Differences Between Men and Women: Life is like a Bowl of Pasta and Other Random Thoughts

Men think like waffles; women think like spaghetti, or so the saying goes. Though I am normally quite content and even ecstatic about my status as a woman, I have to say, there are days when I have to swallow my female pride and admit that it sure would be nice to think like a waffle.

Waffles and spaghetti, say what? The metaphor may not be clear to all at first glance, but after a little mulling it over, it should begin to make sense. Waffles are clean, neat and compartmentalized. You can pour syrup into each little square and it won't spill into the next one. As far as thinking like a waffle goes, the metaphor will take you as far as you want it to go - emotions stay contained and one subject doesn't have to touch the other - you can leave your garbage at the front door, so to speak, and pick it up on your way out.

Spaghetti? Not so much. Spaghetti is long and sloppy and gets everywhere. It's delicious but it's not so easy to control. Everything touches everything else, and so the metaphor continues. Women's thought processes are more affected by what happened this morning, what the hormones are doing at the moment, and if exciting plans await them this weekend. It's much like the Canon of Literature according to T.S. Elliot, to make it sound a little less condescending. In college I learned that according to Elliot, the Canon of Literature involves every page of literature ever written, and every new piece affects every old piece. It's a collection of work that is ever-changing and ever-evolving as one author responds to another, forever changing the canon in a timeless metamorphosis. You could say so it is with the thoughts of a woman.

This is not to say woman are not as smart or cannot grasp the same concepts as men. I, for one, typically prefer talking with the men at a dinner party or get together, not because I don't enjoy the women (I have extremely wonderful girlfriends, many of whom prefer to sit and talk with the men as well), but because the topics of conversation usually interest me more at the men's table. They talk about theology, politics and current events more than we women do, not because it does not interest us but because we have babies at our hips demanding our attention, and the stories we think to tell most often around other women with babies attached at the hips have to do with our babies. And I love babies, I really do, and at times I am the initiator of all this baby talk, but I have also spent my whole life being abnormally interested in all the big concepts that ignite passion and debate, and for this reason I not only married my incredibly intelligent and provocative husband, but am often tempted to stay by his side when the women and men split up at social gatherings merely because the conversation interests me. And I think we women have something to bring to the table with our spaghetti-like thoughts. Waffles can be very boring.

But here I am saying that I wish I were a waffle, and I must clarify that my waffle wishes have nothing to do with talking with the men at a dinner party; instead they have everything to do with my emotional well-being as I go day after day changing diapers, not leaving the home without a bit of upheaval, budgeting our finances, and missing my husband while he works over-time. They have everything to do with the nights my little Micah won't sleep more than two hours at a time, the afternoons in which he sleeps peacefully in my arms and pops awake as soon as I place him in his crib, and my steady trips to the kitchen to slither off another piece of my most recent baked creation, most likely whipped up in an effort to release my creative energy rather than sit down on the floor in a heap and cry. "Thinking like spaghetti" means everything touches everything else, and what happened this morning completely affects how I feel about what is happening right now and the mood I will be in tonight. I can't shake off something sad as if it never happened - it stays with me, sticking to my gut; it will not go away. This is wonderful if wonderful things are happening; I can float through my days with a smile on my face and peace in my heart! But sometimes things happen that don't seem so wonderful. The truth is that it can be hard to be a wife and a mother, and to remain emotionally strong amidst all of the pressure we women put on ourselves. Of course all of the personal expectation is fueled by a love so deep and so all-consuming that even the strongest of women must be occasionally reduced to tears. And on nights when we're feeling downcast because the baby won't sleep and we were sharp with our husbands that morning for no good reason, and then duty calls in the form of a friend in need or a sink full of dirty dishes or a pile of laundry, the waffle-like brain would perhaps come in handy. How nice it would be to compartmentalize, detach and regroup instead of taking on tasks with hearts that feel like mush! And yet, of course, it's most often our hearts of mush that make us so invaluable to our children, so strangely beautiful to our husbands.

Having a thought life that resembles pasta is not the worst thing, I suppose. It can be the voice reminding me how much I love my sweet husband even when we are in the middle of a heated discussion. Having a mind like spaghetti often restrains me from saying hurtful things I shouldn't say and really don't mean. This way of thinking can be credited for the warm feeling of love that floods over me even in the middle of the night when I must lift my exhausted body from its warm place in the covers to respond to the needs of a crying baby. It is in the coldness with which I handle the person who has hurt someone that I love, and the surrendered way I can finally forgive because I realize that person is someone's husband, someone's son, and he holds a woman's heart as well. Spaghetti-like thoughts fuel compassion for those souls who are less fortunate then myself, because in some way I can relate to their situation. Sometimes encouragement received in the morning is what gets me through an afternoon trial, and often I can turn around and help someone else brave a valley of darkness because it is all too similar to one I have been through before.

The way a woman thinks may not be clear and precise at all times, but no man would be who he is today if it weren't for a woman's waves of thought and emotion. Our ever-flowing thought processes bring warmth to the world it would not know if we all thought like waffles. I am sure, as the years pass, I will find more use (and hopefully feel more appreciation) for my own personal bowl of conglomerated thoughts.