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Mom and Dinner

Learning to be a body language expert begins when we are small. Simple interactions modeled over and over again help us learn the intricate dance of interaction in every small move and nuance of the voice. We need to eat dinner with our families face-to-face around the table at least three times a week for eighteen years to learn the body language cues required for face-to-face conversations.  I read this wonderful funny story about family dinners the other day and wanted to share it with you.

There is a chapter in my book about how to learn body language.  To order my book, click on the pic of my book on the home page of my website.  www.pattiwood.net

By Megan Bello
In 1985 we banned my mother from making meatloaf. To be honest, I think she was relieved. I doubt she enjoyed making it any more than my father, brother, sister or I enjoyed eating it. My mom, Sheila, subscribes to the 1:2 ratio when it comes to eating bread with butter and grew up believing butterball turkeys and store-bought bundt cakes to be “homemade” disheshttp://speed.pointroll.com/PointRoll/Media/banners/trans.gif?PRAd=1437184&PRCID=1437184&PRplcmt=1198016&PRPID=1198016

What she lacked in culinary skills, however, she more than made up for in creativity. And despite the occasional overcooked frozen vegetable mishaps, we grew to love the enthusiastic improvisation Mom brought to the table. She somehow managed to make every meal special, regardless of the bag, box or fast food restaurant from which it hailed. I still drift off into reverie over our cool taco assembly line dinners, Friday pizza nights and the Tupperware-microwave parties — aka leftovers night. Flaws and all, she put the fun in dysfunction.
Case in point: One Tuesday night a few years back, my brother — 
who inexplicably still likes mashed potato flakes from a cardboard box— requested his ol' favorite. Sheila obliged. As the bowl was placed upon the table, we noticed it to be a little off. (Well, even more off than one could normally expect from potatoes made from powder.) The flakes had congealed into a gummy glob. My dad quizzically plopped a pile onto his plate. Then my brother got his hands on it, literally. He dug his paws into the potatoes as if needing dough and gauging the consistency to be that of the perfect snowball-making snow, he swiftly rolled his faux-spuds into an edible (er, inedible) ball. And then he threw it at me.
I actually caught it, looked to Dad to sense the temperature in the room … and there was my athletic father ready to catch. I chucked him the monster mash; he cradled it like a football and then gazed up at his wife, smiled his big warm grin and tossed the ball of food Mom had just “slaved” over right into her hands. And true to form, all she could do was laugh (and toss a highball to my sister). Game on! When Mom gives you mashed potato flakes, make a ballgame out of it. Then promptly order up some pizza.
Sheila's cooking did gradually evolve over the years, thanks to our aunt Kath (one of the best cooks in the entire world), who took Sheila under her wing and molded her into her sous chef (of sorts). She even managed to master a few signature dishes, from tuna noodle casserole to baked ziti. By the time we were adults, Sheila had started a tradition of making our favorite meals on our birthdays. And like a fine wine, these dinners have gotten better with age. So for Mom's 50th birthday, we decided to return the favor.
Keep in mind that Sheila's original habits had settled into a permanent spot in our subconscious. To this day, thanks to olfactory sense memory, we love the smell of boiling hot dogs (a childhood staple) and when my sister and I are together making mac 'n cheese from a box or PB&J out of the jars, we ironically tilt our heads with a wink and a smile and declare, “just like Mom used to make.”
Nevertheless, we decided to set the bar high for Sheila's 50th. The menu was set: tequila-lime marinated chicken with mango salsa chutney. Wine, check. Bread, check. Chicken breast? Well, we'd bought chicken tenders rather than breasts, but they were close enough. We doused the teeny pieces of chicken in not one but two bottles of marinade for five hours. Then we made the chutney from memory, because in delusions of grandeur we were convinced we were THAT good. Two hours later, my godfather was drunk and the grandparents were pacing. Dinner was finally served! As the plate hit the table, my dad innocently asked, “What fish is this?”
The tiny chicken strips had soaked up the tequila lime sauce like their lives depended on it. The meat was dead on arrival.
“No honey, you don't want that," my Nana said as she slapped down my Pop-Pop's hand as he unwittingly reached for more of the chutney, a nauseating confusion of potent garlic and angry fruit.
While we were processing the surreal realization that this dinner was inedible, my resourceful little bro snuck away from the table and nuked a bag of rice. He returned with a fork in one hand and the bag in the other, walked around the table and scooped a pile onto everyone's plate. No one spoke. We just ate the grains as if they were filet mignon. Sheila's legacy had simultaneously created a monstrosity and saved her own birthday. Rice-in-a-bag: just like Mom used to make.
Those years without the Holly Homemaker home-cooked meals actually turned out to be family-bonding dinners. I'm now a firm believer that family meals should be a joyful expression of love, no matter what's on the table. They're opportunities to reconnect, appreciate everyone's personalities and simply remember why we like being together. In our home, we never had to endure the cold and stoic dining room propriety or learn to appreciate sushi at an age when it's probably not all that good for a kid. Don't get me wrong, we learned our manners and could dine with adults at a fancy restaurant if the occasion called for it, but we were partial to down-home fun.
I wouldn't trade our crazy meals for the world, as they gave way to unplanned and unforgettable splendor. We grew up with a role model who didn't take herself too seriously, always did her best but had the wits to laugh at her goof-ups and celebrate her imperfections. It's a relief to be able to laugh at yourself and make the most of it. We now take pride in turning our faux pas into funny anecdotes that always make for a great story.
Sheila may have been sparse on culinary expertise, but her spunk made up for it. Like many parents, she found other ways to express her love. She took us to museums and nature centers on weekends, built science projects with us, gave us the freedom to express ourselves when we picked out our own outfits, let us get dirty in the backyard on our exploration missions and shared all of her super-cool vintage clothes that she'd saved for us in our special "dress up box."
At a time when competitive parenting is at an all-time high, interviewing for pre-school, the challenges of fitting into a new school system or the inevitable stink eye shot between the stay-at-home moms and the working ones, how do the Sheilas of the world measure up? At the end of the day, what really matters? How do you compete with the mothers who diligently keep their families perfectly coiffed, poised and fed five-course meals on good china every night?
I'm no expert, but I'd say as long as your kids are smiling, laughing and learning about life and how to make the most of any situation, it really doesn't matter what your pot roast looks like or if Johnnie went to school with two different shoes on. What it boils down to is love and cherishing the time, however much you have, together.
To this day, tidy packages scare me. I prefer the creative-looking family unit, where it's obvious love abides, but sometimes there's just not enough time in the day to brush hair or turn on the oven. Mistakes are often blessings in disguise and a great opportunity to see imperfect people perfectly. After all, isn't that what love is?
My perfectly imperfect mom wrote the recipe on family bonding with her contagious laughter, undeniable sense of humor and innate way of seeing the (wine) glass half full, and she's passed it on to her kin. I endeavor to pass it on to my kids one day. It's the gift that keeps on giving and feeds more than our bellies, but also our spirits and our souls.
Top of Form
Bing even more:
Bottom of Form
·         Learning to be a body language expert begins when we are small. Simple interactions modeled over and over again help us learn the intricate dance of interaction in every small move and nuance of the voice. We need to eat dinner with our families face-to-face around the table at least three times a week for eighteen years to learn the body language cues required for face-to-face conversations.
I read this wonderful funny story about family dinners the other day and wanted to share it with you.
There is a chapter in my book about how to learn body language.  To order my book, click on the pic of my book on the home page of my website.  www.pattiwood.net

By Megan Bello
In 1985 we banned my mother from making meatloaf. To be honest, I think she was relieved. I doubt she enjoyed making it any more than my father, brother, sister or I enjoyed eating it. My mom, Sheila, subscribes to the 1:2 ratio when it comes to eating bread with butter and grew up believing butterball turkeys and store-bought bundt cakes to be “homemade” disheshttp://speed.pointroll.com/PointRoll/Media/banners/trans.gif?PRAd=1437184&PRCID=1437184&PRplcmt=1198016&PRPID=1198016

What she lacked in culinary skills, however, she more than made up for in creativity. And despite the occasional overcooked frozen vegetable mishaps, we grew to love the enthusiastic improvisation Mom brought to the table. She somehow managed to make every meal special, regardless of the bag, box or fast food restaurant from which it hailed. I still drift off into reverie over our cool taco assembly line dinners, Friday pizza nights and the Tupperware-microwave parties — aka leftovers night. Flaws and all, she put the fun in dysfunction.
Case in point: One Tuesday night a few years back, my brother — 
who inexplicably still likes mashed potato flakes from a cardboard box— requested his ol' favorite. Sheila obliged. As the bowl was placed upon the table, we noticed it to be a little off. (Well, even more off than one could normally expect from potatoes made from powder.) The flakes had congealed into a gummy glob. My dad quizzically plopped a pile onto his plate. Then my brother got his hands on it, literally. He dug his paws into the potatoes as if needing dough and gauging the consistency to be that of the perfect snowball-making snow, he swiftly rolled his faux-spuds into an edible (er, inedible) ball. And then he threw it at me.
I actually caught it, looked to Dad to sense the temperature in the room … and there was my athletic father ready to catch. I chucked him the monster mash; he cradled it like a football and then gazed up at his wife, smiled his big warm grin and tossed the ball of food Mom had just “slaved” over right into her hands. And true to form, all she could do was laugh (and toss a highball to my sister). Game on! When Mom gives you mashed potato flakes, make a ballgame out of it. Then promptly order up some pizza.
Sheila's cooking did gradually evolve over the years, thanks to our aunt Kath (one of the best cooks in the entire world), who took Sheila under her wing and molded her into her sous chef (of sorts). She even managed to master a few signature dishes, from tuna noodle casserole to baked ziti. By the time we were adults, Sheila had started a tradition of making our favorite meals on our birthdays. And like a fine wine, these dinners have gotten better with age. So for Mom's 50th birthday, we decided to return the favor.
Keep in mind that Sheila's original habits had settled into a permanent spot in our subconscious. To this day, thanks to olfactory sense memory, we love the smell of boiling hot dogs (a childhood staple) and when my sister and I are together making mac 'n cheese from a box or PB&J out of the jars, we ironically tilt our heads with a wink and a smile and declare, “just like Mom used to make.”
Nevertheless, we decided to set the bar high for Sheila's 50th. The menu was set: tequila-lime marinated chicken with mango salsa chutney. Wine, check. Bread, check. Chicken breast? Well, we'd bought chicken tenders rather than breasts, but they were close enough. We doused the teeny pieces of chicken in not one but two bottles of marinade for five hours. Then we made the chutney from memory, because in delusions of grandeur we were convinced we were THAT good. Two hours later, my godfather was drunk and the grandparents were pacing. Dinner was finally served! As the plate hit the table, my dad innocently asked, “What fish is this?”
The tiny chicken strips had soaked up the tequila lime sauce like their lives depended on it. The meat was dead on arrival.
“No honey, you don't want that," my Nana said as she slapped down my Pop-Pop's hand as he unwittingly reached for more of the chutney, a nauseating confusion of potent garlic and angry fruit.
While we were processing the surreal realization that this dinner was inedible, my resourceful little bro snuck away from the table and nuked a bag of rice. He returned with a fork in one hand and the bag in the other, walked around the table and scooped a pile onto everyone's plate. No one spoke. We just ate the grains as if they were filet mignon. Sheila's legacy had simultaneously created a monstrosity and saved her own birthday. Rice-in-a-bag: just like Mom used to make.
Those years without the Holly Homemaker home-cooked meals actually turned out to be family-bonding dinners. I'm now a firm believer that family meals should be a joyful expression of love, no matter what's on the table. They're opportunities to reconnect, appreciate everyone's personalities and simply remember why we like being together. In our home, we never had to endure the cold and stoic dining room propriety or learn to appreciate sushi at an age when it's probably not all that good for a kid. Don't get me wrong, we learned our manners and could dine with adults at a fancy restaurant if the occasion called for it, but we were partial to down-home fun.
I wouldn't trade our crazy meals for the world, as they gave way to unplanned and unforgettable splendor. We grew up with a role model who didn't take herself too seriously, always did her best but had the wits to laugh at her goof-ups and celebrate her imperfections. It's a relief to be able to laugh at yourself and make the most of it. We now take pride in turning our faux pas into funny anecdotes that always make for a great story.
Sheila may have been sparse on culinary expertise, but her spunk made up for it. Like many parents, she found other ways to express her love. She took us to museums and nature centers on weekends, built science projects with us, gave us the freedom to express ourselves when we picked out our own outfits, let us get dirty in the backyard on our exploration missions and shared all of her super-cool vintage clothes that she'd saved for us in our special "dress up box."
At a time when competitive parenting is at an all-time high, interviewing for pre-school, the challenges of fitting into a new school system or the inevitable stink eye shot between the stay-at-home moms and the working ones, how do the Sheilas of the world measure up? At the end of the day, what really matters? How do you compete with the mothers who diligently keep their families perfectly coiffed, poised and fed five-course meals on good china every night?
I'm no expert, but I'd say as long as your kids are smiling, laughing and learning about life and how to make the most of any situation, it really doesn't matter what your pot roast looks like or if Johnnie went to school with two different shoes on. What it boils down to is love and cherishing the time, however much you have, together.
To this day, tidy packages scare me. I prefer the creative-looking family unit, where it's obvious love abides, but sometimes there's just not enough time in the day to brush hair or turn on the oven. Mistakes are often blessings in disguise and a great opportunity to see imperfect people perfectly. After all, isn't that what love is?
My perfectly imperfect mom wrote the recipe on family bonding with her contagious laughter, undeniable sense of humor and innate way of seeing the (wine) glass half full, and she's passed it on to her kin. I endeavor to pass it on to my kids one day. It's the gift that keeps on giving and feeds more than our bellies, but also our spirits and our souls.
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Motherhood's key ingredient: Spunk.













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·        Patti Wood, MA, Certified Speaking Professional - The Body Language Expert. For more body language insights go to her website at www.PattiWood.net. Check out Patti's website for her new book "SNAP, Making the Most of First Impressions, Body Language and Charisma" at www.snapfirstimpressions.com. Also check out Patti's YouTube channel at http://youtube.com/user/bodylanguageexpert.

Ways to Be a Better Nicer Person


By Patti Wood Author of Snap Making the Most of First Impressions Body language and Charisma

There is no greater gift to give to someone than your interest. Here are Great Tips to Be a Better Person.

Give a Compliment

Why it works. If a compliment is gently given and very specific it makes a person feel seen. They light up and open up to you, the person that has made them feel so good. Ideally find something very specific to compliment. Otherwise, the person may feel that you have a general compliment ready to give to any person you see coming down the street.  You can say something about their appearance, “I like the leather on your shoes, or I like the design on your shirt, or “I like the way your smile lights up the room." Be specific for example instead of just saying, "Susan that was an excellent meal” after that say, “That was so good, I could eat the rest of the pot with a spoon." or “That brownie dessert you made was melt in your mouth tell your momma good,” “I loved how you made it so pretty on the plate, you’re a real artist.”

Ask a Question

You can start with a simple, “Hello my name is ….and what do you do for fun?” Then listen, resisting the urge to jump in and talk about yourself. The information they share about themselves and their problem can help you determine how you can best serve them and thus help you craft what you will say in your elevator conversation.

Lean in Close and Flirt with the World

My mom never meets a stranger. I remember when my mom and I would go into Walgreen’s soda fountain for a BLT after a day of shopping. My mom would sit down with a big smile, and the waitress would walk up and my mom would turn to her and lean in close as if she had known that waitress all her life and start talking. But most of all she would start listening. She would look that waitress in the eye, nod her head and keep saying say "uh-huh," and by the end of the meal she would leave the place knowing the waitress’s name and the names of her children. She did this everywhere she went and she still does it. She flirts with the world, and everybody loves it. 

Ask more questions and listen some more

This back and forth flow gives you rapport with the other person. Years ago I strained my voice singing in a community theater production of Godspell. It hurt to talk so I began asking questions as I met people instead of spouting off what I did. I am a communication consultant so I asked questions like, “What’s going on in your organization? “How’s the communication in your company?” “What are you doing to deal with your communication issues?” It’s amazing what I learned and how much business I got from people I barely said a word to. Because I listened to their problems, they believed (and rightly so) I could solve their problems. You might be memorable to a stranger because of what they said about themselves in your presence. Be memorable for what you don’t say.

Turn off technology or Don’t Answer It or get off of it when people are present 

We have become so accustomed to answering the phone and looking at our computers, leaving our hands on the keyboards when someone comes into our offices to talk and leaving our cell phones in our hands and talking on them in public that we forget how rude all those things are. When you are standing in the checkout line, talk to the cashier and the people in line. Be present. If you are out with someone, try turning off your cell phone and say out loud, “Let me turn this off while we talk.” It’s amazing what a difference it will make in the impression you give because so few people take the time to be that polite. I suggest that when you are going into an important meeting, especially one where you will be presenting, you remove any visible technology. Hide your cell phone and PDA, rather than wearing them on your waist. When you have them in view, you’re saying nonverbally that someone else is more important and could interrupt you at any time.


Patti Wood, MA, Certified Speaking Professional - The Body Language Expert. For more body language insights go to her website at www.PattiWood.net. Check out Patti's website for her new book "SNAP, Making the Most of First Impressions, Body Language and Charisma" at www.snapfirstimpressions.com. Also check out Patti's YouTube channel at http://youtube.com/user/bodylanguageexpert.

Top Ten Classic Comedies Patti’s Funniest Classic Films


DINNER AT EIGHT (1933) the “talkies” grew up with this adaptation of a Broadway hit by George S. Kaufman and Edna Ferber. Under George Cukor’s canny direction John and Lionel Barrymore, sex goddess Jean Harlow, and comedians Marie Dressler and Wallace Beery enliven the sophisticated dialogue, revolving around the lives of financial predators, actors on the rocks, hatcheck girls on the way up and millionaires on the way down, all set against the background of a glittering Manhattan dinner party.
THE THIN MAN (1934) William Powell and Myrna Loy play Dashiell Hammett’s married sleuths, Nick and Nora Charles. Notorious wisecrackers and party-goers (the film was shot during Prohibition), the Charleses solve mysteries between drinks: Nora: “What hit me?” Nick: “The last martini.” The pair had such on-screen chemistry they went on to play in 13 other movies, including five more Nick and Noras, but none equals this one. Directed with panache by W. S. Van Dyke, and augmented by Asta, a dog with almost as much appeal as his owners.
IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT (1934) A cynical newspaperman (Clark Gable) and a pampered heiress (Claudette Colbert) collide on an overcrowded bus headed from Miami to New York. It’s hate at first sight as they share the last remaining seat. “Remember me?” Gable demands the next morning. “I’m the fellow you slept on last night.” Predictably they fall in love, but not before a series of tight situations and colorful arguments. Director Frank Capra’s screwball comedy remains fresh after six decades.
MY MAN GODFREY (1936) A spoiled-rotten heiress (Carole Lombard) hires a shabby-looking bum (William Powell) and learns about life. Many a subsequent comedy was influenced by Gregory La Cava’s rambunctious screwball farce.
THE AWFUL TRUTH (1937) Director Leo McCarey had a lot of help from Cary Grant and Irene Dunne. But this story of a divorced couple who try to ruin each other’s new romances owes its accelerated pace and high polish to him. Ralph Bellamy and Mary Forbes supply the straight lines.
HOLIDAY (1938) Cary Grant is engaged to the daughter of a wealthy industrialist. Trouble is, she and her father expect him to become a faceless bureaucrat, and the young man is far too lively for that. Only one person in the family understands him–his fiancée’s younger sister, Katharine Hepburn. A wise and sparkling Philip Barry script, enlivened by two performers at their peak. Lew Ayres was notable as Hepburn’s hapless brother. Another George Cukor triumph, often overlooked.
ADAM’S RIB (1949) Of the nine films Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn made together, none tops this pairing. They play married lawyers who represent opposite sides in a divorce case–thereby giving scenarists Ruth Gordon and Garson Kanin opportunities to provide the stars with effective salvos in this stylish battle of the sexes. Judy Holliday and Tom Ewell co-star as the pair in Splitsville.
FATHER OF THE BRIDE (1950) Spencer Tracy takes the title role in this family comedy, and shows how to take an everyday event and make it into art. The bride is Elizabeth Taylor at her most radiant; the groom is Don Taylor at his most self-effacing. Billie Burke and Leo G. Carroll are relatively hilarious. Vincente Minnelli directed.
BORN YESTERDAY (1951) Garson Kanin’s famous play about an uncouth racketeer (Broderick Crawford) who hires a tutor (William Holden) for his girlfriend (Judy Holliday). Naturally, teacher and pupil fall in love. With George Cukor at the helm, everything–eventually–goes right.
SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN (1952) It’s the end of the 1920s, and the beginning of the end for silent movies. All very well for the mellifluous Gene Kelly, not so good for the adenoidal Jean Hagen. Young Debbie Reynolds is hired to supply the diva’s offscreen voice, and thereby hangs the tale of the funniest musical ever made. Donald O’Connor’s “Make ‘Em Laugh” is a gem; Kelly’s title song became his trademark. Adolf Green and Betty Comden wrote the knowing scenario; Stanley Donen, a former hoofer, directed nimbly.

Patti Wood, MA, Certified Speaking Professional - The Body Language Expert. For more body language insights go to her website at www.PattiWood.net. Check out Patti's website for her new book "SNAP, Making the Most of First Impressions, Body Language and Charisma" at www.snapfirstimpressions.com. Also check out Patti's YouTube channel at http://youtube.com/user/bodylanguageexpert.