But I hold on to some of my quirks and processes and call them good.

For instance, long ago I bought some lovely cotton sheets that have the kind of fitted pillow case that folds in at the end so there is no pillow exposed. Nice and neat and tucked in. And to make it even more precise and lovely, there are two sets of ties to cinch it.

Being an ESFJ, I like things done my way (because it is the correct and the only way) and I am very black and white in my thinking. This can be a wonderful thing (when it comes to administering chemotherapy) and it can be a curse (when it comes to whether or not the bell peppers are allowed to stay on the counter because the fridge is packed chock-full after hitting up three grocery stores [which they should not, by the way]).

Last night, as I was climbing into that glorious thing called a bed [isn't it great that God makes us lay down and sleep?], I went to straighten the sheets and blankets. This is another processes my INTP husband could do without. I swear I sleep poorly if my overlay sheet is askew. And then the light quilt we have on top must be laid the long way and not the short way. It must. Neurotic; maybe. I digress.

I straighten the sheet, then the quilt on the INTP’s side of the bed. I fluff his pillow and realize the aforementioned pillowcase is not properly tucked in, folded and tied. So I do that for him as well, as it should be.

I move to my side of the bed. Same sequence, same processes. I go to tuck, fold and tie the pillowcase and wouldn’t you know, someone has already done it for me.

That charming, carefree, fly by the seat of his pants, linger in the candlelight sort of guy has intentionally filled one of my processes because he knows me, he loves me. Ah, my heart was twitterpated and I felt known.

[I won't mention that he failed to match the cute floral pillow cases with the sheets that go with them, but rather put on bubble gum pink pajama cotton sheets instead. An ESFJ can't have it all, unless that is, she is bedfellows with another ESFJ and that could be really, really bad news.]

I love my husband and love how he serves me in these little ways.
And, thanks, husband for letting me rip off the sheets and quilts on cold winter nights when you are already tucked in so I can have them just so…to aid my sleep, of course.

I did all this while it snowed a couple of inches in my backyard and then I proceeded to go outside with the little snow-women (who looked just like Randy from A Christmas Story).
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Scarlet did not proceed to move one little size 5 foot in any direction; paralyzed by all the white stuff.
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We made snow angels, even Scarlet with such a cute, tiny wingspan. I jumped in more than once and I fear that may be why by lower back is a achin’ me and requiring multiple doses of Ibuprofen. Can you say, “Old Lady!”?
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We went for a little sled ride; me pulling them around the back yard until, unbeknownst to me, they fell off face first into the snow. I have a bad Trudi-habit of laughing hysterically in these situations. But I sure did scoop up the littlest of the two who had the most snow-plowed-face damage and provided some comfort and a windshield wiper blade sort of swipe with my glove.
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Gotcha! The one and only beauty of a photo amidst all the rest.
I love these two snow-women.
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We are up to 1097 hits. Add a few more, please.

Here’s another one I took when I gave my mother a heart attack by showing up at her house last weekend and knocking on the door. I stayed for an hour and had a nice chat and came away with some new jewelry (no, I did not steal it THIS time). We rode out together and I captured this video. I have to mention that Audrey’s favorite part is her screaming in the middle. And warning: the wind catches in the mic and can be a bit loud now and then (but worth it all).

And to quote my sister, Dana, “I am not sayin’, i am just sayin’ look like anything you have seen lately?”

This is how we get our kicks in our family.

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It’s late. I’m tired. I promised myself I would “major” in rest this next season. But I can’t resist posting TWO things:
#1 I harvested all my lettuce this evening. It was time. I love that I can walk in my backyard and pick mixed greens for the evening salad. Audrey and I harvested a whole tub full! We divided into recycled produce bags and jumped on the bike with the Burly attached to go deliver. Judy has lent me this fabulous, cadillac of a bike for the summer while she is traipsing the earth. I am putting it to great use exploring all parts of Waukegan and even making a new friend or two. We had four stops: neighbors, Audrey’s new friends (and mine too) and the Reeds. We delivered fresh greens and as we biked around I put the little bell (my favorite part of the bike) to use by announcing that the Lettuce Express was here. It was delightful. It was dusk and I was so glad to have friends in the neighborhood I could go and visit so casually and bless them with a bag of fresh greens.

#2 I was just doing up the evening dishes and Ivan was making the coffee for tomorrow morning, packing a lunch and all (since he has a NEW job!). He was searching around the house for his ol’ time lunch box. Couldn’t find it, couldn’t find it. This is what happens when you have a three year old in the house who loves to organize, sort and carry items in little containers around the house like she is cross pollinating or something. He eventually finds it in the living room which is scattered with toys, picnics, tea parties and babies sleeping under burp cloths. He senses something in it, sloshing around. He brings it into the kitchen, where I am doing dishes like I said, and opens it. Now, whenever you hear Ivan say, “Oh no!”, you know it’s bad bordering on really bad. In an instant I knew what it was: stale, stagnant and growing a number of bacteria, old urine. I do believe my three year old, beloved, most lovely, creative, stunning and funny little midget of a daughter peed in my husband’s lunch box. Sigh.

Well, once you get started, you can’t stop with that show. They were right when they said it is sooooo good. You know I am busy and short on time when I am three episodes behind in my LOST viewing. I was reminiscing about my favorite scene of all time in this show. It comes in Season 3, Episode 10 when we have been soaking long and hard in the hopeless and helpless situation the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 have found themselves in. It seems like they will never get off the island or even last long enough without killing each other.

Hurley (the big dude) is one of those affectionate, worm your way into your heart, endearing sorts of fellows. He reminds me of one of my buds in college, Andy B. He gets this crazy idea when he finds an abandoned baby blue VW van to somehow get it running. He drags a few of his buddies with him to work on it with him. They end up finding really old beer in the back of the van along with a more than rotting skeleton that Sawyer nicknames Skeletor (makes me giggle). The bus seems like a.n.o.t.h.e.r. hopeless case on this hopeless island.

It all of a sudden occurs to Hurley that there is one last way to get this thing running, but it’s crazy–even Sawyer thinks it’s crazy. They are going to push the van down this huge hill and pop the clutch at the last moment hoping to jump start it. It seems ridiculous and a more probable rabbit trail the show will lead us down when they accidentally fall into some sort of time traveling pit. Up until this point in the show, whether you knew it or not, you most likely have been holding your breath, unable to let your guard down for this gang.

So when Hurley and Charlie jump into this old van and Sawyer and Jin give it one big push and down, down, down it goes, appearing to be out of control and heading right for the big, ugly rocks…we take one final breath in and hold it, hold it, hold it.

And right when it seems there is going to be a crash and there goes a few more characters off the show, the ignition catches and the van is off with the radio blaring an old tune and all is well. “Well, son of a bitch,” says Sawyer, and we enter a bubble of normalcy and all the air leaves our chest and we breathe. We breathe for the first time in a long time.

I so badly wanted to jump in that van with them and cruise around laughing, feeling light, letting normalcy settle in, even if it was for just one small moment. It was a break of sorts from having to wrestle with their current reality. That van ride was a bracketed lapse in time where they didn’t have to look back or wonder what was coming. Everything hopeless about that island was on pause, just for that moment.

I find this scene to be a wonderfully lighthearted and a genuine portrayal of hope…a hope that lets you breathe at last, lets your guard down and screams aloud. And at the end of the day, you can sit on the shore of the beach, sipping your flat and skanky beer and realize everything is going to be all right.

In the last month or so, Audrey has finally got the hang of going tinkle and poo poo on the toilet, like a big girl [Can I get an amen, hallelujah, praise the Lord Almighty in heaven!?!] As I look into the tub, with toys floating about, I see little brown flecks on the bottom of the tub. No big deal; maybe just some dirt, debris, something-or-other. Then my eyes scan about and discover something peculiar: there is a pile of poop strategically deposited in the cabin of a little play boat where little pirates normally lay their heads.

I try not to laugh. I try to maintain composure because, after all, it is not ideal for my daughter to be crappin’ in the bathtub, right? But at the same time, isn’t it awfully creative of her to choose this route of pooping? This was a tricky parenting scenario to navigate. In the end I said this to Audrey: “This, my love, is why I keep a blog.” I scooped up the poop, which was conveniently in the dug out part of the boat, and plopped in neatly into the toilet.

And then I said this: “Audrey, you know how we pause your shows on TV. Well, we can “pause” your bath and let you jump out if you have to go poo poo and then put you right back in once you are done. I think she understood that concept.

I keep giggling about it still.
Tonight when she spied me uploading the pictures you are about to see, she confessed that she scooped the poop up with the washcloth. All along I thought she had crouched down over the boat, aiming strategically, which would have been quite funny.

Oh, the joys of raising three year olds.

Enjoy the pics!
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I thought you would enjoy those.

Examples of brattish behavior:
>Um, can’t think of any–>therefore, I must be not be brattish (DENIAL! as the sharks from Bruce’s clan exclaim in Finding Nemo)

>Okay, so Ivan and I were out on a date last Friday night, storming the mall (really exciting, I know). And I guess I have a bit of a waddle forming. We were walking arm in arm and we kept getting out of step of one another. And supposedly this was making it difficult for Ivan to walk steadily arm in arm without bumping into me every other step. He would skip a step the way they trained us in marching band but over time it would inevitably get out of step again. Waddle, waddle, waddle. So my brattish ways came out like vampires when the sun is setting: I purposefully waddled a little more (wiggle, wiggle the toukas). I did a little dance like I was Michael Jackson or something. There were a few giggles in the beginning but then he got a little irritated: jaw tensing, pulling away, definately not enjoying my silliness (I mean, brattishness).

>I sometimes have irresistible temptations to squeeze Ivan’s knee in a playful gesture of affection. He hates this and is horrible ticklish. Often, I forget about this slight detail (that he is ticklish) and will reach over while we are cuddling on the couch and give a little squeeze to that hairy knee and then I can’t resist, I might do it again.

>I am loud. Plain and simple. Everyone knows where I am at in clinic when I am at work. I laugh loud. Talk loud. Live life loud. Well, sometimes I yawn kind of loud. Or to let off steam, I make obnoxious farting sounds. And sometimes I might belt out some opera. This is alarming to my husband, the way a car alarm might accidently go off as you are getting into the driver seat because you hit that stupid little red panic button on the remote. We will be playing World of Warcraft at each of our computers, respectively, and I will let off a loud yawn. And as yawns go, they just keep coming.

Okay, so maybe I can be a bit brattish at times. Onery. Mean spirited. Older sister syndrome. Whatever you might call it. I’ll admit it.

Consider this hypothetical situation.
Let’s just say someone had issues with a tube of toothpaste running low. Let’s call her Sasha. And if she had her way, she would throw it in the garbage even though there might be maybe 5 more “doses”. Fortunately the other person in this relationship, Casper, has thought to buy more toothpaste prior to running out, but he still wants to use up the last 5 doses.

Sasha is clearly tired of the wilty tube of toothpaste and doesn’t want to fight with it squeezing out the last bits of gel. So you wanna know what Sasha decides to do? You are never going to believe this. She proceeds to take the tube of toothpaste (fortunately, after one additional dose has been applied to the toothbrush’s one last time) and lifts up the toilet seat lid and does some toilet bowl swishing action, as if she is cleaning the toilet with the tube of toothpaste (that still has at least 4 good doses of toothpaste left in it, mind you). Hurumph!

Casper is forced to throw away the tube of toothpaste and pull out the new one.

Who is the brattish one now, I ask you?

Dana (my one and only sister) comments:
p.s. I think our mother thinks she was mermaid in her last life. maybe she knows the gay dolphin guy!