Dissident Daughters Holiday: Continued Family Reflection (and Diatribe!)

Last year, I wrote this blog post: Fighting Family Insulation.

For those of you that are unable to read the entire post again, I will offer a brief summary. Basically, I write about my concern that our culture is too focused on having one nuclear family and that we are too narrow in who we define as our “immediate” family. I strongly believe that this is to our culture’s detriment as we find ourselves either lonely (because we have such a limited understanding of who can be considered our close family), or else we overburden a few individuals to meet all of our needs.

I don’t have a singular answer to this cultural predicament because (like most issues) it is very complex, and it also would require many societal restructurings.

However. I do want to write about the Dissident Daughter Christmas because I am so happy with how our family organizes the holidays now. I also believe that the structuring of our family Christmas (as well as our priorities) is the beginning of a model for how we can reimagine family relations.

Now, before I get started, let me offer a disclaimer. I don’t mean to state that every family should copy our exact holiday celebrations, nor do I mean to imply that our family is without issue (because every single one of the Dissident Daughters could easily describe dysfunctional dynamics that are abound in our family system.) But still, I think there is something useful to be gleaned here about how we restructure our understanding of family and how different members are connected to one another.

First, the holidays are a BIG DEAL for the Dissident Daughters and the people that we love. The fact that they are a big deal means that it is a significant priority that we see one another for the holidays- it’s simply a given fact. It doesn’t matter who, where, or what you are in life- it’s a given that WE WILL SEE YOU. Sometimes I feel sad when I hear people talk about how they won’t see their parents for every holiday once they are dating someone because they will have to split their time. They seem to take it as a given that this has to happen- it’s almost as though it as benchmark of adulthood. Once you find someone to date seriously, you apparently have to loosen all other familial ties. Now, don’t get me wrong- I do realize that the more people there are in a family system, it does become more complicated to coordinate time together. But - I just HATE that our society is structured so that we try to only have one nuclear family. It’s almost as though the implicit, underlying belief is this: “Oh, I’m dating someone! This person is now MY PERSONAL FAMILY and it’s the most important FAMILY I HAVE! My parents and my siblings (my former nuclear family), now they are my SECOND TIER family.” No one actually thinks these words, but our decisions certainly reflect this line of thing. And I simply don’t like the presupposition that we have to create family hierarchies. This is (as I have argued in my previous post) vastly to our detriment in a variety of ways. Moreover, it’s a bit nonsensical. Why do we have to create hierarchies of love? Love is love, family is family, and it’s one of the only things in the world that is able to grow so beautifully with the more that you give.  So why do we have to create these crazy ass hierarchies of who is most important?

…Back to the holidays. Given that holidays are a priority, we will see each other. It doesn’t matter how many people are added to the family system, we will see you. So, here’s what we did:

1)     For Thanksgiving, a crapload of us went out to Boston to celebrate. Molly, Larry, baby LJ, and Larry’s parents all live in Boston. And to visit them this year was Dissident Daughter Jill, her spouse John, their children Trevor and Brooklyn, myself, Dissident Daughter Kristen, and our father.  The host of the big Thanksgiving Day is Larry’s parents (Leah and Larry Sr.) And they have just an incredible number of people over to celebrate the holiday in addition to the clan I just mentioned- their other son Eric…former neighbors…cousins….etc. It’s just a big gathering of amazing people.
Here is what I love about this gathering:

·        Molly and Larry don’t have to “split” their holiday between each of their family of origins. Because we all celebrate together, there doesn’t have to be any “splitting” of time! We can all just enjoy everyone’s company all at once.

·         It expands who is considered in the family. I am not related by blood to Larry Sr. or Leah, nor are they even my in-laws! However, they are starting to be a part of “my family.” I have memories of celebrating with them at Molly and Larry’s wedding in St. John…we’ve started a tradition of going out there for Thanksgiving…they are warm and welcoming people. It doesn’t matter how we are or are not officially related- what matters is that we have experiences and memories together.
That’s family.

Family in Boston for Thanksgiving

2)     Meanwhile, our mother celebrated Thanksgiving in Iowa with Dissident Daughter Amy, Amy’s partner Brett, and Brett’s parents. (Both Amy and my mother had been out to Boston earlier that fall already.) Same thing here- I loved that people did not have to “split holidays” because of the in-laws and that they were able to simply celebrate and be together. Related by blood or not…officially married or not…it didn’t matter. Everyone who was in Iowa opened themselves up to everyone and celebrated together.

3)     We spent Christmas in Iowa. Christmas is a big giant shit show shindig for us.  It included all of the dissident daughters (Amy, Jill, Molly, Anne, and Kristen), our parents (Tom and Colleen), husbands of the dissident daughters (John and Larry, and partner Brett), children of the dissident daughters (Trevor, Brooklyn, and LJ), in-laws (John’s mother, Hope) and Kristen’s old college roommate (Shanice!). And again, it was a bunch of people celebrating together that had an incredible breadth of diverse life situations. Some of the people there were married. Some of the people were single and not dating anyone. Some of the people were in committed relationships. Some of the people were actually divorced (From one another, no less! The parents of the Dissident Daughters are divorced, and yet they spend holidays together with everyone else.) One of the individuals present was widowed at a relatively young age. Some of the people had children. Some of the people did not. Some of the people were related by blood. Some of the people were not. We all gathered together for 4-5 days, and we ate, played games, watched movies, laughed, argued, got each other sick, and just simply spent a LOT of time together with EVERYONE.

I just love how our family does holidays because it means that NO ONE is excluded (regardless of their life situation), we have a lot of time together, and it also means that I am blessed to have SO MANY PEOPLE in my family. We used to do the split holiday thing, and IT SUCKED. For example, we used to split time between the parents of the Dissident Daughters because they were divorced. Additionally, Jill and John used to go to Sioux City to be with John’s Mom on Christmas Eve, and then they would spend Christmas Day with Jill’s family. They also did the “split” thing.

     
And I will tell you (and I think others would agree), that it sucked when we did this. It sucked because people would inevitably be shorted on time. It sucked because other people would be so harried trying to make it to different places that they couldn’t even properly enjoy the holiday or the time they did have with loved ones.  It felt as though everyone “lost” to some degree. For those that didn’t have a partner or young children, they lost out on family time because they had to share what family they did have left with so many others. And for those that did have a partner and young children, they lost because they had  to race around trying to make everyone else happy. It was…it was like people were yet again the victim of our societal arrangements. That because our society is so limited in who we consider our nuclear family, we inevitably are shorted and lose in some way. We don’t receive enough, or we give too much.

Screw that. Just screw it. I love that this year, we said “screw it” to split holidays. This year, John’s mom came and celebrated along with us. Our divorced parents spent the holiday together. Kristen’s old college roommate was present for some of the festivities. It just seems like such a win-win situation to me. Everyone gets to spend more time with each other, no one has to feel different or singled out based on their life situation, and the number of people you have in your family grows. John’s mother, Hope, is also not my blood relative or even my own in-law. But I’ve spent so much time with her the past 10 years that it feels like we are related. Again, it’s the memories, shared experiences, and connections that make family. And she’s certainly a part of mine now, as well as my sisters, parents, nieces, nephews, in-laws, cousins, friends, etc. and etc. My family keeps growing, and I love it. We laugh, we argue, we get annoyed, we get ecstatic. We are-in short- simply family.

Don’t create hierarchies for your family members and family systems. Don’t limit who you consider a part of your family or who you love. Don’t make decisions simply because it seems like “that’s what everyone else does” or “that’s just the way it is.” It’s so easy for us to fall into these traps because our societal arrangements basically make it impossible for us to think outside of those lines. But I want to impress upon you that staying within the bounds of those strict arrangements are detrimental to your well-being (and please see my previous blog post for strong examples.) And I strongly believe that if we can all continue to find ways to step outside of the lines, we will open ourselves up to new relationships and additional ways of being in community with one another.

Our family has made a step in this direction with our holidays. Help us imagine and create other ways that we (and others) can take more. 

The Ghost of Christmas Past

I am in the holiday mood and I don't want to write a blog that will get me all fired up and in a rage. I feel happy and warm with the holiday spirit and I want to share that with all of you. So, if you will humor me, I want to take a walk with the Ghost of Christmas Past.

One of my favorite Christmas memories is sitting in the dark, watching the tree lights, with Christmas music in the background. Growing up, it seemed so magical and exciting. I can still recall the feeling I had inside, only at Christmas. We would put our sleeping bags by the Christmas tree and sleep downstairs by it some nights. Of course, not THE night...when it got close to Christmas, we had no desire to sleep by the tree, lest we scare Santa Claus away.

Our tradition was to hang our stockings along the staircase...and we knew Santa had come because he would take down all of the stockings and put each person's stocking by her (or his, for my dad...lol) pile of goodies. We'd sneak down, sometimes in the middle of the night, to check if the stockings were still up. When I discovered the stockings missing, my heart would leap and I would be flooded with excitement and anticipation.

I remember one of the more daring and dramatic Santa Claus occurrences was one year when we went to Midnight Mass. When I was in grade school, the parish still had the Midnight Mass at midnight (it's earlier now). We looked forward to this as kids because we got to stay up late! That year, the stockings were gone when we got home from church! (Events such as these were clear evidence of SC's existence provided to the naysayers at school.)

Speaking of evidence, one year, Santa made an actual appearance, IN PERSON, to Jill and I. We were all sitting in the living room when we heard a knock on the door. Jill and I answered it and there was Santa! He personally delivered our toys that year and we got a picture with him (now there was physical proof!).

One story we like to give Jill shit about is the year she wanted a My Pretty Pony waterfall. She didn't get it when all of the presents were found and she wanted it so badly, I think she started to cry. My parents couldn't take the sight of her disappointment so they told us to check outside and we found the pony waterfall laying in the snowbank by the door. Santa must have dropped it on his way in! It turned out, when my parents were setting out the piles of gifts, they thought the piles were uneven, so they took one of Jill's gifts out to be returned. When they saw how dismayed Jill was, they devised a plan to stage a Santa Claus blunder.

I also have fond memories of driving around Denison, bundled up in the back seat of the car, looking at all of the Christmas lights and singing Christmas carols. The ones with a lot of lights were deemed "lighthouses". Mental notes were made to pay these houses a visit on the drive the following year.

Denison also had an actual little house the town put up every year where we could go see Santa (this also seemed pretty legit when it came to belief...I mean, there was a house!). I remember and we still have a picture of Molly screaming in terror as Santa holds her and poses for a picture. She was 10...just kidding...I think she was two.

My mom would make sugar cookies (let me tell you right now, for the record, I have never tasted a sugar cookie that can match hers) in a bunch of different Christmas shapes and we would all sit down to frost them together. As the tradition progressed, we came up with contests (ugliest, creative and the most recently added "it was good until..." category...see picture) and each person picked cookies s/he had decorated to enter into the contest. We all voted and let me tell you...since we are Aleschs, the contest was always taken very seriously and documented with pictures, for posterity.

There are cookie stories that live in infamy, to this day...like the time I tried to be super creative and stuck a Reese's cup on Santa's cookie sack (my thinking...it was brown, like his bag...brilliantly clever). Turns out, not so much and it gets brought up every time we frost cookies (no one would eat it!). Anne also still takes some very serious ribbing for her cookies as a child...she would pile every decorative bead and sparkle and frosting color on one cookie. Those were always "left for Santa" because they were pretty much inedible!

There are 17 years between Kristen and I, so I felt fortunate that the Christmas magic was extended into my adult life. Santa Claus still came to all of us because Kristen was young. He still took the stockings down and put them by our gifts. And even though I didn't like to get up as early when Kristen found the stockings were gone, I enjoyed the magic that I still felt and the warmth of enjoying that time with my family.

As the years have passed, our Christmases have looked different from year to year. The year Jill was deployed in Afghanistan, we took a soldier nutcracker with us wherever we went and took our picture with it, so she "was there with us" (Kurt Warner even signed it that year at the Fiesta Bowl parade!).

We have added people to our family and shared our time with other families and friends, which has enriched our lives and memories. I like thinking back on my Christmas memories and enjoy the feeling when a Christmas carol evokes a memory (The Oak Ridge Boys Christmas and Mannheim Steamroller are essentially the soundtracks to my Christmas memories). I hope you all have the same simple, beautiful, funny, heartfelt, nostalgic memories, whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa or like me these days, enjoy getting together with family and friends to celebrate our lives, light and love together.

Started from the Bottom Now We Here

Hey ya'll! I hope you all are enjoying the holiday spirit and gearing up to spend a copious amount of time with your families! Because I am also enjoying the holiday spirit and gearing up to spend a copious amount of time with my family, I will not be making this blog super long. I would just like to fill you in about a huge part of my life right now.

This fall I received a phone call from a company that helps teachers plan national and international trips for their students. I always have said that while I am teaching I would like to take at least ONE group of students abroad and give them an experience that they may not be given otherwise. That being said, I thought about dates, the timeline of my own life, I talked to my administration and now here I am writing this blog.

This summer I will be taking a group of EIGHT students from the street of Shelby Drive all the way to Costa Rica. Teaching Spanish in a low income community is sometimes (actually a lot of times) difficult to get your students invested in the language because most of them will argue that they will never use it. Knowing the way our world and the systems within that world work, it is sometimes (actually a lot of times) difficult for me as an educator to counter that argument.

 "Oh you'll use it in college." "You'll get a better paying job." "You can flirt with a girl from Peru." My go-to superficial rationale for learning Spanish was starting to get old because a) I didn't really believe it and b) The kids definitely didn't believe it. I really just wanted my kids to get invested in learning, critically thinking and the idea of being comfortable with being uncomfortable.

I decided that I needed to make the importance of learning Spanish more tangible for my kids and that's where this summer trip comes in. On this trip, my kids will not only be flying on a plane for the first time, they will also be leaving the only world they have ever known for the first time. They will become comfortable with the uncomfortable while actually getting to use the Spanish they have learned over the course of the two years with me in a REAL WORLD CONTEXT!

I am really excited to take these kids which I care so much about to a place that will allow them to grow as individuals and scholars. Our trip has the perfect mix of educational and cultural experiences. One day we will be viewing the hot volcanoes while another day will be spent in a local village and school site. You can see our itinerary to the right. The balance of educational and cultural experiences will allow us to practice our Spanish a majority of the time. My kids and I have made a goa

l that we will speak in Spanish (even when we're not around native speakers) 80% of the time!

With all that said, this trip is a fair amount of money. Each student is required to pay $2,300 which includes airfare, hotels, food, and adventures. On top of that each student will have to pay for his/ her own passport since it will be their first time out of the United States. For those of you that know me and have seen me planning for the trip, you know that the eight students and I have been working our behinds off trying to fund raise a large portion of the money needed. We have come a long way, but we have an even longer way to go yet. I teach at a Title 1 school and for a vast majority of my students, it is extremely difficult for their families to pay a large sum like this one. I, however, do not believe that money should ever prohibit a student from following their dreams or partaking in a prosperous experience. Their education MATTERS.

During this holiday season, think about donating your money to our scholarship fund for these eight awesome students. The money you donate will allow the students to apply for scholarships that will be put toward the cost of their trip. Students will write an essay and a 200-500 dollar scholarship will be rewarded to the students that demonstrate a love for learning and passion for education. We believe that it is important to show our students the value of hard work and effort through this scholarship campaign.

If you have a penny or two to spare, please think of the Fairley High School Spanish club. I hope you can love on these students just as much as I do :) The link to donate is listed below:

https://www.crowdrise.com/fhs-to-costa-rica/fundraiser/kristenalesch

Thanks for your support,

Eight Grateful Students and their Ambitious Teacher

Stop Telling Me What To Wear

I’m not going to pretend that I’m writing about a subject that has not been addressed before. Nor am I going to suggest that I’m writing anything new or groundbreaking on this subject.

I am, however, writing on this subject because it keeps happening, and I am BEYOND sick and pissed off about it.

Dear People,

Stop, stop, STOP, JUST STOP thinking that you have the right to tell me what to wear. Seriously. Stop it. You do not have the right to dictate my clothing.

Unless I am naked, unless I am wearing smelly, ratty sweatpants to a work event, or unless I’m wearing a shirt with language that denigrates others, just STOP telling me what I should or should not wear.

Most of these incidents- where others think that they can dictate what I wear- actually happen in my professional career.  Here are some experiences that I have had in the last couple of years:

1)     I was visiting an elderly man one-on-one about the loss of his wife. The sole purpose of these visits was to talk about HOW MUCH IT HURT that his wife was dead. At the end of one of our sessions, he asked me if I would “wear the outfit with the red scarf again because I looked so pretty.”

Needless to say, I had to terminate that therapeutic relationship and refer him on. Sir, we are here to talk about your deceased wife, and I am not here for you to ogle.  We are in a professional relationship, I am an intelligent woman respected in my field, and YOU SIMPLY DO NOT HAVE THE RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT TO WEAR!

2)    When I worked in the hospital, one of the social workers commented to another one of my colleagues that “Anne doesn’t dress like a chaplain.” WTF does that even mean? Unless you are a Catholic priest, chaplains don’t have a certain dress code. So WTF does it even mean to “dress like a chaplain?”

Look here, people. I dress in bright colors, okay? I dress in bright colors because I LIKE THEM. And I like bright colors because they are cheery and they reflect my personality. I’m not going to start dressing like the damn grim reaper because 1) it’s not authentic to who I am; and 2) there is enough sadness and despondency in the world that I don’t need to contribute to it with my wardrobe.

Moreover, while I AM indeed a chaplain, I am also a woman. I’m not going to wear a burlap sack or a monk’s robe. I AM going to dress somewhat with current fashion. So yes, this DOES mean that I wear tall boots. It DOES mean that I wear slim cut pants with short boots. It does mean that- God forbid- you can tell that my body shape has some curves. It’s not like my chest is hanging out in my clothes. But you know what- I do wear fashionable clothes, and you can tell from looking at me that I’m- gasp- I AM a woman.

This is an example of my style and what I like to wear. SO OFFENSIVE, right!?

I get so irate thinking about this scenario because I think that the implication is that to be a chaplain must mean that you can only be one thing- a stodgy male. And you know what? It’s NOT mutually exclusive to be both a chaplain AND a female. I AM both of these things, and my clothing WILL embody both of these identities. When people tell me that I “don’t dress like a chaplain,” I feel that what they are really saying is “you aren’t male, and your comfort with your femininity is challenging.”

That’s not my problem, folks. That’s YOUR problem. I understand how I can be both female and a chaplain. If the embodiment of those two identities is too much for you to handle, that’s your issue. DON’T put it back on me by saying, “Anne doesn’t dress like a chaplain.” YOU are displacing your own issues and making it my fault, when it is really YOUR own discomfort that is the problem. YOU need to address this within yourself, and I don’t need to start wearing shapeless brown bags in order for your narrow worldview to fit easier.

3)     I recently completed a presentation at a hospice conference. I remember what I wore- I wore a gray skirt, black tights, and a sweater vest. One of the comments that I received about my presentation was that “I wasn’t dressed professional, and my wardrobe was distracting.”

First of all, asshole, I was wearing a sweater vest and a gray skirt. Last time I checked, that WAS considered professional ware. WTF do you want me to wear? I’m not going to wear a suit or a blazer- it’s not comfortable for me to wear, especially when I’m walking around doing a presentation. I walk around a lot when I present, I use a lot of gestures, and blazers just get in my way. So if a blazer isn’t an option, what IS considered “professional enough” for you?

Also, what exactly was it about my outfit that made you uncomfortable? Was it the fact that the sweater vest was colorful? Because again, I’m not going to start wearing drab colors. I’m not sure who decided that “drab colors” was equivalent with professional, but I’m not going to abide by that ridiculousness. Besides, I did have a gray skirt on, so I had one article of drab clothing on.

If it wasn’t the bright colors, was it the fact that I was wearing a skirt? Did that make you uncomfortable? I was standing during the whole presentation, not to mention I was wearing dark tights. So you didn’t see a closeup of my ass. So what the hell was your problem, then? Was it the fact that I was wearing a skirt, and I may have looked *gasp* like a female? And the skirt did go a bit above my knees! Oh my goodness! Were you aware while I presented that I was actually a female?! If so, what bothered you about this? Was it because again- your brain could not compute how someone could be feminine AND an authority on a topic!? Holy shit! I may have looked somewhat attractive in my skirt, and I managed to convey knowledge on a topic. That must have been difficult to comprehend!

Moreover, if you thought my gray skirt was too sexual, that again is YOUR problem, not mine. I wasn’t showing any skin, nor was I trying to woo you- I was presenting on grief, for the love of God. So if you thought that my skirt conveyed too much sexuality, that is YOUR problem, not mine. I'm not going to change my outfit just so that you can be less distracted by the fact that I'm a female. YOU need to work on that issue, NOT ME. I was presenting on human loss, YOU were thinking about how I was "distracting."

I could go ON AND ON about additional incidents, but I do not want to turn this blog post into a book. The point of all of these anecdotes is that other people decided that THEY had the authority to tell ME how to dress. Again, I’m not so much of a crazy individualist that I think that “anything goes.” I honestly don’t think that I should have all of my body parts on display, nor do I think that people should wear ratty sweatpants in a professional setting.  However, in each of these scenarios, I was dressed in nice clothes- although these clothes were bright clothes that did accent my femininity. Again, GOD FORBID.

I’m left with the conclusion that people simply aren’t comfortable with me being able to embody multiple identities at once- that I cannot be female AND a chaplain AND an authority in my field. I’m also left with the conclusion that other people STILL think that they have the right to dictate my life- including something as mundane as THE STYLE OF MY CLOTHES. THE STYLE OF MY CLOTHES. This is what we are concerned about- the style of someone's clothes.

I WILL wear bright colors, and I WILL dress like a female because I AM cheery, and I AM a female.

BACK OFF, and STOP COMMENTING ABOUT IT. Moreover, stop THINKING about it, and start thinking about WHAT I’M SAYING AND DOING.

Welcome to the Idiocracy

I didn't really want to write about this but anything else feels inauthentic right now. I feel sick and sad and angry when I think about who this country voted in as president. I also feel embarrassed and ashamed when I think about what this choice says about our populace's priorities, understanding of our relationship with our fellow humans and the hate and fear present and driving what seems to be most of the decisions in our society.

This country knowingly elected an unapologetic, aggressive, hateful sexist and racist to our highest office. And I don't know how that happened unless the people in this country think those characteristics are not only acceptable but to be rewarded. It cannot be because people actually liked his policies, because he did not have detailed policy statements to speak of. I can probably count the number of grammatically complete sentences he used on one hand, so it cannot be because anyone voted for who they thought was the most intelligent candidate. He had no experience for the job he was applying for and his opponent possessed a resume any candidate would have dreamed of having...so it could not have been that voters thought he was qualified for the job. I have heard some people say that people voted for him because they wanted a change...someone from the outside to shake things up. To that I say that his voters are as ignorant about the inner workings of our country's political system and relationships as he is. The discontent with our government is largely systemic...and one man will not change a system that is fueled by corporate dollars. Real change might come when we start dismantling the havoc that rulings like Citizens United have wrought. I think some of the wealthy who voted for him did so for selfish reasons. So, at the end of the day, I am left faced with the fact that this election demonstrates the people in this country at the least, do not care about sexism, racism, ignorance and greed, and at the worst, revel in and revere these things.

As a woman, it was a slap in the face to me that we elected a man who so clearly views women solely as beings for male sexual gratification and when they're not doing that, taking care of children and doing housework. I knew women were not equal in this country before he was a candidate...the slap in the face came from the toleration and defense of his demeaning, aggressive statements about and to women. Women are not equal and it has now been legitimized on an international stage to shame, denigrate and dismiss women.

When that video came out, I was sure it would be the long awaited for nail in his coffin. Oh, there were the obligatory expressions of outrage, quite often couched in patronizing paternalistic rhetoric. The outrage lasted about a weekend, if that. And then, I heard people defending his "locker room" talk. Everybody talks like that, was the message I heard from people defending him. NEWS FLASH: IT DOES NOT MATTER IF IT HAPPENS IN A LOCKER ROOM, AMONG ONLY MEN, IN A SOUNDPROOF ROOM. WHEN IT COMES TO SEXISM, LOCATION DOES NOT MATTER. CONTENT DOES. That this behavior is tolerated and defended is abhorrent to me. It makes me sick. It makes me angry. And we just solidified this platform at the national and international level. That is a big fuck you to women everywhere, whether said women are too stupid and brainwashed to know it or not.

One of my friends told me a story that happened where she works. The day after the election, one of her coworkers had to leave work to pick his child up from school. Her coworker is from Ethiopia and his wife is from Iowa. The day after the election, this gentleman, who became a citizen before they were married (this should be irrelevant as to how we treat people but I guess this is the world we've allowed to be created), had to leave work to pick up their son from school because some boys from his class were upsetting him so badly with their relentless taunts stating that now that Trump was elected, he would be sent out of the country. I'm not judging them on the merits of their statements...they are children and obviously this boy and his whole family are US citizens and would not be deported. My point is that this is the racist culture and environment we've allowed not only to flourish, but as I believe this incident clearly demonstrates, we have allowed to metastasize. This is the result of electing a leader who espouses these hateful, racist positions. Children clearly see this as acceptable behavior because it has played out before them by adults in positions of leadership and prestige.

I received a blog post from someone that stated that we should not worry about our leaders behaviors because it is the responsibility of the family and local community to instill morals in our children. The argument was that if you parent morals, it doesn't matter what our leaders do. I agree it is the family, first and foremost, who impart morals and appropriate behaviors to our children. However, it is ludicrous and naive to think that children are unaware of people in positions of power, how they act and how that behavior is rewarded. And that is in the best case, where a family is actually taking the time to engender loving belief systems. Go ahead and stick your head in the sand, if you think our leaders do not impact the culture of the society our children grow up in. Stick your head in the sand (or somewhere else) if you think kids do not internalize messages about behaviors that are acceptable and rewarded from outside the family, particularly from clips they see running constantly on TV and the internet. Meanwhile, we're living in a country where violence is glorified in our professions, pastimes and government and we now have a leader who has specifically given direction as to where to direct that violence, hate and fear. (PS...why would a country elect a leader that we have to teach our children to be opposite of?)

I've heard the phrase that a country elects the government they deserve. I guess we'll see what happens when a country elects an ignorant, narcissistic, sexist, racist as its highest leader, with the privilege of appointing like minded folk to "advise" him and administer major arms of our government. Welcome to the idiocracy.

What It's Like to Work for Hospice

November is National Hospice Month!!! In honor of it being national hospice month…I want to write a blog post about what it’s like to work in hospice.

I’m fairly certain that I have received only TWO types of responses when I tell people what I do for a living.

“I work in hospice- I’m a chaplain doing bereavement care.”

Response 1:

“Hospice? Yuck. Now, why would you want to do that? Don’t you get depressed?”

Response 2:

“Hospice? Oh my goodness. You must be an angel. It takes a SPECIAL person to do what you do.”

One of the reasons I’m writing this blog post is because I want to describe what it’s actually like working in hospice. For those of you that may not know, hospice is a form of health care that takes care of people at the end of their life. To qualify for hospice, you need to have a life prognosis of six months or less. So yeah- my job evolves around death. Wah wah.

My specific ministry within hospice is bereavement care. This means that I provide support to people after their loved ones are dead- I facilitate support groups, I offer one-on-one counseling, I provide grief education to the Des Moines community, and I coordinate large scale events.

What is this like?

1)     It’s Meaningful. 
I honestly never doubt the necessity or the value of the work I do. Oh sure, I doubt my own effectiveness at times, but I never doubt the need for bereavement support.

2)     It IS Sad.
I can’t tell you how hard it is to hear someone intensely grieve for their loved one- to cry over and over again how much they miss this person. To say that they would give anything to be with him or her again. And there is nothing I can say or do that will come remotely close to fixing their problem for them- they have lost something that they will never have back again.

Someone once told me that the best grief gets for them- as good as their life will get after their loved one is dead- is that they figure out how to “mark time.” They find ways to keep active and engaged in their life, but ultimately, they are still marking time until they die and join their loved one. It’s incredibly…heart wrenching to think about all of the people we lose in life and the toll this takes on us. It’s devastating to think that sometimes the best life can get is to tolerate it until it’s over.

3 )    It’s Fun. (WHAT? Working with death is fun!?!?)
Yes! Actually, I have a really fun job. The people I work with are awesome- they really care about the work we do, but they also know how to have fun. (One of my coworkers just hosted a Halloween party this weekend that resulted in me painting my entire body green for a witch costume). Additionally, my job is fun because I have a LOT of variety in what I do. I lead support groups…I give educational presentations….and I’m always traveling all over the city of Des Moines. Moreover, some of our events are quite engaging and enjoyable. We have a yoga workshop coming up….we have an annual movie night…and we have a social wine and canvas painting event every spring. Additionally, one of our support groups is at a different restaurant every month, and another one of our support groups gives me the opportunity to color. (It’s a crafting support group). I get paid to do some pretty awesome things!!!

4)     It’s Surprising.
I am continually surprised by the variety of people, lives, relationships, family dynamics, and lifestyles that I encounter. You know the nuclear family? Well, statistics have debunked that mythical notion, but my experience in hospice has definitely deconstructed it as well. I’ve met people that are divorced but still living together. I’ve met people that have never married but live with their mother. I’ve met people who have no one that care about them and so their body ends up unclaimed. And I’ve met people who have touched so many lives that their funeral is bursting at the seams. I’ve met rich people, and I’ve met people who live with insects in their homes. It’s a little bit of everything.

5)     It’s Connecting.
I listen to people when they are at their most raw and when they are at their most vulnerable. Do you want to experience some real intimacy? Hold someone’s hand while they are bawling hysterically and sobbing that they are not sure if they can go on living. Look into their eyes as they tell you that the only thing they want is their loved one back, even though they know that it will never happen. That level of connection is one of the most profound and personal ways that I have ever been close to another human being. It’s as close to touching someone’s spirit as you can get.

Additionally, I’m strangely connected with my coworkers. I think that professional boundaries are more porous when you work in hospice because you are dealing with such an emotional subject. I never thought I would be someone that had good friends at work, and somehow, some of my very best friends are the people I work with. My coworkers have seen me laugh hysterically and sob uncontrollably. They’ve seen me on my ‘A’ game when I just nail bereavement support, and they’ve also seen me completely miss the boat. They really have seen me in all of my complexity and sides of my identity. In any field, shared experience is significant. Hospice is no different- my coworkers are the only ones that know what it’s like to have your entire career evolve around death.

6)     It’s Disconnecting.
It’s hard for me to type this (because I think it can sound a bit condescending), but sometimes I feel disconnected from some of my friends and peers because I’ve had to confront many intense questions and issues that they have not. Many of my peers are in a stage of life where everything is still new and exciting. They finally have a worthwhile career, they are in serious relationships/marriage, and they may have even had a kid or two. I’m not saying their lives are perfect or without difficult issues, but I don’t think many of them know what it’s like to have your entire world completely blown up. They don’t know what it’s like to question everything you have ever known because you have experienced a loss that shook you to the core.

On the other hand, I’ve had…some pretty intense experiences. I’ve had a bereaved client die from suicide….after he sent me the final suicide note. I’ve held a baby that was born after only 20 weeks gestation, and I still remember the precious, tiny features that were only half-formed. I’ve talked to people who lost their spouse after being married for over 60 years. I’ve witnessed people in their 30’s die from cancer, even though they had so many dreams that they still wanted to accomplish. And overall, I’ve seen more dead bodies, blood, and excretions than I really care to remember.  I’ve witnessed and experienced the darker side of life, and most of my peers have not. Their naivety about life- that it's mostly sunshine with a few clouds- feels really disconnecting to me.

Additionally, I also feel disconnected from my peers because they don’t get that this is my daily life. That death, pain, love- the intensity of what makes us human- is my EVERY day. And so sometimes, I get impatient when someone complains to me about the fact that the office mixed up their dental appointment. Yup, that’s annoying, but I just don’t have much energy to listen to you complain about that. You see, a couple of hours earlier, I had to hear someone talk about how they would give anything to have one more hug from their mother. And so not only am I drained from listening to that person, but it’s also hard for me to not look at your problem and trivialize it.

HOWEVER. I’m also chastising myself while writing this because I think it is SUCH a dick move to trivialize someone else’s pain and irritations (that’s like pastoral care 101, yo!) I mean, it’s completely ineffective and patronizing to tell someone that their concerns aren’t valid because they don’t deal with death and dying on a routine basis. And the fact is, I know I personally still complain about trivial things (remember how I broke my foot this summer and it was like the only thing I could talk about for 2 straight months?) Everyone complains...and it’s a part of being human…and it’s one of the ways that we connect with one another in our relationships. And so I recognize it in myself and I recognize it in others. But sometimes…it’s still just hard. It’s hard for me to have the energy to listen to someone bitch about a mundane problem when I listen to people who are struggling with the most difficult questions of human existence. It’s hard to go from exploring questions like, “Why do we die” and “How can I live knowing that I will never see my loved one on this earth again?”…to questions like, “OMG, how could they mix up my dental appointment?!?!”

It’s definitely a balancing act for me, one that I need to continually renegotiate and navigate every day. It’s a balancing act for how much energy I can give to others after working all day…how much I can validate my other people’s concerns and empathize with them…etc. One of the (many) reasons that TGR –my gym- has been a godsend is because it allows me to be social, but I don’t have to actively listen to people in order to connect with them.

7)     It's Not very Anxiety-Producing.
For those of you that know me at all, you know that I have high levels of anxiety. I’ve learned to manage it quite well, and I can often use my anxiety to work for me as a form of energy (definitely a topic for another blog post!!!) Regardless, it’s still a part of me that I have to constantly navigate. A lot of my anxiety stems from a desire to be perfect and be in control. However, hospice actually makes me feel less anxious because I’m working with grief and death. Even I have the wherewithal to know that I cannot be perfect. This knowledge- that I'm working with problems that cannot be fixed or solved- melts away much of my anxiety.

8)     It's Boring. There ARE some boring parts.
It’s easy to wax poetics about how meaningful and beautiful it is to work for hospice. Well, there ARE definitely some boring parts. Anything involving charting and documentation is extremely mind numbing. Sometimes phone calls are boring- either the person really didn’t give a shit about the deceased, or the person simply isn’t open to talking. Or sometimes the person has NO self-awareness whatsoever and he or she talks my ear off- usually in rambling circles. Additionally, there are still meetings that I have to attend that I find unproductive or uninspiring. There are still definitely those mundane components to the job.   

9)     It Restores My Faith in Humanity.
People talk about how terrible the world is now…how everyone does awful things…and how scary it is. I can understand that…AND…I also see the most beautiful side of humanity. I see people grow in ways they never thought was possible after their loved one dies; for example, one woman may join a barbershop chorus after wanting to sing her whole life. She only was able to do it after she was forced to challenge herself to find new ways of connecting with others after the death of her spouse. I see people support one another in the most incredible ways. For example, someone may drive patients to chemo as a means of honoring their loved one’s legacy and assisting with others that suffer from a similar disease. One of my other favorite experiences is when I see people make new friends in support group. I LOVE that something as beautiful as a new connection can come from the darkness of death.

10)   …I Love It.
I really do love my job. From the time that I was in grade school until I finished graduate school, I was VERY worried that I would never find a job that I liked. I had SUCH a negative connotation with the word “job” itself. The word “job” meant boredom, stifled, and trapped. And now? I don’t even think about my job as a job. Yes, I’m one of those super annoying people that thinks of her job more as her “calling” or her “vocation.” It’s…honestly kind of a natural extension of who I am. I’ve always been compassionate and enjoyed hearing people stories- I’ve been doing that since I was a child. And now…I’m doing what I’ve always done in a more intentional way. Again, I don’t mean to say that I don’t EVER get bored, irritated, or frustrated. BELIEVE me, I DEFINITELY have those moments. But overall…I genuinely love my job.

So, there you go, folks! That’s my experience of working in hospice as a chaplain providing bereavement support. I’m not some weird goth person obsessed with darkness…nor am I an angel sent from God. I’m Anne. I’m Anne, and I’m doing what I feel I am called to do. And I hope that you are too.

Just Mom

It will probably come as no surprise to anyone that knows me that things have been a bit chaotic lately. I completed a masters degree in September, found myself volunteering to be my son's head soccer coach, completed a military school and enrolled in another one, began training for my 8th marathon, drove nine hours with two kids in less than 24 hours to attend my cousin's wedding, and am currently on a plane to Virginia.  Meanwhile, John has been gone so much that Sister Anne and Sister Amy joked last weekend that they hadn't seen the guy for a year. I'm kicking my own ass for allowing things to get so crazy. My point, in telling you all this, is not to make it seem like I'm the best time manager in the history of the world. In fact, I suck at time management as most people who know me well can attest to. I'm routinely, no, chronically 10, ok if I'm honest, 15 minutes late. I joke sometimes with the people I recruit that if you were to think of a stereotypical career military person, I would not be it. I hate mornings, I'm always late, I hate being hot and I'm female. But my point to my applicants is that just because you may not fit the stereotype does not mean you won't find success in a military organization.

I think the same is true for being a parent. And that's really what I want to write about. By some standards, I'm a real asshole of a mother. Example 1: I'm in Scheels trying to buy a soccer ball since my son's ball somehow was coming apart at the seams. My 3-year-old is out of control throwing balls and running behind cash registers. The usual crap I normally use to obtain compliance isn't working. She doesn't give a shit if she doesn't get a prize today. She is not deterred by the three count. The stink eye has zero effect. I can only contort my face in so many different forms of disapproval and none of them stopped the madness. I pick her up and she goes exorcist on my ass. So finally, I hear myself telling my three year old she is grounded. I'm laughing as I'm writing this because it is the most ridiculous thing. I don't even know how to ground a three year old. And the worst thing is, it totally backfired. She started screaming like I told her she was going to have her arm cut off. The ladies in front of us looked at me disapprovingly. Thanks, gals. I needed that extra kick in the nuts as I held my head high carrying the exorcist child with a neon yellow soccer ball being bounced off my rear by my 8-year-old.

Example 2: It's picture day at my three year old's daycare. She has curly hair that is difficult to manage. It's cute as hell but it's hard to comb through and style. Most days, my daughter tells me, "I want it wild, Mom." This means she wants me to minimally comb it and leave it at that. See photo for reference. Straight up Medusa, but a cute one for sure. Due to the number of other demands I have on my energy, I often don't fight her. So what if she likes her hair messy? It's a battle I choose not to fight. However, it's picture day. And she wants it wild and I don't. The fight brews and ensues. What to do?  Maybe a better mom could have pulled it off. I suppose I could have held her head in some kind of a vice grip with my forearms and got the job done. But I just didn't see how what I wanted-her picture to look perfect-warranted such a battle of wills. So, unconventionally, I took her to picture day looking like Medusa. Whatever. It's just a picture. Maybe she should get to have a say in how they look. Which, by the way, they turned out decent. John didn't think so, but he doesn't have to try to put a ponytail on a three year old with uncommon strength, rigidity and flexibility.

Example 3: As I mentioned, I coach my son's soccer team. One of the other parents is the assistant coach thankfully because he knows way more about soccer than I do. After one of our games, I was talking to Sister Anne. I thought the assistant coach had left already. So I was a little blunt when I told my sister that my kids were being dicks that morning. All of a sudden, I hear laughing. The assistant was right behind me and heard every word. Oops. Now I will probably always be known as the mom who called her kids dicks.

Last example, although I could go on. We are having Direct TV installed. There is a mix up and I call John who has a quick piss switch when it comes to cable and satellite issues. He becomes enraged for reasons that are not entirely clear to me. We get off the phone and I find myself saying the F word three times in frustration and then realize the tech has come up from the basement and heard me so eloquently express my emotions in the presence of, yes, some of you will be appalled, my kids. Yes, my kids have heard curse words. I do try to limit it but especially at family gatherings or when the cable causes my husband to go ballistic, I do occasionally, okay, more than occasionally, say it. Fuck. I sound like a real asshat. Anyway, we have taught the kids that swearing is like drinking. You can choose to do it when you are old enough but you aren't allowed to do it as a kid.

And that's how it is in my house and in my life. Beautiful, ugly, bat shit crazy, harmony. I can't spend a lot of time worrying about if I'm making all the "right" decisions. I can't spend my time fighting each and every battle. I would have no energy left if I did that especially on top of everything else I'm juggling. I'm not saying I'm right or wrong but I'm saying this works for me, unconventional as it may be. Am I bad Mom, a good mom, a busy mom,  a tired mom, a crazy mom or an asshole mom? Maybe I'm all of those things but I prefer just mom. Screw the adjectives because they are all right and wrong at different times.  Being mom means different things to different people. To me, it means showing my kids what it looks like to embrace the suck while living the dream. It means that they see I'm not perfect and that they learn to embrace chaos instead of avoiding it. It means the ladies at the daycare may think I suck because I fucking forgot fucking share day again this week, but they also see that my daughter runs into my arms and kisses me the moment I walk into the door regardless. I could drive myself nuts beating myself up about the way the school pics turned out or wondering if I should have stayed home with the kids, although I think we all can agree that had I stayed home, the kids would probably be cussing at a 10th grade level by the time they were in preschool. My point is that each parent has to find their own way. My kids like to be at home and prefer it but they also can exist outside the home. They don't sweat the small stuff and are pretty resiliant. They can make friends easily unlike their asshole of a mother. These are all good things that I hope will outweigh the number of times i have dropped the F bomb in front of them. I try to remember what I tell my recruits...that just because you don't fit the stereotype, doesn't mean you won't be able to find success. Perhaps creating your own  reality around your individuality is success enough. For today, I'm going to go with that.