Friday, October 28, 2011

Blessings



At 3:37 this afternoon, Adalene Geneva Wilson, daughter to Garrett and Diana, made an early but most welcome arrival. Babe is 4 pounds 5 ounces and 18 1/2 inches long and has the luxury most of us women would die for - she's being encouraged to put on some pounds! Welcome to the world, Adalene! (It's so much fun to be an aunt again!)

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Couldn't Have Said It Better Myself

"Women are like apples on a tree. The best ones are at the top of tree. Most men do not want to reach for the good ones because they are afraid of falling and getting hurt. Instead, they take the apples on the ground that aren't as good, but easy. The apples at the top think there is something wrong with them, when in reality, they are absolutely amazing. They just have not found the right one to come along, the one who is brave enough to climb all the way to the top of the tree. Now men are more like a fine wine. They begin as grapes and it's up to women to stomp the crap out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with."

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Scary Similarities

So, as it turns out, Flash and I are both single again.

Scarier than the realization that we'll now have even more time to spend together is the fact that we broke up with our s.o.'s for virtually the same reason. 

I'm not sure who is more frightened by this fact. 

I've either raised him right or totally screwed him up for life.  The jury is still out, but considering my dating track record, he might want to model his dating tactics after someone slightly more successful. 

Speaking of the Boy Child....

To better understand "Champ", click here.

Champ

Years ago, I took a personality assessment in college. I have annoyed more friends had more fun with this knowledge throughout the years than you might imagine. After getting to know someone, at some point, I'm sure to confidently venture what I am certain their 4-letter personality-defining acronym might be. I've used the information to try to explain annoying particular behavior of the people around me. I'm sure I've told the story of using the lingo to embarrass myself by inadvertantly implying I was talking about my fiance's privates, but in any case...

Flash left a book on the couch last night called, Please Understand Me. Giving him a hard time about it today, I implied that it was a teenager's passive-aggressive way to suggest that his parent needs to be more in touch with his life. He explained that it was a personality typing-book, unknowingly sending his mother into an excited frenzy over thoughts of personality discussions.

"Wait! Wait!" I shouted. "Is this like Myers-Briggs testing?" I asked perhaps a bit too-excitedly.

"Yeah...." came his now-worried response.

"Wait! Wait!" I held out my hand to stop him from saying another word. "Do you know what you are?"

"Yeah...." he replied, now visibly concerned with what sort of Pandora Box he had just opened. You see, I am an INFJ, which the book describes in parts as, "highly sensitive to others, which is to say their intuition tends to be well developed. Certainly their insight into themselves and others is unparalleled. Without a doubt, they know what is going on inside themselves, and they can read other people with uncanny accuracy." In other words, I rock at this.

I immediately declared that he is an extrovert, to which he kindly responded with "Duh."

I went on, confidently declaring the next letters, representing other areas of his personality determined by this assessment. "You are an ESTJ!"

To which he replied, "Um, not even close. The exact opposite, actually. I am an ENFP- A Champion."

"What?!? I am so right." I declared. I went on to itemize each quadrant of the testing and to explain my rationale for each. I gave evidence, cited examples and pleaded my case, but he stuck to his guns and declared me, "dead wrong."

As dinner went on, I teased him with nearly every bite about this discrepancy. "My sensory-son might not have done it quite that way...oh, that's right you are intuitive...." or, "if only you were a feeler, maybe you'd have understood what I was trying to convey better....oh, that's right, you say you ARE a feeler..." and so forth. Jabbing back and forth throughout dinner, finally led me to declare with a tone of finality, "Fine! My WTHKOPYTYA - Whatever The Heck Kind Of Personality You Think You Are Child!"

I think that's an acronym we can both agree on.

I will say this, when he reads the definitions as declared by the book, I think he is correct with his assessment. "Champions often speak (or write) in the hope of revealing some truth about human experience, or of motivating others with their powerful convictions. Their strong drive to speak out on issues and events, along with their boundless enthusiasm and natural talent with language, makes them the most vivacious and inspiring of all the types. Fiercely individualistic, Champions strive toward a kind of personal authenticity, and this intention always to be themselves is usually quite attractive to others." That said, if he truly has, "outstanding intuitive powers and can tell what is going on inside of others, reading hidden emotions and giving special significance to words or actions" then he has been ignoring my unspoken nudgings for years!! Of course, since an INFJ (me) is also said to, "seldom tell how they came to read others' feelings so keenly. This extreme sensitivity to others could very well be the basis of the Counselor's remarkable ability to experience a whole array of psychic phenomena." I might just have to start reading his mind to get to know my Champion better. Scary, scary thought indeed.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

You Don't Have to Say It, My Therapist Is Already On The Line

I have this obsession, no, not just one, but let's focus here, shall we? I feel deeply satisfied and accomplished when I empty containers. If I can pull 5 leftovers out of the fridge, empty all of them and put the tupperware into the dishwasher it's very cathartic to me. For example, this morning, I made a big Sunday morning breakfast. Leaving just two lonely eggs in the carton bothered me quite deeply until I assured myself that Flash will eat them when he gets up (who am I kidding, that would involve work). I buttered my toast with the last remaining bit of butter left on the annoying butter dish we had mainly for WG's use. There's just enough jam left for one more piece of toast, so I will now surely encourage Flash for toast and eggs. I moved laundry to find we had used the last of the dryer sheets so that box can happily go into recycling. We have two open containers of cream cheese in the fridge but we're out of bagels, so now my mind races to ideas on how I can use the cream cheese up to get those containers out of the fridge.

I will do this obsessively all week long. Minimize, clean, organize, arrange. Until the weekend rolls around. And then, in an exclamatory proclamation I will shout, "How is it that we have nothing in this house to eat? The fridge is empty! There's nothing in here for a quick lunch! Where does all the food go?!"

Ah, yes, this may require more than one session with the counselor.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Stuck In My Head

Would you walk to the edge of the ocean
Just to fill my jar with sand
Just in case I get the notion
To let it run through my hand, let it run through my hand

Well I don't want the whole world,
The sun, the moon and all their light,
I just want to be the only girl
You love all your life.

Would you catch a couple thousand fireflies
Yeah, put them in a lamp to light my world
All dressed up in a tux and bowtie
Hand delivered to a lonely girl, to a lonely lonely girl

Well I don't want the whole world
The sun, the moon and all their light
I just want to be the only girl
You love all your life, you love all your life

Lately I've been writing desperate love songs
Mostly I sing them to the walls
You could be the center piece of my obsession
If you would notice me, oh yeah...

Well I don't want the whole world,
The sun, the moon and all their light
I just want to be the only girl
You love all your life.



- The Band Perry

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Without a Doubt, He Is His Papa's Grandson

As we drove home today, Flash and I noticed a huge pile of leaves at the curb of one of the houses along the way. "Wow," I remarked, "Those people have a lot of leaves!" "You could say they have a lot of 'leavage!" replied Flash. Papa would be so proud of his punny grandson.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Things They Couldn't Say if Women Announced Football Games

"That was some deep penetration there!"

"Someone needs to get their hands on that guy!"

"He's going deep!  He's going deep!"

"It's just a matter of inches."

"He's not going to quit until he scores."

"We need to get a measurment here."

"Was he even in?  I don't think he even made it in."

"He works best under the spread."

"He just had his hands where they didn't belong."

"There were a couple other guys that could have made a play, but he's the one that scored."

"You have to appreciate the size of that guy."

"I thought it was only about six inches, but he's saying it's more like a foot."

"He's explosive when he's on the inside."

"He needs to learn not to force it."

Even with male announcers, I'm not really sure they should say these things.

Friday, October 14, 2011

At Least He Has That Part Down

I was talking with my sister tonight and during the conversation, I mentioned a text message I had received asking if I might want to go out on a date on Saturday. A couple moments into her response, she began whole-heartedly laughing.  Quick to clarify that she wasn't laughing at me at the thought that I might receive such a request, but that she was laughing at George, she put the boy on the phone to share with me what made his mother laugh so hard.

In his calmest, more serious very nearly eleven-year-old-voice of reason and wisdom he said, "I don't know much about dating, but I do know about breaking up.  You say, 'I'm sorry, this just isn't working out.  It's not you, it's me.  Maybe we can still be friends.' "

I think at eleven, he's far better at this dating thing that I am. 

How Unique It Is

I realize Flash and I have a pretty unique relationship. We spend our evenings just the two of us, no television on, often sharing tidbits about our day, or funny things that we think of. We share many inside jokes between us and we often times start our conversations with, "remember how I was telling you about..." We often sit at various events, band performances, games, etc. and text back and forth sarcastic comments, funny anecdotes, etc. 

We forget sometimes that there are people around us who are not in on the conversation.
Tonight was the homecoming football game. Not at all interested in anything to do with such matters, but being required as a member of the marching band to be at the game, Flash and I headed off to the game. While I love a good football game, our high school team is terrible, the crowd is rude and it was cold and spitting rain to boot. I sat in the car reading a book of Flash's until just before the band's halftime performance, at which point I paid my $5 admission fee, got a hot chocolate and stood with the crowd to watch the band perform before returning to my vehicle in the parking lot, waiting for the game to be over and for Flash to head with me home.

The book I was reading to keep me entertained was one that Flash had read last spring at the suggestion of a favorite teacher. He has raved and raved about the marvels of this book and bought his own copy just so he could re-read it and share it with people. I decided I must be the first person who got to borrow it. It's taken me a couple weeks to get through it, which is a statement to how much I didn't fall in love with it. Flash and I have talked about it briefly as I've progressed, and he pointed out that he was looking forward to a re-read as he felt like he missed a couple things the first time through. Tonight, while waiting for halftime, I finished the book. In between text messages back and forth with Flash about the lame-o football game, I mentioned that I finished the book. He asks how I liked it. 

"Well," I texted back. "You're going to have to explain the coffin full of dirt to me."

Which apparently is a quite disturbing text for a fellow band member to read over his shoulder. Go figure

"Your mom just sent you a text asking you to explain a coffin full of dirt?!?" the friend inquired quite disturbingly of Flash.

"Well, yeah," came my sarcastic son's reply, "she found it in the trunk of my car and wants an explanation," he lied. What? Just because they aren't in on the original conversation doesn't mean we owe it to them to be straight up about it!

"You have a coffin full of dirt in the trunk of your car?"

"Sure. Don't you ever go ghost hunting at grave yards?" Flash said while he texted me back that he didn't really get that part of the book either.

It took his friend a few seconds too long to figure out Flash was kidding and so I suspect the teasing will continue for some time.

In any case, I'm still waiting for my explanation. To that friend, I suspect there are many explanations he's still waiting on.

Wednesday, October 05, 2011

With a Side of Ecoli

Apparently when you break up with a beef grader, the local supermarket stops carrying beef altogther. Well, no, not exactly, but when I went to the market on Sunday, they were quite low on most every kind of beef. I had to improvise for the stew meat on my list and, unsure of what substitutions I might make for his mysterious recipe, I told Flash I'd get the steak he had added to the list later in the week when the market might have restocked it's coolers with a few more options.

After an ortho appointment last night, I suggested we stop at the market across town to get what else he needed for KICK'N this week. I picked up the spinach I had forgotten from the list (also one of his items) and met him back at the checkout where he appeared with a huge piece of london broil, which, according to him, was the only thing they had that "will do" for the recipe he's working off of. I gave him a short speech about how he'd better not ruin this meal for the all it was costing me.

Today when I got to school, I opened the back door to get my school work from the backseat to find the grocery bag still in the car. Let me clarify, the ginormous steak I bought last night at the store, had spent the night in the vehicle, not the refrigerator. The boychild had never taken his groceries into the house.

416 weeks of waiting and 12 hours of spoiling. Sigh. I know there was a ton of steak, but I didn't realize we were inviting maggots to dinner this week.