tricks

I try to be serious and grownuppity at work.  Most of the time.  I try.  I really do.

Ten years in the running I've spidered everyone's keyboards with those cheapy dollar store spider rings.  It's especially effective if they have the sort of keyboards that are on a drawer under the desk and they pull it out early in the morning before the sun comes up and the overhead lights turn on.

It's also especially effective if they're new here.  And with the soaring rates of layovers and reduced-rate hires?  There's a lot of new people.

I like to put it somewhere near the "s" key because there are lots of letters of the word spider clumped together there.
And all of the letters for the word "scared".

And, in possible related news, "scarred"

Also:
swear
fear

Happy Halloween!!

Thursday

A lot of times when something crappy happens to a kid, we say something along the lines of "he'll get over it, he's just little" or "she won't even remember this" or "kids bounce back so fast"

Which is half true.  He probably will get over it, provided he has the support he needs.  And she probably won't remember the facts because her higher, logical brain isn't very developed.  And kids do seem to bounce back fast, because one of the signs of not bouncing back?  Is looking on the surface like they've bounced back. 

But all that bad stuff gets stored down there in the bottom brain.  The very bottom part- where we eat sleep trust breathe and (eventually) do sexy with.  And the middle part- where we love emote touch and relate to one another.  When something bad happens to us when we are little (and even when we are big) our eat sleep trust breathe sexy love emote touch relate signals get scrambled up and we don't really act in healthy ways around eating sleeping trusting breathing sexing loving emoting touching and relating anymore.

And we don't know why we do the things we are doing.
Because the part of our brain that stores facts and provides us with a reliable time-space continuum and lets us think through things logically isn't fully developed when we are kids and it shuts down during traumatic events at any age.  That's why it's hard for us to reliably recount events when we've been in an accident or victimized.
Our brains will work hard to fill in the gaps by making up details and specifics.  That's why two people who have been in an accident or victimized together just can't get their stories to jive.

Jive.  That's a clinical term.

Also, kids haven't been alive for very long.  They might not realize that the bad thing that happened (or worse, keeps happening) isn't "normal".  They  might think it's just a part of growing up. A part of life. Their little worlds can be shaken up so badly, and they don't have the sort of life experience to know that things can and probably will get better.

That life is a series of ups and downs.
To them, life might be a series of ups and one big down that will seemingly stay that way forever and ever.

Hopelessness and helplessness aren't very good feelings.

***

Jacob has been alive for about 5 and a half years now.  The first six months he was very busy being a baby, and wasn't aware of much of anything outside of himself.  So let's round to five.
In the past year, or for about 20% of his life we have had a death in the family once every sixish months.  In October my grandmother passed.  In March, Dave's father.  And the other day, Dave's grandfather.  Jacob knew my grandmother, but mostly through stories and pictures and pieced memories of short visits to the nursing home.  He was very close with his grandfather, and quite close with his great-grand dad.
Oh, and the dog.  How could I forget?  Dave's parents' dog died last fall too.  Which was a HUGE blow to Jake, because it was the first thing he has ever loved and lost.  He still cries over that dog.  He calls Freckle's death his "practice death" because it "taught him how to lose someone".

So four deaths in one year's time.

He said to me, "I know I'm getting older because people keep dying".
He probably heard that somewhere.  An adult conversation that wasn't meant for him.

Little pitchers.

I said to him that in my whole life I have never lost as much as we had this past year.
This isn't normal.

Things will get better.
Less sad.
Less stress.
Less sickness.
Less loss.

We're doing our best to get him through it.  Talking.  Listening.  Watching.
He seems to be doing pretty well.
He's worried that I'm going to die too soon.
Worried that his other grandparents are dying.
Wondering what it feels like to die.
Talking about where we go.
How we go.

Last night he reached his hands up to the night sky and said, "I need a minute before we get in the car.  I'm touching the souls of the people who I love that are gone".

I gave him two minutes.

Wednesday (NSFW. Or children)

Last Monday I was working out in West Philly at a women's homeless shelter.  I was there to do some routine administrative stuff that comes part and parcel with my job, but there is a new director there who I had to meet.  I'm supposed to be on familiar terms with everyone on the grant and it was a meeting that was about two months over due.

Things have been a bit hectic at work.
And in life.
Things get backed up from time to time.

The new director was (well, is) a man.  Which I find weird.  There are a handful of men in this field, but they usually work with fathers and other male caregivers.  They don't usually run women's shelters.
So maybe I went in to this meeting a bit biased.  Or weirded out.  On edge. Or whatever.  Who knows.

The guy was super friendly looking with just the right amount of toughness so that he was approachable in a sort of  "I don't take shit so don't bother with trying to give me any" attitude.  He looked just like Patrice O'Neal.

Holy crap.  I just google imaged Patrice O'Neal and found out he just had a stroke.  Like just just had a stroke and the news just broke about an hour ago.

I promise I will prevent you from having a stroke by not google imaging you this afternoon.

Anyway.

So this guy is running a women's shelter so we sit down in a conference room together with a woman who works there.  She and I are close and had some major catching up to do (your tax dollars at work: me and this lady BSing for 20 minutes about things that have NOTHING to do with the job) and while we were talking about stuff that he had no idea about, he opened up his notebook and drew two of these:

 
 My eyes got super big and I tried not to stare and I really wanted to run.
Then he wrote the word "hot" with flames coming up from it above one and "not" with icicles dripping (oh, god.  the dripping) above the other.
OMG
OMG
He's drawing dicks.
Holy crap.
Fight or flight?
What the eff?
So I do this thing with my eyes where I look at the girl and I look at the notebook.  Then I mouth "penis" over and over and over again but she's going on and on and on about something to do with her kids' school and uniforms or whatever and doesn't pick up on it.
So then he does one of these:

(mouthing): "Dicks.  Dicks.  He's drawing dicks. J_____.  He's drawing dicks."
She says, "What's that?  Sticks?  I don't think they can carry sticks. Do you need a glass of water?"
I'm all, "What?"
I had stopped listening to her story.
Then this:

 

Then, inexplicably, this:

My brain's all like: WTF? Hot or not ribbed condoms?  Hot or not vertical veins?  Hot or not tribal tattoos?  Hot or not maybe I just don't know a lot about penises and the way they look?

Then he said "Excuse me ladies, what do you think of this?"
And he turns them around and I stammer and J_____ says, "oh, are those the hot or not thermometers for the healthy relationship exercise about what is appropriate to wear in public or are they for what is okay and not okay for men to say to women one?  That's cute.  Are those little hearts at the bottom for the mercury bulb?  That's great. Romantic!"

Oh, right.  Thermometers.  Hearts.  Mercury.  Temperature gauges.
Hot.
Not.
Not hot.

Who's the real sicko in the room?
The one thinking about penises during a business meeting.

Again.

Tuesday

When I leave my office building, I like to sneak out the back alley that puts you out on 15th by Jose Pistola's and across the street from Buca de Beppo.  It smells good out there if you're lucky.  Like cumin and garlic.

Philadelphia has chain restaurants now.  Ten years ago there were none, we are a big restaurant town but everything was privately owned.  Something in our zoning made it impossible for chains to move in, but it seems that ordinance has been lifted because we have Buca and Five Guys and a Capital Grille and Ruby Tuesday's and Applebee's and Chili's and Fado and a Friday's and a Slainte.  That's a lot.

When I was in Houston there was a Slainte, and the locals pronounced it "sl ain't".

Right there in the alley across from Buca and beside Pistola's someone let their dog poop without cleaning it up.  And there was a pigeon standing over top of it doing that weird pigeon head bob thing and it looked like the pigeon was pooping out a giant poop and it made me laugh uncontrollably all the way to the el stop underneath the clothespin.

And when people see someone who doesn't look bitshat crazy laughing on an autumnal day when the air tastes like honeycrisp apples and the sun shines through the buildings like angel trails, they get happy and sometimes they laugh too.  And then other people laugh when they laugh and pretty soon lots of people are laughing.  That's exactly what happened along the half mile stretch between my office and my el stop and it was magical.

All because of a pigeon that looked like he dropped a giant load.

***

In other super funny  news, Jake's eardrum ruptured last Tuesday in the middle of the night.  It was so loud I heard it happen.  Like Pop Rocks.  

"Mommy, I think I need a rag because my ear just puked"

That's not the funny part.  The funny part was when we were at the doctor's office Wednesday morning and the doc asked Jacob why he was there today and Jake said "It's because I have the drip".  The doctor looked at me with her mouth wide open and I said that the drip was coming from his ear.

Have you ever taken a child with a bloody and pus-ridden ear downtown on the bus?  

Well, it's uncomfortable but nine times out of ten he won't be the only person who has blood or pus draining from a hole in his head.  Whether it's a hole one is born with or one that was put there in recent days.

He's doing better now but had to be switched from the pink Amoxicillin to the nasty white Augmentin because the pink stuff wasn't working.  Now it's an exercise in getting the meds down with minimal vomiting twice per day.  

Rough stuff.

***

The second tooth came out a couple weeks ago.  I offered to buy it for five bucks.  

"Yep.  Sold.  And we don't have to talk about what happened last time."

***

Soccer is almost over, thank all that is good.  Three more games and then the parents vs. kids where the players get the trophies and we're done.

I'm about up to my neck with the Soccer Momming.  And the other Soccer Moms.

Jacob will be playing in a different league next year instead of the South Philly Yo Bo league he's in now.

And that's all I have to say about that.

***

My dad took Jake to church on Sunday.  Unless someone else has taken him in the past, it was his first time there.  

"Mom, have you ever been to church?  It's like the most boring place in the world.  And people say a LOT of bad words."

"I've been there, and it is super boring.  What kind of bad words did people say? You can tell me and you won't get in trouble"

"Hell.  And damn.  And Jesus.  And Jesus Christ.  Isn't it funny that Jesus' mom gave him a swear for a name?  Like, if you know your last name is Christ, why would you name your kid Jesus?  Why not something normal like John or something?  John Christ is not a curse word.  It just makes no sense."

"It's weird but we'll talk about that another time.  When I go to church and I'm super bored I count all the bad words I hear.  Also, the scary words like ghost and blood and evil and death and demon.  One point for each bad or scary word.  Five bonus points if there is a topless Jesus somewhere in the building and there are nipples drawn on his chest.  I try to get to 25 points."

"I'm glad you're my mom.  You give me lots of good ideas.  I'm not bored when we're together.  I love that about you."

And... scene

monday

I bought some new eyeshadow this weekend.  Drug store brand.  Cue the horror music.  I forgot how much makeup you have to use just for some to show up on your lid when you aren't using the "good" stuff.  Gobs and gobs, to look like you are wearing just a little something. 

Pigments.  That's the difference.  The expensive stuff is highly pigmented.  Less filler.

You can have one tiny little speck of something you'll wear every day for two years with the pricier eyeshadow but it will go bad before you can use it up and then you are throwing away a lot of product.  A lot like- more than half- a lot.  With drug store brands you usually hit the silver at the bottom in six months or so of regular use.
At least I do.

That happens to me with Greek yogurt and heavy cream.  Lots of good stuff in that carton, but I can't use it up fast enough and it ends up sour.
Unless I buy the ultra pasteurized stuff.  But that doesn't taste as good.

I wonder if they have ultra preserved makeup.  That would probably be so not healthy for your face.

Anyway.  New eye makeup.  Maybelline.  Something  Something Rose.  Something Smokes.  Rose Smokey.  Something.  I always avoided rose-colored eye make up because my eyes tend to get reddish around the rims.  I thought I'd look like I have pink eye. 
Or old.  Ever notice that everyone older on television has a smokey rosy eye?  Remember that movie Something Something Boys with Drew Barrymore?  Not Boys on the Side.  That was the one about AIDS.  Also, it was the one where she lifted her shirt on David Letterman during the promo period.  I saw that happen when it actually happened.  One of the few nights in my life I stayed up late enough to see the headliner on the Late Show.

Riding in Cars with Boys.  That's what it was.  Where she plays the role that spans from pregnant teen to grown up lady and pretty much all they did to make her look like she was in her 40s was to give her a Smokey Rose eye.

Plum Smokes.  That is the name of the pallet I bought. 

Name recall is one of the things that is going in my older ages.  Man did that burn me up when grownups couldn't remember the names of things and people when I was younger.  I was great with names.  Now I'm only good at names.  Sometimes.

I am really happy with my Plum Smokes eye.  It doesn't make me look like I have circles or some sort of conjunctivitis.  It actually blends with my redness and darkness and makes it look like I want to look like that.  In a good way. 

It makes me look My Age.  It is Age Appropriate.  I'll keep it.

Also: never use those spongey applicator things that come for free.  Always buy an eyeshadow brush.

Also: Any time you use the word "applicator" or "application" or even just "app" I will be thinking of tampons and vaginal creams.  Even when you are talking about your iPhone or what you ate before your main course.

Also: The word "panty" creeps a lot of people out.  I think it's weird when grown assed women use the word pantie, but find it even weirder when men talk about how sexy they think panties are.  Little girls wear panties.  Women wear underwear. 
Under pants. 
Under things. 
Under pinnings. 

All Saints

This lion/dragon/pirate/superdog/vampire/kid is going to be a ninja for Halloween.  A ninja with trident swords and Chinese stars and skulls on his costume and a black hood and all sorts of other non-cute stuff.
I guess that just sort of happens at some point, doesn't it?

(repost from11/1/10)

two for teeth

Jake lost that bottom front tooth yesterday.  At school.  Which was to be expected since he has made just about every single "first" while with a caregiver rather than a parent.  I was glad to have Charmaine, who was kind enough to keep quiet about the sitting up and step taking until he did it at home.  And it actually wasn't her that told me he was practically running around her house before he took a few unassisted steps at home, it was her son's girlfriend who would help out on her days off.
But it does make sense, that kids would do things away from home before they do them at home.  Mommies tend to baby their babies.  Why walk when you can be held?  Feed yourself when you can be fed?  Lose a tooth when you can gross out your mother by flipping it in and out at rapid speed?

There is a book about the tooth fairy at Jacob's afterschool program that they read often.  The book shows how she flies around, sneaks into bedrooms, collects teeth, takes a picture of the sleeping child for her scrapbook, leaves a coin, and flies home to her bed make of human teeth.
Um.  Yeah.  Sneaking into bedrooms, snapping souvenir photos, sleeping among body parts...

I was trying to avoid the tooth fairy.  I offered to buy the tooth outright for $5 and put it in my jewelry box.  $5 is steep.  Way more than the tooth fairy would leave.  But I felt it a viable alternative to hiding teeth from my child.  If the tooth fairy is a major player, I have to put the too(ee)th somewhere secret.  If I'm buying exposed bones on the blackmarket (read: in the hallway outside the bedrooms) I can just toss them in with my rings and call it a done deal.

Jacob didn't really believe in the tooth fairy, so he decided to put her up to a test.  He put his tooth under his pillow.  So I exchanged it for $2.  Higher than I think is fair.  Lower than the surveyed plummeting national average.

2am brought Jake into my bed.  "She didn't come".
"Let's check it out"

Then the unthinkable happened.  Ungratefulness like never before seen in our home.  A temper tantrum that defied the odds.  The two dollars thrown to the ground.  The tears!  The whining!  The drama!

"Seriously dude?  What did you expect?"
"The kids at school get toys like Power Rangers and video games.  They go out for dinner and they get $10 bills."
"That's crazy.  It's a tooth.  Losing a tooth is a milestone, not an accomplishment.  You're supposed to lose your teeth.  It's nothing you earn, it's something you do.  Go to bed.  You aren't getting the $2.  We are giving it to children who need dental care.  Who don't have healthy teeth and access to good dentists.  You are acting completely ungrateful and disgraceful.  The bad word for the way you are acting is 'spoiled brat'.  Good night."

And then I went to bed and hell continued to break loose from his room and no one slept.

And the worst of it?  The ultimate worst of everything?  My cat.  MY cat.  Mine in like, she only likes me and sleeps with me every night and hates Jacob and sleeps with him never?  Slept in his room.  On his bed.  As if they were friends.  As if he deserved camaraderie last night.  Holy crap, you have no idea how this burned me up.

Then around 4am I heard her puking and I felt a little bit better about things.  As if she was only in there because she knew she was going to yak all over the place and wanted to be there to do it. 

This is how I know I'm going to hell.

Hell, and the laundry to get the puke out of his blanket and pillow sham before he goes to bed tonight.

My locally-trained/remotely-practicing dentist friend and my Appalachian-trained/hometown-bound hygienist cousin recommended Dentists without Borders for the donation.  We'll be sending more than the $2, but I'll cut a check and Jake will have to put those two singles in the envelope.  I'm sure they have some sort of policy about sending cash, but I'm disregarding the rule out of principle.

Also, I worked really hard on and was really proud of what I was originally going to put under the pillow.  Even though I had decided $5 was way too much, the Georges on the ones were too tiny to fit the eyes:

Dave told me I should absolutely not put that under Jacob's pillow because he's too much of a sensitive child and it would probably scare the piss out of him.

I don't know.  I think it's funny.  How shocking would it be to find that under your head in the middle of the night?

You have no idea how much I now wish I would have put that bad boy under my 'sensitive child's' head.

broke busted disgusted

Last Wednesday right around dinner time, a pickup truck sped through the intersection just north of us at about 50 miles per hour.  Usual speed is 15 or 20 miles per hour.  I'm sure there is some sort of city-wide speed limit, but considering you have to stop every 1/10 of a mile- literally- and there is on street parking and jaywalkers and bus routes and feral children playing all over the place, no one ever gets much above 15 or 20.

He swiped the front of a van that was coming through the east-bound street before losing control of the truck and taking out the first three cars parked on both sides of my street.  We were second from the corner on the left.

Thankfully, no one was hurt.  The driver was tanked, so he probably wasn't hurt bad.  Physically.  He was thirty or so years old and from Western Pennsylvania.  Jake calls him "the drunk guy from Pittsburgh".

Our car didn't look so bad.  The trunk wouldn't close, the rear quarter panel was banged in, the rear passenger side door.  Those were the obvious spots.  The car that took the worst of it was behind ours, and rearended us pretty good.  There were some problems in our front, I'm guessing from the impact.

But everyone was okay.

Even though Jake and Dave didn't get to go out for Wednesday Night Guys' Night to see Dolphin Tale.  Because nothing says Guys' Night like Disabled Dolphins.
And I couldn't go to practice that night and then had to get up on stage last Saturday after having been out of the improv loop for almost a month.  How that happened I have no idea.

Long story short, there was $7500 worth of damage to our car and they didn't total it.  Yeah, um.  It's a Hyundai Elantra.  It's four years old.  Who knew it was even worth $7500?  That's about $4.25 more than we paid for it.  If there was a venti latte in the cup holder it would have been worth the same as we paid for it.  Close to it, at least.  The insurance guy said expect to have the rental car for awhile.
"Awhile like two weeks?"
"ha ha ha ha ((silly girly, no!)).  More like two or three months.  We hope to get you guys back in your car by Christmas."

We got a Prius.  Which is cool.  I guess.  We should at least save on gas money.  I filled it up on September 30th and there's still a half a tank left after putting at least 200 miles on it since then.  We drive a lot.  Dave drives a lot.  For work.  Sometimes I go to Target or Shoprite on a Saturday and I'll take the car.  I guess I log about eight or ten miles a month behind the wheel.

***

A couple days later, after game one of Phillies/Cardinals (or was it the next day?  My time-space continuum is a bit off) we were in the house and heard glass break.  Loudly.  Crashing.  It didn't sound like auto glass and I thought maybe it was the front window of the house where no one lives anymore because the old lady got carted off to a home a month or so ago.  Dave ran out and saw the kids who did it.  Drunk kids.  Laughing and running down the street until they jumped in their car and sped off.  In their car with out of state plates.
It wasn't the old lady's house, it was our next door neighbors' basement windows. 

Our next door neighbors are the best neighbors you can ask for.  They are Vietnamese immigrants who own an Asian supermarket up on Washington Avenue.  The big kind where you can buy six foot tall sugarcane stalks and 50lb bags of rice and fishheads for a dime and all sorts of things you've never seen before unless, of course, you've seen them before.  They love Jacob and he loves them and they give him things he loves like those Hershey Treasures and we give them things they aren't familiar with like oatmeal cookies and rosemary.

Cây mê điệt.  Rosemary.

Bột yến mạch.  Oatmeal

Cookie.  Cookie.

The wife is so friendly but not so good with English.  The husband's English is much better, and we talk a lot about things he isn't sure of.  Things like "is _____ happening to me because I'm a Vietnamese immigrant, or is this happening to me because I'm an American now?".  Things like census information gathering and income tax reviews and ultra-conservative anti-immigration door-to-door political campaigning and Lower! Your! Electricity! Bill! canvassing.  Stuff that seems very intrusive and confusing to all of us, let alone to someone who doesn't really speak the language and wonders why the government needs so much information when all papers and taxes and such are in impeccable order.

I saw him yesterday and said I was very sorry this happened to him.  I noticed the day before that he put a new American flag in his window.  There is always an American flag in his window, but the last one was getting a bit faded.  He told me he was scared, and I told him that Dave saw the people who did it.
"Were they angry?" 
"No, drunk"
"Were they Asian?"
"No, white"
"Do they live near here?  Did you know them? 
"No, they got in a car with Jersey plates.  They were probably at the bar watching the Phillies game"
"Why? Why would they be at that bar?  Why would they do this?  Why my house?"
"I don't know.  I'm sorry."

I was sorry.  Am sorry.  I don't know why they were at the bar.  That bar is no place for anyone but old men and coke dealers and their customers.  It's a terrible place.  I don't know why they did this.  Why his house.  Why any of it.  I am so sorry that he and his wife are so scared.  Feel so targeted.  Hated.  Different. 

Jacob was scared too.
He felt overwhelmed. "First the car, and now this?"
Confused.  "Why do people from other places come here, get drunk, and do bad things?" 
Superstitious.  "What does 'bad things happen in threes' mean? I heard that on iCarly. Does that mean another bad thing will happen here?"

Being five is hard.
Being thirty five is hard too.

But everyone is okay.

***

People come here and do bad things.  I know that's true in most cities, that a good chunk of the crime is committed by out-of towners.  As if you can drive in and once you cross the city borders it's lawless and anything goes and no one will notice if you break something or take something.
Be bad in your own hometown.  Leave mine alone.  We have plenty of problems already.

It's especially bad on days the sports teams are playing.  It makes me want the Phillies to lose Game 5 so all this can be over.  When the Phillies won the World Series all hell broke loose.  The news was careful to report that the arrests for the worst of it were made up of people from out of town.  Not that you need a police report to tell you that.  It's mostly kids from suburban high schools, and they love to wear their Letter Jackets.  One look into the helicopter aerial views of the masses and security cam stills and you can see who is causing the trouble.

It makes me want the Eagles to suck it.  The Sixers to, um, is it basketball season?  Yes.  No.  I'm not sure.  I am basketbally challenged.  Sixers fans don't tend to cause a ruckus.  As you were, Sixers.  Flyers, please crap out sometime during your 80 month long season.

***

I saw a homeless man peeing right in front of Southern's (High School) front doors this morning. While the kids were going in.
He had an enormous wiener.  And not just for a white guy either. 
I'm betting he could have capitalized on that thing a few years ago and maybe done a little bit better for himself.  Now it, and him, is sorta covered in grime and MRSA.

***

I really like the soundtrack to Boogie Nights.

Library

I found out that Jacob's school has a Parenting Resource office.  Or guide.  Or something.
I'm not sure if it's a who or a room or a binder or what, but I'm taking it upon myself to get in there and evaluate what they are doing so I'm working on putting together my parenting resume with all my experience and training and reading and stuff to give to the Principal to show her that I'm probably pretty damned qualified to make sure what they have is valid and sound and, well, just plain good and that I have lots to offer, just in case anyone is going through anything that I can help out with.  Because what good am I to anyone if I can't help out?

But then I get all nervous because what if they go ahead and put the eagle eye on Jake because he has a mom who works in Parenting and they want to be sure he doesn't (read: I don't) royally screw up.

That's a fear of parenting professionals everywhere.  That someone will catch on that our kids are just like all the other kids and make a big stink about it.
Of course they are.  Kids are kids.  They do what kids do.  Every single one of them.
It's how the parents/teachers/caregivers react that (is ideally but not always) a little different.  That is (ideally but not always) what we teach to other parents, what we try to learn for ourselves and our children.

Anyway, I'm putting together my parenting resume and have added a book list of all the relevant books I read, cover to cover, and keep within arms reach of my kitchen table just in case I need to make myself a bowl of mashed potatoes and sit down and look into something that is driving me batty.

In case you are the sort of mom or dad who likes books here is the list.  I made the ones I really like red. Feel free to ask any questions about the books or topics or anything related to parenting advice and I'll do my best to answer it or find someone who can.
Because I need some practice just in case they take me seriously and someone asks me something at the school.

Destroying Sanctuary -Sandra Bloom

Creating Sanctuary -Sandra Bloom

Neuroscience of Psychotherapy -Louis Cozolino

Neuroscience of Human Relationships: Attachment & the Developing Social Brain -Cozolino

Trauma Through a Child’s Eyes -Peter A. Levine
Life After Trauma: A Workbook for Healing -Rosenbloom, Williams and Watkins

The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog -Perry and Szalavitz

Working with Traumatized Children -Brohl

Liberated Parents, Liberated Children -Adele Faber & Elaine Mazlish

How to Talk so Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk  - Faber & Mazlish

Kids Are Worth It -Barbara Coloroso

Growing Up Again -Jean Illsley Clarke

Connections - Illsley Clarke

Who Me, Lead a Group? - Illsley Clarke

Black Parenting Book -A.C. Beal, L. Villarosa, and A. Abner

Emotional Intelligence -Daniel Goleman

Your Child’s Self Esteem -Dorothy Corkille Briggs

Six Stages of Parenthood -Ellen Galinski

Without Spanking or Spoiling -Elizabeth Crary

You Can Go Home Again -Monica McGoldrick

Family Virtues Guide -Linda Kavelin Popov

The Shelter of Each Other -Mary Pipher

Code of the Street -Elijah Anderson

Bradshaw on the Family -John Bradshaw

The Anger Control Workbook -Matthew McKay and Peter Rogers

Anger Management Sourcebook -Glenn Schiraldi and Melissa Hallmark Kerr

The Explosive Child -R. Green

Ghosts From the Nursery -R. Karr-Morse and M. Wiley

 When Anger Hurts Your Kids -P. Fanning

Groups: Theory and Experience -R. Napier, M. Gershenfled

Active Learning: 101 Strategies to Teach Any Subject -Mel Silberman

Secrets of the Teenage Brain -Sheryl Feinstein

Yes, Your Teen is Crazy: Loving Your Kid Without Losing Your Mind -Michael Bradley

Strength for their Journey -R. Johnson, P. Stanford