A long time ago, in a psychology class, I remember learning about a therapeutic technique called “mirroring.” If I remember correctly, the goal of mirroring is to listen carefully, pull the moist salient bits of information from a speaker’s words, and then “reflect them back” at the speaker. This reflection or mirroring is supposed to be done in such a way that the speaker/patient gains new insight into their issues and complaints because the therapist listener allows the speaker to truly see herself.
Plus also? The speaker is supposed to feel all sorts of validated and understood because the listener has taken the time and invested the energy to really understand what is being said.
Here, courtesy of Mark, is how mirroring is NOT supposed to be done.
Me: I cannot think of anything to write about and I am all freaked out that your parents are coming next week and the house is a fucking mess and when the hell is it going to stop raining and the girls only have a half day of school today and I was hoping to get this post done before they get home and I don’t even know if there is anything for them to eat for lunch in the house and your parents will be here for two weeks really two weeks that seems like such a long time for me to be polite and if I don’t manage to work up the courage to go get my hair cut I am just going to shave my fucking head see what your parents think about that and Kallan has her friend coming over for a sleepover tonight and seriously the house is sort of messy and I am fucking stressed.
Mark: Yup.
Really?
Yup?
Really?
If this was a cartoon? Or a dream? This would be the part where a mirror magically appears in my hands and I break it over Mark’s fucking head.
Non-reflecting non-mirroring motherfucker! Take that!
Sigh.
On a related topic . . . one time? Way back when I was studying psychology? I thought it would be interesting to go see a psychologist just to see what the process involved.
It wasn’t like I needed therapy or anything, I was just curious.
Shut up.
Anyway, here I am in therapy and you can’t do therapy without talking about shit, so I am talking about shit and as I am talking, the psychologist is scribbling like mad. And when people scribble as I speak? I get all paranoid that they are writing bad things about me. So I mention that, and she just scribbles more.
She doesn’t talk much, she just keeps taking notes.
We repeat this for several weeks, and I am growing annoyed and increasingly paranoid about all of the documentation of my words.
So I decide to see if there is a way to break her scribbling concentration.
So I stop talking about shit and start talking about SHIT.
And she stops scribbling and looks up at me. And her eyes? They are all glittery with insane therapeutic glee.
They are glittering, people. Eyes are not supposed to glitter.
Get the fuck away from me with your evil, glittering, soul-sucking, devil-mirror eyes!
No more therapy for me. I am all cured.
Where was I?
Oh yes! I had a dream last night! And because this is my blog, I am going to speak of this dream, and try as you might? You cannot stop me.
OK, so in this dream, I am holding a giant Bozo the Clown wig that is made of steel wool. And with this giant wig of metally wool, I am polishing an enormous countertop of copper. And as I polish the copper? The dull ruined surface gives way to a gleaming glowing mirror shine in which I can see my sweaty reflection.
By the way? Even in my dreams? I need a haircut.
I cannot believe how beautiful this countertop is, and I step back to admire my work. Only somehow, as I step back I also step forward (because this is a dream) and I crash into the side of the countertop. And the countertop loosens from the surface to which it was attached and flips into the air, a huge gleaming coppery thing shimmering aloft.
It hangs poised for a moment and then it swings down . . . and severs my right arm from my body.
At the shoulder, in case you need that detail to complete the visual in your mind.
Because this is a dream, I am not enormously concerned with my missing arm. It lies on the floor, the bozo scrubbing wig still in its hand. There is blood everywhere. The room is filled with a slippery coppery smell. Again, I am not that concerned.
I am just desperate to get this counter back into position.
So that everything will be perfect.
I mentioned Mark’s parents are coming next week, right?
Sigh.
There is no way that I am going to be able to get the surfaces of our family’s life polished to a satisfactory gleam before their arrival.
Especially now that I have just the one arm.
People? Your eyes are all glittery.
Like little devil mirrors.
Stop that.
Two weeks? Really? I can’t get past that. That seems like much. Hubbs dad comes for four days and doesn’t even stay with us the whole time and I complain. God bless you.
People? Tiffany is god-blessing me.
Since she brought up the number 4? I am going to direct you to her post here and ask that you check out #4.
Seriously.
Dear Tiffany,
You are my idol. I’m so not kidding.
Love and snuggles,
Jo
My in-laws were such terrible peopple that we never see them. And since I talk about them in the past tense? One of my best friends thought forever that they were dead.
Just in my mind, that’s how I cope.
I’m sure I’d make a therapist’s eyes all sparkly with that one.
I did see a therapist once and he said I was extremely well-adjusted. Though, he had a thick accent so I supposed he could have said mal-adjusted.
Mark’s parents? They are fabulous and we get along great.
I would not have written today’s post if they weren’t going to find it hilarious.
They are lovely.
I am just not yet ready for the loveliness to enter my home.
I have polishing to do.
Please don’t cut your arm off trying to make the perfect house for your in-laws. You need it to type.
Funny side note: I always loved cross examining my therapists. It never failed. They would try their hardest to get me to open up to them and by the end of the session I knew all about their life and more often than not they were in tears. And Mom wonders why therapy never worked for me.
Is it just me or does that last paragraph sound like the ramblings of a sociopath? I think I need more therapy.
I think the smarter you are as a dysfunctional person? The smarter you need your therapist to be to see through your bullshit.
But instead? You and I both got idiots.
And if you are a sociopath? Then we need to start a club, because there are a lot of us here on Pretty All True.
And even though I have two arms and plan on keeping them? The arms? Do not feel like cleaning anything today.
Fuck.
BWAHAHAHA! I love my in-laws. They are so much cooler then my family of weirdo’s! In fact I Love my in-laws so much we live in the house next door (connected by a porch!) to my in-laws! Bozo the brillo headed clown…Never seen at my house EVER! House not clean either…but I did get a hair cut today (after 8 1/2 months on prenatal vitamins mind you)!
I love my in-laws! When they arrive? I will be all happy.
Before they arrive? I am all stressed that nothing will meet expectations. Including me.
Anyway . . . Mark says I can’t use a Flowbie to cut my hair and that I would not look cute bald.
Hats, maybe.
You could always tie your hair back with a Hankie (one of the big ones) so It looks like you were slaving over the house work all day. Make sure you wet down the few curls or whispies that escape so it looks like sweat. Your in-laws will be proud of the enormous amount of work you put into your home :) LOL.
Ok, smarty-pants . . . how is the tied-back hair and wispies and impression of hard house-cleaning labor going to work if I do not actually clean anything in my home?
That’s actually another thing . . . this doesn’t feel like my home. It feels like someone else’s home that I am borrowing for a while.
Renting again? It kind of sucks.
I am always torn when my in-laws are headed in for a visit. On the one hand, they drive my wife over the brink of weeping insanity, which in turn pushes me to the edge of just killing everyone in the house with a claw hammer. On the other hand, they never actually stay in our house, preferring to hotel it while they are here, which means that they steal Sophie away for five days or so, and I actually get to sleep past dawn for a little while. This is a mixed blessing, since generally I can be away from Sophie for about a day before I start aching to have her back… though I’m sure once she’s older, I’ll lose that little problem straightaway.
Mark’s parents are staying with us. And seriously? I do love them.
And the girls are soooooo excited about Grandma and Grandpa coming to visit!
It’s just that the surfaces of our life? They are a little rougher at the moment than they usually are.
And I would so like to be able to buff that shit out before they arrive.
Not going to happen. So we’ll see how it goes.
I can see the hallway sign now “Sociopath club meetings of Pretty All True will take place on Tuesday evenings 6-8pm. Snacks and refreshments will be provided.”
I’m not sure snacks and drinks are a good idea.
Hello? My name is Kris and I am a sociopath.
And I would just like to say . . . that I poisoned the cookies.
Huh. I would address the IL’s visit and all, but they and I have an uneasy truce wherein I agree not to ban them from our lives completely and they agree that I really mean it when I say that if they spew their racist hatred in my home, I will kick their asses OUT. (They didn’t agree to believe that I really mean it until I actually DID it one time. Apparently it’s nothing but my outrageous, unreasonable liberal bias that makes me unwilling to allow phrases like “Jew me down” and “sand ni**er to be used in my home. Shame on me!”)
Oh, so anyway, sorry. I can’t really rant about that sort of thing on my OWN blog, so I bring it here. Very generous of me, right?
So yes, you are overwhelmed. It’s a feeling with which I’m well acquainted. Since my mom just left a few days ago and is coming back this weekend (yes, really, and could someone PLEASE take me out to the north 40 and put me out of my misery?), I have nothing to offer except that for the housework, child labor is very expensive but is sometimes worth it.
Love the dream. I have overwhelmed dreams too. In the one I remember best, I gave birth to a litter of a dozen puppies and had to nurse them constantly (In my dream I had just the standard two human breasts as I was a human mother to dogs.) and was so exhausted that I removed my breasts, put them on my husband, and went to bed. Seems we have both lost some body parts which is sad.
By “they” I mean MY ILs. I’m sure yours are lovely and I doubt I would ever have cause to kick them out of my house except that I don’t know them and why would they be HERE?
Also? How did my ILs manage to produce Brian, pacifist and ultra-liberal? And what a disappointment for them that both their sons married strong women who wouldn’t let them interfere in our marriages or child-rearing. Bummer, right?
Again, Mark’s parents are lovely. And they love me.
I just feel all crumpled and un-presentable at the moment.
Can you buff out crumples?
Hee hee! You have puppy boobs!
See how I mirrored what you are feeling and made you feel all better?
Yes, I feel all better now thanks to your skillful use of the mirror technique. Thank you!
You can buff out crumples, I think. Perhaps chocolate? And maybe deciding that your hair looks great the way it is? Also, knowing that your ILs love you and are not coming to judge your house might help.
I’m only good at the chocolate part.
It is obviously not the house I am worrying about being judged.
HEAVY sighs.
Chocolate would be good.
My hair? Does not look great. And no amount of delusion will make it so.
I have tried.
Oh, you know what else? When my folks got here, our house was seriously nasty. You know, because of that respiratory infection because there’s no way I’d let it look like that if I hadn’t been sick. No WAY!
Anyway, my mom spent HOURS cleaning house while she was here. Maybe that will happen to you?
You are wishing vomit on me now?
Or rather . . . hurk?
Hmmm…a little hurking in exchange for a clean house? Just might be worth it!
I told you about the Thanksgiving with these in-laws visiting our house a few years ago? When we were all, one by one, taken down by a hideous stomach virus?
And at the end, I just wanted to burn the fucking house down and start over.
I would rather not share vomit with the in-laws again. Once was enough.
Maybe we should discuss your anger issues. Where is this frustration coming from? What makes you feel bad about yourself… please, share with us?
~~~LOL~~~LOL~~~LOL~~~
Sorry, I can’t even keep a straight face. I studied philosophy. It was easier to understand than people’s “feelings” and “thoughts”. When asked if I’d like to “share” I’d reply that I’d share my “fuck off” with them.
Mirroring? Sounds more like smoke and mirrors. People are people- some are assholes, some are fucked up and back down again, some are great and awesome but there’s only one that’s perfect (ME, duh!).
I’m still laughing over you finding a “tart” for Mark to eat. Really? You’d do that for him? That’s really understanding of you. Maybe Barb would work something out for me in on this… problem would be that she would want something back for herself. Hmmm. Nevermind.
Happy Friday!
Oh yeah… boysenberries are ripe as of this week- yummy! The long rains killed the nectarine, apricot and peach blossoms, so scant yield this time around. Extra good for my artichokes- huge ones about 1/2 pound each on 2 year plants.
Axel, I do so love you.
You and your kick-ass gardening insightful self.
Ummmmm . . . did you happen to check out the Tiffany link I provided above?
Having just cheerfully waved to my parents on their way back home, I can totally empathize with you. I’ll also pass along a tip that made the cleaning easier on me: Hold the kid’s “fun” hostage each day until they help you complete one chore.
In my son’s case there was no TV and no toys until he did his job for the day. It was usually done (to my satisfaction even) within 20 minutes. It saved me days of being out of commission from injuries I would have sustained trying to contort myself like a pretzel to do the job myself (scrubbing around toilets, etc.).
It was the very first visit where I didn’t have crud growing in the corners of the bathroom and kitchen. I’m so glad my
slavechild is old enough to help me now.I am angrily typing this against the background noise of crabby squalling non-cooperation. Why? Because I asked the girls to put away their lunch dishes.
Wait until they hear of your plans!
Wow, you went to therapy???? I’m totally jealous. Though your therapist sounds like she sucked. The scribbling would make me feel paranoid and unlistened to.
I can’t believe your inlaws are coming for TWO weeks. That’s so long. I would be stressed to. Any kind of house guest is stressful for at least one half of a couple. I think it’s super important for the half that feels totally comfortable to at least acknowledge the other person is doing it for them and that it would not be that person’s first choice or any choice.
Just to be clear? I went to therapy 6 times a loooooooong time ago. And the only thing that I resolved was that my therapist was stupid.
And Mark is all sympathy and sweetness. He thinks the house looks fine. And that we look fine.
And that I worry too much.
Men are stupid.
“Men are stupid”
Seriously?!
Hee hee!
Sometimes women? They are stupid too.
I didn’t mean to be exclusive.
Apologies.
I went to therapy a few times, I don’t think it helped. All they did was validate the reasons I was angry at my family. Which made me more angry at my family. I’m now over that.
We are totally going to be able to commiserate together. My MIL arrives on Wednesday. I work full time and have a 4 month old = house is a mess. She’s staying for, get this, a month. Mind you, I’ve never met the woman, and while she is as sweet as molasses on a summer day, a month is a REALLY LONG TIME. She’s coming from the opposite side of the globe, both latitudally and longitudally. Hence the long visit.
A month? With a relative stranger?
Hee hee! Relative stranger.
With a new baby and a messy new-baby house?
That sounds like no fun at all. I hope you guys like one another!
Good lord – a month. I can’t even imagine.
You are clearly nuts. However, if sane, you would probably have the most boring blog on the planet. Good luck with the in-laws. Wow. molly
Hee hee!
I have stunned Miss Molly.
Wow!
Truly, I am disappointed in myself. Through all of this, even being a psych major about to graduate, what sticks out most to me is my thought “I didn’t know you could polish copper with steel wool…” No glitter. Nuthin.
Now, when you were talking about the phallic bananas, that made me at least twinkle a little…
Steel wool works on copper . . . like a dream.
In real life? I believe the copper would be all fucked up.
And if I do not make your future-psychologist eyes glitter? You will not find job satisfaction with any client base short of serial killers.
Seriously.
Yes, I love the #4 reference and I did soil her blog with a comment.
My only complaint is that she doesn’t (or hasn’t) replied to her comments!
That’s what I love about you Kris, you’ve got one of those implants (not the boob variety as far as I could tell) in your head allowing near-instantaneous feedback to comments.
She makes me giggle. I also left a comment on her blog, all full of incredulity.
Because seriously? No blow jobs? Ever? That’s fucked up.
And I am not sure everyone enjoys the witty banter as much as I do.
Because I? I fucking love this part!
Also? Your comment on her blog? I am all swoony with love for you, Axel.
Ahh, one day I will write something witty or funny enough for Axel to comment on.
OH NO! Look what I have done!
Back off, people! Axel is mine! I sent him ONE OTHER PLACE, but now he is back and he is mine.
Back the fuck off.
Hoarder! :P
Yes, I will hoard the Axel! He will be piled up all over the place until an intervention is needed. And then I will be on that television show for hoarders, and I will sell all of my unneeded Axel clutter at a garage sale.
You can have some then.
But until then? I need all of the Axel.
Does this count? As long as it comes from the heart, that’s all that matters. It can be funny, morbid or full to the brim with sorrow. The company on the journey is what makes the journey a true adventure.
See how guilty you make me feel for being all generalizing about stupid men?
I only meant my stupid man. And even he? Is only occasionally an idiot.
As am I.
But you? You are a genius.
I’m so sorry about your dream-arm…
The last dream I can remember involved Alec Baldwin as a malevolent vampire taking over a big, old Victorian house near where I grew up. He was after a clandestine group of daytraders operating a secret trading floor in the basement of the house. The basement was under lockdown, and I was the only one who could get in, so the Baldwin-pires wanted me.
Obviously, I disguised myself as a tourist on a tour of the property in order to escape them.
Obviously.
What were you saying about therapy?
Oh, and note the new site link. I moved!
YOUR dream? Sounds like it could be made into a successful vampire movie!
I am not a vampire fan. At all. But Alec Baldwin is yummy.
If he stars in your movie? You will have all the money you need for therapy!
Making a note of your new site!
Making a note also that I need better guest stars in my dreams.
Brilliant!
I shall dump my current novel-in-progress and get to work on the screenplay. Do you think I could all the Baldwins on the project?
And yes, you do need good guest stars for your dreams!
You do realize that I am close personal friends with Daniel Baldwin, right? He of Celebrity Rehab fame, who has been granted enormous merit badges for his addictions to porn, drugs, and prostitutes? He loves me!
Allegedly.
He lives in this very town, and if he is not all snorty with drugs, I am sure he would be delighted to be a vampire!