Randoms

I

"We could spend the day binge watching SHIELD"

"I prefer the term 'marathon watching'; binge connotates unhealthy behavior."

"Like sitting inside all day and watching tv?"

"Well, yeah."

II

"We are victims of Marvel... If only they'd churn out Sherlock the way they do Marvel Comics... Oh wait! Isn't Cumberbatch going to be in one of the new ones?"

"YES! He IS! ... Take all my money, Marvel!"

III

"It's like all of the spiders just IGNORE. The. Treaty!"

"Reading isn't really an arachnid thing, Yellie."

"It needs to be. Because otherwise being squished by a Nike is TOTALLY a thing. 'Just Do It?' Don't mind if I do!"

IV

"Look at this photo. It's a ray migration. So many stingrays. I'm kind of freaked out."

"And then you remembered that you don't go in the ocean..."

"Oh! Because I don't like being at the bottom of the food chain!"

"... And the crisis was averted."

V

"There should be more fun names for groups of things. Like a group of crows is a murder. There should be more like that."

"Like a group of zombies would be an UUUUUURG."

"A group of politicians would be a sleaze! 'Did you see that huge sleaze of politicians?' 'Yeah, Congress is in session.' "

"A group of rappers is a bling."

"A group of celebrities would be a cah-ching!"

 

Will You Stand? (For Charleston, and Everywhere Else)

One of my friends on Facebook posted the below:

Heather Marie shared Jim Zerbe III's photo.

25 mins ·

Jim Zerbe III

COME ON PEOPLE, LET'S FLOOD FACISTBOOK WITH THE STARS AND BARS!!!!!!!

And I thought, I should probably let this go.

But then I didn't.

• • 

    Danielle Hayes I don't understand why you would want to do this, and it saddens me.

    Like · Reply · 27 mins
  • 

    Heather Marie Its history it deserves to stay

    Like · Reply · 15 mins
  • 

    Danielle Hayes It has everything to do with colour. I lived in North Carolina for three years, in an area where the Klan is alive and well. In nearly every Confederate State's documentation withdrawing from the U.S. is language decrying the rights and humanity of people of colour, and stating that slavery is a God-given right since "the black race" is inferior and subservient. That flag should be to this country what the swastika is to Germany -- a symbol of organized and institutionalized bigotry, ignorance, and hatred that has no place in a country that does not need to be further divided. 
    
    It should not be removed from our history as a country. It is important that we be reminded that we have overcome a period when it was legal to exploit, use, and destroy fellow human beings for the sake of profit. It should, however, be removed from our present in the same way that Germany doesn't fly the swastika over its government buildings. It is part of the past that has no place in a present. Bigotry and intolerance and yes, racism have no place here, and neither does this flag.

    Like · Reply · Just now · Edited
    
    
    

  I didn't let it go because I have friends in Charleston who were devastated by what happened in their hometown, in the city that they love. 

I didn't let it go because some of my favorite people in this world are people of colour, people who would have been enslaved and exploited and harmed under that flag.

I didn't let it go because I have friends who have children who are people of colour, and who deserve a home country that doesn't fly a flag ANYWHERE that indicates that they are less than perfect and valid and wonderful and WORTHY.

I didn't let it go because when you have a voice, you need to use it to speak up. Because you need to stand up for others. Because you need to do what's right, right in that moment.

Because love is more important than hate, and needs to speak more loudly than hate. 

Will you stand?

Being the Grown-Up

It wasn't long after we started having him spend the weekends when the Wee One, The Fella's son, said "I am supposed to ask a grown up before I something something something." I don't remember what it was that he wanted permission to do; it's completely escaped me because he was looking at me when he asked.

Because I was supposed to grant or deny permission.

Because ... and this is so weird ... I was the grown up.

Now, those of you who have children all of the time, who signed up for parenthood legally or who had a child exit her body (or who is the proud partner of someone who did) are probably laughing your ass off at the idea that while the Wee One was looking for me to reply,  I was looking around to see who else would be qualified to say "yes" or "no" or "maybe later" because I did not want those doe eyes staring at me, expecting that I would know what to do in any situation, let alone EVERY situation.

Or maybe you're not laughing. Maybe you're nodding sympathetically because you've been there too. Like when they sent you home with your own wee one for the first time without an instruction manual or a supervising adult because -- guess what? That's YOU now! GOOD LUCK HAHAHAHAHA!

I keep thinking maybe it's easier if the wee ones don't arrive in your life kind of sudden-like, if you have time to get used to the idea. "Okay, in about forty weeks there's going to be a child.  Okay. Um. I need to ...buy some stuff. And read some books and watch some videos and ....ewwwww, okay, no more videos... and, you know, prepare for this. But an infant won't know that I'm winging it, and by the time she's old enough to figure it out maybe I'll be, err, LESS winging it. Which would be good, since I totally don't want this kid to realize right away that I am TERRIFIED right now."

Sometimes I am terrified, even though, as the Wee One himself has pointed out, I'm not his mom. I'm his Yellie. We're both figuring out what that means, but here's what I know for sure:

It means that he expects me to know answers.

It means that I have Legos in my purse for when he's having a super good day.

It means that he wants me to read him stories sometimes.

It means that I worry about his schooling and what the future holds for him.

It means that he thinks I am an excellent baker.

It means that I've sucked it up and started to bake things.

It means that he snuggles up to me on the love seat.

It means that I love his little face.

It means that he thinks I'm a grown up.

And it means ... that I think I'm learning how to be one.

Sort of.

Slowly.

In the meantime, if you want to play with some Legos, I've got some in my purse.

Mutual Appreciation

Some people are wordy people. For example, I am clearly a word person. I like to use language in a variety of  formats to express myself. I'm the girl who writes cards and letters and long, grammatically correct texts and ... oh yeah, a blog. I like words.

Some people are not wordy people. Some people are action-oriented. They will do rather than say.

For the record? These are both valid ways of being.  One is not better than the other.

Let me just say that again, in case you missed it:

One is not better than the other.

Oh, but we like to think one is preferable, don't we? If you're a word person, you believe that words are the pinnacle of expression. If you're an action person, you don't understand why some people can't appreciate or see a gesture and understand what is expresses.

I see this a lot in the relationships around me and find that it is the source of a boatload of frustration; people failing to hear -- or see -- what a friend/ family member/ partner/ coworker / whatever is expressing to them because the mode of communication is not the one that s/he primarily uses.

As an example, let's look at apologies.

Word people will apologize with words. All of the words. They will say it. They will write it. They may sing it. They will tell you, in no uncertain terms, that they are sorry, so very very sorry, and will do their best to try not to do whatever the thing was ever again. EVER.

Word people think other people should apologize this way, and if someone doesn't apologize to them in this fashion, they're usually (mostly) convinced that the other person is not sorry, not even a little, and is in fact a colossal jerk.

Action people? Don't usually get what all of the fuss is about. They might not verbally apologize. Instead, they will demonstrate their regret about what happened through gestures -- some big, some small, but clearly there. The verbal apology is not what's important to them, but showing that they're sorry is; because of that, they don't necessarily enjoy a word-based apology. They want to see something happening that shows you're sorry and, if they don't get that? They're usually (mostly) convinced that the other person is not sorry, not even a little, and is in fact a colossal jerk.

The problem isn't that the world is full of colossal jerks. The problem is that so few of us take the time to appreciate each other. The problem is that we get so hung up on our way of doing things -- what we think of as the "right" way -- that we can't see past being right to see -- or hear -- the way the people in our lives are expressing themselves and appreciate it.

And it's important. It's important to understand that there are a million -- a zillion! -- ways to tell someone you love them, or that you're sorry, or that you're angry, or proud, or whatever you are, and that no one way is the correct way. Yes, if you're a word-oriented person, it's great to hear that someone loves you,  but it's also really amazing to see it in action.

Ideally? We'd all back up all of our words with actions and our actions with words. However, that's not how most of us are wired.  There are a lot of people who can't say what they feel, but they can show it.

We need to appreciate each other more, I think. All of us. In each and every way we can express ourselves.

Push and Pull: a Conversation

It just got to the point that I realized: no one here is happy. He's not happy. I'm not happy. So I thought, what would need to happen for us to be happy? Really happy?

And what did you decide?

That there was nothing we could do. It wasn't anyone's fault, when it comes to it. It was just -- he kept waiting for me to want the exact same things he wanted. To hold onto all of his priorities the way he was holding to them. He had this idea in his head of who I should be and how I should be that way and that wasn't matching up with who I am. 

That's a hard thing.

I tried. I mean, he could be right, couldn't he? Maybe I should try to meet his expectations.

It doesn't work like that, though. One person can't do all of the bending. Compromise is a multi-party endeavor.

I know. I started to get mad. Like, how come my way isn't okay? How come my priorities and expectations and the things I want and need matter less than yours?

He thought you would change.

And I guess that I thought that he would, too.

People change all of the time. Change is a thing. But -- you can't force someone to become what you want. You can't expect them to. That's not fair.

I feel like a dope.

Oh sweetie. Your're not a dope. You just -- okay. You started out down the same path. Right? Like, holding hands and occasionally skipping and singing songs. That was good. That was great. But then you started to notice the scenery; the flowers and the animals and the trees were interesting to you, so you were, like, tugging on his hand -- look over here! Come and see! -- while he was looking at something down the road, totally walking forward and pulling on your hand -- stop lolly gagging! Look what's just ahead! And you can't... If you can't both give a little? Either someone is getting dragged along, which is not awesome, or your hands just pull apart. It doesn't make either of you bad people? It just means that your paths are going different ways now.

And that's okay? No. That's okay.

It IS okay. You'll be okay. You can meander and dally and check out the daisies and stop being force marched down the wrong kind of path while you figure out what the right one is, and maybe you can also -- not today, but eventually? -- wish him well on his.

I'm going to be fine.

You already are.

F'ing Perfect

Since I posted Love. Story. people have been interested in how the Fella and I are doing.

Here's the deal, y'all.

Neither of us are perfect. I tense up and go silent when I'm upset.  He has a tendency to lose track of time.  I get overly emotional and crazy when I feel like there's clutter. He would rather gnaw off one of his limbs than attend a wide variety of social events.

We're not perfect. We both have baggage and issues and ... stuff.

But ... and here's the thing ... that baggage? That stuff? Makes us perfect for each other. Our crazy lines up just right.

And that? Is magical.

Of course, I continue to maintain that I recognized it when I was FIFTEEN and it took him, like, forever, to catch up. (Because I TOTALLY did.)

So if you're wondering how things are?

They're imperfect.

Which is what makes it perfect.

Enough

The Fella and I live in a studio apartment. As far as studios go, it's actually pretty spacious and interesting. There is a galley kitchen that is a goodish size, and the bathroom is practically roomy. It's also a unique shape, and that allows for some nooks in which we could tuck bookcases (because we're book people, and need to be surrounded by them).

For all of that, though, the reality remains that it's essentially one large room. It's a dining/living/bed kind of a room -- it's the Swiss Army knife of living areas. Except for the door to get in and the bathroom door, there's no way to escape from anyone else or to shut anyone out. It's all right there.

When I moved in, of course, there was no Fella. When I moved in, I didn't even have a cat. It was just me and the room and my thoughts. I loved it. I loved the way the space flowed and purposes intermingled. I would pour a glass of wine and sit in the windowsill and watch the waterfall* and listen to myself as I remembered how to breathe -- really breathe -- after one of the more challenging periods of my life.

This space helped me to find peace when peace was a thing I had been missing.

Then I got Lizzie B, because this space without a cat was awesome, but this space WITH a cat? Would be phenomenal. She's a little cat -- so little, in fact, that I often call her Little -- but she made a huge, furry, loving, purr-tastic impact on my tiny home. She made me laugh.

I needed to laugh more, too. And now I was.

And then -- the Fella arrived in my life. Which, while awesome, was also terrifying. Tiny space. Two people. No way to escape. How would this work? What would I do if it DIDN'T work? I adore this man. What would I do if I needed space? There IS no space!

We made it work by not making it permanent. We'd try two weeks, we said, and see if it worked. Then we decided we'd try, like, a month. Then a season.

It's been about a year.

As hard as it is to believe, the space issue is not often a problem. We don't get in each other's way. We don't fight. Our most significant issue is, really, that we could use a closet. And more bookcases.

Despite that, I sometimes think about getting a bigger space. Maybe one with -- and I know this is crazy -- an actual bedroom. Another closet. More walls for bookshelves. You know, important things.

Sometimes.

But then I look at the waterfall, and watch the cat fall asleep in the sunshine on the windowsill, and I think about how hard-won that sense of peace has been, and how cozy the apartment that we have made our home really is. I think, So what, we have a lot of stuff in storage. So what, we don't have doors. So what?

We have peace and laughing and a tiny tabby and love and a freaking waterfall.

Is it enough?

It's more than enough.

*because, yeah, I have a freaking waterfall outside my windows. I'm that fancy.