As an INTJ female (for those into Myers-Briggs and the like), I am a hard person to know, and an even harder person to love. I wonder if someday my children will want to know what really went on in my brain. I shall leave them this gift. Well, maybe not so much a "gift" as an extremely uncomfortable last will and testament.
My brother Andrew and I playing one of his famous made up games, Silent Go Fish. The premise is highly creative, you play regular Go Fish without speaking. One player shows the other a card, and that person has to either nod or shake their head in a dramatic fashion...Try it, it's WAY more fun than the original version.
One note, the game MUST be played with generic brand cereal boxes turned on their sides as barriers.
I am most thankful that I can look back over this past year, and make a detailed list of the ways Eric and I have matured in our marriage, particularly as it relates to our communication skills, in 12 months' time. The benefits that my children have, and will continue to reap from that accomplishment are endless.
When I'm putting loads of laundry into the washing machine, my brain is coming up with names for each load. Since I always do a "whites" load and a "darks" load, I have to name the other loads too.
As I'm choosing items to put into the washing machine, I'll be thinking "this load is "A Study In Blue"....or "this load is "My Muted Period"......or "this load is "Pretty In Pinks".
We Lewises are also very competitive....contests are like magnets for us.
See anybody you know??
Mom was a runner up, she's the 2nd from the right. When I was looking at this at her house the other day, she says "Yeah, I didn't win, even though I was MUCH prettier than the winner. She was sleeping with a judge, that's why she won...."
Me: "Why can't you just focus when I'm talking to you, instead of having to walk around straightening things up?"
Eric: "I am focusing on you!" (said from the next room while picking up toys...)
Me: "I wish you could just sit still and just listen to me talk when I'm in a talking mood..."
Eric: (coming back into the room and staring into my eyes) "Do you want to connect with me emotionally and spiritually and atomically?"
Me, laughing: "You meant to say anatomically, didn't you...." (knowing Eric, that would be par for the course)
Eric: "NO! I meant to say atomically....you know, for us to get so close that our atoms fuse together."
Me, still laughing: "I think you meant to say anatomically, but then it came out wrong, and you decided to go with it instead of admitting your mistake."
Eric: "I really meant to say atomically! It's cooler and funnier than anatomically!"
Me: "Exactly. That's why I can't believe you actually MEANT to say it...."
We're big poets in my immediate family...Here is an example from my middle brother, Andrew. I can't recall the exact context that this poem was written in, but I remember it had something to do with Andrew doing something that he knew was going to irritate Mom. This was his way of softening a blow.
Another example of Lewis attention hogs in the paper. This one featured Brooke and Alex (and maybe a little Brianne in the corner next to Alex? I can't quite tell....), in the County Press in 1992. I have no idea what the occasion was, probably someone else's family reunion picture that the attention hogs just jumped into.
I was in Burger King Friday night, with the kids. We ate in the play area. While we were eating, a mother comes in with her two kids, probably aged 4 and 7. She asks the 7 year old "What do you want to drink?"
He says chocolate milk. She says "It's too late for chocolate milk, what kind of soda do you want?".
................................That should have been my first clue that her elevator didn't stop on all floors.
A few minutes later, she walks back in with a tray. On the tray are two kids meals, and......wait for it.......................wait for it..........................two chocolate milks!
I just can't understand people who don't mean what they say. It's those sorts of people who could never make me feel bad about ignoring them. If you don't MEAN anything you say, I refuse to listen to anything you DO say. Why bother?
All of this hoopla that the Motrin Moms started on Twitter, reminded me of something my Dad has always said. Let me see if I can get it right...
"If you are a true believer, you can never be offended."
The homeschooling moms on Twitter are now trying to start the same hoopla, in regards to a joke that Joy Behar made yesterday about homeschooled kids being demented.
The same Bob Lewis-ism applies. If you truly believe in something, if you're passionate about something, it shouldn't matter what anyone else has to say about it. Being offended tarnishes your belief.
Why do you all feel the need to say, when Ava (INTJ) isn't answering your question, "Oh, are you shy??", in a sad tone of voice, as if you've just learned that she has terminal cancer. Or to me, "Oh, is she being shy???". Or why when you introduce her to another child, do you say "This is Ava! She's shy!". And then you say "Oh, I'll get you talking in no time! You'll be running around babbling your brains out!".
If your child has a speech impediment, I don't respond to her with "Oh! Can you not make the sound "s" without sticking your tongue between your front teeth?".
Do I look at you and, in front of your child, say "Awww, he's got ADD huh..."
Do I introduce your child by saying "Hey everyone! This is John, he's black!". "Don't worry, I'll make you white in no time! Just give me a few minutes, and your skin will be as white as the driven snow!"
"This is Jen, and she's obese!". "Don't worry, I'll get her on South Beach in no time!"
Did Miss Manners never speak on this topic?
Why do people treat introversion as if it's a negative quality to have? Why do you feel like it's something that has to be "changed"? There is nothing wrong with not spouting your mouth off all day long. There is nothing wrong with taking a moment to evaluate what you're going to say before you say it. There is nothing wrong with choosing not to enter a conversation.
And don't assume that introversion equates to fear. My daughter doesn't speak to you because she's afraid of you. She doesn't because she hasn't finished evaluating you yet. And until you have passed her tests, you won't get conversation from her. Now, I am teaching her that to fit into polite society, she is going to have to say "yes" or "no" when people ask her things.
But she does not have to elaborate further, if she doesn't feel the desire to.
If you want my opinion, I think that you extroverts get UNCOMFORTABLE around an introvert. You can't fathom not blurting out every inane thought that crosses your mind. And maybe it intimidates you. So you have to try to make us more like you. But that is a YOU problem, not an US problem. So learn to deal with it.
Trying to make an introvert be extroverted is like trying to make your blue eyed child have brown eyes. It just ain't going to happen. We can put colored contacts in, but it's not real. I have trained myself over the years to have a pretty good extroverted persona. But it's just that; a persona.
Or maybe you think we're helpless little social outcasts. Trust me, we're fine. We love sitting off to the side and watching the rest of you make fools of yourselves. It's all good. We aren't introverts because we can't seem to figure out how to be extroverts. We are introverts because are born with that trait. We NEED to keep things in, just as much as you NEED to let them out.
I sometimes think it's a cultural thing. In this country, blabbing your guts out has become what you're SUPPOSED to do. Especially with women, the damned feminist movement has made it so that if you're quiet and keep things to yourself, you're weak and letting a man walk all over you.
In Asia, it seems like introversion is praised as the greater quality. They teach their children self-control, which is not something that Americans are into.
You need us, just as much as we need you. You need us so that you are forced to temper your blabber-mouthy selves. We need you to make us take more of a verbal risk once in a while.
A word left unsaid is sometimes more powerful than a word that is said.
Introversion is not fear.
We are of equal value. So stop making introverted kids feel like something's wrong with them. It's rude.
There will be more on this topic.............It's starting to really irk me.
Sometimes things that have the most auspicious beginnings.....
.......can have the most bitter endings.
"I tremble to think"??? "I urge you to flee"???? For the love of drama.........such is a 19 year old INTJ. See? I have toned myself down quite a bit as I've grown up!
For those of you who labled me a racist for a previous post, I'd like to have you all know that I had a black brother for a period of time growing up. My parents were long term foster parents, and I grew up with kids of every race and creed. They would stay with us for very long stints, years sometimes. Race means nothing to me. I don't see details, so I barely notice when someone is of a different ethnicity than I. No one will ever get preferential treatment from me due to race.
Ah yes....folks with Lewis DNA always seem to end up in the newspaper....Brianne, Ashley and Alex, back when we all lived on School Lane in Newtown Square, PA.
Eric and I host a cocktail party every Christmas. Each year I include another niece/nephew, as they all transition from child to adult. This year, Brianne got her first invite. The day after she received it, I got this instant message from her:
Brianne: WOOHOO!
Me: What?
Brianne: My prize for having a baby is finally getting an invite to the cocktail party!
Me: Ah, yes, the rite of passage...the cocktail party invite. Yes, giving birth to a baby finally moved you into the adult category.
Brianne: I'm so honored! I'd like to thank the little people...
Happy birthday to my little mirror. My patience has grown incrementally since you were born....We've had a strange relationship these past 6 years for sure, but I think it's evening out. God sent you to me for two purposes; to show me the depths of my self-loathing, since I had to watch you start having every single characteristic and quirk that I hate about myself. And then you forced me to kick the self-hate to the curb, by displaying all of my good qualities, which I never focus on, so often that I finally HAD to admit that we're good people... And in being able hear what others think of you, I can finally say that our quirks just might be cute and interesting, and not shameful.
You can never know how much you hate yourself until you see someone else who is EXACTLY like you. And you can never know how great you are until you see someone else who is EXACTLY like you.
You've done your job, Miss Ladypants, now maybe we can finally start being friends.
And maybe someday I'll forgive myself for taking 6 years to change the way I see myself, and in turn, the way I see you.
Ava's dance school, Studios On Main, does a Karaoke/Open Mic night the 2nd Saturday of every month.
The kids singing B-I-N-G-O...
Cole's first solo...
Mom made Dad get up and sing something..
I made Eric sing Copacabana with me...Great karaoke song, besides the 54 measures of NOTHING in the middle! Eric called me an attention hog afterwards.
And Cole's first duet with me...
The kids sing Row Row Row Your Boat...after the first verse, the machine plays it as a round. The kids were completely confused, and all start staring at the screen like deer caught in headlights. So funny...
And the best of all, the Clearys singing Hoobastank
Someone help me out here. There is something that has been going on that I have NO comprehension of.
What is the big deal about a black man becoming president? Simply because we've never had a half black president? We've never had an Asian president, either. Or an American Indian president. You completely negate anything positive about Obama when you go on and on about there being a black man in the White House. You make it sound like that's the only reason you voted for him.
And he's not even black, he's half black. Obama is just as much white as he is black. He was raised completely by his white relatives. In school, the black kids beat up on the half black kids. Don't they call them "oreos" or something? But now the blacks are all "yee haw!" about a half black president? They probably beat Obama up in grade school and refused to acknowledge him as a real African American.
If it's a "hope" issue, that Obama being elected brings hope to all of the young black kids out there, I can't buy into that. Obama wasn't a young black kid, the way that you think of a young black kid. He was a young black kid, raised in a white environment. So the only lesson you learn is that if you're a young black kid, you better find yourself some nice white folk to raise you, if you want to become president. Don't know many young black kids in America who could relate...
Obama is smart and worked hard to get here. THAT should be what you talk about. Not the color of half of his skin. Let's get some perspective, folks...
Personally, I won't be happy until there's an Asian president. Or an American Indian president. Or a Cuban president. Or an Iraqi president. Or a one-legged ugly Russian transgendered pole-dancer president!! I can only hope!! Now THERE'S some change!
If we looked at Obama through the eyes of a Jew, he would be considered white, since in the Jewish culture, ethnicity is passed down through the mother.
Browsing through some old photos, I found this Mother Jones magazine article. One of their writers infiltrated the Operation Rescue movement in Philadelphia during the time frame when Dad was leading, and this article tells about the writer's experience, and mentions Dad. (you may have to click on each page to enlarge it enough to read it. I haven't mastered the scanner yet.) My favorite part of the article? When the infiltrator admits who he is to Dad, later on, Dad just smiles, and then gives him the name of a book he should read....Classic Bob Lewis.
As Eric was getting ready for work this morning, he asked me if I would please start pestering him when he doesn't finish household projects. He feels like that is an area in which he needs my help.
Me: So, permission to nag has been granted? You know I'm not good at that.
Eric: Yeah, that's not your forte. Maybe you can delegate that task to Melissa. Give her a list of what to nag me about, and tell her to keep calling me until she gets a cease and desist order from you.
Eric: Or, a better idea! We could outsource your nagging to India! How cool would that be...I'd get a call every morning...(read this in an Indian accent) "Mr. Mosley? This is Suzy Smith. You must paint shed door today." "Oh, you already did? Please take your webcam out to the shed so that I can verify completion."
So, I was going through old pictures, and I realized that "getting to know me" should not only include how I think, but what I've done. And, what I've done is probably much more interesting to you than how I think, which pains me to my very core.
When I lived in Nashville, I worked at the Wildhorse Saloon as the Bootshine and Cigar Girl (my #1 favorite job I've ever had, another post about that later).
One Friday night, when I was shining boots, a group of guys came in. They looked to be military fellows, with their crewcuts. They were milling about near my bootshine stand, and I noticed one of them looked like he wanted to speak to me. The other guys seemed to be egging him on, so finally, red-faced, he came over. He said that he was in town for the weekend for an event, and he didn't have a date.
His name was Stewart, he was a flight surgeon with the Air National Guard, and they were having their annual banquet. It was to be a formal event, held the very next night. He asked if I would attend with him. He was very sweet, and Southern, and he said ma'am enough times to convince me he really was what he said he was.
So I agreed, and he told me to meet him at the Opryland Hotel the next night at 6pm. Of course, I had nothing to wear to a formal event, so the next day after working the lunch shift at Chili's, I raced to Macy's and found a long red dress on sale for $150. I figured this was a once in a lifetime thing, so I splurged.
I got to the hotel just in time to meet him, and then we had to get on a bus to head down to The Hermitage. He had forgotten his wings, and had to race back up to his room to get them, and was in a complete panic that his seargant/major/commander/whatever you call it might have seen him without his wings on.
We took a tour of the Tennessee State Museum, had cocktails and dinner at The Hermitage, and after dinner a Major and a Colonel spoke. We went back to the Opryland after dinner, and Stewart and I walked around the hotel. It was Christmas, and if you've never been to the Opryland hotel at Christmas, you're missing out on a real life fairyland. It's like NeverNever Land on earth, 2nd star to the right and straight on 'til morning....but I digress. Stewart was the perfect gentleman, and as I recall, we had a very nice time. He asked if I would take him out dancing on Sunday night, which I did.
That was Stewart's downfall. When my friend and I got to his hotel room to pick him up, he answered the door with an earring in his ear. He wasn't wearing it on Saturday night (I assume because of the seargant/general/commander/whatever). Not that I have a problem with earrings on a man, but I do have a problem with insecurity. Stewart had to mention the earring, and explain why he didn't wear it the night before.
If you are a man who wears an earring, you must NEVER talk about the earring. That's the only way to pull it off. The moment you talk about it, you have lost the right to wear it.
We took him to Graham Central Station, my favorite dance spot in Nashville. 70's disco room, Deuling Piano Bar, hip hop room, etc....Once I saw Stewart get a little tipsy and dance on one of the little raised platforms, it was all over. Poor Stewart. There was no recovering from that.
He was such a nice guy. A complete gentleman. And yet, he just didn't cut it for me. I tried all night to force myself into it, but it just wasn't happening.
I took him back to the hotel, and we talked for a little while; made promises to write and maybe visit each other.
He sent me a letter and photos a few weeks later. (Suzzane, I hope all is going well for you in Nashville. Things have been incredibly busy here since my return. I took my last final exam today. Over the break I'm visiting my family in GA and Skydiving in FL. Thanks again for helping to make my stay in Nashville terriffic! I wish you all the best; Give me a call if you ever make it to the BIG EASY! Stewart)
The letter only served to reinforce my opinon of Poor Stewart. If you know anything about me, you know my spelling fetish. He did show me a very interesting evening though, and for that I will always be grateful.
For the love of money, I just googled him....Turns out he's a plastic surgeon. Well, I missed that boat. He married his ballroom dance instructor. Oh, the irony.
But I'd still choose poor with good grammar over money and bad spelling.
I have started teaching Zach about gentlemanly behavior. I've been having him pull Ava's chair out for her, hold doors open for people, chew with his mouth closed, etc. Today at lunch he says this...
Zach: Mom, sometimes it's hard to be a gentleman.
Me: Why?
Zach: Because potato chips are so crunchy. It's hard to chew them quietly...
(it's the theme song from Officer And A Gentleman, people......)
