"Because I love you...

As an almost (29 days!) speech pathologist, I work with a lot of children whose issues extend beyond their ability to say "s." I never knew I would work on social skills, inter-personal communication, and basic courtesy as a speech pathologist, but it's probably one of my favorite parts of the job.

I have a little client right now who never likes to lose a game. In fact, part of therapy has now become helping him cope with losing. (Which entails me winning, which is okay with me...)

My third week of doing therapy, we played a game in which you could earn power to ruin your teammate's chances of winning. You would slam this little rubber fly down, and they would lose all their points. Well, the little guy I was working with won the chance to slam down the rubber fly.

But he wouldn't pick it up.

He started shaking his head, "No... no... no..."

"It's okay. You can do it. Take away my points! You'll win!"

"No... no... no..."

"Come on! Pick up the fly! Don't you want to take away my points and win?"

"No... because I love you!"

My heart melted into a puddle. This little man, who loves to win, didn't want to take away my points because he loved me. Completely, totally, irrevocably made my day. I'm still smiling, many days later.



(I eventually convinced him that slapping the fly would be a good idea, and he giggled while we slapped the fly together.)

Song of the week!

I have a sneaking suspicion that the main reason I love this song is because of the brass section and the cat walk on top of the freezers... it's like a dream grocery shopping trip!

Illusions and Pre-Mature Homesickness

My dear reader. I speak now, on this day, to the gross injustice of illusions-- illusions which cling to our past, and mist over the future with perverse unattainability.

Don't shrug your disinterested shoulders in mocking dismissal. You know what I mean. Do you remember being five, when the Chucky Cheese commercial flipped on, and children ran screaming by with fist-fulls of tickets, beaming parents, high-fiving? That's an illusion. No parent is happy to be at Chucky Cheese.

In jr. high when everyone else was struggling under illusions (or delusions) of an eighth grade boy who would actually ask you to dance, I was reading eighteenth century literature and struggling with the illusion of bumble bee-free luncheons on a limestone terrace. Both are illusions. Bumble bees love cucumber sandwiches, and eighth grade boys are still oblivious to eighth grade girls.

The first day of school, canoeing, coffee house dates, camping, and shopping trips in NYC... most illusions in life are glorious shells of the real thing. (Okay, the shopping in NYC was pretty spiffy...)

Now I'm in the midst of brand-new illusion bashing.

The single city girl.



Pretty. Confident. Dressed to the nines. She floats cooly along. Well-informed, engaged in her culture. Aloof from the hum-drum, ant-like existence of the working class. She somehow achieves her dreams without breaking an uncomfortable sweat. She's not scared. She's not brash. She gets things done. She loves life. She parties, she shops, she flies home on vacations to kiss babies and exclaim over new home improvements. She has a chic studio, and a roof top that's perfect for parties.

She's an illusion. Probably my next illusion to be shattered...

I'm about to be this girl.

And I'm not confident. I'm not dressed to the nines. I'm incapable of calmly and cooly floating through anything. I'm very ant-like, I will probably toil in a hum-drum way for the rest of my life. I'm terrified of making ends meet. I'm confident I will be anything but successful. I'm terribly scared. I don't have a wonderful job which will let me have a studio, parties, and a shopping habit. I don't have a job. Period. I love my family. I like mid-western happy provincialism, and moderate, shoulder-shrugging politics. I haven't even left yet, and I want to run home.



Life, devoid of the illusion, is scary...