The language of love

20140813_181946I have an amazing relationship with Quinland. Just had to start with that. He is awesome and I love him.

We had the nicest time together tonight. He had persuaded me to take him to get his hair cut and to get his two-year phone upgrade. We managed to sneak in to Great Clips with 6 minutes to spare, so “haircut” got checked off the list. The phone upgrade did not happen, as he’d forgotten to back it up before we left the house – and he needed to turn in his old iPhone 4s to get a rebate – so we left the mall and decided to go get dinner together.

The whole time, we talked about relationships:  love interests, past and present; the excitement of being in a relationship and getting to know the other person; the five love languages and how important it is to express love in a language that the other person understands and values; the importance of good communication.

It’s interesting to think about where Q’s relationship style comes from. His own innate love language, temperament, experience? My relationship with David, and his experience of seeing that throughout his life? Some combination of these things and others that I cannot even imagine? Probably the last option, I know. But it was interesting to talk about how David and I communicate verbally (extremely well) and how we demonstrate our love (not nearly as well, since our love languages are very different and we each need to make herculean efforts to overcome our natural tendencies); he may or not have been aware of some of the ways that his dad and I relate to each other, even if he’s been around us his whole life.

I just thought it was so cool that we could even have this conversation. High school relationships and dating can be such a minefield of emotions and decisions and stress, and I’m glad that Q feels comfortable talking with me. I’m sure I don’t hear everything, but that’s to be expected as he grows up and separates from us to become his own autonomous self. I just feel lucky that there is so much he is willing to talk about, at his age.

I feel like my time with him is running out. The thought that he’ll be living on his own in less than three years is too scary to even think about. I’m going to miss him like crazy.

You must do the thing you think you cannot do

20050809_eiger_monch_24
Photo by Ai@ce

I have had a task that I kept putting off: cleaning up the piles of clutter on the floor beside my bed.  I had stacked it, piled it, put it in baskets, sorted it… but it never went anywhere.  It just lay there, a mess about six feet long and two feet wide.  I was physically confronted by it at least twice a day (getting in and out of bed), but it preyed on my mind continually.

Last night – by means of an “enlightening interchange” – I realized just how much the bedroom clutter was bothering David.  Although he insisted that he was not saying I had to tackle it then and there, I decided (in a huff, I must admit) to make a point of cleaning it up before morning, even if I had to stay up all night.

Luckily for me, Eleanor Roosevelt was right.  I did the thing I thought I could not do, and it was neither as difficult nor as lengthy a task as I thought.  The clutter is gone.  Some of it was merely relocated (paperwork that needs filing or sorting was put in the office, for example), but at least it is where it belongs, and not in some temporary holding pattern in the bedside airspace.

After we both cooled down, David and I had some meaningful dialogue about how we can support each other’s needs, even if it means stretching out of our comfort zones.  I will try harder to get things tidy and keep them that way.  He will try harder to do thoughtful things for me.  As he said, hopefully we can “get on an upward spiral.”  I’d like that.

  • {Clutter} released: Nine magazines, two (*gasp* unread!) newspapers, one book, various papers I realized I no longer need.