Welcome to the JUNGle - a flop

Y'all, I tried four times to write this post and coincidental feats which surpass even my own understanding have prevented me from posting my thoughts on the Jung personality test.

Suffice it to say - I was classified as INFJ.

Google it under images and go have yourself a good laugh and then thank the Good Lord that you don't frequent anime (and if you do frequent anime, stop. For the love of humanity, stop.) and stop crying long enough to smell the roses that life sometimes does, indeed, pass your way. 

What a depressing bunch of folks that I've been told are just like me. 

As I said, I'm INFJ. My long snarky post was probably cut short because it was a long, snarky post. The redeeming quality of it, though, was my chapter-book explanation on why I'm not a misunderstood hero, contrary to what the deets to my profile would have you believe.

on PTES and Holy Water - thoughts that may save your life

I've fallen behind on Blogtember which means I keep meaning to jump in and I keep not because of that whole vocation thing. So, here we go. I thought I'd get out Friday's topic before Monday started!

Friday, September 5: A story about a time you were very afraid 



It might be easier to list a time I wasn't scared. I've diagnosed myself with Post Traumatic Entertainment Syndrome. I was scarred by my parents' love of horror movies and their letting me watch them at a young, impressionable age (PS. I don't really blame my parents. I'm a wuss, as previously discussed on this blog.).

Remember that time I was swimming at night in a seemingly perfectly safe swimming pool and my shadow ate me? You may not, but it was documented in The X-Files.

What? Your shadow isn't PacMan's cousin with ferocious, jagged teeth, and fins that slice through water at speeds unknown to any man except the one about to be eaten - namely, me?

Sidenote for the moral: never google "image of woman swimming at night in a lit-up pool." The results won't be as wholesome as some might think. Ahem.


Going into the ocean at a depth that reaches above my knee is absolutely on the "Things To Never Do" list I have. Also, deep sea fishing. Thank you, Jaws 1, 2, 3, and 4.

(Times that baby by four, my friend, and that would equal an ion of what my fear of knee-high ocean water is.)

I will never, ever, ever put a TV in my bedroom thanks to the creepy little blonde girl announcing that "they're heeeeere" in Poltergeist. I might also never befriend a midget because of this movie. It's nothing against y'all, it's really because of me.

My heart is racing as I type and I'm abbouta bust in some TV screens.

I'll never skydive because I've seen the beginning of The Dark Knight Rises. I would be the lucky recipient of a mega-terrorist attack.

I don't think I need to explain myself any further.

I'll never go on a cruise because we all know what happened to the Titanic. Give me desert or give me my own personal rowboat, lifejacket, and flare (and dramamine for good measure). I'm not going.

Behold: my oceanic demise.

*Apparently most of these deal with the ocean. I'm a big fan of solid ground, y'all.*

I keep holy water by my bedside table for reasons beyond that my spiritual director suggested each person form the habit (see: Signs and the little girl's propensity of leaving glasses of water everywhere. That's me and my holy water, folks.). This is not a test. I repeat, this is not a test. I seriously do fear the demons that try to tempt us to sin and so should you!


That being said, I probably need to see a psychiatrist (not about the demons - they're real!).

THAT being said, I'm trying to think of a time I was seriously, disgustingly, stomach-churning scared. The first that comes to mind is M's birth but I guess that all happened so fast that it was less scared and more of a "what...the...heck...is going on?" I'd imagine Mr. B might write about it should he answer this question, though. It affects him to this day.

After thinking about it some more (and discarding all those times I convinced myself that Mr. B had gotten into a fatal wreck because he hadn't answered his phone or that one of my kids had a rare form of bone cancer), I think the most scared I've ever been was when our baby girl, at only two and a half was being sedated to have her cavities filled.

Seriously? Thanks be to God that's as scared as I've been. But hear me out on this one.

She has a congenital heart defect (I should have been more scared upon finding out about it, but I had just given birth and hadn't slept in roughly three months, so it's a haze. A very tired, coffee-driven haze.). It's a minor murmur, but enough to drive a paranoid mama over the cliff. We have to note it on doctor visits and dental records because things like anesthesia are more difficult and apparently more dangerous. I was a basket case with a leaky valve during her procedure. My poor husband. She came out of everything fine and was under the care of wonderful doctors and a fantastic, gentle anesthesiologist the entire time, but I was terrified. Her little heart murmur is still a mystery to me. At her last cardiologist appointment, her doctor told us that her hole was getting smaller, but that had been a year before. I always worry that something will go wrong with it and it wasn't healing like we were told (Captain Paranoid, to the rescue!) and something as simple as sedation will turn deadly.

Underneath that lovely exterior lies a fairly peaceful interior that knows that Our Most Blessed Lord is in charge of everything and that His intricate plan weaves into patterns my simple mind and simple faith can't even begin to comprehend. I think that's probably the reason I don't get scared of anything beyond my own shadow (see: above) - I think we've had plenty of opportunities for legit fear, but we know that Divine Providence has a greater love for us than any we could give to ourselves.

Unfortunately, that knowledge in my head doesn't always translate into faith into my heart, which is why you won't catch me swimming at night, in water over 18 inches high, during the cruise from my nightmares. And why I don't hesitate to keep holy water everywhere to battle the slew of very real and very scary and very dangerous demons that hang out all over this big, wide world. And I'm not afraid to bust a Joaquin Phoenix in their faces to get them away from our little family.

Swing away, Joaquin, swing away. After you make the Sign of the Cross.

So, as far as legit fears go, dealing with the thought of losing a loved one, particularly my beloved husband or precious little girls, haunts me. As far as completely absurd fears go, I've got them by the baker's dozen.

How about y'all?

seven quick takes: confessions

1. It's come to light recently that tattoos aren't as taboo as I once thought and that Mr. B and I are in the minority with not having any.

Confession: I think they are pretty gross and I can't see why someone would want to permanently paint something on his or her body. This is the fickle part of me speaking. I often think that I should tattoo on my wrist where to put my keys when I step inside the front door.

*

2. My sister-in-law blogged about being ordinary and I feel I need to make a toast for all those of us who share in her taking pleasure in the ordinary. My favorite professor in college once posed the question about whether we would prefer to have a relationship filled with very high-highs and very low-lows or one where we stayed pretty evenly in the middle. I was the only one to answer that I would prefer the middle ground. 

Confession: Mr. B and I are very happy with our quiet little life and taking pleasure in the ordinary.

*

3. We're moving in one week. Holy cow. 

Confession: I'm not ready to leave this little town I've grown to feel at home in.

*

4. I married a man who loves his technology. He gets excited about Apple events and talks tech shop with his brothers all the time.

Confession: I hate technology. I let my computer die on a regular basis. I encourage my phone to die on a daily basis. I tell myself I'm shutting down my facebook account hourly. I screen calls from everyone, even friends. It's in my blood and I can't help it. I don't like being available all the time.

Confession, part deux: I am ridiculously dependent on technology. I check my email and facebook way too often. 

*

5. I was once called stoic in a very complimentary way. At the time, I wanted Inigo Montoya the compliment-giver with a laugh, but I refrained because I'm a Sto and don't react. 

Confession: While I'm not reacting to you, I'm likely making a witty comment and laughing at it in my head. This isn't the same as laughing at you, but with you, promise. I'm also a recovering addict to sarcasm and keep most comments to myself. I could also be overanalyzing what you said because I'm dramatic like that.

Confession, numero dos: I have a really understanding, saintly husband.

*

6. I love my little girls. And I love taking photos. I still haven't taken E's 3-year photos. And she turns four in two months. 

Confession: This mom gig is hard. I'd blame my hate of technology, but let's credit my laziness for this one.

*

7. Mr. B's real name is Jack Bauer and because of such, we're making this blog more anon. This was a practice run and it's awkward and stilted, but we'll survive.

Confession: Mr. B isn't really Jack Bauer (#mindblown). He does, however, work for a security-sensitive agency as of the beginning of next month and they've recommended we lose our identities. I'd be upset, but I'm a Sto. 

just a tidbit

To explain myself a wee bit better. Spot on, all those who are extros and don't get it.

Until I've recharged, moved, schooled, and sorted out the craziness of this stage in our life.

eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord...

Taking a break from all things light-hearted to ask for prayers for the repose of the soul of a good friend of our family. He passed away peacefully on Saturday night/Sunday morning and is already sorely missed.

I'm having a hard time processing the loss of someone I know, as it's never happened to me before, aside from our miscarriage a few years back (which is admittedly different, especially with how early, early we were in our pregnancy.). I wrote this letter to help me out just a little bit.



I didn't know you well, Brian, but I consider you a brother. Not because I knew you well, but because you were a constant. Just as I don't know my brothers-in-law well, but I always know they'll be there, so I did with you. I knew you'd be there to celebrate joys, suffer alongside in stress and sorry, and pray in your very humble, beautifully simple way for us, and of course show up to hang out on Friday and Saturday nights. Your quiet company was always a constant and always welcome and I will miss it sorely. You were family.

I saw you blossom over the years, though, and never saw more joy and peace in you than I did just before and after your coming Home to Holy Mother Church. 

My favorite memory of you is simply a montage of little scenes of you spending time with my precious little girls. About a year ago, you took Ellie's little chubby hand and let her lead you all over a farm yard and listened to her as she told you stories and took you on adventures. Any other adult would have given up after five minutes, but you just kept on going. And when I told Ellie it was time to let Uncle Brian sit down, you looked at me, blinked and said, "Why? We're going on adventures. Leave us alone." You loved that little girl and she loves you. Both our girls do. All children do, Brian. You were like Our Lord in so many ways, but in one of the ways that strikes me the most is that children flocked to you. Your joy and servanthood was undeniable, especially by the most loving in our community.

I need to tell you that when I told the girls of your passing, that Ellie curled up into my body and sobbed that she missed Uncle Brian and that you said you would swing with her when you finished mowing the lawn. I'm sorry you and she never got that chance. You will always have someone praying for you, as long as those little girls are alive. When you make it to Heaven, please remember them back.

My other favorite memory of you is at the a going away party, when I told you that I didn't end up making cheesy broccoli rice. You looked at me and asked why not. I said that it was hot and no one would eat it probably. And you picked up your dish and said that you had made green bean casserole and you didn't care if it was hot. Then we had a great discussion on how we could each eat entire Thanksgiving meals every single day and not get sick of the taste of those foods. Tonight, Brian, I'm making green bean casserole in your honor.

I loved watching you sit in the back of the church and pray, Brian. I loved watching you serve. You have the greatest servant's heart of anyone I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. And I'm so very thankful I told you that just a couple of weeks ago. You brushed off my compliment and said it was a blessing to you to do things like grill all day. I made sure to let you know that, even if it were, I admired your humility and servanthood nonetheless and then walked away covering my ears so you couldn't brush that off again.

I love that you held sentimental things in a place like I do. You rejoiced with me when I found an engraving from my grandfather to my grandmother in the back of something I was going to throw away. You shared with me about the old, old sewing machine you found that was your grandmother's and you were going to fix it up. And I love that we could carry on conversations about the quality of mixed drinks and good music. I love that you always, always made dozens of Easter eggs for the kids to hunt. I love that presents for loved ones for Christmas were found, in progress, in your apartment the night you passed away. You were always, always thinking of others.

May God welcome you into Heaven with a banquet fit for West Texas, my brother. You shall remain in my prayers and the prayers of our family. We love and miss you, dear friend.

how we met, part 2

So as I was weirdly re-reading my own blog posts, after creepily stalking another blog of yet another person I don't know, I noticed that part 1 was up and running and this one somehow disappeared. I amaze even myself at my technological prowess - the kind, of course, that defies user-friendly Apples and somehow still messes things up. 

If you're in the market for someone to come destroy your website, annihilate your iPod, sabotage your laptop, or drop your phone in a glass of cranberry juice (x2, my friends, within a thirty second timeframe...not that I have experience doing this), I'm your gal. 

So here goes - again. If you don't believe me, check the timestamps on the comments that were left two months ago. Consider that my resume and you're welcome.


Part One: Quick summary - nothing happens except that we meet. It's called editing and cutting, self.


So - remember when Mr. B saved my life (ehhhh, yeah, we'll stick with that one - saved my life) from the treacherous bee? I believe we call that a "type" in all things literary and Catholic.

It all starts when Mr. B is auctioned off for a date. With a friend of mine.

He double dates (we're not animals, people) with his friend and roommate. Steve* They secretly liked each other but wouldn't date for reasons I didn't know. But, they went on a date for a good cause (which was what? I don't remember why we did a date auction now!). Along with Mr. B's roommate's lady friend, Sara*, went our mutual friend, Gertrude*, who was going on the date with Mr B. I was pretty sure she had a crush on him and because I'm not dramatic at all, I was convinced he liked her back.

*Names changed to protect the happily married [to each other] - Mr. B insisted. I'd have kept their names legit-like, judging as how I kept their names in the original, mysteriously disappearing draft.

This is not confusing at all, no? Anonymity kills.

Then Mr. B called me at about 9pm and asked if he could stop by my apartment. Acting nonchalant, I said, sure, I guess I'm not busy. It's no big. There was no quaking in my voice, because I'm as cool as cuke in a Texas garden.

My poor roommate heard all about how he was coming over to humiliate me and tell me that he knew I liked him and he was really sorry because he liked someone else and please leave him alone, for the love of all on this earth. This was shared in a single breath/weep (that only teenage girls know how to pull off) as she was helping me pick out a fabulous outfit and tornado clean the apartment, obv.

When he arrived, my roommate disappeared and later told me that she was dying of thirst but just couldn't make herself walk into the living room where my heart was being crushed. Friends don't do that to friends. We chatted for what felt like eternity but was actually more like four minutes and then Mr B said that he just needed me to know that he really likes me and wanted to know how I felt.

Friends also don't let friends take photos like this, except that we have a whole series of these from over the years. Our kids should be excited that their parents (and godparents) are this cool. And no, this photo has nothing to do with the post, I just had to break up paragraphs because photoless posts are boring to me.

Again, being suave, I probably said something along the lines of, "umm, well, um...hehe..." all while maintaining zero amounts of eye contact.

Mr. B later shared with me that he had had a beer while out with our friends (he was 21, no worries!) and had the courage to do what he felt God was calling him toward. I'm so glad that man had liquid courage.

Because Mr. B and I are not-adventurous-at-all-please-leave-us-alone-we'll-be-alive-and-happy-when-your-sky-diving-rollercoasting-deep-sea-diving-self-is-gone, we decided to take our time in dating. We decided to just be friends to make sure we weren't just falling prey to crushes lined up.

Of course by, "just be friends," somehow we meant that we spent everysinglewakingsecond together. During that time, we fell in love, unbeknownst to the other (with each other. No scandal here.). And we still hadn't gone on our first date.

We finally decided that Our Lord truly was calling us to courtship and we weren't just passing fancies for each other, so Mr. B asked me out on our first date. We did the typical dinner and a movie (Italian and Star Wars...adjusting our pocket protects on three, two, one...) but, between dinner and the movie, it was anything but normal.

Mr B is also anything but normal and I usually like it that way. Sometimes I stop him.

As we were walking to the movie theatre, super extra crazy early because we're nothing if not annoyingly early to things, we heard a "thunk thunk thunk." We stopped and couldn't figure out where it was coming from. Mr. B shrugged it off and started to walk. I wasn't so sure and said I thought we should investigate a little more (who am I? I'm the last person to investigate stuff. Thank my guardian angel for this one!) (second note: I'm actually really nosy. That and my guardian angel can be thanked now). One row over was a little white car with the windows fogged up - the source of the "thunking."

Now Mr. B was really unsure of things and really uncomfortable. He kind of tapped on the window and said, "You guys okay?" A hand reached out toward the back windshield and a muffled voice screamed, "NO!"

Y'all - there were two people stuck in the trunk of a car. In late June. In Texas. At 6pm. We tried opening the doors. We asked if they'd tried the failsafe in the trunk. Mr. B tried prying the trunk open with his hands. When nothing was working, he ran to the theatre to get a crowbar and a manager. I stayed with the folks in the trunk.

We found out they were two teens - one guy, one girl. They had been jumped by three other teens and their shoes were stolen and they were shoved in the trunk. What...the....

Mr. B came back with a crowbar and a manager and they both tried to pop the trunk open. I called the girl's mom to tell her the situation. The mom was insistent that we not break a window to see if the key to the car was inside. Insistent. I thought the terror-filled screams and sobs would help change her mind, so I held the phone up to the trunk and asked again. After hearing her daughter shrieking for her life, she changed her mind.

I can't even tell you how long this was all going on. We called the fire department at some point in there. They showed up and smashed the window in. As they were searching for a key - these brave, strapping, brilliant firemen, desperate to save these two lives - Mr. B heard a "beep, beep, beep" and suggested they look at the ignition. Key found.

The trunk firemen opened the trunk and two soaking-wet, heat-sick teens stumbled out. I'll never forget the look on that tiny little girl's face. She just collapsed. We were told by the paramedics there that if they'd been in there even just a little longer, they would have been hospitalized or worse. Thanks be to God for our over-punctuality.

We didn't know what to do, so we hung around. Of course we missed the movie (Divine intervention? That movie was terrible, as we found out, a rental later.). As we were talking to the manager, the parents of the teens showed up and got into a big yelling match at each other and a police officer had to come in and break it up and remind them that their kids were safe and let's all be thankful for that.

So, that's our first date.

So happy to have saved a couple of lives and dodged the Star Wars Episode I bullet.

It's all pretty lovey-dovey for the next six months. After just a short time, I went from feeling peace that I was going to marry this man to feeling like this:

I don't even know.

To be less desperate and creepy, Mr. B felt the same way, minus the bling.

Christmas break comes along and go home to my folks' house to visit. Mr. B tells me over the phone that he doesn't think that we're ready to get married and maybe we shouldn't plan heading to the chapel anytime soon.

I'll leave y'all hanging on that cliff that obviously plummets toward the chapel of love, but pretend that the crash sound that each LOST episode ends with is playing for you. Stay tuned for the dramatic continuation.

seven quickest takes

1. Moving in uno montho, you ask? Thank you for asking because now I remember and I'm making this post extra quick.

2. Where are you moving, you ask? Austin for a bit and who knows from there. We have applications all over Texas and even into Nebraska. I'm praying for a brand new start. Or, God's Will. Or anything.

3. This week is NFP week and I've had a post in draft all week and I feel like this particular top that is so close to my heart just isn't being written to justice. Lucky for all the blogosphere, my muse (cottage cheese mixed with salsa, lying atop a seasoned deli chip from the local United. She's a particular gal.) has been restocked in our fridge and there might be a really long Take Eight this afternoon on the subject.

4. I'm hearing crickets for these takes.

5. Please join our family while we camp outside Heaven's gate begging all in there to pray for Joseph's Bar Exam in three days. We've particularly adopted St. Joseph the Worker and St. Thomas More and more recently has St. Joseph of Cupertino been adopted as a special patron for the sole reason of his never being asked a question in his studies toward priesthood that he didn't know, and dear St. JC wasn't the brightest seminarian in a cassock, if you know what I mean. So, may Our Lord rig the Bar Exam to make sure Joseph knows all the answers. Pretty please, Lord?

6. Joseph and I just started rewatching Sherlock in preparation for the US premiere (is it world premiere? I feel like all I know about world events right now is bundled up in a tiny blue blanket, being held by a gorgeous mama). We haven't seen it in a year and I'm still in awe of how great this show is.

I was going to go on and on but I just went to confirm the premiere date and it's been pushed back to 2014 and I'm seeing my life flash before my eyes. Please excuse me and the rest of this take.

7. The original intent of the last take was to praise BBC (presently known as That Which Shall Not Be Named Because It Killed Any Joy I Was Feeling For This Fall) for their shows and ask if anyone has seen Mansfield Park. If it has the quality of Downton, Sher (we're tight like that), and Midwife, then I'm sure I'll be addicted in 7.2 seconds.



C'mon back later this pm for an eight great take on NFP. There's nothing like avoiding packing for a good cause.