve gotten me thinking a lot about how far people step over the line without even thinking.
Experience Number One happened in the final days of my mom’s life – admittedly a chaotic and emotional time. My siblings apparently had been huddling over my decision to expose Little Bug to his grandmother’s death. They suggested on the phone that he’d be better off not seeing her. They stressed that her appearance was scary and that he might be (my words) forever scarred by the experience.
Tom and I had spent a great deal of time talking about how to orient Little Bug to his grandmother’s disease – which went on for four and a half years – and the process of her dying. We believe that dying is part of life and that Little Bug should not fear death, but understand it. And, by being involved, be better able to understand why people are so sad when death happens. We talked with him, answered his many questions, and helped him to understand.
So, OK, we – his parents – make this decision and bring Little Bug to the hospital to see his grandmother, right up until her final hours. It didn’t sit well with the siblings. In one explosive moment, I was told to “Take care of your kid.” You can imagine I was a little, well, angry.
Experience Number Two happened several weeks ago. Little Bug was visiting a playmate and made some inappropriately mean remarks to the playmate’s caretaker. We told Little Bug that he would not be allowed to visit his friend until he apologized to the caretaker.
Now, here’s the thing. As a parent, you come to know what motivates your child, and what causes him to back into corners and lash out. I’ve learned with Little Bug that sometimes the best approach is to wait until he is calm and able to reasonably understand the consequences for his actions.
So, a couple of weeks pass and then we have a discussion about the need for an apology and why. Little Bug reveals that he’s angry that the caretaker jokingly calls him names. We explain that he must apologize, but he can say that he doesn’t like being called names.
Off we go to the friend’s house and the apology takes place. But, the obstinate Little Bug spirals with frustration when discussing the name-calling part.
Sometimes you accept that you’ve gotten part way there…
The next day, Little Bug went to his pal’s house to play Ping Pong. Soon after Tom dropped him off and departed one of his friend’s parents pulled Little Bug aside and told him that if he didn’t apologize immediately to the caretaker (again!) he was not welcome in their home and he would have to sit there, while the other children played, until Tom returned.
Again, I was angry.
It’s fine to expect an apology, but talking to Little Bug – especially in those terms – was unacceptable and inappropriate. The parent needed to discuss his concerns with Tom and me. It’s our job to have this discussion, not the parent of a playmate.
Both of these experiences have made me very mindful of being appropriate in odd and maybe awkward circumstances. It’s caused me to think about stepping over the line and how to graciously pull yourself back before you do irreparable damage.
So when my colleague asked, I needed to explain to her – away from her clients – that I was very comfortable playing second fiddle. These are her clients and my job is to take care of her needs and theirs and not to be the center of attention.
We’ll work things out so that both of us are comfortable, but for now – slow and sure, slow and sure.
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau is owner of StoreyManseau, LLC, an integrated marketing agency. She is the author of WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
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Life Lessons Learned from Cleaning Out Your Mom’s Closets
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau owns and runs an integrated marketing agency in Concord, NH. She is author of WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
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“What guy?” I asked. Tom responded that there was a man walking through the woods on an abandoned trail behind our house. Little Bug had been working in his garden. Tom was in the house and happened to look out the window as this stranger appeared. He immediately summoned our little guy to come in the house.
To find someone walking through the woods behind our house is odd. We live in the country on four acres of land, surrounded by stone walls. Our neighbors are even acres away from us.
So it shook me a bit when I heard that someone was walking along behind our house, and then it shook me more when Little Bug added, “Don’t worry, Mom. He smiled at me.”
Nearly 30 years ago, my mother was in South Florida with my young brother. They were visiting my grandmother, as was my aunt. One afternoon, my mother and aunt went shopping and took along my brother, who at the time was about four. As they browsed the stores, they left my brother just outside the door in a playground. Minutes later they returned to find my brother missing.
My mother yelled for him and someone pointed toward a nearby diner. She ran through the door and found my brother being towed by a strange man. The second the man discovered my mother in pursuit, he dropped my brother’s hand and ran through the back door of the restaurant.
Years later when she told me this story, it sent shivers up my spine. I played out the alternative to what happened again and again.
Now, I can’t judge my mother by today’s standards, because times were different then and leaving your child to play in the playground was something that happened with frequency.
When Little Bug was born eight years ago, the story began playing in my head again. As he’s grown, I’ve probably been too watchful, bordering on the edge of the parent whom others gossip about as being a bit overbearing.
Now that he’s eight, I’ve determined that he needs to spread his own wings, so I allow him the bike rides to friends’ houses, walks to the neighbors, and other adventures without my watchful eye.
And then the stranger who smiled at him from the woods showed up in the back yard.
It’s such a dilemma. I know he needs to grow up, gain self confidence, become independent and learn to make good choices. Yet, there are so many dangers for a child in an increasingly complex world.
What am I to do in another four years, when he’s 12? Last week, we all sat on the edge of our seats as a week’s worth of news of a missing 12-year-old Vermont girl unfolded to a heartbreaking end.
When he hits 16, will I always be terrified that his inexperience as a driver could injure or kill him?
Will we be at war when he’s a young adult and will he be sent off to serve his country? I watch the faces of those mothers and fathers who have lost their sons and daughters in the Middle East and wonder if we’ll also bear their imaginable pain someday.
Along with all the love you get when a child comes into your life, you must prepare yourself for a lifetime of fear.
So, as parents, we have a choice. We can dwell in the fear of what-ifs, or we can live today and enjoy the garden-growing, blueberry-picking, adventure-seeking laughter that has so blessed our lives.
Laurie J. Storey-Manseau is owner of StoreyManseau, LLC, an integrated marketing agency. Her blog is WIMS - Walking In My Sleep.
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