How much do I love my family?

I love my family. I knew that before, but I realized it full-force after returning from Alabama.

I'm not just talking about my sister, mother, and father. There is my grandmother, 5.5 uncles (only one who lives all that far away; and the half includes a new-ish, not-yet-married-into-the-family one), 5 aunts (again, only one who lives all that far away), and 10.5 (again, one new-ish, not-yet-married-into-the-family one--who I can't wait to meet!) cousins. (And I suppose it would only be fair to also include a mother-in-law, sister-in-law, nephew; oh yeah, and my father-in-law and his wife.)

I know not everyone is lucky enough to be so close to their extended family. During the lesser holidays, like Easter, when my parents aren't in Chicago, I spend it with my relatives and feel enveloped by warmth and love. It is truly spectacular. If I seriously consider it, I'd say family parties are among the most fun I can have in a large (and I mean large) group of people. There's just such a level of comfort among people who have known and loved me for 31.5 years.

And yet, one of the things I treasure the most is how that hasn't remained static for my entire life. I'm able to be friends with my aunts and uncles now, and my cousins, after not knowing them much since I didn't grow up in Chicago like most of them did, well, they've turned into really awesome adults.

Next weekend, we are going out for a Family Dinner. Deciding on the right restaurant took about thirty e-mails, which is what happens when you have twenty opinionated Polish-Czechs trying to come to a consensus. In the past year, we've started gathering, every three, four months or so, outside of the regular family parties for holidays and birthdays, to try new restaurants and drink a lot of beer (in fact, the restaurant was chosen primarily for its BYOB-ness, since, holy crap, the Bartas can put away the zimny piwo). It's fantastic. I love so much that we're getting together . . . because we want to. You know you have something special when you want to spend time with your family outside of the requisite holidays.

I guess the next opportunity for a party will be my graduation. I have made a lot of great friends throughout the whole grad school process, and I want to commemorate it somehow with them. However, all I can think about is: what a great family party that will be!

Weddings

There's something terribly melancholy to me about weddings. It doesn't make sense, because it is a thoroughly joyous occasion, not only for the bride and groom but (hopefully) also for the guests who get to see old friends and family, raise many glasses of free liquor, and dance the night away.

But, sitting under the dark wedding pavilion this weekend with my family as most of the other guests danced and drank on the lighted clubhouse (it was just too hot there, though, and was delightful under the tent), I told that to my brother-in-law, and once I explained, he agreed with me.

It's such a public celebration of something that is inherently, intimately private. While everyone joins in the love and celebration, they are still essentially left on the outside.

What I didn't also tell him was that often (in my experience, and for some others I know) it also feels like loss. Inexplicably (for my sister had been a part of his family already for five or so years), I felt like I was losing her to him and them. No matter how wonderful they all are, they were still taking her away from me and my family. They can give her things I can't, my parents can't.

The day of her wedding, I felt useless and unnecessary. Everything went off without a hitch, without needing me. (I don't know if she ever really needs anything from me, but on a day like that, I wanted to feel indispensible.) Her new brother-in-law made a computer presentation of photos, and I looked through the stack my parents provided him before the ceremony. Flipping through the years of pictures, I felt acutely the loss of my darling baby sister with dimpled kness and pudgy cheeks, and I still cry every time I think about that morning.

A wedding is such a symbolic manifestation of all that, for in truth, I have not lost her at all, not really. It just feels like it sometimes.

Goodbyes

Leaving family is always effably sad. I feel myself breaking up in pieces inside at the thought of not being with them. It's the worst with my sister.

I spent the weekend with them and old friends, and I forgot that we were ever apart--which made the goodbyes worse. And it gets harder the older I get. When I was younger, I don't think I needed anybody quite as badly. Now I have a hard time living far from my family. As much as Tim is now my family, they are still my family first.

Work

Work is sucking me dry right now. I teeter on the edge between bone-deep weariness and the verge of tears the whole time I'm there. I haven't even had much time to goof off and get online, so I'm busy straight through most days. Trying to figure out where someone who has absolutely zero financial resources can live. Trying to rearrange a court date for someone who got caught with stems in her purse (for the drug-dumb, I just learned stems aren't the shwaggy part of weed, but the pipes out of which you smoke). Trying to figure out the appropriate consequences for someone who lies and manipulates her way into tying me in knots. Honestly, the first two aren't that big of a deal, but the third stresses me out beyond belief. Plus, I'm worried that it's going to affect my six-month eval and raise.

And then I have to stop and think about something a co-worker told me today. She was at a baseball game with a family I help. The family were given tickets to the VIP box suite that the team owner was using that game. The children (teens and pre-teens) were enchanted with the game, the suite, the amazing spread of food. Towards the end of the game, the dessert tray was brought up. It was piled high with tantalizing desserts, manned by a ballpark employee. The twelve-year-old daughter took one look at it, and said rapturously to the employee, "how much do you love your job!?" The woman looked quizzically, and wearily, at the girl, and no one in the suite spoke, uncertain what was going on. Then the girl continued. "You get to make people happy every day!"

Later, as the family was thanking everyone at the end, the same girl said to my co-worker, "This was the best vacation ever!" When my co-worker was telling me the whole story, she couldn't keep the tears out of her eyes.

So I guess you just have to have perspective.

Except? Fuck perspective sometimes. This story, and this woman and family, make me happy, but work is still so hard these days.

Identity

We had a pretty interesting discussion today in my Human Behavior class, talking about culture and identity. After hearing someone mention the specific area of her home state that informed her identity quite a bit reminded me that a good portion of my own identity is based on my upbringing as a country girl, and trying to assimilate that into the city girl that I am now. So that's what I mentioned (hey, my first tattoo was even a Kansas-related one!), and wished I'd waited, because I thought of more things.

A lot of people mentioned family connection. And that's important to me, too. Tim in fact sometimes thinks it's weird that my extended family gets together so frequently (in that he's just not used to that). But my identity is also influenced by the fact that my parents both essentially left their families to strike out on their own. It's not like any other relations live in Kansas--or anywhere near by. That's a wicked streak of independence that my parents probably sometimes wish I didn't inherit.

And the thing that I reeeeally wish I had mentioned (because any other time, it would just seem like bragging) is that part of my identity is formed around social justice. My relatives are probably the reason why I am a social worker today. I am so very proud of coming from a legacy of social work, social policy, and charitable works in the name of religion. I am frankly amazed that I have a grandmother who went to grad school in the 40s, for social work. And my grandfather was one of the founders of the National Center for the Laity (a principle at the heart of which says "A critical virtue for the laity is social justice"), along with his best friend, my grandmother's brother. There really were some powerhouses in my family, and I'm so proud to be carrying on the legacy.

Man, I'm so disappointed I forgot to mention all that.

Family

So I was ready to kill my mother after spending two days in a row with her.

Sometimes I don't understand how Tim can get so angry that he needs to punch something in order to release the stress.

But I forgot what family can do to you.

It wasn't until she was back home and I was packing to get on the plane, though, that we talked about it. "So your sister says you're mad at me because I told you to [do X]" is kind of a stressful thing to hear at the beginning of a conversation.

But ultimately the only way to bring up an important conversation, I guess.

It did give me a chance to say what was on my mind ("No, it's not specifically that you made sure I thanked Busia for dinner, it's that that instance is an example of how you still try to tell me what to do" sounds kind of petty, like childish whining, but it's difficult to explain how deeply it bothers me.)

I have not yet addressed the fact that she doesn't really listen to me (she asked me about ten times to tell her about my visit to UIC, so by the tenth time--when she actually was listening--I almost exploded), but considering she was listening and being extraordinarily receptive to some of the hard things I was saying, I didn't want to push it.

("Mom, you know how you always complain about Busia? I don't want that to be me.")

The thing I'm most scared of, though, is that I know our relationship is a vicious circle. She initially thought I was entirely blaming her for our bad relationship, for telling me to thank my grandmother like I didn't know better. I tried to make it clear that we're both at fault. (She treats me like I'm ten, so I act like it. How do we stop that?) The hard part for me is that while I think it's a positive step (and it is) for me to be able to talk to her about this, what about when she needs to talk to me about my part in all of it? When she needs to call me on whatever bullshit, reverting back to old behavior patterns, I might do?

I'm getting all self-congratulatory because my communication skills have improved to the point that I can discuss some serious things with family, yet I don't think they're far enough along that I can also accept some criticism from them.

I guess that's a 2006 goal.

At any rate, it feels gooood to be able to talk about this. During the conversation, mom was upset and wondered if we could even change our relationship dynamic. But then she said, "But if we can't talk about this, then our relationship is doomed."

Man, it was so awesome to have that talk.

Sweet home, Chicago

My heart starts to skip a beat when I realize that the days have melted away, and it's TOMORROW that I get to spend three long days there. With my family! I think it's been long enough that I've forgotten--or repressed--a bit exactly how much I miss the city, and them. Today every now and then it would occur to me, and I'd get a huge rush of emotion, a welling in my chest, I am so excited to see them.

The thing is, though, now that the time is upon me, I'm scared. I'm scared it's going to be too good. (I know it will. Chicago always exceeds.) I'm worried as soon as I'm back in the city of my heart of hearts, leaving will be twice as hard. And the recovery--the hangover of 36 hours of friends, family, beer, chana masala, and naan--will be harder than ever to get over.

I've worked so hard. This week, as I was driving to my first official tennis match (0-6, 0-6; we sucked hard), I thought, "This is my home now." I like the life I'm starting to carve out here. I am having so much fun playing tennis. I am so excited by the possibility that I might be able to play the piano in a church band. It makes me so happy to socialize with the costume girls, and other stage crew members. And my job, well, that's a big amazing reason to love it here. But the city, too. Things are becoming familiar and comfortable.

I caught myself saying something in a decidedly un-me-like drawl the other day. This went waaaay beyond "fixin' to" or "y'all." And I liked it. I don't want to be around my family having to choke back y'alls. I have finally gotten my mouth around them, and "you guys" is now a thing of my past.

Chicago

I hate Delta airlines for minimizing my return to Chicago. Four hours late, arriving at 3 a.m. instead of 11 p.m. turns a triumphant return into a desire for bed—anywhere, it doesn’t matter, just sleep.

So my first encounter with the city was Christmas morning, driving into my sister’s; and the sight of the skyline made me cry. I felt like a part of me had been missing, and I didn’t realize it until I found it again.

That’s what it was like being around my family again, too. My parents and sister, and then later my aunts and uncles, cousins and grandmother. Only this time it wasn’t an ache in my chest to remind me of what I had missed, but a huge envelopment of warmth, like a hug that went on for 6 hours, until we had to beg off for tiredness, pack presents and cookie tins in the car, and drive home, digesting family time the whole way. Tim has never been around a family like ours, and it’s overwhelming, but I don’t know it any other way. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

(My aunt gave us a star ornament that had two pictures of my cousin on it. I think the way she survives, the way she remembers him, is to keep him a part of her life every single moment. Which is hard for me, because it’s difficult to remember without guilt someone I didn’t particularly like until his death, at which point I realized I did love him.)

In the thick of it

I started seeing families this week. It seemed foolhardedly early, only my sixth day at the placement, but it was presented to me in a way that seemed inarguable. Well, I wasn't given much choice, no moment in which I could say, "wait, wait! Me a therapist??" I was just assigned cases.

My supervisor seems cold sometimes, but I think I'll thrive under her sparse tutelage. I'm getting the sense that she give superior guidance, but primarily expects me to to be able to do the work--to have confidence in what I'm doing. If anything, my previous experiences with supervisors have been the overly kind and generous type, which sometimes can crippled my self-confidence.

So my first family session, it didn't really go anywhere near the way that I planned. Aside from that, it went amazingly better than I expected. I waded into the family fight and said, "Stop! Stop yelling!" . . . about fifty times. I held up my hand when their tangents drifted far afield and brought them (sort of) back on topic. And at the end of it, no arguments were resolved, and I expect they'll continue more of the same next week, but I could tell they didn't resent me for being forceful with them, and I know they'll be back. Next time, I won't let them argue, and I believe they'll respect me more for it and feel more comfortable with me.

(It's a strange feeling, raising my voice in a therapeutic setting, and wondering if it's the right thing to do. It's contrary in my mind, as I compare that session with every counseling session I've ever been in (as a patient). Therapy is quiet and reflective, not filled with hollering. But it's different with families in crisis, and I know I did the right thing--now just need more of it.)

Today I was supposed to see two more families. One didn't show up, and the other called to reschedule. I think it was a good lesson for me. I was nervous. I had prepared--writing down how I wanted the session to go--but I was still antsy, not knowing exactly what to expect from people whose problems I'd only read about on a police incident report. Then to not have them show up--. I realized it was pointless to worry about it ahead of time.

This feels real. Like a job I really could hold. That while I might be clinically--and hopelessly--inexperienced, I know how to connect to people, which might be the most important thing of all.

Processing

had supervision yesterday and we discussed a case I had last week that reduced me to a hot mess of panic mid-stream. I did a process recording of it, which is essentially a word-for-word account of the session, and my reactions to it. Not my best work, but I figured if my supervisor didn't know exactly what went on in the session, she wouldn't be able to guide me through the next one. (And I had to remind myself that I'm just a student, and this is all a learning experience for me that I have to take advantage of.)

After the session last week, I processed it with a classmate, and with my dad, and while they both gave me some incredible insight to it, talking about it didn't exactly make me feel better. In fact, it raised my blood pressure. So I was already a little on guard when my supervisor and I started talking.

About thirty seconds into it, I started to get hot and my pulse was racing. Then my biggest fear came true: I felt my throat start to close up, my words cracking, and I just knew I was going to cry.

I guess I'm not entirely opposed to crying--I just didn't feel comfortable in front of my supervisor. She's not the warmest person in the world, and even though I'm a student blahblahblah, I still want to come across as professional and experienced with her. I don't want to look like a freaking crybaby who can't handle one tough session.

But of course, she's a skilled therapist, and could tell I was close to losing it. "You look like you're close to tears. Do you know why you're having this reaction?"

And suddenly, I did. It occurred to me that my reaction to this particular family mirrored experiences I'd had in Alabama. I told her about being unassertive, and the disasterous results of that, including details about that one client who walked all over me with her steel-toed manipulations, and what that felt like for me. How that made me feel about myself. (God, how I did hate myself for allowing people to treat me that way!) And that now when I encounter someone trying to intimidate or manipulate me, I have an extremely adverse reaction to it, and am not quite such a doormat anymore.

But it led to some pretty serious countertransference in the session, which really obstructed the beginnings of a therapeutic alliance with one of the family members. (It also made me realize other instances when I need to learn how to curtail that reaction and not let it affect my work.)

My supervisor's response was, "Do you want me to take the case over?" She said sometimes this happened with students, and she didn't want my learning experiences to be stuck with an unmanageable case--that she'd prefer I get more meaningful experiences with families whose sessions I didn't fear and dread.

Before supervision, I worried the whining words "I just don't know how I'm going to get through another session with them" might spring unbidden from my lips. The moment she gave me an out, though, I realized I didn't need it. Not going back for the next session had never occurred to me, and I knew I could continue on. I thought about the alternative--sitting in the next session with my supervisor as we tranferred the case to her, and I thought I'd rather slit my wrists. I can do this.

Family resemblance

It doesn't occur to me that often that I resemble my family. When asked, I remember that Katie and I have the same smile, and the same body movements. I know I share skinny little chicken legs with my dad, but I don't know what else.

Once in college, a girl on my floor told me my mom had been by to see me earlier, when I was out. I asked how she knew the woman was my mother, and my friend said, "She walked like you." And though I had never given much thought to my gait, I knew instantly the stride she was talking about, for it was a characteristic very much my mother.

This week, I was in a restaurant restroom, washing my hands after lunch, and I looked in the mirror. Coming off an overnight at the shelter, I was tired, and I sighed deeply and ran my hand across my face. Immediately I saw my mother's face looking back at me. I think the hand gesture was her as well, and that's what caught my eye, but I looked so much like her, more than I've ever realized.

I don't think we ever know what we truly look like except in relation to others. And my measurement has always been "not." Not dark haired like my dad and sister. Not tall like my parents. It takes a whole reconfiguration of my consciousness to think of myself as looking like my mother.

Finally

The past month and a half has been so stressful. I felt like I was suspended in limbo, waiting to hear back on internships, and it didn't even dawn on me until after that it took so long. My whole body was clenched tight the entire time.

And then I found out that none of them wanted me. What a big blow to my self-esteem. It seemed like a waste of an excuse, saying, "well, that's what happens when you apply for the most competitive ones." I started to mistrust my gut, which had told me at least two of the three interviews I went on were really fabulous. In fact, one of them, I just knew I nailed it. I went really quickly into the anger stage of grief with that one. How couldn't they pick me? They must not be the quality agency I thought, if they could turn down someone so obviously perfect for them.

Though I really hate it when people say, "everything happens for a reason," and I generally felt like punching Tim throughout the past six weeks when he did say that, now everything has fallen into place and has seemed like a lead-up for the internship I did finally get.

I think I had focused so heavily on the first three that I didn't allow room in my brain for not getting them, or for considering others. So when I had to, I felt like I was striking out blindly, just randomly picking places to look into because there's no getting around having to do a second-year internship. I randomly called a woman at the Evanston Police Department and she said, "I just offered the spot to someone yesterday. But I haven't heard from her yet. If she doesn't take it, I'll call you back." And an hour later she called me and we set up an interview. Then in the interview, they said, "What do you think of this place? Think about it and call us tomorrow." I wasn't sure, since I'm ignoring my gut right now, but that didn't sound like the other closers to interviews that I've heard lately, which is: "We'll let you know."

I might be back to trusting my instincts, though, because when I called back this morning and said, "I'm very interested in your placement. What's the next step?" the response was, "Well, you just accepted the internship!"

I'm not jumping up and down, I'm just chill. Which of course makes me think that this isn't the right thing for me. But maybe I just burnt out too much emotion with the earlier options, only to have them snatched from reach?

Throughout this whole process, I've been torn. Should I go back to working with adults, or stick with adolescents? I thought internships were for choosing your whim, and getting to do something you might not ever be able to be hired for, but it seemed like most of the places I interviewed needed me to choose firmly. I had so much adult experience, why did I want to/was qualified to work with teens, the youth services organization wanted to know. And with the adult counseling center, I thought, "Now I can get back to my first love, working with women," but felt a pang at the thought of no more teens.

I just couldn't decide, I couldn't pin myself down, and probably that's why, in the end, none of my first choices worked out. But in the end, I can't believe my luck.

I'm going to be working through the police department, with youths aged 12-15 and their families, primarily doing family therapy. What I didn't realize as I started the selection process earlier in the semester was how much I like working with families. Back then I had barely done any family work at the hospital, and now, a few families later, it's striking me as the most difficult, yet most interesting part of therapy. And this program I'll be in is a phenomenally progressive idea. Prevention and intervention work with youth and families in a police department? It really strikes me as working on change from within the system. I love that the police department is supportive of the idea, which really puts the focus on positive interaction between youth (potential) offenders and the police, rather than punitive, "afterwards" interaction. And there are no mandated clients. Everyone is there voluntarily.

Hmm . . . come to think of it, I am pretty damn excited about it! I can't wait for next fall!

Working with families

In my interview last week for an internship at a youth-services agency, they asked me what I liked about teenagers, and what the challenges working with them were. I love teenagers because they're living through possibly the most formative time of life. They can still have the innocence of children (wellll, not so much the ones I work with), and some of the wisdom of adulthood (ditto). And I remember what a glorious yet angst-filled time that was for me. Plus, some of them respond really well to my sarcasm, and others to my sympathetic side, so we just really get along.

What I don't like about working with them is their parents. So many of the kids are in the hospital and diagnosed with bipolar disorder or intermittant explosive disorder because their families are just pretty fucked up. So rarely do I actually believe their mental health diagnosis is actually a chemical inbalance and not the response to a difficult, traumatic upbringing.

But today I led a family session that went so well. The mom was upset but still willing to support her son. First I asked her how she wanted to see his behavior change when he got home, and she listed a bunch of things. We talked about the supportive services he was already receiving. Then I brought him into the room and asked him to tell his mom what he had been working on while in the hospital. He said his anger issues and coping skills; and I asked him to elaborate and give examples about what skills he's learning. Then I gave both of them a copy of a poem called The Meanest Mother in the World. (It's pretty cheesy but it's a good way for kids to reflect on why their parents do things like impose curfews, make them do chores, etc.) I had him read it outloud and then explain what he thought it meant, and how it applied to his mom.

Then I brought out a art project the son had done during a therapy group about suicide. It was a funeral program. He read it to his mom and explained how he created it and why he included the things he did. It was a really amazing program. I said, "What do you think it would be like for your mom, if this were a real program for your funeral?" which generated good discussion.

I wasn't planning on the next part, but the conversation led up to it really well, so I asked the two of them to do a reverse role play of mom and son. The mother really got into it, acting like her son wanting to go out and hang with friends. I think the son was irritated by the exercise, but he responded as his mom would, and afterwards, was able to articulate some good thoughts about the activity.

Then we made up a contract of behaviors, what the son would work on when he went home, what the mom would do, and some things I'd be able to help them with. The son was able to come up with his own ideas of how his behavior should change that mirrored what his mom said, and she was agreeable to the things he asked her to do, like being there for him when he needed to talk and to not blame him for things before asking first if he caused them.

Finally, I gave each of them a saying about attitude and had the son read it. Then it was over, and the family hugged. One of the nurses asked me a little later what had happened, because evidently the kid came back to group with a really bad attitude. So maybe he didn't get as much out of it as it seemed, but I don't really care. The mom was pleased with how it went, and she's very supportive of him, and will allow him to come back into the home, so that's the important part. And it made me feel really good about my (slowly but surely) improving skills.

Money

Tim's grandmother Liz worked for nearly 40 years and was brilliant at saving money. She's the reason he was able to go to New Zealand after graduating from high school, and why he emerged debt-free from college. When he started his first year of grad school, she gave him a check that was nearly equal to one-third my yearly salary in Chicago.

I've never been around money like that. I know a lot of people who have inheritances. I knew that was never my lot in life. When I'm feeling particularly greedy, though, I daydream about my grandmother loaning me money for grad school, then forgiving the debt in her will.

It's shitty to think like that. But money will do that to you. After the first year, we started to expect another check the second year. It slipped grandmother Liz's mind. Or maybe she never intended to fully finance us. We didn't exactly ask her about it, and planned our budget on Tim's stipend and my salary. We get by. We cut corners more than I'm used to, and live more luxuriously than Tim's used to.

But the idea of money in the family is hard. As soon as Liz got sick, I started to think, "what if she put Tim in the will? Maybe we'd get enough to put a down payment on a home." I knew family was important to her--it seemed completely plausible that she might do that. I felt like an asshole. This was Tim's grandma, his last surviving grandparent, but instead of worrying about her health, I thought about her money.

It turns out, her two sons were the sole beneficiaries of her estate. Tim's uncle is a multimillionaire. For real. And his dad does well for himself. It just doesn't seem fair.

But I realized that getting money ourselves wouldn't have been much better. If Tim had been bequeathed a thousand dollars, I would have thought, "one thousand?? Why didn't he get five?" If five, why not ten?

Ten? Why not twenty?

No amount would have been enough. In the end, I am really very relieved we didn't receive anything. We'll get by on our own, and be happier about it.

I survived

My parents are down on the gulf now, enjoying, hopefully, not tornados. (We were under a severe tornado watch this morning!)

The visit was really nice. I realize--sorry Katie--that it's much easier to get along with my parents when my sister is not around. It's unfortunate, because she's really my favorite person ever, so I'd love her to visit as well, but I think it also makes sense. We fall into past patterns of behavior when it's all four of us. I revert back to the rebellious 16-year-old who disagreed with everything, and my mom tries to tell me what to do.

Well, she still tries to tell me what to do, but now I just smile and nod. She got really into helping me plan my Easter brunch, and decided that I should make a sausage egg bake. Instead of saying, "hell no way am I making that--Tim doesn't eat pork!" (and subsequently explain why, even though all the guests and I eat pork, I still won't make it), I said, "that sounds delicious!" and let her write it down on the menu. She won't know later what I make, anyway.

The only thing that really bothered me is that she's not good with apologies. She never apologizes, and doesn't take mine well. By not well, I mean: she doesn't say "thank you" and drop it. I generally never apologize to my family on principle. The principle being, I am kind of a bitch when it comes to family. But being with Tim has made me a little softer, so I apologized for being a little bratty. And instead of accepting it and moving on, she started talking about how it's important not to yell at the people you love. Which, of course, is a response that pisses me off and makes me yell some more.

I'm not sixteen anymore, and I get the impression she'll always think of me that way. In general, she doesn't really listen to or respect my opinion. I know that's a part of her that really bothers Tim, and at one point during the weekend, he tried to let her know it. (Well, it was more involving Fergus asleep on the World's Most Comfortable Chair during dinner. We dragged out another chair to the porch for my mom to sit on. She said, "why can't we just move Fergus?" And Tim said, "The chain of command in this house generally goes Ellie, Fergus, Olivia, then me." But anyway.)

And I digress. The point is, I did have a really nice time with my parents, but I will probably always find something to complain about regarding my mother.

Race

I think about race a lot. Every day I am confronted with it.

I've never been in such a position before, working with an even mix of black and white people. I've never lived in a place with an even mix. In Chicago, the mix was international. I heard different languages every day. If I ever saw a black person in my neighborhood, I was surprised, because that area was primarily Eastern European, Hispanic, or yuppie white. Unless I was in the South Side, I never went anyplace that was primarily black. And that was once, when CTA insisted the fastest way to Midway was the Red Line straight south, then a bus across the South Side to the airport. (For future reference, it is most definitely not the fastest route.) But it was the most interesting. I watched the train thin out and become completely populated with blacks. By the time we reached the bus station, I was the only white person in the crowd.

When I was a kid, my parents were friends with the sole black woman in town. She had two kids; Hans was in my class, and I didn't like him because he wet his pants in kindergarten. But Hans had a brother a year older, and I worshipped him because he was the fastest runner in our school (grades K-2).

I guess because my parents were friends with their mom, and they didn't make a big deal out of it, it didn't dawn on me that the family was different than us. My parents never said a word about race. So was it my own inner morals that cringed every time (and frequently) I'd hear a racial slur from classmates growing up? I don't know. Somehow I just knew it was wrong. But I wonder sometimes if I tell that story about Hans and his family to show off that I Am Of Course Not Racist (what with my token black childhood friend and all)?

(In this context, at least, it is Just A Story About My Childhood.)

We have interns from a local hospital who take turns volunteering for our medical clinic at work. They work in 4-week rotations. The current doc is kind of bitchy. The first time she was here, one of my co-workers, K, gave her a tour, and the doctor was pretty standoffish and unfriendly. K was talking about her being bitchy, and said, gesturing to another black co-worker, "I think maybe she doesn't like us." I wondered if that was her automatic reaction when whites weren't friendly to her. (I was rather pleased, and, well, annoyed, when the doctor treated me with the same rudeness as she had K.)

Tim says yes. That it's the same reaction he has when a black person doesn't like him.

One of my co-workers--I don't think she likes me that much. It's just a feeling I get. It never occurred to me that she might not like me simply because my skin color, though. I assume that it has to do with my personality. Is that incredibly naive, or innocently blissful of race issues? Insecure about my own personality enough to not think about anything else? (I am fairly proud of myself for not catering to her or bending over backwards to get her to like me. I am who I am.)

I have lunch often at Subway in a section of town where I am often the only white person in the store. I say, "yes, ma'am" and "thank you," and keep my head down. But that's the way I behave no matter where I go in this town, because I'm not entirely comfortable anywhere here. And I'm not generally a rude person. But I wonder if I'm extra polite in an all-black establishment because I'm constantly aware of being the lone white? And am I trying to overcompensate so they don't hate me, or are rude to me? Am I trying to blend in so I don't insult anyone with my mere presence?

My preoccupation with it both bothers and intrigues me. I worry that I am secretly racist. I know that I probably am, in ways I don't even realize or could never even articulate. So I don't stop going there. I like living through uncertainty and not being entirely comfortable. I think I am learning so much about myself and the world here.

Beach wedding

This weekend, we went to Michigan for a wedding. It was at a cottage on the dunes, with airy rooms, a hammock, and a private beach. We ate and drank, swam, played in the sand, and thoroughly relaxed for three days.The couple invited 15-18 of their closest friends, and it was small and intimate, with a huge sense of comfort that every person there cared deeply about the couple--was in fact the "family" that these two people had cultivated in their lives.

Tim performed the ceremony--his first ever--and it was just about the most meaningful, exquisite ceremony that ever existed.

Weddings usually remind me of my own. Before ours, we attended one or two, and spent the receptions talking about what we wanted out of our own ceremony. After, each ceremony would remind me of our special day.

What I realized this time is that I was able to fully participate in the ceremony (the designated kleenex bearer, Official Witness, and spur-of-the-moment bouquet holder during the ring exchange) without thinking back on ours.

It used to be the definitive moment in our relationship--and I suppose it really always may be--but now we have so many quiet happy moments together, the wedding day no longer overshadows everything. I kind of like that, for of course a relationship is much more than the wedding day. At any rate, it confirms my feeling that every day the decision to wake up and love fully is the right one.

Having children

The most compelling reason I can see for having kids is not my nephew Milo. He is cute as hell, the most beautiful kid I've ever seen (no, really, I'm being objective), and my heart does melt when he hugs me and tucks his head into my neck. (The fact that he even seems to remember me, and didn't start crying when mom left him with me this week to babysit, makes me swoon a bit.) But still, that doesn't make me want to spawn.

He doesn't talk yet! I'm ready to start conversing. Pretty much I don't know what to do with kids if they can't carry on a conversation with me. So he's adorable and all, but he doesn't make my ovaries ache.

What does it--not that my ovaries ache. They don't--is seeing what joy my aunts and uncles, and my parents, find in their adult children. I remember all the crap they went through, heartache during the difficult teenage years, and all my cousins seem to have emerged victorious, on the other side where they are now friends with their parents. It is damn cool to see.

I thought about this all when I was with twenty or so of my relatives for Christmas. It was such a loud, happy place to be. And I thought about what it would be like to introduce some grand-kids (and great-grand-kids) into the mix. My aunts and uncles, parents, grandma, would be over the moon.

For a brief moment--and I blame my unquenchable competitive streak--I wanted to be the one to kick that off. I'm the oldest grandchild, after all, and the first to get married. Why not be the first to have a baby?

My strongest feeling about children is, what if we regret not having them later when it's too late? Ultimately, I don't think that's a compelling reason to reproduce.

But there's just something about a big, loud, happy family at Christmas, even if you have to slog through twenty years to get there.

I'm married to an actor!

My baby's a real live professional actor. (Also, he's the proud owner of a continually waxed handlebar mustache.)



I've seen him in "Tartuffe," but not "The Tempest" yet. My parents and Busia have been raving about his performance as Ariel. Pretty much any time I gather with my extended family, they won't shut up about what a talented actor he is. (It really sort of gets old for me.) No, actually, I am exceedingly proud.

And now he's been offered a real role (two, actually, minor ones) at the Writers Theatre in Glencoe, in "As You Like It." He told me about the audition right after he had it (drove five hours from Door County on his day off just to audition), and it sounded like he knocked their socks off. He knew a few of the people in the room (casting directors and such), which is always a good thing. After he did his monologues, they asked if he minded doing a cold reading. This isn't something they always request--it's a good sign when they do! They gave him a part of "As You Like It," one he understudied at Alabama. After he did it, they marvelled at him being able to do it without really keeping his eyes glued to the script, and he was all, "well, I'm pretty familiar with the play . . ."

So now he has a real contract for January rehearsals, and February and March for performance! It pays a living wage and everything!

It's just about the most exciting thing that has happened lately. It's an excellent, well-respected theater, and will give him some great connections! He's getting known, at least on the audition circuit, and that can only bring wonderful things.

I'm so proud!

Putting it out there

Tim thinks I need to be specific about what I want out of a job, and put it out into the universe to let it simmer.

For the first time ever, I can be specific. I finally know exactly what I want to do. I guess this is why I went to grad school, but in some ways, knowing exactly what I want to do also blows. If I had a wider view, it would probably be easier to find a job. I could look at the job listings, usually around 25-50 each time I look, and actually find something that looks at least appealing enough to apply for. I wouldn't be crippled with anxiety, wondering what I can possibly do that won't make me feel like I'm wasting my time, or finding something that will at least position me well for what I can do eventually. Now that I know what I love, anything less than that really will feel like a waste of time.

So here goes, universe. Work your magic for me.

I want a job at a community mental health agency, doing family therapy with adolescents. I want the job to allow for some group work, perhaps with self-esteem or social skills training, maybe anger management. Maybe music therapy! Maybe dance! Anything creative that will spark the kids' interest. I want the job to have the room to grow into restorative justice and peace-making circles. I want to be able to some day write a grant for the purchase of a bunch of drums so that we can have drum circles.

I want the hours to be flexible, so I can start late and work late, and still maintain my shelter job. I want it to be maybe Tuesday through Saturday, so I can take my Sundays and Mondays to be with Tim.

And lastly, I'd like it to be within biking distance on warm days. I don't want a drainingly long commute. I won't mind doing home visits, I won't mind if I have to drive clients around in my car. I just don't want to have to drive for an hour or more in bad traffice to get to work.

That's it. This is exactly what I want. This is my job description of heaven.

Edited to say: I thought of something else. I'd love to also be able to run a movie series or book club for teens that had some therapeutic value to it. I am thinking of this as I proofread a library journal, and it seems like the young adult librarians are always doing cool things that I think could somehow be woven into a social worker's job, too.

I always thought I'd become a librarian, after spending years in the cult of ALA. If there was some way to combine the two--no, three, including the editing bits of my life that I miss--that would be the perfect job.

I suppose what it all really boils down to is that I want a job where I can be creative. I never realized what an asset that could be to therapy, and it's exciting to see that I can include that in my work. But I need a place that values it, and lets me run with all my wild ideas.