Awkward Mom vs. The Exercise Bike

So, pre-Alien-Invasion (because it sounds cooler than Covid-19, that's why), I was a member of the Y. Three mornings a week, after I dropped the older children off at school, I would drive to the Y, leave Super Toddler with the lovely ladies in the Child-Watch, head to the locker room, chat with the Grandmas who were headed to the water aerobics class, change into my shorts and an ancient Obama for Senate T-shirt, and exercise for an hour on an exercise bike while scrolling through Instagram and wondering why everyone loves white kitchens with open shelving and reclaimed wood so much. I think they might have less children than I do. Occasionally, I would change into a swimsuit (one no where near as risque as the water aerobics Grandmas, but they are soaked in confidence, give me time to get there), and I would swim laps in the pool and delight in my own buoyancy and the fact that no one was asking me why-questions for a blissful 45 minutes. Ah, simpler times. 

Now, I use Awkward Dad's exercise bike in my basement while children shout down the stairs that someone ate the last Nutty-Buddy and he or she is now going to die. Thanks a lot, Aliens. 

You shouldn't feel too sorry for me. At least this is Awkward Dad's new exercise bike. His old one was a purchase from shortly after our wedding and the seat was stuck at his height and the cover was gone. Therefore, to use it, I would perch on a sweat-soaked foam lump, vaguely in the shape of a seat, well above the ground, my toes straining to reach the pedals, while things below me creaked, that definitely should not have been creaking. And not just my joints. 

Thankfully, this one adjusts to my height.

And doesn't even seem bothered by the random pool-noodle lightsaber some Sith left behind. 

It isn't the blissfully alone experience of the Y, but I am trying to be positive about it. In fact, there are 2 benefits to exercising at home in my basement:

1. I don't have to put on a shirt. 

2. I have a nice view. 

Obviously, one needs to overlook a few things on the way to the view, 

but details...

So, every morning, I put on a sports bra and some awful holey leggings, put on a Hard-Rock-Work-Out playlist in an effort to drown out kid-noise, look out at my beautiful backyard, and try not to die. I have been fairly successful so far, but after today, that might change. 

OK, so picture it, I am biking along, huffing and puffing along to Thunderstuck. The kids are all asleep, thanks to a midnight Animal Crossing session, that Should shows up to shame me about. I chase her away, along with Super Cat, who decides he wants to sit on the handlebars. Things are cool for a minute or two, until the music changes to that prophetic wonder Alice Cooper. And you totally know what song it is...10 minutes into this workout and Anxiety and Panic show up to question me about what my fall school plan is; home-school or sending them back? Their current school hasn't expressed a remote option, and suddenly Should is back with some thoughts about that. Super Cat jumps on my back about the same time a super child appears on the top of the steps, in tears and talking about vomit. I blink back some sweat or tears, I can't tell, and look up into my sunny backyard to settle myself, where I lock eyes with a man who is literally 2 feet from my basement door. (Turns out the neighbors' roofers had a box blow off the roof and land in our backyard.) He waves at me, and suddenly, the only benefits to working out in the basement become decidedly not. 

I avoid screaming and somehow wave back, before sprinting up the stairs (probably getting more exercise than the entire week of bike riding), scooping up the crying child, and exploding into the kitchen to find the rumored vomit. Thanks a lot, Aliens. 

Hey, you guys remember when the Spray Park was Awkward Mom's biggest nemesis? 

Ah, simpler times. 

Awkward Mom vs. Shoulds (Pandemic Version)

Hey, Erin, aren't you going to address the fact that you haven't written in over year because you have been dealing with Imposer Syndrome, Pre-Adolescents, and your doubt in the wisdom of being an essayist in a post-Twitter universe? 

Nah. They'll figure it out. 

So, here we are; Earth's in trouble and it's time to come together, alien-invasion-style! It's pretty Walking Dead out there; full of factions and showers totally optional. Not exactly what I pictured for our response to a global threat. I mean, I thought I would at least get a super suit. Maybe a trip to Stark Tower. A scrappy team of odd-balls with a variety of skills and hearts of gold. Oh, wait, I have that last one!

Best Alien-Invasion-Suits Target had in stock.

And my alien-invasion team has been doing their best; remote schooling, staying home, wearing masks, Zooming like pros, and generally being the adaptive wonders that children are. We're hunkered down and ready to save the day! So, how come I am still battling Should and his sister Shouldn't like it's a normal July Wednesday?!

I have documented my endless battles with the evil Should twins before, so I won't bore you. You know them; sometimes they like to show up with their buddies Regret, What-If, Expectations, Why-Haven't-You-Already, Societal-Pressure, Instagram-Envy, Everyone-Knows-What-They-Are-Doing-But-Me, Comparison, and Over-Thinking. But they are perfectly capable of ruining your day by themselves. Mind you, they aren't BIG EVENT villains, like Thanos, My-Baby-Is-Starting-College, Potty Training. No, these are low-level thugs that you battle back daily; Copperhead, Cobra Command, that guy that killed Uncle Ben, 12-year-olds who like to slam doors, Laundry. You know, everyday villains. I guess I just figured that these aren't everydays, so why am I dealing with everyday AND pandemic villains?

Pandemic Should and Shouldn't go something like this: Morning, Erin, it's kinda late, you really Should get up. And you probably Shouldn't have let the kids stay up late playing video games. You really Should keep an eye on screentimes; even though it is Pandemic Summer, the summer slide is probably gonna be extra worse this year. Maybe you Should develop a homeschooling system, you won't be any good at it, of course because you haven't done it before (oh, Good Morning, Regret, come on in!) but you Should do it anyway because all the good moms are doing it, according to Facebook. Oh, and you Should really get some Essential Oils. Good job brushing your teeth, Erin, but your flossing Should be better than that. Wake up the children, they Shouldn't sleep in, but maybe they Should because you let them stay up and they don't really have anything to look forward to because everything is cancelled and you aren't creative enough to create your own camps and magical summer activities. That would be true in a normal year, but it is extra damaging this year because of Pandemic and their mental health is bad and you haven't really been focusing on that, now have you? You Should make the bed, Erin. Shouldn't let standards slide, just because we are stuck in the house and we don't see anyone and your social skills have all but disappeared and you were so weird at the drive-up window at the bank yesterday that the poor clerk totally thought you were flirting with him and was probably totally disgusted at the thought because you are old and out of shape and hey, where are you going? Mindless scrolling through Instagram isn't gonna help matters, in fact, look at her house, why isn't your house that pretty? If she can make her house look that nice in the middle of Pandemic, while homeschooling 3 children and raising 14 chickens, certainly you can do the dishes, right? 

And on and on. Until bedtime, but not really because the children don't really go to bed anyway, rather just collapse, clutching Switch controllers and candy, and you Should clean them and move them to bed but they are sticky and if you have to touch one more sticky thing today you are going to scream and wake them up again, so you leave them where they fall and you go upstairs to lie in bed and stare at your phone, knowing you Shouldn't, but you don't want to think. Anything. Anything at all, just to not have to think.

And this is all pretty standard for normal July weekdays but these aren't normal standard July weekdays and if I have to make masks and decide about school plans and worry about my grandmother and sanitize everything and online-navigate systemic racism responses and Covid deniers and basically live with a permanent stress-ball lodged in my chest at all times, why the hell do I have to fight with Should and Shouldn't?! And they seem stronger than usual. Does Covid enhance them? Like the Goblin Serum?! Crap.

Here's the thing; the movies only show you part of the Alien Invasion; the rousing inspiring part where the President gives a speech and Randy Quaid flies into a spaceship (um...spoiler). They don't have time or plot reasons or any financial incentive to tell you everything, and I have plenty of questions, the least of which is why the heck would an advanced culture that can develop crazy cool technology and navigate space come to a planet that is 71% water if water is deadly to them....Also, who is gonna clean up this mess? How do we raise children during this? Do the aliens care if my dishes are clean? How long is this gonna take? If we aren't returning to normal after this anyway, can we just change the national currency to cheese? Who is in charge? Why does it feel like no one is in charge? Why are you all arguing? Am I going to mutate? And follow-up to that, can I request a cool mutation and not one of the Morlock-ones? Who do I see about that?

Now, replace aliens with pandemic. (And ignore my cheese and mutation fixations if you can.) This is not a place for Should or Shouldn't. No where is, but this is really not a place for them, especially supercharged mutated them. (Sorry, I really like the X-men...) They are gonna keep showing up, that's what they do, but maybe we don't have to invite them in. Shoulds are like Vampires, they can't come in unless you let them. So grab the garlic and your strongest affirmation because they are gonna try to get you to let them in.

Don't. Don't. Just don't. Not shouldn't or maybe or can't or any of those. This is a DON'T situation. This is an alien invasion and we need you to focus. You are so capable of this DON'T. Please stop listening to Should and his sister; you are surviving a PANDEMIC and that is all you have to do. No shoulds about it.

Oh! Can I have that mutation where I control plants? That one would be cool...

Awkward Mom vs. My Perfect Path

So, I have had 3 C-sections and 2 Vaginal births. Pop quiz: which is which?

No fair guessing if you were there, Awkward Dad....

Who had formula? Who slept through the night at 6 weeks? Who used the cloth diapers? Who did we send to preschool in a pull-up? Who read at 3 years old? Who still struggles to read? Who ate homemade baby food? Who had Gerber out of a jar? Who didn't have solids until 10 months old? Who didn't lose a tooth until Kindergarten? Who lost 4 teeth the first week of summer? Who gets scared at sleep-overs? Who's run away? Who had night terrors? Who often goes to bed at midnight? Who sneaks Pringles into the closet and eats them? Who had to drink Ensure to gain weight? Who still can't walk? (I thought I'd throw you a gimme there.)

You can't tell. It doesn't show. All you see is a pile of beautiful kids who would much rather be watching Story Bots and enjoying the last precious moments of summer than posing for their mother's rather unhealthy photography habit.

My point is this: I walked (OK, waddled) into Super Oldest birth with a birth plan that I thought was pretty reasonable: "Everything will be fine as long as we don't have a C-section." Well, we promptly had an emergency C-section that saved my baby's life. I banned princess toys until my son developed a love of storytelling. I refused to buy new shoes until my second child couldn't walk without specialized footwear. I forbid devices but then the school discovered that Super 3rd Grader was reading a lot easier with access to the games on the iPad. I made my own baby food until I decided I would rather spend that time playing with my kids. And watching Netflix. But mostly playing with my kids....while watching Netflix....

But you can't tell. I mean, you can tell because I told you. Because I have a big mouth and don't like secrets. But if you just saw the Supers, you wouldn't see anything but the magical people they are and are becoming. You wouldn't see any of the messy paths that led there or the messy, awkward mom that they dragged off her own path to get there. OK, you might see her. She doesn't hide well.

Perfectionism and I are old foes. I constantly struggle with my desire to make the process as lovely as the end result. This is not an easy way to parent. It isn't an easy way to live. And it's an impossible way to live if you are living with other people. People who have their own journeys and processes that weave with yours on a messy shared romp through the life-forest.

My children. Your children. Our children. That's what we call them. For ease, identification, sentence structure; all the delights that pronouns offer. But the reality is that they aren't anyone's. They are human beings, independent and autonomous with ways that we will never truly understand. They aren't really ours at all. We get to borrow them for awhile. A long while. The longests of all the mammals. 18 summers to run after them through the sand. 18 winters of cuddles and scarves. 18 springs to stomp in puddles and freeze at soccer games and watch the new dandelions pop up overnight like magic. 18 falls of Halloween costumes and new teachers and friendship fights and leaf-crunching laughter ringing in a wind alive with anticipation. 18 precious birthdays. 18 years of learning to treasure interests that aren't yours; dinosaurs and baseball and rocks and Pokemon and ballet and 3147 Disney princesses. 18 years of walking paths that are not yours.

And then they leave? I don't know. No one has left yet. But they will someday and then I can have my path back. My path through the life-forest might stop branching off into a thousand side journeys that I didn't plan on. Perfectionism and I can hold hands again as we march straight and steady through the perfect process that I planned. My Path. My Perfect Path that I don't have to share anymore.

But maybe not. Maybe I won't want that anymore. Maybe I will have learned something by sharing my life with other lives. Maybe I will learn that letting go of control isn't half as scary as I thought it would be. Maybe I will learn that I don't own all the great ideas, that they aren't all mine. Maybe I will learn that sometimes babies know where the best views are, just beyond these trees you think you can't climb. Maybe I will learn that I can. I can climb all the trees I want. I can go anywhere I want. All I have to do is step off the Perfection Path and try.

Her path looks more fun anyway. 

Awkward Mom vs. July poetry

It's the humidity that does it.

Popsicle sticks on the stairs, pants on the kitchen floor. They say that I will miss this someday. I'm sure I will, but will I get there to miss it? Because, right now, the forest is deep and dark and endless and I can't see my way out of it. I suppose I shouldn't try to get out of it; journeys twist and turn and sometimes you stop so you can build a house of popsicle sticks to wait out the storms. That's the way of journeys. 

I just didn't think I would be waiting out the storms in the actual storms. And sticky storms they are, storms of expectations and worries and fights over the window seat. Of spilled milk and lost friendships and fear monstrously huge, ones that won't be silenced with kisses and bandaids. Storms so wild, there is nothing to do but surf the tsunamis in boats of faith and adrenaline. And I do, I surf and sail and land in houses made of popsicle sticks and laughter and castoff socks and the detritus of weedy children, growing overnight to colonize my ordered garden of expectations and goals. 

The metaphors mix, while I sit on the stairs and try to remember why I wanted it so ordered when the chaos colors match the carpet so much better. A moment of clarity in a messy glen in the deep dark forest that will stir me to despair again. Today most likely, with Freeziepop sleeves in the bathroom and underwear under the couch. How like life to be so beautifully inconstant and marvelously messy. How very like her. 

Awkward Mom vs. Control

Here, in no particular order, are the things I cannot control.

1. The fact that pretty much all the moms at the kids' school are taller than me.
2. The lighting on Game of Thrones.
3. Rain.
4. Super Oldest's passion for dance and the resulting company of dance moms that I have to deal with on a weekly basis.
5. The inevitability of aging, death, and that the child visiting for a playdate will find the cat vomit first.
6. Girls' pants sizing.
7. Any comments section.
8. Ocean tides.
9. Other people's children.
10. The reality that there will be at least one moment a day, but more likely 56 of them, when I look around and think "I have absolutely no idea what I am doing. Do these other people know that I don't know what I am doing? Why haven't they figured it out yet; it's not like I am hiding my incompetence well or anything."
11. Dust.
12. Cats.
13. Super Daughter's passion for softball and the resulting company of sports moms that I have to deal with on a weekly basis.
14. How slow the hours go.
15. How fast the years go.
16. That teacher appreciation week is 4 weeks before the last day of school and I am way too Mayed out to be crafty so I buy a gift card and some chocolate and send it to school in a Ziploc bag and call it a win.
17. Mosquitos.
18. Most of the US government's foreign policy.
19. The transition from baby to toddler and that it will most likely happen during church or in front of the PTA president or in a store that has a lot of glass ornaments about 2 and a half feet off the floor.
20. Red lights.
21. My inner 13-year-old, who enjoys popping up multiple times a day to whisper defeatist nonsense in my ear about how pretty all the other moms are and how they all have it together and and what palaces their houses are and how clean everything they touch is and what they whisper about me when I am not there and how their children don't eat dirt during school pickup or climb onto the roof of their vans and pretend to be Dr. Frankenstein harnessing the coming storm for nefarious purposes.
22. The hormones of a preteen and how they force the eyes of said preteen to roll at the merest mention of helping with the dishes.
23. How easily I cry.
24. Gravity.
25. That the laundry is never actually finished unless you are doing it naked.
26. The unflattering light in changing rooms.
27. Time.
28. Space.
29. Who my children want to be friends with.
30. My husband's aversion to pants and his belief that socks belong under the coffee table.
31. Genes.
32. Tornadoes.
33. Other people's opinions.
34. That weird week in October when it gets really hot and doesn't behave like fall in the slightest.
35. Other drivers.
36. That it will rain the day of the zoo field trip or the temperature will resemble the surface of the sun.
37. Superbowl outcomes.
38. The ending of Life is Beautiful.
39. Four-year-olds who really don't want to put their shoes on.
40. How awkward I feel 98% of the day and how strong the temptation is to just hide in my house and avoid all social interaction because then there will be a 98% chance that the pretty and popular ones won't laugh at me or pity me or talk to me at all and I can read all the time and float around in my mind, where everything is magical and kind and whirling around on clouds made out of dreams and summer wind and I can sink into my best me, who is relaxed and gentle and funny and open and not concerned and therefore able to be strong and bright and fantastic and full of loud snort-laughs.


Here, in no particular order, are the things that I can control.

1. My Netflix queue.
2. My candy hiding spot that Awkward Dad and the children still haven't found.
3. My attitude.
4. My words.
5. My openness to the 2% of me that doesn't want to hide away in safety, but wants to stride purposely on the battlefield of human interaction and just connect. With you.

I forgot one.

Not that anyone in her right mind would want to control 

Babies in Bounce Houses. 

Awkward Mom vs. Star Wars Art

The Awkwards went to Star Wars Celebration 2 weekends ago, and that is a tale that I hope to tell you all one day, but I'm still floating around in joy and can't quite get it on paper. (Blog-paper? blaper?) No, this is a far less ambitious story. But maybe not.

All Super Daughter wanted to do at Star Wars Celebration was to see the artists. Those daring souls who attempt to capture Dewbacks in oils and Blurrgs in pastels, the rebels who imagine the wedding invites to the Solo wedding, the dreamers who sculpt TIE fighters and Yavin sunsets. While all Awkwards love Star Wars (we don't speak about Super Preschooler's anti-Lucas phase of ages 2-4), Super Daughter is the one who has embraced the visual delights of the world. She is the one who wants to know how to make Twi'lek dresses, Ewok armor, Rey hair styles. She's the one who doodles storm troopers next to her unicorns and mermaids and paints forest scenes saturated with swirling Tatooine yellows and deep Endor blues. She'll sit in the middle of a clone war, with light sabers inches from her head, and just trace force ghosts in the dirt. She's moved by the story, she loves the characters, she thinks the script of Episode 3 is unfortunate; she's just like us. But unlike us, there is something special in her eyes when she watches the Millennium Falcon soar or the fires of Mustafar rage. We are content to watch. Maybe discuss. Even fight about why Lando did not betray Han at all but did what he had to do for his people. (Come on, fight me. You know you want to.) We may be loud, but we're happy in the audience. Not Super Daughter. Super Daughter is an artist and she's got a X-wing to catch.

Which is why, armed with a handful of colored pencils, a homemade sketch book that says STAR WARS across it in rainbow letters, and one very prized gel pen, all stuffed in a crochet bag with a yarn llama on it, Super Daughter strides into the artist section of the convention, stars in her eyes and purpose in her feet. She looks around for a moment, and then, as if pulled by a tractor beam, finds herself in front of Karen Hallion's booth. It is crowded there, but Super Daughter gently eases her way to the front of the table and patiently waits for her artist-sister to finish talking to someone. Eventually, Ms. Hallion notices this tiny girl in front of her and smiles at her. Super Daughter meets her eyes with her own ocean ones, takes a deep breath, and says, quietly but firmly, "where did you get all those marker pens?"

Ms. Hallion looks confused, so the man with her, nudges her softly and points to the huge selection of beautiful artist markers next to her, just behind a large pile of her art that fans are rummaging through. He winks at Super Daughter and says, "you must be an artist too, to notice all these." Super Daughter smiles her slow-building smile that starts in the left corner of her mouth and rises into a lopsided grin so lovely that it has been known shatter stones. Its affect is not lost on anyone present and you can feel the collective breath hold, as Super Daughter reaches up and touches the marker tops, while whispering, "I use pencils, but someday..." Time stops and the crowd behind her does something I have never ever seen at a convention; they step back. They seemingly recognize in her the children they once were, those small spirits so moved by alien bravery in a galaxy far far away that it would stay with them long after the credits rolled and the world told them to be sensible.

Ms. Hallion reaches over and taps Super Daughter on the hand; "pick one," she encourages. Super Daughter points to a winking silver, which is pronounced "a good choice," with a follow-up, "do you like BB-8?" Super Daughter nods, and Ms. Hallion eases into her own magic. Awed murmurs rise up around us, but Super Daughter is focused on what is before her, with a laser curiosity only a fellow artist can posses. Once finished, Ms. Hallion waves the card to dry it and then flourishes it into Super Daughter's hands. Their eyes meet again, hold, and crinkle into identical and knowing smiles; they will meet again. Someday, in a galaxy maybe not so far far away.

Someday...

Awkward Mom vs. No

You wanna know the really sad part of this constant battle of mine? No isn't even bad. She's not a villain at all. No is that gruff character in the beginning of the movie who you are totally scared of, until you catch him surreptitiously feed stray cats. No is your basic Bruiser with a Soft Center. No isn't trying to hurt me; in fact, she just really wants me to stop shoving her away so she can hug me. Hold me. Make it all better and calmer. No is always trying to get close to me, but I fight her. I yell at her, argue with her, ignore her, and misunderstand her, usually on purpose. But No keeps trying, she's that into me.

The main reason I keep rejecting No is that I have it bad for Yes. Sweet sweet Yes. Yes is just more alluring, more charming, more inclusive, more in keeping with my spirit of can-do. Yes is full of energy and passion. Yes is loud and exciting and full of compliments. She's always there for me, usually with a huge pile of paperwork and a sheepish grin. "Erin, you are just so talented, could you help me with this? And that? And this other thing? Oh, you are amazing, we simply must have brunch soon." Then, she gives me air-kisses and sails out of the room on a cloud of mystery and purpose.

Yes is kinda like Professor X. (I like to picture the Patrick Stewart version but you do whatever works for you.) Yes is positive and passionate and personable. Yes is totally convinced the mutants and humans can work together. Or the stay-at-home moms and the working moms. Or the yogas and the crossfits. Or the cosleepers and the cry-it-outers. Or the Star-Treks and Star-Wars. Whoever, wherever, whatever; we are all gonna get along and hold hands and sing and I guess drink Coke? I don't know where this analogy is going, but it is starting to sound like a product placement, which is weird because I prefer Pepsi. Anywho, Yes makes you feel like you can take on the world and that you should.

Hey, wait a minute, why would Yes be keeping company with Awkward Mom arch-nemesis Should? That's very suspicious and should be setting off some alarm bells.

Oh, lovely Reader, you are so much more on the uptake that I have been for 40-odd years. It's totally suspicious. You see, Yes wants stuff to happen and sometimes to make stuff happen you have to consort with questionable allies. The ends justify the means or some such; those means being Should and Guilt and Pressure and Comparison and Empty-Flattery and Getting-Identity-From-Outside-Sources and Peer-Pressure and Fear-Of-Failure and Self-Recrimination and Caffeine. Lots and lots of Caffeine. Caffeine is like the foot soldier in the Yes army. Wait. Why would Yes have an army....

Because, basically, Yes is a Villain with Good Publicity. Big Reveal! Plot Twist! Holy Cats, Never Saw That Coming! Zoinks! I'm Questioning Everything Right Now! Is Captain America Even Good? He's In Hydra, WHAT?!?!

OK, not really. (They totally fixed Cap, no worries.) It's really much more complicated than that, but TVtropes is a really fun website if you want to poke around over there. I'll wait.

You done? It's fun, isn't it?! God bless those internet wizards. So, where were we? Oh, yes, Yes. Yes the sorta villain who you think is a hero. Hold the phone now! Does that make No the sorta hero who you think is a villain? Does that make No Magneto?  Does that mean Magneto was right all along and that the mutants should take over? Which Magneto? Because if we are going with Michael Fassbender Magneto, then I am totally on team No.

No. It doesn't mean that. But Yes, it kinda does mean that. It's complicated. Geez, complicated internal struggles regarding human consciousness and societal existence; that ol' trope. Couldn't it just be simple for once? Like mutants/human relations? I'll untangle that knot if you just don't make me face my own soul.

No and Yes are neither good nor bad, they aren't villains or heroes. They are responses of my psyche designed to work together so that the very best Erin can shine and grow. They are both there to keep me safe. They are both there to keep me engaged. No is no more a violent retreat from the world, than Yes is a creative cheerful savior we have all been waiting for. Neither is No the passionate protector of sanity, while Yes is the sneaky killer of dreams and sleep. To reduce No and Yes to such black or white caricatures limits the power of both, and that is foolish, for they are incredibly powerful when used in tandem.

Our natural personalities probably do lean more in more direction, depending on a myriad of reasons from childhood on up. Everyone most likely aligns better with the X-Men or the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, although those of you in the latter camp might want to consider a rebrand, just saying. I prefer Yes because moments of pre-adolescent isolation have made me very sensitive to inclusion and my natural rebelliousness makes me fiercely independent. It has taken years of therapy, self-reflection, and truly terrible poetry for me to realize this about myself, and it will take years for me to embrace No the way she deserves to be embraced. Maybe you cling to No because you have been hurt and rejected. Maybe you court Yes because you need validation you didn't get as a child. Maybe you say No to everything because you are saying Yes to Game of Thrones. I'm not here to judge; it's all human and it's all getting you through your life. It's just that when you say Yes to a new experience or person, you might open and let more of your shine out into the world, and if you say No once in awhile, you might find that the recharge you get refreshes you to let more of your shine out into the world. And when you finish Game of Thrones, we'll all be here to hear your secret Targaryen and mermen theories. (That link has spoilers. Well, sorta.)

Point is, Yes and No are much more powerful and powerfully good for you when you embrace both of them. Can you imagine what Professor X and Magneto could have accomplished if they worked together? I mean, together not in a Bryan Singer bloated cinematic mess that I could have fixed if anyone in Hollywood had bothered to ask me...NO, I'm not sorry I said it. See, I'm growing already!

Super Baby says NO to pictures,

and YES to upside-down reading! 

She's advanced.