25 Ways You Show Me True Love

This weekend, Boyfriend turned 25. I came home for his birthday, our first full weekend together since New Years (long distance is the worst) with every intention of having the best couple days imaginable. 

Then, as I am wont to do, I got incredibly sick the details don't matter: what does matter is at one point I was crying my eyes out in discomfort and when Boyfriend asked if there was anything he could do To help, I realized nope. Nothing. Because he'd already done every last thing I needed, thought of everything I want when I'm sick or sad. That is some serious love right there. So instead of the usual "Happy Birthday You're Awesome!" Post I thought I'd share what else he does that makes me think "Yup. True Love, man." I decided to list one thing, in no particular order, for each year of Boyfriend's life thus far. 

I'm not joking when I say I got to 35 and realized it was a bit much. So. Without further ado . . 

THE TOP 25 TRUE LOVE LIST 2014

1.) Always asking for a straw when we're brought our drinks, because you know I don't like to appear prissy but also I can't drink from a cup with ice without risking hives (and that's weird to explain)

2.) Text messages that say "I love you," and nothing else simply because those three words crossed your mind, while I'm two states away. 

3.) The second serving of ice cream cake. 

4.) Thirty seconds before I announce I'm restless/bored asking if I had errands I wanted to go run or a new book I'd had my eye on or pointing out how nice a day it might be to go for a walk. Always knowing the fidgeting is coming. 

5.) Luna, Kind, or Lara bars always on hand and tucked in to my bag when I leave. 

6.) Holding my hand without having to look over, because you know that commercial/interview/segment/line/comment/joke/moment is probably making me cry. 

7.) Turkey burgers, pesto, and unsweetened iced teas where papa johns, cheese sauce, and Sierra Mist used to be. 

8.) Always loving what I've done to my hair. I mean genuinely grinning because you think it looks nice, and knowing exactly what's different, whether I changed how I wear my part or up and dyed it red. 

9.) Not seeing the newest superhero movie without me. {Most of the time}

10.) Seeing the latest Pixar/dance movie/cartoon with me. Occasionally before we make it to the aforementioned superhero movie. 

11.) Suggesting a girls night or that I call my best friend or skype the sibling who is far away or go watch a game with some of the guys from college because you understand when I need what other people in my life give me. And that as an extrovert, I do best with LOTS of people and experiences. 

12.) Understanding this career I've chosen is actually several careers in one. And they all require endless amounts of my time, focus, energy and devotion. Never resenting that. 

13.) Taking care of me - more than taking care of me. Pampering, spoiling, indulging. Even when at first it makes me feel guilty or uncomfortable: reminding me I am worth as much as you can give. That I deserve to feel special, and that isn't a trick. That I am allowed to have the things I want . . . And sometimes I don't have to fight for them until I'm too exhausted to see straight. 

14.) Not being suspect of my guy friends: understanding I was raised in an environment dominated by males, by sports, by pseudo brothers and eating contests, dirty jeans and fart jokes. That I was at the side of the mat (jujitsu and wrestling) when I was still in pigtails and my first round of "the talk" was around a campfire with a high school dude who didn't realize I wasn't asleep and suddenly had to explain himself. So despite teaching ballet (or perhaps because of it) I still gravitate to those sort of messy, loud, competitive environments and those guys with their beards, appetites and candor but I could never, ever love them the way that I love you. 

15.) Learning about triggers, trauma, and boundaries. Being willing to rework how you communicate and your definitions of supportive behavior. 

16.) Always putting the seat down, holding the door open, waiting until I'm seated, offering me the first bite, ordering second, and walking on the side of the street closer to the road.

17.) Making sure I know how beautiful you find me when I'm in yoga pants and a Celtics t-shirt with no make up to be found and my hair at its most Hermione as well as when I'm wearing a cute, trendy outfit, and when I'm in formal wear for a show. 

18.) An armful of my favorite bangles, one for every special event, holiday, opening night, and anniversary because you know how I love tangible memories. 

19.) Loaning me your headphones/charger/plug/flash drive. Because I've lost mine. Again. 

20.) Never even once in five years comparing me to any other woman in your life: not your mother, sisters, exes, friends' girlfriends or women on TV. Not even to tell me the ways I'm superior/things you prefer because you see me as myself - whole and unique and in competition/comparison with no one. 

21.) When the cramps are so bad I am crying {sobbing} {it's gross} in bed bringing me a bowl of peanut butter and chocolate chips the size of my face. 

22.) Giving up Walmart. Buying local. 

23.) Not participating in girlfriend/wife/partner bashing. I don't mean never complaining about me. I'm a handful and we're both human. I mean not engaging in those conversations that happen where everyone involved seems intent on making their claim that their parameter is the worst-most-annoying-most-frustrating-so-impossible and tearing them to shreds in the spirit of camraderie. Agreeing that behavior is toxic and no good for the relationship, even if the other party never finds out. That it diminishes the strength of legitimate complaints and issues that we may need to vent to friends about. 

24.) A netflix account saturated with wedding shows, old BBC gems, Classic Disney and half-watched stand up specials. 

25.) Being able and willing to say "I love you very much," even in the midst of a fight. 

And of course one to grow on . . . 

26.) Having the ability to make me laugh when I'm bawling, grin when I'm fuming, and bring me some piece of calm when the waves of anxiety are tossing me around like a rubber duck in a typhoon. 

Thank you, my love.

House Rules.

301. It's my apartment number, here at school.  It's also my home, in so many senses of the word.  It's where some of the people I love best in the world are.  It's where I put on sweat pants and a tank top and put my feet on the furniture.  It's where the music is always playing - Thing 1 (as I call one of my roommates) plays the ukelele and the guitar and is rarely found without one of them, Rose (the only other girl in the apartment) likes to teach herself songs on the piano by ear when she's bored or anxious, Thing 2 dabbles in everything and takes voice lessons, I am learning the ukelele and sing at least a hundred times a day and each of us goes through life with our respective iPods turned all the way up.  Here in 301 we have some rules.  They're listed below, and I think they give a pretty accurate summary of why I am in love with my apartment, my roommates, and the life we've built together.  So here they are, in no particular order.

301 House Rules

- We don't do goodbyes, only see ya laters 

- Pinky promises are law

- If it's not yours, don't eat it.

- Be brilliant.

- Courage

- We are the people who don't look away. 

- If it stays in the living room or kitchen for more than a few hours, it gets put on your bed to be put away.

- Friends are always welcome: on the couch, at the table, around the keyboard. 

- Adventures are mandatory.

-No one in the family is ever uncomfortable in their own space.  We stick together.

-Everyone does dishes.  The boys carry out the giant trash barrel since it was their idea.  Bottles and cans get recycled.  The apartment should never smell bad.  It's ok to suggest rearranging if you need a change or the vibe is funny.

-Sometimes you've just gotta flip shit over.  That's cool, just flip it back.  No hurry bro.

-Talk to each other.  Lack of communication kills relationships and families.

-Things that are always allowed on TV: Doctor Who, anything Shakespeare, anything involving ghosts, anything involving space, anything Hugh Jackman has ever done, Star Wars.

-The brita filter is never put back in the fridge empty.

-Don't put on the kettle without offering some to everyone.  Tea (and for the boys coffee as well) is a lifestyle and form of currency.

-Nutella is always welcome.

-Popcorn is made to be shared.

-Phones aren't part of family dinner.

-Naptime is to be respected, exercise is essential and the music corner is sacred.

-Every single day, sing, laugh, fight, dance, and dare.  Every. Single. Day.

*Welcome Home. *

Things That Make Me Feel Better (Even When The-World-Is-Ending-BooHoo-Poor-Me)

Sometimes things get messy.  They go wrong.  Sometimes it is when everything is moving along smoothly, your life is humming at an almost industrial pace and the sun is warm and the future is roses.  Sometimes - most times - it is when things are all ready pretty bad.

Too much to do.  No time.  So many needs.  No money.  Every ounce of me parceled out, weighed and measured and carefully divided, poured lovingly and hectically into the various people/places/things/goals that cry out for my attention.

That, for me, is almost always when the storm comes rolling in.  The last crack of lightning to an already fragile structure that stands no chance and simply bursts into flame.  In case you were wondering which you clearly weren't because I am so dramatic  last night was a lightning-strike kind of moment.  Why it was and the details don't matter.

Because less face it. . .  when shit hits the fan, it hits the fan.  The clean up is what matters.  I am still in the defecation-spreading-all-over-the-walls-in-blatant-disregard-of-my-orderly-life phase. . . but even still I realized as I sat here, stomach in more knots than a badly done cat's cradle, I have comfort.

In a Boyfriend who stops his entire world every time my silly fragile world comes unraveled.

A friend who knows from a three word text that something is wrong.  And quietly shows up in my kitchen, arms open to catch my crazy in a bear hug so tight I couldn't squirm away, forcing me to actually let go and . . . cry.

Comfort in jamming my headphones in to study the rest of the night away (no sleep was forseen) and being unable to ignore the ding of Facebook as another friend firmly instigated a totally asinine conversation.  I don't think I was supposed to know I was being checked up on, so. . . sshhhhh, ok?

A roomie who looked me in the eye and informed me of how strong and brave I am in her eyes, and demanded that I try seeing myself that way for a few seconds. I'm trying.

Opening my mailbox, where I have been collecting soft white envelope after soft white envelope, some traced with silver, others tied with dark ribbon, each containing a message of condolence for yet another friend who has lost a parent.  Everyday for two weeks I have gone down and placed my key in the lock, listening to the cool metal click open and expose the sadness neatly packaged in the gaping maw of a metal mouth my mailbox becomes.  Everyday I place my hand inside and offer a silent prayer thanking God for such a supportive community. I place donations in a small envelope and stack the sympathy on the edge of my counter, trying not to let my fingers linger on someone else's sorrow.  Today when I opened the mailbox, a bright yellow envelope greeted me, with cheerful, looping hand writing.  A note from a friend, who thought my mailbox (and heart) might need some cheer.

I find peace in the gently prying questions of my pseudo brother, who is maybe the only person alive who has found the right tone between soothing, insistent, and compassionate that will instantly make me open up.  Sometimes a lot of crazy comes out when I do.

There is the friend who saw me walking and knew from the set of my shoulders that my smile was lying.  There is such a strength in being transparent - the strength of being an Us and not an I.

Finding myself, instead of running my scene from A Midsummer Night's Dream, being squeezed in the papa-bear hug of one of my favorite faculty.  60 seconds - no more, no less - of being hugged and being me and breathing, were required before I was allowed to say a single line.

Joy in the sly smile shared when the last ballet class of the semester holds a mini-rebellion in ballet and the accompanist is a willing cohort!

A sense of hope when I round the corner from work and see beautiful lilacs (my favorite flowers) blooming in the rain, their perfume all the sweeter in the cool damp air.

The pure exhilaration only dancers and athletes know when your body suddenly obeys you.  We're talking a triple pirouette here people!  To the left.  In jeans!


Perhaps most excitingly, my big source of comfort is finding out I have a Cassie Care Package on the way!  I wish there was a way to convey to you the excitement this encompasses for me.  Imagine a a beautiful and female Mad Hatter.  Now imagine her as a former competitive diver.  Now set this imagining loose in SoHo.  This is who is creating my care package.

And that, ladies and gents, is a beautiful thing.

Two Years.

"I heard what you said.  I am not the silly romantic that you think.  I don't want the heavens or the shooting stars.  I don't want gemstones or gold.  I have those things already.  I want a steady hand, a kind soul.  I want to fall asleep, and wake, knowing my heart is safe."

-Shana Abe.

Thank goodness that for the past two years, I've had just what I want.

The Wedding (Part 1)

I wish I had the words to describe to you how beautiful the wedding was.  I wish I could convey to you how perfect the ceremony, the reception, the food, the music, the dancing, the laughter, the couple, the love was.  I was so sad and frustrated that I don't have a camera, to snap shots of the whole amazing day (bad blogger!  bad blogger!  bad!).  I was so grateful to share in the bride & groom's special day.  So inspired to witness a union I fully believe will last forever and a day.  So giddy to dance with my Boyfriend (he's not a dancer.  This was such a huge step in our relationship, silly as it sounds!) and my brother and my childhood friends all night.  Here, let me start at the beginning of the day. . .


After an argument with the GPS, we finally arrived at Castle In the Clouds (Yes, thats really what it's called.  Yes, it really is as beautiful as it sounds).  We headed to the reception venue in the early afternoon, hours ahead of even the earliest wedding guest as Mum was helping coordinate the wedding, and I had been asked to help with decorating & sundry preparations.  The bride's mother, who I have known my entire life, was at the top of the stairs, beaming and frazzled and sweet, while the bride's brother, James, and his best friend, roamed the hall arranging centerpieces.  Boyfriend and Brother joined them, while I helped the mother of the bride, and set out candy dishes (they had a candy bar, joy!).  After much prepping and oohhhinnng/aaaahhhhiiinnng over the bride (and several games of round robin, as we tried to get Shauna into her dress, do her solo/bridesmaids pics, and back into the room without her groom seeing her) it was time to polish ourselves up (I arrived in most unglamorous flip flops, tank top/jean short combo and a bright blue scrunchie) and get ready to board.

Board what, you ask?  Oh, well since this castle is on a mountain, the guests were all ferried up to the top in trollies.  Romantic times a thousand, I assure you.

We then traveled the flowery path around the magnificent building, out onto the lawn/balcony area where the service was to be conducted.  I gave the nervous groom my biggest smile as I went by, and proceeded to admire the view of the ginormous lake and rugged mountains provided when one looked over the balcony.  Boyfriend had this silly notion that I would fall down and roll to the bottom of the mountain. . . he seems to think I'm clumsy or some such utter truth nonsense.  Did I mention the rose bushes?  Or the fiddlers who serenaded us?  Eventually the ceremony began, and the bridal party/groomsmen made their way down the aisle to music written by James (He's one of the most incredibly talented people I've ever met).  Then it was the moment: the bride appeared.  The music changed, and now James played the song he had written just for this moment, just for his sister on her wedding day.  To call her a "vision in white" would be the silliest and most cliche understatement of the century.  Her dress was vintage, lace & rhinestones, with a slight, pooling train.  Strapless, it elegantly hugged her curves, extending her lines.  She wore a custom fascinator in lieu of a veil, and a single strand of pearls.  There may have been tears that required blinking away.  Her father escorted her down the aisle, and somewhere between very reluctantly and beaming with pride, he gave her away.  Her almost-husband took her tiny (seriously tiny.  the girl is barely more than five ft!) hand in his, and the ceremony began.  The whole thing, from entrance to you may kiss your bride, was over in fifteen minutes.  They had written their own vows, brief and sincere.  Her's rang of poetry and love and faithfulness, with all the flair an artist has.  His were solid and true and heartfelt, quietly passionate and resonantly fervent, like you'd imagine a Marine would be on his wedding day.

More tears that required blinking.  A request for all those in attendance to turn and face the main building, where the photographer stood on a balcony, to have a picture of all of us who had come to celebrate their union for the new bride and groom to keep. . .

Woah.

I've only been here one week?  Not half the semester?  Not six years?  Not even, well. . . it hasn't even been seven days, has it?  Holy cow.  In the past week I've been withdrawn from, added to, withdrawn from again and REadmitted to Pointe & Partnering.  I have been in three different History classes . . . only one of them the one I signed up for.  I moved from Anatomy for Dancers to Anatomy & Physiology 1.  Which means I now only have Anatomy once a week. . . for four hours. . . starting at six at night. . . not coming back to my dorm until 10:30ish. . . I was moved up a level in ballet (yay! yipee!  woohoo!  six out of seven! yes! i don't totally suck!)  I have met with both of my bosses twice.  I filled out a scary looking tax form that made me realize being a grown up (even in pseudo form) is terrifying.

(basically my face all week/weekend)

I tore through my ballet slippers.  I realized in order to take Pointe and pass, I'd need to be able to afford Pointe shoes.  Dang.  I met a freshmen who I used to dance with.  I started rehearsals.  I've been in three dance department meetings.  I joined a Greek Chorus for the play Medea.  I've iced.  I've held someone's hair while they threw up.  I told a rude freshmen EXACTLY what I thought of his, erm, advances.  I got dressed up and went out.

I felt the heavy strain long distance puts on a relationship.  The way the miles tear at the fibers of the heart as it stretches to cover the distance.  The way doubts slide in like a knife into a sheath, smooth and natural and sharp.

I've given thanks that the person I love and the network that supports us is stronger than the miles are long and steadier than doubts are sharp.

It has been a long first week.  And there have been a couple times when the stress and the pain in my shoulder and the emotions felt overwhelming. . . but in the end, this is who I am.  This is where I flourish, where I'm meant to be.  Dancing, every day.  Working, learning, striving, creating.  I'm most alive when I dance.  I'm a better person because here, in this world, there are people that rely on me.  Count on me.  I have to rise to that.  I never know my own heart better than when it is stretched out before me to see.

Every stressful day after too little sleep and with too much to do, I wake up and thank God for it.

To dance.
To serve the Lord.
To create.
To love a good man, and be loved in return.
To touch someone's heart.

This is what I ask for. . . and in every day of this past crazy week, this is what I've received.  Life is crazy tiring stressful awe inspiring scary  Good.