Sunday, November 21, 2010

the post that almost didn't make it

This one's a little odd. I almost didn't post it because I was unsure if it made sense. But in keeping with the idea behind this blog, I guess I need to be careful not to edit myself too much because technically that's not exactly honest. I guess I was worried this would come off sort of too personal and indulgent. And unfortunately I'd have to admit that I can be that way from time to time. After a day at stake conference and a little time to reflect today, I can let myself do it anyway, I think. So today won't get a full post, but kind of an intro to the posting I didn't get around to putting out yesterday...

feeling festive, albeit controlling:

So the tree's up and sparkling away, but it required a complete overhaul of the living room to pull it off. Which led to dejunking all the storage cupboards on the stairs, a trip to Lethbridge for lights that actually work, and kitten-proofing the tree and living room in general.



Do I feel better for it. Absolutely. But I wonder if I should take it as an ominous sign that my offspring avoided the living room completely the entire night until the whole thing was done? Is my drive to get things right a source of alienation for my family? I hope not, because I suspect I'm not likely to change any time soon. I know I'm a control-freak and that it's almost impossible for me not to "fix" something if it didn't get done quite how I'd envisioned, but I also know that I have a right to exert my influence on my domain. I've already conceded so much ground to the other people in my life that some things just feel like they're non-negotiable.

Sometimes my children have said things like, "I need your help, but I don't want you to take over," or even worse, "Don't ask Mom to help. She'll just do it herself." And I have to admit that I'm guilty of that sometimes. I think about the Greek houses from grade 6 (4 of them) and the burn scars I still have on my fingers from the glue gun, as well as the tiny grecian urns I sculpted out of plasticine...Is this my unique variation of OCD?

I think Trevor nailed it last night as we drove through bitter weather to pick up lights before the stores closed. He said the issue is that I'm an innate problem solver - I see a problem and my brain has to fix it. It won't let go until it does. It's why I become completely fixated doing family history, or planning how to fix a problem room, etc. It's probably also why it's physically painful for me to surrender a problem that's not fixable. Is it a bad thing? I suspect not. It's just another variation of all the personality variations available to us in this existence.

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