THE GIFT OF HELPING

Ready? #1. Change the O in Worrier to an A. #2. Change the E to O.  WOARRIEOR.  Okay, that was a little simplistic. But there are ways to combat worrying and to empower yourself that are almost as easy. I come from a long line of worriers. Generations in my family have fretted about monumental issues and trivial matters with the same fervor. And I’ve come to realize that what “they” say is true. “They” say that 85% of what people worry about never materializes. In hindsight, I can attest to the fact that that statistic is probably low. It’s likely closer to 95% than 85%. And even if something within that 5% did happen, it was usually not as bad as I imagined.

Those of us who worry try to make the argument for what I call productive worrying. For example, when I was in high school, I worried about the grade I would get on a history test, so I spent many extra hours studying. And consequently, I aced the test. Of course, I now realize that I could have done the extra studying without the added emotional stress of worrying, and the outcome would have been the same. But would I have done the studying at all if I hadn’t been worrying? I’m not sure.

Here’s one step that has helped me go from worrier to warrior:  faith. It’s not simply an acknowledgment in a higher power, but a true belief in my inner core that everything will be okay.  This is something I’ve had to nurture over the years. It hasn’t come easily; I still waiver, and I still worry sometimes. But I’m getting better at keeping worry at bay. Faith is not just throwing your hands up and saying “Somebody Up There take care if me,” doing nothing and waiting around in some sort of entitled haze. You have to do your part and work to make things good in your life, but at the same time believe things will keep getting better.

The second step is to empower yourself. It’s okay to worry a little. Just not all the time.  Here’s an exercise that I learned during one of my self-help Googling rampages–and it works:  Schedule a time for worrying. Say, fifteen minutes in the middle of the day.  Allow yourself to be concerned about whatever bothers you, obsess, tie yourself up in mental knots–but only for 15 minutes. Set a timer if you have to. But then here’s the empowerment step. You have to spend a few minutes at the end of your session mapping out a plan of attack to vanquish each of the targets that you are worrying about (here’s where the warrior part kicks in).

For example: still seeking a job? Try a new approach to networking. Join a church or temple to meet new people, sign up for a book club at your local library, or volunteer at a nearby charity. Helpful contacts can come from anywhere in the community. Worried about the safety of your children when they are out without you? Talk with them without scaring them. Arm them with knowledge  to handle different scenarios, however far fetched they might seem. Such as, never ever get in a stranger’s car even if he has a gun. Run (serpentine!  serpentine!) and scream. The odds of getting shot are far less (10% according to some police officers) than the bad things that can happen if assailant gets you captive in a vehicle. Okay, sharing a little too much of one of my worries…

Worry is the enemy. It wastes time and destroys energy. The key is fighting back. Have faith that all will be well. Remind yourself of this everyday–out loud if you have to. Empower yourself to rise above the worrying and find solutions. You don’t have to go it alone. That’s what family and friends are for… and sometimes even helpful strangers.  From worrier to warrior. Believe.

Kuana’ike (koo-AH-nah-EE-kay) = perspective.  Sometimes a change in environment helps us gain a little perspective and appreciation for our lives.

"Shaka!"

We recently took a trip to Hawaii thanks to years of saving up frequent flyer miles and having relatives who live there with a spare bedroom. Our 50th state is a mix of cultures, much more of a melting pot than other parts of the U.S.  Instead of today’s trend of diverse groups coming to America and maintaining separate identities, the cultures of Hawaii really do blend and merge. One can easily find a mix of Asian, Portuguese and Pacific Island foods in every grocery store. Pidgin English is a conglomeration of English, Hawaiian and Asian words (think Spanglish with a distinctive Polynesian lilt), frequently punctuated with “Shaka, brah” (a.k.a. hang loose, bro’). And of course there are mergers through marriage.

Here’s another Hawaiian phrase:  hapa haole.  Hapa haole refers to people of mixed ethnicities. Literally, it means half white (with the other half usually being Asian or a variation of Polynesian extraction). On the islands, it has come to be used as a catch-all term for people of mixed race. If you are old enough, you may have heard the term used on the 70s TV show “Hawaii Five-O” (which is currently being updated and remade by CBS – bad idea, but I’ll save that rant, along with complaining about lack of originality and the unending propagation of Broadway musical “revivals” for a future blog). 

Hapa haole people abound in Hawaii ever since the landing of British explorer James Cook paved the way of Europeans to the Hawaiian islands. Queen Emma, wife of King Kamehameha IV was hapa. There are many other famous hapas:  Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, Keanu Reeves, Apolo Anton Ono, and of course, President Barack Obama, whom Hawaii now claims as its very own.

My favorite hapa haole people in the world are my children. We live in a fairly homogenous suburban New York community, so hapa kids are more of a rarity. But it has not had any negative impact on them. They have friends of different races and religions, and they all accept each other openly, for which I am grateful. However, in our neighborhood in general, our kids are a bit more noticeable in a crowd. It’s neither a good nor bad thing. They are just unique. I like to think of them as extraordinary, exceptional and incomparable…but I’m their Mom.

In Hawaii you can’t swing a dead mongoose without running into a hapa haole person. While on Oahu, my son commented that everyone in Hawaii looks like him, and he kind of liked not standing out for a change. From an appearance standpoint, he felt he fit in more, although the culture of a New Yorker could not be more different from a laid-back Hawaiian.

My parents were born and raised on Oahu, and I lived there as a little girl, so my point of view contrasts a bit with my son’s. When I go to Hawaii, I’m surrounded by childhood familiarities, malasadas and shave ice, liquid sunshine, $5.99-per-gallon milk, and people who, for the most part, all look like me. In some ways, it’s easier to blend and disappear, but somehow I don’t feel as special. I like being unique. I guess it’s all in your perspective.

It was nice to get away to enjoy a change of scenery, acquire a fresh tan and a little kuana’ike…but it also made me appreciate coming home, back to my own bed, kitchen, cats and routine. Aloha.

Ah, isn’t it fun to fly?  My favorite part is the security check in…not. It’s just about all I can do to get my shoes off and remove my quart-size bag of cosmetics, hand santizer and other various liquids in their liliputian containers from my purse, while we are herded through the security chute like cattle. All that is missing is the cowboy with the electric prod. On a recent business trip, I had a laptop in my carry-on. I knew enough to take it out of the bag and put it in a plastic bin. What I didn’t realize is that nothing else is allowed to go in the bin with the laptop. I made the mistake of putting my shoes in with my laptop, and I was summarily chastised by the grumpy TSA Lady. “Nothing else can go with the laptop! It has to be by itself!”

So I bit my tongue along with a few choice words, forced a big smile and apologized, explaining that I didn’t realize it needed to go solo.  After all, these folks are here for our safety, right? And they surely must have to deal every day with thousands of passengers like me who are ignorant of the latest regulations. I also then informed her (as I’ve been instructed to do by past TSA agents) that I would need an individual wanding because I have an artificial leg that would be setting off the alarm. Well, all of a sudden, cranky TSA Lady became Glinda the Good Witch. To her, I was no longer Faceless Businesswoman Traveler; I was a Human Being with frailties and a soul. She actually smiled as she directed me into the plexiglas holding pen to be scanned, frisked and swabbed for incendiary materials.

Here’s what chaps my hide. Actually two things: 1. Why should she only be nice to me because she feels sorry that I”m “disabled” (I use the quotation marks because I don’t consider myself disabled)?  And 2. Why should she feel sorry for me at all? I’ll get to #2 in a moment.

The able-bodied are just as deserving of common courtesy as anyone else! Come on all you perfectly healthy people with four limbs, no metal plates or artificial anything (breast implants and rhinoplasty don’t count). Stand up for your rights! Demand service with a smile! It shouldn’t take a wheelchair, prosthesis or guide dog to be treated with respect.

But seriously, on to subject #2 – pity for the disabled. We need to change attitudes that many feel for those who are differently abled. A friend of mine just returned from a trip to Morocco. She happens to be missing her right leg and walks with crutches and no prosthesis, so her situation is more noticeable. She said that the people of Morocco were so kind and accepting. Instead of staring, strangers would offer her a blessing and move on. That’s how it should be. Give positive support. Don’t be patronizing. Offer help only if you mean it. And if someone says “no, thanks,” then just smile and keep on going. If they need your assistance, they will say “yes.”

Sometimes, we accept help. When I was a young girl, my family took a brief vacation to London, England. I had recently had surgery on my leg (when I still had it), and was stuck in a heavy, plaster, full-length cast. (No fiberglass casts in those days). We were walking to a restaurant, and my leg was hurting so my Dad was carrying me, and he was obviously getting tired. A very tall man — a complete stranger — asked my Dad if he needed a hand. Before Dad really had time to react, the stranger scooped me up, asked where we were going, and we all walked (well, I got carried) to the restaurant. He wouldn’t accept any money or anything but our thanks. I didn’t even find out his name, but his act of support and kindness has stayed with me all these decades.

So what’s the moral of today’s tale? Be nice to everyone – regardless of ability or disability. As author and paralympian Josh Sundquist recently wrote, “The thing that makes you different from other people might be the very thing that can make a difference for other people.”

And if you meet someone with physical or intellectual challenges, don’t treat them any differently than you would anyone else–unless, of course, you are grouchy and work for the TSA.

Please post a comment with your favorite TSA story.

My son starts his very first summer job tomorrow. He’ll be doing light maintenance and clean-up at our local beach and park.  And he is psyched because it means he’ll be earning his very own money.  I remember my very first summer job and that same feeling of exhilaration. Someone valued what few skills I had. And the paycheck was amazing…for a 15-year old. I earned a whopping 95-cents an hour, and I was thrilled. We lived in Germany where my father was an Air Force dentist on the American base. I worked as a junior secretary at the fire station.  Even though it was on the U.S. Air Force Base, it was staffed by German firefighters, so I got to practice my German and learn more about our host country first hand. My favorite cultural lesson? White chocolate! The fire chief was surprised I had never tried it before. It became my favorite confection, and still is.

Throughout my high school and college years, I had many summer jobs. Some were better than others. Because I could type, I usually found work in office settings through a temp agency. Most jobs were mediocre at best, but the pay was decent, and the work was easy. There were a couple of nightmare jobs though. But in some ways, those were the best because they taught me important lessons. Two gigs, in particular, come to mind.

One summer, I was assigned to an office within an airplane hangar. All I had to do was answer the phones, do some light typing and file documents. But to get to the office each morning, I had to walk through a hangar filled with airplane mechanics. The dress code of the day was a dress or skirt for the ladies in the office. Well, you can imagine the scene. So what did I learn from that experience? For one thing, I learned that a person can use a power drill to make a whistling noise. And I learned a few unflattering, choice phrases in Spanish. But most important, I learned that my self-esteem is pretty high. I don’t need or crave unwanted attention from guys who make advances toward anything remotely female. I also figured out that having a tough skin and a sense of humor are valuable in such situations. And that it’s helpful to sometimes pretend one has a hearing problem.

My second dreadful summer job was working for an insurance company. I sat amidst a sea of tiny desks with IBM Selectric typewriters (yes, typewriters. I’m old.). My job was to fill out insurance claim forms all day long. It wouldn’t have been so bad except that all I did was type numbers. Not letters or words. Just numbers. And…the forms used carbon paper (now I’m really dating myself) in order to fill out three copies of different colored forms all at once. At the time, I typed about 90 words a minute. Words. Not numbers. My success rate at typing numbers accurately was far lower. So each time I made an error, I had to roll the forms out of the carriage and paint over the errors using liquid paper — a different color of cover-up for each form:  green, pink and goldenrod. The more mistakes I made, the more frustrated I became…and therefore, the more errors I made (or maybe it was just the liquid paper fumes…).  I lasted about three days at that job. If I hadn’t told the temp agency I couldn’t stand the work, I probably would have been fired anyway. So how did that job help me? It taught me the importance of perseverance…and when to throw in a towel. Sometimes a paycheck just isn’t worth the torture. Be true to yourself.

I hope my son enjoys his first foray into the world of employment. And if he ends up doing more cleaning up than maintaining, I hope he at least gets some good stories out of it that he can tell his kids when they start their first summer job.

Post a comment and tell me about your worst job. Consider it free therapy.

Yesterday, my kids were dancing through the house singing a song called Bananaphone. It’s a little ditty that is one part “The Name Game,” and another part puns with nonsensical lyrics that would make Dr. Seuss proud. Released years ago by Raffi, beloved children’s entertainer from recent decades, the song is still a big hit with elementary school kids.  

So my kids singing Bananaphone wouldn’t be that odd except that this is 2010…and they are teenagers.  So why are they singing  this goofy song despite their advancement into adolescence?  Because it’s silly and fun.  And besides, the song has universal a-peel (ouch, couldn’t help myself). We’ve all done it…picked up a banana and talked into it like a phone. You haven’t? Really? Give it a try. If you are a noob to the world of silly, you might want to try this in the privacy of your kitchen before you start placing banana calls in your local supermarket.

We all need a little more silly in our lives.  The word “silly” has its roots in Middle English, where silly or sely meant happy and innocent, and that is what silly should be all about. Being silly can actually be beneficial in the proper situations:

• When we act silly, we are free to express ourselves without any social, physical or intellectual constraints.
• It’s fun for all ages (and helps adults reconnect with their childlike — not childish — side).
• It helps relieve stress.
• Being silly can improve your mood.
• It makes you (and others) smile… maybe it can even cheer someone up.
• Being silly with a friend or your child builds a unique, warm bond.
• There have even been studies suggesting that being silly can improve your immune system.

Sometimes as we grow older, Serious (the polar opposite of Silly), takes control. Fight the urge to be stodgy and “grown-up.” Let Silly reign.  At least some times. It  might be hard to be silly, especially for people who are basically quiet or introverted, like me.  But take it step at a time.  You don’t have to launch directly into armpit farts or hanging a spoon off the end of your nose. You can start with a little interpretive dance, make funny faces or create strange, yet entertaining, sound effects.  There is no goal in being silly. Just let loose, relax, and have fun. Try being silly once a week and work yourself up to once a day.  You’ll be happier, and maybe even healthier. Let’s start now. Come on, everybody. Let’s sing Bananaphone! “Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, bananaphone! Boop boop-a-doop-a-doo! Ring, ring, ring, ring…”

Okay, all or most of my male readers just clicked this post closed.  But guys, if you are intrepid enough (and confident in your masculinity), stick with me. I’ll have something just for you at the end of the blog.

At our house, my husband and I have a sort of division of chores. I handle indoors, and he gets outdoors. So generally, I do the laundry, vacuuming, and tidying up inside the house. He gets snow blowing in the winter, lawn care all other seasons, takes out the trash and does the handy-man tasks (and I am ever thankful that he is a handy man). We split some duties like cooking and doing dishes, and the kids help out on all fronts. I’m not sure why it worked out that way. Maybe it’s because that’s how our parents did things.

However, I’ve noticed a growing trend in society trying to break down these stereotypes by offering new resources for women.  Take for example, pink-colored tools — as if coloring tools pink will actually inspire me to use them more.  The one plus is that my husband, who has a tendency to just leave things where he last used them (and therefore misplace them) might be less likely to use pink tools, so at least I’d always know they were put away properly.

So how do we inspire men to do more of what has been long-classified as “women’s work?”  Here are some thoughts I’ve gathered over time (and they actually work):

• Communicate clearly: The question “Would you please help me with the dishes?” will get a better response than “You never help with the dishes!  Must I do everything myself?”  Ask for what you want in a neutral tone without assigning blame or using guilt.
• Don’t micromanage (this applies to kids doing chores, too):  If you supervise too closely and criticize the work, he will be discouraged from doing more. He may not do the tasks exactly as you would have done them, but at least he is doing them. Choose your battles.
• Appreciate: Remember to say “thank you.” Everyone wants to feel appreciated and encouraged.
• Present the problem: Men tend to be problem solvers.  Discuss the division of chores as a problem that needs to be solved, and let him offer solutions.

And here’s an interesting finding from a study by John Gottman, a psychologist who studies why relationships fail or succeed:  Men who do more housework have better sex lives and happier marriages. Kind of makes sense, doesn’t it, ladies?  Think of the book Porn for Women.

The New "Man Iron"

And here it is, just as I promised.  A little gift for the guys.  A new twist on the name “Iron Man.”   The elctronics giant Phillips has introduced an iron… just for men.  The Anodilium Soleplate Man Iron, also known as the GC4490 (because what the heck is “anodilium” anyway?).  This 2400W power tool for laundry offers “more power, more steam, more performance” and “the most robust soleplate of all irons.”  It promises a 100g steamboost to blast away all creases easily. (I’m not sure I want my creases blasted, but that is sure to appeal to the chest-beating “Tim the Toolman Taylor” guys out there.) The GC4490 even comes in a solid carrying case, just like many power tools.

It might just be a marketing gimmick, but hey, if my husband willingly irons more, it might be worth the investment.  And Father’s Day is coming up…

May 25th was Geek/Nerd Pride Day, and I flew my flag proudly. Gone are the days when either term would be considered derogatory. We Geeks and Nerds proclaim our status with verve, no longer hiding behind horn-rimmed glasses and ill-fitting, mismatched clothes.

According to Facebook (where 77,230 fans cyberspatially celebrated this year’s event), Geek/Nerd Pride Day was created in Albany, New York in 1998.  May 25th was chosen to commemorate the 1977 premiere of Star Wars (which, as we all know, rocketed sci-fi movies into a new realm of mass acceptance).

Nerd vs. Geek

So what’s the difference between a nerd and a geek? Various online dictionaries define a nerd as one who is intelligent, industrious, but socially inept and physically awkward.  Nerds also tend to be indifferent or oblivious to the aspersions cast upon them.

A geek, on the other hand, may or may not have superior intelligence, but tends to be fixated upon, and has amassed great knowledge about a particular area of interest (usually one in which others are generally not interested) — for example:  math geeks, band geeks, motorscooter geeks and Lord of the Rings geeks.

Were one to create a Venn Diagram (as developed in the 1800s by British mathematician John Venn) of nerd and geek attributes, one might find within the intersecting segment, an interest in computers and science fiction/fantasy.

Still need help distinguishing geeks from nerds?  Click here for some simple steps to help you.

Nerds and Geeks Are Cool

In recent years, acceptance of geeks and nerds within society has increased due in part to the favorable or endearing portrayal of them in popular culture, such as television and movies. Two of my favorite TV shows include lovable geeks and nerds for whom I have a distinct affinity:  the brilliant, yet socially dysfunctional physicists in The Big Bang Theory sitcom, and Special Agent Timothy McGee of NCIS with his Masters degree from MIT in Computer Forensics. Let’s not forget the many superheroes whose mild-mannered alter-egos are frequently nerds or geeks:  Peter Parker (Spider-Man), Clark Kent (Superman) and Barbara Gordon with her Ph.D. in library science (Batgirl). And of course, we must pay homage to the movie that brought nerdhood to the forefront of the world’s consciousness:  Revenge of the Nerds starring Robert Carradine and Anthony Edwards. Yes, nerds and geeks are cool — dare I even suggest respected?  Best Buys’ Geek Squad is looked upon as computer experts to whom people pay good money for assistance in fixing technology challenges that common folk dare not tackle.

So how does one celebrate being a nerd or a geek?  It’s so much more than donning propeller beanies. Here are a few suggestions:

• Wear anything printed with a mathematical formula, dinosaurs or a periodic table.
• Sing The Elements Song (by Tom Lehrer).
• Bake yourself a pi (yes, pi:  3.14159265…).
• Dress as your favorite sci-fi or comic book character (I proudly wore my Star Trek: The Next Generation communicator badge replica).
• Teach some poor, unenlightened soul something about your favorite academic obsession.
• Reorganize the food in your pantry in your choice of criteria:  alphabetically, by major food group, calorie count, or Sheldon Cooper’s idea–fiber content.
• Take over the world.

Do you need help figuring out if you are a nerd or a geek?  Take this funny test – at least I thought it was funny (because I’m a “modern nerd”).

If you actually read this entire blog (much less enjoyed it), you are most assuredly one or the other.

My daughter and I were in Target last weekend browsing the cosmetics when we came across a dress… hanging off a shelf of mascara and eye shadow. Now what is that about? Someone had decided she didn’t want the dress and just left it there, not six feet away from its proper display. I lifted the dress and hanger and hung it on the rack with the other dresses.  It took all of two seconds. Simple, painless, but helpful. Which made me think. There are many ways we can all help out that are just as easy and quick. Here are a few. 

Help a stranger:

• Hold open a door for someone at a store, building or car.
• Wave at a baby and watch for the wonderful, innocent smile in return.
• Say “please” and “thank you” often.
• Reach an item on a high shelf for someone my size.
• Smile.
• Shake hands when you greet someone (and make sure your handshake is firm — no dead fish or fingertips-only).
• If you see a book out of order in the library, put it back where it belongs so others can find it.
• Pick up a dropped book, papers, pencil, etc.

Help a friend:

• Offer a compliment or provide a word of encouragement.
• Listen.
• Wave at your neighbor.
• Give a big hug.
• Pick a piece of lint or stray cat hair off your friend’s jacket (be careful grooming people you don’t know well –they could consider it creepy).
• Tell your friend if she has lipstick on her teeth,  a stray piece of salad in her smile, or toilet paper stuck to her shoe;  after her embarrasment passes, she will be truly grateful.
• Bite your tongue;  sometimes it’s better to leave something unsaid if the words will not help a situation.

Help your family:

• Throw your dirty clothes and towels in the clothes hamper (it takes just a second, but those with whom you live will appreciate it).
• Men, put the toilet seat down (and everyone else, close the lid;  it will help avoid things accidentally falling into the toilet…like cell phones, but that’s a blog for another day).
• Wipe up spilled water around the sink.
• Pet your dog or cat; it will make both of you happy.
• Put dishes straight into dishwasher; don’t leave them in the sink.
• Lock your doors and windows at night.

Help yourself:

• Turn down your mp3 player a notch or two;  it can save your hearing.
• Stop to admire something beautiful or listen to a bird sing.
• Take a deep breath. Cleansing. Relaxing. Recharge. Clear your head.
• Put on sunglasses on a bright day; protect your eyes from the UV rays.
• Read and compare food labels. It can help your waistline and your wallet.
• Buckle your seat belt.
• Put on your helmet when biking, motorcycling or scootering.

Help the world:

• Turn off lights as you leave a room.
• Recycle.
• Vote.
• Do the right thing. It might only take a second but it could save the world or change someone’s life for the better.

Two seconds or less.  Give it a try.

My Birthday Cake!

Yesterday for my birthday, my family baked me a cake. From scratch. And hand-decorated it, too, with those tiny silver cake decorating tips that I loved watching my Mom use to make edible works of art when I was a little girl.  The cake was so beautiful, I didn’t want to eat it.

But then I thought about what would happen if I didn’t eat it. All the hard work and love that my husband and children put forth would not be appreciated in the way they were meant to be. The cake would eventually dry out into a concrete mass, or worse, would start to grow black fuzzy stuff all over it. In any case, it would go to waste. I could just hear my Mother whispering in one ear about all the children who are starving in third world countries, and Marie Antoinette yapping in the other. No, I couldn’t be selfish and not eat this gorgeous cake. So I did. And it was delicious. Is it possible to taste love? Does it have a flavor? If so, it would be yellow cake with mocha frosting and pink flowers.

How many times do we deny ourselves cake or other indulgences because we consider ourselves unworthy, we want to lose those last five pounds first, this isn’t the right time, or some other excuse? And don’t we all know someone (maybe it’s us) who is saving a piece of jewelry or dressy outfit to wear for a special occasion?

When my aunt passed away, we went to her home to go through her belongings to give away to other family members and charities. On a high shelf in her hallway closet, I found a beautiful gold-leafed set of Chinese bowls, cups and spoons that was probably 30 years old. It had never been used. Ever. Each piece was still wrapped in original tissue paper. My aunt was one of those people who saved things for special occasions. And she never got to enjoy how wonderful a meal would have tasted served on her gold-leafed china because the right special occasion never presented itself.

There are many opportunities we have to experience cake every day:

• Take the extra five minutes to cuddle with your little ones, or throw a few extra sticks for your puppy
• Wear the high-heeled pumps to the grocery store
• Read the hardcover, not the paperback
• Diamonds are for everyday, not just that special event
• Drink the expensive wine or the gourmet coffee

There is a special occasion lurking around each corner every day. My aunt’s china found a new home in my kitchen, and we regularly use the dishes and think fondly of her. I’m not saying you have to use your wedding china every day, or constantly gorge yourself with cake and sweets. Moderation in all things. I’m just saying that if someone takes the time to do something nice for you — even if it’s fattening — appreciate and savor it. Then spend an extra half hour on the treadmill. Eat your cake.

Okay, you know the name alone made you pause and giggle.  Even more, you can’t help yourself: you have to look at the picture.  The Naked Mole Rat.  Native to Africa, this three-inch-long rodent is hairless and wrinkled with a rat-like tail and strong, protruding teeth. Some have said it resembles a bratwurst –  or worse, a part of the human male anatomy — but with teeth. It has a face only a mother could love. And as we celebrate Mother’s Day this month, isn’t that what it is really all about?

Our Moms love us, no matter what we look like, who we are, or what we do. Consider the life the naked mole rat lives. Barely able to see with its beady eyes, it spends most of its life burrowing tunnels with its four sharp teeth in search of tubers or roots to eat. Like bees, they live in colonies ruled by a queen, and only a select few males get the honor of mating with the her. The rest fall into subordinate levels of a caste system:  soldiers who guard the colony, and the workers — just more cogs in the underground machine. The lower-caste naked mole rats even serve as door mats allowing the upper-class creatures to crawl over the top of them in the tight, dark tunnels.

But mothers are able to boast about even the tiniest of their offspring’s accomplishments. To Moms, everything their children do is praiseworthy. So what’s it like to be a proud Mother Naked Mole Rat? Let’s eavesdrop on a couple of Naked Mole Rats Mommies. [Think Mike Meyer's sketch "Coffee Talk with Linda Richman" from Saturday Night Live.]

Mommy NMR #1:   “You should have seen my son yesterday.  He was so industrious: he dug three miles of tunnel!  The dirt, it was like buttah. And he found a new supply of roots for the colony.”

Mommy NRM #2: “Well, that’s nothing. My son, the Soldier, killed a snake this morning and protected the Queen.  It was so dangerous. I’m all verklempt just thinking about it.”

Did you know that naked mole rats are xenophobic, and they use odor to recognize fellow colony members? In order to demonstrate unity, they willingly roll themselves in the colony’s “toilet chamber” to pick up the uniform smell of the colony’s poop.  Now that is dedication to the group. Another trait that would make a mother naked mole rat beam with pride.

So you may be a lowly worker, a brave soldier, or one who is responsible for the continuation of the species. Maybe you might still live with your mother, she lives down the street, across the country, or has moved on to the next world. No matter what, your mother loves you. Even if you are a naked mole rat, you are beautiful… to your mother. Thanks, Mom. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day.