Keirsey and Pizza

I was writing an email to a friend in Nashville who I'd like to see on my South Carolina vacation trip but Danny won't let me because he's an ISTJ and ISTJ's don't go to Nashville on vacations to South Carolina. And because I am an ENFJ with ENFP tendencies, I was attempting to make a homemade pizza while writing this essay. I mean email. I mean... my brain, like the rest of me, might be coated in a light layer of flour at the moment, so bear with me. So I was writing this email as I was making my dough, because making dough is not hard enough already, and somewhere along step 3, I ran out of flour. Now, I couldn't let a 1/4 cup of rolled oats, 2 cups of flour, 2.5 Tablespoons of olive oil and a good packet of yeast go to waste so I had to find me some flour and find it right quick because, as everyone knows, dough will die at the slightest provocation. It's why I very rarely bake- I have low tolerance for high maintenance stuff. (My babies know this before they even exit the womb. Probably because they've noticed I eat nothing but chocolate in the last trimester. It always surprises me when they come out white.) But it was nap time and I don't believe it would have been wise to leave three babies unattended so that I could go out and buy flour...when there was a perfectly good sack of unground wheat on the counter... and a brand new... wheat mill... in the office... a wheat mill I have been too scared to unwrap since I received it last Mother's Day... and...... well, I need a cup of flour!!!

I opened the box to said mill and read multiple instruction booklets at lightning speed while removing plastic protector wraps from various pieces of equipment. "...must run 2 cups of dry grain in order to clean parts..." No sense in wasting my wheat on that! I grabbed a bag of lentils and assembled the machine per photo instructions and plugged it in to hear the sound of a jet engine in my kitchen, a screaming pitch that was going higher and higher and higher, sounding definitely like impending global destruction. I pulled that plug out in a heart-beat and half-expected to see Noemie tumble out of my room half-asleep shrieking in mortal terror. Thankfully, this did not happen. I closed all the doors and placed the machine on a rug, considered throwing some couch cushions over it as well but there as no time! No time! My dough was already looking displeased. So I turned the machine off and plugged it in and got ready with my 2 cups of lentils. Turned the machine on and poured in the lentils as the engine whirred doom and despair and small clouds of lentil dust escaped the various filters on the outside of the collection basin. Or was that smoke? I imagined the mill bursting into flames and realized that I was not within arms reach of a fire extinguisher. (An ENFJ always has a worst-case scenario escape plan ready.) It took me way longer than it should've to figure out how to open the darn contraption once it was finished. Dump, sweep, wipe, and I was (am) thoroughly coated in lentil dust from head to toe, in my lungs as well, no doubt. Put all the parts on again and ready for round 2, this time with the wheat. Knead the dough... waiting to see if it will rise... and now I will tell you about the babies.

Dominic has been climbing atop furniture since before his first birthday. As a four year old, he is climbing the walls, doing airborne flips from my bed's foot-board, and working on his long-distance jumping by leaping across his bedroom, over Cristovan who is playing innocently on the floor. No, this is not ok. I'm currently advocating a gymnastics class for "Look, I'm Spiderman!" We will also be beginning social skills lessons. Dominic has been getting bullied (again), and Danny didn't think my how-to-punch-bullies-in-the-nose lessons were entirely age-appropriate. Gotta quench that Spanish blood sometimes. Our modified lessons will be more like: How To Spot A Stink-Face and How To Respond to Stink-Faces. We'll also be working on our manners. When I say, "Dominic, it's bad manners to pick your teeth," the appropriate response will never be, "But I have a booger stuck in them."

Cristovan, while not exactly high-maintenance, is quite the picky person. At nearly 8 months he is just now reducing his wakings to one per night (Dominic had this down at 5 months, Noemie at 3 months). His doctor says he is under-weight but the child refuses to take a bottle under any circumstances, and dinner times are always a battle of wills. "I will you to eat this vegetable medley!" says I. "I will not eat it unless it tastes like peaches!" he responds inaudibly. Which is to say, he samples a smackering of every spoonful that comes his way, then violently swings his head to the side so that you can't shove the spoon in any further. He trusts nothing. And refuses even fruit if the consistency doesn't suit him exactly. A picky eater? My mother always wished I would have the blessing of knowing what it was like to have a child just like me. It's not my fault if he's underweight! His fat rolls haven't suffered on account of it yet, in any case.

Noemie wants to be a ballerina. A queen ballerina monkey. I am looking into this.

And... looking into the oven... am quite relieved to note that the dough did in fact rise!

Venezuela bound in T-16 days!

Happy 81st...I mean, 31st... I mean... birthday! to Danny's Abuela Sonia!

Doing puzzles in pajamas. This is the life.

___________________________________________

If the terms ISTJ and ENFJ are unfamiliar to you, then you have been deprived of the wealth of amusement available in the Keirsey temperament sorter a.k.a Myers-Briggs test, of which I have become such a self-proclaimed expert, that I can usually get you nailed down within 10 questions. Each of the four letters has only one of two options. The first letter, E or I, defines whether you're an extrovert or an introvert. Most people know this about themselves. The rest of the test is more interesting. Take the following quote from my blog, for instance: "ISTJ's don't go to Nashville on vacations to South Carolina." Danny, upon proof-reading my blog (as he always does because I'm so prone to saying stupid things), thought this was hysterical. Why? Because it's so OBVIOUS that trips to South Carolina are just that, trips to South Carolina. If you agree with this statement, then the last letter in your personality type should be a J. And your second letter may very probably be an S. If you find a trip to South Carolina to be a welcome opportunity to visit any other city within 200 miles of your destination city, then you are likely to have an N as your second letter. If you welcome the opportunity to visit such a city simply because you're on vacation and you may feel like it if and when the opportunity presents itself while on the trip, then you likely have a P for your last letter. If the answers to these questions seem very matter of fact to you, then you are likely a T for your third letter. If you felt any emotional impulse whatsoever to make a case for my cause, then you are probably an F instead. My mother, who is an ESFJ, calls me after all my disaster-story blog entries to advise me on disaster prevention. As she reads these very words she is probably reaching out for her phone.... Yes mom, I will never bake bread again without pre-measuring my flour. But I make no promises about the yeast.

You can read more about the temperament sorter in the synopsis on wikipedia or pick up a copy of Keirsey's Please Understand Me II, which has the formal test, and more in depth studies on the ways that different personality types drive each other crazy.