So I'm inconsistent

I like to have the windows of the car a little open.  With the heater on.  I just don’t like stuffy vehicles.  Or houses.  So I’ve noticed sometimes the house heater is on with all the warm air drifting out the open windows, heating up our whole backyard.  I keep the thermostat around 64-65 during the day and 62-63 at night.  But sometimes I make it work to keep up because I like fresh air. 

I don’t like the stale smell of people and old bed sheets, but I kind of like the smell of the country.  And I totally don’t mind animal smells when we’re visiting a zoo or a barn.  Just like I change the sheets every Friday, yet we have had sleeping bags for going on twenty years.  I do air them out after each trip, and I wash them now and then.  But still.  That’s the whole reason we have leather couches.  I have no idea if they were a good value or in style or anything like that.  The only reason they’re here is because they don’t get that nasty couch smell that is like twenty years of an unwashed bed of sheets.  Disgusting.  But, like I said, I really don’t mind nature’s smells at all.  Just people smells I have a hard time with.

Speaking of barns, I’m fine with mice out in their habitat.  I like looking at them playing in their bread house at the zoo.  I even had hamsters as a kid, and I held them and played with them all the time, building obstacle courses for them, presenting them treats and nibbles and new toys at Christmas.  But there’s nothing that makes me more skittish than to know there’s a mouse in my house.  Out of its natural habitat, having crossed the line into mine.

I usually get a salad but order the dessert menu at the same time.  At potlucks I’ll have a big plate of salad and a second one of treats.  I majored in health and we eat a lot of whole wheat items, loads of fruits and vegetables, you know the fare.  But my favorite food choice in the world (next to fruit salad) is the hamburger dive in any small town.  Hamburgers, fries, and malts, oh my. 

I cook all the time.  But I’d much rather be reading a book or doing the dishes.  And while dishes and laundry are two jobs I would trade anyone for, I hate putting away the clean laundry and unloading the dishwasher.  I couldn’t care less how the dishwasher’s loaded, so it’s not a big deal if people do them for me.  But I don’t really like anyone else but Todd and my mom to wash the others by hand. In fact, it’s best for me if we just leave the dishes and just hang out and talk.  It’s like a zero as far as how much that does for me.  Maybe even a negative or imaginary number because I hate to see all our cistern water going down the drain.  So no, I don’t care if you’re dying to do my dishes; I’ll let you.  But I also don’t want you to.

I love, love, love the look of long hair on girls and women. I think it’s so feminine and pretty and loose and carefree.  But I hate it on me.  I also love that dark, dark brown.  Nearly black hair.  But not on me.  Regular short brown hair seems to be my fate.  Like Ramona.

I’m not all that into kids.  I know I have five, but it’s different with my own.  And those who are cousins and like cousins.  There’s an inner circle of kids I feel good with, effortless, like family.  Most of the time, though, I have to admit I just don’t do so well when it comes to kids.  I get irritable and grumpy.  But I love working at the school.  I’m there a fair amount.  But I would never sub.  I just like being in the library and doing PTO stuff.  Maybe because I’m in a familiar environment, but I don’t have to engage too much.

I love to read.  Love it.  But I go days without doing it.  I also like the idea of having read the classics, but I haven’t read more than a handful or two since high school and college.

I love to have a to-do list.  And a food-to-buy list.  But I usually don’t look at them.  I usually forget them at home.

I would love a beautiful voice.  But not really.   Because then I’d have to sing in front of an audience.  I’ve also wanted to become a great public speaker.  But not.  For the same reason.  I think it would be nice to be an eloquent writer and use all those long words in some of the books I read that I need to partner with a dictionary for.  But also not really.  I just write like I talk.  Because then it sounds like me.  Just normal.  Real.

I love to sleep but hate how much time it wastes.  In my dreams I’d sleep 12-5 a.m., but in all honesty I need 9.5 hours to feel good.  Just like all the women in my family.  I also love being up at 5:30, but I hate getting up at 5:30.  I go to bed anywhere between 9 p.m. and midnight and wake up between 5:30 and 8:30.  Huge discrepancy between weekdays and weekends.  And yeah, I’ve read how bad that is for me.

When it comes to decorating I love the pioneer/settler time.  And I love the 1950s style from Happy Days and all my hamburger joints.  Tough styles to juxtapose.  We like the feel of outdoors and cabins, but we also like the 1930s farmhouse look.  I like neutrals and browns, but I also love denim blues.

I may come across as docile or mellow, but I have a sassy side that only comes out with Todd and my mom and sisters.  Occasionally a true friend.  Like the side of me that ordered a French Dip when I ate lunch with all my vegetarian friends.  Honestly, just to get under their skin.  Or the part of me that wore short skirts (against the Honor Code) at BYU and pulled them down to get into dances as a teen before hiking them up once I was in.

I’ve changed a bit, and I hold myself to strict standards as an adult in various areas, and yet I couldn’t care less what anyone else watches, reads, listens to, does on Sunday, drinks, eats, how they spend their money, time or anything.  Unless they’re my kids, of course.

I have strong opinions on tons of issues.  And yet I’m pretty indecisive when it comes to the really easy parts of life.  We buy houses and cars faster than most anyone—within minutes, but I can spend 20 minutes looking at puzzles (like I did yesterday) or comparing cereal fiber and protein contents.

I think a house looks better and cozier with carpet.  I prefer the feel of it, it seems more homey.  But we have laminate throughout the main areas.  I don’t love the look as much as I like carpet, but I think with our lifestyle of dogs and kids and visitors and mud and snow and rain and grass clippings, it’s the only way we could make it work.

I really relish my alone time.  I like it when everyone’s home but I can do my own thing.  Like when they’re all playing in the yard or riding bikes and I can just putter and clean.  My favorite is when all my neighbors are out doing yard work on Saturday mornings and I’m happily weeding on my own.  It might be that I grew up in an apartment, so there were always people around but I didn’t have to interact with them.  I also like when everyone is home for the night, and I’m all alone with a book in my bed.

I love chocolate cake.  But only homemade kind and the kind from a box.  Not store-bought kind.  I never eat chocolate kisses or candy bars or even chocolate chips.  Unless the Heath Bar is ground up in a hot fudge malt or the chips are packed tightly into a cookie.  I’ll hardly touch an Oreo, but stuff it in a Blizzard and I’ll lap the whole thing up.

I can’t for the life of me figure out a style that works for me.  I’ve always loved the beach look.  So much.  But I’ve never had the care-free aura to pull it off.  Along with the lack of blonde locks and beach body.  So hard to grow up in San Diego and feeling like the odd shore bird.  I also kind of like the boots and jeans look, but I’m too stiff for that too. The cowboys would be able to tell in a second that I don’t know the first thing about ranching.  Just like when I wear athletic hand-me-downs from my sister.  I can’t seem to pull it off, it looks like I’m playing dress-up.   I like black short fingernails, but even clear polish chips after a day with how many times I wash my hands.  And I’m not sure I could get away with that either.  I don’t care enough to maintain a trendy, high-end style with the right bag and wash of jeans.  And who wears heels all day?  You know I like the Bohemian look.  Again, not the right body or persona to pull that off either.

I love to shop.  But I feel guilty.  I hate spending money on myself, but I love a good long Christmas list for family and friends.  I’m all about buying friends birthday gifts or little treats, so fun!  But I kind of hate it when someone does it for me because I don’t want them to spend their valuable time or money thinking about me; I’d rather know they did it for someone who really needs a boost.  Just like I like helping people out, but I don’t really want anyone doing anything for me.  I think most of us are like that.  Along those lines, as much as I like remembering birthdays of friends and family with a card or a treat, I’m so glad mine’s hidden and tucked away on a perfect day of the year. 

I never look at the price of gas or milk, I'll buy them regardless.  But I will forgo strawberries or grapes if they’re too expensive and then we’ll all go out to eat as a family and blow $50 on hamburgers.  No sense at all.

As much as I hate to waste money, I hate wasting time much more.  Which is why I’m naturally efficient and organized and fast.  But at the same time I love just writing, taking walks, doing my puzzles, hanging out with friends, ironing, chatting in bed, watching movies with my family, playing games and just sitting on the porch in the woods of Minnesota.

I love the look of a tan.  I’m white Scottish with freckles.  But they coalesce in the summer, and my skin can even pass for light brown.  Our dermatologist friend commented to me at church last summer, “You’re looking tan, Caren...” I beamed.  “Thanks!!”  Slowly and with emphasis he reprimanded me, “That’s not a compliment.”  I sometimes don’t wear sunscreen so I can get some color, yet I also believe taking care of our skin is a most important part of a beauty routine.  So I’ve spent 24 years and a boat-load of money on Mary Kay, but I’ll still blow it all for a tiny tan.

My heart aches for more kids.  A baby or two.  But I don’t really want to start over.  I’m confident we made the right decision, but I revisit it at least once a week.  Sometimes it even makes me cry, I long for another child so much. 

I’m totally good with sharing my innermost thoughts with people in my blog, a letter, an essay, or with intimate company, but I’ve never liked being in front of a group.  Just one of the reasons I’m not even thinking of doing a book.  Because then I’d have to do a tour or get a picture for the inside back cover.  If I feel comfortable with a small group of friends it’s ok for me to tell my opinion or ask some questions, whatever, and move on, but I hate it when we settle on me for longer than a moment or a compliment comes up.  Because then I’m imagining at least one or two of the group members thinking, “She’s not really like that, I’ve seen how she really is.”  So uncomfortable.  So yes, in a way I want to share myself, but maybe in a safe way.  I don’t like to be looked at.  Behind the scenes is perfect.

I know I share a lot about myself on this blog.  I’m not sure why you’re even reading it.  My husband and kids aren’t.  But this is all the stuff that’s easy to talk about, it doesn’t really matter what someone thinks about it.  I’m just throwing it out there so maybe someday my kids will know me better, maybe it will resonate with some of you, make you feel like you’re not alone.  But as much as I share, I really don’t talk about the stuff that means the most to me. 

I’m totally a realist.  Literal.  I like tangible and non-fiction.  I sometimes take things at face-value and forget to use my common-sense.  Symbolism was always hard for me in school.  I like people to say it like it is, I value honesty no matter how it comes across.  I’d rather know the real story even if it’s not pretty.  I’m not into sci-fi or fantasy.  At all.  And yet I completely believe in angels, visitations, visions, miracles, God, that Christ lived and lives.  Sometimes I wonder how my convictions about these things are so strong when in general I shy away from things I can’t see or understand or make sense of.  But to me these things are more real than the things I can touch. 

So there you have it.  A short list of ways I’m consistently inconsistent.  There are a million more.  But I’ll leave you to just start your own.  You may surprise yourself.