Leap years, seconds don’t bring back lost time

Happy Leap Day! Today is an excellent day for sale shopping, since it's an "extra" day for retailers to clear out winter merchandise before spring officially arrives. I plan to take advantage of it but shhh ... don't tell Jim. :)

Speaking of Jim, he celebrated his golden birthday yesterday (28 on the 28th). He likes a low-key birthday and that's what he got. Tortillas with Spanish rice and refried beans, Grandma Charlotte's angel food cake and watching the latest episode of Castle before heading to a school board meeting (and driving home in a surreal February thunderstorm). His ultra-exciting birthday gift from his wife: A Camelbak water bottle and the go-ahead to pre-order Mass Effect 3. 

Because his work often goes unnoticed, yet frequently criticized (I have yet to figure THAT out), so I want him to feel appreciated and cherished when he comes home. If that means keeping birthdays low-key, that's what I do.   

The Kirks, serving up boring birthdays since 2007.

Happy birthday, my upstanding and sincere husband. I thank God for you every day and I pray your 29th year is full of love and peace.

Ahem. Sorry about that. Here's my column for this week, inspired by my very own not-quite-leapling.    

If my husband had been born just one day later, I’d be married to a seven-year-old. 
In a few years, our children would be “older” than their father.

So much for respecting your elders ...

Fortunately, although Jim’s mother had the option to have a leap year baby 28 years ago, she decided against it — and I’m thankful.

Leap years come around once every four years to synchronize the calendar year with the seasonal year. Because seasons don’t repeat in a whole number of days, a calendar that has the same number of days would, over time, drift with respect to the event it was supposed to track. Having an “extra” day inserted once every four years corrects that drift.

Creating Feb. 29 was a complicated and centuries-long process. Various calendars over hundreds of years have compensated for it differently, and even today, Chinese, Hebrew and Islamic calendars differ from the Gregorian calendar we use in the United States.

Traditionally, leap day is when women can propose marriage.

In Danish tradition, if she is refused, her refusal must be compensated with 12 pairs of gloves.

People who are born on Feb. 29 are called “leaplings,” and most celebrate birthdays every year on either Feb. 28 or March 1.

Leap years happen every four years, and although there’s some informal debate about abolishing it, the leap second is at more risk.

Leap seconds are used to synchronize atomic clocks with the Earth’s rotational cycle. They’re used every few years and most of us, myself included, don’t even notice them.

But for members of the scientific community, a second is a big deal.

In January, 700 delegates from 70 nations met in Geneva to discuss whether the leap second is worth keeping. Those in favor of removing it suggest if it’s forgotten, it could create major problems with global computer and cell phone networks, air traffic control and financial trading markets. Defenders of the leap second say it’s worked for 40 years — why change it now?

Whether we have an extra day or an extra second, I’m mindful of the fact that all of our time is precious.

With a toddler at home, I see every day how quickly time passes and how irrevocably it’s gone once it does.

We’ll never have all the time in the world, but as long as there’s enough time to do what’s important — like telling a little person how special they are — that’s time enough.

On the Lighter Side

Published February 29, 2012

A key emergency turns into a learning experience

The scariest moment of motherhood (so far) happened to me last Friday. I should preface this by saying in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't that bad and for that I'm counting my blessings. But the experience left me shaken and a little wiser — it was an exercise in learning to ask for and graciously receive help.


Our morning routine varies little from day to day. Jim gets ready and leaves for school while I get Evangeline ready to go to the babysitter's. After breakfast, I buckled her into her car seat and turned on the car to warm it up while I scraped the ice off the windows. As I closed the door, I had that horrible realization that something was not right. It's kind of like the feeling at the top of a roller coaster: You know you're going to be hurtled downward at ferocious velocities and there's nothing you can do to stop it. 


You guessed it: The car was locked, running, with my daughter buckled in the back seat. And of course, my purse, cell phone and house keys were sitting on the passenger seat where I'd tossed them. 


There is possibly no worse feeling for a mother than to see her child, yet not be able to reach her. Evangeline, of course, didn't know what was happening, but after a few minutes of watching me tug futilely on the door, she started to fuss. That's when my brain switched from "OK, maybe I can handle this on my own" to "I need help — and I need it NOW."


I briefly considered breaking into the car (disregarding this quickly because I didn't want to injure Evangeline in any way) and breaking into the house to get the spare set of car keys (disregarding this because I figured there HAD to be a better way.)


And there was. I walked across the street and knocked on our neighbors' door. They're a couple a few years older than us and have two young sons. We're friendly with them but with our busy schedules, we don't interact very much. 


My mom talks often about "God things" — life moments that can only be explained by God's grace — and this was one of them. Both our neighbors were home; their oldest son didn't have school that day and so the family was having a relaxing day in. I asked to borrow their phone and left a message at school for Jim. Once they found out what was going on, they immediately offered to drive out to school (eight miles into the country) to get a house key for me. Since they were both home, one parent could stay with the boys, relieving the burden of hauling sleepy children on an errand of mercy. My initial impulse was to refuse politely, but I knew I couldn't depend on Jim hearing the message anytime soon and I had to think of Evangeline. 


Putting aside the mindset of self-sufficiency that's bred into every Nebraskan, I accepted their kind offer and went back to keep Evangeline company. I did everything I could think of to distract her (and myself): Singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider," playing peek-a-boo, making silly faces. 


It seemed like forever, though in reality it was only 20 minutes, before our neighbor pulled up with our house key. Jim had heard the message and had been on his way home when she arrived at school, so the hand-off was very quick. She kept Evangeline company while I ran (and this six-month-pregnant mama does NOT run) into the house to get the extra keys. 


After thanking her profusely, I drove Evangeline to her babysitter's, then pulled into a parking lot to call Jim and update him. That's when I lost it, tears running down my face, pent-up adrenaline pumping through my veins, hands shaking and muscles aching from the effort of trying to pry open a locked car door. Jim listened and reassured me that, no, I wasn't a horrible mother and yes, it was OK and normal to feel this way. He urged me to take the morning off, to take Evangeline home and cuddle for a while, because, as he put it, it's OK to take care of yourself.


I didn't want to do that; all I wanted was to get on with my day and forget that helpless feeling I'd experienced. But I knew I wouldn't be worth a thing at work, what with the shaking and the crying, and really, what I needed was to spend time with my baby. So I called my office and told them I wouldn't be in right away, then circled back to pick up Evangeline, hoping her babysitter didn't think my behavior was too strange. 


We spent the rest of the morning attached at the hip, literally, as that's the only way I can carry her anymore. We watched a little TV and by the time I could watch dog food commercials without bawling, I figured I was back to normal. The rest of the day passed without incident, though I didn't let my spare set of car keys out of my sight.


I know there are far more frightening things in store for me as a mother (ever read the book Queen Bees and Wannabes? Yikes!) but to date, this was the most harrowing experience I've had. But, as my mother's daughter, I can't let it pass without turning it into a teachable moment for myself. Here's what I learned:


• Have support systems in place. I am so thankful my neighbors are good, helpful, reliable people and I know I can count on them in the future. 
• Have a back-up plan. I will definitely keep a spare key in a more accessible location than inside my locked house.
• Don't be afraid to ask for help. This is extremely hard for me to do, but after this, I know it won't kill me to rely on someone else if I need them.
• Don't panic ... at least not while your kid can see. Even though Evangeline didn't really know what was going on, she can sense when I'm stressed. For her sake, I'm glad I held it together (mostly) so she didn't worry.
• Acknowledge your emotions and DEAL WITH THEM. My instinct was to bury what I felt and/or to blame myself for being less than perfect. Well, you know what, self? I'm not perfect and I'm not in control. Those aren't comfortable thoughts for me to process but in order to be a healthy person, they must be processed. For me, that meant cuddling with Evangeline and watching something funny on TV. (Also, chocolate.)


And finally, the most important lesson is:
• Trust God. Things like this remind me that, no matter how confident I feel some days, I'm still not in control. But God is, and He has promised to work for the good of those who love Him. 


I know I'm not the only mother who has had a key emergency. Have you had a similar experience? How did you handle it? 

The newest addition to our family is furry

Beckett

Before last week, I thought our little geekling due at the end of May would be the newest addition to our family.

I was wrong.

A while back, Jim mentioned a black kitten that had been dropped off at Zion St. John. It was friendly, he said, and really good with the students. He was tempted to bring it home, but since we already have two cats, a toddler and a baby on the way, we figured it was better to let kitty roam.

Beware the tender heart — it will lead you down the path to becoming a crazy cat lady.

Then last Tuesday, Jim sent me a text asking “Do you want another cat?” By then, we’d heard the predictions for heavy snowfall over the weekend and I couldn’t stand the thought of that sweet kitty freezing to death in a country ditch.

“Yes,” I texted back. I made an appointment with the vet for later that afternoon. Despite the rational side of my brain thinking “Three cats? Really? Who needs three cats?” I was excited to meet our new kitten.

Bad news comes via text message.

“I let the cat out to use the bathroom and it didn’t come back,” Jim texted a while later. “Not sure if it’s gone.”

Disappointed, I canceled the appointment with Reb and went home to pay attention to Winston and Rosie.

Early Thursday morning, Jim called me at home — the kitten was back and if we wanted it, I needed to come get it now.

Evangeline and I were immediately enchanted with the six-month-old kitten we named Beckett. After receiving a clean bill of health from Reb, we took him home to meet Winston and Rosie.

After the requisite amount of hissing and pouting, the older cats accepted Beckett ... or at least tolerate his presence.

My uncle once told me one child takes all your time and money — so you might as well have a few more to keep her company.

I’m discovering it’s not so very different with cats, either.

On the Lighter Side

Published Feb. 8, 2012

Objectivity shouldn’t come at expense of reader interaction

Another of my newspaper columns and a disclaimer: If you're not affiliated with the newspaper industry or live in my corner of Northeast Nebraska, this probably won't be the most interesting ever. But if you are a consumer of local news in any form, it might be worth a read just to know what happens on the other side of the broadsheet.

I'm sure there are soulless, morality-free journalists out there. 

I just don't know any of them.

Here at the Wisner News-Chronicle, we just sent off our entries for the Nebraska Press Association’s 2011 Better Newspaper Contest.

The contest challenges Nebraska newspapers of all sizes to enter their best work from the previous year. Organized newsrooms keep a running record of photos, features, layouts and special sections they feel are worthy to be entered. That is not the procedure here — which isn’t to say we’re not organized, for the record. We just have a different method.

Jeff, Jamie, Marilyn, Elaine and I spend a few weeks in January poring over the past 52 newspapers. I don’t quite know how to describe the feeling that comes from reviewing the body of a year’s work — it’s equal parts surprising and mortifying. It’s surprising because often I’ve forgotten what we’ve covered; it’s kind of like finding a extra $5 in a coat pocket. It’s mortifying because you see precisely what you should have done better ... and didn’t.
 the bane of a newspaper’s existence: Every mistake or poorly designed page doesn’t go away. It’s printed in black and white and impossible to ignore.

But we’ve come a long way, design-wise. It was almost a year ago when we switched over to the redesign, which included new body copy, headline fonts and fresh take on our front page flag. It’s made life much easier from a page layout standpoint, and I hope it’s been a positive change for our readers, too.

So every year after our entries are on their way to Lincoln for judging, I resolve to make our upcoming newspapers the best I can.

At my first newspaper job, a colleague told me the reason contests exist is so reporters, photographers and designers can get affirmation from their peers. To receive praise from your readership is, in a sense, to relinquish the objectivity necessary for producing unbiased news.

I’ve revised my views on that sentiment since working at the News-Chronicle. Certainly we want to be objective, but I don’t think it needs to come at the expense of reader interaction.

I like hearing how people react to our newspaper — what they like, what they don’t, their suggestions for stories we could cover. It is, after all, the readers who are the reason we produce a newspaper each week. There is nothing more affirming than to hear people can’t wait to open their News-Chronicle each week — that they feel out of the loop if they don’t read it.

Newspaper contests give us a chance to reflect and review, to reevaluate and renew our vision for the coming year.
But we don’t write to win contest awards. We write, photograph and design for you, our readers.

Look! I was a winner, that one time!

On the Lighter Side

Published February 1, 2012