It's Not Easy Being Green

A few months ago, I had the privilege of taking part in a ladies’ event at church where we took this Colors personality test.  Briefly, there are 4 “colors” or “personalities” that one can be.  One is blue.  These are the people who cry and want to hug you all the time.  Then you have gold.  These people are the ones who are so “with it” and organized that they unconsciously make everyone else feel incompetent.  Another one is orange.  These people are the life of the party.  Then, there’s green.  These people have no feelings and would prefer to just be left alone.  That’s me.

So, for example, orange will come up with the great idea to have a party, then they’ll turn it over to a gold to plan the whole thing.  The blue person will probably get her feelings hurt that she wasn’t asked to help, and the green person hopes she doesn’t get an invitation.

Okay, to be fair (and so as not to offend anyone), I would like to say that I realize I am vastly over-simplifying these personality traits, and Marilyn Waldron would probably have something to say about my description of each personality, but I’m just giving you my interpretation.  (I can just hear April saying, “Now, that’s not exactly what she said, Caren.”  Yes, she’s gold.  Whatever.  You can Google it for a more technical description of each if you feel moved to do so.)  The point of the workshop is to teach us how to use our varying and God-given personalities to glorify God.  For me, it answered a lot of questions.  Questions like, “Why don’t I have tears?” and “Why do I so enjoy very large quantities of introspective alone time?” 

My friends who understand me are very special to me.  They don’t try to force me to be something I’m not, and they accept me, flaws and all.  They’ll never understand how much I appreciate that.  I have wonderful friends who I love and value but who I have never, ever called.  I simply find long phone conversations exhausting.  In fact, I believe God created e-mail, texting, and caller ID just for me.  This helps me avoid actually having to speak to anyone unnecessarily.  Yes, there are lots of times when I enjoy being with my friends and talking and laughing, but just know that when I get home from those times, I require some time to recharge.  Alone.  Quietly.  Like maybe for hours.  In the fetal position. 

I can still remember that last day of school before summer break every year.  It was always one of my most dreaded experiences, everyone crying and hugging because they wouldn’t see each other for a few months.  Then, of course, we’d have to come back from summer break and repeat the whole torturous process.  I say we all just agree that seeing each other after a 2-month break is not hug worthy.  Nor do I want to tell you about my entire summer or hear about yours.  I bet we spent them pretty much the same.  Let’s just assume we did.

Kevin really hates these personality tests.  He believes them to be pointless wastes of time.  And he really hates it when I refer to myself as my color.  Like when he tries to talk to me, and I answer by saying, “Please don’t talk to me.  I’m green.”  Or when he wants to know if I’m in a bad mood, and I say, “No, I’m green.  This is me being happy.”  I, personally, think this makes me the perfect wife.  Don’t men complain that their wives talk too much?  Kevin Davis can’t say that.  I rarely say anything.  Don’t men also complain that their wives are moody and emotional?  He can’t claim that either.  I have one mood and am rarely emotional.    

My personality does, however, create some disharmony when raising children who are clearly not green.  In fact, my children are the opposite of green.  They are whichever color cries a lot and talks a lot.  As a green, I understand neither tears nor talking.  Time in the car is particularly problematic.  My children like to carry on long, involved conversations with me in the car, and that is precisely where I do my best thinking.  Frequently, from the back of the van, I’ll hear a muffled voice say, “Mom, tell me a story.”  Most of the time, I resist the urge to say no, and I make an attempt to tell a story, which, of course, no one can hear over the din of the van.  So, I have to speak up, which is code for Leah to start trying to talk over me.  So, now I’m loudly trying to tell a story, while Leah is trying to out-talk me, and Hallie is yelling at her to be quiet.  It’s the stuff of nightmares for a green like me.  Often, I just turn the radio up and pretend that I don’t hear anybody saying anything, but that doesn’t always work either.  My children are very persistent.  I actually have to build in times in my day when nobody can talk to Mommy.  It’s really just one or two 5-minute periods in the day when my children can’t talk to me or ask me to do something for them, but it’s absolutely required for my sanity. 

Okay, so maybe my personality goes beyond just being “green.”  I’m willing to accept that I may also have some pretty pronounced anti-social behaviors, as well.  You can be sure that I won’t be seeking help for it anytime soon, though.  That would require talking about it.  As a wise frog once said, “It’s not easy being green.”

Casualties of a Working Mom

It’s a topic I’ve discussed before, but that’s only because it’s a topic that’s always on my mind. For me, this “working mommy guilt” never goes away, never takes a back seat. It’s constantly there like the gnawing stomach pains that accompany hunger. Every time Hallie or Leah step out of line, instead of chalking it up to normal childish behavior, that old nagging worry taps me on the shoulder and whispers, “If you didn’t work, she probably never would have done that.”

In this war of the working mom, there are many casualties. My sanity is one of them. Okay, in an effort to be real and honest here, I’m going to share something with you. I hate laundry. I hate it so much that it doesn’t get done during the week at all. Then, when the weekend comes, I feel that I deserve some sort of break, so it doesn’t get done then either. In fact, our entire empty fourth bedroom is dedicated solely to dirty laundry. On good days, I get in there and sort it all into neat little piles, sometimes by type of clothes, sometimes by who they belong to, it just depends on my mood. On bad days, I just toss clothes in there at random and shut the door as fast as I can. The door stays closed 99% of the time. Over Spring Break, I decided that it was high time to get caught up on the laundry, a task I hadn’t accomplished since Christmas Break (I told you I hated it…), so I washed and washed and washed. I don’t know how many loads of laundry I washed and put away, but I do know that I went through nearly an entire bottle of Tide. When I was finished, you can imagine the pride I felt as I flung open the door to that fourth newly-clean bedroom, opened the blinds to let some light in, and basked in the complete emptiness of it! I was, for a brief moment, a GOOD mother (because we all know that good mothers have clean houses and clean laundry)!! My children had clean clothes again! And they were actually in their drawers and not just stuffed in the dryer, where a random load had been washed out of necessity, probably for clean underwear, and left indefinitely!

But, alas, all good feelings must come to an end. My elation at having the laundry caught up soon turned to utter dismay when I went into Hallie’s closet after she cleaned her room last night. There were clothes piled high in the dirty clothes hamper with no consideration as to whether they were actually clean or dirty. There were more clothes she had just stuffed onto the shelves. Still other clothes were just hanging by one shoulder off the hangers, where I had just lovingly and neatly placed clean clothes days before. I hate to admit it to you, but I almost cried. Just seeing all of my hard work so quickly destroyed was almost more than I could bear. Now, it’ll be summer break before I’ll have another chance to get caught up again!

Admittedly, I was way more upset about laundry than any sane person ever should be.  I had a funeral for my sanity late last night. I’m coming to grips with the fact that it’s never coming home.

Another casualty of this working mom is remembering important things. Things like Umbrella Day. The day came and went quietly with very little fanfare or excitement. That’s mostly because I completely forgot about it. I’m sure my sweet little Leah was looking so forward to taking her umbrella to school. I bet they’d been talking about what a fun day it would be. I remembered somewhere back in the recesses of my mind that the day was coming soon, but it was tucked way back behind things like laundry (and I’ve already illustrated how far back that is…). In fact, I didn’t give it another thought until I was cleaning off the calendar that hangs on the wall in my kitchen--you know, the one that still says “January.” There’s a little strip of cork board at the bottom of it where I hang important things I don’t want to forget. Things like notices about Umbrella Day. Umbrella Days that were two weeks ago. Can’t you just imagine sweet little Leah Jane standing around on Umbrella Day, the only poor child with no umbrella? Now I know exactly what she’lll be talking about as she lies on her therapist’s couch many years from now.

Perhaps it is because of my working mother neglect that Leah has the mouth on her that she does. Rebellious little potty-mouth, that one is! There was a time when I thought it wouldn’t be possible to be more sassy and spunky than Hallie. Then, God gave me Leah. Where Hallie’s sass and spunk come from a deep, emotional place, Leah’s is much more intellectual. Hallie gets angry or frustrated and lashes out impulsively. Leah is far more calculating and manipulative in her sass. If something happens that Leah doesn’t like, she just carefully explains how things are going to go down. For example, we were eating at Subway one evening, and she decided she needed to use the restroom, but she didn’t want me to come with her. Well, naturally, I’m not going to let my three-year old use a public restroom alone (mainly because people were watching), so I get up to follow her. She screams “NO” at me, runs into the bathroom, and scurries onto the toilet. As I enter the bathroom, she gives it another good, loud, “NO, Mama! Get out of here!” I calmly explain to her that I’m not leaving and if she continues to talk to me like that, I’m going to spank her. She looks me dead in the eye and says matter-of-factly, “I’ll poopy on your hand.” Spanking someone while they are actually sitting on the toilet was a new one for me (and a new personal low, I might add). To further illustrate my point, cut to school. Now, I’m getting this story second-hand because I don’t get to drop Leah off or pick her up from school (the whole work thing), but apparently her teacher was explaining to her that she needed to be quiet, presumably during naptime. Leah looked at her teacher and said, “You be quiet.” It’s my understanding that she was sitting in a room alone when she was picked up.

In all honesty, it is my daily prayer that God delivers my children from all manner of things that might affect them negatively, including my shortcomings as a parent. Before I actually had any, I used to daydream about having children. Oh, I was a wonderful mother. You knew my children because they were the ones who answered everyone politely with a “yes, ma’am” and “no, sir.” They sat quietly all through church. All it took to get them back into line was a withering look from me. Reality shattered my daydreams in a shocking, but beautiful way. It gave me Hallie and Leah, the two most perfect little devils on the planet.