Have you ever been confronted with the limitations of your personality? Maybe "limitations" is not the best choice of word, but today, it definitely felt like a limitation.
Over the years, I have had the opportunity to do a self-evaluation in the form of a Meyers-Briggs test. Took one before I married my husband, and I took one after some major events went down (in the form of unemployment, sale of a home, parenthood, relocation to an unknown city 1000 miles away). I had another test compiled for my husband and myself that provided much insight into the way our relationship works together and how our needs can be met when comparing the needs and personality of my husband. I happen to love these test things, not because I am into psychology, but because it has a way of helping you remember how you are wired and what works for you.
In the beginning, I was an ENTJ (extrovert, intuitive, thinking, judging). Because I am a constantly evolving mom, my label has changed. I blame mommadom on switching from intuitive (N) to sensing (S). Also, my role as preacher's wife and my marriage to an introvert has provided me with the insight that I am no longer an E (extrovert) but an I (introvert). Once I earned an F (feeling) instead of T (thinking), but that was probably an anomaly or just a very hormonal day for me. The funny thing about these tests is my husband's results: they have not changed one little bit. He is a hardcore INTJ, as far on the scale of each of those categories as possible. My scores reside largely in the grayer areas. It actually angered me the second time we had the analysis processed, because I could not figure out how on earth he could not change, and I was a statistical mess based on the way I was scored. Hence, the anomaly/hormonal day.
As a parent, I am conscious of raising my girls to be flexible, forgiving, unafraid to try new things, ready for growth and development and knowledge. Wouldn't it be great if I could remind myself of these things as well? In my years on this earth, it never ceases to amaze me how i get myself into situations where I just shouldn't be, where I am so out of my element that I cannot remember the things I am trying to model to my girls. I simply mess it all up, and because of the J (judging) part of me, I put my foot in my mouth. In public, I should remain an I (introvert) and keep the E (extrovert) under wraps for my own good. Good idea in theory, but very difficult to practice.
So the next time I have to work with the world, out there, or the next time I am trying to find some form of employment and am trying to impress a boss with my attributes (not limitations), I think I will print off a new name tag with this information:
ISTJ Quiet, serious, earn success by thoroughness and dependability. Practical, matter-of-fact, realistic, and responsible. Decide logically what should be done and work toward it steadily, regardless of distractions. Take pleasure in making everything orderly and organized – their work, their home, their life. Value traditions and loyalty.
Disclaimer: Scott does not agree that I try to make everything orderly and organized. Comparatively, he is definitely the organizer and orderly one and I am the loose, unscheduled one. I like to think it is my mission in life to give him something to organize :)
Friday, January 28, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Save the Date
In the mail today was a save the date card for a very happy and joyful upcoming day. I am looking forward to this date, because it gives me a very definitive answer.
It is the date that I am officially "old." Again.
Older than I knew I was, older than I felt, older than I want anyone else to know I am.
These moments creep up on you sometimes. I felt it the other day when Roxy purchased a pair of fingerless gloves, Madonna-style circa 1983. I remember watching MTV, seeing all the wannabes dressed like her. My eight year old daughter has this accessory that makes me feel old. I felt old this morning when I went into Darby's room, searching for something to wear that is hers. You DEFINITELY feel old when you have a daughter that can supply you with clothing/accessories. I remember watching kids I would babysit graduate from high school. That was a very strange feeling. Also, going to their wedding showers. That is a weird event as well.
Now, my flower girl is getting married. She was so little when I got married, in a beautiful white dress and ringlets.
This spurs another "senior" moment of oldness in my mind. I will go comfort myself by pulling gray hairs out of my scalp and eating dinner at 4:30 tonight. Sigh.
It is the date that I am officially "old." Again.
Older than I knew I was, older than I felt, older than I want anyone else to know I am.
These moments creep up on you sometimes. I felt it the other day when Roxy purchased a pair of fingerless gloves, Madonna-style circa 1983. I remember watching MTV, seeing all the wannabes dressed like her. My eight year old daughter has this accessory that makes me feel old. I felt old this morning when I went into Darby's room, searching for something to wear that is hers. You DEFINITELY feel old when you have a daughter that can supply you with clothing/accessories. I remember watching kids I would babysit graduate from high school. That was a very strange feeling. Also, going to their wedding showers. That is a weird event as well.
Now, my flower girl is getting married. She was so little when I got married, in a beautiful white dress and ringlets.
This spurs another "senior" moment of oldness in my mind. I will go comfort myself by pulling gray hairs out of my scalp and eating dinner at 4:30 tonight. Sigh.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Unplanned Staycation
Roads are passable now in most places. We missed a whole week of school and had to deal with food shortages at stores and restaurants (and homes by the end of the week.) People slipping on the ice filled emergency rooms, because they just had to get out and get their mail after not having mail service for three days.
We are almost back to our normal routine, except today is a holiday for MLK. So please enjoy our photos: the suspension bridge marble roller coaster is a true work of engineering, patience, and it is pretty fun, too. Scott's work of engineering is his snow fort, where he led his poor little lamb daughters to the slaughter as they ducked inside and got pummeled by his snowballs. The finished fort was four feet tall, with one side at five feet tall, and it had a tunnel entrance. Scott spent hours on that thing! Apparently, Darby has not read "The Art of War" by Tzu. She could not fight back against Scott's attack. But we had a huge laugh at Scott's expense when he tried to incorporate the zip line into his attack - and broke it and fell on his back. It really was funny. But now we have to fix the thing...
Roxy found little hills for sledding, or I should say gliding. The inflatable snow mobile was just right for her. Even Scott and I took it out for a spin, and I slid into the bushes because I am a nerd that way.
Sometimes being cooped up together is a good thing. In this case, it was great. Can't wait for the next Snowpocalypse.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Hibernation Day
You have to love it when lots of snow dumps on your town and you have to miss school on Monday. And Tuesday. Possibly Wednesday, too. The 5+ inches I received will probably stick around for a while. Sure is pretty, though :)
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Ick Day
It is officially a new year, which means the workout centers are absolutely overloaded.
Renewed focus on health and weight loss kind of grosses me out.
I find myself surrounded by people that are not quite what I expect at a place where you have to pay to attend. As I was working out, I noticed a number of non-athletes, like myself, who have a tendency to wear old college t-shirts and other misshapen items from the bottom drawer of the dresser. For the most part, that is acceptable to me. And then I see Grandpa Elmo. He is a grandpa, for sure, adorned in an enormous red shirt with Elmo's face on it. He has red shorts, too. And a red bandanna, Bret Michaels style, on his head. I do not know if his grandchild dressed him, but I suppose that could happen. Then, there is the man that likes to do lunges on the stairs while I train. When he groaning penetrates the sound from my ear buds, I have to notice that he is contorting himself in a quite unhealthy way. And then there is the guy who like to walk on the treadmill, steeply inclined, but he does it backwards while tossing around a yo-yo.
And these are just a few of the examples I remember during my work out.
As I leave, I find the sweatiest man ever. Sitting on upholstered furniture. Reading a magazine. There is not a dry spot on him. Anywhere. Even the top of his head is wet. And it is not raining. And I notice beside him is his towel. Which he has neglected to use. Anywhere. Anywhere on his body.
It is for this reason that I am glad we will be having the snow-pocalypse of the century and I will be unable to go work out. I need some space from these people, especially the sweaty one. And I will never sit down on any furniture there. Ever.
Renewed focus on health and weight loss kind of grosses me out.
I find myself surrounded by people that are not quite what I expect at a place where you have to pay to attend. As I was working out, I noticed a number of non-athletes, like myself, who have a tendency to wear old college t-shirts and other misshapen items from the bottom drawer of the dresser. For the most part, that is acceptable to me. And then I see Grandpa Elmo. He is a grandpa, for sure, adorned in an enormous red shirt with Elmo's face on it. He has red shorts, too. And a red bandanna, Bret Michaels style, on his head. I do not know if his grandchild dressed him, but I suppose that could happen. Then, there is the man that likes to do lunges on the stairs while I train. When he groaning penetrates the sound from my ear buds, I have to notice that he is contorting himself in a quite unhealthy way. And then there is the guy who like to walk on the treadmill, steeply inclined, but he does it backwards while tossing around a yo-yo.
And these are just a few of the examples I remember during my work out.
As I leave, I find the sweatiest man ever. Sitting on upholstered furniture. Reading a magazine. There is not a dry spot on him. Anywhere. Even the top of his head is wet. And it is not raining. And I notice beside him is his towel. Which he has neglected to use. Anywhere. Anywhere on his body.
It is for this reason that I am glad we will be having the snow-pocalypse of the century and I will be unable to go work out. I need some space from these people, especially the sweaty one. And I will never sit down on any furniture there. Ever.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
An Ideal Husband
Roxy is postulating about her ideal husband. Lately, she wants to make a lot of decisions about her future and this is apparently one of those important decisions.
She is eight, by the way.
Right now, she thinks her husband should be tall with dark hair. He should wear contacts, too. And he should be sporty, because she does not want someone who is fat.
Roxy is considering what her husband should do. She thinks it is okay if he is a good preacher, but she is not too sure she wants to be married to a preacher. She thinks it would be great if he could fix things, but then he would be fat.
It is at this point in the conversation that we, the parents, get confused. What's wrong with being married to a preacher? And what is this fixation with fat men? And how come a preacher can't fix things around the house? I sometimes have the same question in my head, but let's not dwell on that last one...
So all you eight year old little men out there - Roxy's sizing up her prospects. I certainly hope you have visual impairments, a prominent stature, and that none of you are fat :)
She is eight, by the way.
Right now, she thinks her husband should be tall with dark hair. He should wear contacts, too. And he should be sporty, because she does not want someone who is fat.
Roxy is considering what her husband should do. She thinks it is okay if he is a good preacher, but she is not too sure she wants to be married to a preacher. She thinks it would be great if he could fix things, but then he would be fat.
It is at this point in the conversation that we, the parents, get confused. What's wrong with being married to a preacher? And what is this fixation with fat men? And how come a preacher can't fix things around the house? I sometimes have the same question in my head, but let's not dwell on that last one...
So all you eight year old little men out there - Roxy's sizing up her prospects. I certainly hope you have visual impairments, a prominent stature, and that none of you are fat :)
Monday, January 3, 2011
..and Now a Word From Roxy...
Roxy is my planner. She is up, always up, on all the details. She cleans her room on Saturday night, knowing I may let her bring a friend home from church and she wants to show she is prepared. She remembers everything, it seems. She remembered the leftover candy from the gingerbread house built on the last day of school 2010, and that bag is sitting in her school desk and she cannot wait to get it. And she has got the week planned out, right down to the number of times she needs to practice basketball before her first game.
Roxy just kind of rocks that way - and I love it.
Roxy is also becoming a planner of her future. Over the Christmas break, she has been very thoughtful about some very specific details of her life: what kind of man she should marry, when she should get married, what color hair he should have, what he should do for his hobbies and his career, what kind of car she will drive, what kind of car she will drive when she has children, what kind of job she will have, what kind of kids she will have, etc. You get the gist of this, don't you?
And she thinks about all of these things in her spare time. More precisely, she thinks about these things during commercial breaks.
Roxy plans how she will spend her time during her favorite TV shows. She is always doing something - drawing, coloring, pretending to be a dog, playing with stuffed animals, building a blanket fort - during the show, then she thinks during the commercials.
Scott and I are fascinated with her priorities, with her planning skills, and with her purposeful use of commercial breaks.
Tune in next time to hear about how she sizes up men, which she thought about during an Adventure time! commercial break...
Roxy just kind of rocks that way - and I love it.
Roxy is also becoming a planner of her future. Over the Christmas break, she has been very thoughtful about some very specific details of her life: what kind of man she should marry, when she should get married, what color hair he should have, what he should do for his hobbies and his career, what kind of car she will drive, what kind of car she will drive when she has children, what kind of job she will have, what kind of kids she will have, etc. You get the gist of this, don't you?
And she thinks about all of these things in her spare time. More precisely, she thinks about these things during commercial breaks.
Roxy plans how she will spend her time during her favorite TV shows. She is always doing something - drawing, coloring, pretending to be a dog, playing with stuffed animals, building a blanket fort - during the show, then she thinks during the commercials.
Scott and I are fascinated with her priorities, with her planning skills, and with her purposeful use of commercial breaks.
Tune in next time to hear about how she sizes up men, which she thought about during an Adventure time! commercial break...
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