New Feature: Disabilities In The Media

<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vdbMLxrfqsJrY5czYL9b6G8LBZfU6ec3UDdlJj_eHHYRNAaE2tFoVagZ2uSkv-cujWXQiXAjxBHlzQegGM9x8SOw3VvkMl2CLSjfl7FgRmZoxUZA8T1HoRqPfmCqASrqKUIfwkPsOMM/s1600/handicapped.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5734635934268452786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vdbMLxrfqsJrY5czYL9b6G8LBZfU6ec3UDdlJj_eHHYRNAaE2tFoVagZ2uSkv-cujWXQiXAjxBHlzQegGM9x8SOw3VvkMl2CLSjfl7FgRmZoxUZA8T1HoRqPfmCqASrqKUIfwkPsOMM/s400/handicapped.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 388px;" /></a>I always get so inspired when I see positive news stories about people with disabilities -- the kind that highlight the person more than the disability. It makes me feel like, little by little, those walls of stereotypes and misconceptions are being torn down. After all, remember the amazing <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2011/10/people-with-disabilities-in-media.html">Mariah Slick</a>? So, I'm so excited to introduce a new feature today, friends: Disabilities In The Media. I'll be sharing stories of movers and shakers who are making headlines, not for their disabilities, but in spite of them. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrAzFYkOHl_yHQ63hpqE3dqgWPskWmzrgqP-WJk7GRTGsQgw-phqImM1B_EHeSDtKt6HuG_rJyP9hFxag-1eitERCiiDtQUsD7I3yzMILmLMzXg3CY8XfqxpM2n1Hj6P6KDdGmH0k0l8/s1600/annie-clark-440.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5734377898801710530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrAzFYkOHl_yHQ63hpqE3dqgWPskWmzrgqP-WJk7GRTGsQgw-phqImM1B_EHeSDtKt6HuG_rJyP9hFxag-1eitERCiiDtQUsD7I3yzMILmLMzXg3CY8XfqxpM2n1Hj6P6KDdGmH0k0l8/s400/annie-clark-440.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" /></a>First up: Meet <a href="http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20589127,00.html">Annie Clark</a>. The seven-year-old recently took home the Nicholas Maxim Award for her exceptional handwriting. This was the first time that educational publisher Zaner-Bloser Inc. offered the award to students with disabilities. As she was cheered on by her fellow students, Annie accepted the award on her school's basketball court. <br /><br />"Annie has always been very, very determined, very self-sufficient in dressing herself and feeding herself," says her dad, Tom. "She can ride a bike. She swims. She is just determined that there's nothing she can't do."<br /><br /><strong>You go, Annie! Have you read any stories about people with disabilities lately, friends? I'd love to feature them, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol), send me a <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/melissablake">Tweet</a> or post on So About What I Said's <a href="http://facebook.com/soaboutwhatisaid">Facebook page</a>! xoxo </strong>

New Feature: Disabilities In The Media

I always get so inspired when I see positive news stories about people with disabilities -- the kind that highlight the person more than the...

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Love Lounge: What if you don't want to have children?

<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6pxMVN6-dPE4Qk2ALjpj-Cog4hClDOsPfDqEbIaH5LieWN0JwMsKcSGDW1rV-D7a12LdbGWva8T0mQR3NthFfSsiOA4nx0Ecn5dks268diPN0kQefRjNu5b1CDFNxCZdNvJMYQ9_NhPk/s1600/01.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732845575509594690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6pxMVN6-dPE4Qk2ALjpj-Cog4hClDOsPfDqEbIaH5LieWN0JwMsKcSGDW1rV-D7a12LdbGWva8T0mQR3NthFfSsiOA4nx0Ecn5dks268diPN0kQefRjNu5b1CDFNxCZdNvJMYQ9_NhPk/s400/01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 303px;" /></a>On Monday, to kick off <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/search/label/baby%20week">Baby Week</a>, we shared our <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2012/04/its-baby-week.html">baby fever stories</a>, and I reminisced about three little boys who had a not-so-little effect on me and made me begin to rethink my future, if only just a little bit. But let's turn the table today because, well, despite my story on Monday, my heart didn't always swell every time I'd see a new mother with her newborn in tow or see a toddler's face light up as he pointed to animals from a colorful picture book. In fact, I was a metaphorical card-carrying member of <span style="font-style:italic;">that</span> group at one time. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I didn't want kids</span>.<br /><br />It's not that I don't necessarily like kids or that I've never been around them; I'm one of the oldest cousins on my father's side of the family. The simple fact was that I just never envisioned having children of my own. Even now, I sort of cringe when I look at those words. A simple four-word sentence, and yet, it holds so much power. Think about this: We as humans are hardwired to want kids. It's supposed to come naturally -- this instinctual desire to have kids, have a family, have the the white-picket fence and everything wrapped up in the American dream. Don't get me wrong: Sometimes I <span style="font-style:italic;">do</span> want that. And then other times? Well, it just terrifies me. Something tells me I'm not alone here.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkoyjMIBzBp7l6i_HtoLbO5OWEiMmciaXSQMEXpwdoQC2ztee4rn7Svr14Rch-pxqBcpf4Kd4rs5RQH4kJ3x7OReUaUI8fXkH5Mabv-18_wrhFGKXOnv6b64i0AHHdxB-qDP6KoJBZ5s/s1600/02.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732845786762757410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkoyjMIBzBp7l6i_HtoLbO5OWEiMmciaXSQMEXpwdoQC2ztee4rn7Svr14Rch-pxqBcpf4Kd4rs5RQH4kJ3x7OReUaUI8fXkH5Mabv-18_wrhFGKXOnv6b64i0AHHdxB-qDP6KoJBZ5s/s400/02.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 302px;" /></a>Of course, I can't discount the role my disability plays in all of this. Maybe that's what's making me so fearful and unsure? There is a very high probability that my child would also have Freeman-Sheldon Syndrome, and part of me doesn't want that for my child. As hard as I've worked to thrive despite my disability, I don't think anyone would ever want that for their children. That's sort of like saying, "Yes, I want my child to have lots of hospitalizations and have more than 20 surgeries." It just doesn't sound right. Does that make sense?<br /><br />So what happens if you're wired a bit differently? What does that say about you if you're never bit with the baby-fever bug? What kind of person does that make you? Are you any less useful or valuable to society? Do you think society judges women who don't want children differently than they judge men who don't want children? Does your desire to remain childless make you any less of a woman? Did your womanhood somehow get tossed aside? And, does not wanting kids mean you lack a maternal side and instead have a heart of ice and stone?<br /><br /><em><strong>**Don't forget to enter the <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2012/04/shopbop-100-gift-card-giveaway.html">Shopbop giveaway</a> for your chance to win a $100 shopping spree!**</strong></em><br /><br />[Photos by <a href="http://charlesgullung.com/">Charles Gullung</a>]

Love Lounge: What if you don't want to have children?

On Monday, to kick off Baby Week , we shared our baby fever stories , and I reminisced about three little boys who had a not-so-little effec...

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Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #155.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYInugEOGOLspzvKiWDKmaAR5Sg9Jli8nwBQierk563fn70KZF20PaqWh90Gz7nEqGAihn2aJCCm99zpHYZ-lKrV0n2HN9m3R1wUPaloKvMQ10IXdCkis3qYYB4fiulgOpc64mfHt5iJg/s1600/02.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732085986452072418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYInugEOGOLspzvKiWDKmaAR5Sg9Jli8nwBQierk563fn70KZF20PaqWh90Gz7nEqGAihn2aJCCm99zpHYZ-lKrV0n2HN9m3R1wUPaloKvMQ10IXdCkis3qYYB4fiulgOpc64mfHt5iJg/s400/02.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a>I'll be honest, Sweetpea: You would have hated the person I was a few years ago. I was that woman. I chatted on my cell phone as I dashed through the supermarket, rolling my eyes and wondering why the little girl with the pigtails and pink puffy dress couldn't move any faster. I even avoided the under-six set at church. <br /><br />Even <span style="font-style:italic;">I</span> hated me.<br /><br />The plain truth: <span style="font-weight:bold;">I didn't want to have kids</span>. I wanted a high-power career as a New York City magazine editor instead of a high-power position as president of the PTA. I wanted to be roused every Saturday by the morning sun sweeping through the nearby window and the smell of freshly brewed coffee instead of being jolted awake by shrieks from the next room or the smell of a not-so-fresh diaper. That's how I viewed motherhood. Not a very flattering portrait, was it?<br /><br />All the sippy-cup, Dr.-Seuss, bubble-bath fun? Well, I'd just leave that to the Mommy Bunch. I considered myself a Career Woman, and the two shall never meet. <br /><br />It wasn't that I grew up with horrible motherly role models. My childhood was quite the contrary, in fact. My mother threw herself into motherhood raising my younger sister and me. Herself a stay-at-home mom, the three of us spent our days rummaging through large piles of children's book at the library or sitting on the banks of the nearby lagoon feeding the ducks. If anything, you'd think I'd want to be my mom, Part II. But one lap around my bedroom would reveal I'm no where close to filling her large shoes. My bookshelves are lined with writing books, various anthologies and the AP style manual; my mother's shelves were lined with family health books and framed family photos. I keep cold cans of Coke in the fridge; she always had fresh juice boxes on hand, the plastic wrapper already removed from the straw, of course. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwsLva5B581srgVd05jf8BRBpZsqW7ZSZCaZxNlIGMOJOGiTCQHXDVaGcV8gnODonq4739o_6VQ-jMM4wb_85emLefPk5r7gr-43vy-Zb_9Y0n3e9ZZceoBz-ASXOzjMns71d_aADjrg/s1600/03.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732085984155471538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwsLva5B581srgVd05jf8BRBpZsqW7ZSZCaZxNlIGMOJOGiTCQHXDVaGcV8gnODonq4739o_6VQ-jMM4wb_85emLefPk5r7gr-43vy-Zb_9Y0n3e9ZZceoBz-ASXOzjMns71d_aADjrg/s400/03.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a>That all changed when I met a set of tiny triplets.<br /><br />After years of trying to conceive, my mother's coworker gave birth to their three bundles of joy. I visited them in the NICU, all curled up under a blanket and the overhead heat lamp. For some reason, I felt an instant connection with each of them. We continued to visit them every few months, first as content eight-month olds, then as clap-happy ten-month olds who could sit up.<br /><br />Then one fall day in October, with orange and yellow leaves swirling in the front yard, my mom and I found ourselves on their doorstep. There was one of the triplets, his face and hands making homemade window clings on the front window. His mother opened the door with one hand as she steadied another one of the triplets on her hip. And the third little boy? He held tightly to her knee and buried his head in her jeans.<br /><br />“Oh, I'm so sorry about the mess,” she chirped as we entered the living room.<br /><br />Picture books dangled from the edge of the coffee table, a toy car had found its way smack dab in front of the fire place and small bags of Halloween treats lay strewn across the brown carpeting. I’ll admit I felt a bit out of place, almost as if I’d stepped into a room I didn’t quite belong in. A private club. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFREKMRqKNioTeJdQNfk-7Yc5yQ_xQa1sDjesoRvlDneRte_IZ3GwHGXcanMk9Avv2_UIvyjP2hd_LcFWF1Hd_roUsgS5n19Tr2UCadtHzmZyqZ1uyzNwhBs82rD-37EMkKqLZdnqVqas/s1600/01.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732085993609144002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFREKMRqKNioTeJdQNfk-7Yc5yQ_xQa1sDjesoRvlDneRte_IZ3GwHGXcanMk9Avv2_UIvyjP2hd_LcFWF1Hd_roUsgS5n19Tr2UCadtHzmZyqZ1uyzNwhBs82rD-37EMkKqLZdnqVqas/s400/01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 322px;" /></a>As I sat down, a bit nervous, the quieter of the three boys came over to the couch and proceeded to offer me his pacifier not once, but twice. I declined, naturally, picked up the picture book that lay next to me, and the two of us sat down for a little reading and relaxing. <br /><br />“What’s that? A yummy pie,” I said as he pointed to a colorful picture.<br /><br />“Oh, that’s a tri-an-gle,” I said, neatly sounding out each syllable of the word.<br /><br />Was I really using what people call <span style="font-style:italic;">baby talk</span>?<br /><br />Over the next two hours, we (<span style="font-style:italic;">yes, me and three 18-month-olds</span>) shared laughs, more books, strawberry Pez dispensed from a Jasmine dispenser (<span style="font-style:italic;">a big hit</span>) and even shook and swiveled our hips to Shakira tunes. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUtLPNHpBHIksO7FG72DhQGJBl_SJTo5IBm6mD7t5JnhWVf2ZtBlN1JDpnhR6CLeaJbNs7x2sRt9XlBZELTzUwkSV46Jc08ZWkoV6EAETTPcrxO92RYPPP5Bw1i3t-kJx3pk8tykB9k3w/s1600/04.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732085980030093586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUtLPNHpBHIksO7FG72DhQGJBl_SJTo5IBm6mD7t5JnhWVf2ZtBlN1JDpnhR6CLeaJbNs7x2sRt9XlBZELTzUwkSV46Jc08ZWkoV6EAETTPcrxO92RYPPP5Bw1i3t-kJx3pk8tykB9k3w/s400/04.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 263px;" /></a>I may have entered that house a cynical independent woman who had resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood, but I left a woman who, for the first time, could actually, perhaps, maybe see herself with a baby in her right arm instead of a cell phone clasped to her ear. Maybe someday, Sweetpea. What do you think? Until we meet... xoxo<br /><br />P.S. More on how <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/search/label/Disability">my disability will affect my having children</a> later in the week... :)<br /><br /><em><strong>**Don't forget to enter the <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2012/04/shopbop-100-gift-card-giveaway.html">Shopbop giveaway</a> for your chance to win a $100 shopping spree!**</strong></em><br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://weheartit.com/">We Heart It</a> and <a href="http://iheartbaby.tumblr.com/post/12854163876">i heart baby</a>]

Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #155.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake: I'll be honest, Sweetpea: You would have hated the person I was a few years ago. I was that woman. I chatted on ...

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Let's talk siblings!

<div align="center"> </div><a href="http://rookery9.aviary.com.s3.amazonaws.com/13534000/13534056_e1b4_625x625.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://rookery9.aviary.com.s3.amazonaws.com/13534000/13534056_e1b4_625x625.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 329px;" /></a>In honor of yesterday's <a href="http://www.siblingsday.org/">National Sibling Day</a>, let's talk about those relationships that are often a mixture of love, competition, petty fights (<em>and some not-so-petty ones</em>) and at the end of the day, respect. They can be all at once frustrating, fascinating and fantastic. I've talked about <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2011/10/do-you-have-nicknames-for-your-siblings.html">my sister</a> before, but I'd love to share a little more of our story today...<br /><br />My younger sister, Janelle, and I are twins, despite our four-year age gap. We talk alike -- we’ve been known to spontaneously burst into a British accent, riddled with <em>bloody</em> this and <em>cheeky</em> that. We think alike -- my aunt once commented that we seem to have our own <em>sister language</em> because we could finish each other’s sentences and know instinctively what the other was thinking long before a single syllable ever escaped from our lips. And my mother used to say that we both share the same hurried gate, a mixture of frenzy and determined energy -- though I bustled around in my wheelchair while Janelle laced up her slick white Nike’s and set off to pound the pavement. Until my father’s death, I never understood the deep bonds of sisterhood. Our lives are changing and our paths are beginning to diverge on the metaphorical trail that has become our shared existence. And all the while, I’m not so sure if I’m ready to swiftly wave goodbye to our shared history and enter the <em>real world</em> without my partner in crime. After all, it had always been us against the world. Will the solo woman I become vastly differ from the little girl who wrapped her gangly arms around her little sister in a childlike bear hug?<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe4RRZbiBGbYfRgvryBZGPd8YHqkVwd1SDu0CdzksQfgbrYV7Cwh9Y3URAxhNo54FWHV8aZzJtbPTrkfYC4hnW9wlvc3eiIVyvYvOzEd721bYpdWF1Kve-ub67GtMZzRCOV7MAZw3WmJM/s1600/02.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730137653258038338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe4RRZbiBGbYfRgvryBZGPd8YHqkVwd1SDu0CdzksQfgbrYV7Cwh9Y3URAxhNo54FWHV8aZzJtbPTrkfYC4hnW9wlvc3eiIVyvYvOzEd721bYpdWF1Kve-ub67GtMZzRCOV7MAZw3WmJM/s400/02.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 313px;" /></a>Janelle was born when I was a four-year-old little redhead. There was some concern that she would also have <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/search/label/Disability">Freeman-Sheldon Syndrome</a>, so my parents did their homework: They visited three geneticists, one of whom said my Freeman Sheldon Syndrome may have come from my mother’s side. And then, ever the thinkers, my parents contemplated, discussed and contemplated again. Apparently, they thought a sibling would be good for me, so on a chilly fall day in October, with the colorful leaves falling from the trees, we welcomed the newest member of our family. As the story goes, I was as proud as if my new baby sister was my own daughter as my father lifted me high up so I could peek through the glass walls of the tiny incubator to get my first glimpse of her big bald head and shiny blue eyes. I was the first one to see her, even before my mother, and in my child mind, that somehow gave us an extra-special bond. <br /><br />But our roles were often reversed growing up. Because of all my surgeries and the fact that the hospital became our second home by the time I was two years old, my sister had to grow up fast, bypassing a totally typical childhood for the sterile halls of doctors' offices and hospitals. She was a little person in a big, scary medical world, getting shuffled around to family members during my surgeries so my parents could be with me at the hospital or sitting for hours in a hard hospital chair. A child shouldn’t know the words needle, IV or operating room better than words like playground, toy or Chuck E. Cheese, but she never once complained. Instead, she took care of me, playing games with me as I lay in the large hospital bed and telling me about all the exciting things she and my father did while they were home by themselves.<br /><br />So when my father died, I worried about my sister more than ever. I became her protector and felt this intense need to take care of her, to give her the stable sort of life she missed out on during her childhood. I thought that if I could just hover over her like a mother hawk, I could ease her grief and prevent anything bad from ever happening again. I couldn’t physically take care of her the way she did for me all those years, but I could be the emotional rock -- the stability -- that she needed. But maybe all my motives went far deeper than that. Maybe it was my way of taking care of her, of paying her back for all those years she took care of her big sister. Maybe I even felt guilty that my little sister was robbed of her idyllic childhood because of me. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh9yTqqX5100thtyy__ZeVtnHdSrFKwz5H9UOBvdUq-SJVejPXx6U5ohTrXUZf2ofio3KsQO4s5u5mBPWbiHXO2BOD1peZY-i1_TT6rhxKmoW0wEPdUeiaOvdd6ySO6NJ8Gd-JmSvKJYc/s1600/03.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730137650841329250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh9yTqqX5100thtyy__ZeVtnHdSrFKwz5H9UOBvdUq-SJVejPXx6U5ohTrXUZf2ofio3KsQO4s5u5mBPWbiHXO2BOD1peZY-i1_TT6rhxKmoW0wEPdUeiaOvdd6ySO6NJ8Gd-JmSvKJYc/s400/03.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 316px;" /></a>A few years ago, I happened to glance at her as she emptied the dishwasher. And she was a carbon copy of my father. Her mannerisms, her meticulous technique of placing each bowl in its proper place -- it was all my father. And yet she also looked like that little girl who once screamed in sheer joy as he pushed us halfway to the sky on the playground swings. I got a tear in my eye as I realized we’re each other’s last link to our father. She’s the only other person on Earth who’s had the same childhood and who will carry those memories of being with our father in her heart like I do. We may grow up, but I know we’ll somehow always come back to each other. And maybe for a little while longer, it will still be us against the world. <br /><br /><strong>Do you have siblings, friends? How has your relationship changed since childhood? Are you closer now than you used to be? Are you alike? Different? Do you think the sibling relationship between brothers is different than it is between sisters? What do you love about your siblings? What's your sibling story? xoxo</strong><br /><br />P.S. A very, very (<em>very!</em>) exciting <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/search/label/gorgeous%20giveaways">giveaway</a> is coming up soon! :)<br /><br />[Top photo via <a href="http://www.siblingsday.org/">National Sibling Day</a>]

Let's talk siblings!

In honor of yesterday's National Sibling Day , let's talk about those relationships that are often a mixture of love, competition, ...

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Love Lounge: Who are you?

<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2RDwZulnzF7D9gnVwtBDdaiZ0481n6m0cJq99diudhUUQUFYsT9dcBJccWSfkgOQgTv3hH1EqV14MWySj3b7Ua-MBmyPSMGOscXx5vF6hs0MLrxdFGjJYyslgV_sU2n_LerZCHltkco/s1600/01.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729488410010606498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2RDwZulnzF7D9gnVwtBDdaiZ0481n6m0cJq99diudhUUQUFYsT9dcBJccWSfkgOQgTv3hH1EqV14MWySj3b7Ua-MBmyPSMGOscXx5vF6hs0MLrxdFGjJYyslgV_sU2n_LerZCHltkco/s400/01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 260px;" /></a>I'm many things to many people: daughter, sister, friend, coworker, writer, quirky comedian. All these parts of me harmoniously exist together; in fact, people are amazed at the sheer fact that I don’t topple over from wearing all these different hats. <br /><br />But sometimes, two pieces of me -- my womanhood and my physical disability -- don't fit into the puzzle so easily. Sometimes, I feel like I can be one or the other, apparently, but never both. I can be a woman. I can be someone with a physical disability. But I can never be a woman with a physical disability. Now, maybe this is how I've built it up in my head, but nonetheless, these sorts of thoughts of creep in.<br /><br />But why? You wouldn't think it would be so hard to have the two coexist. Yet sometimes I picture them in this battle with each other -- each trying to be "top dog" and shine brighter than the other.<br /><br />That's why I've always been a huge proponent of people-first language. I'm not a disabled woman. I am a woman <span style="font-style:italic;">with</span> a disability. It looks like a small thing, those two ways of identifying someone with a disability, but the latter does something with first one does: Emphasizes the person. It doesn't mean you're negating the person's disability. It doesn't mean you're pretending said disability doesn't exist. I suppose it just means that I'm embracing all of me. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHwaCa26rgiejEz4Koqd4AGACAzst9K8-VoJuyi1HHkLtXtwXF21KRJcqCl1G_7S_eHI3qC5cdmLxi5B1JaiL_Z8jLgC_HYUA0TcRTzIK4AtIfbWwbA8JNtcPdUCisFEDelytlK2AaUQ/s1600/02.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729488405163885986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHwaCa26rgiejEz4Koqd4AGACAzst9K8-VoJuyi1HHkLtXtwXF21KRJcqCl1G_7S_eHI3qC5cdmLxi5B1JaiL_Z8jLgC_HYUA0TcRTzIK4AtIfbWwbA8JNtcPdUCisFEDelytlK2AaUQ/s400/02.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a>In conversations with people, and in posts on my blog, I’ve begun trying to reconcile the two. I know they can peacefully coexist, but I can't wrap my head around it sometimes. Or maybe I don't want to? I'm not so sure. But I do know that I am a <span style="font-style:italic;">woman with a disability</span>. <br /><br />The truth is, this womanhood is something that is mine. And my disability is something that is mine too. I own them. Both of them.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">So, friends, tell me: Who are you? What hats do you wear in your family? Among your friends? At work? Do you ever find that you have competing hats? Are there parts of you that sometimes don't go too well together? How do you deal with that when it happens? xoxo</span><br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://www.leloveimage.blogspot.com/">Le Love</a>]

Love Lounge: Who are you?

I'm many things to many people: daughter, sister, friend, coworker, writer, quirky comedian. All these parts of me harmoniously exist to...

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Question of the Week: Question #16

<em>Well, friends, I came up with this week's question myself after I looked into the mailbag and discovered it was empty! I'd love to hear from you, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol)!</em><br /><br /><strong>How do you deal with irrational fears?</strong><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhLbUDK4yJ9x8NkMv51LhmocpSGahqwKocuiCMKoJifStUSZihq3o2DHAN2pFguxKybYP9cyT9kWsvseLkVnkeUch85cjW9VYdq8SjxRtqAXlxxRiP3Vi08WVqI77SHPBYG8CjiWo8tA/s1600/aa.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716853758157287714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXhLbUDK4yJ9x8NkMv51LhmocpSGahqwKocuiCMKoJifStUSZihq3o2DHAN2pFguxKybYP9cyT9kWsvseLkVnkeUch85cjW9VYdq8SjxRtqAXlxxRiP3Vi08WVqI77SHPBYG8CjiWo8tA/s400/aa.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a>Irrational fears.<br /> <br />Two words. Fifteen letters. The two words don’t even look like they belong together, do they? If a fear is irrational, there is no way it should hold so much power over us. We know it’s irrational. And what’s more, a fear is just that: A fear. A fear of something that might happen, but hasn’t yet.<br /><br />Remember when I last wrote about <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2010/09/irrational-fears.html">irrational fears</a>? You know, the kind that seem to linger longer than a pesky hang nail and leave you exhausted from a bit of over-obsessing. <br /><br />When we were kids, we might have been afraid to go to sleep because of monsters. We looked for them under our bed, in our closet or sitting on the branches of a tree outside our window. We’d even seek reassurance from our parents – the rational ones – who would be positive that no such monsters were haunting us. We had proof in the empty closets and lonely tree branches, but sometimes the proof isn’t in the pudding – or in this case, a lack of monster sightings. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLId6YkhvUXe02ehIV2H4_ZKb9BpRoTIToB6QHG_N0rvFyryZ4AqFIykjiLEOGC2tb2O3Pb9UAEI9vpMwQFai4J_GOKj7PPmyKju6hNypXEIRPobHJtamShhvSHItNeOO8jC_TXCLLAs/s1600/aa2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716853757035686626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLId6YkhvUXe02ehIV2H4_ZKb9BpRoTIToB6QHG_N0rvFyryZ4AqFIykjiLEOGC2tb2O3Pb9UAEI9vpMwQFai4J_GOKj7PPmyKju6hNypXEIRPobHJtamShhvSHItNeOO8jC_TXCLLAs/s400/aa2.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" /></a>Sometimes those fears still linger. Even when we’re adults. That’s sort of how I’ve come to see these irrational fears that keep popping up in my head. These fears are like our childhood fear of monsters. Just because I can’t see the fear up-close-and-personal doesn’t make it any less real. <br /><br />Our adult-equivalent of monsters could be anything: Job stress, health woes, relationship tension. These fears, whether rational or not, are very real. We picture them jumping out and scaring us. <br /><br />Ever the curious person that I am (<em>and looking for ways to rein in my fears</em>), I did the only logical thing: I took my question to Facebook. Who better to give me advice than my friends? Some said to remember to keep on breathing (<em>always a good idea, especially with everything in life</em>). Some reminded me to think of happy thoughts. Others said to do something like exercising or enjoying a new hobby and always remembering to live in the present moment. <br /><br />And someone even said, “I scream, then kill them because they are usually bugs with eight legs."<br /><br />I’ll admit it. That one did make me laugh. Maybe we can rein these fears in together? How do you beat those monsters, friends? xoxo<br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://audreyhepburncomplex.tumblr.com/">Audrey Hepburn Complex</a>]

Question of the Week: Question #16

Well, friends, I came up with this week's question myself after I looked into the mailbag and discovered it was empty! I'd love to h...

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Question of the Week: Question #15

<em>Last week, I posted half of the recent interview I had with the lovely Sarah of <a href="http://www.yesandyes.org/">Yes and Yes</a>. She interviewed me for her True Story series, and I'd love to share the rest of my answers with you today, friends! I hope you enjoy it, and as always, feel free to send me your own questions to mellow1422 [at] aol [dot] com, or leave them in the comments below! xoxo</em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbt72uuJHv1BwWIK6WoaQ6P78xA1c2Pd_WKEFlol-qLuCu_d5KdzA3yz1a1hnTm-l3B7M62wZCY2BbNygSP5erbUhrwFcWjIINJamAXzYqtxF29K7UsYg4W9hv9KMiY2M4chh5waSivU/s1600/aa.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714238034454439202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbt72uuJHv1BwWIK6WoaQ6P78xA1c2Pd_WKEFlol-qLuCu_d5KdzA3yz1a1hnTm-l3B7M62wZCY2BbNygSP5erbUhrwFcWjIINJamAXzYqtxF29K7UsYg4W9hv9KMiY2M4chh5waSivU/s400/aa.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a><strong>What are the biggest misconceptions about disability and dating? </strong><br />Definitely that women with disabilities aren't interested in dating. Sometimes, people forget that we're just like them. Maybe they think that we have "more important things to worry about," but we want love just like anyone else. <br /><br /><strong>How have the people in your life reacted to your dating life? </strong><br />Actually, people in my life haven't ever been very vocal about my dating life. I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. Thank goodness, no one has ever said anything offensive. Maybe they didn't see me making a big deal about my dating life and took their cue from me. I've found with my disability that if people don't know what to say, then they don't say anything at all. And honestly, I'd rather have them ask than not ask. It's not like I have some big secret that I don't want to talk about. <br /><br /><strong>What advice would you give to anybody in a similar situation? </strong><br />Be honest. Be true to yourself. My parents raised me with the belief that I could do anything, and it's that sense of independence that has made me reach for so many things in life. Yes, there are obstacles in my way because of my disability, but I don't let them stop me. I'm grateful for all their encouragement.<br /><br />[Photo via <a href="http://www.leloveimage.blogspot.com/2012/02/gift-to-be-loved-by-you.html">Le Love</a>]

Question of the Week: Question #15

Last week, I posted half of the recent interview I had with the lovely Sarah of Yes and Yes . She interviewed me for her True Story series, ...

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Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #151.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake: <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtkRM-D92rHT6LRJSjcU671Zr9U_w-sCXYkLBdsmKTqwdlsYwQJowrQjAZOWHUTEz7MVhUySFTOkXNXvhIsfi5yODmqXJTjEADV3kUh_FovXs8k0kceCnegrcoXKH3v0kiJKtQA9NrVc/s1600/01.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712420129066403234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtkRM-D92rHT6LRJSjcU671Zr9U_w-sCXYkLBdsmKTqwdlsYwQJowrQjAZOWHUTEz7MVhUySFTOkXNXvhIsfi5yODmqXJTjEADV3kUh_FovXs8k0kceCnegrcoXKH3v0kiJKtQA9NrVc/s400/01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a>Isn't it funny how things just click sometimes? It's like someone suddenly turns on the metaphorical light bulb above your head, and everything that was once dark and shrouded in mystery is now bright and clear. Take the first signs of post-traumatic stress disorder I experienced all the way back in 2010. I couldn't put the pieces together then, but looking back now, I can't help but see that time as a precursor to the <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/search/label/Tuesday%20Update">depression</a> that would eventually land me in the hospital by the end of the year. What, Sweetpea? I've never talked much about my PTSD? Well, allow me to explain...<br /><br />It can be something as little as the time I was standing in a hotel parking lot while on vacation one summer, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man walking toward me. He looked exactly like my father. The closer he got, the larger the lump in my throat became. Or, it can be something a little bigger, like the few dozen times I’ve walked past the building on the campus where my father worked and pictured him galloping up the stairs with a huge smile on his face. Or, even the time when I found the blue-knit cap he wore during the course of his chemotherapy and radiation to treat an aggressive form of sinus cancer and up until the day he committed suicide two weeks after finishing treatment. Or, the smell of his clothes and how they’d remind me of his big bear hugs.<br /><br />That’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in a nutshell. It’s the body’s way of trying to process the massive stockpile of emotions left in the wake of a traumatic life event. For some, the sound of a car’s squealing tires may make them jump in fright following a car accident. And with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, more and more soldiers are coming home both physically and emotionally scarred.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4H0M_9BqNbKvne_Lt8QWeuwZDt-ZR5U9fKM9oUKm8BJQ_CR9Lob7tsBJLWUmR4xMk8atNfUT5JK9hziOgsoFq2VtEVEVeeUX0Ku1bjoHImW-ZBXd-dDCIGq6-9faSQMhwuDzcmVo43Os/s1600/02.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712420125864558674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4H0M_9BqNbKvne_Lt8QWeuwZDt-ZR5U9fKM9oUKm8BJQ_CR9Lob7tsBJLWUmR4xMk8atNfUT5JK9hziOgsoFq2VtEVEVeeUX0Ku1bjoHImW-ZBXd-dDCIGq6-9faSQMhwuDzcmVo43Os/s400/02.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" /></a>Having been born with a physical disability, I’m used to labels. But PTSD? That was a label that took a little more time to come to terms with. Before my father’s death, I’d always prided myself on being such a strong person. So to wrap my head around the idea that, “Yes, admitting I have PTSD does make me a strong person instead of a weak one” took some time. I’d been in counseling for much of the time since my father’s death. In fact, I returned again after a year off. I told my therapist I thought I needed a “tune-up.” There is nothing wrong with that, I keep telling myself.<br /><br />For me, in addition to the sights and sounds that remind me of my father, I’ve also grappled with spiraling thought patterns. Because of my physical disability and the fact that I was only 21 when my father killed himself, I worry constantly about losing my sister and mother. Being alone is my worst fear, and even though I know it’s irrational, I just keep thinking sometimes about the “what ifs.”<br /><br /><em>What if I lose my mother and sister too? What if I’m all alone?</em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2CulbF8P7rgkheFToa0lR2nYh3btorsUbdW2U4NLg1tHm0w-mwKLxw25R2KU_xPhdMbFGk69VaSGOlu2AHv-oACcQIc43esYntDMGBWbUtrigmfcG-QeANbc4FDfvojjVfcGaICdifM/s1600/04.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712420095795985282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2CulbF8P7rgkheFToa0lR2nYh3btorsUbdW2U4NLg1tHm0w-mwKLxw25R2KU_xPhdMbFGk69VaSGOlu2AHv-oACcQIc43esYntDMGBWbUtrigmfcG-QeANbc4FDfvojjVfcGaICdifM/s400/04.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 399px;" /></a>That’s why I’ve always pictured PTSD as a sort of carousel. I’m sitting on one of those colorful ponies going around and around in circles. You eventually come back to the starting point. You see it, and sometimes, it hits you like a ton of bricks. Other times, you see it and can pass it without even registering it in your mind.<br /><br />It’s those latter times when I start to think I’m “over it,” which is sort of the insidious way PTSD operates. I know I’ll never be “cured,” but sometimes I can go for weeks or even months feeling just fine. And other times, like last year, for instance, every little thing sets me off. I’ll find myself crying over seemingly minor stuff. It’s times like these that remind me that I’m still trying to learn how to integrate my PTSD into my life rather than plan my life around it. It’s a constant struggle, but one I know I need to fight with all my strength. I know my father would want me to.<br /><br />One of the common misconceptions about PTSD is that you can just “snap yourself out of it.” Time has passed, so it’s time you move on too. Maybe I even tried to convince myself that at one time or another. Sometimes my mother, sister and I will drive past our old apartment. It’s the apartment I grew up in — where I recovered after all my surgeries, where my father taught me how to balance an equation in high school algebra. It’s also the place where he killed himself on a March morning in 2003 while I was sleeping in my room.<br /><br />Driving by it now, it’s easy to see that, on the outside, everything has changed. The parking lot is filled with different cars. The building looks like it’s been repainted. Even our windows look different. Life has gone on. As if nothing had ever happened.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVdv1JXPS32RMzt7gM_Z32kFe28VZ2dC13D8vgjvR6DQ46OjMlTksahbRKSuBhsRo8WITACb7WoRCi4ODFmyn5t8F-yW9xQCJUGcR6JR4NA5bFYQEdeATv-c-8HVj-d8NoT3ZfjCm45fk/s1600/03.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712420097091459954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVdv1JXPS32RMzt7gM_Z32kFe28VZ2dC13D8vgjvR6DQ46OjMlTksahbRKSuBhsRo8WITACb7WoRCi4ODFmyn5t8F-yW9xQCJUGcR6JR4NA5bFYQEdeATv-c-8HVj-d8NoT3ZfjCm45fk/s400/03.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a>But deep down, the memories are still there, memories of everything that happened inside, and that’s what makes the trauma still feel very raw and very real for me. It may be chronologically almost 9 years after my father’s death, but sometimes, especially when I think of that old apartment, it feels more like only a few months. In those moments, when I’m spinning on that carousel, all I can do is keep going. Maybe the next time I come around, I’ll see things from a different perspective.<br /><br />Does that make sense, Sweetpea? I often wonder if I'll be struggling with these issues when we meet, or if I'll be in a different place in my life. I suppose only time will tell. Until we meet... xoxo<br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://weheartit.com/">We Heart It</a>]

Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #151.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake: Isn't it funny how things just click sometimes? It's like someone suddenly turns on the metaphorical light b...

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Question of the Week: Question #14

<span style="font-style:italic;">Today's question is more of a series of questions from Sarah of <a href="http://www.yesandyes.org/">Yes and Yes</a>. She recently asked me half a dozen questions for her interview series, and I thought you'd like a little peek at my answers, friends. Here are the first three questions. Look for the other three next week. xoxo</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNGIFxiaMic5u_rrIm7CPhWgX8Yb20069LUw0EweeVb8kYR6w5uI7-GB4-CAiFau5rMiXcXUxd8b1DOt8I5KfWExoOmFo0Eg0yBhN120XrYCFAUSQA9BPVIM9VoAHR0n4o9eqvAn7n-28/s1600/01.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711613747663827394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNGIFxiaMic5u_rrIm7CPhWgX8Yb20069LUw0EweeVb8kYR6w5uI7-GB4-CAiFau5rMiXcXUxd8b1DOt8I5KfWExoOmFo0Eg0yBhN120XrYCFAUSQA9BPVIM9VoAHR0n4o9eqvAn7n-28/s400/01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 314px;" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Can you tell us a bit about your disability?</span><br />I was born with <a href="http://ghr.nlm.nih.gov/condition/freeman-sheldon-syndrome">Freeman-Sheldon Syndrome</a>, a bone and muscular disorder. I've had about 26 surgeries to correct my bones and joints. Despite my disability, I've lead a pretty normal life: Graduated from college with a degree in journalism and now working as an adviser for a college newspaper. I enjoy getting young people excited about journalism and writing.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">How does your disability affect your dating life? </span><br />Of anything in my life, my disability has affected my dating life the most. I'm usually a pretty self-confident person, but when it comes to dating, I've always been a bit self-conscious. I often worry that guys won't be able to see past my disability.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Tell us about your dream guy! </span><br />Oh, definitely someone who can make me laugh. Laughter is one of the most important things in life, and any guy with a sense of humor has my heart. I'm also a romantic at heart, so I love guys who are romantic and charming. My family mean the world to me, and you know a guy is a keeper if he's close with his family. <br /><br />[Photo via <a href="http://www.leloveimage.blogspot.com/2012/02/read-between-lines.html">Le Love</a>]

Question of the Week: Question #14

Today's question is more of a series of questions from Sarah of Yes and Yes . She recently asked me half a dozen questions for her inter...

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Love Lounge: What's your favorite (imperfect) body part?

<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmr7Ie7QttHwOBxS9H41gHtPnsIR6UjsHitknWV72SLH7gU_NoGKs6LKCwpVHcNJO8eWEAAMYkXVELk_QQyoeJ-TmNh6HtQ-I_p30RTHoy5Z3paFjA6y3AoqvyxfWu3tF2eFCrq4wzWq0/s1600/as.png"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708744539325999378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmr7Ie7QttHwOBxS9H41gHtPnsIR6UjsHitknWV72SLH7gU_NoGKs6LKCwpVHcNJO8eWEAAMYkXVELk_QQyoeJ-TmNh6HtQ-I_p30RTHoy5Z3paFjA6y3AoqvyxfWu3tF2eFCrq4wzWq0/s400/as.png" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 302px;" /></a>Friends, did I ever tell you about the affectionate name my sister and I bestowed upon my right wrist years ago? I know, you're probably thinking something along the lines of, "Who in their right minds names their wrists?"<br /><br />My sister and me, naturally. Truthfully, the name just sort of fell into place. Besides an inability to swallow food, another side effect of my <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2009/04/so-about-that-surgery-on-my-sexy-brain.html">spine growing up into my brain stem</a> was my right wrist suddenly drooping. So the only logical name? The Swan. If I hold up my wrist, it literally looks like a swan.<br /><br />And this swan-like hand? It's not perfect. Yes, it has its flaws. Yes, it has its shortcomings. And yes, it would probably pale in comparison when held up to other wrists, but maybe those are all the exact reasons it's become one of my favorite body parts.<br /><br />Maybe, too, it's why my freckles, oddly shaped nose and surgical scars are also my favorite parts about my body. They're imperfect, but when you think about it, that's what makes them real.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPj5CRzTtcsr6T6Xp3130Y7GYyz9k5E-tmp63mVzUWOOH55R4vFHFLqFDugqi3I0IYumw9AR3dMYsZl0gjf2reyOZ0n_kKOfrItL23v6KSGssSuqzG4EcRsfT0rAzSgN4Kp9tpVS9pUvU/s1600/02.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708651087355157378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPj5CRzTtcsr6T6Xp3130Y7GYyz9k5E-tmp63mVzUWOOH55R4vFHFLqFDugqi3I0IYumw9AR3dMYsZl0gjf2reyOZ0n_kKOfrItL23v6KSGssSuqzG4EcRsfT0rAzSgN4Kp9tpVS9pUvU/s400/02.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" /></a><strong>So, friends, what about you? What supposed imperfections are perfect to you? Your feet? Your ears? That beauty mark on your arm? What makes you perfectly imperfect? xoxo</strong><br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://weheartit.com/">We Heart It</a>]

Love Lounge: What's your favorite (imperfect) body part?

Friends, did I ever tell you about the affectionate name my sister and I bestowed upon my right wrist years ago? I know, you're probably...

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Question of the Week: Question #13

<em>Well, friends, I came up with this week's question myself after I looked into the mailbag and discovered it was empty! I'd love to hear from you, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol)!</em><br /><br /><strong>Do you remember your dreams?</strong><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIjf1uhAzXRg7GcbSFZSgSqp3xBZW_Af1Pmrjg8YXPE9gTYdhWX-LhBhCGoQSUf5BdnzIJLeEtadgAVMFv0IpBgBf0fXIc1jA4w7DQw2iubevhIqjvOitq_z6wP5egYMoGFUUzRrZS4dA/s1600/01.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706417945083256722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIjf1uhAzXRg7GcbSFZSgSqp3xBZW_Af1Pmrjg8YXPE9gTYdhWX-LhBhCGoQSUf5BdnzIJLeEtadgAVMFv0IpBgBf0fXIc1jA4w7DQw2iubevhIqjvOitq_z6wP5egYMoGFUUzRrZS4dA/s400/01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" /></a>Dreams are a funny thing, aren't they? They can seem so real and powerful when we're having them. They can be dreamy and magical and fantastical and whimsical -- almost like a fairytale come to life. And yet, they can also resemble nightmares, full of ghosts and ghouls so scary that you wake up screaming and shaking.<br /><br />I've had both types of dreams. While I don't always remember the specific parts of my dreams, I always know if they're good or bad, usually <em>as</em> I'm dreaming (<em>spooking, huh?</em>). What I find really interesting, though, is how my disability figures into these dreams -- or, well, how it <em>doesn't</em> fit into them. I'm never in a wheelchair in my dreams. Ever. In fact, I don't even notice the absence of my wheelchair. I was just going about my normal life.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbPT3Rz7_j1li_9Mm05AmNNkaXHu1JT4Bq8vZ6x3lfuJhiV3fx7KmkjlpAhQ9G6OQHYttohQerqw4BXiMRZt8ntrObbJRrxYmlXyyW31TbnXfj1-1TA-fbs30vSixZWXIVjrgcL6zmcXw/s1600/02.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706417940318433714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbPT3Rz7_j1li_9Mm05AmNNkaXHu1JT4Bq8vZ6x3lfuJhiV3fx7KmkjlpAhQ9G6OQHYttohQerqw4BXiMRZt8ntrObbJRrxYmlXyyW31TbnXfj1-1TA-fbs30vSixZWXIVjrgcL6zmcXw/s400/02.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" /></a>My mom once told me about a dream she had where we were in a giant park. It must have been the summer because we were surrounded by green grass, and it was a beautiful, clear day. In the distance, she saw me running. I was free. Nothing was holding me back. I wasn't disabled. I wasn't in a wheelchair. I was just running and laughing. I could tell the dream was pretty bittersweet for her, which it was for me too, but it sure made me think.<br /><br />I'm still undecided as to whether dreams have psychological meaning. I was only a few classes short of a psychology minor in college, so I like to think I know a bit about the human mind (<em>the sexiest body part, remember...?</em>), and I sometimes wonder if we're not trying to work things out in our dreams. Was my mother trying to come to terms with my disability when she dreamed of me running? <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSO9obZj0VgHBcKZ8WBwzCQO0myy4KZIwn6EP7zpgfkRggvjfVytZOAKOKxHU48uhezh3KWD3ic4WM4SXL305xNc20jDAgBuzYZJ9rOb-IbH_VD9T3tjSW65S-KA7u1U1LgQsrEdfSMs8/s1600/01.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706419372881683986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSO9obZj0VgHBcKZ8WBwzCQO0myy4KZIwn6EP7zpgfkRggvjfVytZOAKOKxHU48uhezh3KWD3ic4WM4SXL305xNc20jDAgBuzYZJ9rOb-IbH_VD9T3tjSW65S-KA7u1U1LgQsrEdfSMs8/s400/01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 293px;" /></a><strong>What about you, friends? Do certain themes tend to repeat themselves in your dreams? Do you think dreams have deeper meaning? Or do we just read too much into them? What was your last dream? Was it scary? Let's chat! xoxo</strong><br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://weheartit.com/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&query=dreams">We Heart It</a>]

Question of the Week: Question #13

Well, friends, I came up with this week's question myself after I looked into the mailbag and discovered it was empty! I'd love to h...

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Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #149.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGV1_5a8HXhpPB44G7m8EG-Ifi2URLG-aHq2cGGgC0LRUqsmJTehFjuEJmCUuBDxwyzPcBOspL1v9t8Dm6zEm1shOZDE4BPwYUefRAcZVEihvJLuG5Nzgo6x-4hQqWlw-S3SEJPykbkyI/s1600/aa3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703438392348599026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGV1_5a8HXhpPB44G7m8EG-Ifi2URLG-aHq2cGGgC0LRUqsmJTehFjuEJmCUuBDxwyzPcBOspL1v9t8Dm6zEm1shOZDE4BPwYUefRAcZVEihvJLuG5Nzgo6x-4hQqWlw-S3SEJPykbkyI/s400/aa3.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a>I was looking at the calendar a few days ago and realized something: It's almost February 2012. I had to just stop for a moment as I felt a little lump form in my throat. I tried to cough, but it wouldn't budge. It intended to stay there until I acknowledged it. So I suppose I had no choice, I thought, as my mind drifted slowly back to almost one year ago -- to a few days before Valentine's Day in 2011.<br /><br />It's the last time I was in the hospital for <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/search/label/Tuesday%20Update">my depression</a>. <br /><br />There. I've said it. I sometimes wonder if I talk about it a lot with you, Sweetpea. Do I? I only say that because from where I am now, everything about that time in my life is still so fresh, so vivid in my mind. It's like that one movie scene (<em>usually the gruesome one...</em>) that you just can't seem to get out of your head no matter how hard you try. And that's not to say it's a bad thing. It's just, well, the way things are at the moment. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibx0EzYBjP8WAfU2MHFWQ5-mvsAGk1g0ThymIdART1-UeGzZYeuOiLRSBtsaafj9NJUtYzhig6GpzsCNGNHh-iaHgOJpHpgIxoaZ95-JOTfauFQJa0aJnuoTPbxOC2k-odm-GD-a0hN34/s1600/aa.png"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703438397502782946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibx0EzYBjP8WAfU2MHFWQ5-mvsAGk1g0ThymIdART1-UeGzZYeuOiLRSBtsaafj9NJUtYzhig6GpzsCNGNHh-iaHgOJpHpgIxoaZ95-JOTfauFQJa0aJnuoTPbxOC2k-odm-GD-a0hN34/s400/aa.png" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" /></a>I know it probably sounds crazy, but I can't help but feel as if my struggles with depression define my life more than all my other surgeries combined. Not that it defines every aspect of my life, but I've certainly never marked anniversaries for my surgeries like I'm doing with my depression this year. So that has to mean something, doesn't it, Sweetpea? I've never been so excited and yet so terrified to reach a milestone -- so excited because I can finally look back and see just how far I've come, and terrified because I sometimes feel as though I'm always looking over one shoulder, making sure I don't let the depression somehow creep back into my life. It's all a fine balance sometimes, and I'll be the first to admit that I'm still trying to figure it all out.<br /><br />I often wonder, too, where I'll be a year from now. Well, you already know the answer to that, but I don't, so just humor me here. A lot can happen in just one year, can't it? My entire life could change -- another thing that sounds both exciting and terrifying -- but I do know one thing: I want to still feel the way I feel right now. Because I feel strong. I feel like I've come a long way in the last year. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQUvnmMyDNtfPmwOZE5HRMfP3Q-doG9XDPIx0YVb04o3v4_eeAdVklWvhd_crYrcycOgVilAygmj8qzN2m6GFFz5yoGIotqiuaiNy130oakzZs1bWGHLWR7mpVP-bPyUPmm5hko0qY8jc/s1600/aa2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703438392867269554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQUvnmMyDNtfPmwOZE5HRMfP3Q-doG9XDPIx0YVb04o3v4_eeAdVklWvhd_crYrcycOgVilAygmj8qzN2m6GFFz5yoGIotqiuaiNy130oakzZs1bWGHLWR7mpVP-bPyUPmm5hko0qY8jc/s400/aa2.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a>I won't pretend I'm all cured. I won't pretend I don't still have some days that are a heck of a lot easier than others. And I won't even pretend that I have all the answers. I don't. But my mom said something very interesting a few days ago. She said that the day I <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2010/08/do-you-sing-in-shower.html">started my classic singing</a> around the house was the day she knew I was getting better. I think she may be on to something, Sweetpea, don't you? Until we meet... xoxo<br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://www.leloveimage.blogspot.com/">Le Love</a>

Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #149.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake: I was looking at the calendar a few days ago and realized something: It's almost February 2012. I had to just st...

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Love Lounge: Perils of pressure

<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqWnZ_0iq64fwTmtVUPLzwR_83J77oFYxQlYkg228qrCfpyZIQ-BlnPcsA3MG0frMQPEnI_2aN5dlxDin3k58iQWpxbh7HTn6mnvhiS0QlTBLPGkQS2H5egQalP4-LrEPC-lpAv5Gq74/s1600/01.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701619771623407794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqWnZ_0iq64fwTmtVUPLzwR_83J77oFYxQlYkg228qrCfpyZIQ-BlnPcsA3MG0frMQPEnI_2aN5dlxDin3k58iQWpxbh7HTn6mnvhiS0QlTBLPGkQS2H5egQalP4-LrEPC-lpAv5Gq74/s400/01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 295px;" /></a>Let's talk pressure today, friends. You know, the kind that bears down on your shoulders and tries to get the best of you? It's an evil little monster, isn't it? And after some comments in yesterday's <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2012/01/memo-to-men-girlfriend-vs-girl-friend.html">MEMO TO MEN</a>, I got to thinking about all the pressure that comes with Cupid's arrow -- or lack of Cupid's arrow. The vicious cycle starts when we're teenagers. We see our friends having all these new experiences -- seeking out with boys, stealing secret kisses -- and we start to panic. We can't be the last of our friends to have these experiences, we think. So we sometimes just jump in head-without-heart to simply <span style="font-style:italic;">get it over with</span>. Another item checked off our romantic to-do list. Done. Easy as that.<br /><br />But somewhere down the line, we realize just what a mistake we've made. Maybe things don't feel the way they should. We don't feel those butterflies. We don't feel that giddy, school-girl glow coming over us. We feel, well, nothing. And it's the worst none-feeling feeling in the whole world. And that's when, sometimes, we realize that we let all that pressure get the better of us. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAX1h0aptNCjJUEB28GFjOccLFyoZEDI1FEQLnw3Xd1SgTUqpE8SKIGq7Xe1vp2vT5KbR26wlhFn72JZY66SgQHh3KlVCZFwF50q4wnOqsGuSfbIIiSTyyo6ORVfZLunScwnodDNzSp_g/s1600/02.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701619770500733010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAX1h0aptNCjJUEB28GFjOccLFyoZEDI1FEQLnw3Xd1SgTUqpE8SKIGq7Xe1vp2vT5KbR26wlhFn72JZY66SgQHh3KlVCZFwF50q4wnOqsGuSfbIIiSTyyo6ORVfZLunScwnodDNzSp_g/s400/02.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" /></a>Well, me? I don't want to just do it. First kiss. First date. I don't want to just get them over with. Because that's not what any of them mean to me. They all mean something to me -- every first kiss, every first date, even every first fight -- and I don't want to be left feeling like I let someone else's pressure lead my heart into making the wrong decision. I'm starting to believe that things will naturally happen when they're supposed to, so I'm not going to rush things along. If I do, I'll miss the beauty of the scenery along the way. And something tells me I don't want to miss out on even one second of that beauty. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Do you ever feel that sort of pressure, friends? Are there certain things you've done just to get them over with? Was it worth it? Have your views changed as you've gotten older? xoxo</span><br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://www.leloveimage.blogspot.com/">Le Love</a>]

Love Lounge: Perils of pressure

Let's talk pressure today, friends. You know, the kind that bears down on your shoulders and tries to get the best of you? It's an e...

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Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #148.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHpM0VPePSm-75V2s8Nm8gm_L1-J5ETrsbV6QKEkGXFGpYSVRIgiU9-C4oxgJax-cF7um8hxOCkQS0KhjyK1KE-anPRIyfgjiUJY-SKF3q_LYpv-OvSMDXb0yooubxkczl4rZQgIBEwjU/s1600/01" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699439118056937602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHpM0VPePSm-75V2s8Nm8gm_L1-J5ETrsbV6QKEkGXFGpYSVRIgiU9-C4oxgJax-cF7um8hxOCkQS0KhjyK1KE-anPRIyfgjiUJY-SKF3q_LYpv-OvSMDXb0yooubxkczl4rZQgIBEwjU/s400/01" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 277px;" /></a>Well, leave it to <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2009/11/glee-ful-joy.html">Glee</a> and a little ditty by Rihanna to get me thinking about you on a freezing winter's night in January 2012. What's that, Sweetpea? I've never told you about my love-bordering-on-obsession fondness for the show? I blame it all on the fact that I was in my school's choir in junior high and my freshman year of high school, but that's a topic for another time and another letter.<br /><br />Tonight, though, I can't help but feel like a bit of my life was played out on the small screen. This week's Glee saw two main characters, Will and Emma, getting engaged, but not before facing some real insecurities and serious questions about Emma's illness. There's no sugar coating it; Things won't be easy. Things are going to seem overwhelming sometimes. Things are going to seem hopeless sometimes. I won't lie and say I didn't want to reach through the television and punch Will square in the face when he said, "I know it’s not your fault that you have this disease, but some days it just seems so hopeless. How will you handle spit-up on your special Wednesday sweater?” No one would have faulted Emma from walking away at the prospects of all that. But she didn't. In fact, she did quite the opposite, using words like incomplete person unabashedly. She made no excuses. She made no apologies. She made it clear that she wasn't the least bit sorry for who she was.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCj4Gb9tRb58ILboeDkNqmtGXjf7beSyFemwUY0s8daumNe5DrqzRfBzMB25zY_e5iT_Mpj06K6OH13bRTGo_f6VUcyWtk5YyEevlyTnwBb_0Lra0cqd86qHeh9LdKKD084YMKG-T2as/s1600/02.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699439117548590402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCj4Gb9tRb58ILboeDkNqmtGXjf7beSyFemwUY0s8daumNe5DrqzRfBzMB25zY_e5iT_Mpj06K6OH13bRTGo_f6VUcyWtk5YyEevlyTnwBb_0Lra0cqd86qHeh9LdKKD084YMKG-T2as/s400/02.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" /></a>It was inspiring, to say the least, Sweetpea. Why? Because <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2011/07/letters-to-my-future-husband-letter-129.html">last</a> <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2011/07/letters-to-my-future-husband-letter-130.html">summer</a>, I definitely wouldn't have had the courage to react that way. Maybe I would have just been too scared, afraid that everything would come crumbling down. Not today -- not right now. So, yeah, we could probably think of thousands of reasons why this will never work and why it's a waste of time for us to even try. And maybe we'll even start convincing ourselves that these reasons are actually true. But I have to believe that even in those hopeless of places, you can still find love. Just because the odds are stacked against you doesn't mean you should go down without a fight. Because in the end, love is worth fighting for. Quirks and all.<br /><br />I'll jump of the edge of glory if you'll jump with me, Sweetpea. What do you say? Until we meet... xoxo<br /><br />[Top photo via <a href="http://src.web.buddytv.com/glee.aspx">Buddy TV</a>, bottom photo via <a href="http://www.leloveimage.blogspot.com/2012/01/think-of-you.html">Le Love</a>]

Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #148.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake: Well, leave it to Glee and a little ditty by Rihanna to get me thinking about you on a freezing winter's night ...

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Question of the Week: Question #10

<em>Have a question? I'd love to hear it, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol), friends! Today's question comes to us from Mari, who asks...</em><br /><br /><strong>What article have you written that you are proud of?</strong><br /><div align="center"> </div><a href="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7024/6715092741_272a209e8a_o.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7024/6715092741_272a209e8a_o.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 550px;" /></a>Oh, this is definitely an easy one. In 2007, I had a personal essay published in <a href="http://www.redbookmag.com/">Redbook magazine</a>. It was my first national publication, and I was beyond over-the-moon excited -- I was practically out-of-the-galaxy giddy with excitement. The day it came out, my mom and I walked to the gas station by our house and bought a couple copies of the magazine and fountain drinks. We couldn't wait until we got home, so we sat on the curb outside the gas station, the blistering summer sun beating down on us, and flipped right to <em>my</em> page! xoxo<br /><br />P.S. I can't believe it's been almost 5 years! :)

Question of the Week: Question #10

Have a question? I'd love to hear it, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol), friends! Today's question comes to us from Mar...

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Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #147.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpjI-DRTMVcV5P0Tlxu6lW0mi6TgOIXLZmZF_-ZFfYW-r8i166_LHD7GCzta8OsJqm_OejZxzLJ8d9E0OwsybOfrkt1JNmgurzabr1V5qO-GlirTeCrjuPqHal4dFNJEiFdo6gbYiKzK8/s1600/aa.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696108976430172450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpjI-DRTMVcV5P0Tlxu6lW0mi6TgOIXLZmZF_-ZFfYW-r8i166_LHD7GCzta8OsJqm_OejZxzLJ8d9E0OwsybOfrkt1JNmgurzabr1V5qO-GlirTeCrjuPqHal4dFNJEiFdo6gbYiKzK8/s400/aa.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a>I'm sitting here in my psychiatrist's office, and one thought keeps going through my head: "Wow, that smell is so familiar." <br /><br />Don't worry, Sweetpea, nothing is wrong; I'm just here for a check-up. But for some reason, I keep having flashbacks of the PTSD kind as I'm sitting here. That fresh, new-office smell wafting through the place, the smell and sight of a fresh coat of cream-colored paint on the walls, the stacks of files lining the corner wall, the soft hum of music in the background, dim lighting. It all took me back today to the first time I stepped into this office in the spring when I was in the throes of that <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2011/05/open-letter-to-my-depression.html">evil depression</a>. And honestly, I can't quite figure it out. After all, I've been here since then, and it never bothered me. Well, I'm not saying it actually <em>bothers</em> me today -- maybe that's too strong of a word. I'm <em>noticing</em> it more today. It's making me remember all those emotions I was feeling at the time.<br /><br />And then a few days ago, while out to lunch, I took one look at my mom and said, "Oh wow, hospital smell." She looked at me and knew exactly what I was talking about.<br /><br />It was all too clear: The undeniable power of sense memory. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4IZUGfzPNqUML1rshKrN-ttdF6k0uj1B7PMdEn1RniOKov2zLv-2N6iBFeewJNqhBWkxQm0uZXBFu1IRqUHX9lHYn3eOxRI_za202ebpy-ghbNCSLx33VnOZF7fBXWoYvS7mF6tMRwlg/s1600/aa2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696108973526483794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4IZUGfzPNqUML1rshKrN-ttdF6k0uj1B7PMdEn1RniOKov2zLv-2N6iBFeewJNqhBWkxQm0uZXBFu1IRqUHX9lHYn3eOxRI_za202ebpy-ghbNCSLx33VnOZF7fBXWoYvS7mF6tMRwlg/s400/aa2.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 278px;" /></a>It seems our senses are always working overtime. Sights. Sounds. They all get stored in our subconscious as little pockets of time, ready to come out later and remind us of the past. And sometimes, like in my case, they reappear at the oddest of times, when we least expect it. Have you ever felt this way, Sweetpea? <br /><br />But maybe it's good to have those types of sense memory wake-up calls every now and then. It helps us hold on just a little bit of the person we were while we look in that metaphorical mirror and see the reflection of the person we are today. And this may sound weird, but it sort of makes me feel as if I can connect with that person I was last year and at least try to reassure her that things are going to be OK. I look forward to making lots of sense memories with you, Sweetpea. Until we meet... xoxo<br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://www.leloveimage.blogspot.com/">Le Love</a>]

Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #147.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake: I'm sitting here in my psychiatrist's office, and one thought keeps going through my head: "Wow, that s...

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Behind The Blog: I Look Good Today

<span style="font-style:italic;">You might remember the lovely Jamie when she <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2011/08/guest-post-husband-friend-and-soulmate.html">guest posted</a> over the summer. She's giving us an even bigger look into her life and blog today. I hope you enjoy it, and as always, I'd love to feature you and your blog, so feel free to email me (mellow1422 [at] aol)...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Quick facts</span><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Name...Jamie<br />Birthday...April 24<br />Where are you from...Tampa, Florida<br />3 words that describe you...Positive, driven and compassionate<br />Occupation...Public Relations Specialist<br />Blog: <a href="http://ilookgoodtoday.com">I Look Good Today</a><br />When did you start your blog...April 12, 2011</span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpOq9e0gL0xHawC6Na97f6X6tX2ds3cWgMfM4yGbeutlW-yO9q825GJkoQPTxEtVSS6RTOoAxIheWH6DORj6my4GQ4_Msr_y3nCK43gYu5Yn5PG8C15Jh0tM0vsjxRHEgB4_imOoOwyRNr/s1600/01.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683806158950635954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpOq9e0gL0xHawC6Na97f6X6tX2ds3cWgMfM4yGbeutlW-yO9q825GJkoQPTxEtVSS6RTOoAxIheWH6DORj6my4GQ4_Msr_y3nCK43gYu5Yn5PG8C15Jh0tM0vsjxRHEgB4_imOoOwyRNr/s400/01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">What inspired you to start a blog? </span><br />There are a number of reasons that I started <a href="http://ilookgoodtoday.com">I Look Good Today</a>. For years I have been an avid blog follower. I kept thinking to myself, “I can do that.” Probably the biggest reason, though, for me is that I wanted to connect with people. I wanted them to see that just because you might have a physical disability doesn’t mean you cannot accomplish your dreams. I wanted to be an inspiration to people to never give up. I want my readers to think, “Hey, if she can do it, so can I!”<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">What do you love the most about blogging? Does anything about it stress you out? </span><br />I love getting to interact with so many wonderful people that I would have never had the chance to meet if it were not for my blog. I especially love it when I get an email from a reader telling me that something that I wrote really resonated with them. It’s all about making that connection!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">If you had to describe your blog in one sentence, what would you say? </span><br />If you are a lover of fashion, makeup, decorating and food and feel empowered when you leave, then this is the blog for you!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJYoTsK3HwoZPayf3HIAkWwaJle75Li1VZI6AMyR3lFDs7UdSWEZtTjx3ClQjwDu4eyl4t9BZvPAj-LnTJxC72xzvjkSThOZk4ZhdF-DY4s2_jiQto7kO3SktRL50o1qcTUL40NtoAcX_/s1600/02.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683806153399361378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJYoTsK3HwoZPayf3HIAkWwaJle75Li1VZI6AMyR3lFDs7UdSWEZtTjx3ClQjwDu4eyl4t9BZvPAj-LnTJxC72xzvjkSThOZk4ZhdF-DY4s2_jiQto7kO3SktRL50o1qcTUL40NtoAcX_/s400/02.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">What has blogging taught you?</span><br />I have heard and read this from so many bloggers, but it is so true...being yourself is the key. Your readers want to get to know you. It is amazing how you can really touch people’s lives by just being yourself!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">What advice do you have for new bloggers? </span><br />Don’t worry about the numbers. Initially, I worried about how many followers I had. I judged the success of my blog with how many people signed up to follow it. In time, they will come. The most important thing about blogging is to enjoy it. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Where do you see yourself and your blog in 5 years? </span><br />Five years is a long time away. I know there will be many new and exciting adventures awaiting me, and I can’t wait to take my blog and its followers along for the ride. I’m hoping to actually have the I Look Good Today book out on shelves for my followers to connect even more with me.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">What has surprised you the most about blogging?</span><br />People’s comments. I never expected to get the kind of response I have from my followers. With every new comment I get, my excitement for blogging builds. I love each and every one!

Behind The Blog: I Look Good Today

You might remember the lovely Jamie when she guest posted over the summer. She's giving us an even bigger look into her life and blog t...

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Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #143.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxorTOoyb1QL7iWWGcBlS5J5dWy5sLOME4R8KgJmKdNYGVmfk_c4KhKyXjrNynEZfKYegi_TYWzVyvvL3h2uA7Zqe-6e2CQhVyydR5GZ-1bPuxRfwxRknOIsg4l63Bx7HiCT4IZht3b4u/s1600/04.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680887244083177282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxorTOoyb1QL7iWWGcBlS5J5dWy5sLOME4R8KgJmKdNYGVmfk_c4KhKyXjrNynEZfKYegi_TYWzVyvvL3h2uA7Zqe-6e2CQhVyydR5GZ-1bPuxRfwxRknOIsg4l63Bx7HiCT4IZht3b4u/s400/04.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 334px;" /></a>Letting go. Letting go. Letting go. It's been something that has been slowly creeping into my head. What started as a teeny tiny thought has grown, well, a bit bigger. And apparently, it wants my attention because it doesn't seem to be going away any time soon. I suppose I should take that as a sign, right? I suppose I should face it, right, Sweetpea? <br /><br />So what is this big, bad monster that has my knees shaking? An anniversary. It was right around this time last year that I and everything in my world was sidelined by <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/2010/12/letters-to-my-future-husband-letter-120.html">major</a> <a href="http://melissabxoxo.blogspot.com/search/label/Tuesday%20Update">depression</a>. It's weird, but even now, it feels like it was just yesterday. And as hard as it is to remember virtually anything from this time, I don't think I'll ever be able to forget how it all left me feeling. Fearful. Confused. Overwhelmed. Confused. Anxious. Perplexed. Confused. So many emotions were flying around me (<em>it seemed like every emotion except happiness</em>), emotions that felt so foreign to me like Californians trying to enjoy a frigid winter in Minnesota.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijn_NszprOSn9sBdUaCCuvdgLD7VCjL9_Whhn1M5Posa-l6d2_ZvnZ4y8UCAERRy9R5V0NLV3hG4P7QX0zc1GsV3k1elhp3VdeZXF1HACN3heT1Hstdndra6iGVMCZ-CDdOpmDzI5BHKV/s1600/01.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680887254374021394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijn_NszprOSn9sBdUaCCuvdgLD7VCjL9_Whhn1M5Posa-l6d2_ZvnZ4y8UCAERRy9R5V0NLV3hG4P7QX0zc1GsV3k1elhp3VdeZXF1HACN3heT1Hstdndra6iGVMCZ-CDdOpmDzI5BHKV/s400/01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 274px;" /></a>So I worry at night sometimes. I worry I'll go back to that place someday. I worry that the evil depression will slither its way back into my life somehow.<br /><br />The fact is, I'm scared to face it. This whole anniversary thing. I'm honestly scared to look it square in the eyes, face it down and try to convince it that it has no power over me when both of us know very well that it could probably reduce me to a blubbering cream puff if it wanted to. Because in reality, that's exactly what it's trying to do. It's goal is to keep me afraid, to keep me running far, far away. If I don't think about it, maybe the anniversary will just pass and float off into oblivion. But then on quiet night, like last night, for example, when it was so quiet in my house that I could hear the sound of a pin drop, I know deep down that I have to at least acknowledge it in some way. If nothing else than to make some sort of peace with it. Because only then will I be able to move forward, you know, Sweetpea? <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVg2tzbLt5F_M7-gzLsf48wtSxhmbnD0kjSU80Ia8UphLVtSjlh9PRqaFv2VfcFQZtO-JIHqBrRnd23XPUoKYqVsR7uiwobjdi-1hkbPgccf2QdYbc75js2MeURG40GaparnK7KiA9PL1u/s1600/03.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680887249634439698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVg2tzbLt5F_M7-gzLsf48wtSxhmbnD0kjSU80Ia8UphLVtSjlh9PRqaFv2VfcFQZtO-JIHqBrRnd23XPUoKYqVsR7uiwobjdi-1hkbPgccf2QdYbc75js2MeURG40GaparnK7KiA9PL1u/s400/03.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a>So here I am, Depression (<em>yes, depression with a capital "D"</em>), letting you know that I've gone an entire year without you in my life, and I've realized something pretty amazing: <strong>I don't need you</strong>. Nope. Not one single bit. You've never helped me, you're never going to be able to help me and my life is so much better without you. What do you think, Sweetpea? Do I feel the same about depression wherever we are? Until we meet... xoxo<br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://www.pennyweightonline.com/blog/2011/10/26/let-go.html">Pennyweight</a> and <a href="http://www.leloveimage.blogspot.com">Le Love</a>]

Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #143.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake: Letting go. Letting go. Letting go. It's been something that has been slowly creeping into my head. What started...

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MEMO TO MEN: Assertive women rock!

TO: Men all over the planet <br />FROM: Melissa <br />RE: The art of assertiveness<br />DATE: November 29, 2011<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzuZpdShm6_GhagziWSt1KmP9_ABsfzfF164QVTALFL2tZFeNFPdLJooC8h3yDQuiFHarBxhIXuulQaCaT3XJ3zk4XNaUqyVKNmYqiqoSdXpfObDJHBZrf2ZulJvZYdbn7cNEtbjwjC6ul/s1600/02.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680465194144080146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzuZpdShm6_GhagziWSt1KmP9_ABsfzfF164QVTALFL2tZFeNFPdLJooC8h3yDQuiFHarBxhIXuulQaCaT3XJ3zk4XNaUqyVKNmYqiqoSdXpfObDJHBZrf2ZulJvZYdbn7cNEtbjwjC6ul/s400/02.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 269px;" /></a>A male Facebook friend posted this status update yesterday: <em>Guys like girls who are assertive</em>. <br /><br />I sat there for a moment, wondering if this was some sort of trippy, psychedelic, Age-of-Aquarius dream, because honestly, boys, I was a bit worried that this was too good to be true.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfEOl2-G_0hN_Jt_6D1gTB-OHGRynCH5qXIqYE14qtZ77MHdyAlSgZJCHkv0gaKuKD04k1jmtXm9lWdwPokdr90-9Qvf5NQdwwSKILp89voKuAEjMQcMpjCZgI4kdrmHdm-zcyWQIVxm4q/s1600/03.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680465191917961410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfEOl2-G_0hN_Jt_6D1gTB-OHGRynCH5qXIqYE14qtZ77MHdyAlSgZJCHkv0gaKuKD04k1jmtXm9lWdwPokdr90-9Qvf5NQdwwSKILp89voKuAEjMQcMpjCZgI4kdrmHdm-zcyWQIVxm4q/s400/03.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" /></a>And then I realized: It <em>was</em> true! Said male also went on to say that it's actually a turn-off when a woman lacks assertiveness. You have no idea how utterly happy this made me, boys. For so long, women have fallen into believing the evil stereotype that they'll get a "reputation" if they're labeled assertive. A woman can be assertive in every other aspect of her life, but when it comes to love? Well, she must always be the utmost damsel in distress, letting men do all the courting. Now, I'll admit that I may be shy (<em>OK, extremely shy...</em>) when it comes to love, but I sometimes wonder how much of that is my actual personality and how much of it comes from societal influences. Maybe I thought my disability would be enough of an obstacle in the dating world, and to add an assertiveness personality to the mix would just complicate things even further. So maybe I held back, boys. Perhaps I held back a bit too long. After all, I'm slowly starting to realize that I sort of have quite a few years to catch up on. Maybe adding another dash of assertiveness into my bag of tricks wouldn't be such a bad idea. What do you think, boys?<br /><br />But I do wonder: How assertive is too assertive? I still fear the stigma of the Eager Beaver Syndrome -- and yes, I think I've coined that term myself. Does that even exist anymore? Are there certain things you'd prefer women to be the assertive ones in?<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifKDPMXg6fRu2IWBH_ajwZVvlOSltO7i_BLC2FLHDoUustIwWOJGoXQjLU_4eMw5O_jwJUhARc7Y37AxhWg7q5OJzc1lov0bCAfJDipmrQM5HIo3OJmgx70fMJBDqTrkmd2-wtbJ0ztCoO/s1600/01.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680465197308157778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifKDPMXg6fRu2IWBH_ajwZVvlOSltO7i_BLC2FLHDoUustIwWOJGoXQjLU_4eMw5O_jwJUhARc7Y37AxhWg7q5OJzc1lov0bCAfJDipmrQM5HIo3OJmgx70fMJBDqTrkmd2-wtbJ0ztCoO/s400/01.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 246px;" /></a>In the end, I suppose I should just remind you again, for reinforcement purposes: Assertive women are not creatures to be feared. We're not going to pounce on you like wild lions and tigers and bears (<em>Oh my!</em>) in the jungle. We're more civilized than that; well, I am, at least. Sometimes, we just know exactly what (<em>or who...</em>) we want, and our natural inclination is to go after it. If we're being honest here, wouldn't you do the same thing? You are the ones to do the chasing most of the time, so why not let us take the lead? I do give you one warning, though: I'm pretty adorable when I'm at my most persistent, so I doubt you'll ever be able to put up much of a fight. Are you ready, boys... xoxo<br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://www.weheartit.com">We Heart It</a>]

MEMO TO MEN: Assertive women rock!

TO: Men all over the planet FROM: Melissa RE: The art of assertiveness DATE: November 29, 2011 A male Facebook friend posted this status upd...

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Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #141.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIpPhBhZUQfbLm1aXaupD6HQNP85T2AUIQcIxjFn-6JNfSy-ylr3LFFaSoVvap1OYz9AHnRTFGydPU8pQV-ieuayAmdnMb6aiOzzGo4ZzqkRJG9IDlwtJ97kUyjYdvVZ9cQWrXdCqMqLxL/s1600/aa"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673002808892657746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIpPhBhZUQfbLm1aXaupD6HQNP85T2AUIQcIxjFn-6JNfSy-ylr3LFFaSoVvap1OYz9AHnRTFGydPU8pQV-ieuayAmdnMb6aiOzzGo4ZzqkRJG9IDlwtJ97kUyjYdvVZ9cQWrXdCqMqLxL/s400/aa" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 270px;" /></a>I was reading over some of my past blog comments last night (<em>you wouldn't believe some of the dozies I've received</em>) when one of them caught my eye...<br /><br /><em>Have you ever considered that it might be you that has to make the first move? You seem to hold out hoping that a guy will get over his insecurities and talk to you, but you don't address getting over your own shyness and making the first move on a guy.</em><br /><br />Humpf. Interesting question. I just sort of sat there for a moment. Who knows - maybe I even had a deer-the-headlights look on my face. You probably know I'm usually the type to jump to answer questions, but with this one, I just sat and contemplated for a few minutes. The question almost became a sort of riddle. And then it all became as clear as day: I always assumed you'd be the one making the first move. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzN3pl5IkSLr-DDGnXpFZBcEiGxmfhfc0oHJbwj7NZv1AhRQeLPrAKZguMgSLJyp5QJB0-DQv_UVf7P_9Miz5p8AlIDISk0JxgyR7UuEGVfwAEVHuKo8BtxblU3LOq9So_2LOlM0GQJ4mM/s1600/aa2"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673002804201855538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzN3pl5IkSLr-DDGnXpFZBcEiGxmfhfc0oHJbwj7NZv1AhRQeLPrAKZguMgSLJyp5QJB0-DQv_UVf7P_9Miz5p8AlIDISk0JxgyR7UuEGVfwAEVHuKo8BtxblU3LOq9So_2LOlM0GQJ4mM/s400/aa2" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 373px;" /></a>I imagined you saying something along the lines of "So, would you like to go out sometime?" Maybe we've known each other for awhile, or maybe we just met at work or through friends. At first I might not pick up on the subtext behind your pretext. I do apologize in advance if it should happen to go right over my head. It's not my intention. I promise. It's just that I might not have had much past experience on which to draw from. So you may have to answer the question again if you should find a look of bewildered puzzlement on my face. I will catch on eventually. <br /><br />Now, lest you think I don't have a feminist bone in my body, Sweetpea, it's not that I don't think women should be the ones doing the asking. In fact, I've always been just a wee bit jealous of those girls. You know the type, Sweetpea. Those girls who can oh-so-casually walk up to a guy, look him straight in the eye, and ask him out. Right there. On the spot. With no cue cards. They can make it look so natural, as if it's the sort of thing they'd been doing their whole lives. They had perfected it<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmFQRWgvmZkdVjwbNieu5Zw-rIu45kE0Hr_07CYYwIaKtpixUA7c-3AXqx9kGWYZxn7x8N37oeb63jwAbxr6GBSNwigFoiFeMoQ5HXsnIfAcezTZ9sLv9W_sB3yeZit-G3-X6JQtAvu2Nk/s1600/aa3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673002799456168914" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmFQRWgvmZkdVjwbNieu5Zw-rIu45kE0Hr_07CYYwIaKtpixUA7c-3AXqx9kGWYZxn7x8N37oeb63jwAbxr6GBSNwigFoiFeMoQ5HXsnIfAcezTZ9sLv9W_sB3yeZit-G3-X6JQtAvu2Nk/s400/aa3.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 0px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" /></a>Ay, but maybe there's the problem. Science. There I go. Again. I'm probably making things harder than they need to be, trying to mold something to fit some sort of arbitrary scientific equation when there really isn't one. Do these things just naturally happen, Sweetpea? Are they supposed to? How do you make it look natural? And even more than that, how do you <em>not</em> put pressure on the other person? They say practice makes perfect, so maybe I should start randomly asking people out...I'm kidding. <br /><br />What would happen if I ask you out, Sweetpea? Would you say yes? Well, I mean, of course you'll say yes, but did I have to ask more than once? Until we meet... xoxo<br /><br />[Photos via <a href="http://leloveimage.blogspot.com/">Le Love</a>]

Letters To My Future Husband: Letter #141.

Dear Mr. Melissa Blake: I was reading over some of my past blog comments last night ( you wouldn't believe some of the dozies I've r...

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