Today is Preemie Awareness Day. I had no idea. Did you?

The thing is, I should have.

I should have known because a little more than six years ago, it was me who was sitting in the hospital, frought with anxiety and worry, as my baby girl was getting ready to make her entrance into this world … seven weeks early.

I should have known, but I’ve been busy doing things and thinking about … things.

The pregnancy started out simply enough. It went along just fine. I was healthy, the baby growing inside me was as active as anyone could have imagined. There was nothing to worry about. Then one day, there was nothing.

No movement. No kicking. No anything.

And the scary thing was that I was so busy doing … things … that I didn’t stop to pay attention. I was doing things for the house. Things for my son. Things for my husband and, yes, things for the baby on the way. Too many things.

Late that evening, I stopped. I thought it strange that I couldn’t remember feeling the little gymnast inside me that day … but I thought that in my pursuit of the completion of things, I simply hadn’t noticed. Tired from having done so many things, I made my way to bed and slept until, thankfully, a miraculous thing happened. My son — my sweet, wonderful, heroic son — woke with a cold in the middle of the night.

And then things started to happen.

I was immediately aware that something was amiss. There was still no movement. Just quiet. Stillness. I called my doctor, who told me that while all of this was likely just my imagination, I should come in, so they could set my mind at ease. At 4AM, I took myself to the hospital. And my life changed forever.

Things were not fine. Things were not in my imagination. My doctor and countless nurses did many things to try to rouse the little baby, but there was nothing. They told me to get my husband to the hospital, that the baby was going to be delivered as soon as he arrived. And delivered, she was. Alive, but just barely.

White as a sheet, she was whisked into the NICU and immediately given a blood transfusion. And another, and then another. For three days, new blood was pumped into my daughter’s tiny, fragile little body, filling her with life and color and promise. From there, there were monitors, frightening alarms that sounded at the slightest movement, incubators, and worry … constant worry. The doctors told us that had we waited even two to three more hours to go to the hospital, we would likely have lost her.

But we were lucky.

My daughter, who made such a dramatic, terrifying entrance into this world, is now a bright, vivacious, larger-than-life, six-year-old force of nature. Full of wonder and attitude, there’s no telling what things she’ll accomplish. My family owes everything to the brilliant doctors and nurses at the NICU at Anne Arundel Medical Center in Annapolis, Maryland. I don’t want to think about where we’d be without them.

There are many, sadly, who aren’t so lucky. Things get in the way. Things happen. With the rate of premature birth rising by 30 percent since 1981, more research is desperately needed. One in eight babies is born prematurely; that’s 1,400 each day. An incredible 40% of mothers of preemies deal with post-partum depression. They fight struggles with guilt, sadness, and feelings of worthlessness, and need help. Let’s do something for them. November is Prematurity Awareness Month; please visit the March of Dimes to learn more and follow the discussion on Twitter with the hashtag, #fight4preemies.

Take a few minutes to stop doing things. And do a thing to help save our most fragile lives.

What’s everyone’s least favorite thing to do? Ironing? Eat Brussels Sprouts? Watch political ads on TV? Sure, those things are all pretty darned bad, but almost universally, people hate to talk, much less write, about themselves.

It’s hard.

You work tirelessly for your clients. You bend over backward to help them. You’re respected by your peers. You solve the myriad problems with style. You’re a well-educated, trained, expert in your field. But try to sit down to write a few paragraphs about how fantastic, how super-qualified, how amazing you really are? Forget it.

And really? When it comes to marketing yourself? What’s more important? When people visit your website, they need to get sold on YOU. They don’t care about widgets and shiny objects. They want to know why they should hire YOU and not someone else. The “about me” section of your website is its single most important feature.

Enter BeeLines.

BeeLines by Honeybee are clever, creative, away-from-the-everyday bios that are created exclusively for you. Nothing canned, no boilerplate, never anything generic. BeeLines takes your greatness and sets it off the way it should be.

For $300, you’ll get a customized “about me” page that you can use for your website or blog. You’ll also get shortened versions that you can use for things like speaker profiles or for places where you’re given limited space.

You’re an outstanding commodity. Your bio should say nothing less. Make sure you’re putting your best foot forward and giving yourself the leg up you need, and that you deserve.

BeeLines will make you sound better than you ever thought you could!

I read a really interesting post today by my friend, Teresa Boardman (who’s a smart cookie and whom you should follow, if you’re not already). She was bemoaning the sacrifice of good customer service to the gods of Facebook and Twitter; that companies no longer seemed to care about helping their customers and were concerned only with having fan pages or making sure it would seem that they were “engaged.”

This saddens me, too. I think that, social media involvement or no, customer service is a lost art. It’s a shame, too, because really? It’s not all that hard to do. All you have to do is, well, not be a <insert NSFW word of choice here>.

I’m actually heartened by the number of companies that want to be involved with social media. The discouraging part is the number of companies that just seem to have no earthly idea what to do or how to act once they’ve started a Twitter account, or a YouTube channel, or even a Facebook fan page.

I think, for small businesses in particular, Facebook fan pages are great. They are, when used properly, a great channel to provide great customer service. There are several who have done a fantastic job rallying their customer bases and who use them to maximum effect.

One of my favorites is for a small t-shirt shop in New Orleans called “Fleurty Girl“. Their owner is consistent in her involvement, she interacts with her customers daily, she offers specials that are good only for FB fans … she’s doing it exactly right. AND she’s developed quite a following, not just locally, but nationally. You should check them out.

Now, I do lots of work with people in the real estate community. Realtors are a segment of the business world for whom Facebook fan pages seem to be tailor-made. Facebook, after all, is the place where all of the people are. Finding customers among those people whom you already know (and among the people that they know) seems like a natural fit. So, lots of Realtors are trying their hands at Facebook fan pages. Some of them, like Dale Chumbley, a Realtor in Vancouver, WA, have found their niche and are doing things in an innovative, organic way.

Others, though? Not so much. Others seem to get their page set up, invite all of their friends, most of whom seem to be other Realtors, to be fans … then they don’t do much else. What good is having every Realtor under the sun be a fan of your page? Is that going to garner you new business? Probably not. Providing content that’s of interest to your community, though? That’s the ticket. I wish that people would think more about what they’re doing. I wish that more people would do their own thing, rather than say, “Hey! This worked for that other guy! I’m gonna try that, too.” Think. Try something new.

It’s not simply having the page that gets you business or helps your customers, it’s what you, Company X, put into it. Having a fan page with 20 or 30 “fans” each of whom is a cousin or friend of your Aunt Fannie isn’t going to get you (or your customers) jack squat. Once you have the page, you have to provide content that’s interesting to people. You have to provide content that is actually helpful.

Facebook fan pages are great. But they’re not magic. You should be using them to serve your community. Use them to help your customers. The operative words here, though, are “use them.”

On Saturday, like so many others, I spent the day taking care of family & household business. I spent time with my kids, did a bunch of stuff around the house … and went to the grocery store.

My local grocery store is like any other small-town market. It’s neighborhoody, teeming with moms, dads, and kids begging for candy and cookies that they’re not likely to get. Nothing out of the ordinary. After zig-zagging my way through the store, I made my way to the checkout stand, where a young woman by the name of Sarah** awaited the contents of my cart.

**I assume that’s what her name was. It’s what was on her nametag.

“Hi,” I said, “how’re you doing today?”

:: crickets ::

With a smile, I handed her my megamart discount card, and apologized for it being attached to my keyring, along with 900 other things.

Again with the crickets, this time with an eye roll as an added bonus.

“OK.” I thought. “She’s having a bad day. It happens to the best of us.” I asked her another question or two, each time with a smile, and each time I got no response, other than a heavy sigh or general look of annoyance. She began flinging my groceries to the end of the belt, and I started to bag the things up.

Suddenly, there was a voice. But it didn’t belong to Sarah.

“Oh, ma’am … let me take care of that for you!” the voice said. I looked up, and there was a bright, bubbly smile shining down on me. The young woman jumped right in, started asking how my day was going, and took care of my groceries. She noted that on one of the items, there was a coupon attached. “Would you like to use this today?” I said that I would, thanks. Finally, Sarah, the Surly, chimed in, “Those won’t work. They’re for something else.” The fresh-faced, friendly girl opined, “Well, I just bought one of these, and the coupon worked for me.” Sarah insisted that she was wrong. I suggested that she give them a try, just to see.

::Beep! Beep!:: The coupons scanned and worked like a charm. Sarah looked as though she’d been slapped in the face.

I asked the fresh-faced girl what her name was. “Karis,” she said. I told her that she’d been greatly helpful and that I hoped she had a great weekend.

Karis beamed. Sarah simply glared.

Now, I don’t know what Sarah’s problem was, but I do know that the difference between her attitude and Karis’s was like the difference between night and day. Something as simple as a smile and a little common courtesy was all it took to take the sour taste left in my mouth by Sarah and turn it sweet as honey.

This stuff isn’t complicated. It’s not rocket science. But it’s amazing how many companies take an attitude similar to Sarah’s. A while back, Chris Brogan wrote a post called Warm The Mug. It was about how the littlest things can make all the difference to a customer’s experience. How the attention to those extra, tiny details can earn you customers for life.

So, why aren’t more companies doing these things?

Take a step back. Look at your business. Think about how you treat your customers. Are you Sarah, or are you Karis? I know which one would get my business.

Last week, I had the distinct pleasure of participating at REBarCamp Phoenix. There was more warmth and sunshine around me than I would have ever believed, and that was just from the people in attendance!

With nearly 800 eager-to-learn folks charging enthusiastically into Scottsdale Stadium, even if the weather hadn’t been picture perfect, it was bound to be a fantastic, productive day. For me, it was an opportunity to connect “IRL” (for you tech-speak people) or “in person” (for those of you who simply speak English) with so many of the people with whom I’ve encountered and talked with online. It was a chance to get to know them as they actually are (it’s just about the best part of what I do).

In addition to meeting lots of fantastic people (and eating lots of great Southwestern food), I led a discussion about how to establish and maintain brand image — both personal and business — across social media channels (feel free to check out my slidedeck, below). Though we were derailed from time to time (one of the fun things about BarCamps is that they are unstructured and tend to go off-topic; they get “barcampy”), it was a great session, filled with lots of ideas and input from the group around me. I went in with a head full of ideas, but left with lots more great ones!

Thanks to everyone who participated; I feel privileged to have been able to attend, privileged to have met so many great people, and privileged to have a job that lets me do something, which I love so dearly.

Ah, yes. Be human. I hear people saying that an awful lot. Be transparent. Be genuine. Be real. Be human.

What does that mean, exactly?

I’ve had occasion to think about that a great deal of late. So what does it mean?

Is it acting irrationally when your heart aches?
Is it feeling remorseful for those actions?
Is it pulling a child out of harm’s way, even though you might sacrifice “journalistic integrity”? (Hat tip to Anderson Cooper)
Is it laughing too loudly, though it might be socially unacceptable?
Is it feeling annoyed when people make mistakes?
Is it taking a deep breath and helping them correct those mistakes?
Is it shedding a tear when a friend is in pain?
Is it shedding more when you realize that you can’t help?
Is it the capacity to love … no matter what?

The answer to each of these questions is, of course, YES. As humans, sometimes we make mistakes. We sometimes behave irrationally. But we do so because we’re human. We’re imperfect. And that’s a good thing.

In Social Media, being “human” is all the buzz. What I think this means is that we should all just be ourselves. We shouldn’t “auto-do” everything (people can smell a ‘bot a mile away). We should make it personal. We shouldn’t try to mold ourselves into shapes that someone else is looking for. If we do that, we’re only hurting ourselves.

In life, we should do the same. Laugh hard and often. Cry when we need to. Make mistakes. Learn from them. Most of all, love. Do it without fear. Love passionately and without regret. If we can’t, we’re not human.

Anger. Fury. Outrage.

These are just a few words that describe my feelings at this moment.

Typically, when I am feeling intense emotion about a particular subject, I find it best to back away from my computer. To steer clear of my blog, Twitter, Facebook … anywhere that I might say something I might later regret.

Not this time.

This time, I am harnessing my feelings, making sure that my absolute white-hot rage is captured.

As many of you may know, I live in the beautiful state of West Virginia. I didn’t grow up here, but it’s become my home. It is the place where I’ve chosen to raise my children. It is one of the most indescribably lovely places on Earth (when John Denver describes it as “almost Heaven”, there’s a reason). I love my new home state and I am very, very proud to live here.

So, when I hear someone disparaging it, I tend to get a little upset. Imagine my shock and outright indignation when I read the following “news” item, bearing the heading “West Virginia Discovers The Internet” from NBC Washington’s Chris Needham:

Now the news that West Virginia has put a whole bunch of its important vital records on the Internet certainly raises the possibility of all kinds of cheap shots at our yokel neighbors to the West.

But that’d be completely unfair, a gross stereotype about our neighbors’ tar-paper shacks, which probably don’t even have enough electricity to power a Commodore anyway.

But if they did have one, they’d be able to log on to the new Web site and do all kinds of research, says the Herald-Mail. Here, for example, is a listing of all the birth certificates for people named Cletus. Here’s a listing of all the Twittys who’ve died in the state. And here’s a listing of all the weddings in the state where both the bride and the groom had the last name “Smith.”

Isn’t it enough that they have to poop in their backyard, running through the cold, fearing that the trap door on their red flannel pajamas should pop open early, exposing their nether regions to the bite of the winds? Why do we have to make fun of them for their misfortune?

So we won’t.

The site has all the data they have that’s legally shareable. Birth certificates can’t be shared for 100 years; death certificates are on ice for 50. Records from the Civil War aren’t available, as well as a few gaps where fire or flood took out a courthouse or two.

But if you’ve ever wondered what Hank Williams’ death registry looks like (you can put your hand down), now you can die happy. (And have someone from WV look at it 50 years later, once the Internet finally comes to the state.)

Yokels? Outhouses? Inbreeding? Seriously?

It’s unclear whether Mr. Needham was attempting satire or whether he actually believes the stereotypes (not one of which he missed, by the way) that he was spewing in his article news written excrement. One thing is certain, however. Mr. Needham’s piece is blatantly offensive. He has made sweeping generalizations about an entire body of people. About a place of which he clearly knows nothing.

Each and every state in our union has its share of poverty. Each has stereotypes with which it deals on a daily basis. For West Virginia to be singled out time and again is wholly unacceptable. That a major news outlet felt that posting this article was OK is patently offensive.

NBC Washington, and Mr. Needham himself, should not only make a full retraction (sorry, folks, removing the post from your website isn’t enough), but shout an apology from the rooftops.

I am proud of West Virginia. I am proud to be raising my family here. I am proud to call it my home.

Thanks to my good friend, Sarah Cooper, for the exquisite photos and the heartfelt video, above.

Honestly. The things with which people take issue.

A few days ago, after a return from business travel (actually, the end of a seemingly endless series of business trips), I was approached by someone whom I know, albeit casually.

“Wow! You travel a LOT,” she said. “Who takes care of your kids?”

Kind of a strange question, right?

I think so, too. Here’s the thing, though. I get asked questions like this ALL THE TIME.

Not, “Do you have clients in _______?” or “What sort of business do you do?” but “Who takes care of your children?”

Really?

Now, I associate with lots of men who travel for their jobs. I’d be willing to bet that not once — not ONCE — has any of them ever been asked this question. “Gee, that must be tiring, huh?” or “That’s such an interesting city; did you eat at any good restaurants?” maybe. But never are their duties or responsibilities as parents called into question.

Do I travel a lot for my business? Yes, I do. I have clients scattered all over the country, and I think it’s extremely important to have face-to-face time with them. I attend business conferences, sometimes to speak, always to learn from others and to interact in person (there are connections there that you simply cannot make through means like Twitter or Facebook or comments in a blog).

Yes. I travel. I made a commitment when I started my business not to do anything halfway. To do things as well as they can be done, or not do them at all. If that means a few days away from my family here and there, I’m OK with that.

Do I miss my kids when I travel? ABSOLUTELY. They’re great kids and I love them dearly. When I’m home with them, I never skip an opportunity to tell them so. So, do I think — even for one second — that when I go away for 2 or 3 days, they’ll suddenly be floundering in a sea of confusion? Do I believe that they’ll nervously wonder if I still love them?

Not even for ONE SECOND.

So, I take serious issue with people who ask me — and any other hard-working businesswomen, for that matter — questions borne of an era whose day has long-since passed. I also take issue with the notion that men — fathers — aren’t at all bothered by traveling away from their families. I take issue with the fact that any distinctions are made at all.

I take my work very seriously. That means making sacrifices. Everyone who works hard for a living makes one kind or another. The fact that I do, however, in no way diminishes my commitment to my family.

Has this happened to you? Ladies? Guys? What are YOUR thoughts on the subject? Have you ever been called for traveling?

GAME ON.

No matter your political affiliation, nor your views on war of any sort, we cannot let the efforts of our men and women in uniform go unrecognized. These brave, selfless people hold themselves up with honor, and far too many have made the ultimate sacrifice. So today, whether you recognize Veteran’s Day, Armistice Day or Remembrance Day, be sure that you DO recognize it.

To our servicemen and women, to those that fought in WWI, in those conflicts before and after, we salute you.


IN FLANDERS FIELDS,
by Lieutenant Col. John McRae, MD (1872-1918), Canadian Army

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead.
Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.