Mad Men, foster care and the rest

My love of Mad Men knows no bounds. Like everything else I like, I don't just like--I obsess. The season is over for now and nothing will appear until next year. I like how the final season is going. Don is starting become a human being.

The writer of this show, Matt Wiener, enjoys exploring the sequelae of ugly childhoods. Don is a child from a neglectful and abusive childhood. He was born a bastard and unwanted. He was molested in his early teens by a prostitute that lived in the same house. That house up there is a house of ill repute, his childhood home. He is showing the house to his children. Meta!

Neglectful and abusive childhoods cause a child to be centerless. They don't form a center from which we trust, seek out and reciprocate love. Don is not able to do this. He is a self centered and manipulative man. Good looking as he is, his suit is quite empty.

In the words of Queen Ellen, "He is all sizzle and no steak."

The steak that makes us who we are suppose to be. We are to exchange and be intimate. We are to love and get crazy together. It's a stupid, hard world out there and we need each other.

I place all of this in context of my foster daughter's life. She's been with us for 17 months now. Parenting her is somewhat like parenting my own kids. The evil one fights to come out, the kids give lip,  be disrespectful and display general childhood grumpery.

Then there is this:

"I don't want to be a child in your family.",  my foster daughter said to my husband last night.  I had sent her downstairs to brush her teeth. The signal for bedtime. She said, "Other families watch movies and stay up late. Other families don't have bedtimes.You guys are boring!" 

In her 6 year old mind,  she wishes we were like her mom and her other family. They stay up until 10 pm and watch movies. They have no rules or structure. I can't say I blame her, I'd want to live in Neverland too. Except Neverland is a nightmare. They do all sorts of things we don't do. Like smoke weed, stab each other, kill family dogs and do lengthy jail stays.

Her mom is currently in jail, in segregation  no less. Segregation means she can't even keep calm and behave so she's in a cell by herself. The more I know about this woman, the more I want to throw up. She's chaotic and violent. She has no center. She can't attach with others on any sort of healthy or sustainable level. My heart aches for this woman. I can't help but love and care for her because I love and care for her child. I pray for her.

It makes me mad because she's not going anywhere. If we adopt our foster daughter, she's not going to just die. She won't stay in seg for ever. She'll be there in the background. The Lord has a plan for this woman and we're becoming part of it.

I know what would fix this woman. I know what will fix my foster's daughter's yearnings to be free from rules and constraint. I know what will fix my anger and my husband's sadness about all of this.

Proverbs 3:5-6

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.

 

So I pray. I pray and pray and pray . . .

I pray that His love will come through us and form the center she needs not become like her mom. That'll be my start.

I have a lot to say about Mad Men right now

First off, I stand in the minority with the whole "Megan and Don" marriage. I truly believe this is a good marriage with love and potential for growth. Marrying Mrs. Frenchie was an awesome move on Don's part. In fact, I love Megan so much I would marry her!!

That being said, last night's episode was harsh when it came to discussing Don's sexual tryst filled past. Don slept with a lot of womens and they show up at random times. Like in an elevator, when he's standing next to his current wife. It's icky and sad.

Sadder still is the fever induced dream Don had about cheating on his wife. I had flashbacks during those sequences. Ya see, I use to have all sorts of dreams where I would cheat on Mr. Hall. They started when he and I were dating and lasted until about 5 or 6 years into the marriage. They were horrible. Pure torture.

In the dreams I knew full well that I was cheating on Mr. Hall. I would wake up all shaky and have a roaring headache. I would be so relieved that it wasn't true but at the same time, so drained with guilt and fear. IT SUCKED.

Then, one day, I figured out what the hell they were about. It was about me being scared I would lose all that we were. I was scared about losing Mr. Hall, all the love and joy we have. I realized it was nonsense and the dreams stopped. Oh happy day!

So yay for Don, ending the dream for good. If I could have murdered those dreams when I first started having them I would have saved me a lot of trouble!! I don't believe he will ever cheat on Megan. I'll take bets on it!



Speaking of Bets (see what I did there?), I TOTALLY CALLED IT! I KNEW SHE WOULD GET ALL CHUBBY AND JUNK IN THE TRUNK!! I new she'd puff out. Glad she doesn't have cancer. Sad that her husband worships her and she can't grove in his love. BOOH!!



It was nice to see Peggy acting as a mentor to the new secretary. And I do not fault her at the end of the scene pictured above. Even after a night of drinking and dishing, I would have promptly removed my purse from the coffee table and brought it to my room. SHE HAS LIKE 500 DOLLARS IN THERE. I don't care who's sleeping on my couch, that's a lotta money. I don't trust anyone with that kind of cheddar. She should have taken the purse to her room for safe keeping.



AAAANNNNDDD . . . Pete. OH HOW HE'S GROWN!! He's still spoiled, tantrum prone and kind of an idiot but dang, nice to see he's grown a usable pair! Nice to see he's totally settled into being a husband and father, not following in Roger's footsteps of being drunk all the time, cheating on his wife. Good job Pete!!



And speaking of Joan. I felt bad for her in the last episode. I don't know why, but I still had hope for her marriage. Maybe because I see marriages that are so broken where both parties are just monsters towards each other, but, once they get into therapy things turn around. They soften towards each other, GROW THE HELL UP and then create a wonderful marriage out of the rubble.

I'm sure Joan is capable of this. Her husband wasn't though. Rotten to the core and unable to even try to adjust to her and her needs. I mean, what husband doesn't let his wife get on top? A husband that is no longer married to Joan!

So what's in Joan's future? Single motherhood. Maybe she'll knock on Roger's door. I doubt that though. Roger is another man child. And one child is enough for her!


OK, THOUGHTS?

SQUEE SQUEE SQUEE SQUEEE SQUEE

AND LET US NOT FORGET THE DANGERS OF DRIVING A JOHN DEERE INDOORS!

Me vs. Mary the Secretary: Office Smackdown

For the first installment of Mary the Secretary, click here. Mary is the 50ish, plump secretary at my work.

Before we begin, I must say that I've been in multiple levels of employ. Bottom, middle and now, in command. I have a delicate understanding of the various power structures. And within each level I have thrived, because I embrace my power, no matter where I am standing.





What we are talking about here, between Mary and I, is power. A simple power struggle. Mary feels powerless and thus attempts to be my caretaker, my smother secretary. That way, she can have power over me. To which I say: good luck chick-a-dee.



It began last week with the two phone calls. And when I showed on Monday, she had re-arranged my office. Moved the chair, adjusted the monitor. She had given me three notebooks to take notes, plus two stacks of post its. All of it sitting there, squatting on my chair. She had made coffee and on and on. I shut the door. Took a deep breath.

I scooped up the notebooks and brought them to her. I firmly placed them next to her key board, as she was typing. I said, "Oh, I don't need these to take notes. Thanks though. Can you print out my list of patients today? Thanks." And cue smile.



Later at lunch . . . Mary occupied the room with stories from her personal life.

AN YAH DER HEY, SHO' NUFF, Mary has been in an abusive/codependant relationship. Told you so. And she felt the need to go on and fucking on about it during lunch. Cause girl's got issues but no dignity. I mean come on Mary, trying to eat my sub sammich here.

Mary thrives in chaos. Nothing else is comfortable. I am not comfortable with chaos. I like calm. I like balmy beaches and butterflies and the colors red and purple. I listen to people's chaos all day. They open up vast treasure troves of psychic pain. I help them heal. This is my job and I love it. So no, I don't want to eat lunch with her pain. Nor do I want a side dish of her spastic life.

Life is hard enough. I like to make mine easier at every turn possible. So here is the coup de gras that put Mary in her place.



Around one oclock that day, Mary had to unexpectedly leave. Her daughter WHO IS MY AGE THAT BEING 33 is sick. Again, her daughter is a fully functioning adult. Yet her Mom is running to her. Mary looks at me. She starts to explain who and what is ailing her daughter. AGAIN, MARY'S DAUGHTER IS MY AGE THAT BEING 33. Mary is breathless and getting a bit wild eyed. I stop listening. Then I blink a few times, still not listening to what sounds like the flu bug.

blink.....



blink ......


Then I say, "Mary. Can you fax these before you go? And connect me with the maintenance guy, the temp in my office is freezing. Thanks. And I hope your daughter feels better." I say it just like that.

Mary looks stricken. Hurt even. Which is my intent. And by the way, I never, and I mean NEVER, tell people to fax things for me. Nor do I have someone patched through to my office. But I did this time. And I don't feel bad about it.

Because sometimes, the best lessons are learned through struggle, through hurt and strife. That day, Mary learned I won't tolerate the impressing her drama on my person. Because we are all grown ups at that office. Not little kids. Little kids go around, showing their boo-boos. Eventually we all learn to suffer with dignity. Then we learn how to not suffer at all.

And not ruin lunch with wild tales of an asshole ex husband. And not draw the pity of fellow coworkers.

Can't we talk about the movies we like? Or shows we love? Like Mad Men for example. Gawd I love that show. The smoking, the drinking, the debachery. And lord help me, those clothes. Those dresses, those kitten heels . . . oh lawd . . . the clothes on that show.... I get the vapors just watching.




So in the end, the battle was won. And maybe now, we can get down to business. Which is sharing office space. All while serving the greater good, to serve others. And there is no greater service than the service of others.



Now, if I could just get Mary to keep something else in her drawer for me. Something much more useful than post-its . . . ;)