Five

It’s hard to believe, but last Saturday was our fifth wedding anniversary. I usually try to stick to the traditional gifts, so I was tasked with finding a gift for Jim that was made of wood. While I was racking my brain for ideas, I decided that maybe someone at Hallmark (or wherever these monumental decisions are made) should rethink the anniversary gift list. If, for example, this were the MP3 player anniversary, I would have no problem figuring out what to get Jim. I’m pretty sure he would also appreciate a GORE-TEX anniversary. I personally think a spa certificate anniversary is a fabulous idea.

But I was stuck with wood, so I had to get creative. I finally decided that adding to our collection of Oaxacan carved animals would be appropriate. But I needed something new and different—a creature that represented the essence of our marriage.

I came across this guy in an import store and it was love at first sight. Sort of like when I met Jim—a moment of chimptastic perfection.

We’ve been through a lot in five years: deaths in our families, infertility, sickness, buying a house, selling a house, new jobs, and a much-anticipated birth. But there has always been a whole lot of monkey business that made the tough times bearable and the good times better.

Jim loved his gift. What did he get me, you might ask? A Starbucks card. I probably don’t need to add that it wasn’t made of wood. And while it may sound totally unromantic in addition to being off-theme, it came from a man who thinks spending money on coffee is the most wasteful thing imaginable. The recipient? A woman who is slightly addicted to Starbucks’ chai tea lattes. Yeah, I’m owning up to that. Even though Starbucks is the evil empire and the coffee equivalent of McDonald’s, and on and on, I like their chai. So there.

All in all, a perfect exchange.

Special Delivery

In a shocking turn of events, I received a letter from Sarah Palin yesterday. I know! I can’t believe she took the time to sit down and write me a letter. Of course, she wasn’t just writing to say “hello,” she wanted something: money. And she asked me to send her a **personal** reply.

I think it’s hilarious that the RNC (or more likely, whatever direct marketing firm they hired) deemed me an appropriate recipient of this particular mailing. Wildly liberal, bleeding-heart me. Ridiculous.

I was about to throw the whole thing in the trash when I happened to glance at the return envelope and notice that no postage was required. Of course, there was also a message informing me that using my own stamp would help save the RNC’s precious campaign funds.

Oh REALLY?

I decided to teach the RNC a $.42 lesson about targeting the wrong people on their mailing list. And for good measure, I went ahead and filled out the form. I figured at the very least it would provide entertainment for the poor person sifting through the mail.

I would absolutely love it if every “dangerous,” “Un-American” (or whatever else they’re calling us these days) liberal like myself who receives a mailing like this would respond in a similar way. Even if people just send back empty sealed envelopes—which takes no time at all—the RNC will get stuck with the postage costs. And if enough left-wingers pitched in, it could really add up! Maybe the mailing would lose more money than it made! OK, that’s big dream. But I’m going to go ahead and dare to dream that dream. And I’m going to keep my red pen at the ready for the next couple of weeks.

Gearing up

Grandma sent a box full of Halloween goodies the other day, so Max will be spending the next two weeks encased in orange. I love the way his minimally-toothed grin echoes the jack-o-lantern’s smile.

New gig

A couple of time a month I’m going to be contributing to the Rocky Mountain Moms blog (scroll down for my bio). It’s still in its infancy, but most of the related blogs have been going for a while. It’s worth checking out if you’re interested in regional mom chatter.

E-I-E-I oh REALLY?

One of the sessions at our recent company retreat was led by a psychologist who teaches firms how to improve their internal communications through Jungian typing. In the weeks leading up to the seminar we all had to take the Myers-Briggs assessment. I have been typed before and have always been an INFJ. The letters represent different personality aspects, but the pertinent letter to this discussion is the first one—the “I”. It stands for “introvert”. No surprise there.

So imagine my shock when I opened the sealed envelope (our test results were kept secret until a pivotal point in the seminar) and discovered that I tested as an ENFJ. The results were presented on a continuum, so I could see that I was just barely in “E” territory. But still, an “E”? Ridiculous! How dare some stupid test try and tell me that I’m extroverted, even a little bit!

I was outraged.

My coworker (who scored solidly in the “I” range) started giving me a hard time because I was so annoyed. And it was kind of funny, that such a dumb thing like that would set me off. I guess I have always always imagined myself as the brooding, observant, artistic type who always has her nose in a book. And while that is true to some extent, if I’m willing to be open-minded about things I suppose I have become more social in the last few years. More open, less internal. Don’t get me wrong—you will never find me chatting up strangers at a party. But I do manage to put myself out there more than I used to.

Still. An “E”? I happen to love people who are extroverted because it’s less work to be around them. They tend to be of the energetic, get-things-done variety, and I appreciate that. But I just don’t see myself in that category.

It felt like a good time to take advantage of the fact that Jim and I work together. During a break I stalked over to him and yelled “I’m an ‘E’!” pointing furiously at the manilla envelope. He was amused. It turns out that he is an INTP. So . . . pretty much my polar opposite. I grabbed his report and he started to read mine. The descriptions were very thorough, and I have to admit it felt a bit like we were getting away with something: free marriage counseling. “So THAT’S why you drive me crazy sometimes,” I muttered, reviewing our “P” vs. “J” scores.

I’m still coming to terms with my E-ness. I have to believe I will never venture into deep “E” territory, but I guess I’m willing to admit—if not embrace—the fact that I have more social skills than I’ve given myself credit for in the past.

And now I’m extra curious to see how Max’s personality develops. I’ve always assumed that any child of ours would have be introverted, but who knows? I also thought he’d end up with brown eyes and I was wrong about that. Is it possible for an “I” and an “I”-leaning “E” to have an “E”? At the moment the little man is pretty quiet and dreamy. He’s quick to laugh, but will also spend a good chunk of time concentrating on a single toy or intently studying a book. So I think “I” is a safe bet. Not that I’m biased. Ahem.

Lipstick

This New Yorker article is the funniest thing I’ve seen all week.

One of my favorite parts:

Sarah Palin knows a little something about God’s will, knowing God quite well, from their work together on that natural-gas pipeline, and what God wills is: Country First. And not just any country! There was a slight error on our signage. Other countries, such as that one they have in France, reading our slogan, if they can even read real words, might be all, like, “Hey, bonjour, they are saying we can put our country, France, first!” Non, non, non, France! What we are saying is, you’d better put our country first, you merde-heads, or soon there will be so much lipstick on your pit bulls it will make your berets spin!