Author: Sheila Quirke

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How to Change a Tire and Other Lessons of Marriage

Well yesterday was quite the morning.  About four blocks from home, on the way to drive my boy to school, a flashing red panel came up on the dash board.  Looks like the rear passenger tire had a pressure reading of 6.  Um.  This could not be good, but I was a mom late for school and thought it might be able to wait a few miles.

BUZZ!  Wrong answer.

I called home and was so grateful to hear my husband’s voice.  I explained the situation and he immediately told me to pull over.  “Where are you?” “By the 7-11,” I said.  Mary Tyler Dad gave me clear directions to pull the car over again.  In my head I was all, “Pffffft.  Don’t take that tone with me, Mister.  I need to get this kid to school.  I’ll deal with the tire afterwards. ”  I had driven on a flat tire before and this did not feel like a flat tire.  I honestly thought it could wait until I got to a service station.

By the time he convinced me of the seriousness of the situation, I was a good four blocks from the 7-11.  I asked what needed to be done.  “Change the tire,”  was the answer.  Are you kidding me?  I can write a kick a$$ blog and run a charity and raise money for pediatric cancer research, but change a tire?  Nope.  Not me.  I know my limitations and changing a tire rests on the other side of that line.

Clearly frustrated, my man told me to sit tight and he would come and help me.  Part of me was all, “Damn right, you will.  I do not change tires.  Are you kidding me?”  But the other part of me was holding my head in shame.  I was beholden to a man, reliant on him to get where I needed to go, even if that was our kid’s school, because I did not know how to do something every adult who drives should probably know how to do.

Within minutes, my dear man found us and got to work.  With a few swears, a little sweat, and lots of jumping on the thingamajig to get the lug nuts to budge, we were back in business.  Kisses were exchanged, hugs all around, and we both went our merry ways.

Then I did what any self-respecting mom blogger in the universe would do.  I wrote about it on Facebook.  You know I did.  Bam, that thread took off like the papparazzi chasing the first bump shot of a Kardashian.

Turns out, I am not alone.  Turns out, the vast, vast majority of the 414 folks who responded in the thread also leave it to their man or other such qualified individual (AAA ring a bell, anyone?).

Sigh.

Why, then, do I feel disappointed in myself?  I believe I should be able to change a tire.  I watched it once before, when my Dad and I took a father-daughter trip to Ireland in 2000.  The tire blew on our rental as we were driving up a cold and rainy mountainside.  That blew in more ways than one, but basically, I just stood there and watched my Dad.  Exactly as I did yesterday with my husband.

I hate feeling helpless.  I hate playing the damsel in distress card.  I like to exercise knowledge and skill.  I do.  I like to be independent and self-sufficient.  But I’ll tell ya, ain’t no way in freaking hell I was gonna get those lug nuts off.  And honestly, I didn’t know those thingamajigs were called ‘lug nuts’ until yesterday’s Facebook thread.  And again, another sigh.

The truth is, my marriage looks eerily similar to my parent’s marriage.  They wed in 1958.  There is truth to the adage, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”  I am home with the kids and my husband earns the money and changes the tires.  And sometimes, I need him to rescue me (and vice versa).  And every time I need it, he is there (and vice versa).  And I am grateful for that.  Shame be damned.

For those wanting to solve the age old mystery, “How do you change a flat tire?” Click here.

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Four Lessons From My Four Year Olds

This week my son turned four.  This made him immeasurably happy, despite the touch of angst about his impending age change.  The night before his birthday, he could not fall asleep.  Initially, I thought that was about excitement over gifts, gifts, gifts!  Cause, you know, it had been a full WEEK since he had opened an obscene number of wrapped packages with his name on it.  I was wrong.

His third or fourth trip out of bed, he came to the door of my bedroom with a worried expression on his face.  “I want to stay three.  I want to always stay small enough to fit under my bed because I really like it there.  When I am four I will be too big.”  Poor kid.  I could see his little worry wheels turning and spinning.  Part of me wants him to stay three, too.  What a beautiful boy he is.  Silly, naughty, smart, and sometimes taking a little too much pleasure in the struggles of others, but in the cutest manner imaginable, that you instantly forgive him these somewhat evil transgressions.

But four he is now, and he has embraced it.  Yesterday, we went to a play date at a school friend’s home.  The Dad has a silly way of asking my boy every time he sees him if he is four yet.  My boy loves this little game.  The door opened, Mom and Dad and classmate greeted us, and my boy exclaimed, even before ‘Hello!,’ “I AM FOUR NOW!”  Such pride in four, such happiness in being exactly who he is.

I can’t tell you the last time I greeted someone who answered the door to me, “I AM FORTY-THREE NOW!”  Can you imagine?  There is so much we lose to adulthood.  So much joy, so much pride, so much wonder and excitement.  Honestly, I think we lose most of those qualities a lot earlier than adulthood.  There are the milestones, of course, but they are shortlived.

  • “I AM THIRTEEN!”  (Being a teenager)
  •  “I AM SIXTEEN!”  (Getting a drivers license)
  •  “I AM EIGHTEEN!”  (Getting to vote for the teen political wonks)
  •  “I AM TWENTY-ONE!”  (Getting to fully experience every debauchery in Vegas)

I miss that.  What age milestones does a forty-three year old have to look forward to?  AARP Membership at 50?  Senior discounts at chain restaurants at 55?  Medicare eligibility at 67?  Oy.

Here is the deal.  I am 43.  That is not old, that is not young.  Technically, it is not yet even middle-age, which experts put at 45-60 years old.  So for the next two years, I am still considered the generic “adult” in years.  I hope to apply some of the lessons my children have taught me.  My beautiful, wise four year old children, one of whom will someday be 5 and 6 and 7 and 8 (with any luck), and one of whom will always be 4.  I think about that sometimes, that I will always be the mother of a four year old.  I honestly think that has shaped my mind set on so many things, giving me room to consider these lessons.

    1. Age is a privilege.  To get older is a privilege that is not afforded to everyone.  Some of us die at 4.  Some of us die at 21.  Some of us die at 50.  Some of us die at 96.  Some of us die in time that is measured in just hours or days, not years.  Regardless of how old we are, know that it could all change in an instant, a flash.  When I worked as a social worker, I recall a meeting called to discuss how to recognize National Social Work Month.  Our national association came up with the slogan, “Life can change in an instant.  Social Workers are there to help.”  Sigh.  We laughed, collectively, at the urgency of the message, but now that I am older and wiser, and have the privilege of my age, I know full well that life can change in an instant.  And you never know when that instant might be.  Until then, enjoy what you have.
    2. Feel the wonder.  Kids have natural excitement that has not been extinguished by responsibilities, relationships, bills, self-consciousness about how they are perceived.  Wonder is so fleeting in our lives, but it is so precious.  We need to work to always see it, for it is always there.  Right there in front of us.  There is the wonder of the first snow, and standing straight in ice skates, and feeling the breeze on a warm day.  When I ask my boy what his favorite season is, he always responds, “All of them!” And he is being honest.  There is joy and wonder in all seasons.  We just stop noticing it.
    3. Feed your interests.  Ain’t no obsession like the obsession of a young child.  In the last year, my boy has moved from dinosaurs to Greek mythology to super heroes to outer space in his obsessions.  They are all fantastically interesting and intricate and unfolding.  There is so much to learn and master at four years old.  When they find something they like, they really, really like it.  The folks around them often support these obsessions and buy gifts around it, plan party themes around it, buy them clothes that feature it.  How cool is that?  A few years ago, I made the connection that the number of weeks in a year closely matched the number of countries in Africa.  I got really excited about the idea of learning about a different African nation every week.  For about two weeks.  Then, PFFFFT, gone.  Kids know to feed their interests.  They run with it.
    4. Get up when you fall.  Today my boy has fallen off a chair twice and off his bike once.  It’s nothing to him.  He just gets up and gets back on it, whatever “it” happens to be at the time.  If it’s a bad fall, with a scrape, oh sure, he will cry and carry on.  And then he gets back on it.  My daughter was the same way.  Feel what you feel, but don’t let it take you down.  Get on with it, you know?  This is so important a life lesson.  I think about Donna often when I feel down.  Her absence is very often the cause of me feeling down.  And then I remember her.  She had so much to feel down about — so very much — and she felt it.  She felt every needle and poke and cut and surgery and fever and blood draw and on and on an on.  She felt it all, and then she moved on with her day.  The sadness and fear and misery she felt were all real, but she never let it define her.  They were part of her, to be sure, but so was her joy and wonder and curiosity and love of life.  All of life, not just the good stuff.

Birthday Cake

There is so much to learn from a four year old.  My two four year olds teach me every day.  I try to be a good student.  Too often, as we grow up, we lose sight that we still have much to learn, especially when our teachers are four years old.  Forgetting that you still have much to learn is the fast track to aging.  Nope.  I am gonna take a lesson from my boy and embrace my age, with all its wonders and joy.  “I AM FORTY-THREE NOW!”  And that is pretty damn cool.

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Choose Health

I’ve been choosing hope since 2007.  Most every day I make a conscious choice at some point to be hopeful.  Sometimes it is first thing in the morning.  Sometimes it isn’t until late at night.  Sometimes it is a pretty constant process throughout the day.  Point is, I choose hope almost every day and my life is better for it.  I have managed to choose hope through some fairly desperate times.  I am a better person for this choice.

Now I need to choose health.

I am overweight.  I am uncomfortable.  I am ashamed.  That’s not cool.

There are few things I hate more than people who whine about their weight, their health, their lives and don’t do a damn thing to change anything.  I don’t want to be that person, so generally I keep my negative thoughts to myself.  Which is never a good idea.  Negative thoughts breed negative thoughts.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.  I want to be healthier.  I need to be healthier.  Welcoming a baby into your home is a test of both endurance and stamina, you know?  It stuck me a few weeks ago that I needed to “choose health” just as I “choose hope.”  If I can choose hope through grief and terror and sadness, then damn, why do I continue to choose cheeseburgers, cokes, sugar, and sofas over health?  If choosing hope is a conscious choice I make day after day, I need to apply that strength and ability to my health.

It’s not rocket science.

Part of me is angry at myself for being in this place again.  Way back in 1999 I gained a bunch of weight in graduate school and my first job out of school.  It was not the happiest of times.  After a couple of years of this, I decided it was not the life I wanted and did what I needed to do to both look and feel better.  At that point, it was Weight Watchers and exercise.  Life was good.  I looked and felt great.

I maintained my healthy weight through eleven years of babies, cancer, caregiving, and grief.  Something changed last year.  After my fourth miscarriage, I started gaining weight again.  Ugh.  I stopped eating healthily.  I started justifying my poor diet and sedentary life.  I deserved that pizza.  Life is hard and soda helps.  I’m too tired to move.  Elastic waist pants are more comfortable anyway.

No more.

In my latest effort to choose hope, I have decided that 2013 is my year to choose health.  More fresh food.  Less sugar.  More exercise.  Less sloth.  More cooking.  Less fast food.  More sleep.  Less procrastination.  More sweat.  Less shame.

Mary Tyler Mom has been a lifeline for me — my church, my confidant, my pillar.  This is wholly unexpected, but so appreciated.  There is rarely a day that passes that I don’t feel gratitude for this amazing community of folks who read my words and keep me company.  Almost every day.

Strangely, my weight gain started with the creation of my Facebook community.  Hmmmmm.

I need to turn this thing around.  Me thinks, as it is the most cliche time of year to do so, some of you might be wanting to do the same.  My vision is that we could keep one another company as we do this.  I see a wall of support and camaraderie and ideas and motivation and encouragement.  I don’t want to join a gym to lose weight.  I don’t want to invest in tons of special food to feel healthy.  I want to do my own thing, but in the company of others.

I have created an event, “Choose Health,” on the Mary Tyler Mom page that you should feel free to join if you, too, want to choose health.  I will be posting about my triumphs and failings as I make the necessary steps to choose health.  It might be recipes, it might be a song that gets me going, it might be a log of how I moved that day.  It will evolve and become what it wants to become, which will most likely reflect what we need as we all choose health.

Okay!  I am IN January 2 and until then, I will be consuming copious amounts of all things unhealthy.  I will be eating sugar and carbs and cheese to my heart’s discontent!  But after January 2, I will choose health!  I will eat less and move more.  Join me, why don’t you.