I’ve made a big deal in the past about being the only girl in a house of boys. I wrapped myself in the Queen title as if it were a major part of my identity and even tried to get a little series going on this site.
I *just* this morning realized that my husband is a lone introvert in a house of extroverts. How did that never come up before? Because HE NEVER TALKS ABOUT IT.
As my oldest son ran past the clock in the kitchen to ask me what time it was, my littlest one was wearing a Spiderman costume and asking me whether he was, in fact, wearing a costume. It might have been hard to hear that over my middle child yelling from upstairs that he needed help finding a LEGO.
My husband laughed (quietly) and shared that he would rather try every independent means before asking for another person’s help and that none of the rest of us were like that.
Whoa, truth bomb.
I responded that he was lucky that I had Whitney for a friend, because she and I are yammering away all day long, on multiple channels (now, on snapchat!), and he was spared so many of my syllables as a result.
And then I drove off marinating on this situation as my two-year old sang every song, asked me about all the stuff out the windows, and then recited his exit from the car seat. Of course, I’m not sure how I feel about this revelation and I’d rather write or talk before I think it through too far.
What’s the ratio of introvert to extrovert in your house?
The photo above was taken when I was in a bubble at a county fair and it’s the nearest I’ve ever been to keeping my thoughts inside my own head, because in the bubble, nobody can hear you scream.
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