Hey! I Was Playing With That!


The other day on Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood (my daughter’s favorite show), the characters were dealing with feeling jealous and what to do about it. I held my fourteen month old on my lap and talked to her about it. Though I know that she still is too little to really understand, I know for a fact that she is familiar with that feeling already. She doesn’t have the capacity yet to recognize it for what it is or think about what to do about it aside from take what she wants but I still talked to her. I told her that, when she gets bigger, if she feels jealous or wants something that someone else has, she can come to Mommy and Mommy will help her talk about it and figure out what to do.

No one has to teach a child how to be jealous. We see it immediately in toddlers with no prompting whatsoever. They aren’t necessarily interested in a toy or item until they see you or another person with it. Then, immediately, desire kicks in and the child is at your side, or the side of another child, reaching for and/or taking the item for themselves. If it is between two children, there is no mistaking the look on the face of the other child. We all know that look or those words.

“Hey, I was playing with that!”

 It’s a protest, a cry against the sudden change. What was dear to us, even for a short amount of time, has been snatched from us, even feels like it has been stolen. I have seen Elizabeth both take and be taken from and observed her reactions, as well as those of the other little ones. My girl is not retiring or demure when she wants something but it was clear to me that she did not like being on the other side of the mirror (who does, after all?), having had something taken from her by another child. She almost seemed to wilt a little bit, coming over to me with that look in her eyes of, “What do I do?” And all I could do was hug her and give her a new toy from nearby.

Adults are no different from children in their needs, wants, and the resulting jealousy and fear. However, with adults, it tends to be less about things and more about people. We treasure the attention of the people in our lives, enjoy the novelty and excitement of meeting new ones, and relax in the comfort of familiar attentions. Whether those people are siblings, parents, significant others, or friends, we will, at some point, find ourselves in the position of “sharing” that person’s friendship, time, and/or attention with others. And that is hard, especially at the outset. For lack of a better example, adults often have the same reaction as children when someone new comes along into the life of someone they care about.

“Hey! I was playing with that!”

 However, that reaction is usually hidden away in our private thoughts and feelings (as we are painstakingly taught to do in ‘polite society’), but they are still there. We have to give up the attention of the person in question, or at least a modicum of it, to make room for this new person in their life. And you’re often very right: you were there first, you were playing with them first. We all know that people are not toys, they are not possessions to be “played with”, but the principle is the same. We have to share because interdependence and relationship are part of the human existence. However much of a loner we may wish to be, there is no escaping relationship, not really. With relationship, then, comes a vulnerability born of caring, and jealousy is part of that. If you don’t like the term “jealousy”, call it “envy”, call it “being protective” or “territorial”. Use whatever describer you may prefer, but the result is the same. It happens when you care, even the littlest bit. It can blindside you in a moment’s blink. It can make your cheeks flush and stomach flop and make you want to become the Incredible Hulk and just SMASH!

“Hey! I was playing with that!”

Life is constantly new and exciting and jarring and it comes along with new twists and turns, well-met’s and fare-thee-well’s, for all of us. Along the way, somehow, we learn to cope. We learn to deal, to speak, to adjust, to adapt, and to love nonetheless.

Reblog: Weird Boobs and Little Wieners


I love this gentleman’s perspective on the gorgeous treasure and gifts that our bodies are, no matter what shape or what have you. It’s very honest and very edifying, no matter what view you may hold on relationships and sex. Please do check it out.

Weird Boobs and Little Wieners.

The Unfairest of the Fair


Artist unknown

Artist unknown

It is fair to call her the Fairest, though most would choose the Most Unfair of the Fairest. Like every Fairest One in the Land, she is looking for love, for that enchanted ever-after. She has been at it for stories and stories, pages and pages, chapters and centuries.

These are the faces of the men she has rejected, perfectly good men who, for one reason or the other over the centuries, did not measure up to her lofty ideal of a mate and perfect love (pictured in the bottom left) and so have become part of her tapestry, trapped for ever after in their rejection, wounded pride, and broken hearts. It doesn’t matter whether they be man, god, or beast, all must be weighed and measured, and these have been found wanting.

A Cuppa Flirt


Author’s Note: Here is the process by which this little incidental came to be. 

**My IM status reads: what to write? what to write?** Friend: write about the steam rising off of the first cup of tea in the morning. 😉 Me: Hmm, a descriptive piece. Nice! *tucks that away in her piece-bag for later* 

So here it is, written (of course) first thing in the morning.

= = =

I watched as she took the ceramic mug that contained her beverage and moved over to the window-seat to curl up in its corner. The day was still dark, the room quiet, and I watched. I watched as she held the cup lovingly in her hands, cherishing its warmth on this bitter mid-winter Saturday. And the steam seemed to respond.

Grateful for not being blown away instantly, as an immature child would do, it rose to meet her, to inspect this perspicacious woman. Serpentine and smooth, it gathered and poured from the surface of her mug, reaching up shadowy tendrils to caress her cheeks tenderly, craftily steal a kiss off her lips, and tease her like the coyest of beaus, stroking the tip of her nose. It grazed up into her ear and whispered bergamot-scented promises of warmth and relaxation, yet with a hint of elegant class and tradition. It curled around the shell of her ear and sighed anecdotes of white gloves, hidden novels, and sunny parlors, stories to charm even the most pragmatic of females.

I watched her smile, even blush a little bit. Or maybe that was just the heat of her drink? The shiver of steam’s warmth as it hits your skin and suddenly cools against your own balmy temperature? Or maybe I had made her tea a little too strong? A little too brazen in its flavor? Either way, I would hold afterward, for forever and a day, that a woman could actually be flirted with by the tea in her cup.

New Steps, New Challenges


I am pleased and honored to announce that, as of today, I am a contributing writer/blogger to The Well Written Woman. I am excited about the new challenges and writing that is ahead of me.

Here is my first article: Hiding Behind a Valentine.

Hide It Under a Bushel?


Something has been on my mind lately and I have, again, debated back and forth whether or not to discuss it here. The reason being that it might cause more harm than good, at least that is what I fear. Granted, my view of it may not match up with the actuality of the situation. Yes, I have considered that, too. It’s one of the reasons that I have been reading up on self-discrepancy theory lately.

The self-discrepancy theory was first developed by E. Tory Higgins in his work Self-Discrepancy: A Theory Relating Self and Affect in 1987. Self-discrepancy theory is an attempt to understand the different types of negative emotions experienced by people who hold conflicting self-beliefs, or a discrepancy, about themselves.

The theory is composed of three domains of the self, which are actual self, ideal self, and ought self.

The actual self consists of the attributes that the individual believes he or she possesses or the attributes that a significant other believes he or she holds.

The ideal self consists of the attributes that the individual or a significant other desires or prefers for him or her to acquire.

The ought self consists of the attributes that the individual or a significant other believes he or she should or ought to possess. An example from literature helps distinguish between the ideal self and the ought self in the sense of a hero’s “personal wishes,” or ideal self, versus his “sense of duty,” or the ought self. –   Self-Discrepancy Theory

I will say that I struggle with the “ought self” fairly frequently but my current conundrum is a little more…reversed than usual. So, as Inigo Montoya would say, “Let me ‘splain. No, is too much. Let me sum up.”

Almost fourteen months ago, I gave birth to my daughter. I had spent nine months being pregnant and dealing with all the body image and self-discrepancy issues that came with pregnancy: the loss of my figure, the changes in my body and emotions, the raging hormones, the cravings, the lack of activity, the being told “you can’t”, etc.  I spent this past summer working very, very hard on getting fit again, walking and working out every day, counting calories, and all of that. My progress was slow, at least to me it was. But now, after almost two years, I am within two pounds of my average pre-pregnancy weight.

Until now, until tonight and a very specific conversation with a friend, I never would have posted that. I never would have let myself celebrate that, not in private and most certainly not in a public forum like this one. I have been very scared of posting my progress with weight loss because I fear people thinking I am bragging or that I am shaming them, or, ever more the worse, them feeling badly about themselves, for whatever reason. I’m no worrying about what I am not. I am worrying about what I am. I feel like I ought to keep my weight loss to myself. I ought to do it to protect those I love and keep them buoyed up, give them no reason to be down on themselves. I ought to not be…well, me. But my friend pointed out, “But by doing that aren’t you doing to yourself the very same thing you’re afraid of them doing? I imagine if they knew that you were internalizing your sense of self-love they’d be sad. Does my loving myself make you feel down on yourself?” And, the truth is, no, it doesn’t make me feel down. It makes me smile to see my friend happy and doing well. I guess I can only hope that expressing myself can encourage others to do the same thing, to celebrate their accomplishments, their triumphs.

So here I am, honest in my accomplishment. After almost two years, I am within two pounds of my weight goal, I am getting stronger, getting my figure back, and feeling pretty happy with and proud of myself.

Thank you for listening. I leave you with this quote from Marianne Williamson that my friend also gave me to ponder.

The Beatific Smile of Melody


A friend recently asked me what makes me happy, what always brings a smile to my face. The first thing that popped into the forefront of my mind was music. Music has always made me happy. I once said, in answer to a question, that I would rather suddenly blind than deaf because I cannot imagine a world without music.

Music taps into my emotional core. Like movies, I do not listen to music, I inhabit it. Lyrics strike my heart, make it warm or break, make me smile and cry. Stories write themselves around the lyrics, memories thread their way through the melody, hopes for the future flow over the bridge. Music impacts me the way that few other mediums do.  I hear my thoughts, my fears, my life, my self reflected in music. It can express me better than I ever could, but a soundtrack of me would take forever to compose, I think. I obviously don’t know a song’s impact until I heard it/read the lyrics, but, when the moment is gone, I might forget it for a while.  Then I will randomly hear it again and be flush with those emotions once more.

Music makes me giggle and blush, dance and cry. It makes my heart soar and my stomach crash. But, more often than not, music makes me smile. Whether I’m singing it, playing it on the piano or flute, or listening on the radio or my iPhone, music is melodic joy to me. It speaks my heart, stories my life, and I love it.

I’M A BLACK COSPLAYER AND I’M JUST AS GOOD AS OTHER COSPLAYERS.


Because I think it’s pertinent and well-stated. The only negative comment I ever got about one of my cosplay outfits was my Harley Quinn outfit in that the person told me that Harley really should be blonde (I had chosen not to dye my hair or wear a wig for the costume and stuck with my dark hair). The reason I cosplay for the fun and creativity that it affords me, not so I can fit into someone’s preconceived box where they would place me.

makirollschopshop's avatarMaki Roll

Bigtog Me as Black Rose. Photographed By: TheBigTog

When I was a child, I was taught “black is beautiful,” so it was a huge surprise to me growing up that black faces were not represented in common society.  When I turned on the TV, when I flipped through magazines, even when I read books, a sea of white faces stared back at me.  Heroes and heroines in books were described as having flowing blonde hair and blue or green eyes.  There was nothing black about them.  I began to wonder; was black really beautiful?  Surely not, because if we were, why were there so little of us in popular culture?  I went through the phase of wondering why my hair didn’t grow like Kasey’s, my white best friend’s hair.  I’d supplement this by getting long synthetic braids put into my hair.  I’d tell myself that my braids were long, and so…

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A Heart Speaking – The Last


I…am not entirely sure what to say about this. I could sit here and say that I don’t do sappy but we all know that to be a load of hogwash. I happened upon this video through my WordPress reader, another blogger had posted it and I recognized the young actor in the video (Harry Shum, Jr. – who is…amazing, by the way. Why didn’t “Glee” let him shine like this?). So I sat and watched it. It’s a little longer, just over eight minutes, but…it really struck me. I cannot say I am in love with it wholly and entirely, but there are parts of it that resonate with me. So…give it a watch, if you will, and see what you think. Feel free to comment and share your thoughts. 🙂