I saw this article on MSN.com the other day and read it with interest. The author made some great points until it hit me: "Hey wait! I'm a marriage counselor! I should have an opinion on this, too."  Kim reading as a general-consumer has trumped Kim as a practitioner.

Ahh, how time marches one. Three years ago, I had a couch and an office with a waiting room and datebook full of appointments. Now, I just have memory loss and a sink full of dishes.

It was a great article - and I agree with a lot of the points made. It got me thinking, though, that being an MFT or psychologist or someone "on the other side of the couch" puts us in a certain division of people. Since matriculating into the Motherhood field of study, I've slowly forgotten that I have specialized training in a really fascinating subject: human beings. I guess sleep deprivation will do that to a person.

This knowledge is going unused. Tragic, really. Especially since I wrote this on my Facebook page last month:

I've decided that living with a toddler is akin to living with someone with multiple personality disorders: narcissism, histrionic, dependent, anti-social. With a hint of suicide ideation (as they continue to attempt to jump from high places). No wonder I'm tired. I'm running a psych ward.

Motherhood ain't pretty, that's for sure. It's rewarding and special and fun (at times), but man, it can really take the mickey out of you.

So I've decided to re-engage my brain to see what useful tips I can come up with that combine my training with my current profession. Instead of Kim, MS, MFT, I'm now Kim, MOM.

This is what I came up with:

Value quality of time, not quantity of time.

During an average week while in practice, I only spent about 50 minutes with each client. It is very, very difficult to get anything done in a 50-minute span, particularly if issues were acute. But I got into a rhythm of starting the session on time and making use of every single minute we had together; no chit-chat, no ideal conversations about the weather, no answering questions about myself (unless it pertained to the topic at hand). I wanted to make sure my client(s) had 100% of my attention for those 50 minutes, to give them what they needed for the week ahead.

In Motherhood, I'm finding out that it doesn't matter if you work outside the home or stay home with the tot; if you don't pay attention and give that kid quality time, things can get messy. Case-in-point: just this past week, Scotty has taken a back-burner to the many activities going on. I've taken phone calls, been on the computer, etc, while he is awake. And not surprisingly, he started to act out. He threw a drum at music lessons yesterday. He nap-striked on Wednesday. He had an accident on the floor last night. I could dismiss his behavior as the typical terrible 2's, but in my heart, I know the kid is mad that I'm giving him good, quality attention. Because quite simply, I'm not. He doesn't need all of my attention, all the time (learning to play independently is just as important), but it's not fair of me to expect him to be entertained and happy while Mom is on her 10th phone call of the morning or glued to her phone. The kid is rebelling and I don't blame him.

I'm attempting now to divide up our time together, and really focus on giving him more of me. I believe once he feels secure again that Mom is 100% present, he'll be more likely to play happily on his own.

See past the issues at hand - the old "content v. process" trick

Most of the time therapists are in session, we're not listening to what you are saying (I mean, yes, kind of. I'm not making grocery lists in my head). We're looking to find patterns in your behavior, how you say things, and how you react and feel to those things - i.e. the process of your language, attitudes and interactions. Content - the 'what' - is usually irrelevant.

I once worked with a mother and daughter who nearly came to blows over dirty dishes in the sink. They were literally at each others' throats in session about what had happened earlier that morning. (I literally had to stand between them with the file in my hand, blocking the blows). I could have easily addressed the content with basic solutions - i.e. each person takes a turn putting the dishes in the dishwasher (compromise), or the daughter loses her car privileges if the dishes aren't put away (punishment). But in reality, their problem had nothing to do with dishes - it was about the daughter, who was a first generation citizen, breaking free from old cultures and traditions her mother valued, and the power struggle that erupted between them. The mom was sad and in pain, and the daughter felt smothered and socially repressed. This is a much different argument than dishes.

And in Motherhood, it's very similar. Is Scotty fussing because he's unhappy or because he needs something? Is he really upset that I left the fan on in his room, or is he just overtired? Is he throwing drums in music class because he's a bad kid, or is he begging for my attention? (ahh, the guilt!) Looking past the "what" of the problem to the "why/how?" can help find answers.

Pick your battles

Oh lord, if I had a nickel for every time someone in therapy just let loose a diatribe of complaints about something or someone - and wow, women love to complain about other women - well, let's say Brian wouldn't have to work anymore. (sorry, honey). Yes, part of therapy is allowing the client to vent (a little) and having someone else bear witness to their situation, but from the therapist's point-of-view, my thinking was always, "...heavens. Where do I even start?"

There's a term for it - it's called "chopping up the ecology." In family sessions, when there are multiple people present, it is very difficult to get anything done if you allow everyone to talk and express all of their thoughts and feelings. It's also really easy to get side-tracked, and then you've spent those precious 50 minutes doing nothing but allowing all of them to complain and vent at each other. The outcome is then everyone is actually more upset when they leave than when they arrived. Part of the therapist's job is to chop that up - disassemble the whole litany of problems discussed, find one to focus on, and try to come to a successful resolution. It may take all of those 50 minutes to work through one small problem, but if you can give the family a tiny victory, the dividends will likely be great.

Same thing in Motherhood. On any given day, I could pick any number of behaviors I need/want to change with the Bear. He's swearing, he's throwing rocks, he's banging his cars around, he's running his trucks on the wall.

(wow, my kid sounds really bad. I swear, he's not. This week has been especially bad)

If I attempted to address all of those all at the same time, the boy would be sentenced to time-out until he was 14. But I just want to focus on the most important behavior - usually the one that involves him getting hurt or him hurting someone else - and tackle that one. Rock throwing? Done. He spent two minutes in time-out and returned a remorseful, apologetic Bear. And guess what? He hasn't thrown anymore rocks.

This leads me into...

Ultimately, it's all about the relationship

Therapists all have different training. Some may practice evidence-based approaches, others will swear by more client-centered theories. Which one is better? Well, there has been lots and lots of research done to determine this, but they keep coming back with one consistent answer: while the modality of treatment is contingent on the therapist, the greatest indicator of success in therapy is the relationship between the therapist and the client.

In short, people who felt their therapist genuinely believed and cared about them had the best outcome. They felt supported, validated, and empowered. And they were able to translate that to other areas of their lives.

I think the cross-over to Motherhood on this one is pretty clear. There are a million ways to be a good parent (...and a few specific ways to screw it up...), but when the rubber hits the road, if your kid believes he/she is loved and heard by you, it's all going to be okay. Which means our job as parents is to make sure we love and listen to them. Everyday.

After Scotty's time-out for the rock-throwing incident, as I leaned in to give him a hug, he didn't want to kiss me. I must have made a silly face, because he broke into giggles. I then grabbed him for tickle while shouting,  "More kisses! Gimme more kisses!" in this deep voice and he giggled hysterically. This turned into a game of Chase and we were both better for it. The tension from a few minutes ago had completely disappeared, and I had my happy little Bear back. And I hope he felt loved.

As parents, yes, we're supposed to teach our kids right from wrong, but if they don't feel loved, then we've lost our audience. My main job is to make sure my audience is a willing and open participant.

                                                    ************

Hope you enjoyed reading this - I had fun writing it.

That will be $125, please. ;-)

A strange thing is going on today...

...I'm not quite sure what to write about.

I thought about posting pics from the (many) birthday parties in August, but with 9/11 on Sunday, it just doesn't seem right. I thought about talking about the Category 5 Tantrum that Scotty had this morning while at a craft show, complete with kicking, hitting, and screaming, but I really don't want to. (I'm still exhausted from dragging the little Bear out by his hand while suffering the many, many looks of disapproval from the older women in attendance. It was a like a Critical Grandmother Convention).

So while I tend to my physical wounds from this morning, I thought I'd share some interesting ideas I heard on the Today Show from earlier this week.

Thomas Friedman, the columnist for the New York Times, recently came out with a new book with co-author Michael Mandelbaum titled, "That Used to Be Us." The title is taken from one of President Obama's speeches in which he was commenting on the fact that China now has the fastest super computer in the world, and Singapore's infrastructure is now superior to the United States. "That used to be us," he said, and I think it echoes with familiarity to all of us. We used to be the leader. We were top of the heap. Big Dawg.

What happened?

I have not bought the book (yet), but Friedman and Mandelbaum go on to describe the five tenets that make a country a superpower - the same five pillars that this country was founded on. Things like excellent transportation systems and government-funded research. Education for everyone to the highest level attainable. That kind of thing. And then, in Friedman's interview with Ann Curry, he went on to talk about sustainable values (lifelong, inherent, and applicable regardless of time and position) versus situational values (flexible, fluid, and only applied when necessary). Due to the rise in situational values, we've seen this country make bad decision after bad decision (adjustable rate mortgages, anyone?), leaving us saying, "...that used to be us." 

This caught my attention because the sustainable values are ones that I'd like to aspire to, and ones that I believe others can as well. So I want to share them with you, and let me know what you think. I feel as though it is good food-for-thought on the 9/11 weekend. Happy Friday, everyone.

1.) Think like an immigrant.

It's a new world out there - you need to learn, listen, and expect adversity. Adversity is not a bad thing; it will help you grow. But expect hard times while working toward the good ones.

2.) Nothing is owed to you; you need to work for it.

I LOVE THIS ONE.

This makes me think about marathon training. No one is going to just give me stuff -- it's my job to work for it. Miles are not going to run themselves. My legs aren't going to suddenly develop muscles overnight. If I want to run and finish a half (or maybe full, one day) marathon, it's up to me and me alone to train. If I skip a training day, the only person who suffers is, well, me. And that kind of sucks, so I'm not skipping any days.

3.) Think like an artisan: create, craft, develop and master.

This makes me think about Junior League. There is literally SO much going on in the organization, and so many places to make a real impact. So far, the reception for the Sage has been really positive. I feel as though my committee managed to take what was a tedious, time-intensive task and re-frame it into a much more positive, productive light, and something with real value. We had - and still have - the ability to really develop and produce a fantastic piece of literature for members and donors alike. The first issue is done; three to go. And I hope the each one continues to top the previous.

(and no, I did not get arrested at the post office on Wednesday, but I did make some new friends and learn a lot. I am also instituting the first ever JLLV "Bulk Mailing Training Program" to avoid bulk-mailing snafus in the future.)

4.) Bring something extra to the table; carve your initials in your work and be proud of it.

This is something that is definitely a sustainable value. Whether it's marathon training, Junior League, or just making dinner, I really do want to bring something extra to the table. It makes me think about my committee member Jessica, who hand-delivered the final copy of the Sage to my door at 9:30 at night. She didn't have to; she did it because she wanted to and she had pride in her work. These kinds of values have deep roots, and I just know Jess is (and continue to be) a total super star.

5.) Average is not good enough.

Now having been a new member in several different groups, it's fascinating to watch group dynamics. I think about the runners on Hill Day and how people tackle the (insanely hard) work-out. The go-getters take on the hills without so much as a peep, and the rest sit there and guffaw and moan. Part of me (having been in the guffawing group more times than I can count) thinks I'm spending more energy whining about the run, than actually running up the hill. I'm trying to stay focused on the idea that just getting up the hill is not good enough; I need to do it better than I did last time. I don't care what the guy next to me is doing; I'm only concentrating on my performance, and improving on that. And you know what? Hill Day is becoming something I enjoy, mainly because I'm getting better at it (slowly). With achievement comes self-confidence and worth. And if I can tackle hills at 6am, who says I can't tackle (metaphorically-speaking) a Category 5 Tantrum Bear?

Just please, no whining.

(Warning! SERIOUSLY controversial post ahead. Proceed at your own risk.)

Sunday night was a strange night for us. I might even be so bold as to say it was a weird night for most of America.

I'm talking about, of course, the news that the US military found and killed Osama Bin Laden. I hadn't heard or thought of that name in quite some time and it brought back all kinds of old feelings, stuff that I hadn't felt or thought about in a long time.

Like the rest of you, I remember where I was on 9/11. I was just a wee grad student in Indiana at the time. It would be four months until I moved to Las Vegas, five months until I met Brian, and almost eight years until the birth of the Bear. Most notably, my hair was still red and my nails had never seen a professional polish. (Oh, to be so young.)

I think we'd all agree that as a nation, the sights and sounds of that day are seared in our collective conscious. I didn't know anyone personally who died in the attacks; I didn't have any personal connections to servicemen and women who were subsequently sent overseas. I watched the news religiously, gave blood several times, and just hoped fervently that our nation would get through this terrible time. 

9/11 melted into the war in Afghanistan, which turned into the search for weapons of mass destruction, which then somehow morphed into the search for Saddam Hussein...I'm certainly no expert on foreign policy or even recent US history, so I'm going to refrain from commentary, but I will say this: the death of Osama bin Laden didn't make me happy. I did not feel any joy.

Relief, maybe. Surprise, definitely. But joy? Not at all.

As Brian and I sat watching the breaking news, I kept repeating, "This is big." (Thank you, Kim Obvious.) The heroism and bravery of that team of Seals needs commendation, as does all of the military who has worked tirelessly to restore order in the Middle East. But the nagging feeling of why I wasn't jubilant over bin Laden's death bugged me. I mean, there were crowds gathering in front of the White House, spontaneously breaking into song. What was wrong with me?

I told Brian, "I guess I must not be very patriotic," but that wasn't right. I love the US. The fourth of July is one of my favorite holidays.

I just felt...weird. 

Not to mention, that 2007 movie, "The Kingdom" with Jaime Foxx and Jennifer Garner kept rattling through my brain. For those of you who haven't seen it, a team of government agents is sent out to investigate the bombing of an American building in the Middle East. Through the course of the movie, there's lots of bloodshed on each side. When a US agent is killed, Jennifer Garner is sad about it until Jamie Foxx whispers something in her ear. You don't find out what he whispered until the end of the movie (::spoiler alert!::) when the same thing happens on the other side, and Middle Eastern people are killed. A dad whispers to his son the very same thing that Jamie said to Jennifer:

"Don't worry. We'll kill them all."

Yeah...kind of unsettling.

I was finally able to pull together my emotional reaction on Monday when I saw a quote on Facebook. The first sentence was written by a 24-year old English teacher in PA and the rest is Dr. King. I feel like this summed up my emotional landscape pretty well:

I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

My very smart and very wise friend Jill had published it on her page. And then, like a stroke of pure luck, another very smart and very wise friend Leah published a link to an article on Psychology Today titled, "The Psychology of Revenge: Why We Should Stop Celebrating bin Laden's Death." Interestingly, both are clinical psychologists.

Whew. It's always such a relief when others echo your own feelings, but more eloquently than you ever could.

So I read this article and a few others as well.  And through an ethical, moral, religious (eek!) and psychological lens, I was finally able to formulate this thought:

Who are we to celebrate the death of another human? Doesn't that make us just as wrong as the guy we just killed?

Don't get me wrong; bin Laden was a mass murderer. He was a sociopath through and through. He was absolutely the personification of evil on this earth, if you believe in good and evil. I truly feel the world is a better place with him not in it. And though one part of my brain worries that his death will martyr him to his followers (which actually makes us more unsafe than when he was living), the other part of my brain is saying, "We need to rise above this. Sinking to the same level as our enemies simply means they are in good company." A more appropriate reaction?  Somber reflection, perhaps. Quiet retrospection. I mean, the celebrators outside the White House were college-aged kids (which means they were 8-and 9-year old kids at the time of 9/11) doing cheerleading moves. I am pretty sure I saw a girl do a herkie in the crowd. They looked more like students trying to blow off some pre-finals steam than countrymen or patriots. Yet these are the images that are being projected back to the folks in the Middle East, the same people that are so intent on hating Americans. 

Probably not the image we wanted to convey.

I hope that everyone who lost a loved one to the War on Terror finds some sense of closure with the death of bin Laden. I hope his death causes confusion and disorganization within terrorist cells. I hope his death signals the beginning of a new chapter in this war, one that finds the tides turning in favor of democracy, peace and justice for all. But I hope, too, that we realize celebrating another human being's death only makes us sink to the level of the very people we have declared to be "the bad guys." 

After all of that, I finally came to the conclusion that I don't think I'm anti-American...I think I'm just pro-human.