Author: Sheila Quirke

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Sr. Iphielya: Patron Saint of Empathy

Sr. Iphielya

I love nuns.  Some of my best friends are nuns.  Well, okay, not really, but two of my aunts are nuns.  One of them is pictured here.  She lives at the “motherhouse” now, and as a mommy blogger, the idea of a motherhouse is something I can relate to.

I think a lot about nuns, about how their way of life is growing extinct, like the dinosaurs that Mary Tyler Son is so enamored with.   I have always been around nuns, was taught by them (even sex ed., 1970s style; thank you, Sr. Morrison!), can identify a nun in or out of her habit, and used to pretend to be one as a girl by placing the green tweed cover of our living room arm chair on my head, just like my aunts.

Nuns bring me comfort.  They are familiar and soothing to me, though I appreciate not to all.  My southside Irish Dad tells more than a few tales about how cruel the nuns who taught him could be.  Then again, he’s never liked authority and my guess is that his nuns sensed that and probably tried to break him like a horse.

A few months ago, chatting with a co-worker, sharing our troubles, I found myself replying to her tale of woe with the phrase, “Oh, sister, I feel ya.”  This is a string of words I use often to convey empathy.  Oh, yeah, I’ve been there.  I get it.  That sucks. 

Sr. Iphielya was born.

We all need more empathy in our lives.  Who better to provide it than someone whose name is Sr. Iphielya?  Who better to understand than someone who lives in a motherhouse?  Who better to confide in than someone who will always tell you she gets it?  No one.

In nun culture, the head nun, the big cheese of the nun world, is known as “Mother Superior.”  She is the boss and is charged to run a tight ship.  That’s not the nun I’m going for as the alter ego to my alter ego.  Nah.  I want something a little less threatening.  We will leave Gwyneth Paltrow to pretend to be Mother Superior.  She seems to need that.  (See — I’m showing empathy right there).  Mary Tyler Dad suggested “Mother Inferior” as a tag line for Sr. Iphielya.  Good.  Funny, certainly, but flirting with disrespect.  Sr. Iphielya is neither superior nor inferior.

My mother-in-law suggested “Mother Interior.”  Nice.  I like it.  Mother Interior.  What is empathy, if not an understanding of another’s interior world, their experience, our own interior world and experiences?  We all need empathy, all that we can get, all that we can give, and a double dose of that for ourselves.

A few days ago, on the Mary Tyler Mom facebook page (the place to be on facebook), I posed what I thought was an innocuous question to my readers, “What types of things are the things about your life that you wish people understood better?”  Seventy-nine raw and heartfelt responses later, it was imminently clear that we all feel misunderstood.  We all wish folks could see the world from our eyes, from our interior.

Sr. Iphielya is going to be busy.

Like any self-respecting alter ego of an alter ego, she has her own gmail account:  sriphielya@gmail.com.  Please use it.  Sr. Iphielya will be a regular feature here at Mary Tyler Mom.  She stands at the ready to lend an ear, a cup of empathy when you’ve run out, and a dash of perspective.  Maybe even a rap on the knuckles, but only if necessary.

Think of her as your Mother Interior.  When you want to vent, when you need to be understood, when you just feel like reading about yourself in a thinly veiled disguise, Sr. Iphielya will be here.

 

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Finding My Inner Tween

This time of year, lots of folks start listening to Christmas music.  Personally, I can’t really embrace that stuff until approximately December 16 (superfluous Modern Family reference just because).  Then I’m all in. 

But this year I had a realization.  December is when my radio dial floats towards tween stations.  For those of you in Chicago, Imma talking about B96, but there is a B96 in every market in this country of ours.  It’s the kind of station that thumps a constant rotation of Katy Perry, Rihanna, , Taio Cruz, Ke$ha, Maroon 5, Ne-Yo.  On Pandora, it’s just called “Firework Radio.” 

This happens for a few reasons.  My cover story is that I need to know what’s current to create a playlist for the Donna’s Good Things’ Happy Hopeful New Year’s Eve party.  That cover story is pretty good, partly because it makes me look altruistic, partly because it’s true.  The back story is that I secretly like the stuff.  That’s right.  I said it.  I secretly dig thumpin’ tween musical cotton candy.  Like Christmas music, though, I like it in small doses for limited periods of time. 

I know that every summer I will get a dose of it when we take our communal family vacation with Mary Tyler Dad’s high school friends.  One of the friends, we’ll call him “Doug,” shares my affinity for tween culture.  Doug, though, actually has tweens — that’s his cover story.  But Doug and I both know that we listen to this stuff because it is awesome.  We listen to this stuff because we like it.  We listen to this stuff for the same reason we are the only two adults to join in on the Wii dance-offs — Doug and I have retained a relationship with our tween selves. 

On last summer’s communal vacation I got one of the best compliments of my life when one of Doug’s tweens told me, “I dont mean this as an insult, and don’t take this as an insult, but I think you are the most childish of the adults here.”  An insult?  No way and quite the contrary.  Her words nearly brought tears to my eyes.  The fact that we were walking on the Atlantic beach at sunset just made the exchange that much more profound.  I hope I always remember that compliment.

My point is that there is some merit to this tween musical cotton candy.  It makes you want to dance.  Well, it makes me want to dance.  Possibly, it makes you want to claw the speakers out of the mini-van, despite the new mani you just got.  I would argue that the problem is not the music, but that they only put 10-14 songs on rotation at any given time.  Hence, why I can only listen to the stuff for small bites of time. 

The key word in that last sentence is listen.  When you actually listen to the lyrics, they’re not so bad.  Some of ’em are even okay, dare I say, pretty good. 

Exhibit A from Katy Perry’s “Firework”:

You just gotta ignite the light and let it shine

Just own the night like the 4th o July

‘Cause baby you’re a firework

Come on, show ’em what you’re worth

Make ’em go, oh, oh, oh

As you shoot across the sky

Boom, boom, boom

Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon

It’s always been inside of you, you, you

And now it’s time to let it through

See?  I think that is a fantabulous message for a tween, boy or girl.  And, yeah, it is repetitive and simplistic, but the message is good, especially for the tween set.

Exhibit B from LMFAO’s “Party Rock Anthem”:

 Um.  Next.  I dig this song, but it’s all about girls on jocks.

Exhibit C from Pink’s “Missundaztood”:

Well, I’m a stickler for good grammar, spelling, and punctuation, so this is disqualified based on title alone.

Exhibit D from Taio Cruz’ “Dynamite”:

I came to dance, dance, dance, dance

I hit the floor ’cause that’s my plans, plans, plans, plans

I’m wearing all my favorite brands, brands, brands, brands

Give me some space for both my hands, hands, hands, hands

Yeah, yeah

‘Cause it goes on and on and on

And it goes on and on and on

I throw my hands up in the air sometimes

Saying ayo

Gotta let go

Oh.  Um.  I never realized the materialistic bent to this song.  Worshiping brands is, perhaps, not the best message to send to the little ones.  I remember in junior high the pressure of Jordache v. Vanderbilt on our little asses.  And Pony v. Converse on our feet.  Yes, at that age it sucked. 

And all this time, I thought Mr. Cruz was introducing some scientific theory by giving a lyrical should out to Galileo.  Huh.

Exhibit E, Maroon 5’s “Moves Like Jagger”:

Maybe it’s hard (did he just say hard?)

If you feel like you’re broken and scarred

Nothing feels right

But when you’re with me

I’ll make you believe

That I’ve got the key

So get in the car

We can ride it (Did he just say ride it?)

Wherever you want

Get inside it (Did he just say get inside it?)

And you want to steer

But I’m shifting gears

I’ll take it from here

And it goes like this

Oh, man.  I just read these lyrics for the first time.  Quite possibly not the best message for tweens.  Sounds like a roadmap to taking advantage of young girls with poor self esteem.  Sigh.

Okay.  Maybe I was wrong.  But it still has a good beat that you can dance to.  I’ve got to go shufflin’, shufflin’, shufflin’ . . .

 

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In My Heart, I am a Muppet

Kermit
Mary Tyler Son saw his first movie today and it was The Muppets.  It was wonderful.  Like really wonderful.  So wonderful that both Mary Tyler Dad and I wept.  Well, I wept, and he welled, but there were tears for both of us.

You know when you want something to be great and wonderful and perfect, but most of the time the hype does not live up to the hopes in your head?  That happened last weekend with the circus.  I was so looking forward to bringing Mary Tyler Son to the circus, and wrote about it on the MTM facebook page.  A few readers shook those scales off my eyes with the news of abusive animal practices perpetrated by Ringling Bros.  We went, and, you know, it was fine, but an elephant should not be painting a picture with his trunk and tigers should not be made to stand on two legs instead of four, submissive front paws in the air.  So, no, it was not the idyllic experience I had imagined it would be.

Mary Tyler Son will be three in just a few short weeks and, loving the movies, I thought we should make an event of his first movie.  I tend to do this — try and make “events” out of things most folks just do.  I don’t know why I do that.  I’ve got a sentimental Irish heart, I suppose.  And Donna’s death just sort of ups the ante on Mary Tyler Son’s childhood.  Anyway.  I was excited to bring the family to the movies.  Another blogger wrote a post about how to take your toddler to the movies, so we were prepped and ready.  Chose an early movie, brought lots of snacks, made certain pee and poop happened before we left. 

Mary Tyler Son was tentative walking into the theater.  He does not like dark places he told me, clinging to my hand.  We might have to leave early, he announced, looking uncertain and tentative, but he kept walking forward, mesmerized by what was turning into the most mind blowingly large tee vee he had ever seen.  His pace picked up a bit.  He didn’t have time for stairs, as that would require more attention that he was willing to devote to anything that wasn’t that massive screen of animated creatures before him.  We sat and all was well.  A family at the movies.  I was happy. 

A few minutes into the film I started crying, softly.  I was overwhelmed with the moment, I think.  Happy.  Mary Tyler Son was at the movies.  He was doing something Donna never got a chance to do.  He was eating popcorn.  Life was good.  And then there were those Muppets.  They are so joyful, so hopeful.  Watching them, I remembered how much I loved them as a kid. 

I was ten when the original Muppet movie came out.  I still remember Kermit sitting in that swamp singing about rainbows, a song Mary Tyler Dad now sings to our boy before bed.  I am notoriously unable to remember lyrics, so I make up my own, which, amazingly, I can remember.  I sang that song to Donna, often, a smush of the actual lyrics and some of my own.  All apologies to Mr. Paul Williams.  I’m not ten anymore, but there I was today, thirty-two years later, sitting in a theater watching Kermit sing The Rainbow Connection.  Thank God some things do not change. 

Early in the movie, there is a scene where Walter, the man/muppet protagonist, walks into the office of Kermit on the abandoned Muppet Studios lot.  It is old, decrepit, abandoned.  He sneaks in and the camera pans onto the office wall where there are framed photos of many of the guest hosts from The Muppet Show (1976-1981).  There was Florence Henderson and Steve Martin.  These smiling 70s faces were all askew and covered with cobwebs and dust.  I thought to myself, “Just like my childhood — covered with cobwebs and dust and only existing in photos.”  Man, I am a morbid gal when given the opportunity, but it’s true.  My childhood is gone.  Over.  Finished.  Like that’s news at 42, but in that moment, it was. 

Are you wondering at this point how Mary Tyler Dad ever puts up with me?  I ask him that all the time, and his response is always the same, “Because I love you.” 

Yes, but we’re talking about the Muppets here, not my moribund grief over my lost childhood or how amazing my man is.   In true Muppet fashion, the show must go on, so they get it together and clean up the studio and theater for one last show.   I always loved that about the Muppets.  They took care of business, did it with a smile on their face and a song on their lips, despite what always seemed to be insurmountable odds and strangely likable villains plotting against them. 

The movie continued and Mary Tyler Son was loving it.  We took a couple of breaks, but just two, and they were brief.  When we returned from the first one, Mary Tyler Son ran across the front aisle and screamed, “Daddy, I’m back, I’m back!”  Gratefully, the audience seemed charmed rather than irritated.  As the film was nearing its end, it becomes clear that the Muppets haven’t reached their fundraising goal and would lose their beloved theater.  Kermit, as he often is, was circumspect.  And then he made a speech that cut deeply for both Mary Tyler Dad and I. 

Kermit talked about being proud of what they had accomplished, that what was important was that they had tried, no matter the outcome, they had tried.  Their efforts did not result in failure, but in success, because, all had tried and worked together.  It was time to move forward as a family and acknowledge their loss.  Their future was assured becase they were together. 

Well, of course, we both felt Donna in those moments.  That accounted for some of my tears, but some can be attributed to the realization that like the Muppets, we are gonna be okay.  Our future, too, is assured because we are together.   We are a family, significantly different than the family we were before, but still a family.  We didn’t fail Donna, despite not getting the outcome we wanted.  Like the Muppets, faced with crazy circumstances, we move forward, with a smile on our face and a song on our lips.  If only our villain was like the Muppet villain; one who neatly sees the errors of his way and reverses course.  That bastard cancer is more formidable than Chris Cooper. 

But our story is not a movie, it is our life.  And we are not puppets, we are people. 

There is a line in the movie where Walter says, sings rather, “In my heart, I am a Muppet.”  Me, too.  In my heart, I am a Muppet.  I will move forward.  I will face challenges, different ones than I already have.  I will always look for joy and laughter (I hope).  I will acknowledge sadness, but it will not make me bitter (I hope).  Rather, it will be part of me, just like my joy.  I will try to try, despite how very hard that can be at times. 

Thank you, Jim Henson.

Jay at Movies