Y’ALL. I made some strides in my B+ parenting project.
However, first off, I feel it necessary to delve into the roots of my Type A behavior. The Type A and Type B personality theory describes a Type A individual as ambitious, aggressive, business-like, controlling, highly competitive, impatient, orderly, preoccupied with his or her status, time-conscious, and tightly-wound. Now, I’m certainly not all of those things (I hope), but I definitely feel the impatient, orderly, and time-conscious pangs regularly.
Let’s just get it out there. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, my friends. Yes, you heard me, MOM AND DAD. Lately, my father’s Type A behavior has fallen into the “orderly” realm. Within one hour of my Cheerios post, I received this email.
Saroo, please tell me you’ve picked the Cheerios off the floor. Love, yo dad
This is from the man who empties all 49 trash receptacles in his home on an hourly basis. How dare a trash can be filled with a remnant of waste, people! Preposterous! Trash receptacles NEED TO BE EMPTY AT ALL TIMES. My father also spends 57% of his waking hours bent at a 90-degree angle cleaning spots invisible to the human eye off the kitchen floor. Did I tell you about last Christmas? How upon throwing something in a small trash can under the sink, he reprimanded me for using that particular trash receptacle? And when I pressed him for why that was a problem, he replied with “that trash can is for decorative purposes only?” HAAAAAAAAA. God, I love that man. (Did I also tell you that one of my very favorite activities to engage in at my parent’s house is to walk around and drop singular pieces of wadded-up toilet paper in each and every trash can? Yep. Asshole!)
My mother’s Type A behavior falls into the “time-conscious” realm. For instance, during my childhood years, if we weren’t at the airport 4-5 hours in advance of our departing flight, the SHIT HIT THE FAN. How I remember those long hours once we arrived at the airport….staring off into space, being asked if I needed to use the potty 3,679 times, eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner, writing a lengthy novel, growing an inch or two…those were the days. As for my mother’s day-to-day grind, being on time means arriving 20-30 minutes early and sitting in the parking lot, the possibility of traffic or weather-related delays is hand-wringing, and being 5 minutes late is coronary infarction-inducing. This woman is on a Prompt Mission, and is not to be messed with in any way, shape or form.
My sister is also a Type A personality, which manifests in the “business-like” realm. Don’t mess with this girl’s budgeting skills, people. She puts Suze Orman to shame. Lala knows where every penny of her income has gone for the past 10 years, and can quote her monthly expenditures from 2002 without batting an eyelash. She loves an orderly house too, mind you. While we were visiting Oklahoma, Lala threw a fantastic housewarming party at her new home. (For the Okies out there, she got Big Truck Tacos to park their truck in her driveway and feed all of her drunk guests. Freaking fantastically delicious!) We were all up into the wee weeeee hours of the morning, yet Lala was up and at ‘em early the next morning. Doing what, you ask? Oh, just STEAM CLEANING THE KITCHEN FLOORS IN HER PAJAMAS. (Which, by the way, you all need to get yourselves one of these steam mopping contraptions, especially if you don’t like using conventional household cleaners. Holy crap, awesomeness.)
Yep. We’re Type A all up in here. However, ALL of us would vehemently deny being Type A if one of the characteristics was lacking of a sense of humor. We live it, love it and laugh at ourselves regularly.
Now, for my Very Exciting Type B+ Update.
#1 – I totally forgot to take Wito to his summer school class yesterday. Just up and forgot that he was enrolled in summer school, I suppose. Unfortunately, it happened to be on the day they celebrated Wet and Wild day in bathing suits with lots of popsicles. Uh, sorry about that, Wito.
#2 – I have now moved on from allowing Wita’s food particles to rest on the floor for more than 20 seconds to the next dimension. Here’s the deal – Wita lives for throwing food on the floor. Scratch that – Wita lives for picking up a piece of food, getting my full attention, and THEN throwing the piece of food on the floor while maintaining wickedly intense eye contact and laughing maniacally. She’s a delight, that one.
Now? I let her throw all of her food on the floor, take her out of the highchair, place her on the floor, and let her go to town on the food particles down there.
I, Sarah of Whoorl, regularly let my baby eat her entire dinner off the floor. BOW TO THE B+ GODDESS. Although, dude, that could be considered B- or dare I say C- parenting! I’m on FIRE! Maybe that’s why she’s had a mystery fever for the past three days! Eating Off The Floor Disease! Who knows? The possibilities are endless!
Disclaimer: I steam-mop my floors like a son of a bitch. Those floors are spankin’ clean, God as my witness.