Pasta House and the Gynecologist

I get along with my OB-Gyn.  When he comes into the room where I perch on his plastic table thumbing through a magazine, he sticks out his hand.  “Ms. Woodcock, it’s been a long time!”  I shake his hand and spontaneously declare: “I feel like we should hug.”  So we do… I mean the guy delivered my baby… I’m in a paper robe, and we’re about to shake hands.  The least we could do is drop the pretenses and hug. 

Dr. H. is a nice guy with seven kids and a jovial personality.  We talk about how Tyler loves hockey and whether or not I’m going to have another one (he’s always pushing for that of course).  He talks about the best leagues to put him on… etc. etc.  Turns out he went to the same high school as my husband… so there we go.  They are both Spartans.  Fantastic. 

All this fodder gives me a lot to talk about when I am flat on my back with my feet in the stirrups trying to relax.  I am very chatty and apologize ahead of time.  I couldn’t catch him up fast enough with everything that had been going on in my life…like we were best friends or something.  I think I was filibustering, hoping he wouldn’t interject with any instructions.  But, he did …   Seriously, when the doctor asks you to scoot down on the table and relax, you want to declare, “Which one is going to be doc, because I sure as hell can’t scoot down AND relax.  You’re going to have to choose one.”  I continue to discuss Tyler’s propensity to check his other teammates, when checking is strictly prohibited in Learn to Play leagues and before I know it (I take that back – I KNOW it), the deed is done.  Fantastic. 

More hugs.  See you next year.  And off I go to pay my co-pay. 

But what do you do when you see your OB-Gyn sitting with his family at your local Pasta House?  We recognize each other, and I feel the urge to say “hi” just like I felt the urge to hug him.  It’s automatic and I can’t help it.  OB-Gyns are more than doctors.  They are our personal St. Peters, welcoming our children into the world at the pearly white gates (okay that may be a little euphemistic).  They are more than doctors.  They help life become life and are present at one of the most important moments’ of a mother’s life. 

I couldn’t help myself or leave them to their private, probably much deserved family dinner.  “Hi Dr. H!  How are you?!  This must be your family!  Good to see you.  So glad they opened this Pasta House here.  Try the chicken spedeini – delicious.”  He must get this “awkward encounter with patients outside the confines of the doctor’s office” thing a lot.  He looks down slightly, probably hoping I make a quick exit, but my husband sees him too and of course they have to exchange formalities because that’s what Spartans do.  He looks at Tyler and I see what is running through his mind… “Time flies.  Those babies don’t stay babies for long.”

Tyler of course does not recognize Dr. H. and pushes for the door.  Off we go again.  I shake my head as we exit the building, wondering why this has thrown me for a loop.  In most cases, I can be decisively discreet.  But, I couldn’t walk past my doctor and not say “hello.”  He is associated with too many wonderful moments in my life.    

Maybe that’s what is sending me into a reminiscing rampage.  I associate my doctor with extraordinary moments in my life and to see him at an ordinary Pasta House seems odd and surreal.  But, it makes me think how the ordinary and extraordinary happen in tandem so many times.  If we don’t watch and listen carefully, we can miss it. 

Like the other day, we were running errands, when my son pipes up with a question from left field.  “Dad, are two T-Rexs longer than our house?”  You can tell this question is part of a long thought process he is calculating in that little head of his.  The dad responds, “Probably, son.”  Later, I ask how Tyler knew to ask about two dinosaurs.  My husband responds casually that these dinosaurs are only 20 feet in length like this was household knowledge or something.  And I shake my head.  Extraordinary.  How my son knows that T-Rexes are 20 feet in length is beyond me.  It’s the extraordinary that happens during ordinary errand running days.  If we don’t watch and listen carefully, we will miss all the “head shaking moments” out there.

Life's Little Intentions and the Game of Bowling

Bowling is a lot like life.  We aim, we roll, and we try to hit all the pins down.  Sometimes, we are very lucky… Strike!  But, sometimes, our ball just rolls into the gutter. 

Yesterday, we all caravanned to the nearest bowling alley to celebrate the birthday of my youngest brother.  I laughed to myself at the different reactions to each bowl.  Hands flew in the air.  My own son threw himself down to the floor and covered his eyes.  People twirled… bent over… cringed… looked away… sighed… or clasped their cheeks and gasped that the pins actually all went down at the same time! 

My son started out disenchanted.  He wasn’t doing very well.  He dropped the ball and it crept down the lane like an old lady with a walker crossing the street.   We all held our breath and willed it the end… hoping it would not come to a complete standstill. 

Crocodile teardrops fell.  “I’m not good enough!” he wailed, clapped his hand on his forehead and plopped himself in the nearest chair.  It was time for a pep talk.  I felt like the boxer’s coach who towels off the player in the corner of the ring.  “Listen, Tyler.  You’re only 5 points behind mommy.  Mommy is 29 and you’re six, so you’re doing pretty good.  Bowling is just a game.  It’s supposed to be fun.  Not many people are really good at it.”  He blinks at me and considers my advice… warily.    

In the middle of our third round, Tyler is cheering everyone from the sidelines.  His attitude has completely changed.  “Good job mommy!  Good job out there!” he declared.  I had just knocked down a measly 4 pins, but Tyler was proudly singing my praises.  He was having a blast cheering everyone on. 

He, in bowling, was similar to what a lot of us are like, in life.  Both depend on the perspective we take to determine whether or not we are having fun.  One has to realize that not many people are experts.  On one turn, we could get it all right… just like in life… strike – 10 points.  But, on other turns… we could completely miss…gutter ball. 

I think the most interested thing about bowling is not in the game itself.  The game itself is rather boring.  Watch the pins fall down.  Calculate the pins… the one with the most pins down wins.  Okay, we get the point. 

The most interesting thing about this game is watching the reactions of others.  A complete novice could throw the ball down the lane just right and get a perfect score – strike.  He jumps up and down like he just won the lottery. 

It’s a fun game to experience with others.  Just like life is fun to experience with others.  You don’t go bowling alone.  You invite the people who are important to you. 

Like life, this game is not as much about who wins or loses… but about the journey to get there.  It’s about sharing each others’ reactions… cheering the ones who did well… encouraging the ones who missed the mark. 

When my son realized that he wasn’t going to win every round, he started to have fun and be part of the team.  It’s not a one-man show.  Just like life is not a one-man show.  You cheer and clap for others and hope for the near impossible feat of getting all 10 pins down. 

Life has a lot of pins.  Getting them all down at the same time is a rare occurrence.  But, it’s the long term total that is most important.  How many obstacles can we overcome in our lifetime?  And do we have a crowd to cheer us on? 

Sometimes our best intention gets them all down.  Sometimes, it falls in the gutter.  But, our focus needs to be on keeping those best intentions rolling down the lane.  We need to cheer each other on and encourage them in their best intentions.  Being frustrated and beaten is no way to live life.  Life is in the little moments of enjoyment when the intention hits the mark.  Enjoying these little moments with the people you love makes it that much better. 

Paper Towel Rolls and Basic Human Rights

Life is hectic…especially as a working mom.  We have small events, major events, and world events to keep up with.  This past week, I faced extra responsibilities at work and home.  My husband has been working day and night, so the “extras” have fallen on my plate.  Extras like finding an empty shoe box for my son’s Valentine’s Day.  Plus, cards, candy and a paper towel roll for his upcoming class party.  My son, Tyler, has a student teacher at school named Mrs. Adams for the next few weeks, so the reminder notes sent home are a little different.  I try to take this in stride. 

I dump out the tax receipts my husband is saving and confiscate the shoe box.  I wheel off paper towels until it’s bare and rip off the roll.  I search for the cards I bought a week ago and find them.  And the candy was “optional” so I’m opting out (since I completely forgot to get those…oops.) 

I have all these things in my arms and lay them in front of my oblivious son, who is chomping on toast and watching “Tom and Jerry” on television.  He looks up and nonchalantly surveys my pile.    “Mom, I don’t need a paper towel roll,” he states matter-of-factly.  “The teacher made a mistake.  She said she does not need those.”  I am sure that the note said he needed a paper towel roll.  “Are you sure?  The note said you needed paper towel holders,” I ask unconvinced.  He shakes his head still chomping.  “No.  She said today she was wrong.”  I try to compromise, “Do you want to take it in your backpack just in case she needs them?”  I’m thinking of the pile of paper towels I just unwound and don’t want my efforts to go unneeded.  He is taking this paper towel roll come hell or high water.  “No, mom…” he sighs like I’m the child who isn’t listening… “Mrs. Adams doesn’t need them.”  So, I fling the paper towel roll in the trash and make him start signing Valentine’s cards.  You have to pick your battles.

Later that night, when I finally get him to bed and myself to bed and turn on the news… I am exhausted.  Twenty-two cards he had to sign his five-letter name to, and he acted like it was the end of the world. 

I am half watching the news and half reading my Kindle trying to wind down.  They are talking about Egypt again.  I dumbly ask my husband, who is still working, “What’s going on in Egypt?”  He turns to me incredulously, “Are you serious?  Where have you been the past week?”  He acts like I just crawled out of a dark hole and asked why the earth was round or something.  “Yes, I’m serious!  I haven’t been watching the news…” I explain out loud, but to myself scream … “BECAUSE I’VE BEEN TAKING CARE OF PAPER TOWEL ROLLS!!!!”

Now I’m on a mission.  I have to read every article and watch every commentary on Cairo.  This is an historical event, and I have to know about it.  But, really I just want to the crux of the story.  Why is everyone talking about it?  Why is it so important?  What are the ramifications?  This story didn’t interest me before because it didn’t seem to have a point.  I just heard about chaos and crowds gathering in a square of some kind. 

But, as I do my research, it becomes more interesting.  It is more than an uprising.  It is about a new generation of young people wanting their freedoms and liberties from a regime that has controlled them and their country.  They see their opportunity and use their unity of purpose to defy the dictatorship regime.  They want what the free world has – the right to choose.   And their will, purpose and passion prevail.  Mubarak stepped down.  Now, they have a chance to remake history and choose a leader who upholds their values of individuality, freedom, and choice.  Pretty amazing.  I guess I do need to watch the news more often. 

But, sometimes when work and home responsibilities fill your plate you have little room for world events and there long term meaning to the world you are living in.  You are in the middle of the forest and forget to see what all these trees are.  They are a forest that we should step back and take a look at.

My teacher used to say, “Look at the forest before you look at all the trees.”  She was right.  Why are we doing what we are doing?  Because we stand for something, and we want our children to stand for something.  We stand for freedom and the right to be oneself.  We stand for what the young people in Egypt are standing for right now.   The reason I do all these things for my son is because I want him to grow up as a capable and confident individual who believes in himself, his ability to change the world, and his right to exercise his freedom of speech and will.    

As working women and mothers, we have these rights too.  We have the ability to change the world and exercise our freedom of speech.  We should be confident in ourselves and the things we accomplish.  As we raise a generation of leaders, we should be encouraged by events in Cairo that we are on the right path and raising the right type of leaders.  But, we should also realize that we are these types of leaders.  We plant the seeds of freedom in our children and watch them grow into amazing individuals.

My son’s Valentine’s party and Egypt’s generational uprising are two types of organized events that have one thing in common – the people involved are passionate about what they believe in.  Whether it’s paper towel rolls for a classroom craft or basic human rights for a repressed nation, the underlying theme is individuality and freedom of expression.  I am happy to witness both.    

The Road Less Traveled

As I look back over the events of this week, snow is the standout story.  We have all been doing our fair share of shoveling, skidding, stomping, and sliding.  I have had extra time with my son on his three consecutive snow days playing chess, building dinosaur puzzles, and composing letters to the family that are hanging all over our house.    

I like to watch people deal with the snow.  Some love it and embrace it.  Some hate it and endure it.  Some get out in their driveways right after it falls and start shoveling.  These are the people with bags of Ice Melt, a plethora of various sized shovels, and a snow blower – a snow blower!  Other households hunker down inside and hope their cars make it over the mound of snow at the curb.    

Normally our driveway goes untouched, making the walk from the front door to the car akin to walking a tight rope.  It’s treacherous at best, especially in heels.  With this round of snow, I am determined to shovel a path to the cars.  We tromp outside with our solitary, warped orange shovel and realize this is a battle we are not going to win.    

I start chopped at the sheets of ice determined to find concrete.  All I want is a path.  I look across the street and my neighbor’s driveway is perfectly shoveled, salted, and swept – swept!  It’s almost dry.  We have mounds of snow and ice and one mangled shovel.

As I reflect on my trials and tribulations in the driveway, I notice that people approach snow a lot like they approach life.  Adults and kids view life so differently.  Kids rejoice when it’s a snow day.  They pile on gear, head outside, and take on the elements.  The newness of snow sparks their curiosity and creativity as they build snowmen and find new hills to scale and plummet down.  Life is one big adventure and meant to be enjoyed.   They enjoy the ride and don’t worry about the bumps. 

Adults do the opposite.  We worry about the unknown dangers life brings and huddle inside.   We try to play it safe and stay where we are comfortable.  Bumps and hills?  Nope.  We won’t come into contact with them if we stay inside…right?  We don’t want to slide or lose control. 

But the trouble is… we won’t get anywhere if we stay inside in life.  If we don’t take risks, step into a different world than we are used to, and see what it has to offer, we will never find out that snowballs are fun to throw and hills are fun to go down in inflatable tubes. 

We may have one path that is paved, safe and frequently traveled, but that doesn’t extend beyond our front driveway.  I’m sure that with a little ice melt and the right shovel, we could make new paths in life that would be worth traveling.

Maybe in this wintry season, we should take a note from the aptly named poet, Robert Frost,

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –

I took the one less traveled by.

And that has made all the difference.”

It is sometimes on the road less traveled where we find our greatest joys and our greatest triumph.  In a season that usually gets me down – literally…it’s slick out there – I am going to try to be more like a kid…tromp through it and mess it up a little.  What could it hurt?  I just got these really cute BCBG snow boots to do just that.  And on the road less traveled, I think we learn more about ourselves too.  I think it is part of the “difference. “   If we take a step of faith on a path we’ve never been on, we start believing.   

A Room With a View

This weekend, my husband and I got away for a night to celebrate our anniversary.  He suggested we have a night on the town and get a nice hotel or even go to Chicago.  I thought this sounded like a lot work and thought we were too busy to make this happen.  “Can’t we just go out to eat?”  “Why do we have to get a hotel in our own city, when we have a house we could sleep in?” I asked pragmatically and unromantically.  I didn’t particularly relish the idea of packing, getting a babysitter, or booking a hotel.

But, we got a good deal on Priceline and the plan started taking shape.  After arriving at the 4 star hotel Downtown (St. Louis) and haggling the concierge for their best room, I looked out the window in the newly renovated hotel room and realized that this was going to be fun, an adventure.  It is good to get away, even for a night, in our busy schedules and celebrate special occasions.  No house cleaning, laundry, cooking, or worrying about the internet being down.   We were celebrating life and we were going to have a memorable night. 

As I looked out our twelfth floor room’s window, I was getting a view of the Arch that I had never seen before.  It looked bigger and brighter, as it shone in the sun and overlooked the river.   This Arch is like a symbol of our lives.  We all try to round out our lives to create the perfect symmetry and arch that we hope doesn’t fall down.  It is a process.  Each piece has to fit perfectly.  But, in the end or even the middle, when we step back and look at it, we find that even with all the mistakes, trials, tears, and upsets, life does seem to be taking on the form of an arch.  Wonder of wonders.  It’s actually standing up on its own!

I stood there for a moment reflecting on my own arch in life.  Where in that arch does my 7 years of marriage, 6 years of motherhood, and almost 30 years of living place me?  Am I still on the first leg?  Probably… It is tall enough?  Straight enough?  Is it going to be able to curve in the middle? 

Sometimes it takes a night away to figure this out and see the big picture.  Standing back and staring at the riverfront Arch, I don’t see the years of work, engineering, heavy lifting, and painstaking measuring it took to erect that Arch.  I only see the end result, what was the vision of the makers.    

In many ways, as we reminisced and talked about our lives now, the blessings and the difficulties, I realized that getting away also offered me a new and different view of my life.  I was seeing the big picture and a different view, just like I saw in our room with a view.  Sometimes, we need to see our lives out a different window to see the big picture and appreciate the lessons in life.    

I thought, “This is why people need to take time and celebrate special occasions.”  So we can take a step back from our measuring, engineering, and lifting in life to see our progress and how the arch is shaping up.  We need a room with a view to see how far we’ve come and how much potential we have left in us. 

The "Mom" Pillow

Last week my son came home from a day at grandmas with a gift.  He was extremely excited about this gift, because he had helped make it. 

“Close your eyes mom,” he ordered with his hands behind his back.  Now, grandma’s place is a very crafty, creative place, so my head was swimming with ideas of what my “gift” could be.  “Hold out your hands, mom.”  I did as I was told.  My son loved the drama and made we stand there a few seconds just to enjoy the moments of anticipation.  He set something soft in my hands and I opened my eyes.  “It’s a pillow!” he shouted.  “I made it for you.”  As I looked down, I saw that he had a little help, because there was a soft, suede pillow with matching trim and the word, “Mom” embroidered across the front. 

I set the pillow in our window seat…thinking it would be more decorative than useful.  But my assumption was quickly revoked, as my son asked why I wasn’t using it.  He made me lie down and lifted my head to slide the pillow under my neck.  He then gently pushed my forehead down and asked, “There mom…doesn’t that feel good?”  He wanted me to be aware of its all-purpose functionality.  I had to agree.  It was a good neck pillow.  “Yes, Tyler, thank you.”  “Can I get up now?” 

Later that day, I picked up that pillow and studied the letters M-O-M lovingly inscribed.  I realized that this object represents what we women and mothers are.  We are the “pillows” in the lives of the people we love. 

We provide comfort and rest for our families.  We soften the blows in life by offering advice and encouragement.   In our presence, people can dream, be themselves and find rest.  We don’t judge.  We provide peace and give comfort.  People can come to us and cry out there fears and feel better.  We help those around us and elevate them to the position that we envision for them.    

While we don’t have all the answers for the trials that our loved ones face – we do provide an irreplaceable sense of calm.  We provide a safe environment for the people we love.  Those we come into contact with always leave feeling better.  These are unmistakable qualities that pillows and women share.    We don’t need a hard edge to us to accomplish what we want to accomplish in life.  We do all that by being like a pillow. 

Every mother needs a “mom pillow” to remind them of the wonderful qualities they possess that help the people they love.  As I look at mine, I think of my son.  What a wonderful gift.  He needs a lot of love and rest and peace.  And now I have a meaningful symbol of how I strive to give him that every day. 

Think Less, Live More

Homework days are eventful with my son.  We have to warm-up… find the right pencils, have a snack, get something to drink, and then tackle the homework packet.  Each packet contains a letter page.  He has to write the designated letter, draw a picture, and spell a few words that begin with that letter. 

Last week, we had two letter sheets in one packet.  My son went spastic.  “Mom, I can’t do a “D” sheet and a “K” sheet.   It was too much for him.  His little brain couldn’t comprehend why there would be more added to his plate. 

It got me thinking about how we adults do it.  Everyday, we get extra “homework” added to our plates.  But, how do we voice our opinion?  We don’t, usually, and I think this suppression is unhealthy. 

My son doesn’t have these learned behaviors.  He didn’t have any qualms about voicing his belligerent point of view about the extra “K” sheet.  “Nope.  I’m not doing it,” he proclaimed and crossed his arms. 

But, when we get extras added to our plate, we silently acquiesce, thinking it is our shortcoming that we feel negativity toward extra tasks.  Well, if a slightly spoiled six year old can feel affronted about an extra homework sheet, I think we overworked moms with plates spilling over with never ending “to do” lists can voice our opinions once in while.  In fact, I think we need to introduce a new word into our vocabulary – “delegate.”  Yes, someone else may not do the job as well as we could, but they have to learn sometime, and who better to teach them?! 

I feel trapped by tasks that are calling my name.  How did they learn my name, I have to wonder?  But, it is my own sense of liability.  I make them too important and persecute myself if the list is not accomplished. 

But not my son.  He knew the rules, had learned the ritual, and promptly contested what he thought was an unfair “K” sheet.  Yes, he’s spoiled, but he also knows his value…sometimes too much.  He knew this was out of the ordinary and wanted an explanation good enough to warrant his extra devotion to this week’s homework. 

I patiently explained what I thought the teacher was thinking.  He looked dubious and unmoved. 

But, when that homework came home graded I saw those evenly spaced capital “K”s on his sheet and couldn’t help but ask how he got them done. 

He shrugged casually and seemed to have forgotten.  He found a way and didn’t seem any worse for the wear.

“Wow…” I marveled.  If only we moms could be more like our purist children.  We go through hell and back to get things accomplished to meet certain expectations and they go unnoticed.  Yet, here sits my son, chomping on a banana and he doesn’t remember how he got the homework completed.  He makes it look so easy!  A valuable lesson can be learned here… Maybe we need to live more for the moment and not for the expectations…what we think will be the moment.  Think less and live more… Hmmm… now that’s a thought!