I Did it for You

The kids came over for lasagna the other night and Cham said, "Mom, you're really misleading people on your blog! If they knew you, then they wouldn't think that you have bad eating habits!"

She's talking about those of you who gave me advice (One Piece of Chocolate) about how to avoid the chocolates that my colleague, Not So Serious Doc, keeps in a bowl in the office next to mine. (They're Hersheys Nuggets for crying out loud.)

Serious and I share a suite and I'm there all the time getting free therapy.

How could I resist a huge bowl of chocolates? Especially the ones with the bits of toffee. Who notices a single piece that's missing when there's an entire bowl left to choose from, anyway?!

But Cham, what I didn't tell you is that I'm actually trying out reader suggestions. I bought a big bag of pretzels at Jewel just the other day. Not the kind with the honey and mustard, either. I'm going for filler, not flavor. I realized that the reason the chocolates beckoned me from the next room, when ordinarily they would not, was that I was, in a word, hungry.

And it's the fault of my patients that I've been hungry. Indirectly, it's their (your) fault, and not because I'm not paid enough to afford food.

Here's the story.

I used to be a normal person and ate sandwiches. I would skip breakfast (go ahead, beat me up for skipping breakfast, tell me again how it's the MOST IMPORTANT meal of the day). But I'd make a really great sandwich for later on, and didn't care in the least if the office had a faint odor of onions, mushrooms, garlic, and green pepper in an omelet that lovingly fondled the salad in a pita. Every creation had something new, maybe a tomato, maybe a little avocado.

The better, grainier loaves of bread at the grocery store had to be tested. Anything could find it's way into my sandwiches as long as it was kosher* and hadn't once been part of a mammal.

Even Swiss cheese, but especially muenster. And since it would be my only meal of the day, I didn't worry at all about calories. I'd linger over the sandwich sequestered in a drawer or a brown bag, stealing a few huge bites between patients. I'd only devour it all at once when I was really hungry. But generally brunch would be history by 1:00 pm.

And it was a good life.

Then one day I noticed I was dozing off on the job. I mean, there would be moments when I couldn't keep my eyes open! I'd have to nap between patients, literally lie down on the sofa. Maybe it was me getting older, maybe it was stress. But patients noticed, for sure they did! And I was embarrassed that it was obviously a strain, keeping the lids over the baby blues propped up.

I could retain what people said, meaning I could repeat back, and I'm skilled enough to still do the therapy literally in Stage I sleep, but it was terrible!

This went on a few weeks before I knew what had to give. The food. Without food I'd have no problem staying alert. Maybe it's the opposite for most people, but it is this way with me. So I changed my eating habits, saved the big meal of the day for the evening, and haven't looked back.

And for the most part, not eating during work hours has worked out just fine. I bring grapes to the office, and some dried fruit. An apple in season is divine. The thought of eating candy was never something in my dietary scheme. Oh, maybe a sliver of good chocolate cake, but not candy.

I stay awake now, and will add a few pretzels to the mix, see how that works out.

So friends. When you ask me how I got myself into this predicament, this problem of choosing to eat or not to eat the candy, I have to tell you. It would never have tempted me in the old days, but it tempts me now that I've given up real food.

And if you were to ask me why I did that?

I would have to say, I did it for you.



therapydoc

*kosher is a very complicated subject, and I couldn't possibly begin to tell over all of the rules. For our purposes it would mean no reptiles or crawly things, shell fish or most birds that fly in the sky, certain fish, and pork. Most meat requires all kinds of attention and special treatment, and even vegetables and fruits (especially if there might be a worm or another bug feasting upon them) can be a problem in the land of Israel if you're Jewish. Also, non-Jewish wine, cheese, leavened products during Passover and those owned by Jews during Passover, after it passes over. . ."new grain" products. Things made in vessels that have contained or been used to cook non-kosher food. Oh, and mixing milk and meat is out. For all intents and purposes, Jews should be the skinniest people on earth. :)

Zarganar

Yes, but I hate the thought of priests beaten and herded off to jail in Yangon, Mayanmar. (Burma in years past). And there's a good joke in the WSJ that you might not have heard.

Maung Thura (Zarganar, or tweezers in Burmese) is a comedian who makes his living sending up the Mayanmar Military Regime. Before the regime, Zarangar spoofed Gen. Ne Win in the 1980's. The comic is fearless, heroic.

He's probably not in Myanmar at this moment or it's likely he'd be in jail. But they say he's there, still telling jokes.

Zarangar was in dental school when he realized he was just too funny to be a dentist. And he HAD to speak out politically. The Al Franken, I suppose, of Asia.

You might remember the rebellion last month, Burmese priests and throngs of people marching in defiance of bans imposed by Myanmar’s ruling military junta. Between 300 and 2ooo people have been detained (depending upon your news source) and hundreds are said to have been killed. I was under the blissful influence of media-deprivation, busy in the synagogue and the succah

In 1988, it was students, brutally crushed, who protested against the Myanmar Junta. Over 3000 are thought to have been killed, many more tortured.

I tell you all this to keep you honest, to keep you grounded. We think we have problems and we do, we do. I'm not minimizing. I'm relativizing.

Here's Zarganar's little joke, straight out of Christopher Rhoad's front page article.

George Bush, Hu Jintao (China's president) and Than Shwe (Myanmar's military leader) went to visit God.

Bush asked God, 'When will the U.S. become the most powerful nation in the world?'

God replied, 'Not in your life,' driving Bush to tears.

Mr. Hu then asked when China would become the richest nation in the world, which drew the same "not in your life" answer from God and tears from the Chinese president.

Finally, Myanmar's ruler asked when his country would have enough water and electricity. This time it was God who broke into tears, saying, "Not in my life!"

He has funnier jokes, of course.

It's so hard to fully comprehend such poverty. Perhaps, rather than visiting Washington for class trips, or where ever it is the children go these days, the more privileged of our nation, those who have parents who can afford it, should be visiting Mayanmar. Or some less dangerous poverty stricken country.

Just a thought. They could send the message home, write about it, work for a cause. It might be good for all of us, that sort of relativism.

therapydoc

Calvin and Hobbs and Reality

There was a time, you should know, when I didn't watch much television. Except for the Smother's Brothers, That Was the Week That Was, and the Ed Sullivan Show (if he had the Beatles on). It just didn't talk to me.

Then there were years, literally, when there simply was no time to watch. Graduate school sucked me in, and there was the marriage thing and working to eat. And years, and years of child-rearing. During those years the television was the enemy. It was the thing that could potentially steal a child's brain, gobble it up.

And as a Sabbath observant Jew, we simply didn't turn on any appliance on the Sabbath, and it wasn't within the spirit of the law to leave a television on for 24 hours. If you leave something on the whole day, that's okay, but you wouldn't leave something on that you'd be tempted to adjust or fix if it broke down.

So we did very odd things instead, non-electrical things. The kids these days don't understand them. One was called Scrabble (or Connect Four when they were younger). Another had to do with printed pieces of paper bound between cardboard shells. I think these were called books. We read hundreds of them.

The best of them had pictures and didn't need many words. They often rhymed. We've talked about children's books before, and even now my son B. buys his nephews some of the books that I read to him when he was a little boy. Quite frankly, I personally like the newer ones even better, with the exception of the Dr. Seuss books and a handful of others from yesteryear.

The books in our house that took the most abuse had to be the Calvin and Hobbs anthologies. Obie Wan loved them, and I believe he started reading them over and over again when he was about 11.

I tried to be a good sport about it and laugh when he showed me pages he liked. But there was a real element of cringe for me. I thought Calvin's parents were SO mean! They had this fabulous creative kid with so much imagination. His tiger existed. His blanket was a cape. He was Spaceman Spiff, bounding effortlessly for a landing.

The world was a dangerous place. Dinosaurs everywhere. Yet Calvin preferred the great outdoors. Intrepid, I believe was the adjective. So he got muddy, so what?! His mother made it seem a federal crime to play.

Well, there I was in Obie Wan's old room the other day, sweeping out a bit of dust, and I found The Calvin and Hobbes Lazy Sunday Book (Bill Watterson). I took it upstairs and opened it up to a random page (84, if you must know).

There's Calvin in the top panel.
"My parents are the two stupidest people on Earth."

Below it,
"Just my luck they'd get married and have ME."

Following Hobbes to a narrow cliff, Calvin continues,
"I hate everybody."

Third row, left panel,
"I don't see how anyone could ever fall in love. People are jerks."

Hobbes, smiling innocently offers,
"Sometimes they are, but look at all the colors on the trees today."

Calvin,
"Yeah? So What?"

Hobbes,
"I think it's more fun to see something like this with someone than just by yourself."

Calvin thinks about this. He looks up at Hobbes, last panel to the right.
"I guessss so... But I'd still rather see this with a tiger than a person."

Hobbes responds,
"Well, THAT goes without saying."

It's hard to read page 84 and think that Hobbes is anything but real, right?

I'm so glad we restricted television when the kids were young. They watched some, Obie Wan even made it a living, eventually, which was why we excused it, knowing he would go into the creative arts. But neither he nor his siblings saw as much as they would have liked. And I'll be the first to say that television is MUCH better than it used to be, and admit that I really enjoy it. With cable we have so many options, movie classics, weather, nature shows, endless comedy and drama. We can watch wars.

But something different happens when you read, when you only see two dimensions. Something different happens in the brain. I believe it has to work harder to absorb the information, to make sense of what it sees. And it's somehow very real, at least it seems very real to me. More real. Like Hobbs.

More real than television.

therapydoc

One Piece of Candy

It's not fair, it's not fair. I shouldn't be so down on my favorite colleague, the one who shares a suite with me in my new digs. I shouldn't but I am, and hopefully she doesn't read my blog.

Here's the thing. I try to avoid junk during the day. A little junk food at night (especially a few tablespoons of ice cream or a SMALL piece of good chocolate cake, or even a handful of decent chocolate chips, wow) is essential. I'll even start the day sweet. Why not? But there's something about the in-between hours. I just can't risk the insanity.

We'll talk about eating habits one day.

But the story is that I moved in with my dear friend and it was very stressful. I've not even recovered, honestly, from the move and the holidays and the visits with the kids. Who can?

And here I am, a few pounds fatter from the holidays, and there's her suite. The one with the candy bowl. She keeps CHOCOLATES in this bowl. Hersheys, usually, but Mars, too. And I'm a big chocolate lover.

What's a person to do?

I have zero resistance.

Now you would think that one or two nuggets wouldn't hurt anybody, but it DOES! It's changing my life for the worse! I don't like the lack of self-control and I don't like anything about what it does to any part of my body but the palate.

And I know many of you are going to be dealing with Halloween soon. So what should we do?

Mainly, what should I do? Okay. I'm the therapist. I'm going to try it today. I'm not going to eat any of it (blee neder, meaning no promises). No candy. Zero. It's generally the way we deal with compulsive behaviors, don't start. There are other ways, of course, and we'll get to them.

And I'm bringing the dried fruit to the office from home to substitute.

Who's betting on me? I'm not sure I would. But writing this is actually part of the intervention. Isn't that cool? But of course, you all know that writing is therapeutic. Unless you're blocked, that is.


therapydoc

Secrets and Therapy

I had no idea people still held onto them, secrets. (smiley emoticon here).

But I watched the season premiere of Desperate Housewives, all about secrets, confirming that we do keep them. And then something random happened. A couple came in the very next day to discuss a few that they had deliberately kept from the children.

I exclaimed, You two are missing out on the most powerful parenting tool in the universe!

"What! What's that?" the marital dyad cried in unison.

Yourselves, silly.

Indeed. They looked at me incredulously and said, "Like we're going to tell the kids we. . ."

smoked, drank, shot up, slept around, gambled, cheated, lied (add to the list) . . .

Well, yeah.

(Laughter).

So you're all thinking, TherapyDoc is out of the TherapyDoc mind, or couldn't possibly mean this. (That's what my patients thought). No, I really mean it. You don't have to tell all, of course. But something. Say something.

You do it when they're old enough to appreciate the pain and consequences associated with those behaviors. That's usually early adolescence, maybe even earlier, depending upon the child. The hard part is determining the child's readiness.

In the case above I could suggest that the couple bring in little Joey or Joleen to see me (not real names) so I could make that determination. If you don't have a family therapist you're really stuck making the call on your own. You could ask friends or relatives their opinions. But they may not know your secret, either, and frankly, it's none of their business.

If you tell a child your secret, beware, do it judiciously. You can beg for confidentiality, but need to be ready to lose it. That's why it's nice to have this orchestrated by your local family therapist who can assess the child's capacity for that. It's generally limited.

But say you're not in family therapy and don't want to be. Then I'd suggest that the best time to tell kids about something embarrassing is about the age when kids are beginning to really struggle with individuation. Early adolescence. Between 12 and 14.

At this age they're already seeing their friends grasping at feel-good opportunities and they want to grasp at feel- good opportunities, too.

It helps to have the kind of relationship with your child in which he or she actually talks to you about peers. Then you already know which heroes are only acting out to try to feel good because they really feel bad.

And you can discuss with your child how those friends feel worse, eventually, as a consequence of trying too hard to feel good. Yet don't know why they're feeling worse, usually, and before anyone can spit

they're cutting, using "better" drugs, and complaining that they're REALLY depressed.

"Wanna' go that route?" you ask your kid, and continue, "Of course not. So learn from my mistakes. Doing (such and such) can hurt in so many unpredictable ways. There are the

body memories
flashbacks
whispers of others
pregnancies
self-recriminations
overdoses
unwanted tattoos
traumas after traumas

and other inevitable consequences."

Sounding like great family therapy stuff to me, all that tempting unresolved baggage.

So back to television. You surely want to know what happened on that season premiere that got me going here.

Since I don't catch every episode and taping is always an experiment (yes, too cheap to pop for a digital TV and Tivo) I don't know exactly what's going on in the show. Like why is Bree pretending to be pregnant? These are things I count on you people to explain to me.

Still, I did manage to tape the season opener and Lynette has cancer and she's bald.
(Felicity Huffman is simply amazing in this episode, it's really worth watching just to see her. You can probably go to abc.com and watch this spot on your computer, of course.)

Anyway, in the opening sequence Lynette is in bed and wakes up and grabs for her wig because one of her kids is At The Bedroom Door and she doesn't want them, or anyone else for that matter, to know about her cancer.

She's been hiding it for months. At one point she's so sick from the chemo that she vomits in another parent's purse at a school production (she thought it was her mother's bag). The other parent had been nagging her to do her fair share of the work for a third grade PTA project (I may have the details wrong here and elsewhere). Lynette takes on the project rather than admit to this woman that it will probably be too much for her or why.

Later on, at a barbecue, the other mother accuses Lynette of still not doing the PTA job. She will hear no excuses, she says, pointing her finger at Lynette and blathering on about her own migraines and knee surgeries. Despite her problems, she does her bit for the school.

Lynette can stand it no longer and blithely removes her wig.

I have cancer, she says. Trump.

Reaction shot, "Oh. I'll find someone else." Exit. Stage left.

Lynette's friends have been looking on all the while. They're shocked, confused, upset. Hurt. How could she not tell us? Doesn't she know we love her? How could she keep this to herself.

Lynette tells them that she likes their friendship as it is, fun, special down-time. She enjoys the heck out of them, she doesn't want to become an object of pity. She wants to be with them and simply have a nice time. She uses them as a respite from her cancer.

Again. They're hurt. This is unacceptable.

They make a pact. No more secrets. We're friends. You couldn't have talked to us about this?

Secrets are a theme in the movies, dramas, comedies, and reality TV (I'm guessing about the reality TV; I get enough reality at work). And they're a theme in the therapeutic literature, too. And surely, I am suggesting thoughtful sharing of secrets with children.

Parents are people, not saints, not usually. Our kids know that. They suspect that. They want to know our histories, probably so that they don't repeat them. They want different lives. Not necessarily significantly different, but different. But more than anything, they want the respect that says, I trust you with my secrets. You're saying, I was ashamed here, don't shame me more. I trust that you won't. That's tremendous respect.

And they don't violate your trust. It's an intimacy thing. They're flattered. They feel closer to you. They know you.

Am I saying emotionally incest your child? Overwhelm a child with your problems? No, No, No. Obviously you have to be careful. You have to be sure to communicate that you're okay, that you're an adult and that you have worked through your childhood, and you are not laying an emotional trip on him to psychologically entrap him, damage him.

You have to be sure you're not doing that. You have to be sure, when you do this, that this isn't something that is going to interrupt your kid's studies, personal growth. Your life can't become your child's obsession.

So it's complicated, isn't it? But worth the discussion, perhaps.

There's a book by some family therapists on this subject, I think by Walsh & McGoldrick, who are family therapy "mothers." The book is about shame. I read it years and years ago. The point of the book is that there's something predictable about a family secret. If it doesn't come out in one generation, it will manifest in the next. It's one of those transgenerational things.

Your children really might repeat your mistakes if you don't discuss them.

So are you perfect? Or are you human? And will they love you if you're not perfect but are perfectly human? I think so.

By the way. October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Find a pink ribbon somewhere.

Imperfectly-in-so-many-ways yours,

therapydoc

Obsessions

I have to be honest, I'm a little bored of the Carnival of All Substances. Let's move onto a more general theme, obsessions.

YOURS, NOT MINE! You have to write the stories. It's a Carnival. Maybe I'll add a few of mine, too.

I don't care what you're obsessed with, as long as it's not sex. I'm just not interested, sorry. Go to your local anonymous meeting for that. I won't even read the posts.

Love? Of course.

And hobbies.

Thoughts? Sure. If they're not objectionable.

Nothing VIOLENT. I reserve the right to dismiss any story that disturbs me, too. If it disturbs me, forget about it.

You can submit these things at the blog carnival link. Just follow the instructions.

It'll be interesting.

John Lennon and Role Models

I was driving #3 son's car home from the airport, when that Beatles song came on, the one that tops off the first side of Abbey Road-- I Want You. The song runs about 7 minutes , then ends abruptly.

Like John Lennon's life.

You and I were just talking about Britney and the other celebs, and how much we prefer to hear about them than to watch wars and other serious things on teev, when I had this idea for a parenting post. One of the goals of parenting (I think) is to establish a home where children learn about life and how to live it well, primarily by example, and still enjoy their time, enjoy being with these people, their parents, their role models.

And perhaps that's what all the star gazing is about. We want to spend time with these attractive, seemingly interesting, fun, successful people who can teach us about life. It's certainly why we choose our peers. We assimilate new data about life from others.

But back to our story.

FD and I needed to drive #3 son's car, the Ford, to the airport to pick up our car, the cliche' beater, the Olds. Obie Wan had parked the Olds at the airport for a couple of reasons: (a) the cost at remote parking is a fraction of a cab ride, and (b) the cabby might be late or forget the car seat.

So we were off to retrieve the Olds which has seen a lot of abuse lately. The kids in the neighborhood stole the lug nuts last week, we're not even sure which day. But when FD pulled away from the curb on Sunday, the tire pulled away from the car.

What a surprise. Great way to start the day and SO funny, obviously.

His friend cheered him up with a dirty joke that I'll share. No, I generally don't tell dirty jokes or even listen to them, but there are exceptions to everything. BK told him that we had better get a hubcap for that tire or risk arrest. (The hubcap is gone now several months. It was the replacement hubcap from a previous theft).

Why would we be arrested for no hubcap?

Exposed lug nuts, of course, replied BK. (Did I tell that so badly?).

Moving right along, last night we hurried to pick up the Olds at the airport. We were carping a bit at one another, not our usual fashion, but neither of us needs to be rushed to get somewhere at the end of a long day, and FD was in a hurry. I dropped him off at Remote Parking Lot F, where he managed to retrieve the car but only after playing Scavenger Hunt for the parking stub.

You need the ticket and $9.00 to get out of the lot. Not unlike the dry cleaner's. Soon we'll need a computer chip embedded into our skin to prove that we are who we say we are.

FD took the Olds home and I drove the Ford. We had special time, me and the Ford. I kicked up the radio after returning 7000 calls, but had trouble punching in a station to my liking. #3 and I have different tastes in music. Eventually I found 97.1 and wouldn't you know, I Want You, that last cut on the Beatle's album had just begun.

May as well turn off the phone. Can't hear both.

I flashed back to when Abbey Road came out, how my older brother had brought it home, all excited, to show me. We still had phonographs in those days. Imagine the scene, how he exclaimed,

This is an amazing album. You're going to like this more than Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band!

Well, I worshiped my brother (O"B"S-- he should have risen up in peace, by now) . So, Of course this transcended a bad day.

But honestly, I never liked the song, never liked the repetition or the He's So Heavy business. Maxwell's Silver Hammer was more to my liking, and Julia.

And the Blackbird song and the Goodnight Song. I know, these were probably on different albums, I'm guessing the White Album. All of my kids fell asleep to the Goodnight Song, and I understand that my grandsons did, too. Could Empath Daught have actually remembered? Seems unlikely, but she sang them the Goodnight Song. I heard her.

Having a choice between I Want You, however, or some horrid heavy metal stuff, I chose The Beatles. And as I listened it occurred to me that John Lennon had really been senselessly assassinated, murdered by a madman, ostensibly a fan.

He could have died in any number of ways. He didn't live "safe." He was not a great role model. Wonderful artist, but certainly he used drugs and glorified them in music.

Then Mark David Chapman killed him.

Last week an angry blogger asked, "Where is Mark David Chapman when you really need him?" I thought, What an idiot! No matter how strongly we disagree with someone's politics or way of thinking, we have no right to even think it is a good idea to have him killed.

On the other hand, if someone had killed Hitler. . .

This is why moralizing is something for the philosophers, rabbis and priests. Anyway, today John Lennon would have been 67 years old. As I listened to the whole cut again, I have to tell you. I loved it. From beginning to end, it was wonderful. An amazing piece of music. Tastes change.

And the lug nuts? There's more to the story. FD sped ahead to shul and #3 son took me in his car to get my car back. FD would walk from there.

When 3 spotted the Olds in the parking lot he sighed said, Uh Mom, I hate to tell you this, but I think you're missing 2 of your lug nuts on the front passenger side of the car.

Crud. (this is an expletive from my youth).

I took the car to the nearest Auto Zone to learn that indeed, this is what the kids do these days. WEEKS BEFORE HALLOWEEN. ARE WE IN FOR SOME FUN in the next few weeks, or what?

You can't keep lug nuts in stock, the clerk told me. I was lucky to score six of them for the Olds.. A smiley woman at the register saw me looking over the pepper spray. I told her I couldn't see myself ever using it on anybody.

"Or using it on a dog!" she cried. "I love animals so much. I wish they had a different item at the register, and I have something in mind."

Yes?

"Well, we have a new product. It's not expensive, either. It's a whistle that repels deer from the highway."

I WANT IT! I cried.

"You're joking."

No, FOR SURE I want it.

So now I have 6 new lug nuts and 2 deer whistles, and apparently can't be trusted in an Auto Zone. But it had been an interesting evening, I thought, noting the car vandalism, and remembering that we lost John Lennon who would have been 67 yesterday, who died for what?

When I got home FD told me that Obie Wan had called to tell us that he and his beautiful Rac and our granddaughter arrived safely in New York. Rac's uncle, still not doing well, is resting and the family is watching, waiting. That's why the kids went to the airport, that's why they left the car in a hurry.

Obie tells the following story. Rac's uncle spent the last five years of his life with an illness that weakened him, paralyzed him. Yet he used his remaining time to raise money for charity.

It's the kind of thing that you don't hear about very often. Then Obie told us this. I'm repeating it here to illustrate what it means to live a truly heroic life, to be psychologically sound, strong, and happy to the end.

Rac's father, together with the legendary Uncle M. enjoyed the following conversation:

Rac Dad (bedside): So, bro? Tell me. Are you comfortable?

Rac's Uncle M without skipping a beat: I make a living.

Can you imagine keeping your sense of humor like that? Staring death in the eye and making other people laugh? Say yes, you can.


therapydoc