Category — The History of Me

Close to a year ago, I wrote a post about the Merritts getting healthy, and I suppose, to celebrate that anniversary, I ought to write an update post, even though I’m not sure I really want to because: a) being thin without working for it was a part of my image for a long time and b) it feels kinda vain.

But, still, I’m happy to report that 365 days later we’re still at it. I’ll admit that we haven’t been 100% for each of those days. January to April was sparse on the workout front. But, still, knowing us, I think that’s an accomplishment.

So what’s all that “healthiness” looked like?

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We don’t have a potty chair around here, but we do have a potty attachment seat. I know what you’re thinking (wishing?). But, no, It’s not high-tech, Japanese, state-of-the-art, or digital (but it does have Elmo on it). And, no, nobody called me at work to inform me that Caelyn just said “poo-poo” and send me racing home to make sure my little girl won’t have to take rubber sheets to a major university that requires their students to be potty trained.

But!

Just yesterday, Caelyn did say “Bapa-Bapa,” pulled her step stool up to the pot, slapped on Elmo, ripped off her diaper, climbed up, and let ‘er rip all on her own accord. Since then she’s only let two no. 1’s go anywhere but in the potty, and she’s racked up quite a few “sparkles” on her impromptu reward board:

And!

She did frame her face with her little seat and shoot the biggest smile up to her daddy, which made him crack up and say, “Oh, Caelyn. That’s a joke Dave Coulier would make!” (I think he was just trying to disguise his Full House knowledge by attributing the potty hat joke to Joey instead of its rightful owner, Michelle, don’t you?)

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Alright. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bad blogger. I could give you a list of excuses — reading, family, all the usual — but the truth is, I’ve had the time. I mean, just last week Chris went to a gathering of geeks, Caelyn was in bed, and I thought to myself, “Now’s the time to blog.”

I watched two episodes of iCarly instead.

I don’t know what the deal is. I’m not giving up the blog or anything. I’m just layin’ low. You’ve noticed that I do that, right?

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In case you can’t tell by the title, you and I are in the midst of another Adventure in Senseless Blogging! Truth be told, the topic of this post absolutely could make for serious bloggin’. But, honestly, I’m not in the state to do much serious blogging.

I’ll be upfront with you on another point too. The title of this post addresses what I wish I was really writing about but feel conflicted about whether or not I should. Basically, I’m being cryptic and taking advantage of you. But at least I’m being honest about it, right?

If you disagree, now would be the time to bail. . . .

So my family was in town last week. Two of those days, Mom and I watched my niece so my sister could go to a conference. While Caelyn and Claire napped, Mom and I sat in the living room. I got out the laptop. She got out a blanket.

“You takin’ a nap, too?”

Mom looked at me with the same face she makes when the waiter at Abuelo’s asks if we want “dessert nachos,” and she wants some but doesn’t want to be the one to say it: “Maybe, unless someone wants to talk to me.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. What are you reading about?” she hinted, with raised eyebrows.

I wasn’t reading anything, but I said I was thinking about some personality stuff online that I’d checked out recently: “You wanna take a test?”

“Sure!”

And that’s how we ended up spending the next two afternoons personality testing. I started her off with the Enneagram. Mom was uncomfortable with the open-endedness of the questions. She wanted me to further define about 70% of them. In the end, she came out as a One. (If I’m not mistaken, that’s what I predicted.)

Personally, I think that assessment is pretty accurate. (I’m trusting you to have the skills to Google “Enneagram One” and any other terms I might toss in.) But Mom wasn’t so convinced:

“Are you sure this is THE VERY BEST personality test?”

I told her that I really like it, but to understand the Enneagram and get the most out of it, you have to do more than just take a test. You’ve got to really consider it, because the Enneagram isn’t just about personality traits. It’s about motivation.

She looked at me dubiously, “What about that test Jennifer made Kevin take? Can you give me that one?”

I assumed she meant the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, which I informed her could be taken for free in short form, but not in full-form. And, just like that, we were out of the Enneagram and into Jung.

It’s not surprising that she’s an (extreme on every trait) ESTJ. When Dad got back from the mall, she talked him into taking the test too. He turned up ISTJ. My sister’s an ESTJ.

And, me? I’m a (fairly extreme on every trait) INFP. (No wonder I’m a Four.)

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So I got a haircut last week, right smack in the middle of all the birthday and family preparations. This came about only with much prodding from Chris (in the “do it for yourself” way, not the “your hair looks like crap” way).

He was right to prod.

I’m not very good about getting my hair cut. It’s not like I have trouble sitting still in the chair or anything. I didn’t even have trouble with that when I was a kid. Back then, my mom made an appointment for me. I’m not sure how often, but plenty often I’m sure. (Mom’s always on top of things.) But I’m the mom now, and I just don’t remember to get it done very often.

There are a few reasons for this:

1. It costs a lot.

2. It requires picking some place and making a phone call.

3. I’m never sure what to talk about with the stylist. (I never go to the same lady because she always tells me to come back in 3 months and I always forget until it’s been 10 and I know she’ll tell me I should take better care of my hair.)

4. It takes a long time and requires someone else to watch Caelyn.

5. I just don’t think about it until it gets so long that it starts looking weird tied up. If I have to resort to a bona-fide bun, it’s time for something to be done. I’m too young for a bun.

If we’ve hung out in person, you already know that I wear my hair up almost all the time. It’s not really that I like it up so much. It’s just easier. It’s curly and there’s a ton of it, so blowing it dry takes forever. Curls without the frizz means applying product and drying layer by layer. For real straightening takes hours. Fake straightening takes curlers.

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