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.