We Gotta Get Out of This Place: the Parent's Lament

I've been traumatized. Consider this a note slipped to you from a hostage. I'm sure, I know as a therapist, other mommas and daddies are challenged by their own tough dramas with their small kids too. I'm not alone. Sometimes knowing this fact is comforting.

Sometimes, however, my children...comment se dit?...screw with me in ways for which no degree in counseling seems to prepare me. I cope only as I can. I strike a yoga pose alone in the back yard, deep breathing, run a mile: all the correct jazz. Processing the nuttiness (like blogging!) can bring down the blood pressure too. But today...today....

I blame myself, of course, because that's what parents do. I had three babies in four years. I know the look that came over your face reading that last sentence, too. Insanity, I realize now, only too late. They're seven, five, and three. So, being educated in child development and trained to coach parents effectively, I know: there will be intense times. I did it to myself. I knew the job was dangerous when I took it.

But recently the bar has been raised. My daughter in particular, the three year old (I'll call her Paris to reflect her current level of perceived entitlement), has taken on the surliness of Christian Bale on a movie set. She has become Impossible. For some strange and woeful reason, among her demands is that her father not look at her, touch her, or basically interact or serve her in any way. He is Not The Mommy. Egad.

Add to this the lung capacity of Pavarati and a will of iron, and I'm telling you, it's a shellacking. Allow me to paint you the picture: bucolic family Saturday afternoon. Naptime, as it does every day of her waking life, arrives. She screams her intent of having none of it. There are tears. There are dramatics. And the toddler acts up too.

I mean, did anyone else today keep their howling toddler in a basket hold for twenty minutes while she decided if she wanted to go to bed with stories or no stories and turned purple screaming? Only to go finally limp in my arms and say, "I love you, Mommy. Cuddle me." My blood pressure is just now regulating. The kid's going to kill me.

"Grow," my husband squints, wiggling his fingers before the children as if to age them with magic. I know it's wrong to want everyone to go ahead and get five, but wow. Just wow. You just don't see it coming when they hand you that cute little swaddled thing in the hat in the hospital. I hear it's worse with teenagers. I'm thinking about hopping on the back of stranger's Harley here pretty soon.

So, let's huddle together, hostages! Here's to the parents of small children: I salute you, unseen soldier. I salute your lack of sleep. I salute your Job-like countenance in the face of fire, your lack of adult movies and beverages, your fate to discuss consistency and frequency of poop in place of Truth and Beauty. The Earth is continuing to spin on its axis, though, darlings. Time will pass, and we're gonna look back on this and laaauugh....

Conquer Fear, or: My Life is Worse so Cowboy Up

Are you battling fear? Of course you are. You, unless the cat has learned to log in, are human. I am both human (though debated historically) and a warrior in the battle against fear. My husband has a lemon of a liver, for those of you who haven't been following the bouncing ball, so I've been flexing my fear-vanquishing muscles a bit of late. I encourage you to read more about Primary Scolering Cholingitis. It's a sweetheart of a disease, hard to detect, rare, and the only treatment is transplant. He's 38. Congratulations! We're having a liver!

Whoa, isn't Eliska supposed to make with the funny? Don't click away yet. It is, as the kids say, all good. I'm coping well. And as usual only thinking of you, dear reader, and how to pass along all the wonderful wisdom I am mining from this unique experience (okay, you may or may not be sniffing a whiff of sarcasm in the air now).

Because I'm not going to blow sunshine up your skirt: there are some pretty impressive fear triggers. Life-threatening diseases are up there. But I've acquired some skills out of necessity that help you cope when anxiety is really shaking you by the lapels.

Get good at healthy self soothing. Sorry, folks, this does not include (perhaps sadly) margaritas, valium, macaroni and cheese or Ben and Jerry's, retail therapy, or casual sex. Although these are some time-honored tricks widely used to calm down, they tend to be on the self-destructive side. No, I now have the A, B, C, and Ds I do every day to keep everything in check: organic, mostly plant-based diet, check. Vigorous moving about often, check. Professional counseling: check and check. Girlfriends at which to moan, rail, and laugh, check. And meditation and yoga are the new xanax...they just take a little longer to swallow. I'm not disciplined, just that fragile.

Check yo head. Your thinker is your best friend or worst enemy. Forcing yourself in any situation to find the positive, even if you're not feeling it, can at least give you a sarcastic laugh. Example: you run red light and nearly kill me. Instead of "I will follow that man and pull him from his car for a beating," the new choice is "Oh my. Perhaps his wife is about to draw her last breath at the hospital." You can pour fire on the problem by telling yourself, "I will die alone and a bag lady with a shopping cart filled with cats." I prefer the cool water of, "I can make myself totally safe by opening my heart and loving." Actively attend to what you are grateful for. Which dovetails nicely into...

Friend God. Can you tell I've recently reactivated my Facebook account? Listen, I'm not religious, which is tantamount to Ellen saying she's not into men. But I've been developing a relationship with my HP (Higher Power, not Hewlett Packard, you geeks) all my life despite the antics of Jesus' followers. Science supporting spirituality: energy is neither created or destroyed. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Think of a person, an event, a coincidence that changed your life for the better: the odds are astronomical that it happened. Highly improbable...but it happened. Odds are much higher for other outcomes. Look into becoming a believer. Spirituality, however it looks, is comforting and meaningful.

Give and get good face. Y'all, I love Twitter and Facebook and my lovely blog. But God help us if the electricity goes out and we actually have to look up from our iPhones to help one another. Please, if you are out with me, I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR PHONE. I know I am old. Perhaps even greedy for your attention. Nay, even needy as a Hollywood starlet! I will own it. But to ignore cashiers while you chat (please God, keep me from turning on the next woman I hear out say, "Nothing...I'm just in Target...") is bad enough. Please don't make me share you with your plentyoffish.com profile.

Always my pleasure to help out. These are just a few tips for handling fear and her lovely cousin Anxiety. I hope you got a chuckle even if the advice is bunk. I gots, as I always say, more. Feel free to reach out if you're interested in more on this topic or anything else under the wellness sun.