Seven Things

I've been tagged by the Seven Things meme! Now it's my turn to divulge seven interesting things about myself. Last spring I came up with 101 (well, sort of; I did pad that list a bit) and I answered five questions in May (though the person I tagged with that never did hers, grrr!) so I'll try not to repeat any. Do you suppose there are really that many interesting things about me? About anyone? I guess we'll see!

1. I took General Psych 101 in college. One in-class assignment had us complete the story of a woman who came to an academic or professional crossroads in her life (I don't remember the specifics). Apparently there were two common scenarios that people chose: One that indicated a yearning for success, and one that indicated fear of it. My response didn't fit either of those. According to the professor, my answer -- that the woman said, "Screw it all!" and ran off to live out her days in an artists' colony -- indicated instead that I had an unconventional definition of success.
   
   I don't think she was right, though. I think I fear it. And failure, too, of course; nobody wants to fail. I'm often paralyzed between the two extremes in what some would describe as perfectionism but which I know to be the simple crazies. ;-)


2. I do admit to being a little unconventional, though. For instance, though I come from a family that values education very highly, I've never cared about grades. An education? Yes, absolutely. But no arbitrary letter on a piece of paper is going to change (or even accurately reflect) how smart I am or am not. It doesn't motivate me to learn, and in fact quite often has had the opposite effect. In school, if I didn't feel like a particular assignment would benefit me intellectually (whether or not it would affect me academically), I wouldn't do it. Why waste my time? Not to mention the teachers'.
   
   As a senior in high school, my AP English Lit teacher called me on it: I had earned a C (I didn't bother with the grammar unit; I speak and write just fine, thank you) but she gave me an A. I went to talk to her about it, totally willing to take my C, terrified that she'd made a mistake and some poor grade-hungry schlub had been unfairly branded with my mediocrity. No, she said, I did it on purpose. For the same reason you didn't turn in the worksheets, I suspect: Out of spite. You get an A. So there. I loved her already, but loved her even more after that -- for her sense of humor, sure, but also because she saw right through me.
   
   (Disclaimer: This happened the last semester of my senior year; I'd already been accepted to college; my grades, whatever they were, were by that point meaningless to everyone, not just to me.)


3. This sounds terrible for a good Mormon girl to say (though it won't surprise anyone who knows me well) but I loooove the smell of cigarettes. (Lit ones, anyway. Unlit cigarettes -- and the tobacco harvest generally -- smell like black licorice. Nasty.) Cigarettes remind me of the time I spent in the Tar Lung state and all my friends there. I've never smoked and never will, but if I were going to consciously decide to take up a vice, that would be the one.
   
   MIL is always so polite about her habit. She smokes outside when we're around, and if I come out to sit with her she'll move so that I'm not downwind. I really, really wish she would quit -- I want her around for a lot longer than she will be at this rate; her health is already bad -- but as long as she's still smoking, I do wish she'd sit next to me when she does it, lol.


4. A snippet from my day on Tuesday:
   
   The girls and I had an orgy of Christmas decoration all afternoon. We hauled out the fake tree, strung the lights, hung the ornaments (most of which now reside no more than three and a half feet above the floor -- it's adorably bottom heavy, our tree), and set out the nativity, various snow men, and a couple of mancrackers. All that excitement devolved into angsty, whiney energy by evening, and I put the older two to bed screaming. (To clarify, they were the ones screaming. Though I wanted to as well.) I had to play Bedtime Enforcer several times -- ugh -- but I think they were both asleep by 10:00 or 10:30pm. (Sadly, although their bedtime is 8:00pm, that's usually how it goes around here.)
   
   DH was on call and plenty busy. Tres and I hung out in my bedroom, alternately nursing and not; I tried to lull her to sleep while staying awake, myself, so I could watch the DVRed episode of House with DH when he came home. But she got a second wind after a while. I pulled up my knees and set her against them in my lap and we made faces at each other. I tried to get her to laugh; Tres giggles in her sleep sometimes, but apparently I'm not amusing enough when she's awake.
   
   I woke up to DH calling my name sometime after midnight. He'd just gotten home. Tres still lay in my lap, eyes wide open, staring up at her sleepy momma.


5. Speaking of babies, I'm a baby schlepper! I wish I were cool enough to be a baby wearer -- one of those women who has mastered the art of carrying their infants / toddlers in a ring sling or pouch -- but I just haven't managed it so far. They seem complicated. I've never tried a ring sling, but I've heard through the mommy grapevine that their renowned versatility (so many options for different carrying positions!) comes with a steep learning curve. I did get a Maya Pouch when Dos was little, but my height, at 5'4", put me right between sizes; the retailer recommended the smaller pouch, but I'm not convinced that either one would fit comfortably and carrying her in it never felt as natural as I had hoped it would. I don't want a Baby Bjorn or any other stiff backed carrier; they leave your hands conveniently free, sure, but the whole point of baby wearing is to mimic the sensation of being cuddled. Right?
   
   I haven't managed to wear any of my babies, so I schlepp them instead. I don't believe an infant can be spoiled by too much holding; being spoiled requires the mental capacity to manipulate, and brilliant though she may be, Tres isn't there yet. Being held -- feeling protected and safe in a very big, very loud, very unfamiliar world -- is as essential a need for her as food or sleep and I'm happy to oblige. If she's awake, she's in my arms. (My left arm mostly. I'm going to end up with lopsided mommy muscles.)
   
   Different people having different parenting styles and philosophies, and that's fine, but this is what works for us and makes us both happy.


6. Okay, I'm struggling to come up with anything else already.... Perhaps there are only five interesting things about me. (Or 101+5+5.... A hundred and eleven things?)


7. Oooh, how's this? Our final item, inspired by the mess all around me: I am a complete slob. Living with DH for the past six and a half years has not cured me of this tendency; when he's out of town, I let the house go to hell in a lovely handbag on purpose just to enjoy the chaos. (I do clean up before he gets back.) The office, this computer -- technically they're the family's, not mine but DH prefers to work at his actual office, the clinic a few blocks away, so I have staked my claim to this one room of the house. Papers litter the desk. And the floor. Three color coded baskets scattered on the floor catch the tiny semblance of organization I require (green for items to be dealt with relatively soon; blue for items to be shredded; purple for items to be filed if we ever get a filing cabinet). Toys find their way in here, as do unused picture frames, random CDs, a bouncy seat for the baby.
   
   DH would tell you that the rest of the house is not immaculate (but he's anal retentive and I really don't think his definition of immaculate counts), but it's certainly better than this. He keeps telling me I'd feel better if I cleaned it up (I'd feel better? LOL). I tell him just to keep the door shut and stay out. I need one space that feels like mine and mine alone, a sanctuary. This mess is it.

There. Seven things (if #6 counts); narcissism at its finest, as promised! Now it's your turn. I won't make assignments, since the last time I did that (*cough, cough!* Seester!) the person never followed through. But I look forward to reading someone else's seven now. :-)


~RCH~