#I actually have the Ides of March saved as a holiday on my phone

[jessgartner]

2020 Life Olympics

The real Olympics may have been canceled in 2020 but the Life Olympics persevered like the postal service of Olympics. 

First, I’d like to apologize for my role in the chaos of 2020 because I think I had a slight miscommunication with the powers that be and I feel partly responsible. Here was my plan for 2020: 

My theme for 2020 is Intention because I want to take the energy I feel right now and deploy it with more intentionality next year - bringing increased mindfulness to how I spend my time, money, physical and mental energy. And because I love wordplay, I also literally want to spend more time camping “in-tent” to enjoy more peace and quiet and beauty in nature.

The universe was like, “Oh, she wants to spend less money and more time outside? Well, shut it down. Shut the whole planet down.”

I mean, mission accomplished, I guess? I did spend less money and more time outside and had to be VERY intentional with my mental energy to survive the day-to-day morass of 2020. Next time, I will be more specific with my annual manifestations. Sorry to all. 

2020 was brutal for pretty much everything and everyone. I don’t know anyone who isn’t in some state of grief right now, including myself. I debated doing a Life Olympics at all this year, feeling like-- what is the point? Hundreds of thousands of people died, our democracy is hanging on by a thread, and millions of people lost jobs, businesses, and homes. 

Like many people, I’ve been struggling with anxiety and depression this year which intensified as it got darker and colder outside. At a low point, I talked with my therapist about the struggle of just not wanting to do any of the things that usually bring me joy-- and how periods of relief were so fleeting. “But you have to keep doing those things,” she said, “even if they’re not working right now, you have to keep doing those things and trust the process; the joy will return.” 

So even though I don’t really feel like it and kind of feel like it’s dumb, I’m writing the 2020 Life Olympics. I’m trusting the process.

2020 Life Olympics Recap

Work - Participation Trophy

Starting a company is hard, operating a company is harder, but running a company during a global pandemic and economic crisis is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. 2020 was not a fun year to lead a business; it was hell. On March 15, the plan for the year pretty much went out the window and everything went into survival mode. I never take the company or my team for granted, but I’m particularly grateful to be able to usher this work into 2021.

Despite the craziness, we still had some big wins this year. We launched new product partnerships with PowerSchool and Amazon Business. We rebuilt our tool for equitably calculating district funding formulas. And I got to flex my creative muscles with EdFinToks! Throughout it all, I was lucky enough to be surrounded by a team of people who are as compassionate as they are talented. 

I’m worried about public education more than ever after this year, but I’m going to keep fighting every day to make it work better for kids. 

This is Work-Lite but I also spent a good chunk of time this year leading the modernization workgroup for Bill Henry’s transition committee after his spring primary election to become the new Baltimore City Comptroller, ousting a 25-year incumbent, Joan Pratt. This was an enlightening (and infuriating) experience for me that gave me a glimpse into the operations of a segment of the City government. This process also really helped crystallize how much I enjoy making public agencies function more efficiently; I’m excited to see what Bill does with the recommendations (some are already being put in action!)

Health - Gold 

This is the second year in a row (and ever) that I’m giving myself a Gold medal for Health. This was easily a year that I could have regressed on all of my healthy habits and no one would have blamed me. Instead, I leaned into protecting and improving my physical and mental health in 2020. It’s not an exaggeration to say that walking probably saved my life this year. I spent a lot of time walking around my neighborhood and various state and city parks-- walking is maybe not the best word; I stomp and charge around like I have a score to settle with the ground beneath me. My walking increased 370% in 2020. This is a habit of 2020 that I’d like to keep. My brain and body are happier if I can spend a little time walking-- stomping-- around outside each day. 

I also did a lot of biking this summer. My cycling increased 200% this year-- with much more time spent cycling outdoors. My crowning achievement this year was biking to and from Annapolis:

I spent a LOT more time outside this year which was critical for my mental health. On the downside, I only did 90% as much yoga and 60% as much strength training, so I want to try to be a little more balanced next year. 

I also invested a lot in my mental health this year. I kept up with therapy every 2-4 weeks and in October I decided to pursue a formal diagnosis for ADHD which I definitely have! Needless to say, staying in one place this year has been a special kind of hell for me. 

Home - Silver

Well, I definitely spent less money this year. And the way I did spend money made me (mostly) sad: 

Travel down 70% 

Auto & Transportation up 200% (boo cars)

Shopping down 60%

Personal Care down 35% 

Gifts and donations up 200% 

Food and Dining down 40%

Entertainment down 35% (I kept up my singing lessons virtually which accounts for a lot of this category) 

2020 was quite the palate cleanser from my 2019 year of hedonism but maybe we can go for a happy medium in 2021? Just kidding-- I will resume my hedonist ways the minute the world opens. 

I also redid my home office like every other work-from-homer on the planet and replaced my crumbling kitchen floor so the house got some TLC. 

But nobody enjoyed having me home all year as much as Darwin:

Relationships - Bronze

What a weird year for relationships of all kinds. I’m giving this a Bronze because while I invested a lot into a few relationships this year, there are also a lot of people in my life to whom I haven’t been able to give my time and love. 

One of the most important relationships in my life this year was with one of my former students. After bouncing around in the foster system for many years, we reconnected around the holidays in 2019 and he started crashing with me while we tried to figure out stable housing and employment. He was arrested in January and was incarcerated for the next several months awaiting trial. Finally, we were able to negotiate a plea agreement with the State’s Attorney and he came home around Independence Day. We spent the next several months getting him set up with a phone and various identification documents-- a nightmare in normal times and a total abyss during the pandemic. I got him registered to vote when we got his ID card and I took him to vote for the first time (a supreme treat for this former social studies teacher):

He’s now got a full-time job and stable living situation. Calling this THE success of 2020. Thank you to everyone who helped me with resources all year for housing, legal processes, and documents. It takes a village. 

It was a bizarre year for family. We lost my grandmother in September, so not being able to spend the holidays together felt like an especially cruel loss. Other big losses this year include a trip to France to celebrate a milestone birthday for my mother and my brother and sister-in-law’s wedding (Mosby seemed pretty ok with the alternative plan, though):

But in many ways, my family has been more together than ever this year thanks to prolific group chats and photo-sharing. Mostly, I’m just glad everyone else is safe and healthy. As my father often reminds me, “Our problems are small.” 

And dating? What to do with this weird Jane-Austen-esque dating scene-- as if modern dating weren’t fraught enough. Is this the universe punishing me for ending my 2019 dating hiatus early? I, for one, have given up. You win this one, pandemic. I’m just going to have my little Twitter crush and call it a year. Next year, though...

Horizons - Silver Gold 

You know what? It’s hard to expand your horizons without people or places. 

I did the best I could. I finally got back on track with my Goodreads challenge and actually had a really good year of reading, including finally embracing audiobooks through my Libro.fm subscriptions. I especially enjoyed Michelle Obama’s book Becoming and Mike Birbiglia’s The New One on audio-- both narrated by their authors. 

I camped in Pocomoke (MD), Western MD, Lake Michigan, and Ohiopyle (PA):

I explored over 30 new hiking/biking trails-- some favorites including the Youghiegheny River trail in PA, the NCR trail, Catoctin Mountain, the C&O Canal Towpath, Annapolis Rock, and of course, Stoney Run in my backyard. 

I left Facebook and started the Life Olympics newsletter. I’ll be honest, I don’t miss Facebook but I also don’t understand where that energy, time, and brain space went. I was spending cumulatively hours a day mindlessly scrolling Facebook and I quit cold turkey and barely noticed-- what black hole of our brains does social media occupy? I kind of thought that with all that extra time I would write the next great American novel or something. I’m probably spending a little more time on Twitter, which I could stand to cut back on. Other than that, I think I was just trying to process the shitstorm of this year. Maybe I’ll write the next great American novel post-pandemic. 

For the first time in my life, I feel somewhat ‘caught up’ on pop-culture. I finally watched Parks and Recreation (twice); I watched The Mandalorian and finally actually watched Star Wars (episodes IV-IX); I watched the final seasons of The Good Place and Schitt’s Creek; I’m caught up on Insecure; I watched The Prom and Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom and Jingle Jangle; I even started Bridgerton. I know what everyone is talking about and I’m catching so many more pop-culture references these days. (I guess instead of writing the next great American novel I watched Netflix?)

2020 Lessons

I’ve spent plenty of time mourning the missed opportunities of 2020 and will probably always wonder what this year could have been in an alternate universe with a functioning government. But we only have this reality for now, and we made the best of it. 

I wanted to slow down in 2020, try to be more intentional, more mindful, and...

No thank you! I liked the pace of my life; it makes my brain and heart happy. I’m happiest when I wake up in a different city three days in a row. I like darting around every borough of Manhattan for nine meetings and three cocktails and then taking a red-eye to Europe. I want to run around to eight conferences for 18-hours a day for three weeks and then sleep for 22 hours. I miss overloading my brain so much that I need a deprivation chamber to sleep. This is who I am. This is how I like to live. And when I was locked down alone in the house for a year, slowing down, being mindful, I never once thought, “I should have... when I had the chance.” Because I always did. And I always will. 

2021

We shake with joy, we shake with grief.

What a time they have, these two housed as they are in the same body.

Mary Oliver

We’ve had enough grief. 2021 is going to be all about joy.

Universe, let me be clear: this is not a euphemism or code or secret signal.

I want pure, unadulterated, abundant, joy. I want multi-course dinners in restaurants with lots of close friends and good wine. I want the virus so far gone that I can make-out with handsome strangers. I want a rollicking good time in France and/or Brazil and/or Prague and/or New Zealand and/or Bali. I want to spend the day after Christmas in NYC with my father. I want to be a glutton for theatre and art and music. I want celebrations and parties and sequins. 

I want to shake with joy. 

If you’d like to receive the (shorter) monthly Life Olympics, subscribe here. 

[queertazsecretsanta]

A gift for @gravitaz, created by @dork-empress!

~~

“GREETINGS NEWTON FAMILY!” Minerva announced, flinging the door open. 

“Honey!” Duck said, clutching his hat to catch up from where he was running up the driveway, “I told you to KNOCK!”

“I did!” Minerva said, “and the door did not open, and so I decided to help it along!” She smiled at him, outshining the sun. Or so it seemed to Duck anyway. 

“You are welcome to rob us.” A girl said from the stairs, “Start with Duck’s old dolls--oh, sorry ‘’’action figures.’’’’”

Duck rolled his eyes, and pulled the girl, his sister Jane, into a half-hug, which quickly turned into more of a half-nelson. “Missed you too, Gremlin.”

“Augh!!!” she yelled, flailing like they were kids again, “Abuse! Abuse! Child abuse!”

“Oh please,” Duck said, “You’re not a kid anymore, you can’t use that excuse.”

Jane grumbled. “That’s right!” she said in challenge, “I can fight back!” Jane darted her hands out to tickle Duck’s stomach instead, getting him to let go. “Ha! Jane Newton, Still the Undefeated champion!!”

“Most impressive!” Minerva said, still standing in the doorway and somehow not looking awkward, “Wayne Newton is a most formidable warrior.”

Jane raised her eyebrows. “Wayne, huh?”

Duck scowled at his sister, “Let it go Janey.” 

“I also wish to inform you, Jane Newton,” Minerva continued, “That I have no intention of robbing your house, even Wayne Newton’s action figures.” 

Jane smiled, “Oh, I like this one, Ducky.”

“Nope,” Duck said, shaking his head, “we’re not doing that.”

Jane ignored him and held out her hand to Minerva, “Pleased to meet you in person, Minerva.”

Minerva beamed again. “You as well, Jane Newton. I wonder, are you what people call, ‘a hugger?’” 

Duck could see three whole jokes pass through Jane’s head that she swallowed down. “Yes, I most certainly am--”

Minerva swooped Jane up into one of her classic bone-crushing hugs. Jane groaned as the air left her lungs, while Duck snickered at her pain. He’s been there, though he didn’t regret it. “Alright, honey, let her breathe.”

Minerva let Jane down, who staggered back. “Well. Damn,” Jane said, blinking at the hug. 

Minerva paused, “I hope I was not too forceful, Jane Newton. I’ve learned to ask permission first, but I have been told I have trouble holding in my incredible strength.”

Jane whistled. “Oh, I’m fine. Just fine,” she said, biting her lip. 

“Hey,” Duck shooed her into the house, “My girlfriend, you can’t have her. Stop it.”

Jane chuckled, walking into the hallway, and letting Duck and Minerva properly enter. Duck took off his shoes, Minerva mimicking him. “Forgive me for stalling out here. I was just trying to save you, Mom’s on the warpath, and--”

“Wayne?” they heard a call from the kitchen, “Is that you Wayne?” 

Duck sighed, “Hi Mom,” he said, “Minerva’s here too.” 

“Excellent, come in here and set the table!” His mother called. 

Duck sighed, taking Minerva’s hand and leading her to the kitchen. 

His mother was bouncing about from counter to counter, preparing at least 3 dishes at once. On sight of her son, she thrust a stack of napkins into his hands. “Good to see you too, Mom.”

She doubled back to kiss him on the cheek before dropping her phone onto the pile of napkins. “I’ve pulled up a video on how to fold them, follow it as closely as you can. Jane, check on the vegetables while I mind the turkey, and--oh goodness.” She had finally taken in Minerva. “Oh my deary, you’re much taller than you looked on Skype.”

Minerva took it in stride. “Yes, I am very tall in comparison to most hu--women.” she stopped herself from saying humans, and Duck could only hope his mother and sister overlooked it. “Some people have become intimidated, I’ve noticed, but do not fear. I am here only for peace.” 

Mrs. Newton’s face lit up. “Fear? Oh goodness no, deary. You’re perfect. Can you get the platters I’ve put on the top shelf there? I don’t fully trust my step stool, it’s rather old.”

“Certainly!” Minerva said, easily reaching up to grab it.

Duck smiled, taking the napkins into the dining room. He didn’t know why he worried. He should have known his family would take to Minerva just the same as he did.

He was still folding the first napkin by the time Minerva came in with a beautifully plated asparagus, complete with drizzles of sauce. “Are you having trouble, Wayne Newton?” Minerva asked. 

Duck sighed, “Sorry ‘bout my mom,” he said, “She tends to go all out, and goes a bit overboard in my opinion. I mean, this is a bit much for a simple Candlenights.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Minerva said, “I don’t really know much about your human traditions. What is Candlenights, anyway?”

“A trademark of Big Head Productions LLC,” Duck answered easily. Minerva blinked, as she did when she was trying to figure out if something was a joke or not. “Look, back when she left my dad, Mom had this huge falling out with her church, and felt...weird celebrating Christmas. So we celebrate this like, secular version that’s on this podcast she likes and connects a bunch of different holidays together. Hence the menorah,” he said, nodding at the candle that served as a centerpiece, “And the Thanksgiving turkey and New Years Eve poppers….its just a whole grab bag of winter holidays.”

Minerva nodded, “A brave thing to do, to leave a culture behind that had wronged her, and to start something fresh and new.”

Duck smiled, “‘Brave’ is a...nice way of describing mom,” he said, “She’s a character, for sure. Always liked to do things her own way. It’s funny, when I came out---” he stopped himself, reminding himself he hadn’t actually super had this conversation with his girlfriend yet. Most people already knew once they’d known him long enough, but Minerva didn’t know a lot of human culture or societal norms or...anything. 

“Came out of what?” Minerva asked, the only indication of how long he had stopped talking.

Duck took a breath, and summoned her over to his mother’s picture wall. There were two that were further back than a few years ago, the first of him when he was a baby….and the second of him with Jane when she was a baby. Except he had little pigtails and a yellow dress he’d hated wearing even that far back. “So, this is me,” he pointed at the young child holding up baby Jane. “Or...was me.” She frowned at him, not understanding the significance. “Ho boy, where to start. Um, so, when I was born….people thought I was a girl,” he winced, unsure how to explain western gender standards to an alien. Minerva always referred to herself as she, but he was unsure if that was a translation thing, or if her planet had the same gender norms or what.

“Why did they think that?” Minerva asked, innocently.

“I just…” Duck said, “Sometimes...that happens. People use the markers they have available before kids are old enough to really know themselves, and then...if they got it wrong, then those people---me---are called Trans. Like, transitioning. I’m a trans man.” She nodded. “But uh. Anyway. The point is, when they do the telling, it’s called ‘coming out.’ And...some parents don’t react well to it.” He smirked, “Not Mom though. She was ready to go toe-to-toe to anyone who gave me trouble about it. Gave me the name ‘Wayne’ too….that was quite the ordeal.” 

He frowned, but wasn’t seriously annoyed at the memories of Mrs. Newton being fine with helping to change the gender marker on his ID, but refusing to let him legally change his name to ‘Duck.’ in fairness, he was happy with just having Duck be a nickname now. Wayne Newton was something he and his mother bonded over, so it worked out well, a symbol for just the family.

“Then she is an honorable woman,” Minerva said, getting Duck to smile wider, “and a worthy commander, I must go and help with preparing more dishes to be served. Are you sure you don’t need help with the napkins?”

Duck sighed, mood souring as he turned back to the cloth that refused to fold like in the video. “Give me one more chance before I call it forfeit,” he said. She frowned again, trying to figure out if it was a joke. “I’ll be fine,” he told her, quickly jumping to his toes to kiss her on the cheek, “Go help, before she declares you AWOL.”

Minerva smiled, recognizing that one for a joke. She gave a salute, “Yes, sir!” she said, before marching back into the kitchen.

Duck smiled, watching after her. He gave one last look to the photo on the wall, the only one of him pre-social transition his mom kept up. Even that had come with a long discussion, but Duck wasn’t ashamed of being trans, and besides, the first pictures of Baby Jane were important.

As he heard footsteps, though, he turned his attention back to the napkins. How in the hell was he supposed to just make it look like a swan?!

[welllpthisishappening]

Hey! I absolutely love the blue line series, I’m obsessed with the actual Rangers because of this and your writing is wonderful. I was wondering if you write something about Robin, Regina and Roland’s relationship with Henry? Or anything about Henry’s life as a member of the Locksley-Mills family.

Of course, anon! So I was going to do some bullet points because I’ve got some thoughts and, like, Roland idolizes Henry when they’re growing up and Henry only ever wears a Jones jersey, but he plays center like Robin and he’s pretty good at hockey, even if he never goes pro and…I digress. I wrote some things instead. Time-wise, Henry’s 18 and getting ready to apply to college and here are some feelings. 

“Hello?”

Emma blinked, twisting her lip between her teeth and she wasn’t entirely prepared for the clipped tone on the other end of the phone.

“Emma,” Regina said, and she sat up straighter. The baby in her arms didn’t entirely appreciate that. “Emma,” Regina repeated. “I can see your name on the caller ID. I know it’s you. Unless it’s Matt and then Matt, I need you to give your mom back your phone. And tell your dad to respond to my e-mails.”

“What e-mails?” Emma asked.

“I knew it was you.”

“Are you negotiating endorsements with my four year old?”

“Certainly not if I can help it.”

Emma laughed under her breath, mumbling a string of nonsense into the tiny bit of dark hair in her arms and she was fairly positive her left leg was going to go numb. They had a game later that night – a few weeks removed from Christmas and Peggy’s first birthday and Emma had spent the majority of the day organizing several Garden of Dreams holiday-themed events, while trying to make sure that the towel on her shoulder stayed on her shoulder.

And reading Henry’s college application essay.

And not crying over Henry’s college application essay.

Which was why she’d twisted herself into an intricate human pretzel and called Regina, several tear-stained pages on her desk.

She’d totally failed on that whole not crying thing.

“Emma,” Regina muttered, and it was clear her patience was wearing thin. “Did you call me to discuss your husband’s endorsement deals? Because there’s a commercial that’s available and they want to use the entire first line and—“

“—No, no, I didn’t,” Emma interrupted. She could almost see Regina’s eyebrows jump, and Peggy made a noise that might have been a gurgle. The towel was working harder than any professional hockey player would that night.

“Then what’s going on?”

Emma grimaced – and she was sure Regina’s eyes widened and her lips probably thinned and they weren’t really the best of friends, but Regina did regularly influence the amount of money coming into the Swan-Jones household and Emma was, at least, ninety-six percent positive half of Matt’s clothes were in Roland’s room and…

“I do have a meeting in ten minutes,” Regina said sharply, and Emma clicked her teeth in frustration. “So unless someone is dying or there’s a career-ending injury I need to be aware of, then…”

“Oh my God, Gina, it’s nothing like that.”

Emma assumed she did something ridiculous with her face again. Probably glared at open air. And negotiated that commercial deal. Emma would have to mention that to Killian.

He was absolutely ignoring his e-mail.

“Then what’s going on?” Regina asked, voice not quite as sharp and, maybe, a little cautious, and Emma tried to take a deep breath through her nose.

Peggy made that noise again.

“Henry gave me his college application essay,” Emma said, rushing over the words and there were tears in her eyes again. What a goddamn disaster. She hoped they won later.

“Oh.”

Emma waited for the rest of it – the questions or comments or pointed opinions – but there was just silence. Or, relative silence. Peggy gurgled.

“Regina,” Emma mumbled, met with a sound that might have been a grunt or possibly a huff and she was going to have to make a list of all the things she had to tell Killian about this conversation.

“Still here,” she whispered. She sounded disappointed. “Were you just calling to tell me?”

“No, no, this is…I promise it’s good.”

More silence.

More gurgling.

“I’m serious,” Emma added, digging her heels into her office carpet and she heard the ding of Regina’s computer from several blocks downtown.

“Did you e-mail me this?”

“Yes.”

“Why? If Henry gave it to you then—“

“Oh my God, Regina, just read it. I swear this is a good thing.”

Regina hummed in disbelief, and there was the pointed opinion Emma had been waiting for. It took, by her count, forty-eight and a half seconds for Regina’s breath to audibly catch and mumble a quiet oh under her breath and she must have been some kind of speed reader.

And then Regina sniffled.

That was suddenly point number one on the list of things Emma had to tell Killian. Before the game.

“Henry wrote this?” Regina asked softly, and Emma nodded, well aware that the only person who could see her was a nearly-one-year-old baby who was already wearing a Jones jersey and yanking on a Stanley Cup ring with a surprising amount of strength.

“That’s why I figured you should read it.”

“Right, right, right, that’s um…thank you.”

Emma hummed, eyes flitting back to the sheets she’d printed out hours before. He was going to send it half a dozen schools – something about a guidance counselor’s advice and what was supposed to happen and Emma didn’t have much to add, just promised she’d read it and then she cried when she read it and, well, now she was pretty positive Regina was crying too.

When I was five years old, the foster home I was living in lost its cable subscription. I don’t know why. I’m not even sure the people running the house knew why, but it happened and there was no more Disney channel and no more Nickelodeon and the only thing to watch on a Sunday afternoon were over the air channels.

And the only thing on over the air channels on a Sunday afternoon was hockey.

New York Rangers hockey.

I should probably thank whoever forgot to pay that cable bill because that game changed my life.

I watched the game. I had no idea what was going on. It didn’t matter. I watched, and ignored the other kids and how much they wanted to watch Power Rangers instead, and when I turned ten I got my first Killian Jones jersey.

I never thought much about having a family.

Those kinds of thoughts were dangerous in foster homes – places where kids weren’t wanted or needed or, sometimes, even remembered. So I pushed those wants and those hopes into the back corner of my mind and figured if the Rangers could, eventually, win a Stanley Cup it was, basically, the same thing.

But then something happened.

A few weeks before I turned twelve, a call came to the house. There was an event. At Madison Square Garden. And I was going.

I cried.

The kids made fun of me, but they always made fun of how loudly I cheered during games, so it wasn’t much different. I went to the Garden and a woman named Emma Swan changed my life. She introduced me to Killian Jones and Killian Jones introduced me to the entire New York Rangers roster and, even though I didn’t know it at the time, I met my family that day.

I still didn’t think about it much, couldn’t let myself hope or dream, but the Rangers kept winning games and I kept watching and suddenly I wasn’t just cheering for hockey, I was part of hockey and part of a team and I never left.

Emma Swan changed my life. Killian Jones changed my life. But my parents saved my life.

Robin Locksley currently owns the Rangers all-time face-off win record. Regina Mills-Locksley currently dictates the contracts of nearly a dozen NHL stars and will, probably, get the entire Rangers first line another commercial deal by the time you read this essay.

But, more than that, Robin and Regina took me into their home and made sure I stayed. They gave me a room. They bought me team-march. They didn’t mind when I kept wearing that ratty Jones jersey for years.

They loved me.

Love me. Present tense.

I’m lucky. Incredibly so. Unbelievably so. The New York Rangers saved the foster home I grew up in; made sure the other kids who weren’t as lucky wouldn’t get shipped around the country or away from their friends when budget cuts threaten to do just that. The New York Rangers won the Stanley Cup. Twice. And I was there. Twice.

I’m lucky, but more than that I’m happy - and it wouldn’t have been possible without my mom or my dad or my brother or that entire hockey team that adopted me. That loves me. And I love ‘em right back.

That’d probably get me made fun of in the house again, but I’ll keep cheering anyway and keep believing and the Rangers are going to win another Cup. 

Soon.

There was more – more words and more feelings and Emma couldn’t read it again, because she really did have to get ready for the game, but Regina was silent again on the other end.

“If I ask if you’re still here are you going to retract Killian’s commercial offer?” Emma asked, not entirely expecting Regina’s quiet laugh.

“No, he’s the focus of the whole goddamn thing. Don’t tell Scarlet that.”

“I’m totally going to tell Scarlet that.”

“Ah, well, that might be good for his ego.” Emma hummed, waiting for the rest of it and determined not to ask anything else, and she was almost hopeful Peggy had fallen asleep. She had a few assumptions though. And maybe a bit of hope. “That’s the first time he’s used those words,” Regina said, answering the question Emma hadn’t asked. “I know you were wondering, so, there.”

“So there?”

“Yes, exactly that.”

Emma scoffed, Regina exhaling like it was the first time she’d ever done anything like that. “You guys haven’t…”

“It wasn’t…” Regina, started, cutting herself off quickly, and they seriously had to win. Maybe that should have been number one on the list of things to tell Killian. “It was just a label and words and letters and I’ve…Robin and I are Henry’s parents. We have been since we signed those papers and I just…”

She sniffled again, and this whole conversation was a fantastic exercise in patience and emotion. “I always kind of wondered how it’d sound though,” she whispered.

“Pretty damn good,” Emma said.

“Yeah, yeah, it does.”

“He’s going to get accepted to every single college he applies to so you should really work on that commercial thing for the money or whatever.”

“Those are absolutely the technical terms,” Regina laughed, any tension in her voice disappearing. “Tell your husband to answer my e-mails.”

“Tell your kid he made me cry. More than one.”

“Deal.”

The Rangers won. And Robin scored. And there was probably some kind of fate involved in that, but this was the kind of team that won Stanley Cups and gold medals and team wasn’t really the right word anyway because it was a family and that was stupid emotional.

And years later, after more stories and that guaranteed championship, Henry asked Ella to marry him, bent on one knee with that family he’d never allowed himself to hope for around him and a ring pinched in between his fingers.

“It’s my mom’s,” he said, and Regina’s gaze flitted towards Emma’s, tears in her eyes and a smile on her face and Henry’s whole life changed all over again.

[charliestjames]

A Wager

Who: Charlie St. James and Margot Montgomery (NPC) When: March 10, 2018 What: Charlie calls her mother and a little peek into Charlie’s sociopathic mind Warnings: Mostly just Charlie being Charlie and Margot feeding into that

Margot: (looks at the caller id on her phone and raises her brow but smiles anyway) How’s the trip, dear?

Charlie: Your daughter is driving me crazy. She insist on seeing this switch when I’m very clearly capable of taking care of her. And this switch insists on seeing her when all of her attention should be focused on me.

Margot: I see… have you been? Taking care of her I mean…

Charlie: I thought I was. Apparently I was wrong.

Margot: The only reason I ask is because I’ve been stalking both your social media and I’m mostly seeing books on hers. And I spoke with her yesterday and she said she hadn’t really seen you much during the trip. Wait switch… is this the girl she was seeing before you showed up to school?

Charlie: And that’s because I’ve been busy but that isn’t the point I’m trying to make here. Depends. Is her name Ainsley? Because that’s who I’m referring to.

Margot: Charlie… if you haven’t had any time for her you haven’t been taking care of her. It’s that simple. And yes. Sawyer helped her move in, submitted to her and has been on a few dates with her…

Charlie: Yes well that wasn’t the answer I wanted so I’m choosing to ignore all that you just said if you don’t mind. Of course they’ve been on a few dates because why the fuck not.

Margot: I expect nothing less of you. Have you actually celebrated your good grade with her? Congratulations by the way. I don’t know, I could be wrong. Dinner is a date though, right? I have no clue, maybe they are just friends.

Charlie: It was my good grade. I wasn’t aware that needed to be celebrated with her. Yes, thank you. So she’s going on dates with the both of because she’s clearly greedy and that isn’t going to work for me. Whatever they can have fun together.

Margot:  it wasn’t just yours. It was your sister’s too. If you’d have had a poor submissive the grade wouldn’t have been as good. I know from experience. I don’t think you mean that. Have you tried talking to either of them about it? From what I recall your sister would literally do anything for you. Or are you jealous that she’s also seeing the switch that you are?

Charlie: Sure sure whatever. She was good before I got here, yes, but I made her better. I made her the best. I do mean that. I’m currently not speaking to either of them. Yes! She can’t have the both of us. It doesn’t work that way. It’s not like she can have two Dommes in the real world.

Margot: …. It takes two, dear. Don’t whatever me young lady, you called for my opinion clearly unless you just called to bitch.  So… you’re not speaking to your sister… your fathers aren’t speaking to your sister. You not speaking to her over something as petty as a girl? That’s beneath you. It’s something your fathers do. You’re better than that. If you want your sister than you have to make that clear. With you not spending time with her, not celebrating what she sees as a huge accomplishment with her, and now not speaking to her? She’s going to be confused. She is more sensitive than you and I are and part of being a good Domme is trying to understand how your sub is feeling even if you don’t.  And I meant- are you seeing this Ainsley person too? Maybe you want what your sister has and why can’t you both have it all? Remember in the real world you can claim a sub and a switch no problem.

Charlie: Yeah no. (Hangs up)

Margot: (gets a call hours) ...Yes, Dear?

Charlie: I want neither of them.

Margot: Then why are you so upset or bothered?

Charlie: I was but I’m not anymore. I’ve punished her and moved on from the fact that neither of them are good enough for me.

Margot: Okay… and you’re alright dropping the bond with Little Sawyer?  You realize once trust is destroyed it’s hard to get back.

Charlie: …..I hadn’t thought about her.

Margot:  Darling… she needs you. Not this Ainsley girl and not anyone else. But if you think about it and decide you’re honestly okay with stepping away from her then the fall out will probably be devastating. That bond is… special.  Takes more trust than the average relationship. She told me what she calls you. That’s… not something to take lightly.  But- if you feel that they aren’t good enough for you then I’m sure you’ll find plenty of people worth your time. We both know you are exceptional.

Charlie: I’ll think about it but for now I’m still not speaking with either of them. I need the separation to get my thoughts in order.

Margot: Understandable. I know how you work by now.  Keep in mind that if you do plan on working things out with your sister you shouldn’t stay silent forever- you went years without speaking to her and you were lucky she forgave you so easily.  I would hate for you to hit another roadblock when it comes to something you want.  I have faith you’ll figure it all out and whatever you choose will be best in the long run.

Charlie: It would have been too hard for her not to forgive me. She loves me too much and she’s much nicer than I am. And I did send her birthday cards every year. Fathers were just jackasses and never gave them to her. We both know if I truly wanted both of them then I could have them and I would have them.

Margot: I’m not going to argue any of that.  I guess you have some thinking to do and some decisions to make.

Charlie: Now I’m curious about how long it would actually take me to have them both.

Margot: What do you mean?

Charlie: I mean how long it would take me to get both of them wanting me to claim them. I’m thinking 4 months. Maybe 5 at the most. And before you go analyzing me, I’m not saying this is something I’m going to do.

Margot: Huh… good question.  I think it will take you a full year.  If you do decide to do it maybe we should make a wager.

Charlie: Alright, I’m intrigued. What is this wager exactly? Even though we both know I’ll win anyway.

Margot: hmm… I win and you agree to spend the Christmas holiday at my place for the foreseeable future.  You win and I put the down payment on your first home... where we will spend Christmas for the foreseeable future.

Charlie: I feel as though you would win either way. If you win, you get your Christmases. If I win, I get my house and my first year of medical school paid for, and you get every other Christmas.

Margot: I will agree to that- IF- the years I don’t get you for Christmas I get you for Thanksgiving.

Charlie: Fine, but only because we bet on the dog show and I continue to win every year. You really must stop picking the poodle every year. And I really hope you have a good savings becauses homes in Hartford are not cheap.

Margot: You do realize you fathers paid me a mini fortune to carry three babies for them, yes?  Plus my salary isn’t exactly small, dear.

Charlie: I’m glad to know we were worth a mini fortune. And I’m glad you can afford all of this when you lose. Just to clarify, I don’t have to claim them. I just have to make them want me to claim them, right?

Margot: No- the deal is actually getting them collared and claiming them. I’m not spending that chunk of my bank account on a mere manipulation, darling, but nice try.

Charlie: But I’m so good at manipulating people. Especially Sawyer, but whatever. She should be easy enough. She trusts me already. I may have to use different tactics with Ainsley. Maybe make her fall in love first…..Heart first and then submission should follow nicely.

Margot: I know you are, Dear, but this is also a lifetime commitment and major responsibility.  You have to be sure because it’s not just your life and heart. You’re messing with two other lives. Be sure about it before you make it your mission.

Charlie: I’m sure they’ll both be fine. I’m a great catch and they should be so lucky, but I’ll consider all the consequences of my actions and all that stuff I’m sure you want to lecture me about.

Margot: No lecture. I said my piece. Let me know what you decide on the matter… now… let’s have a chat about that little display you forced on your sister last week- explain.

Charlie: It was to get her ready for our presentation. I needed to see how much humiliation she could endure. Finding out she liked it was just an extra bonus really.

Margot: A warning would have been nice. You’re lucky I have a poker face.

Charlie: I didn’t have time to give you a warning. It was a spur of the moment decision.

Margot:  Mm hmm. Well, I’m glad that little experiment proved fruitful.  I know you’ll have far too much fun with that knowledge in the future.  Back to our earlier conversation- It just dawned on me… you’re just as possessive as I am. If I were in your situation? I wouldn’t want the Switch submitting to anyone else, I wouldn’t care if she was domming others, in fact, I would let her as long as I was the only dominant in her life. Then it’s actually a real plus that she happens to enjoy dominating the submissive I see as mine.  I could even control the way she dominates her.  Just my insight.

Charlie: (quiet for a few long moments) It’s like you want to pay for my schooling.

Margot: Well… I would like to see both my girls happy in the long run. If it means I end up having to pay up then so be it.

Charlie: And you think I could make her happy? Both of them?

Margot: The fact that Sawyer calls you Momma… the fact that you helped her get best submissive… that just tells me that with her you definitely could. She loves you and trusts you more than anyone right now.  As long as you don’t go fucking it up I think the two of you could be very happy.  As far as Ainsley goes...Sawyer tells me that she wants to go to medical school, that she’s brilliant… well, my dear, she is going to need a brilliant mind to challenge her and keep her stimulated… you can provide her with that and also give her the chance to be with a submissive you both enjoy… you could definitely make her happy.

Charlie: Just so you know if I’m actually collaring them, I’ll need at minimum six months and eight at the most. The point system will slow us down a bit.

Margot: Fair enough.  I still say it’ll be a year.

[jimdsmith34]

The 6 Stages Of Trying On A Bikini After Being A Lazy Piece Of Sh*t All Winter

Youve officially survived another winter of dreaded family holidays, surprise engagements, and disguising your 2pm blackout as brunch without entirely losing your dignity. But that also means that in the months between November and March, betches were busy living their best fucking lives, Instagramming cheese plates and colorful fruit cocktails, all while pulling off the illusion that their ass underwent months of squat-like workouts, thanks to overpriced Lulu leggings. 

Sure, these PPCS (Post Partum Cuffing Season) side effects are totally justified, but unfortunately for me you, the social media faade that just upped your followers prob also upped your pant size. Bikini season is right around the corner as of like, yesterday, and your besties are dying to be sexually objectified at Tao Beach, but that also means theyre counting on you to pose for pics with them that scream GIRLS TRIP!!! But also can you believe this cleavage rn? while debuting swimwear the size of a hair scrunchie. So if theres one thing I know better than the exact distance it takes to get from work to the bar, its everything a betch goes through following the pre-bikini season DGAF: 

Stage 1: The Invitation

After victoriously indulging in an all-carb diet for four months straight, the only phone call thats dreaded more than your gyno calling to deliver test results is your best friend calling to invite you on a ratchet river retreat. This means pausing yourbinge and getting off your ass in hopes of finding a swimsuit thatll cover your perma-winter layer so you dont feel like an IRL Flubber on a rocky boat. Being a possessor of chronic Stage 4 FOMO the good friend that you are, you reluctantly agree to a weekend of staged candid bikini photos while hiding behind a donut pool floatie, as you confirm with a high-pitched OMG YES IM SO THERE! Congratulations, youve just survived your first two-way calling attack. 

Stage 2: The Casual Browse

Does your recent Google search history read, “bathing suits that hide my back fat”? Bcuz same. Every betch has Googled some sort of self-loathing ridicule at a point in her life, which means that the quest for the perfect bathing suit has officially begun. But first you attempt to save a little face before baring it all to the poor Victorias Secret employee and peruse your options via Google. After hours of research, only to find yourself 68 weeks deep into Kylie Jenners sluttiest bikini photos, desperate times call for desperate fucking measures, and your Google searches quickly go from “bathing suits” to “how much did Kims fat transfer cost?”

Stage 3: The Dressing Room

They say the camera adds 10 pounds, but they also say the fitting room mirror adds like, 20. Idk if its the shitty interrogation-room lighting, or the fact that my “monthly” bloat has just become a way of life, but TBH entering a womans fitting room is like entering the fucking Chokey. After trying on the stores entire swim inventory, the only thing youve actually accomplished other than realizing youve unknowingly been growing a winter forest below the navel border for the past three months, is realizing that the trendy off-the-shoulder bikini top you tolerated serves no practicality or purpose other than showcasing unwanted armpit vagina. 

Stage 4: The Crash Diet

As you leave the store, you make a vow to yourself to go full Emily Blunt for two weeks and to eat nothing but a cube of cheese, but only when feeling like youre gonna drop dead. You stick it out for a solid three hours until your drive home automatically lands you in the In-N-Out drive thru line because whatever, youre getting cheese fries. You start randomly developing a sense of false confidence and mutter shit to yourself like, If they cant accept me at my pregnant Kim K., then they dont deserve me at my revenge bod Khlo. #BIBLE 

Stage 5: The Prep

Earth to betches: Bikini season is only like 26% about the actual bikini. You dont get a Chipotle burrito to show off the foil wrapping, do you? Id be lying to you if I said Im not the best version of myself when I have a tan. And youd also be lying if you denied that. It makes you look, like, 10 pounds lighter and it gives the illusion that you physically saw the light of day this winter other than through your sliding glass door while you were covered in potato chip crumbs. You resort to whatever painful process it takes to distract people from the slightest amount of “excess love” hanging off your hips like a fucking ornament, and waxing off that 1960s bush youve been harboring like a fugitive. This results in spending more money on your physical appearance than the value of the actual vacation itself, but thats just, like, the rules of Instagram feminism.

Stage 6: The Presentation

Whether or not your summer bod is ready, a betch knows that the key to living her best vacation life is liquid confidence. ‘Tis the season for 9am beer bongs and chips and guac as a meal replacement, so you finally decide to proudly wear your winter bloat like a badge of honor, because #LoveYoself and (hi) DGAFing is your specialty. Vacays may not be about what you wear, but they sure as hell are about what you drink, so chances are, nobody in their drunk state of mind will even notice your nonexistent insecurities. Plus, drunk goggles make everyone look like a fucking 10, so you win. Now sit back, RELAX, and get that fine-ass awesome personality over here and take a shot with me.

source http://allofbeer.com/the-6-stages-of-trying-on-a-bikini-after-being-a-lazy-piece-of-sht-all-winter/ from All of Beer http://allofbeer.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-6-stages-of-trying-on-bikini-after.html

[allofbeercom]

The 6 Stages Of Trying On A Bikini After Being A Lazy Piece Of Sh*t All Winter

Youve officially survived another winter of dreaded family holidays, surprise engagements, and disguising your 2pm blackout as brunch without entirely losing your dignity. But that also means that in the months between November and March, betches were busy living their best fucking lives, Instagramming cheese plates and colorful fruit cocktails, all while pulling off the illusion that their ass underwent months of squat-like workouts, thanks to overpriced Lulu leggings. 

Sure, these PPCS (Post Partum Cuffing Season) side effects are totally justified, but unfortunately for me you, the social media faade that just upped your followers prob also upped your pant size. Bikini season is right around the corner as of like, yesterday, and your besties are dying to be sexually objectified at Tao Beach, but that also means theyre counting on you to pose for pics with them that scream GIRLS TRIP!!! But also can you believe this cleavage rn? while debuting swimwear the size of a hair scrunchie. So if theres one thing I know better than the exact distance it takes to get from work to the bar, its everything a betch goes through following the pre-bikini season DGAF: 

Stage 1: The Invitation

After victoriously indulging in an all-carb diet for four months straight, the only phone call thats dreaded more than your gyno calling to deliver test results is your best friend calling to invite you on a ratchet river retreat. This means pausing yourbinge and getting off your ass in hopes of finding a swimsuit thatll cover your perma-winter layer so you dont feel like an IRL Flubber on a rocky boat. Being a possessor of chronic Stage 4 FOMO the good friend that you are, you reluctantly agree to a weekend of staged candid bikini photos while hiding behind a donut pool floatie, as you confirm with a high-pitched OMG YES IM SO THERE! Congratulations, youve just survived your first two-way calling attack. 

Stage 2: The Casual Browse

Does your recent Google search history read, “bathing suits that hide my back fat”? Bcuz same. Every betch has Googled some sort of self-loathing ridicule at a point in her life, which means that the quest for the perfect bathing suit has officially begun. But first you attempt to save a little face before baring it all to the poor Victorias Secret employee and peruse your options via Google. After hours of research, only to find yourself 68 weeks deep into Kylie Jenners sluttiest bikini photos, desperate times call for desperate fucking measures, and your Google searches quickly go from “bathing suits” to “how much did Kims fat transfer cost?”

Stage 3: The Dressing Room

They say the camera adds 10 pounds, but they also say the fitting room mirror adds like, 20. Idk if its the shitty interrogation-room lighting, or the fact that my “monthly” bloat has just become a way of life, but TBH entering a womans fitting room is like entering the fucking Chokey. After trying on the stores entire swim inventory, the only thing youve actually accomplished other than realizing youve unknowingly been growing a winter forest below the navel border for the past three months, is realizing that the trendy off-the-shoulder bikini top you tolerated serves no practicality or purpose other than showcasing unwanted armpit vagina. 

Stage 4: The Crash Diet

As you leave the store, you make a vow to yourself to go full Emily Blunt for two weeks and to eat nothing but a cube of cheese, but only when feeling like youre gonna drop dead. You stick it out for a solid three hours until your drive home automatically lands you in the In-N-Out drive thru line because whatever, youre getting cheese fries. You start randomly developing a sense of false confidence and mutter shit to yourself like, If they cant accept me at my pregnant Kim K., then they dont deserve me at my revenge bod Khlo. #BIBLE 

Stage 5: The Prep

Earth to betches: Bikini season is only like 26% about the actual bikini. You dont get a Chipotle burrito to show off the foil wrapping, do you? Id be lying to you if I said Im not the best version of myself when I have a tan. And youd also be lying if you denied that. It makes you look, like, 10 pounds lighter and it gives the illusion that you physically saw the light of day this winter other than through your sliding glass door while you were covered in potato chip crumbs. You resort to whatever painful process it takes to distract people from the slightest amount of “excess love” hanging off your hips like a fucking ornament, and waxing off that 1960s bush youve been harboring like a fugitive. This results in spending more money on your physical appearance than the value of the actual vacation itself, but thats just, like, the rules of Instagram feminism.

Stage 6: The Presentation

Whether or not your summer bod is ready, a betch knows that the key to living her best vacation life is liquid confidence. ‘Tis the season for 9am beer bongs and chips and guac as a meal replacement, so you finally decide to proudly wear your winter bloat like a badge of honor, because #LoveYoself and (hi) DGAFing is your specialty. Vacays may not be about what you wear, but they sure as hell are about what you drink, so chances are, nobody in their drunk state of mind will even notice your nonexistent insecurities. Plus, drunk goggles make everyone look like a fucking 10, so you win. Now sit back, RELAX, and get that fine-ass awesome personality over here and take a shot with me.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/the-6-stages-of-trying-on-a-bikini-after-being-a-lazy-piece-of-sht-all-winter/

[abbiesabella209-blog]

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