Overheard

At kindergarten round up, R was talking to a boy I vaguely recognized from his preschool class. The boy had started at R’s preschool a couple of months before, and both boys were thrilled to see a familiar face. After we toured the classrooms, I overheard the little boy explaining to his grandma, who had accompanied him to round up, how he knew R. “We go way back,” he told her confidently.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

J stayed home with R from school one day when R was sick. They were listening to The Beatles when “All You Need Is Love” came on. R was looking thoughtful, so J asked him what was wrong. “Dad, The Beatles keep singing all you need is love over and over, but you need a house and other stuff like that too.” (I’m guessing “All You Need is a 401K” didn’t have quite the same ring to it.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

About 2 ½ hours into a 3-hour car trip, K had had it with being strapped into a car seat and decided that the rest of us should suffer too. She took up a particularly high-pitched screaming routine that is supposed to signal maximum displeasure on her part. R turned to her, and shaking his head sympathetically, said, “It’s a hard, hard life K, but you just have to get through it.” (That’s right folks, Joan of Arc, the Cambodian people under Pol Pot, Nelson Mandela, and my children; all people who have suffered greatly.)

What Women Want

-->

Normally, I wouldn’t presume to speak for my entire gender. However, after years of careful observation, conversations with friends, listening to people who confide in me when they hear the world “counselor,” and studying umpteen-thousand country songs, I have decided to go out on a limb here.

When I was in high school and college, I worked a retail job in women’s clothing at a major department store. Without fail, the evening before any major holiday (Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, plus anniversaries and birthdays), a strange phenomenon would befall the women’s department. Where no man had gone before, men would appear (usually looking either A) dazed B) frightened or C) panicked) in the women’s lingerie, jewelry, and apparel departments. Their common shared goal was to get in and out in less than 20 minutes. In honor of Mother’s Day, here’s what I would have told these men if I had known then what I know now:

Most women don’t care about the gifts you give them five times a year. Gifts are nice, and they signal to us that you were thinking about us. (Although, gifts of household appliances and lingerie are generally a sign that you were thinking practically or of yourself. Regardless of how practical your wife is, she doesn’t really want a new dryer for her birthday, even if she says she does.) Tangible gifts that demonstrate that you listen when we talk about our tastes and preferences, no matter how small, score major points. Tickets to a concert for her favorite performer, or that you remembered that her favorite flowers are daisies will ensure that you actually get to see that lingerie out of the box if you catch my drift.

Unless you have the misfortune of being married to a gold-digger, most women are rarely focused on the cost of the gift being given. Think about how your wife reacts when one of the kids hands her a dandelion. Like she just won the lottery. (Disclaimer- I am not suggesting that you go out and pick dandelions for your wife for Mother’s Day this year.) My point is, coming from a child; the gift of a dandelion is huge because of its intent. It says, “I love you, mom. You are the center of my universe, and I didn’t consider any other recipient for this dandelion. It was selected just for you.”

And that, my friends, is what I think women really want. They want to be told that they’re appreciated, and that your world wouldn’t be the same without them. They want to be thanked for being good mothers, for the doctor and dentist appointments scheduled, the dinners cooked, and the fact that your underwear hasn’t disintegrated around you because she buys more when she notices the holes. And they would like to be told more than five times a year. Not everyday, per say, but at least on occasion.

So, on this Mother’s Day Eve, save yourself 20 minutes, and tell your wife (or girlfriend or mother) you couldn’t live without her. Here’s a song to inspire you:

A Woman Like You