I Dream in Type B

When I first decided to blog, I had one called “Laid back housewife”. I dropped it right quick because I don’t like the word ‘housewife’, and also because calling myself laid back isn’t entirely honest.

If I had one dream (other than that my children arrive into adulthood happy and well adjusted, or that I can solve just a few dozen of the worlds problems, namely starvation, death by absolutely curable diseases, AIDS, parentless orphans, and the extinction of the June Sucker fish from Utah Lake) it would be that I would wake up one morning magically having turned from a Type A personality to a Type B, laid-back, easy going woman. When I think of The Ultimate Type B person I think of Marci F., who (at least the last time we lived near them) has 2 boys (who are the oldest of her 4 cute kids) at least as rambunctious as mine, and she just sits all genuinely chilled out one room away and watches them do their wild and crazy things. I’d love to channel some of her chill.

I’m not crazy; I fully understand that being Type A has its benefits. If I weren’t type A, chances are that I wouldn’t have done the however many loads of laundry I did this week, painted the kitchen, canned 27 quarts of pears and 9 pints of tomatoes, taken the kids to playgroup, made bread, cleaned the house (including the kitchen floor about 28 times), read to my kids, sewed some baby block cube things, entertained the parents for 2 days, tended to the garden, ran errands and caught up with friends. Really, not trying to make myself sound like super woman here, because I’m far from it. The cable was out. I was bored on the interweb. So, basically, there was nothing else to do. Also, did I mention that I have a Type A personality that doesn’t let me sit down too often? I think I did.

So, anyway, while this Type A thing can be a blessing by helping me get all those to-do lists checked off, it is most certainly a curse. I’ll bet you anything there aren’t too many Type B-ers out there with anxiety issues. If you are one, I want all the gory details. Every single one. Because becoming Type-B by medicating yourself does not count.

I told Nathan last night about my short-lived first blog that had something about “laid back” in the title, and he couldn’t quit laughing. Like, serious gut busting laughter. Followed by something like “Type B?  Only when you’re asleep!”  And I was a tad on the offended side. I kept trying to justify the title in that I’m laid back sometimes. He kept trying to challenge me as to when in the past week I’ve been laid back.

“Well, when I was outside playing with the kids. Unless Jake was stepping in poo, pooing in the yard, or Josh was trying to crawl into the chicken coop.”

“Um hmmm…”

“And I was laid back when reading to the kids. Except when Josh was tearing the flaps off the book and then running away to eat Play-do.”

So, that’s why we’re on this little trip in Idaho. I need to be laid-back, and it wouldn’t hurt Nathan to take a chill-pill, either. The boys need to explore the real outdoors, instead of pointing at cows who are inhaling all the exhaust fumes from the stopped traffic on Main Street.

We’re out, peeps. See you next week.