My Husband is So Selfish

It's Sunday night, Downton Abbey is on, and what is my husband doing?  Watching some football game.

It's also Groundhog Day, so even if we weren't going to watch Downton, it's tradition for us to watch the comedic genius of Bill Murray together, but no.  Instead he's watching football.


Some might say he's earned the right to watch the most important game of the year in one of his favorite sports because he was outside at 5:30 this morning clearing our driveway so we could get out and go to church- but then church was cancelled due to unsafe road conditions.  So I would say a hearty "NO" to those people.

Others might bring up the fact that he was again outside this afternoon clearing away all the additional snow the skies dropped on us throughout the day.  Hey, I had a busy day, too.

I took pictures of our white street.

Derek cleaned off our vehicles.

I took pictures of our trees.

I also took pictures of my sad hydrangea bowed down under the weight of wet, heavy snow.

Then I scurried inside because the temperature was starting to drop from a manageable 16 degrees to God knows what and the wind was starting to blow and I am a delicate flower who was raised in warmer climes; I cannot be expected to deal with this extreme cold stuff.

Instead I go inside and take pictures of my husband doing snow stuff.  He was raised in these parts and thus thinks nothing of the nine or ten or however many inches we got today.

Please do not forget the topic at hand today, though:  My selfish husband.

Here he is struggling to plow a path next to my hydrangeas.  I just knew he was going to complain about how they were in his way and insist I cut them back, even though they've never been a problem before.  I composed a whole mental argument from the cozy innards of our home.  Never mind that he didn't end up saying anything about it; in my head he did.

I also took important photos of the last of my paperwhites.

While Derek did what?  More of the same.

A day of that and he thinks he can just watch whatever he wants for a night with a small boy tucked in beside him.  Yes, I got to pick what we watched last night, but this isn't about last night.  It's about tonight.

Being the gracious person I am, however, I have decided to forgive him this pretty major inconvenience to myself.  Someone in this marriage is really lucky.

The Book That Both Took Over and Explained My Brain All At The Same Time

I just finished the book Quiet:  The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking, by Susan Cain.

This book is fascinating.  This book is insightful.

This book is messing with my head.


I'm seeing everything and everyone in terms of extroverted or introverted tendencies.  I hear Atticus breathe a relieved, "GOOD," after I tell him that no, we're not going anywhere today and think, Hmm.  I don't know that I would previously have classified him as an introvert, but now, I'm not sure...

I tell Caedmon the same thing on Thursday- that we're not going anywhere that day- and he begs and begs and finally places my phone in my hand, begging me to call Paige so he can see the Other Atticus or get ahold of Cheryl so Mason can come over.  We've been out of the house every other day that week, but apparently even one day at home with just Mom is not enough stimulation for our possibly-extroverted Cade.

It's like being a psych major all over again, mentally diagnosing someone at the grocery store with a personality disorder because of the way they picked out their bananas.

If an extrovert is someone who is stimulated or draws energy from being around people and new experiences and an introvert is someone who is exhausted by the same, I've long placed myself deep into Introvert Territory on the introvert-extrovert spectrum.  This is not news to me.

What was new in the book were all the little things about me that are apparently strongly associated with introversion.  "I don't enjoy multitasking," "I often prefer to express myself in writing," "I prefer not to show or discuss my work with others until it's finished," and "In classroom situations, I prefer lectures to seminars"- just four of the twenty statements in an informal assessment within the book.  It reads, "The more often you answered 'true,' the more introverted you probably are.'  I answered "True" to 19 of them.

So many different sections were incredibly, helpfully enlightening:  Adelaide's complaint about how she's seated at school, in a group of five other kids, desks all facing each other.  The way she won't tell me much about school as soon as she gets home in the afternoon, but will instead begin to offer up nuggets during bathtime or at supper, after she's had time to decompress and read alone for awhile.  Her extreme, emotional, and very negative reaction to the possibility of being advanced a grade.  You'd think that I, an introverted mother to an introverted young girl would have been able to read all these signs for what they were, but nope.  I gained so much insight just into our daughter's behaviors and school day struggles to make this book worthwhile.

It also had a small section entitled "Does God Love Introverts?  An Evangelical's Dilemma."  It featured a meeting Cain had with introverted evangelical pastor Adam McHugh, author of Introverts in the Church:  Finding Our Place in an Extroverted Culture.  Common Household Mom praised this book in the past on her blog, and it was one of those that I wrote down (somewhere, on some scrap of paper that I could have sworn I left right there), fully intending to read, but it got lost in the mire that is my To Read list.

After reading just that small section in Quiet, McHugh's book has shot straight to the top of that same list (especially after reading this article).  Our family goes to a large, boisterous, loud, wonderful and overwhelming church, and I leave every Sunday exhausted and depleted.  Now, I love a lot of things about our church:  their vision, their mission, their teachings, their children's program, their transparency.  But the format of the service and the culture within the church provides constant stimulation from a hundred different sources for close to two hours, turning me into a quiet, seemingly reticent and somewhat wild-eyed woman who can barely form a coherent sentence because she's being asked to attend to too many things at once.  My one goal every Sunday morning, from the time I enter the massive parking lot and take a deep, bolstering breath, whispering an encouraging, "Here we go," to myself, is to make it to the sermon, because then I can deeply concentrate on one thing, which is where my strength lies.  I'm hoping this other book provides as much wisdom and advice as Quiet did.

There was so much neurological research and so many stories and so many different psychological outlooks contained within this book that I know I'm going to need to read it again at some point; just paging through it right now I'm going, "Oh, yeah, and that part," "And THIS part," and "HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS?"  I highly, highly recommend this book for both introverts and extroverts who are struggling to understand their introverted counterparts (such as Newly Married To Me Derek, who could not understand why our early marriage arguments took the format of- Derek:  Makes a point/ Kristy:  Stands silently for 90 seconds before making her point/ Derek:  Volleys his counter-argument back immediately/ Kristy:  Stands silently for 90 seconds before making her point/ Derek:  Quickly states another point/ Kristy:  Yet again stands silently for 90 seconds before speaking, while Derek seethes in frustration because he does not understand that Kristy has to think and think and think about every possible angle before she will utter a single word.  This is difficult for quick-thinking, rapid-fire response, extremely extroverted Derek).

via

via dilbert.com

via Hyperbole and a Half

via 61musings.com

via Cyanide and Happiness

I meant to just include one Introversion cartoon, but I found so many funny ones.  Just like I meant to post a short, glowing review of the book.  How did you even make it this far?  This was the longest post ever.  Take the rest of the day off.  You're done.

Memories, or Lack Thereof

Yesterday was my birthday.  I celebrated by forgetting something.  It's just what I do.


The family of our beloved baby sitter Hannah kindly invited our children over to make cookies and do other fun things.  (I have no idea what those fun things were; I tend not to ask too many questions when people volunteer to watch our kids.  Parenting at its finest, friends.)  The plan was then for Hannah to take our kiddos back to our house, feed them and put them to bed.  Great.  Super.  Whatever.  As long as I'm not there having to help.

But as it turns out, a key is required to unlock doors that have been locked.  This would have been helpful information to remember after I left the house and locked the front door and before we dropped our children off but not our house key.

You should have seen Derek's face when he got the text from Hannah's mom about the lack of a house key.  (The text went to Derek's phone because my phone was, of course, dead as a doornail.  I also forgot to charge my phone.  Are you sensing a trend here?  No?  Just wait.  I'll hammer that point home before this post is over.)  It was a bit of a cross between mild surprise and grim resignation.  I'm pretty sure there was a sigh in there, too.

It's not like this has ever been a secret in our relationship.  A few days before we were married, we drove 45 minutes south, crossing the state line to visit the courthouse in the county our wedding was taking place to apply for the marriage license.  Upon arrival, I realized I had forgotten the letter from our pastor stating we had completed a premarital course.  (That's right:  The state of Oklahoma gives you a discount on your marriage license if you go through some kind of premarital advisement, course, or counseling.  Bravo, Oklahoma.)  Fortunately, I was able to call the church office (where they know me well enough to know that if we're talking memory work or an academic test, well, I'm your gal!  If you want something that's actually useful to everyday life, I'm one very small step up from worthless), and they were kind enough to fax a copy of the letter straight into the office there at the courthouse.

Then, just to make sure Derek knew what he was getting himself into, on our wedding day I forgot the marriage license at my mom's house- again, 45 minutes away- didn't realize it until after the ceremony when it was time to sign it, and a very kind guest drove to my mom's house and back to the wedding so we could sign it and, you know, legally be married.

His reaction was a little more pronounced all those years ago.  Not terrible, but not just a simple sigh and shaking of his head.

I wonder if it will even register when I forget something important in another ten years?  And what are we going to do if I ever develop dementia?  It's gonna take forever for him to differentiate between the red flags of the disease and my normal quirks.

I'm pretty sure I meant to go somewhere else with this post, but I've forgotten just where that was.  How peculiar.






P.S.  What's a doornail?  Seriously?

Eight Years Ago... Yesterday

Eight years ago, Derek and I got married.  We had a beautiful wedding at the Marland mansion on a Friday evening.  A few dedicated family members helped set things up for the ceremony upstairs (we had the ceremony in the ballroom, and the reception in the two lounges, where they used to gather for fox hunts- because we've always been a bit backwards).

One of the popular wedding trends at the time involved placing disposable cameras on each table at the reception so that your guests could take pictures and you could have some unexpected candid shots.  We thought this was a fun idea, and went ahead and put some cameras down along with the centerpieces.

You know how no wedding day is perfect?  Something is bound to go wrong, because no matter how much precise and extensive planning you do, we live in an imperfect world, and imperfect things are bound to happen.  I knew and reminded myself of this while planning the big day, and vowed not to freak out, no matter what happened.

At this old mansion where we were married, they have tours that go through on a regular basis, along with other people who pay the price of admission but opt just to float around the property on their own timetable.  We knew this.  What we didn't know was that many of these people would feel no compunction about stealing the cameras we had set out.

When someone approached me, getting all dressed up and ready for photos, and told me what was going on, I was kind of astonished.  I'd been through the mansion lots of times.  It's not at all unusual to see people setting up for a special event while you're there; it's a popular wedding venue- beautiful surroundings with the benefit of being very reasonably priced to rent for an evening.  (And no, the Marland Estate is not compensating me for this- I'm just really enthusiastic about strange things.) It had never, ever occurred to me to try and make off with any of the wedding decorations I'd seen people putting up.  Who would?

Fortunately, my grandma offered to run out and buy a few replacement cameras, and that took care of that.

Then a friend drove the 40 minutes back to my mom's house to get the marriage license I'd forgotten.

And my sister, the maid of honor, bravely got an injection in a very uncomfortable location just so that she could make it through the day- she was incredibly sick.

Many of our guests staggered into the building soaking wet because the skies opened up and it poured right before the ceremony.  We had many of the photos taken beforehand, and it's kind of fun to look at the sky in each progressive picture as it gets darker and more ominous-looking.  Turns out there was a tornado warning, but it didn't stop anybody from showing up.  I guess that's just one of the risks that comes with getting married in Oklahoma in July.


So, yeah.  A few things went wrong.  But I have say, I handled everything really well.  That's pretty much how I operate:  I'm pretty good in a crisis, and freak out a lot in my everyday life.  (I know, I know, poor Derek, poor kiddos, poor everybody in my family.)


Yesterday, to celebrate our anniversary, Derek brought home a dozen purple and yellow roses and a lovely card, because he knows I appreciate such trappings.

I went to Wal-Mart and dropped off what I'm hoping is the last of those disposable cameras from our wedding.  You'd think after moving five times we'd have found them all, but every once in a while one will turn up.  I had to ask an employee to help me find the container where I could drop it off.  It was in a poorly lit, shameful little corner of the store.


Roses and a card... eight-year-old disposable camera.  Seems kind of uneven.  But then, Derek's used to that.

Happy Anniversary... Yesterday, Derek!


(That's right.   I couldn't even get a post written on our anniversary. That's how thoughtful I am.)

My Husband Has An Awesome Wife

(And if that title seems disgustingly self-congratulatory, it's only because it is.)



I am a practical gift-giver.  I like to give gifts that are practical.

I don't know whether I can blame it on Nature or Nurture, but I'm pretty sure it somehow all stems from my mom.  I can't remember how many times I watched my mother wrap a first-aid kit or a fire extinguisher as a wedding gift.  And really, who wouldn't want to receive those things as gifts?  I'm sure many a happy couple thought fondly of my mom when they were bleeding or their kitchen caught on fire (both events that probably happen quite a bit in those first turbulent years of marriage).

I've never really thought of this as a negative attribute, until I started reflecting upon the gifts I've received from Derek over the life of our relationship.  They make my practical gifts seem kind of... lame.

Like the time, one wedding anniversary, Derek got me an early edition hardcover of To Kill A Mockingbird, one of my very favorite books.

Or one year on my birthday when he arranged for his sister and her husband to drive down from Maine to watch Adelaide so that we could drive from our then-home in Connecticut into Manhattan to eat supper and attend a performance of George Balanchine's The Nutcracker by the New York City Ballet.

Or a few years before that when he flew in from Connecticut on my birthday, surprising me on my doorstep in Kansas... and proposing.

Do you know what one of the first gifts was that I gave to him in college?  A water pitcher with an attached filter.  See, the water in our college town is universally known as being kind of disgusting, so in my mind, I was giving him the gift of clean, delicious, refreshing water, right in his dorm.

I realize that even with that justification, a water pitcher doesn't hold a candle to a beloved book, the New York City Ballet, or a marriage proposal.

This year, I set out to break my streak of sub-par gifts.

See, Derek turned 30 last year, and I really didn't do anything special.  In my defense, I was still pretty overwhelmed from having Caedmon and the whole I-have-three-children-under-the-age-of-five thing.

I knew that I had to make up for it this year.  Although Derek's birthday isn't until next month, I surprised Derek this past weekend.

One of Derek's favorite bands is Jars of Clay.  He's been listening to them since they formed 17 years ago, and has seen them in concert a couple times before- but he's never actually met them.

That's Derek, me, and the four members of Jars of Clay.  And if you don't think this picture isn't going on our Christmas card, you don't know the Crislers.

Yup, we were fortunate enough to be part of a small audience (think around 30 people) that got to stand about two feet away from the band, requesting and listening to them play several of their songs, asking questions, talking to them, getting autographed CD's, and taking pictures with them.  They were very funny, very approachable, and very talented.  It was so great.

I still can't promise I won't be giving towels and measuring spoons as gifts.










Note:  I alone am not responsible for this weekend- that would be impossible.  I would like to thank Derek's parents (over and over and over again), who drove several hours to Kansas City to stay in a hotel with our children while we attended the concert.  Ben, the Visual Arts Leader at our church, also helped by switching things around to ensure that Derek did not have video ministry responsibilities Sunday morning.

Jars of Clay also played a smallish part, for which we are thankful.

Lucky Number 7

One of the interesting things about marriage is that every year, you learn more about your spouse.  That first year is nothing but learning. 

It was Fall.  Derek's favorite season.  The year was 2004.  The year we got married.  We were living in an apartment in Connecticut, and the Minnesota Vikings were playing that day.  Derek had settled into the living room to watch the game, and I was in the kitchen, preparing some food to sneak back into the bedroom, where I would be camped out during the duration of the game with a snack and a book.  As I was tip-toeing through the side of the living room, careful not to get in between my new husband and the television, Derek waved a frantic hand in my direction, keeping his eyes glued to the tv, and said, "SHHHH!  Too much movement in my peripheral vision!" 

Thus, one of my lessons that first year was that Derek's enthusiasm for the purple and gold is really more of an obsession.

Another time that year, the two of us were preparing to leave that same apartment when he decided he wanted to take along a can of pop.  He went to the fridge, got it out, then turned toward me and did something truly shocking:  he threw it right at me. 

I did my best to move out of harm's way, threw my hands in front of my face, closed my eyes, and squealed, "What are you doing?"

Derek looked baffled and replied, "Throwing you a can of pop.  What are you doing?"

Thus, Derek learned that throwing things to me is always the same as throwing things at me, in that I will have a stereotypically girlish reaction and often hurt myself in the process.

So today, as we celebrate 7 years of marriage, I'm reflecting on what I've learned about Derek this year.  I think what stands out more than anything is that he doesn't exaggerate much.  Throughout our marriage, as he has related different anecdotes and stories, there have often been times that I have absently assumed he was exaggerating a bit about this or that.  Over the past year, however, I myself have witnessed many different places, people, and situations that he has told me about in the past, and realized that he wasn't stretching the truth at all.  That food really is delicious, that person really is a little bit crazy, and Iowa really is a great place to live. 

I'm not sure why it's taken me seven years to figure this out.  I may be a fast learner in some ways, but in others I am still ponderously slow. 

Happy Anniversay, Derek!