A-MUSINGS

“We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature – trees, flowers, grass – grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence… We need silence to be able to touch souls.”

– Mother Teresa

Today, on what would have been Mother Teresa’s 100th birthday, I’m reflecting on silence and her quote.  This summer has been a hot one.  On a stifling day such as this one, I switched on my window air conditioner, and my electronics-laden office protested the extra electricity drain by tripping a circuit breaker. Everything in the office crashed in an instant. Computers, external drives, printers,  fax machine, phones, lights. All dead. It was suddenly dark and so quiet…and wonderful. Sure, it was frustrating because I just lost the latest changes to a document I was working on, but after I stopped muttering obscenities about the inconvenience,  I started to appreciate the noiselessness.

I could hear my breathing and my heart beat. I suddenly had a moment to think clearly. I could focus without being bombarded with the telephone ringing, the computer hard-drives whirring, and iTunes blasting.  It was like a little gift. Okay, without the air conditioner, it was also hot as blazes, but somehow the quiet made it feel cooler (or possibly it was just that all the heat-producing machinery was turned off).

Maybe there’s a reason why some religious orders take vows of silence, and librarians “shush” us. Silence is really just external silence — because when it’s quiet on the outside, that’s when our minds can speak up and do their best, undistracted thinking. Studies have suggested that devoting 10 minutes of your day to silence can help reduce stress levels and increase positive energy. Others have gone so far as to say it can strengthen your immune system.

My teenagers live in a world of constant audio-visual assault… iPods, texting, computer chats… and all of these devices come with various alert sounds. And if that’s not enough, the kids create their own ringtones for their phones. My daughter can’t seem to fall asleep without listening to music. Perhaps it’s a teen thing. In my youth, I remember making cassette tapes (yes, kids… cassette tapes) of my favorite songs to listen to when I went to bed. Now, years later, I prefer to throw a pillow over my head, desperately seeking out the darkest, most quiet state I can achieve in order to drift off. It could be that one has to live through those years of overstimulation to truly appreciate the phrase “peace and quiet.”

Sometimes when we are silent, it gives us an opportunity to listen more carefully and closely.  The Greek philosopher Epictetus said, “We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak.” Of course, he lived his life as a slave, so I’m guessing he wasn’t invited to speak all that often anyway…still, his philosophy is a sound one (pardon the pun).

So cherish your right to remain silent, use it to reconnect with your inner self, touch souls, or just escape from the noisy world for a while. And as Depeche Mode suggests, “Enjoy the silence.”

With apologies to Rod Serling:  You’re traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind; a journey to a dreadful place where you hyperventilate as your heart pounds, you break into a cold sweat and you have to do things you don’t like.  You are leaving…The Comfort Zone.

My earliest memories of being in an operating room were from when I was 7.  My arms were strapped down after an IV was inserted. I was mildly sedated. I looked up to see the giant, black anesthesia mask descending. The gas smelled strange, and I felt like I was suffocating. It was at that moment that I realized I was claustrophobic. My panic attack probably lasted only seconds before I was out, but when I woke up, I remember feeling like I had just surfaced from a deep ocean dive, gratefully sucking in fresh air. My claustrophobia is fairly mild. I don’t freak out in elevators, tunnels or anything like that. But I won’t wear those awful plastic Halloween masks with the microscopic holes where your nostrils should be…or a full-face motorcycle helmet. For me, the fear has always been about not being able to breathe.

So when I had the opportunity to go snorkeling in the beautiful, clear waters of Hawaii, I was torn. It meant wearing a mask that tightly covered my nose, and relying on a thin plastic tube as my life line to the surface…and air. But it also meant engaging in a wonderful sports activity with my family and entering a gorgeous environment with amazing sea creatures.  I had to get out of my Comfort Zone. I took the plunge, literally and figuratively–constantly, silently talking myself off the ledge throughout the entire process. And the benefits were beyond my imagination. While snorkeling off the Makai Pier, we were treated to a visit by several majestic sea turtles. I got to swim right next to sea turtles! How cool is that? And it would never have happened if I didn’t push myself into the Discomfort Zone.

Besides being a mild claustrophobic, I’m also a closet introvert. Mingling at business functions is definitely out of my Comfort Zone. But more than two decades of practice in the business world have taught me how to put a game face on and dive head first into the ring. I don’t enjoy making small talk with strangers in designer suits at cocktail parties, but I do it. And the business benefits have been rewarding.

Ultimately, to get out of your Comfort Zone, you need to first ask yourself,  “Self, what’s the worst that could happen?” and respond with confidence that there is probably a 90% chance or greater that the worst won’t happen. (That second part takes practice.) Then you have to remind yourself of the many good things that could occur. For instance, you could swim with a sea turtle! Or the new person you meet at a party could become your next client, business investor, best friend or significant other.

Having trouble getting out of your Comfort Zone? Be willing to ask for help. I’m sure you have family or friends who would be happy to provide direction. And don’t forget the GPS (Get Past ‘Scared’). Being brave isn’t a lack of fear. It’s moving forward in spite of it. If you can push past the hesitancy, you’ll find there are so many wonderful opportunities that await you…outside…The Comfort Zone.

We took the kids to see the movie Despicable Me  last weekend. The trailer looked funny, and the film had already reached blockbuster status (as of this writing, it has grossed $209,287,345.00 — $32.00 of which was our humble contribution). It was a fun movie, but our teens are getting to an age where it’s not enough to simply populate the screen with lively animation, a few well-placed sight gags and some word play. Our son actually commented that he would have liked to have seen the main characters developed more. 

One thing we did all agree on is that we loved the Minions — cute little yellow Tylenol-gel-cap-shaped guys wearing overalls and safety glasses (Norm Abram would be proud). Think Oompa Loompas for the 21st century. Minions by definition are servile creatures beholden to those in power — and frequently underappreciated in my opinion. These tiny folks performed the heavy lifting, ran the thankless errands and did the dirty work for their übervillain employer, Gru — all the while standing by him, ever encouraging and supportive. Without the Minions, Gru would not have been able to achieve his goals (however misguided his objectives might or might not have been).

Which made me wonder. How many Minions do we overlook and fail to appreciate every day? We all have them in our lives. They are the people who help us get through the day and free us up to do what we need to do. We may not even realize what they do, but we’d be lost without them. It’s the door man who greets us with a smile when our arms are loaded with packages. The Starbucks barista who has the mocha light frappuccino ready to go in double-time when we are in a hurry. The janitor who handles the “clean up in aisle 7” so we don’t slip and fall on the broken bottle of Ragu. The kid who plucks the seaweed off the beach so the sand is clean and beautiful (that would be my son doing his summer job). They are the silent cheerleaders in our lives who stand behind us and have our backs.  [I hear the orchestra music beginning to swell in the background.]

Our Minions might be family members. The daughter who bakes when I have a cookie jones but I’m too busy to make them myself. The husband who trims away the vines from across the front steps so I don’t snag my foot and kill myself bringing in the newspaper. Even the cat who stalks and slays the rare mouse that sneaks into our abode, keeping us vermin free (if only she wouldn’t abandon her vanquished prey under the bed…).

And sometimes, we are the Minions (one could, after all, argue that I am small and yellow). We do little things to help out our co-workers, family, friends and neighbors just because it’s the right thing to do, and we support those who are near and dear to us. Or at least we should. And not because we are looking for gratitude or compensation.

Perhaps Minion is too derogatory a term for these selfless helpers. They should be recognized, acknowledged, valued, cherished.  Do you know the definition of minioning?  It means “kind treatment.”  Maybe Minion is the right word after all.

Who are your Minions?

What’s the most important thing you should know before you sleep with someone? (It could help determine your compatibility.) It’s the person’s favorite position. No, I’m not talking about sex. Get your mind out of the gutter. This is a family show.     

I’m talking about sleeping position. Real sleep. Eyes closed, slight drooling, restfully dreaming about Michael Stipe. Winkin, blinkin and nod…     

Apparently, your sleeping position is linked to a personality type according to Professor Chris Idzikowski, director of the UK Sleep Assessment and Advisory Service.  This is what he found:     

Fetus Position     

These curled up sleepers have a tough exterior but a sensitive heart of gold. While initially shy, they warm up quickly. Twice as many women and 41% of the people in the 1,000-person survey identified with this position.    

The Yearner   

Yearners, who sleep on their sides reaching out with their arms, are open by nature but can be cynical. It may take them a while to make a decision, but once made, they are steadfast.   

Soldier    

Lying at attention, Soldiers tend to be quiet and reserved while setting high standards for themselves and others.     

Log  

People who sleep like a log [rim shot] are similar in style to the Soldier, but rest on their sides. Logs tend to be laid back, trusting folks but sometimes gullible.  

Freefall  

These sleepers prefer tummy-side down with arms outstretched or wrapped around the pillow. They tend to be brazen, impulsive, and don’t handle criticism well.  

Starfish     

This is me — a back-sleeper with arms flung above my head (my daughter sleeps like this, too). Starfish are supposed to make good friends because we listen, and we’re always willing to help out when needed. We also don’t like being the center of attention. I think that describes me pretty well.   

So what does this all mean?  Since our sleep positions are not controlled by our conscious minds, I think they could reveal more about our real personalities than other analysis tools. Perhaps the best way to find a compatible mate is to first find out the individual’s favorite sleeping position.    

What’s the second most important thing?  Find out if your person is a blanket hog…   

What’s your favorite sleeping position?  Do you think the Professor’s analysis matches your personality?   

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 of 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…