compromise

Eleven Things Only Type A People (And Those That Love Them) Understand

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ 1 Comment

During a recent, heated conversation with my husband, I got slightly wound-up. It is totally standard for him to be cool as a cucumber while I flip out. I always tell myself I am going to stay calm, but it never really happens. He turned around, with an amused smile on his face and goes, “So, you know how hard it is to love you sometimes, right? Kait, just calm down.”

Calm down!? CALM DOWN?! If there is one phrase that will instantly make it impossible to “calm down”, that is probably it! However, I started laughing right along with him. I actually had to sit down on the floor with tears in my eyes from uncontrollable laughing. Because I know he loves me no matter what, plus, I am super-annoying and high-strung. And he is totally right. (Hey, sometimes you just need to laugh at yourself to get a new perspective.)

Competitive people can’t help it. I annoy myself right along with everyone else, if we are being honest. I want to just turn off the constant list of potential failures running through my head. I wish I could comfortably go to bed and fall asleep after coming in second place, but instead I will lay awake and analyze every move I made that landed me behind somebody else. I check off those boxes of various failures, agonizing over each one, vowing to never allow that to happen again.  I will fall asleep eventually, promising myself to be the best next time. Then I wake up the next day and begin holding myself to that promise. It is exhausting.

Welcome to my type A life. #thestruggleisreal

I have matured to realize that some people just hate my confrontational nature. I think my personality is misunderstood. I am not trying to knock anybody else down, I am just trying to muscle my own way up. I get that this rubs people the wrong way, but I’m not changing anytime soon. I can’t sit back and let things play out. I can’t let go of the reins. It is too difficult for me to watch a train wreck unfold before my eyes, knowing that a little bit of effort on my part might have changed the outcome. I so badly want to be a super-cool, laid-back, type B who doesn’t give a crap – but it’s never going to happen. I am too much of a control freak, and I am waaayyy too competitive.

So without further ado, let’s get to the bottom of why us type As are just so hard to love:

 

Eleven Things Only Type A People

(And Those that Love Them) Understand

1. You have to win. At everything. EVERYTHING.

GPS time of arrival? Nope. That’s time to beat.

Fitbit’s Daily Showdown? A.k.a. I run on the treadmill until I am in first place, or die trying.

Fantasy football? If Freeman isn’t cleared on that concussion for another week, I will personally take down the entire Atlanta Falcons organization.

Mini golf? I NEED to get a hole-in-one, just so I can tell you to suck it.

Bake sale? My brownies better disappear like lightning. Please, God, let people buy all my brownies!

Foot race? Don’t make me laugh. Enjoy the taste of dust.

I could go on, but I am sure you get the point. Daily life is a contest, and losing is failure.

2. You cannot rest until your daily to-do list is checked off.

Husband: Why don’t you stop folding laundry and relax?

Me: Because I need to finish it.

Husband: Why can’t you finish it tomorrow?

Me: Because it is on TODAY’S to-do list, idiot.

Husband: Now that you are done folding laundry, why don’t you stop pacing the room and watch this show with me?

Me: I only need 628 more steps to overtake Tiffany R. in the Workweek Hustle! I am too close to victory to sit! (See item 1.)

Husband: You need help.

3. Throwing parties consumes your life.

My youngest is turning 4 in July = CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!

I will not rest until our backyard is transformed into an ice palace, the cake is a perfect depiction of Olaf, all the guests have become real-life replicas of Elsa and childhood dreams have come true.

4. Same goes for any holiday, really.

Christmas spirit, Pinterest valentines, Easter magic, leprechaun mischief, Halloween overkill…..When it’s holiday game time, you GO BIG OR GO HOME!

5. Home renovations = convincing yourself your home will someday be featured on HGTV.

My poor husband actually thought our bathroom reno was finished. I whipped my head around at this statement in disbelief! (Is he even looking at this unfinished room?! The walls are bare!) Then I informed him he would be installing crown molding and assisting me while I agonized over where to hang which pieces of wall decor….for 3 straight days….until I snap:

Me: Get the kids ready, we have to go back to HomeGoods IMMEDIATELY. NOBODY can enter this house until this room clicks, because it simply cannot be seen like this!

Husband: You still need help.

6. You count your calories, and hate yourself for it.

Well crap. That glass of wine just put me over my caloric budget today. Looks like I am now faced with the choice of burning extra calories at 9:30 pm, or going to bed with a belly full of wine and extra helpings of self-loathing. Decisions, decisions….

7. A trip the gym is actually your own personal Olympics.

When your body combat instructor tells you to bring it up to level 3, you actually do it. Even though you think one of your arms fell off 10 minutes ago. Then you start walking for your treadmill cool down, but somebody hops on the treadmill next to you and starts running. Naturally, now you have to crank it back up and run another mile too. You have no other choice! You can’t look weak in front of your fellow fitness peers! That’s a gold medal, ladies and gents! Only the strong win the gold! (Again, see item 1.)

8. When people ask you to sign up for a “run/walk 5k”, you simply cannot.

Ummm….So it’s a race? But you don’t try to beat your best time? You let people pass you? Some people just walk?…..I’m confused. (Again, see item 1.)

9. Casual debates become a matter of life and death.

If you come at me trying to change my mind on an issue, I will unleash a rapid-fire rebuttal that probably contains statistical data and fact citations. If I care enough to research said issue in the first place, I also care enough to make sure I can support my stance when it is questioned. Just remember not to take it personally. It isn’t about other people being wrong, but entirely about me being right. (Again, see item 1.)

10. If company is coming over, your home must be perfection.

Click the video below to watch how I freak out every single time we host company.

“There cannot be any sign of LIVING in this house!”

So funny. So accurate. Borderline sad.

11. Your kids are on a schedule, and you LOVE it.

Every time someone comments how annoying your strict household schedule is, you laugh in their face as your kids go right to sleep at their assigned bedtime annnnd don’t wake up until the next morning. Yup. I just threw a *tiny* bit of shade. Couldn’t help it. Schedules are where it’s at!

(12. You are slightly annoyed that this is a list of eleven, instead of a nice, round number like ten. Apologies.)

 

So there you have it! My whole long list of competitive crazy. I get that I drive you nuts. I might even insult you on occasion. (It’s called tough love, my dears.) All of us control freaks know you would like us to calm the heck down, but we probably won’t be relaxing anytime soon!

Just know that if you are lucky enough to love one of us type A’s, we are going to pave the way for you (through some micromanagement) and cheer for you (as long as you’re doing it the way we instructed you) just as much as we annoy you! It’s not nagging, it’s actually encouragement – just with swear words and deadlines. 😉

Confessions of a Fantasy Football Housewife

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ Leave a comment

Fantasy football.

The mortal enemy to wives everywhere. It makes our husbands essentially useless for 1 full day and 3 full evenings per week. It encourages gambling, smack talk, beer drinking and sports bar frequenting. If your husband is nice enough to avoid those shameful activities, then he is most likely zoned out on the couch at home with (at least) 2 tablets or laptop computers monitoring fantasycast and the TV tuned in to the most important game of the hour. Hey, at least he is home to help if you need it, right?

HA! Such bullshit. It annoyed me to no end.

funny-fantasy-football-meme-61

There I was, in the throws of new motherhood, just trying my best to keep the infant and toddler alive. The house was looking acceptable at best, I was exhausted from getting up four times the previous night and my nipples were throbbing from this morning’s cluster-feeding. My toddler spilled her juice (for the second time) while simultaneously pooping her diaper mid-lunch. The infant was screaming to be fed yet again, (Are you kidding me?! How can she possibly be hungry?!) and it turns out I DON’T CARE IF IT’S NOON ON A SUNDAY IN SEPTEMBER! If he so much as checks his phone for football scores, I will file for divorce so fast the papers will be served by 1:00.

I didn’t used to be this way. We used to enjoy football together. We attended games and sports bars on Sundays. We celebrated big fantasy wins as a united front (His win was my win!) and watched games live instead of from the DVR. I even wore cute Bears apparel instead of spit-up-stained yoga pants.

I was a different girl before I became a mommy. Parenthood roared her sometimes ugly head, and turned me into a “momster.” How dare my husband care about something other than our children?! Those kids consumed every waking (and sleeping) minute of my life – so they damn well better consume his too. Nothing should be allowed to take away from someone’s shared responsibilities as a parent. It is definitely not fair to expect your wife to spend half her weekend working just as hard as she does during the week while you loaf around checking scores and ripping on your friends. Man up, husbands of America!

With that being said, I am going to let my fellow momsters in on a little secret:

Those years of Sunday Hell are limited! There is light at the end of the tunnel, and eventually your Sundays will be fun again. So turn your tired faces up to the autumn sky and let that cool sunshine fall upon them!

In a few short years your kids will be able to eat real food without assistance. They will be fully potty trained and sleeping through the night. They will even be capable of entertaining themselves for an hour or two. You will have time to get some laundry done and straighten the house before the games start at noon.

It will get better, and when it does, join a fantasy league.

I know what you are thinking, “Say what?! Start playing fantasy football? But I loathe fantasy football!” Girlfriend, you are wrong. You hate your husband playing fantasy football. YOU playing fantasy football, however, is amazing. Now you can care just as much about the games as your husband. You are going to have to take turns tending to the kids.

“Babe, don’t you hear Emmy screaming for a snack? I have Foster and Lacy both playing right now, so you better go take care of that.”

Magic.

You get a little secret thrill when your team wins, because you did that. You researched your players and pulled an amazing second-stringer off the waiver wire as soon as his first-string counterpart was declared out for the season. You get to sit back and watch with pride when your quarterback throws touchdown receptions. Suddenly, all the games are important – not just the Chicago game. You have to keep an eye on your whole team. Thursday night? Bring on the hot wings and beer! Sunday? There will be chili in the crock pot all day! Monday night? Can I get a repeat on the hot wings and beer?! There are football games to watch, babe! Fantasy football brings marriages together – Unless it is the week you play each other, in which case I recommend declaring the kitchen as neutral territory, because the living room is a battlefield where shame is left at the door – Other than that week, your husband and you can cheer each other on during wins and support each other through some tough losses.

For example: There I was on a Sunday morning, projected to win 120 to 88. I swaggered into the living room at 11:55 AM, sat back and put up my feet, feeling confident and ready to soak in my impending, glorious victory. Suddenly, to my horror, I was watching in hopeless despair as both my best running back and quarterback went out in the first quarter with injuries. Then, choking back tears of frustration when I saw the final score for my defense was NEGATIVE FREAKING FIVE. That sealed the deal on this unforeseen loss. My quarterback, running back and defense combined scored me a whopping -1 points that day. My total score that week was 37 damn points. I am shuddering with embarrassment thinking about it: The worst loss ever recorded in fantasy football history. That was a bad time for me, but you know what? It just brought Cody and I closer. He was there to pat my back while gently murmuring, “It’s OK, babe. You can’t win ’em all. You can hit the waivers Tuesday morning and pick up some good replacements. Don’t worry. You can still make the playoffs with a couple losses under your belt. Here you go, have a glass of red. I’ll order pizza for dinner.”

I felt so much better after that. He really knows what to do to cheer me up. I just love him.

Sooooo, momsters…..Are you still hating on fantasy football??? Didn’t think so. Go ahead. Join a league. Fulfill your competitive needs. High five your husband as you bask in your hard-earned victories and come together as a couple in your losses. You never know, you might even win some cash in the end.

science
(Photo: found on pinterest.com via fantasysportsicon.com)

Cash you can use to buy a new football Sunday outfit that doesn’t have spit-up stains on it. Ahhhh. Sweet victory.

Mrs. Cody Yoder

~ Kaitlyn @ Doing Dishes Making Wishes ~ 1 Comment

Do you like that title?

I don’t. Where is MY name? Oh, that’s right! I am married now, and according to the traditional rules of society, I am no longer Miss Kaitlyn Novak. (Remember her? The name I was able to use my whole flipping life? Like 29 years of it?)

Why in the heck do women even get married anymore?

This isn’t about love. Of course I love my husband. It isn’t about disrespect. I respect him too. It is about being an individual in a relationship. Go talk to some married couples, and I will rest my case. With at least one of those couples the whole conversation will go:

“WE think…”

“WE support…”

“WE believe…”

“We don’t like…”

“WE are available…”

Ugh! Get out of each others rear ends! Go find yourselves some different opinions! What do some of you married couples even have to talk about if you already agree with everything that comes out of your spouse’s mouth?!

As far Cody and I go, the two of us have VERY different opinions on pretty much everything. I swear. You name it, we disagree about it. Politics. Food. Religion. Picture frames. The kids. Money. The house. Sports teams. TV shows. Decorative pillows. How to drive. How to sleep. How to breathe. And probably eight hundred other things that aren’t even coming to mind right now. We debate and roll our eyes at each other pretty constantly. It is just what we do. It has been that way for as long as I can remember. I like it that way though. It keeps us both interested and on our toes. I don’t need him to agree with me on everything. It has worked out so far. We challenge each other, and usually end up finding a middle ground that works for both of us.

This was not the case when it came to my name change.

Before the wedding, we briefly discussed it. I said I was going to hyphenate. He said that it would mean a lot to him for me to take his name and blah, blah, blah. I think I muttered a “mmhmm” in a noncommittal way, and avoided the topic after that.

I know. Real mature, Kaitlyn.

Truth is, I don’t get it. The whole name change excitement. I saw a girl I knew from college post a selfie on Facebook literally seconds after saying “I do” with a caption that read:

“You can now address me as Mrs. So and So! (excessive hashtagging and emoticons)”

This post was immediately followed by the “official” name change on her Facebook profile. (What marriage license? What social security office? NOTHING is official until it’s posted on flipping Facebook. NOTHING.) Now her profile reads a completely new name that I won’t remember, because the whole time I knew her with her maiden name. I will probably delete her by accident, because I will see her name pop up on my news feed and not know who the heck she is. Oh well. But it begs me to ask questions:

Why are women so eager to lose their individuality the minute they get married?

Who gets a secret thrill when being called “Mrs. So and So” like their mother-in-law?

Can we still live happily ever after without our husbands overshadowing our own identity?

Cody and I got married last June, despite that vague name change discussion. I wore the dress, said the vows and toasted the champagne.  We came home and resumed our lives. I remember being relieved that we had managed to keep our same daily rhythm after it was over. Prior to getting married, I had been afraid that marriage would upset the happiness we already had. Some of that happiness, at least on my part, came from the independence of not always being identified with my husband. I was just me, not the other half of someone else. I was afraid I was going to lose myself to my marriage. I think the name change was symbolic of that fear. The woman I once was would die the minute we were pronounced as Mr. and Mrs. Yoder.

I remember opening our wedding cards and finding checks made out to “Cody and Kaitlyn Yoder.” I hadn’t run out to change my name the minute the wedding was over, so I endorsed them twice (once as Kaitlyn Yoder and again as Kaitlyn Novak) so that the bank could put the deposit through. The teller cheerily reminded me that all I have to do is bring in my marriage certificate and updated driver’s license next time, and they could take care of the name change for me. That way I wouldn’t run into this problem again. Then finished it off with a “Congratulations, Mrs. Yoder!” and a wink. That poor, bubbly girl. I think I actually scowled at her. I was only two days post-wedding and this crap was starting!? I drove home muttering profanity.

One month after the wedding, joking started on Facebook in regards to the lack of the “official” name change. Cody’s family started asking him why I hadn’t changed my name yet. Friends and family casually brought it up. It was a constant discussion. Some agreed with me. Others didn’t.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

“It’s just a name.”

“It’s just the way things are.”

“I changed my name. It wasn’t hard.”

“I was actually happy to take my husband’s name.”

Well…..La-Di-Da for you.

Of course, Cody thought they all made valid points. Being the (only slightly) stubborn individual I am, I decided then and there during that conversation that I would probably never, ever change my name. I would be Kaitlyn Novak for all eternity. I dug in my heels, and clung to my name for dear life. The rules of society are stupid, and I was not going to be another one of those idiot girls flaunting the fact that I gave myself to a man in holy matrimony. I was one prying question short of a full-on bra burning! Feminism! Equality!

The months went by. Cody would bring it up on occasion, and then I would promptly unleash an angry diatribe about the oppression of women. (I might have a flair for dramatics.) He would get mad. I would already be mad. It wasn’t pretty. What I had feared was happening. We were losing our happiness to this dumb marriage. I’ll be darned if I was going to lose my name too!

Finally, Cody took a different approach. He asked me to explain the real feelings behind my hesitation to change my name. Once I was finished, he told me he would still like me to be Kaitlyn Yoder someday. He told me how much it would mean to him. Then he told me he would try to understand where I was coming from, and that he was okay with me taking my time. He promised to never bring up my name change again, as long I promised to think about it and tell him if I honestly wasn’t going to be able to go through with it. I remember feeling relieved. We didn’t have to talk about it anymore. I didn’t have to be treated like a science experiment because I got married wanting to live happily ever after with my husband and my maiden name. Seven months after the wedding, we had found our middle ground.

Once I didn’t feel so cornered and pressured, I was able to think about the name change a little more rationally. It would be easier to be identified as a family of four with the same last name. I wouldn’t have to explain any confusion on legal or financial documents. Most importantly, it would make my husband really happy. I didn’t have to lose my sense of self, just my maiden name. I came to terms with it, and I sucked it up. I went to the social security office. I went to the DMV. I went to the bank. I updated my credit cards, library card, insurance cards, gym membership, and whatever the heck else. I made a new email address, because my regular one had my maiden name in it. I practiced my new signature so that I would stop accidentally signing “Kaitlyn Novak” on everything. The cherry on top of this pain in the neck? I changed my Facebook profile name. Because it just isn’t official until it’s Facebook official.

My husband was over the moon, and my kids were pretty excited too. I will never forget the day I taught Avery my new last name, because it was too cute.

“Mommy, now you are Kaitlyn Yoder? Just like I am Avery Yoder? And daddy is Cody Yoder? And Emmy is Emmy Yoder? We are all the same!”

Leave it to my four-year-old to melt my heart over an issue that a few months prior was driving me to lead a feminist movement!

I will never be as thrilled as my college Facebook friend that I changed my name, but I am glad I made the sacrifice. After all, marriage is about sacrifice and compromise. Finding the middle ground where both of you can comfortably stand. It is a good thing Cody and I had plenty of practice debating everything else over the years, otherwise we might not have known how to find our middle ground.

Love,

Mrs. Cody Yoder