Last night J and I sat down to watch "Its The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown." Yes, we own it. Correction: J owned it, now that we're married I own it by proxy. He has quite a few collections of childhood favorites from boxed sets a la Costco. Not a surprise, really. Come Christmas, we'll be watching the old claymation of Rudolph as well. Our future kids will love it.
As we finished the beloved classic, we found another Charlie Brown special on the DVD: "You Are Not Elected, Charlie Brown." I can't say I remember this one being aired on television so we watched it. I thought it might be Charles Shultz's attempt to get kiddos involved in their government. Well, kind of. Linus is running for student body president in this one. However, Linus only gets put on the ballot after Charlie Brown's pre-poll numbers are dismal. You can imagine that Snoopy gets in charge of the signs and Lucy is the campaign manager. What an obscure topic for a cartoon special. I began to wonder what other Charlie Brown specials existed on our DVD boxed set.
Wouldn't you know, he did an Arbor Day special. I don't remember this at all. Its on the Easter Beagle special (again, never seen) DVD. That one hasn't been opened yet, but perhaps I will crack the plastic seal just to see what Mr. Shultz had to say about a National holiday dedicated to trees.
I also found another special dedicated to the Mayflower attached to the Thanksgiving special. Haven't seen this one either, but my guess is Mr. Shultz decided to leave out the gory details of our first settlers and ill attempts of establishing colonies. He'll probably just end it with the Native Americans bringing corn and other side dishes to the first Thanksgiving and like all good hosts, the settlers will take care of the main dish of turkey.
I began to wonder why Mr. Shultz did not do a special on the 4th of July. He was a very patriotic gentleman from The Greatest Generation (coined from Mr. Brokaw), so it would make sense that he would have done something. Alas, in our Complete Holiday Collection of Peanuts, not one single 4th of July special exists, nor do I remember one. Rather odd for a man to do something to Arbor Day but not Independence Day, if I do say so myself. However it got me thinking about other holiday specials he left out.
1) If not a 4th of July, then why not a "Its a Great Flag Day, Charlie Brown"? The Peanuts gang could find a library Flag in ruins and then discover how to properly take care of our Nations treasure (also then teaching the young kids that it is Unpatriotic to make any clothing of the flag, depict any flag bumper stickers, etc...it is only meant to be flying during the day in good weather.) Yes, this is what my stint in Girls State sponsored by the American Legion taught me.
2) "Happy Columbus Day, Charlie Brown" Don't have a plot worked out for this one yet.
3) "A Classic Memorial Day, Charlie Brown" This could be paired with "Its the Veteran Beagle, Charlie Brown." I think this would pair well with Snoopy's delusions of being a World War Flying Ace.
4) "Its Boxing Day, Charlie Brown" (He was from Minnesota and I would like to believe he would pay homage to our great neighbors of the north.)
5) "Presidents as our Forefathers, Linus" Lets face it, Linus would be the only Peanuts character to pontificate upon the true meaning of Presidents day and Charlie Brown would just be left home from the skiing trip. Rats.
6) "Its Martin Luther King, Jr Day, Charlie Brown" This would have to be hosted by Franklin, the only non-White Peanuts character, which was quite a controversy back when Mr. Shultz was first illustrating.
7) "Lucy's Labor Day" She could be the bully sweatshop owner who was taught a lesson.
8) "Its Grandparents Day, Charlie Brown" Finally he could give something back for inviting Peppermint Patty, Marcie, et al to his grandmothers unannounced for Thanksgiving.
9) "Its the Chinese New Year Beagle-Dragon!" You can see where I'm going with this one, but they could introduce a new character of ethnic decent.
Both J and I were hoping for the other Charlie Brown specials we remembered through childhood like the summer camp special, the spelling bee special, and the bon voyage special where they end up in France sleeping in the barn and Snoopy drinks root beer at the local tavern. This is the closest thing to celebrating Bastille Day that I could find. We don't own these nor do we know where they exist in boxed sets.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Ironic
Last night I had a networking meeting at a local organization that specialized in eating disorders. I checked in with the nurse at the front desk and explained I was there for a meeting when she said, "Dr. So and So will be right with you." Uh, well ok. It began to sound like I was there for an appointment. I managed to sit down among the other people in the waiting room (only one looking like her BMI was about 12) and started to busy myself with the magazines. Only thoughtful magazines like "Newsweek" and "Fishing Enthusiast" really existed. Yup, no "People" or other fun fashion mags existed with beautiful people, understandably.
Another consultant from our organization came in and identified herself to the nurse and was given the same response. While I just sat there, she actually corrected her. "No, I'm here for a meeting, not an appointment."
The nurse said, "Uh huh. And the doctor will be with you shortly." This consultant actually left the office to reexamine the sign on the window identifying the business, as if to double check. When she came in I finally put her out of her misery and identified myself so she didn't feel so awkward. Funny thing, she noticed the same thing that I did.
"Where are all of the fun magazines like, "Elle," and "People?"" Ok, she actually said this aloud. In front of the size 0.5 sitting across from us who was actually reading "Time." I could have corrected her, but I just shrugged my shoulders as if I didn't have a clue.
Our CEO came in with another consultant and finally the doctor came to gather our group. We were given a tour of the building and then brought to the Art Therapy room for a slide show. Yes, a slide show. This was the strangest networking meeting I think I've ever had. The doctor began to treat it like a Grand Rounds at a hospital. She gave her credentials, some stats, and then went into diagnostic indicators for different eating disorders.
I actually learned quite a bit from this lady. For example I had no idea there was a non-purging type of bulimia. As she was going through the information my stomach began to growl. Not just some little noises. I mean GROWL. I apologized stating that I had missed lunch. Ok, here is the ironic part: the next slide was all about how "missing" meals is a sign of bulimia. I began to giggle. Yes, there were a few eyes on me at this point in time. The doctor was not amused and asked what was so funny. I think she thought I was making fun of eating disorders. Instead of explaining I apologized and asked her to continue. Of all the days I didn't get lunch, this would happen.
She talked about how they have this great interdisciplinary staff and how hard it is to find a dietitian who doesn't actually have an eating disorder them self. Never really thought of it, but I could see how that would be a problem. Finally at the end of the presentation the doctor gave us folders of marketing material. I'm surprised after her talk about denial/precontemplation being part of the stages of change, hearing my stomach protest, and admitting I missed lunch that she didn't give me her card as well.
We finally left the agency and adjourned to a local bar and grille for staff meeting. We all joked that we could go binge now, especially for those of us who had missed lunch.
Another consultant from our organization came in and identified herself to the nurse and was given the same response. While I just sat there, she actually corrected her. "No, I'm here for a meeting, not an appointment."
The nurse said, "Uh huh. And the doctor will be with you shortly." This consultant actually left the office to reexamine the sign on the window identifying the business, as if to double check. When she came in I finally put her out of her misery and identified myself so she didn't feel so awkward. Funny thing, she noticed the same thing that I did.
"Where are all of the fun magazines like, "Elle," and "People?"" Ok, she actually said this aloud. In front of the size 0.5 sitting across from us who was actually reading "Time." I could have corrected her, but I just shrugged my shoulders as if I didn't have a clue.
Our CEO came in with another consultant and finally the doctor came to gather our group. We were given a tour of the building and then brought to the Art Therapy room for a slide show. Yes, a slide show. This was the strangest networking meeting I think I've ever had. The doctor began to treat it like a Grand Rounds at a hospital. She gave her credentials, some stats, and then went into diagnostic indicators for different eating disorders.
I actually learned quite a bit from this lady. For example I had no idea there was a non-purging type of bulimia. As she was going through the information my stomach began to growl. Not just some little noises. I mean GROWL. I apologized stating that I had missed lunch. Ok, here is the ironic part: the next slide was all about how "missing" meals is a sign of bulimia. I began to giggle. Yes, there were a few eyes on me at this point in time. The doctor was not amused and asked what was so funny. I think she thought I was making fun of eating disorders. Instead of explaining I apologized and asked her to continue. Of all the days I didn't get lunch, this would happen.
She talked about how they have this great interdisciplinary staff and how hard it is to find a dietitian who doesn't actually have an eating disorder them self. Never really thought of it, but I could see how that would be a problem. Finally at the end of the presentation the doctor gave us folders of marketing material. I'm surprised after her talk about denial/precontemplation being part of the stages of change, hearing my stomach protest, and admitting I missed lunch that she didn't give me her card as well.
We finally left the agency and adjourned to a local bar and grille for staff meeting. We all joked that we could go binge now, especially for those of us who had missed lunch.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
We put the "fun" in dysfunctional
If you've been a reader of my blog for a number of years, you know that my family does things in their own way. I prefer to label it as "style." At one point in time I bought a very cute card that a grade school child wrote. The cover of the card said, "I wish our family would quit pretending we are normal." I haven't had the heart to use it because I just plain like it too much. My family embraces and celebrates the fact that we aren't normal.
Last night I had the urge to call my Mom. There were a number of things that I wanted to talk with her about, but my sense of urgency was a bit odd. I called cell phones, home lines, etc until finally my father answered. He let me know that Mom was "rushing Ginny to the hospital" and "it could be the end." Now, my father has a flair for the dramatic (although I was always labeled the drama queen, I must have learned it from somewhere). This tendency has gotten more pronounced with Chuckles has he's gotten older. I actually find it rather endearing and charming. However, I was a bit freaked out (understandably).
Ginny is THE matriarch. She is one of my living legends of how to approach life. She's no-nonsense, takes things as they are, and always has the tag line of "If you don't want to know, don't ask me." Its kind of a disclaimer statement for whatever is going to follow out of her mouth. She is the grandmother who taught me how to play poker, how to appreciate herb gardens, stray animals, homemade jam and quilts, and how to make a mean martini. Whenever my cousins and I were fighting she would simply say, "Hey, you two, knock it off," and you knew she meant business. Many family disputes got resolved with that one line. She was also the only relative who had enough balls to ask me how the sex was with my husband....in front of the family...at the dinner table. She wasn't doing it to embarress me. She was genuinely interested.
As Chuckles depicted the picture of doom and gloom, I immediately called my Mom who was now just getting pissed she had to keep leaving the ER to go answer her cell phone. She was worried because it looked like "death had warmed over" (never really knew what the hell that phrase meant) and they asked about advanced directives. Ok, well if that was what was so concerning I felt immediately better. 1) All hospitals are required by JCAHO to ask about advance directives upon admission, 2) Ginny's primary care doc is a gerontologist and if she isn't asking, then I'd have a bigger problem, and 3) they weren't rushing her to the ICU, then its a good sign. At this point in time I had other family members text me worried about Ginny and I was trying to give them the info.
I'll admit, I sobbed a bit once I got off the phone with Mom simply because I'm not ready for Ginny to die. Yes, she has COPD. Yes, I know its progressive. But, dammit, I'm still not ready. The woman is quick as a whip and as spicy as a pepper. As I was doing a brief Internet airfare search it also dawned on me that Pop, my grandfather, died on October 23rd just a few years back. I hate anniversaries as they have a bit of a strange psychic connection for repeating patterns.
Dad called me again about an hour later "going crazy because he hasn't heard from your mother" - also known as his wife. Mom called a bit later, quite happy. Turns out Ginny was admitted to the floor, was given some steroids, decided that the oxygen mask was obnoxious and took it off, was much more comfortable, etc. (J remarked that medical noncompliance and stubborn rebellion obviously runs in the family.)
My cousins had shown up to the hospital with items ready for a cocktail party. They brought good gin, olives, and snackies. This really isn't unusual behavior for our family. When Pop was in his last two days, the females of our clan (Ginny, aunt, mom, cousins, me) all went to lunch but brought our own bottles of wine plus met up the morning of his death to have cheap Bloody Marys, a signature thing of Pop. He used to buy cheap vodka and put it into empty expensive vodka bottles when entertaining.
However, I will say that as a medical person I do understand how a cocktail party in a hospital room seems a bit uncouth. We also had a cocktail party when Ginny pulled her back out moving pots and was admitted to the hospital. (Ok, just as I typed this I realized this is exactly what I did back in May and then last week...perhaps J is right about that stubborn rebellion.) While Ginny declined a good Bombay martini, everyone else had a nice time once she was admitted. I have to say, I was a bit jealous and sad I wasn't there. If I had the money, I would simply buy a plane ticket just to go join the hospital cocktail parties.
The "style" I'm referring to really reminds me of the Ya Ya Sisterhood book where a good Bloody Mary was a remedy at any life crisis. Yes, its dysfunctional, but its also our family and I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Last night I had the urge to call my Mom. There were a number of things that I wanted to talk with her about, but my sense of urgency was a bit odd. I called cell phones, home lines, etc until finally my father answered. He let me know that Mom was "rushing Ginny to the hospital" and "it could be the end." Now, my father has a flair for the dramatic (although I was always labeled the drama queen, I must have learned it from somewhere). This tendency has gotten more pronounced with Chuckles has he's gotten older. I actually find it rather endearing and charming. However, I was a bit freaked out (understandably).
Ginny is THE matriarch. She is one of my living legends of how to approach life. She's no-nonsense, takes things as they are, and always has the tag line of "If you don't want to know, don't ask me." Its kind of a disclaimer statement for whatever is going to follow out of her mouth. She is the grandmother who taught me how to play poker, how to appreciate herb gardens, stray animals, homemade jam and quilts, and how to make a mean martini. Whenever my cousins and I were fighting she would simply say, "Hey, you two, knock it off," and you knew she meant business. Many family disputes got resolved with that one line. She was also the only relative who had enough balls to ask me how the sex was with my husband....in front of the family...at the dinner table. She wasn't doing it to embarress me. She was genuinely interested.
As Chuckles depicted the picture of doom and gloom, I immediately called my Mom who was now just getting pissed she had to keep leaving the ER to go answer her cell phone. She was worried because it looked like "death had warmed over" (never really knew what the hell that phrase meant) and they asked about advanced directives. Ok, well if that was what was so concerning I felt immediately better. 1) All hospitals are required by JCAHO to ask about advance directives upon admission, 2) Ginny's primary care doc is a gerontologist and if she isn't asking, then I'd have a bigger problem, and 3) they weren't rushing her to the ICU, then its a good sign. At this point in time I had other family members text me worried about Ginny and I was trying to give them the info.
I'll admit, I sobbed a bit once I got off the phone with Mom simply because I'm not ready for Ginny to die. Yes, she has COPD. Yes, I know its progressive. But, dammit, I'm still not ready. The woman is quick as a whip and as spicy as a pepper. As I was doing a brief Internet airfare search it also dawned on me that Pop, my grandfather, died on October 23rd just a few years back. I hate anniversaries as they have a bit of a strange psychic connection for repeating patterns.
Dad called me again about an hour later "going crazy because he hasn't heard from your mother" - also known as his wife. Mom called a bit later, quite happy. Turns out Ginny was admitted to the floor, was given some steroids, decided that the oxygen mask was obnoxious and took it off, was much more comfortable, etc. (J remarked that medical noncompliance and stubborn rebellion obviously runs in the family.)
My cousins had shown up to the hospital with items ready for a cocktail party. They brought good gin, olives, and snackies. This really isn't unusual behavior for our family. When Pop was in his last two days, the females of our clan (Ginny, aunt, mom, cousins, me) all went to lunch but brought our own bottles of wine plus met up the morning of his death to have cheap Bloody Marys, a signature thing of Pop. He used to buy cheap vodka and put it into empty expensive vodka bottles when entertaining.
However, I will say that as a medical person I do understand how a cocktail party in a hospital room seems a bit uncouth. We also had a cocktail party when Ginny pulled her back out moving pots and was admitted to the hospital. (Ok, just as I typed this I realized this is exactly what I did back in May and then last week...perhaps J is right about that stubborn rebellion.) While Ginny declined a good Bombay martini, everyone else had a nice time once she was admitted. I have to say, I was a bit jealous and sad I wasn't there. If I had the money, I would simply buy a plane ticket just to go join the hospital cocktail parties.
The "style" I'm referring to really reminds me of the Ya Ya Sisterhood book where a good Bloody Mary was a remedy at any life crisis. Yes, its dysfunctional, but its also our family and I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Progress = Pain?
So what I can say is that the railings look amazing! We finished sanding, primed the suckers, and then laid down the first coat of the drab gray to match the cape cod shingle paint of the house. It took us 7 hours to do it, but like I said, they look amazing! Just in time for the rain to hit tonight.
The bad part is I pulled out my back. Again. Today I was supposed to have spent the morning working in the hospital and then the afternoon with 5 clients. I can't even lift my feet to walk it hurts so much. Sitting is excruciating. And so now I'm back (pun intended) on Vicodin - very lucid, mind you which says something about the pain factor - and lying flat in bed with my knees propped up. Even after taking the Vicodin, I'm still in huge amounts of pain.
I actually tried to go to work this morning. See, that's the thing: when you love your job(s), you really want to be there. My husband watched me attempt to sit at the table for breakfast (while propping myself up with my arms) and smirked. He asked if I really thought I would be able to make it through the day. I thought of me attempting to do therapy while I was lying on the couch in the office, knees propped up, heating pad, and perhaps a ton of Advil on board. Sure, that part could be do-able, although perhaps not very therapeutic to the client. I wouldn't do therapy while on pain pills as that would be extremely unethical. I began to think how I could do my hair without getting in the shower (as that would require me to lift my feet over the tub). The fact that I was considering doing a sponge bath as a work-around, well, that faulty problem solving (although creative) was the final straw that screamed, "You need to call in to work!"
I have a really packed work week ahead of me. This was not the way I wanted to start out. I am very concerned about how I will appear to my peers and bosses. That is one big issue I thought I would get over as I got older: caring about what others think of you. The second issue I have is being limited. I have always been a person to just push through unpleasantness and accomplish anything I put my mind to.
This worked when I was an athlete...until I blew out my knees, but even in my recovery I pushed through it to build strength. Although I probably also developed really bad accommodation skills for my knee pain and now have herniated discs in my back. My husband asked if I was in pain yesterday and when did I recognize it. I remember sucking on my lips to the point that they were chapped and had to go find lip balm around 2:00 PM, but I didn't really register pain until we were finished about 7:00. How I blocked it until then, I'll never know. Although I did have a therapist once tell me that I need to listen to my inner voice a bit more. Cleaning up was brutal.
Then I decided to vacuum. I kind of figured that if I was going to be in pain, I may as well have a clean carpet vs. all of the leaves and dirt tracked in during the deck process. And, I didn't want to inconvenience my husband by asking him to do it because it was bothering me, not him, so I shouldn't put my values onto him. (As I'm typing this I realize how stupid and stubborn it sounds, but it really was my thought pattern last night.)
I'm completely frustrated with my limitations. I just don't believe they should exist and that they are all in my head somehow. I'm not kidding. Last night as I was really starting to recognize the extent of my pain I began to think, "Holy cow its a good thing I don't have a toddler right now because I couldn't pick them up or even a baby right now." See? I do think ahead, but I'm still pretty pissed that my back is in pain and I don't think it has a right to do this. I also start to get scared about the pain meds. Granted, I really need them right now but I get afraid I will get dependent upon them or become an addict. I don't ever ever want to be dependent upon any substance whatsoever.
Taking them and still being in pain makes me wonder about how we, as society, view pain.
Do we really deserve to be 100% out of pain? Isn't pain just part of living? Even the stupid pain scale is subjective. My 8 could be another person's 4. Its all relative and perception is reality. Pain serves a function. I guess my first trick is learning how to recognize it when its still small and doing something about it...which means, accepting my limits and not pushing through it. However, in my mind, that still feels like a failure.
The bad part is I pulled out my back. Again. Today I was supposed to have spent the morning working in the hospital and then the afternoon with 5 clients. I can't even lift my feet to walk it hurts so much. Sitting is excruciating. And so now I'm back (pun intended) on Vicodin - very lucid, mind you which says something about the pain factor - and lying flat in bed with my knees propped up. Even after taking the Vicodin, I'm still in huge amounts of pain.
I actually tried to go to work this morning. See, that's the thing: when you love your job(s), you really want to be there. My husband watched me attempt to sit at the table for breakfast (while propping myself up with my arms) and smirked. He asked if I really thought I would be able to make it through the day. I thought of me attempting to do therapy while I was lying on the couch in the office, knees propped up, heating pad, and perhaps a ton of Advil on board. Sure, that part could be do-able, although perhaps not very therapeutic to the client. I wouldn't do therapy while on pain pills as that would be extremely unethical. I began to think how I could do my hair without getting in the shower (as that would require me to lift my feet over the tub). The fact that I was considering doing a sponge bath as a work-around, well, that faulty problem solving (although creative) was the final straw that screamed, "You need to call in to work!"
I have a really packed work week ahead of me. This was not the way I wanted to start out. I am very concerned about how I will appear to my peers and bosses. That is one big issue I thought I would get over as I got older: caring about what others think of you. The second issue I have is being limited. I have always been a person to just push through unpleasantness and accomplish anything I put my mind to.
This worked when I was an athlete...until I blew out my knees, but even in my recovery I pushed through it to build strength. Although I probably also developed really bad accommodation skills for my knee pain and now have herniated discs in my back. My husband asked if I was in pain yesterday and when did I recognize it. I remember sucking on my lips to the point that they were chapped and had to go find lip balm around 2:00 PM, but I didn't really register pain until we were finished about 7:00. How I blocked it until then, I'll never know. Although I did have a therapist once tell me that I need to listen to my inner voice a bit more. Cleaning up was brutal.
Then I decided to vacuum. I kind of figured that if I was going to be in pain, I may as well have a clean carpet vs. all of the leaves and dirt tracked in during the deck process. And, I didn't want to inconvenience my husband by asking him to do it because it was bothering me, not him, so I shouldn't put my values onto him. (As I'm typing this I realize how stupid and stubborn it sounds, but it really was my thought pattern last night.)
I'm completely frustrated with my limitations. I just don't believe they should exist and that they are all in my head somehow. I'm not kidding. Last night as I was really starting to recognize the extent of my pain I began to think, "Holy cow its a good thing I don't have a toddler right now because I couldn't pick them up or even a baby right now." See? I do think ahead, but I'm still pretty pissed that my back is in pain and I don't think it has a right to do this. I also start to get scared about the pain meds. Granted, I really need them right now but I get afraid I will get dependent upon them or become an addict. I don't ever ever want to be dependent upon any substance whatsoever.
Taking them and still being in pain makes me wonder about how we, as society, view pain.
Do we really deserve to be 100% out of pain? Isn't pain just part of living? Even the stupid pain scale is subjective. My 8 could be another person's 4. Its all relative and perception is reality. Pain serves a function. I guess my first trick is learning how to recognize it when its still small and doing something about it...which means, accepting my limits and not pushing through it. However, in my mind, that still feels like a failure.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Addendum
As I was gearing up to stain the deck yesterday I pulled out my knee pads - not that I was going to use them, but it makes my husband feel better about me kneeling with a history of two knee surgeries - the stain, the primer, and well all of the other necessary items used to do the project. I was psyched! How cool would it be for us to finish a project in less than a week? This was unheard of between us (may I remind you of the beer STILL sitting in the closet).
Oh, I had false, false hopes. Delusional false hopes. You know, the kind that there are psych meds for.
My husband actually began to READ the instructions on the cans of pain. This was the beginning of the downfall. My approach is: how hard can this be? Its not rocket science or brain surgery. You open the can, dip the brush, apply. No no no! My husband, God bless him, then went to get some tape to put on the boards and see if any wood fibers were attached. Because there were some nearly microscopic fibers he went to get his hand held sander. As the man put on his respirator and started in with the deck I began my frustration manifestation. The inner dialogue went something like this: "Goddamn it! This is going to take forever! Its not like this is going to have any added benefit. Its a deck, for Christ sake! Out in the open to the elements and he's worried about fibers! I can see the benefit in doing this to hardwood floors on the inside, but come on! Its a deck!"
I could see that my inner dialogue was going nowhere so I began to apply the plastic wood with a spatula to the railings and attempt to smooth some of the weathered ridges out. 15 minutes later, my husband had completed 3 boards. Three. I think he could feel the daggers shooting out of my eyes because he then stopped and said, "Honey, why don't you use the power tool and I'll so some manual sanding." I think he thought that by being more action oriented I could lessen my frustration.
Nope. The inner dialogue continued. "Goddamn it! This is so slow! With the weather forecast we'll never get to paint the railings or stain the deck! And there he is just watching me, criticising me on how I'm not being as meticulous as he is!" I finally stopped to look up at him and sure enough he was just standing there watching me. I had tripled the surface area covered in about half the time.
"What? What are you thinking?" I dared him. Smart boy didn't say anything. "What? You are just criticising me because I'm not doing it the way you want it to be done, aren't you?"
"Well, I know that you don't take criticism well so I'm not going to say anything."
As my mantra of: "I love my husband. He complements my style. I love my husband." kept repeating in my head and I also took deep breaths I finally stood up to take off my respirator, the racquetball goggles that doubled as the safety glasses and handed him the sander.
"I quit. No actually, I know I'm not going to do things up to your standards and in an effort to avoid Divorce Court, I am going to remove myself from this part of the project and go clean or garden or do something else I am good at doing while you manually sand the deck. Now that we've started this, it has to be finished otherwise it may alter the way the boards take up the stain. Nope, I'm going to remove and excuse myself from this part of the project."
I think he was also trying his own mantra at that point in time to remain as calm as possible although I think he did toss something with a little more force onto the grass. And with that he
said, "Fine."
I spent the rest of the day transplanting perennials from our pots into the front garden space which took me all afternoon. Neighbors would stop by and ask me why was he doing this sanding step and others who would say that now they are so discouraged from the amount of work that is involved they will never ever refinish their deck.
I will say that the sanding did make a small visual improvement but even he will admit, it may not be enough to warrant all of the extra work. He spent all day out there until dusk wouldn't allow anymore progress and yet there is still more to be done. It was a very good decision for me to remove myself from that step. It seriously preserved us.
Today, the plans are for him to finish the sanding and for me to prime the railings. Now, we may have another point of contention if he asks me to do TWO coats of primer vs the one. First and foremost: they have to repaint our exterior next year a completely different color. And second, we may not be here by next July.
Its been said that if you want something done, ask me to do it. If you want something done WELL, ask my husband.
Oh, I had false, false hopes. Delusional false hopes. You know, the kind that there are psych meds for.
My husband actually began to READ the instructions on the cans of pain. This was the beginning of the downfall. My approach is: how hard can this be? Its not rocket science or brain surgery. You open the can, dip the brush, apply. No no no! My husband, God bless him, then went to get some tape to put on the boards and see if any wood fibers were attached. Because there were some nearly microscopic fibers he went to get his hand held sander. As the man put on his respirator and started in with the deck I began my frustration manifestation. The inner dialogue went something like this: "Goddamn it! This is going to take forever! Its not like this is going to have any added benefit. Its a deck, for Christ sake! Out in the open to the elements and he's worried about fibers! I can see the benefit in doing this to hardwood floors on the inside, but come on! Its a deck!"
I could see that my inner dialogue was going nowhere so I began to apply the plastic wood with a spatula to the railings and attempt to smooth some of the weathered ridges out. 15 minutes later, my husband had completed 3 boards. Three. I think he could feel the daggers shooting out of my eyes because he then stopped and said, "Honey, why don't you use the power tool and I'll so some manual sanding." I think he thought that by being more action oriented I could lessen my frustration.
Nope. The inner dialogue continued. "Goddamn it! This is so slow! With the weather forecast we'll never get to paint the railings or stain the deck! And there he is just watching me, criticising me on how I'm not being as meticulous as he is!" I finally stopped to look up at him and sure enough he was just standing there watching me. I had tripled the surface area covered in about half the time.
"What? What are you thinking?" I dared him. Smart boy didn't say anything. "What? You are just criticising me because I'm not doing it the way you want it to be done, aren't you?"
"Well, I know that you don't take criticism well so I'm not going to say anything."
As my mantra of: "I love my husband. He complements my style. I love my husband." kept repeating in my head and I also took deep breaths I finally stood up to take off my respirator, the racquetball goggles that doubled as the safety glasses and handed him the sander.
"I quit. No actually, I know I'm not going to do things up to your standards and in an effort to avoid Divorce Court, I am going to remove myself from this part of the project and go clean or garden or do something else I am good at doing while you manually sand the deck. Now that we've started this, it has to be finished otherwise it may alter the way the boards take up the stain. Nope, I'm going to remove and excuse myself from this part of the project."
I think he was also trying his own mantra at that point in time to remain as calm as possible although I think he did toss something with a little more force onto the grass. And with that he
said, "Fine."
I spent the rest of the day transplanting perennials from our pots into the front garden space which took me all afternoon. Neighbors would stop by and ask me why was he doing this sanding step and others who would say that now they are so discouraged from the amount of work that is involved they will never ever refinish their deck.
I will say that the sanding did make a small visual improvement but even he will admit, it may not be enough to warrant all of the extra work. He spent all day out there until dusk wouldn't allow anymore progress and yet there is still more to be done. It was a very good decision for me to remove myself from that step. It seriously preserved us.
Today, the plans are for him to finish the sanding and for me to prime the railings. Now, we may have another point of contention if he asks me to do TWO coats of primer vs the one. First and foremost: they have to repaint our exterior next year a completely different color. And second, we may not be here by next July.
Its been said that if you want something done, ask me to do it. If you want something done WELL, ask my husband.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Deck Fun
Last weekend my husband and I began to tackle THE home improvement project that we had successfully postponed for 3 years. Yes, 3, count em', years. The deck was in desperate need of being refinished ever since he bought the place in 2004. Seeing that he has SOOO much extra time working 80+ hours a week and bought it from a previous resident, well you can see how this got prioritized less than well any other house related chore for almost a decade. Don't get me wrong, there were incredible intentions of doing this before now. J had actually bought the supplies to do this project back in 2005 including a rotary sander. (He would like me to state in his defense that he did use the rotary sander at that time to do a few of the railings but lost steam.)
During the time of our long distance courtship when the question would arise as to what did we want to do with our time, the deck came up frequently. However, when one only has 48 hours with loved ones the last thing you want to do is spend it with varnish. We also managed to put it off for the first year of marriage even though it was brought up week after week of potential "fun" for our coveted weekends.
Okey dokey. Its a good thing he married a woman who has delusions of grandeur that she is actually adept in doing home improvement because eventually I actually began to think that the deck project would be a good time. Yes, I think working at Home Depot would be a really fun gig.
The deck was looking "weathered." I say this just to be nice. There were corners of algae green going on due to the humid climate. Our incredible neighbors offered their power washer in lieu of the sander. I actually took them up on it. Holy cow. This power tool is way more fun than a girl should be allowed to have. You just hook up the electricity and the hose (which by the way would generally be a lethal combination so whoever designed this tool obviously had a death wish) and away you go!!! I was out there well past it getting dark and had all the lights and flashlights showing my way. Finally I gave up and came inside feeling exhilarated. My muscles were sore and I was sprayed with algae and mildew particles all over my legs and I felt great!
I got up super early the next day to complete the task. In fact I spent the whole day getting steps 1-3 out of the way. I will say that using the deck brush for hours just reaffirmed my decision of why I decided the Navy was a bad idea. I even found other things to power wash like the outdoor furniture. It was so much fun! The other neighbors began to feel sorry for me out there all day long. One brought me tea from Starbucks, another brought me stuff from the store and a toy for Edgar. Others would just stop by to see the freak show of a woman actually doing manual labor. Apparently its a rarity in these parts. I got comments from guys like, "Gee, could you teach my wife how to do this?" When I returned the power washer I included a thank you note expressing my exuberance and some money for their water bill.
We left all of our pots on the grass giving the deck maximum exposure to dry out for the next few days which totally confused the landscaping staff. I watched them drive around on their mowers this week and then stopped abruptly when they saw the obstacle course created by the pots. Literally, this guy just stopped and stared for a good 5 minutes before abandoning his mower and returning with his boss 25 minutes later for them both to just stare at the pots. It was rather amusing over my morning coffee to watch their stellar problem solving skills of what to do. It took a total of 45 minutes for them to decide, "Gee, we should go AROUND the pots!" Oh. My. Lord.
Today we've got to start staining the now exposed and bleached wood. There is some doubt as to the timing due to the tricky weather forecasters which would explain our hesitancy and procrastination this morning (and this blog entry). There are no power tools to make this go faster. We have brushes, buckets, and hand picked weatherproof stain selected from the rows and rows of choices last night at the Mecca (Home Depot). One could truly have an existential life crisis by deciding if we should go with 500 natural finish or 501 natural cedar finish. Yup, my husband and I know how to have a rowdy Friday night date: selecting deck stain! Oh, have we truly reached that new low of dating while married? In all fairness, we did follow it up with hamburgers (yummy) and a movie at home.
My only regret was not taking before and after photos. :)
During the time of our long distance courtship when the question would arise as to what did we want to do with our time, the deck came up frequently. However, when one only has 48 hours with loved ones the last thing you want to do is spend it with varnish. We also managed to put it off for the first year of marriage even though it was brought up week after week of potential "fun" for our coveted weekends.
Okey dokey. Its a good thing he married a woman who has delusions of grandeur that she is actually adept in doing home improvement because eventually I actually began to think that the deck project would be a good time. Yes, I think working at Home Depot would be a really fun gig.
The deck was looking "weathered." I say this just to be nice. There were corners of algae green going on due to the humid climate. Our incredible neighbors offered their power washer in lieu of the sander. I actually took them up on it. Holy cow. This power tool is way more fun than a girl should be allowed to have. You just hook up the electricity and the hose (which by the way would generally be a lethal combination so whoever designed this tool obviously had a death wish) and away you go!!! I was out there well past it getting dark and had all the lights and flashlights showing my way. Finally I gave up and came inside feeling exhilarated. My muscles were sore and I was sprayed with algae and mildew particles all over my legs and I felt great!
I got up super early the next day to complete the task. In fact I spent the whole day getting steps 1-3 out of the way. I will say that using the deck brush for hours just reaffirmed my decision of why I decided the Navy was a bad idea. I even found other things to power wash like the outdoor furniture. It was so much fun! The other neighbors began to feel sorry for me out there all day long. One brought me tea from Starbucks, another brought me stuff from the store and a toy for Edgar. Others would just stop by to see the freak show of a woman actually doing manual labor. Apparently its a rarity in these parts. I got comments from guys like, "Gee, could you teach my wife how to do this?" When I returned the power washer I included a thank you note expressing my exuberance and some money for their water bill.
We left all of our pots on the grass giving the deck maximum exposure to dry out for the next few days which totally confused the landscaping staff. I watched them drive around on their mowers this week and then stopped abruptly when they saw the obstacle course created by the pots. Literally, this guy just stopped and stared for a good 5 minutes before abandoning his mower and returning with his boss 25 minutes later for them both to just stare at the pots. It was rather amusing over my morning coffee to watch their stellar problem solving skills of what to do. It took a total of 45 minutes for them to decide, "Gee, we should go AROUND the pots!" Oh. My. Lord.
Today we've got to start staining the now exposed and bleached wood. There is some doubt as to the timing due to the tricky weather forecasters which would explain our hesitancy and procrastination this morning (and this blog entry). There are no power tools to make this go faster. We have brushes, buckets, and hand picked weatherproof stain selected from the rows and rows of choices last night at the Mecca (Home Depot). One could truly have an existential life crisis by deciding if we should go with 500 natural finish or 501 natural cedar finish. Yup, my husband and I know how to have a rowdy Friday night date: selecting deck stain! Oh, have we truly reached that new low of dating while married? In all fairness, we did follow it up with hamburgers (yummy) and a movie at home.
My only regret was not taking before and after photos. :)
Monday, October 8, 2007
Puppies!
My family is a bit dog focused.
This is a true understatement of the reality of which my husband married into with informed consent. Let me just be clear about this from the get go. He KNEW how crazy we were before saying the "I do's," (although he denies this). Also, I know how crazy we are and I am way ok with it.
My parents are sublimating their desire for grand kids through the dogs. They have two Scotties: Gregory (a rescue Scottie), and Dewars (a pure bred). When my parents bought Dewars they agreed to breed him once to help pass on a good blood line without any genetic defects. Believe it or not, one of the common problems with purebreds are the genetic defects due to over breeding and interbreeding so genetic screens are becoming customary.
Dewars is the most mellow dog on the face of the earth and not your traditional terrier. If he were any more mellow, he would be dead. At this point in his life neutering is not an option as: 1) It would be painful, and 2) We think the only thing that keeps his heart rate up is the testosterone level.
They found a Wheaten Scottie bitch named Roxie with equally impressive blood lines. Her "Mom" is actually a bit more crazy than my parents. She actually sends Christmas cards to President Bush's dogs (also Scotties) and the dogs send one back. They are now framed in her house and I actually believe she's a Democrat. At any rate, the deed was done via IVF. And yes, they do have IVF for dogs. Dewars, as a result, LOVES the vet.
Last Friday my Mom and Roxie's Mom were present during the C-section. There originally were 8 puppies. One was stillborn (a girl), which left 6 males (two black, four brindle), and 1 female (black). My ecstatic Mom was reporting the news to me as she ran out to get hot water bottles and nipples to help feed the puppies. My Dad, of all people, was proud of his dog's siring abilities. Within the first few hours, Roxie got a little carried away in cleaning and grooming one of the puppies and accidentally unplugged one of the brindle male's umbilical cord knots. This puppy died even after rushing him to the vet. Someone would have to be on watch 24 hours a day.
On Saturday Mom called me and held up the phone to the puppies so I could hear them crying (sounds like mewing). I then put my phone on speaker so Edgar could hear it. I don't know what I was expecting. He just stood there staring at the phone like, "What, lady?" At this point in time J was wandering around the house shaking his head proclaiming everyone but he to be crazy and said it was catching because I actually expected Edgar to have a visceral response to the mewing.
I finally received a photo from my family last night of one of the puppies from my brother's cellphone. I've been oohing and ahing over it and remembering my days back as a vet tech assisting with births. Its like I was a puppy Douala! When I showed J the photo this morning, his response was: "Its too embryonic for me. That could be a seal, or a puppy, or a some other mammal. Remember in AP biology where we learned that the theory of how phylogeny isn't the recapitulation of ontogeny? That may be so, but it certainly looks like it!"
"But look at the paw with the little toes!" I said.
"Um, that could be a flipper for all I know. Yup, looks underdeveloped." He said sipping his morning coffee. "And, it doesn't have any eyes."
"Yes it does! They are closed! That's how they stay for the first bit!"
"Uh huh, not ready to come out of the womb." He went onto elaborate about NICU babies and how they shouldn't have left the womb either.
It just goes to show you, one man's puppy is another man's biology lecture.
This is a true understatement of the reality of which my husband married into with informed consent. Let me just be clear about this from the get go. He KNEW how crazy we were before saying the "I do's," (although he denies this). Also, I know how crazy we are and I am way ok with it.
My parents are sublimating their desire for grand kids through the dogs. They have two Scotties: Gregory (a rescue Scottie), and Dewars (a pure bred). When my parents bought Dewars they agreed to breed him once to help pass on a good blood line without any genetic defects. Believe it or not, one of the common problems with purebreds are the genetic defects due to over breeding and interbreeding so genetic screens are becoming customary.
Dewars is the most mellow dog on the face of the earth and not your traditional terrier. If he were any more mellow, he would be dead. At this point in his life neutering is not an option as: 1) It would be painful, and 2) We think the only thing that keeps his heart rate up is the testosterone level.
They found a Wheaten Scottie bitch named Roxie with equally impressive blood lines. Her "Mom" is actually a bit more crazy than my parents. She actually sends Christmas cards to President Bush's dogs (also Scotties) and the dogs send one back. They are now framed in her house and I actually believe she's a Democrat. At any rate, the deed was done via IVF. And yes, they do have IVF for dogs. Dewars, as a result, LOVES the vet.
Last Friday my Mom and Roxie's Mom were present during the C-section. There originally were 8 puppies. One was stillborn (a girl), which left 6 males (two black, four brindle), and 1 female (black). My ecstatic Mom was reporting the news to me as she ran out to get hot water bottles and nipples to help feed the puppies. My Dad, of all people, was proud of his dog's siring abilities. Within the first few hours, Roxie got a little carried away in cleaning and grooming one of the puppies and accidentally unplugged one of the brindle male's umbilical cord knots. This puppy died even after rushing him to the vet. Someone would have to be on watch 24 hours a day.
On Saturday Mom called me and held up the phone to the puppies so I could hear them crying (sounds like mewing). I then put my phone on speaker so Edgar could hear it. I don't know what I was expecting. He just stood there staring at the phone like, "What, lady?" At this point in time J was wandering around the house shaking his head proclaiming everyone but he to be crazy and said it was catching because I actually expected Edgar to have a visceral response to the mewing.
I finally received a photo from my family last night of one of the puppies from my brother's cellphone. I've been oohing and ahing over it and remembering my days back as a vet tech assisting with births. Its like I was a puppy Douala! When I showed J the photo this morning, his response was: "Its too embryonic for me. That could be a seal, or a puppy, or a some other mammal. Remember in AP biology where we learned that the theory of how phylogeny isn't the recapitulation of ontogeny? That may be so, but it certainly looks like it!"
"But look at the paw with the little toes!" I said.
"Um, that could be a flipper for all I know. Yup, looks underdeveloped." He said sipping his morning coffee. "And, it doesn't have any eyes."
"Yes it does! They are closed! That's how they stay for the first bit!"
"Uh huh, not ready to come out of the womb." He went onto elaborate about NICU babies and how they shouldn't have left the womb either.
It just goes to show you, one man's puppy is another man's biology lecture.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
"You. Who ARE You?" ~ the catepillar in Alice in Wonderland
I have been a personality test junkie ever since my Father introduced my brother and I to Personalysis when I was a preteen. Little did I know that those "What Type of Flirt Are You" magazine tests really got more scientific. It was like discovering that Snickers in banana ice cream is a delicious combination or the perfect universal lipstick color, but yes, even better than that. It was because of this one test, our family dialogue changed forever. Our fights would begin something like, "You need to tone down that red, young lady!" Or, "You are way too blue right now. Go find the dog to hug."
When I found the Meyers-Briggs tests I began to make all of my friends in the 7th grade take those as well, not to mention countless crushes and boyfriends through my life. I even knew that it wouldn't be that reliable as according to medical theory, our personalities aren't completely formed until that magical age of 18. Don't ask why. I don't have a clue.
My Dad at that point in time also put us through a battery of tests that gaged our aptitudes, skill sets, etc.. The one thing I do remember about those tests is that my brother, Mom and I were all in the same room and when the psychologist instructed us to do something with spacial relations my mother just kept bursting into laughter which was contagious to everyone except the Ph.D. who found it very annoying. No matter what shape they gave us, she couldn't get it to the intended outcome. This would explain why Mom never played paper airplanes with us.
When Dad was working on his real estate license, he discovered the DISC system. It was just another version of Personalysis to me by another name. I let it go for a number of years until discovering that it is the new "It" test for team development with my consulting gig. To help understand: D=dominance, I=influence, S=steadiness, C=compliance.
Two days ago I took the test willing to have my CEO go over the results with me so that I understood the report formats and coaching development sections. It was a bit uncomfortable for me to have exposed myself so much. We spent two hours going over the reports. Truly, it wasn't anything I didn't know, but it was uncomfortable to be that vulnerable with such icky (yes, icky) statements out there about yourself.
"You are forceful and direct when dealing with others." Forceful. That is an icky word. That implies I have some sort of secret weapon of coercion. I asked if we could cross that word out and pretend that it didn't exist.
"You prefer authority equal to her responsibility." My CEO commented, "See, this is exactly what you said to me the very first time I met you about why you left your last position and you hadn't even taken the test!"
"You are at your best when many projects are underway at once. You are forward-looking, assertive, and have a strong vision for results." Wow. Ok, I feel exposed. J and I finally figured out that because I need to multitask, we now go for walks when we need to do some deep discussion. Which also pointed to another statement: "Stress relief is found through physical activity."
Turns out I am a strong "D" (although not as strong as my Dad), and a secondary "I." If I were back in SLC, I would be a "DI" which would not imply a princess but more of a disenfranchised charity. Dad turns out to be a "DC" and not for the comics company (although we do call him "chuckles" because he is anything but) nor for our National capitol. Nope, he is a rules and regulations person. I pointed out to him that neither of us have the S for steadiness. His reply was, "Don't worry, your mother has enough S for both of us."
Turns out that is what J is too. He's a "SC." That would explain his overly high personal standards and fear of losing stability. It also explains how he really balances me out. While my stress style is to get quick to anger and worry about if I'm being manipulated then get really expressive, J is very slow to get angry (and in fact, God bless him, finds my Temple tantrums amusing) and is pretty non-emotional with the exception of an undefined fear when highly stressed.
Turns out that 40% of the population are "S" types. That was my lowest score. It also turns out that my boss is almost a 100% "I" type, with a secondary "D."
More really unnerving statements that your boss can read about you: "Be understanding of her sporadic listening skills" Ok, not good for a social worker. My CEO simply explained it was typically only because I was 12 steps ahead of where that person was in my brain, which is true.
"She is comfortable in an environment that is constantly changing. Even when the environment is frantic, she can still maintain a state of equilibrium. She is capable of taking inconsistency to a new height and to initiate change at the drop of a hat." OUCH. Ok, so this explains why I loved the emergency department, but also explains why my team back at the hospital operated in fear mode when I was so excited. Again though it also helps explain how J balances me out as I am really quick to make change and he is the last one to initiate it. This also drives us crazy at times, but for the most part it is a really good thing.
The test also analyzed my motivators and my values. That was something I hadn't seen before and was least familiar with how to use that when coaching someone. Turns out that I have a HUGE accountability quotient, I believe in giving my time and attention 100% to someone in need, I put a huge value on personal relationships, I'm highly sensitive to other's needs, I set realistic goals for myself and others, and I use common sense extremely well. Things that I need to work on: stress management and a sense of timing.
The one piece that I was worried about was if I was a good fit for the job with my natural and adapted style. This is an instrument that predicts this and is a bit scary when your boss is looking at this. Turns out, I am a perfect fit. No wonder I love what I do and have never been happier.
When I found the Meyers-Briggs tests I began to make all of my friends in the 7th grade take those as well, not to mention countless crushes and boyfriends through my life. I even knew that it wouldn't be that reliable as according to medical theory, our personalities aren't completely formed until that magical age of 18. Don't ask why. I don't have a clue.
My Dad at that point in time also put us through a battery of tests that gaged our aptitudes, skill sets, etc.. The one thing I do remember about those tests is that my brother, Mom and I were all in the same room and when the psychologist instructed us to do something with spacial relations my mother just kept bursting into laughter which was contagious to everyone except the Ph.D. who found it very annoying. No matter what shape they gave us, she couldn't get it to the intended outcome. This would explain why Mom never played paper airplanes with us.
When Dad was working on his real estate license, he discovered the DISC system. It was just another version of Personalysis to me by another name. I let it go for a number of years until discovering that it is the new "It" test for team development with my consulting gig. To help understand: D=dominance, I=influence, S=steadiness, C=compliance.
Two days ago I took the test willing to have my CEO go over the results with me so that I understood the report formats and coaching development sections. It was a bit uncomfortable for me to have exposed myself so much. We spent two hours going over the reports. Truly, it wasn't anything I didn't know, but it was uncomfortable to be that vulnerable with such icky (yes, icky) statements out there about yourself.
"You are forceful and direct when dealing with others." Forceful. That is an icky word. That implies I have some sort of secret weapon of coercion. I asked if we could cross that word out and pretend that it didn't exist.
"You prefer authority equal to her responsibility." My CEO commented, "See, this is exactly what you said to me the very first time I met you about why you left your last position and you hadn't even taken the test!"
"You are at your best when many projects are underway at once. You are forward-looking, assertive, and have a strong vision for results." Wow. Ok, I feel exposed. J and I finally figured out that because I need to multitask, we now go for walks when we need to do some deep discussion. Which also pointed to another statement: "Stress relief is found through physical activity."
Turns out I am a strong "D" (although not as strong as my Dad), and a secondary "I." If I were back in SLC, I would be a "DI" which would not imply a princess but more of a disenfranchised charity. Dad turns out to be a "DC" and not for the comics company (although we do call him "chuckles" because he is anything but) nor for our National capitol. Nope, he is a rules and regulations person. I pointed out to him that neither of us have the S for steadiness. His reply was, "Don't worry, your mother has enough S for both of us."
Turns out that is what J is too. He's a "SC." That would explain his overly high personal standards and fear of losing stability. It also explains how he really balances me out. While my stress style is to get quick to anger and worry about if I'm being manipulated then get really expressive, J is very slow to get angry (and in fact, God bless him, finds my Temple tantrums amusing) and is pretty non-emotional with the exception of an undefined fear when highly stressed.
Turns out that 40% of the population are "S" types. That was my lowest score. It also turns out that my boss is almost a 100% "I" type, with a secondary "D."
More really unnerving statements that your boss can read about you: "Be understanding of her sporadic listening skills" Ok, not good for a social worker. My CEO simply explained it was typically only because I was 12 steps ahead of where that person was in my brain, which is true.
"She is comfortable in an environment that is constantly changing. Even when the environment is frantic, she can still maintain a state of equilibrium. She is capable of taking inconsistency to a new height and to initiate change at the drop of a hat." OUCH. Ok, so this explains why I loved the emergency department, but also explains why my team back at the hospital operated in fear mode when I was so excited. Again though it also helps explain how J balances me out as I am really quick to make change and he is the last one to initiate it. This also drives us crazy at times, but for the most part it is a really good thing.
The test also analyzed my motivators and my values. That was something I hadn't seen before and was least familiar with how to use that when coaching someone. Turns out that I have a HUGE accountability quotient, I believe in giving my time and attention 100% to someone in need, I put a huge value on personal relationships, I'm highly sensitive to other's needs, I set realistic goals for myself and others, and I use common sense extremely well. Things that I need to work on: stress management and a sense of timing.
The one piece that I was worried about was if I was a good fit for the job with my natural and adapted style. This is an instrument that predicts this and is a bit scary when your boss is looking at this. Turns out, I am a perfect fit. No wonder I love what I do and have never been happier.
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