Debra Borden

I have always been good at multitasking.  I gave birth to my second child while watching The Preakness Stakes, deep breathing, going to my mentally happy place, and having a discussion with the doctor and my husband about global warming.  Well, I was yelling at them to shut up about global warming but I think that counts as participating, don’t you? By the way, if you don’t believe me, the winner that year was Tank’s Prospect, who won by a head.  There’s a birth joke in there somewhere but I’ll leave it to you.  I was actually rooting for Eternal Prince (I gave birth to a son) but the horse came in third.  My son would probably say that sounds about right.  What a whiner.

See, I’m already multitasking having started a blog, a memory, and a guilt trip in one paragraph.  I take this seriously man.  I mean, I train.  In the service of expedience, I can mentally compose an email while physically doing the same with a marinade for pork chops (coffee and molasses, yum) and play HQ all at the same time.  (note:  I have only made it past Q 7; apparently, the Sous Therapist is not the Cerebral Therapist and should stick to cooking.  But I’d like to see Scott Rogowsky ask questions and give birth at the same time!  Well, not actually, but you know).  That said, when I was a school social worker I was so conscious of writing up social assessments for young children that were open-ended and hopeful rather than finite that I once overheard a third-grade teacher remark about me, ‘That one could reframe a serial killer as good at multitasking’.  What can I say? It’s a gift.

FYI, there was one little boy who by age 6 had already brought a variety of contraband to school, including a dead mouse, several Tampax (not used thank god), syringes of various sizes, and a gun.  Yes, I said gun.  Real one.  He was 6.  He also liked to violate every rule, had punched the principal and while participating in a ‘trust’ game took great pleasure in tripping the little girl in front of him and breaking her arm.  A bright note was a savant-like talent for drawing, but unfortunately it was violent; angry monsters with talons gouging his teacher’s throat.  We knew it was his teacher because he left no doubt; cue the large arrow and the scrawl, ‘my teacher’.

Still, could I really condemn a 6-year-old to a lifetime label?  Here’s how it went—my words are in print, my thoughts in parenthesis:

In the right setting (San Quentin), and with the right supports (a HUGE prison guard named DUKE), I’m hopeful (mostly delusional) that young Zachary (aka Jeffrey Dahmer) may be able to grow (hopefully not too big) and flourish (not kill anyone) and ultimately reach his full potential (life sentence instead of death row.)

Sorry, a little dark school social work humor there.  Too much?

Following my new book, Cook Your Marriage Happy, the first in my Cook Yourself Happy series, is my third novel, not yet snapped up (let the bidding war commence) which is actually called Multitasking on Merlot, inspired by my mania and also sporting the acronym, MOM.  How perfect is that?  Multitasking is practically a mother’s job description.  So, too, for The Sous Therapist.  I take my Perspective Popovers session for low self-esteem, (a mini version up shortly on my website) and repurpose them for a situational session, ‘My Passive-Aggressive Mother-in-law is coming to visit’.  Though the recipe doesn’t change, the instructions and reflections do and the name says it all:

Passive-Impressive Popovers.

You know, as I write this I realize that I might have written an entire essay about multitasking when I really mean re-purposing.  Well, then, as my older fans of SNL and Gilda Ratner will understand, ‘Never mind.’