Category: Kaiser Mommy

Nov 18

NaBloPoMo 14 Nov 14

Heather Spohr and I have the same chair. Which is something I have loved. Sadly, my cats have also loved it as their favorite scratching place.

Today I bought a super lame throw cover thing and did my best to staple the edges (till the staples ran out. Of course.)

The animals still adore it.



Nov 13

NaBloPoMo 11 Nov 14

A couple of lifetimes ago, I rode in a limo with Shelly Kramer and and Brene’ Brown.

I heard Brene’ speak, I had her sign my books.

It has been years and I still remember that “at least” isn’t helpful and empathy and sympathy are not the same things.

I came across this brilliant video of her talk this week. Watch it, it will help.

Maybe this link.


Nov 11

NaBloPoMo 10 Nov 14

I looked at my living room this morning with dread.

image Then I took a breath, set the stopwatch and had it clean in 21 minutes, 29 seconds.

Lesson here is just freaking do it.


Jul 23

The Importance of Knowing Vocabulary Definitions

A few of us got in a heated discussion that stemmed from this article 17 Lies We Need to Stop Teaching Girls About Sex.

I say stemmed from, because the antagonist in this discussion/argument/soap box stroke out, may or may not have actually read the article prior to stating her opinions, however it did serve as the catalyst for this conversation.

I’m going to put the snippets most relevant to what I want to say here for you to read

Antagonist: You don’t want sex then stop opening your legs.

K: Oh dear dear dear dear! “You don’t want sex then stop opening your legs”????!!!! Rape, molestation, child pornography? Not opening your legs will prevent this???? EDUCATION will stop this. Dear dear dear dear….. I fear your above comments can be construed as extremely insensitive to all who have been victims of rape, molestation, sex trafficking, abuse, or pornography. Teaching respect for others, and that saying no is OK, and that it means NO, is essential for ALL people …

Antagonist: C’mon [K]. What is rape? When a girl says to a guy come and take me and then when he does and doesn’t pull out mid thrust he’s a rapist?

K: Technically, [Antagonist], it would indeed be rape. Just as it would, should the woman be initiating the sexual act, and the man desire to stop intercourse, but she continues, that too is rape. It does not require a degree, but it DOES require EDUCATION!

Tabitha: Oh. And for the record, yes, [Antagonist], what you described is rape. If one is having sex and says stop mid thrust and the other doesn’t stop, yep that’s rape. Don’t fucking forget it.

A: it doesn’t matter where in the thralls of sex you are, rape is nonconsenual sex, so after the word no is said, anything after that is rape.

K: And wives CAN be raped by their husbands, as well as husbands raped by their wives. Non-consensual intercourse is rape.

Tabitha: And females can rape females and males are raped too. The fact that we’re having to clarify these FACTS proves that we’re (as a society) lacking in sex education.

D:  Want a personal story? I was married (not to my son’s dad, to clarify, to the first one) to someone who, when I said “I need to be done here” took that as screw me hard till he was done. Neither of us had the sex education and vocabulary definitions to call that what it was. It was rape. I was raped by my husband*. It is completely damaging to be left bleeding and hurt and soaked in the semen of a man who is supposed to love and protect … who took vows before God to do just that… and didn’t. I may not have known what to call it, but I sure felt the damage of it for years. It has taken years and two wonderful caring men who cherished me and listened to me to move me past it… as far as one ever gets.

If you want to read the thread in its entirety – click away – but this is where my part comes in.

My first exposure to the concept of rape was when a college girl from our tiny town was raped by a stranger in the parking lot of her university. This seems to be what most of us think of as rape – some masked bad guy in a dark place who uses violence for sex.

As I got older, there was my friend who was raped in her school bathroom by someone with a knife. There is my Tabitha who woke up to a man she trusted with his hand inside her. There were these stories of women, and there was no gray area, I felt for them, I wanted to … do something for them to help.

I don’t talk about my first marriage. It stays locked in a dirty corner, ignored and hopefully composting into something useful. When absolutely pressed about why it was so brief I might or might not say “because sex shouldn’t be like date rape”.

But even the way I phrase that, belittles what happened to me. Which I did not realize until Sunday night when those words flowed right off my fingers.

My friends had no idea what door they were opening for me …

Someone says stop and the partner doesn’t. It is rape.

No one stuttered. No one threw out any gray areas. No one said, well unless he didn’t really mean it, well if you didn’t scream and struggle, well unless you’d let it happen before …

Someone says stop and the partner doesn’t. It is rape.

I never really knew what to call the messed up situation I had found myself in. I was ashamed, I thought I was broken, sexually frigid, claimed the problems as all my fault. Acted out, shut down, numbed out, you name it, I did it, all the while blaming myself for being broken, broken, broken, and unworthy of anything good.

* I realized after writing “my husband” that that was not true. We were engaged but not yet married. On our wedding day, I downed most of a bottle of vodka and tried to look happy for the grandmothers. When my dad tried to tell me how proud he was of me as we were getting ready to walk down the aisle, I looked at him and savagely said, “Don’t you DARE do that to me right now!” That bottle of vodka kept me from having sex on my wedding night, some four months later I sloshed most of another bottle down my throat and around the bedroom, trying so hard to be normal. A year later, I was gone, escaped the physical surroundings of that relationship, but stuck with the remnants for years.

So what was it? You know. I know.

I was raped. The end. No stutter, no gray, no apologies. I didn’t have the vocabulary or the understanding of what to call it 15 years ago, but I sure do now. After the healing from the shame and broken and feeling worthless, I have the word to name what happened to me. It was rape.

I write this to scream from the mountaintop of this space of mine




(For that matter, respect the silence, respect the I’m not sure, respect the I need to be done, respect the possibility that not everyone in that room is on the same page. Pay attention to who you are with.)

I went through it without knowing what to call it or that I could ask for help. I am still sometimes triggered (Walter trying to force himself on his wife in the kitchen during an ep of Breaking Bad landed me in the bathroom sobbing and angry and triggered and feral for hours ….. Friends naming their new dog the same name as the ex …. I love the dog, but I call him Voldemort …), but I understand why now. Finally knowing what to call it … The word Rape had no sting to it, more of a relief of oh at last I know what it is.

Be gentle with each other today mmkay?

Band Back Together has some good information about helping you or someone else heal after a rape or sexual assault.








Jan 08


Anxiety is the churning in my stomach that is connected to the tightening in my throat that is connected to the shallow shortness of my breathing that is connected to my whirling thoughts that are rooted in every fear I’ve ever known and failure I’ve ever feared and every imagined monster under every bed in the world of irrational thoughts that whirl through my head and my throat and my stomach and make me want to scream out but my throat is far too tight.


(Because Alyse needed help with homework interviews, and given what is to come in the next, oh, sixteen hours, this was appropriate.)


Jul 29

Play Your Game

I went to BlogHer this weekend as a Mic Wrangler, which means my job was to do my best to facilitate conversation while never ever letting go of the microphone.

This year was different, I took a friend who does not blog to Chicago with me. It was my first conference without Flinger or VDog or Lotus with me.

I attended five different sessions, a lunch and hit the expo a couple of times. My calling cards were stickers attached to buttons from Geek Details and Tab and I did our best to blanket the city with smiles created as people laughed at the brilliance of our Amanda Roberts.

I absorbed many pieces of wisdom, and did my best to stick them away in the brain rolodex for when I needed them.

I was happy this whole weekend.

It boiled down to one statement from Courtnee Westendorf.

“Play Your Game”.

Which, as much as anything in the last few years, would define where I have finally landed. On my own two feet, firmly planted on the ground, playing my own game.


Jun 04

The new face of friendship

Okay. So thats not really the right title but its as good as it will get.

I want to get back to writing so very much but my focus has completely shifted.

I really got rolling on the blogging when i was attached to the tiny human 24 7 and the friends in the computer kept me sane Six (seriously. Six) years later and i know how to find you. You are in my phone. My facebook. My email. My photos. My christmas card list (um sorry guys i still dont have cards sent out for 2012). I have stayed in your homes, actually crossing the entire continent to see you.

I want to write so badly but the stories I have are ones that you my heart friends read through so many other ways.

In six years, we have beaten trolls, mourned miscarriages, welcomed babies, buried spouses, buried parents … sadly … we’ve sat vigil and said our goodbyes to our friends together. Hunched over twitter waiting for the final word. There are divorces, affairs, broken hearts, new romances … I can’t think of a single wedding … OH Piper! Piper got married! We’ve talked about sex, bay-bee, we’ve talked about you and me . . . we’ve rick rolled and walked through temples together. New jobs, published books, prosecuted fraud. Our children have grown up … except for in those tragic times they haven’t. We’ve said fuck cancer – again and again and frelling again. When things have the gone the most wrong, we have raised tens of thousands of dollars to try to make it right for someone else.

This post was longer and more eloquent in my head the other night. But tonight in my haze of not awake not asleep and on my phone, I thought it important to whisper to you in this quiet space and let you know that my silence here is because im so loudly with you elsewhere.

I keep wanting to hatch a plan to do something WITH you. My house just isn’t clean enough to be able to focus on that plan yet. Someday… Someday …


Mar 30

Entering a new era

Omg. Have a real smartphone and i may just be able to blawg again! (Apologies for the lame post trying to make it work)


Aug 31

Right Now

Do you ever wonder how many times you will have to be hit over the head with a lesson before you choose to learn it?

This is where I am right now.

Back in April, my friend Carrie sent me to a site with guided meditations, specifically because there was one about opening my heart to love that she thought would help me.

Night after night I would pick one and listen. One was a focusing on finding some kind of answer. I went with the flow of it, and the answer that came was “you don’t have long.”

Which immediately scared me. It felt omnious. I tried rationalizing it into something else – like I don’t have long before this life I’m living changes … a new stage beginning … something other than the feeling there was a definite end in the not so far off future.

Right after that, came M’love and things were good. Life was different, clearly a chapter change from a few weeks before. I was finally able to learn lessons about love while I was happy, rather than in the deep. I could see a future, but was fully enjoying the day to day without some goal in mind for what the relationship needed to be.

I started doing yoga and immediately fell into pain. Hours of massage later I am finally better . . . and not doing yoga. Which is bad. I know the yoga was pulling up things that needed out. Liv gave me all the information she had on helping me through it, helping my heart with the grief working itself out.

Heather lost her Jackie! – A beautiful, brighter than the sun woman, younger than me – gone.

Talyaa found cancer raiding her body. She’s fighting back with an “I don’t have time for ‘somedays’” attitude, but is finding that the minute to minute isn’t fun – that the intentions are great and optimistic – the living it is harder.

M’love needed to hear that he could still be his own person, even with me. That he was welcome to build a man cave in his house, that our life together could actually take place not in each others’ spaces every available minute. He doesn’t see forever, he sees right now and wants to make sure this is all good in the moment. (Apparently that ‘carpe diem’ tattoo on his shoulder really did soak in for him.) Even though I think we used different words to mean the exact same thing, even though we are in the exact same place with what we want from this relationship, it still stings and still pulled me out of the safe happy zone I was in with him, and I’m working on getting back to the business of being happy in THIS moment, since this is the moment we know we have.

All of this has left me knowing I need to live right now, just do it, make today count, don’t put off till tomorrow what I could do today, seize the day, live in the moment . . .

Yet I’m not awake. I don’t know how to wake up. I get it, but I have not yet acted on it. I’m stuck in the gray.

Frankly I’m scared that if I don’t get myself woken up that something really bad is going to happen to force my eyes open. I’d really like to avoid that and just act on the lesson I can so clearly read.

And yet, my house is a mess, I have not yet begun running, my blogs remain quiet, my finances a disaster, my knitting remains unlisted, my thoughts are still unfocused… scattered… my heart is hollow… my mind is distracted ….

I need you. I need a restart. I need this Labor Day weekend to be a focus time to start and sprint for a while. My intentions are all lovely, but I need action. I need to act. Right now.


Aug 03

#BlogHer12 Days 1 and 2

I left my house at Oh Wow It is Early on Wednesday morning. Carrying Alex’s Chiefs Backpack as my carry on.

I arrived in New York for BlogHer12 at noon. Amazing Photographer Lotus and I sat in the bar, eating 25 dollar small plates of food and drinking 15 dollar drinks. (Red Wine and Vodka Gimlet respectively.)

Avitable, Greis and Amalah and her husband met up with us. I dropped a wine glass and broke it. I took photos of Loter and I.

I woke up Thursday morning, thankful for being smart enough to drink a lot of water and take a Vitamin I before going to sleep. Remember some OTHER photos I had taken with my phone, hit “delete” several times and then went about my day.

I wandered Radio City, Columbus Circle, Central Park, 5th Avenue and Times Square before coming back to the hotel to strip down, cool off, watch some Olympics and take a nap.

The conference began a little early because THE PRESIDENT, as in Mister Barack Obama, was giving a welcome address to attendees. I don’t care if one is Republican, Democrat, Purple, Alien or went to Chick fil A on Wednesday – BlogHer is my favorite conference, THEY see me as valuable enough to have me work with them FOR the conference, The President of the frickin United States sees THIS conference as valuable enough to take time to speak to all of us – I am a very excited girl. A link to President Obama speaking at BlogHer12.

I went to a meeting, kissed my Lori Luna (Vice President of Events for BlogHer). I met up with Andrea (always my Mommy Snatch, but officially Savings Lifestyle) and went to the SocialLuxe party.

I passed someone and asked, “Why does she look familiar?” Oh because she is Summer Baltzer from Design on a Dime. Right. Uh. Sorry about accidentally touching your ass. No really. I am sorry.

I met up with a bunch of Curvy Girls at SocialLuxe and also at Babeland. After getting sippy cups, clearly it’s  time to go to the classy sex toy shop. I really really liked the Soho store – it was clean, classy, the staff was lovely, showing us how to turn off toys when we couldn’t figure it out. We liked that they only had “the good stuff” and that you could hands on (I said HANDS ON, not snatch on) test things out to see how it felt, buzzed, and worked. After all, I think it is well established that me and mine know our toys.

This year, I decided to try something different – actual thank you emails for private parties. So I sent one to the SocialLuxe planner and to the Babeland planners – I’ve decided that after blogging for five years and being at four BlogHer conferences, that I am now the old guard, what with the lack of squeeing, and worrying about my shoes, so this year I will be gracious and really work on saying THANK YOU to people. So far so good. I like me better this way.

It is now Friday morning and I need to get up and get ready so I can find lunch with MARTHA FRICKIN STEWART and get ready to mic wrangle my first panel this afternoon. Loves ya’ll, miss those who aren’t here, but you know I will incessantly text you. xoxo


Jul 24

Who has your back?

I grew up in a world where Mom only locked the doors if we were going to be gone for more than one overnight. Dad left a spare key out where we could find it if we needed it – and that was to the business and the house.

I grew up in tiny villages (300 people) to small towns (5000 people) to a college town (18K – with all the students).

I didn’t start locking my car till my backpack was stolen freshman year of high school. Mostly I was pissed because I had a report in there that was completed and untyped and I had to redo it.

I didn’t grow up in a bubble – Dad was a mortician, a county coroner, death happened, it also paid the bills. Sitting at Dad’s desk meant risking seeing photos of “oh wow, that’s what happens when a Ford Probe meets a telephone pole …. daaaaaaamn.” Going to get him from “the back” sometimes came with the shock of realizing he was working on a tiny little person who wasn’t going to grow up.

I live in an Air Force town. War and fighting are relevant in the abstract. After 9/11, when the skies were quiet everywhere else, we had B2s flying east … and home again.

I did grow up without violence in my face – it belonged on tv and very rarely made it close to my life. I didn’t think about things like “tactical advantage“.

The first time I touched a gun was when I was dolled up for bridesmaid duty, I drunkly tossed my arm around the waist of my matching groomsman and my hand landed perfectly grasping the butt of his gun. As I did the sharp intake of breath, he said “smile” …. and I did. Brilliantly beautiful smile covering the OMGWTFBBQGUN reaction in my head.

After that, I started dating said groomsman. I learned about not wanting to have your back to a door, I got used to glowing nightsights in the dark of a bedroom, paperwork filed in triplicate in airports, having a meetup point if shit went south at a football game and we needed to beat a retreat.

It was a different way of thinking, I didn’t like it, I didn’t like looking at the world with eyes sweeping left to right and back again while being on the watch for crazy. I got used to it though. It was a way of life, and at the root of it was the knowledge that being aware meant we had each others’ back. Nothing bad was happening TO us if we could help it.

Now I am a good shot with a gun. Some guns. My accuracy varies widely. I know basics. Such as “always assume the gun is loaded and ready and treat it as such”, “only put your finger on the trigger if you intend to pull it”, “only aim it at something or someone you want a great big fucking hole in”.

Now I have to have conversations with my son about them. “See this? This is a gun, it is loud, it can put big holes in things and hurt people. If you want to see it, touch it, talk about it, you get an adult and we will explain to you anything you want to know. The gun sits on a shelf waaaaay up there where you can not reach it. Please do not try to get it alone – all you EVER have to do is ask and we will get it and teach you about it.” Calm conversation. Giving him facts he can understand, explaining safety, not creating fear, teaching respect.

In a circumstance of an intruder in my home, I’m fairly certain my response will be getting to Alex and bailing us out his window and running like the wind, all thoughts of bang behind me. I’m okay with that. In my head, my priority is having Alex’s back and getting us away from danger.

M’love is a raging rabid 2nd amendment fan. He has an assortment of guns, including the currently target for the anti gun crowd – the AR15. People are making points that AR15s are only for killing people … lots of people … no need for civilians to have them – Others are screaming 2nd amendment! 2nd amendment! Give me my weapons!

Here’s the deal as I see it. Ready?

Where is the limit of what weapons we want in the hands of civilians? On a continuum of Slingshot to Nuclear Warhead – where is the line drawn? Seems a reasonable way to go about discussion. Provided people are reasonable about it.

Which brings me to my next point. Reasonable people.

I held an AR15 last month. Shot it. Several times. Never had the urge to whip it around and shoot anyone. (To be totally honest, M’love snickered at one point and I did consider pistol whipping him with it… but that is another discussion entirely).

That man in Colorado? Something was sprung in his head. Take away his guns and he would have used bombs, take away his fuses, he would have used a vehicle, take away his vehicle and he would have used tomatoes. Somewhere along the way, he decided that mass murder was a good idea. I’m pretty sure he didn’t have a friend there who looked at his outfit and said, “Hey man, enjoy the show tonight, let me know if Christian Bale is still using the gargling marbles voice.”

I bring it around to this. We all need someone watching our back. We need to feel connected to a person or people or community. We need to give a damn about someone and want the best for them, want to protect them. We also need people who are looking out for us. We need the girlfriend who says, “I’m not going in public with you in that outfit”. We need the conservative/liberal opposites like I have with Mommentator. We need to remind each other to not be sheep when listening to the charismatic voices on the radio. We need the person who reminds us we have value when we feel like the whole world has gone crazy and is against us.

I believe focusing on the weapons is a mistake, I believe focusing on the people and what happened to lead them to that very messed up place is a better use of our energy.

We need people to have our back. We need to invest in others and watch their backs as well.




Jun 24

The one where I talk honestly about thinking about having another child.

It used to be simple.

Scout and I had Alex. I was exhausted, never wanted to go through pregnant and newborn again. He only ever wanted one child. He got his boy on the first shot. Done.

Then my dad died, I was destroyed, and the only thing that that let me survive that was my brothers. Granted, non-legal step-brothers if one wanted to be technical. Still. These men are the brothers of my heart, of my soul, and no amount of blood, nor lack of it, changes my family love for them.

Scout had no siblings – biological, of the heart, or otherwise. So he had no comparison, no drive, no longing to give Alex what I had.

We eventually came to the “let fate decide” point – schedule the snip n clip, if we are pregnant before then, another baby it is. If we are not – we are not, forever hold our peace. Before the appointment day came, we were separated and in different states.

My next two “relationships” if you will, were with men who: 1. Had boys already and 2. Had the snip n clip done.

Again, it was easy. With these men, there was no option of me birthing another child, and they had siblings ready built in for Alex. Simple.

Then I spent the next year alone. Can’t get pregnant alone, unless we are naming her Jesusette. Simple.

What little thought I gave to it, came down on the side of “Fuck no, I like my sleep, I love Alex, I never want to live through three again. Ever.”

When I went any deeper into it, Scout and I are golden in our agreements because we each only have Alex. We have no split loyalties with our love. All we do, focuses on Alex and that forever unifies us in our decisions. It allows to parent him beyond well, and together, same page.

No more children for me. Baby factory closed. The End.

Then God laughed, as he does when I make a plan.

Enter “Mine”. Who has a son. Who can look out at life and be open to the possibilities of more children. He also comes from a family of FIVE children (yes his mom is a brilliant saint). His perspective is wholly different.

Enter my hormones. The ones that raged out of control in an “I must have you NOW” fashion on a day where, if I had WANTED to make a baby, I would have done exactly what I did.


I am HOW OLD and apparently not responsible enough to put in a diaphragm or grab a condom? Fucking hell. I could blame raging horny hormones, but they wouldn’t be the ones nursing a hungry, angry baby and trying to work full time at a job that requires sleep, patience and love. *If* I even got to keep my job, as I live in a Bible Belt state where “moral turpitude” can kick you from a job working with young children if you do something frowned upon like, say, getting knocked up while not married.

The next 24 hours brought an order from for some Plan B and an appointment with my GP for some actual birth control.

I tell you ALL of that to tell you this -

I sat in that doctor’s office alone, waiting for her. I was contemplating tubal ligation, IUD, the pill, ready to hear whatever other options she had for me that would keep me from being pregnant in the near future.

I realized I HAD A CHOICE. My heart could be open to having another child. I HAD A CHOICE. Just like everything else in this last year – WHAT DID I WANT? This massive mountain of thought sat in front of me while I chewed through it. I HAD A CHOICE. It was ALL ABOUT ME. Wow.

Did I want another child? Well. The possibility was enough that I wouldn’t want my tubes tied. The possibility was enough, yet not enough, that I would know in the next five years – so I wouldn’t want an IUD.

The doctor came in and we talked about the shot – which if you are on for more than two years, they will want to take a bone density test because it can eat at your bones. Another guide – I would know in less than two years if I wanted another child.

Going through these options, gave me the parameters to know how long I would want to take to make this decision, and it gave me the freedom to know I actually could make my own decision.

My shiny new Nuva Ring, sat in my refrigerator, waiting the start of my period. I went through the horrifying thundercunt days of far too many hormones raging through my system, along with the stress of “am I? am I not?”

I was still sure that another child was no where in my plans – now, a year from now, two years from now.

I tell you ALL OF THAT to tell you this.

There was a spark in me.

A spark that said, “Hey. This would be okay. Ya’ll would have a sweet, adorable, little one. Mayhap even a GIRL. This could be a really good thing. It would all work out. This could be happily ever after.”

That stilled me, stunned me – after everything I have seen, survived, and done – after the walls of cynicism and fuck you have been built high and hard -

That girl still lives in me. That girl who can look at the world with so much hope an optimism. She lives in me. I thought she was so far gone. She is not gone. She lives in me. 

I am not a broken soul. I continue to have hope. I continue to find joy. I continue to have faith that no matter what, I am going to be okay.

Most important – I now know that deep down in my gut, I still believe in happy endings. I still believe in happily ever after.

Another child? Probably not, but I have some time, and I have a choice in the matter. I also have the optimism that whatever I choose will be right. For me and for us.





May 29

of epic hickeys and swim trunks

After the debacle of the boys and calling off men for the summer of 2012 and planning for all my romance to be of my own design with my girls … After deciding I loved my little house and my little life – I sat at my friend Amanda’s and I met a boy. Nice enough boy.

A month later I decided to make a play for the boy. As you do. Because you can. I put on a black dress that Piper sent me, I did my hair. I did accidental touches. I talked about tight jeans and red dresses. He later told me I was simply fishing with dynamite.

The next day we started chatting on facebook… then the texts… several hundreds of texts and he came over. Into the awkward of “oh, so this is how it is going to be . . .” The transition didn’t take *so* long though.

I was (and am) determined to show him who I am. Actual Me. Actual Dawn. One of the things that I like about him is he knows who he is. I finally know who I am, and I’m not going changing for someone. I’ve tried all my life to be “the girl” for “the boy” and funny how when I gave up on that and just let my own freak flag fly high, there was the matching flag to mine.

He is my geeky boy, of DnD and always skinny dipping with his crazy friends (the boys and the girls – shy my boy is not). Shooting things, skinning things, hard cider drinking, reading Fifty Shades of Grey against his will.

We quickly fell into “adore”. Studiously avoiding any use of any word that might start with an L. Too quick? Too hurt? Too crazy?

Too true.

A thousand texts and messages in, we were all dressed up at a party. On a crowded porch, we just kept looking at each other – and there it was. Oh shit. Yeah. THIS is happening. And it ain’t to toy with, and it ain’t casual and holy shitballs hang on, cuz this merry-go-round just got a whole new speed.

Determined not to say “it” first, I again broke my own rules and said, “If I tell you something, will you not run scared?” He nodded. I said, “I left adore behind a while back.”

He let out the laugh that knows. “Oh thank God, it’s not just me.” We let our our sighs of relief that while it was all new and scary and unexpected, it was also balanced and crazy and celebrateable (is too a word!)

The night before I left on my roadtrip, he declared I was leaving with a hickey so all the world would know I was his. I thought he was kidding. Won’t underestimate that threat again.

As I rolled the miles east, he texted he was with his friends. In the pool.

Bright green jealousy blasted across my world. Splatted with orange rage. MY BOYFRIEND. MINE. No naked pool time!

I tried to shake it off. Decided I wasn’t shaking off shit and replied with essentially the above thought. NO. MINE! Do not LIKE!!!!

He replied with “I am yours.”


I was armed for bear. Every vanilla lecture about modesty I have ever heard coming to mind. Things are different now! How can you not see! Raging against myself. MINE! Not for others to see! MINE! My inner toddler RAGED.

“Would it help if I told you I am in swim trunks?”

The white paintballs of peace shot and spattered across my jealousy and rage, covering them. Oh. …



I didn’t have to fight to be heard. I didn’t have to explain myself, my feelings, my argument. I didn’t have to be validated. There was no war of words. I did not have to beg to be understood.

It was simple. I am yours. He may have marked me as his own, but he also marked himself as mine with a yard of fabric and a hell of a lot of respect.

So my summer of 2012 will be filled with a different kind of romance. Still the girls and the me time, but also this boy who shows his love with words and actions – like epic hickeys and swim trunks.