Domestic Psychology

Breaking Bad and other stuff

// April 12th, 2010 // 2 Comments » // people, television

If you spend an hour talking to anyone who works in social services, the subject of meth will somehow work its’ way into the conversation. Between that and the presence of meth in the local news, I imagine that I am surrounded by meth labs, dealers and users who are still functioning well enough to blend. They are in our families, offices and neighborhoods. We just don’t know it yet. It’s not just who are they that is bewildering. Part of me is curious how people collect the ingredients to make meth when I can buy alcohol easier than I can buy Sudafed. I am equally mystified that chemistry is being successfully accomplished in a state with an average ACT score of 21 and a 71% graduation rate. The media’s focus on mobile meth labs makes me wonder why there aren’t cars and vans exploding on the Interstate daily.

If I really wanted to understand, I would use my Google-Fu to find answers. Maybe I like being clueless enough about the seriousness of it to be able to say “meth lab blowing up” every time I hear a loud boom in the neighborhood. Maybe I don’t want another thing to worry about. I only know that I am content knowing that I don’t know. For now.

Without enough knowledge to pick at the inaccuracies, I find Breaking Bad a bizarrely fascinating show to watch. Meth is a major character on the show, but it is really a show about people falling down and the consequences of their choices. The characters’ choices ripple across everything and everyone that they touch. The free-fall of their lives from the moment the lead character first stepped off the cliff is like a train wreck that can’t be stopped. If the series happened in reverse, the characters would be vile, but the writers have carefully crafted frail, anti-heroes. At the end of last season, I said that the main character’s wife would have to become bad in order to survive. This season, she is tumbling down a mountain of her own, but she is also climbing to the top of the fire ant hill that is her life. It’s not pretty, but it’s good television.

It’s a lot more fun to watch pretend characters answer the “what’s the price for your soul” question than to see it happening in the real world. Too many bloggers with opinions and ideas grew weary of being hungry and declared themselves social media gurus. Instead of original ideas, those gurus now sell unicorn poo and publish freelance articles in the newspaper for their clients. Too many well-intentioned politicians find themselves strangled by the tightrope of doing what it takes to stay in office under the premise of making up for it with other legislation. Ultimately, we learn that we don’t have one Indecent Proposal pricetag, but a cafe menu of soapboxes that we are are willing to climb down and leave empty for someone else.

I do get weary

// April 7th, 2010 // 5 Comments » // aspergers, mental health, people, school

After almost twenty years with a child who doesn’t fit the mold and that same amount of time spent advocating, I get tired. It is exhausting to constantly explain to those who don’t want to understand. It makes your bones hurt to have obstacles and insults hurled at you daily. It is draining to trudge through the sludge of hate and ignorance at anyone or anything that is different. Sometimes, I want to leave the struggle for someone else.

In a neighbor state, mobs of hateful adults are teaching their children to be intolerant and spiteful toward those who are different or dare to love the wrong person. Locally, a newspaper article about teaching positions being saved from the budget axe doesn’t result in comments rejoicing the much needed teachers. Instead, it is a festival of wrath toward special education students.

Things like this make me weary. They also remind me why I can’t stop trying.

“We are trying to construct a more inclusive society. We are going to make a country in which no one is left out.” – Franklin D. Roosevelt

Doing it wrong – Dentist’s Office Version

// March 9th, 2010 // 5 Comments » // parenting, people

A few weeks ago, I spent an afternoon at the pediatric dentist. Based on the crowd in the waiting room, the staff was working with a full schedule of small, wiggly children. My personal goal was to keep Evan calm and cooperative. Sitting still is not his forte. In short time, we were called back for x-rays and cleanings.

Before we even made it to the exam room, I could hear the anguished whimpers of a frightened child. Stepping in the room, Amy and Evan stood and stared at the child begging to leave as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t wanna be here. Please let me go home.”

Amy hopped in her assigned chair while Evan sat motionless for x-rays. The usual banter in the room was non-existent as everyone stared at the sobbing child. The mother of the terrified child sat at her side, telling her to hush. The hygienist silently tried to do her job with an unwilling patient while the dentist sternly told the crying child that she needed to cooperate.

I tried to distract my children with chit-chat until the stressed hygienist was ready to clean their teeth. Evan sat silently, but his eyes were fixed on the scene that everyone was aware of, but nobody could help. Amy’s forehead was scrunched up with worry.

The dentist didn’t have the girl scheduled for a mini-visit to a nearly empty office to gradually work her up to an anxiety-free cleaning. He made it clear that her next visit would be scheduled in the hospital under general anesthetic. The hygienists couldn’t do their job and they looked like they were seriously concerned the child might bite them. The mother was exhausted, frustrated and overwhelmed. The child looked like she just wanted someone to pick her up and hold her tightly.

In what felt like a slow motion train wreck, I watched the mother’s “Hush now” become “shhhh” and then a hard slap on the girl’s leg. Shhh, slap. Shhh, slap. Over and over she hit the child while everyone in the room pretended not to notice. I sat paralyzed and did nothing. Several minutes or a few seconds later, I couldn’t tell how much time had passed in the swirling vortex of emotions that surrounded one scared child, the dentist said that they were done trying.

I finally found the courage to speak. “She’s going to …” I spoke too late. The girl sat up and projectile vomited several feet across the room. The hygienist stood up and jumped backwards as she shrieked, “Get her in the bathroom.” The mother scooped up the girl and nudged her toward the bathroom as the vomiting continued like an angry volcano.

The hygienists immediately gathered in a corner for some kind of impromptu meeting. The one who must have drawn the short straw came back and slowly gathered cleaning supplies. Suddenly, the girl’s mother reappeared and mopped up everything with the girl’s new-looking winter coat. The hygienist stood and watched as the mother ruined the coat that her hysterical and sick child would need in the cold February air. In a flash, the mother was gone and the room was silent.

Everything about the visit felt wrong. I should have left the appointments happy about my cavity-free children. Instead, we raced to get out of there and away from the chaos. I just wanted to hug my children. Tightly.

my Tennessee

// February 11th, 2010 // 9 Comments » // people, politics, TN

When I expressed my disappointment at the behavior of Smart Girl Media, my DC brother quipped that I live in the “heart of the heart of it.” That makes me sad.

My Tennessee is mountains, valleys, rivers and forests. It is beautiful and filled with good people. The Tennessee that I know and I love doesn’t sort everyone by red shirts and blue shirts. My Tennessee realizes that everyone is connected and usually by family. My TN is composed of people who care about their neighbors, near and far. My TN is embarrassed by the undercurrent of racism and doesn’t tolerate it being out in the open. My TN has always looked upon college education as fancy, but expects children to graduate from high school and do their best. My TN doesn’t glorify ignorance and discourage small children from learning from anyone in the wrong color shirt. My TN church ladies are pure souls who quietly and without fanfare, lift the downtrodden. They are not the self-righteous wannabe church celebrities who pat themselves on the back as they kick the hungry or homeless. My TN is composed of politicians whose goal to remain in office is sought by helping keep economies alive and the poorest employed. It is not represented by elected officials who will sacrifice the needs of the people in order to block any accomplishments by the people in the wrong color shirt.

I love Tennessee and the people who live here. If the heart of TN has turned angry, I want to heal it. We are better than this. So much better that I don’t want to accept this ugliness as the heart of TN. I prefer to think of it as the gluteus maximus of our state. You know, the part that needs to shape up.

Dear new PTA parent,

// January 14th, 2010 // 1 Comment » // people, school, teenagers

Just as the PTA meeting looked like it was over, you raised your hand to ask a question. “Does this PTA do anything except raise money? I want to know what can be done about the bad kids in this school.” As the words left your mouth, I wish I’d had the courage to move from my seat to one where I could see the Principal’s face. The principal was completely still until you addressed her directly. “Are you a teacher here?” Clearly, you never attempted to talk directly to the Principal before complaining to all of the PTA moms and dads about the “bad kids” and the school. After saying “bad kids” more than a dozen times, another parent asked what suggestions you have for the school. You want all the “bad kids” aka students who distract your child, placed in a single classroom with a police officer standing watch over them.

This school is staffed by teachers whose wide-ranging talents allow them to reach the most students humanly possible. A staff that long ago tossed out the concept that there is a single formula to teach in favor of embracing individualized plans for students. Teachers who continue to grow and learn with and for their students. The passion and dedication of the teachers in this school keeps the teachers here in spite of the fact that they must take on so many additional roles at this school. They know their work is vitally important. They are saving lives.

This is a public school. Students are required by law to be here. Without those laws, many would never walk through the school doors. There are students here who are loved and supported at home. There are students who are neglected and abused at home. In between those two extremes are every possible combination of students’ lives. There are some who may or may not get fed regularly. There are students who may or may not get enough sleep or even know where they will be every evening. Some students have multiple caring adults in their lives while others have none. Some students are encouraged to do their best in school while others are taught that school is a waste of time.

With all the outside influences on students’ lives, their potential can seem limitless or bleak. The teachers in this school recognize the obstacles and try anyway. They can’t and won’t take every child who makes odd noises, drums on desks with pencils, can’t sit still or need constant reminders and lock them away in a school jail. The students with the most obstacles in their lives, the students who are at risk of jail, poverty and homelessness, are the students who need the most attention.

Your unconditional love and your child’s desire to learn are stronger than any of these “distractions” that you want to go away. That private school that you repeatedly praised as your next option may be exactly what your family needs. You have selected the private school that most locals would agree is the ideal environment for the type of student you describe your own child to be. In the extremely unlikely event that you decide to stay at this school, your child has the unique opportunity to be the role model and leader who could make the difference in another student’s life. Don’t underestimate your child’s ability to grow and thrive in a school that serves a diverse population of students.

Your plan to visit all the “bad kids” at home to tell the parents their kids are bad is your own folly. Please don’t take your child with you on those ill-fated journeys.

making a good impression

// December 18th, 2009 // No Comments » // me, people

I recently ran into someone I hadn’t seen in some time and he introduced his new wife just before saying, “The last time I saw you, you were breastfeeding your youngest daughter.” His wife then added, “Oh, did you have one of those cute nursing covers?” The CORRECT response would have been, “I was a very talented breastfeeder who could be discreet without accessories.” My response was, “No. I was a militant lactivist who fed my babies whenever and wherever they needed it.”

Did I mention that I don’t get out much?

I don’t get out much

// December 13th, 2009 // 5 Comments » // me, people

“I’d like you to meet H. He’s a handsome recording artist from a multi-generational family of talented musicians who has the people on your iPod on his speed dial. This is Cathy. She has five children.”

“Have you met G? He’s the head of a University department who has been in popular magazines for his amazing research. He has recently discovered that a species of local wildlife is several steps behind the evolutionary development of its’ species on other continents. G, this is Cathy. She has five children.”

“This is C. He’s a spiritual teacher and well-respected hospice guide for families at important crossroads in their journey. He is here with his wife. She is an internationally trained Shaman who is on a first name basis with Buddha. Aaand this is Cathy. She has five children.”

“G is a highly respected politician who is legislating world peace and those three are engineers who are collaborating on a brand new technology and she is the owner of a successful local business and this is Cathy. She has five children.”

I do get to meet amazing people. And I have five children.

that’s not gray, it’s highlights

// October 25th, 2009 // 7 Comments » // humor, me, people

Setting – Frozen rat store
A couple who appeared to be about 50, stood discussing pets with Doug and I. Doug mentioned that all of our pets are good with our children. The man in the other couple asked the ages of our children. Doug replied that our children range from four to nineteen. The man looked at me and said with a straight and sincere face, “You have a 40-year-old child?” My jaw fell on the floor. As I crawled around on the floor to retrieve my jaw from underneath the shelves, Doug literally ran to the other side of the store to laugh like a hyena. The woman in the other couple smacked the man on the head. “Does she look like she has a 40-year-old child?” He looked at her with big, innocent eyes. “I can’t tell any more.” I stumbled off to find Doug. “We’re going to the store and buy hair color today.” He didn’t even try his usual penny-pinching speech about how nice I would look with completely gray hair. He just nodded silently.

Setting – Generic grocery store
For Doug’s birthday, he treated himself to something he has looked at a million times, but never purchased. He assembled his own 6-pack of beer. Since I don’t drink beer, I offered helpful advice, like, “That label looks fun” and “The shape of that bottle is interesting.” He eventually made his selections and we went to the checkout. We put our tiny basket of items down and waited for the total. The checker asked for my ID. I told her she’d have to use Doug’s, because mine was in the car. She got all flustered and said she was REQUIRED to check the ID of everyone buying beer. “I’m not buying beer. He is.” Doug handed her his license. She continued to argue that she HAD to have my license. Doug tried reasoning with her much more calmly than I have ever witnessed him behave in the face of frustrating stupidity. She typed Doug’s birth date in and turned back to me. “Well, I guess you can just tell me your birth date.” Odds of us ever buying beer from the store with the world’s dimmest checker ever again? Slim to none.

porcelain person

// October 14th, 2009 // 3 Comments » // people

I spent the morning slothfully draped in my uncool bathrobe. I should have known better. Life is much less eventful when fully clothed. The phone call request was simple. Someone fell down and needed help. I ran as fast as I could in bare feet and with a long robe flapping around my ankles. The empty driveway at the house of the two nurses made my stomach twist. If only they were home, everything would be okay. The front door at my destination was locked. I raced to the side of the house questioning how I would get inside if all the doors were locked. The side door was open and as soon as I stepped inside, I could see the tiny woman on the floor.

I could have lifted her and carried her to her couch. I should have called 911 as I raced across the street. Instead, I kneeled on her immaculately clean floor and asked her where it hurt while I gently felt the pulse in her ankles. She was in pain and wanted me to move her. I asked her husband if he had called Rural Metro. He explained that his children were coming over before anyone else. He was very clear on that point. That was my cue to help move his wife. I just couldn’t do it. I was terrified that her pain was a warning that something was wrong. She looked like a delicate porcelain doll.

On the floor nearby was a grocery list and pen. She fell racing across the house with a cane instead of a walker because she was busy working on a menu for her husband. She was hurting and embarrassed and all she could think about was finding foods that her husband would be able to eat. If my heart ached, hers had to be breaking.

Doug appeared in the doorway to see how he could help. I tried telepathy, but he couldn’t read my mind. I tried hints. “You go back to the house and I’ll come home when HELP gets here.” I tried telepathy again. With no indication that he understood my plea for someone to call 911, Doug left and I felt increasingly helpless. Paramedics should already be there.

After what felt like forever, the couple’s adult son walked in and asked why nobody had called 911. Before his father had finished explaining that he wanted to wait, the son had finished the phone call. I was torn between being amused at the personality similarities in father and son and being terrified the son was going to rip my face off for not calling 911.

When the couple’s adult daughter arrived and took her place by her mother, I slinked away in my bathrobe. I felt like the only thing I did right was keeping the injured woman still. After what truly felt like forever, the fire department and ambulance finally arrived. Before the end of the day, the woman was back home and getting around easiy with her walker. I should have just picked her up off the floor. I think I hate that bathrobe.

spare tire, jumper cables & juggling clubs

// September 29th, 2009 // 2 Comments » // people

Two teenagers in the band parking lot took turns juggling three, small, tri-colored balls. Their juggling tools were so new that they smelled like fresh paint. I rolled down the car window and offered them a set of clubs so that they wouldn’t need to take turns. They mumbled that they didn’t know what to do with clubs and moved. They moved far, far away from the crazy old woman with juggling clubs in her van.