my mom

No sex talk please, Mom, I’m your middle aged daughter.

The title of my sex talk was a play on the 1970’s movie “No Sex Please. We’re British”.

I was asked to give the talk 6 months ago, while I was still in Michigan. Like most “asks” so far ahead of time, it seemed like a fine idea. I was sure that by November, I would be comfortably ensconced in my new role at UC Davis. The talk would be a great way to become known among geriatric mental health providers in my new community of Sacramento.

The topic of the talk was definitely a departure from my usual repertoire which is the assessment and treatment of later-life depression or managing the behavioral symptoms of dementia. In fact, it scared me a little: sex and the aging adult.

But it was 6 months away, and so I avoided thinking about it for many months. I grew really busy with my new job as Chair. As the time grew nearer, the social worker coordinating details of the conference would ping me. “What is the title?” Several weeks later—”please give us a 3 sentence outline”. Then 2 weeks before the talk-“please send us your slides”.

Unlike many academics, I have had the amazing fortune to have two psychiatric experts close at hand my whole life; my father is Anthony Kales MD, one of the founders of sleep disorders medicine, and my mom is Joyce D. Kales MD, who devoted a significant part of her career to sex therapy. So, my “phone a friend” for my ‘sex talk’ was….my Mom.

My gorgeous mom in the 1970’s.

My mom was delighted about the talk! “I will send you an outline of my thoughts!”. Because of her trip to Boston to visit my brother and his family, my Mom’s outline didn’t arrive until I had already mostly prepared the talk, but it was uncanny how at the age of 85, my mom is still on top of this field. Her outline closely mirrored the content I had researched myself.

Funny how the topic and discussions with my mom prior to the day of the talk promoted an exploration of my own personal history with the topic. I recall going to my mom’s office as a prepubescent kid when I was sick (remember I had 2 working parents unless my YiaYia was with us at the time). In my mom’s office, there was a large bookshelf filled with books about sex. As you could imagine, I would sometimes help myself to her ‘lending library’ when she left the room. One of the books, the classic 1970’s Masters and Johnson, left me a little agape from the drawings of “hippies doing it” that I found in its pages.

The traumatizing text.

Later when I was a teenager, like many kids of working age, I worked in the ‘family business’. But unlike my friends working in local shops or restaurants or at Hersheypark, my first job was coding data on a study that looked at differentiating psychological from primary impotency. One of the big clues was the measurement of nocturnal penile tumescence or NPT (e.g. if a guy can get erect while asleep, the impotence with his partner is likely psychological). Yup. While my friends were flipping burgers or running rides, I was learning about NPT. Not your typical summer fare at 16.

My parents being so open likely made me a little more closed when talking about sex. When I eventually went into geriatric psychiatry, I would joke, “I went into this field so that I DON’T have to talk about sex”. But of course, that proved to be untrue. My patients would bring up sex regularly in my appointments with them, and so, I had to get comfortable with it.

During the weeks leading up to the talk, my mom called me with many various tips. One day she noted, “sometimes older women retain their androgen drive and find younger partners to satisfy themselves”. Um, thanks Mom. Another day, “AARP has a full-page ad this month for a video on sexual positions that older adults can try if they have physical limitations.” Gulp. Awesome.

My talk Friday was a big success. The Q and A period went on for more than half an hour after the talk. As I told stories about my lovely mother with affection and humor, she became an unseen but charming character in the narrative. So much so, that when I finished, the conference organizer joked, “Your mom just called and said you did an incredible job.” Thanks Mom. Like mother, like daughter.

kales@umich.eduNo sex talk please, Mom, I’m your middle aged daughter.
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Spins, Spanks, Melinda Gates and Learning to Tuck—Happy National Siblings Day!

The Fam at the Acropolis circa 2010. One of my favorite family pics ever.

The Fam at the Acropolis circa 2010. One of my favorite family pics ever.

Last night was one of those not-so-proud moments in our family. Biiiiiiiig family blowout that started out over a birthday dinner. Not really ready to completely excavate it at this point, but let’s just say, I eventually dropped an “F” bomb and threatened to get out of the car at a stoplight.

This morning as I was drinking my coffee and scrolling thru Facebook with the feeling of being a crap parent in the pit of my stomach, I happened upon a video of Melinda Gates’ daughter interviewing her. Melinda Gates talked about how she raised her three children WHILE being married to Bill Gates (richest man evah!) and RUNNING the Gates Foundation (saving the WORLD!). Also? Her hair is perfect. Suffice to say, this was not the tonic I needed this morning. Melinda came across as the most reasonable, tolerant and loving mom in the world. Her daughter talked about how she had given such good advice over the years, including encouraging her to “spread her wings”. I found myself wondering if Melinda had ever lost her serene composure (or as a colleague in residency used to call it “having your mask slip”) in the course of her parenting and dropped an F bomb or threatened to get out of the car at a stoplight. Probably not. But I did. And do.

As I held the post-mortem of the blowout with myself this morning (as I am want to do as a mom/psychiatrist, God help me), I realized that the root of the conflict started over a sibling rivalry between my kids. I continued to scroll through Facebook. Turns out that in a fun coincidence, today is National Siblings Day. And in my head, I dropped another F bomb. What a complicated relationship being a sibling is. It starts out with the jealousy a little kid feels when that new baby is born. And if we are truthful, it continues throughout our lives. I see it fester in the families I see in clinic. Decades old rivalries that continue to be played out in my office and beyond. But the stakes get even higher. Properties. Inheritance. Caregiving responsibilities. Who does/did Mom/Dad really love best?

Pic of my three shortly after Theo was born. I believe the expression Sophia is sporting is called "Ambivalence".

Pic of my three shortly after Theo was born. I believe the expression Sophia is sporting is called “Ambivalence”.

 

Although my brothers and I get along well and there are no big conflicts, I will admit that at 51 years old, I still feel the rivalry with my sibs at times. My parents live here in Ann Arbor most of the year and are in and out of our house on a daily basis like wacky parents on some sitcom. Head in the door…“Hello!! Anyone here?” My dad buys us dog biscuits, toilet paper and weird cookies he finds at the store. I talk to my mom every day. And yet, when my brothers visit a few times a year, I find myself feeling a titch jealous at times. Not in an overbearing way, but annoying. Yes, you will say, “it is completely natural” (or maybe you will say in a Melinda Gates-like tranquil yoga voice, “Really?” “You are not over that by now?” “Helen. You must really learn to spread your wings”).

And then in the next minute, my mind went to hilarious memory of me and my brothers. The time? The early 70’s. The place? Hershey Medical Center where my Dad was Chair of Psychiatry and my Mom a Professor. As I look back on it, we were off school that day and as working parents, they must not have been able to find child care. So, they brought us to work! We were installed in my Dad’s large “Chair” office suite with paper and crayons and told to be quiet and color for about an hour while my Dad saw a patient in the office next door. Being about 9, 7 and 5, however, it wasn’t long until we found something more fun to do. It involved my Dad’s awesome leather executive chair (the “Chair’s Chair!”). One by one, we took turns spinning each other faster and faster, screaming and laughing like the little hyenas we were. As I recall, my older brother and I had just each disembarked from the thrill ride and were dizzily recovering. My younger brother was anxiously awaiting his turn. Out of nowhere, in swooped my Dad like a bat out of Hades. And before we could react, it happened. As he yelled quietly through gritted teeth as only parents can do (something like “I am seeing a patient and he thinks you are laughing at him!”), my Dad gave me and my older brother quick but effective spanks to our butts (if any Millenials are reading this, spanking was something that parents did in the 70’s. In my family, it didn’t hurt your body, but it sure wounded your pride). The best part of the story is still to come. My younger brother, having not yet boarded “the Chair”, was more equipped to see what was coming and react. As my older brother and I watched clutching our wounded rears, he tucked his little butt under and left my Dad ineffectually chasing him around the table in the office like something out of a cartoon. While my little brother eventually got caught, the memory of him eluding my Dad with his ingenious “tucking” is one of our most priceless childhood memories. In laughing at my Dad losing his composure, we came together that day and forever.

I hope that my kids can remember all of my goofy parenting gaffes (F-bombs, threatening to get out of cars—yes, it has happened more than once, including in Death Valley) and come together as sibs to celebrate our family. Large warts and all.

Happy National Siblings Day!

The Kales Kids. About a year before the infamous "Chair's Chair" incident.

The Kales Kids. About a year before the infamous “Chair’s Chair” incident.

kales@umich.eduSpins, Spanks, Melinda Gates and Learning to Tuck—Happy National Siblings Day!
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Sometimes old dogs are good sticking with old tricks

We just returned from a week with my parents in Florida. At 80, they continue to amaze; fully independent, active, and enjoying life. But there are changes. My mom’s ankle is now giving her trouble. She visited a specialist who took one look at her X-ray and solemnly pronounced his best medical opinion: “your ankle is all whacked out.”

kales@umich.eduSometimes old dogs are good sticking with old tricks
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Happy Sweet and Salty Mother’s Day

There’s a lot of sweet (and rightfully so) on my Facebook feed today.  Wonderful and lovely pictures of friends’ moms and friends’ kids.  But this morning, I am feeling a bit “salty” (my favorite new coffee drink from the Songbird café here in Ann Arbor is rosemary sea salt latte—it sounds weird, but the sweet and salty flavor is wonderful and delicious).  And to me, sweet and salty captures being a mom.

kales@umich.eduHappy Sweet and Salty Mother’s Day
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The Power of Being Heard

The other day my daughter Tasia was telling me about some things going on with friends in high school that were troubling her.  I listened briefly and then immediately jumped into “problem-solving” mode.  She stopped me short, “Mom, I don’t want you to solve this for me…I just want you to listen and nod your head.”  I laughed and made some exaggerated head nods and she replied “Yes!  Just keep doing that!”.

kales@umich.eduThe Power of Being Heard
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Insomnia and Orange Juice

Disclaimer: This post is NOT about the effects of orange juice on sleep.  If you are looking for information on that particular topic, look elsewhere on the internet 😉

A year or so ago, I was at a professional conference held at a beautiful property in Georgia.  By coincidence, my snowbird parents called me and told me that they would be driving through that very town on their way back to Michigan from Florida. 

kales@umich.eduInsomnia and Orange Juice
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(Gero)transcendence, my mom and me.

 About a month ago, I traveled to Falls Church, Virginia to give a talk.  As is my usual pattern, I sign on to give a talk 6-12 months ahead of time.  “Sure!  Sounds great.”  And in my office, on the end of the phone, 6-12 months ahead of time, it truly does.   A couple weeks ahead of the actual event, it dawns on me.  I have to leave Ann Arbor and my family (husband, 3 kids and 2 dogs) to go somewhere.  Crap.  As we like to say in

kales@umich.edu(Gero)transcendence, my mom and me.
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