When therapy "clicks"

Yesterday Daniel had art therapy.

I had called ahead to let the therapist know what was going on, so she was ready when we got there.

She used music and movement and drawing to pull Daniel out and get him to talk, but not in the way that psychologists do. She talked to him about how hard it was for her when her students don't listen and act up in her class, and she talked to him about how it made her feel.

When she asked Daniel if he knew what she was talking about, his eyes lit up and he joined in - telling her how it made him feel like fire when the kids misbehave and how he hits himself and tries to shush them but it doesn't work, it only adds oxygen to the fire.

They used drums to express how it made them feel, and the whole time Daniel talked and talked.

This is significant because he had not been willing to talk with his psychologist.

He spontaneously drew a diagram showing how he would like to feel (relaxed), how he feels most of the time (mildly to moderately anxious) and how he feels during conflicts at school (tense, "on fire" out of control)

He said he's only felt relaxed one or two times in his life.

I'm a fly on the wall during these sessions, listening but not interfering unless he calls me in. Several times yesterday I was near tears listening to him and his eloquent descriptions of how he feels. He holds so much in his brain, absorbing everything and then when it comes back out through his filter it is just amazing.

He got carried away comparing his feelings to those of a giant gaseous planet orbiting too close to it's star. (I think this is what he's talking about, but who knows) Updated to add: Here is the actual link to what he was talking about. Proud parent Howard looked it up so that you would have the "correct" information.

He couldn't simply end with the comparison, he had to fill her in on all of the pertinent minutiae, so that she could properly understand his reference.

Sometimes it's like he has to give you the contents of his brain so that he can have a conversation with you.

At the end, the therapist challenged him to be a little easier on himself for the next few days, and not feel responsible for the behavior of the other children in his class, and gave him a mantra to repeat to himself when he starts to get "wound up". He wouldn't promise her anything, because he can't commit unless he knows he can succeed, but he said he might try.

It was nothing short of beautiful.

And when he climbed into the car, he told me, "I love her."

"Me too" I said.

Me too.

House crazy

I didn't realize that actually having a house would make me more crazy than I was when I just WANTED to have a house.

I THOUGHT I was being obsessive when I was looking at real estate listings and fantasizing about what kind of house we MIGHT get.

How wrong I was.

At least before I was being obsessive from the comfort of my chair. Plus being obsessive about fictional things is cheap.

Now I'm being obsessive about repairs. In a real house. Which we own (or are at least obligated to pay for over the next 30 years).

Repairs mean repairmen. And repairmen cost money.
Lots of money.

Right now I feel like I live in an episode of Sesame Street. "These Are The People in Your Neighborhood".

So far I've met the plumber, the electrician, the locksmith, the mason, the roofer, and the cabinet-maker. I'd like to meet the baker but I haven't figured out how to fit fresh baked goods into our home-repair budget.

I've also met the scratch and dent appliance salesman, but he doesn't count because he hasn't come to my house yet. I just keep visiting him at the store because I can't manage to decide on a refrigerator that I want. Because...get this... they are all scratched and dented!

And now I've got all these other repairs to obsess about too. Things too small to hire someone for. But plenty big enough to obsess about.

Like doors. and doorknobs. and doorstops. and strike plates. and caulk. and paint. and painting doors. and painting rooms. and closet rods. and shower rods. and drains that don't hold water. and how to move a fish tank.

In other news, art therapy is really lovely. It's a wonderful dance the therapist does with Daniel. Finding the anxiety and backing away from it to something that is more comfortable, and then slowly bringing him back around to what made him anxious but from a different angle so that it doesn't raise his alarm bells. And doing it all with art!

I think that we will be doing this therapy for quite awhile. After just a few sessions I have seen an improvement in his self-esteem.

Plus art just makes you happy!

Happy Valentine's Day

This is my heart.

The one that I made and gave to my husband today.

We're going on sixteen years now, I've given him enough of those Hallmark hearts...

This year I gave him an organ.

Summer formal

Two things.

One:
My son who made me PROMISE to never send him to summer camp, is going to go to summer camp. But you must understand that it is not "summer camp" but rather Summer ART Camp.

At Summer ART Camp one is not expected to run around, or swim, or join in gross-motor activities that leave you tired. At Summer ART Camp one spends the whole day using all kinds of art materials to make all kinds of projects that are then displayed in a gallery for parents to see at the end of the week.

Summer ART Camp is a dream come true for Daniel. So we signed him up for three weeks. I hope it lives up to his expectations, because if it doesn't, he may never try summer camp again.

Two:
In  order to let Daniel get familiar with the surroundings and teachers of Summer ART Camp, we signed him up for a class on Saturdays until Summer ART Camp starts.

He's been to a few classes now and really likes it so far.  And  he seems to have  embraced the artist's aesthetic already. This past week he went to class dressed all in black. Add to that picture his long shaggy hair, and he looks like a miniature artist in residence.

I have to tell you though that his choice of black clothing was not because he wanted to create an air of mystery, but rather because he had been cold that morning and as he said, "black absorbs sunlight and heat".

He's an artist with a strong scientific bent.

Creation deflation

Pretty much every night I sit in front of the computer and chant my writing mantra

which is:

"I've got nothing"

As in nothing happened today, nothing is floating around in my brain waiting to leap onto the screen via my keyboard, and tonight will be the night that I end my "writing every day" venture in defeat and frustration.

Nada

It's not that I don't have stories.... I have lots of stories! Oodles of stories!

But I'm just too god-damned lazy to wrestle them out of my head. Because writing is a lot like reading blogs - it will take up as much time as you have available.

Got a half-an-hour? Sit down to read dooce or finslippy or any one of a billion blogs out there - blink once and BAM! that half-hour is GONE. Or blink twice and realize that you have been sucked into some twisted timewarp and four hours has been sucked from your day.

Same thing with writing. Except that with writing there is always too much time and not enough at the same time. Too much time in that it takes too long to get the juices flowing and you just sit there staring off into space going "think! think!" and not enough because once you finally get started you have to stop and you don't want to.

Now after saying all of this I feel compelled to write something more than a post - so if you will excuse me, I'm going to crawl into my corner and stare off into space.

think!

think!

Springtime

From the sheltered cocoon of Winter

we gingerly emerge

into the warmth of the Springtime sun

where we bloom

with a glow made brighter by dormancy.

Maybe we should do something besides eating doughnuts on Sundays...

Sign that perhaps it's time to put a little more effort into that whole "religion" thing:

When your son comes up from his workshop bearing washers and eye-screws carefully threaded on a bolt and tells you to:

 

    Pick your favorite number - from 1- 9.
    Unthread the nut, and take that many washers  off the bolt.
    Place washers on pointy end of eye-screw.
    Pray to the washers.

Oh and the prayer? It has to be OUT LOUD.

Hey! I know that name!

I don't think I've ever talked about a film that wasn't geared towards children on this blog.

But in this case I'll make an exception. You'll see why in a minute.

On January 20th the World Premiere of Dante's Inferno  was shown at the Slamdance Film Festival in the 21+ Film Series.

This film was born out of a project by Sandow Birk and Marcus Sanders. A modern adaptation in words and paintings of Dante Alighieri's masterwork, The Divine Comedy. Birk's paintings reinterpreted the circles of Date's hell in an altogether modern fashion while still echoing the moody beauty and tenor of Gustave Dore's illustrations.

As an example:

Gustave Dore -

Sandow Birk -

I don't own a copy of Birk and Sander's adaptation of The Divine Comedy ... yet. But you can bet it will be on my wishlist.

So this was the starting point for this movie. Using Birk's illustrations as a blueprint, the movie is told entirely with miniature paper puppets on a toy theater stage. More than 500 intricate puppets were created for the production.

I could go on and on talking about the film and its innovative use of zero technology (in the form of CGI), as well as its funny and disconcerting take on the circles of hell, but you really have to see it for yourself.

You see?

The film is comfortable in its depiction of hell as the everyday seediness of modern life. The puppets and scenery are lush but not polished in just the right way and the obviousness of the sticks and wires that hold the puppets intrigue me.

The plain language and use of current politics (and politicians) fits in well with Dante's original manuscript which did not shy away from the politics of his day. Nearly seven hundred  years ago, when Dante crafted The Inferno it spoke to his readers with a currentness that I think this film accurately captures for those of us in 2007.

Of course it's not like I actually SAW the movie. Are you kidding? Slamdance is in Park City in the Land of Dooce. No, I was in Jersey the whole time watching the same trailer that you just saw - only I watched it FORTY-FOUR times in a row. Now if that don't make me an expert, I don't know what does.

Half-way

Issues of success and creation and feelings of worth and despair are rearing up all around me.

I'm clearly at a crossroads.

I'm tired of the place I've come to. The work I've done so far is all internal and while it is significant, I'm feeling the itch to go further. This can't be all there is.

I've been hog-tied my whole life by the issues of my family, not able to fully realize my whole self in any meaningful or creative way for fear that someone would find out.

Every (and unfortunately I am not being facetious), creative endeavor I have allowed my family to view has been denigrated. And I am so susceptible to their criticism that I am usually unable to continue.

The very same drive that makes me want to create, is what kept me sane when I was I child. The inner force both pushes me forward and then at the last minute yanks me back because for me to become a person outside of my mother is not allowed.

I have finally learned to keep the meaningful parts of my life out of their sight.

That takes me exactly half-way there.

The other half is more tedious.

Exorcising them from my brain. I internalized their lessons too well. Even when I am away from them, their rules apply to me.

Reading about other children of narcissistic parents is helpful but it also stirs up the dirt. Makes it hard to breathe.

I will achieve happiness in something I have done.

I'm claiming that for my mantra, right here, right now.