*I've decided to add another prize --for the person who can correctly name every picture on my Valentine's Day post. Most of them are from movies; two are paintings. If you can get even close, I'll count it! Just don't go googling them and finding the answers --that's called CHEATING, dear reader. And we don't cheat on amazing blogging contests! Just make sure you put your answers in the Valentine's Post --NOT this one. Okay? Okay.
*Last night was our RS activity. It was combined with the YW in the ward, and we held an "Un-Talented Talent Show" and I have to tell you, it was FUN. We had people showcase things from reading a children's story, translating a letter from Italian to English (go Judi!), participating in a shoelace tying race, showing Zumba, signing (sign language), singing, and scooter-riding. The best performance, of course, were the two laurels who didn't text, giggle, or talk for one whole minute. Too funny! Display tables showed quilts, card-making, crafts, paintings, origami, canning, blogging, and I even showcased a few of my poems (gulp!). And then I did something I rarely do: I sang. I did it "Billy Joel/Elton John" style --I accompanied myself. But it wasn't jazzy --it was Enya, dear reader. I sang some Enya! The surprise was this: I decided one hour before the event to do it (I had never sung it before), I wasn't as nervous as I thought I'd be, and I actually did okay! Here's what I sang:
I am the worst kind of self-inflicted martyrs.
Martyrs are cool, though. Truly, in theory, and in reality, martyrs are the bomb. Paul, Joan of Arc, Thomas Moore, Joseph Smith Jr, etc. Martyrs should be celebrated with joy as well as the sorrow because their sacrifice only proves truth. Truly.
My martyr problems, however, are selfish and riddled with self-doubt, depression, and obsession.
Let's look at the latest example, shall we? Valentine's Day. I had spent the entire week before plotting and planning --I heart attacked Brandon's office while he was away at school, I put massive forethought into his gifts, I left him little Valentine's around the house, and... that's about it. But I don't go all out every year like this --for some reason I was feeling romantic. Which, now I realize, means that I want something romantic in return. Because obviously, that's what true love is, right? Doing something for someone you want for yourself? Right?
Anyway, Brandon got me this gorgeous necklace from San Francisco and gave it to me Sunday night when he returned. It was beautiful, I loved it, but I was put out. All day on V-day I was thinking about how he gave me my gift the day before and it wasn't really a surprise (it's my go-to gift now. Although I absolutely LOVE my go-to gifts, because let's be honest, they are beautiful, he's finally "got" my style, and it's sweet he would take the time to find something. Truly. I do love them!). So, I fumed in silence all day Monday thinking, "Oh, Brandon doesn't really love me! I'll get roses from the gas station on the way home from work and I'll have to pretend I'm okay with the fact that the romance is severely dead and look what I did for him! and he doesn't feel he has to try anymore, blah, blah, sob, sob, woe is me."
So. He comes home. He brings food for the kids, and he proceeds to make me Thai food and dim sum. Then he goes back out and brings in the biggest bouquet of roses and lilies I have ever seen. And then after dinner he goes back out to the car and gets the Magleby's chocolate cake. Then he shows me the movie he rented for the kids to watch downstairs and the movie he's rented for us to watch upstairs. He got Tinkerbell for the kids and Eclipse for us. And you have to know, dear reader, I haven't seen Eclipse yet, and it's Twilight, for heaven's sake, and so the fact that he rented it and was going to WATCH it with me equates true, true, true love! (Side note: I liked Eclipse better than the other two movies. And I like that my guilty pleasure is some Twilight. I think most of us would agree that it's our guilty pleasure. Note how I did not say obsession. I need to buy the soundtracks for New Moon and Eclipse now.)
Now, how did I feel after these events took place? Lousy. Grateful, but lousy. I realized that:
A. I had been completely unfair to judge his feelings for me based on a holiday.
B. I had been completely unfair to judge him before the day was even over.
C. I have a serious martyr complex and I need to GET. OVER. IT.
The worst and best of this problem is that I'm usually "suffering" in silence. Unless I call you to complain. But usually, I just murmur and gripe and moan and think unkind thoughts. The result tends to be the same: I feel stupid.
Luckily, my husband forgives easily. And laughs and loves me just the way I am.
Are you a self-inflicted martyr?