For The Love of It All

Love

Now, what do I have to say about love, the glue of our universe?

Since becoming a mother, love has invaded my world in very new and strange ways. I am living on a higher vibration these days, which can be scary and painful but also breathtaking and mystical.

I remember when I was pregnant, I would day dream that me and the baby were fairies dancing in a field. It was one of my favorite things to dream about.

And I think Isaac is the most beautiful boy in the universe. Man, I really just want to inhale him back into me; I can’t get enough of looking at his face or petting his soft, buttery skin.

I remember a while back asking God to grow my faith, and oh boy! Does God make good on that. Since motherhood, I’ve been motivated to get on my knees more than ever before, the dam in my tear ducts bursting and giving way to salty rivers. I suppose some of it is the weight of parenthood, life is just harder and expectations are higher.

I’m so tired and guilty.

When I reflect into my heart, I see my flaws more clearly, my selfishness and cold pride.

I didn’t realize how much I enjoy being alone until I was married, and even more so after having a baby.

And yet, I am the happiest I have ever been, I love this life I have now and wouldn’t trade it in for all the money in the world.

But, World. Oh, how I do love you, World; you and your siren’s call...

I wish my desire was to be selfless and always present with my baby and husband because I know life is passing by so quickly.

I have to daily battle against my deep selfish, horrid rottenness, but I want to break the curse and give something different to my children, I can feel my ancestors passing me the torch, pushing me forward to continue the race of love.

My purest hope that I have is the desire to embody love. I want to desire it, to act on it, to become so loving that, through Christ, I am able to absorb the shock of the evil in this world and turn it into love. I want to evolve through Theosis, I just doubt my ever getting there because I love to sin too much.

Lord, have mercy on me.

I want to be full of love rather than fear.

Ethan Taylor: The First Sighting

My sun rises and sets with Ethan Taylor. There is not a more patient man on this earth who could deal with my chaotic ass.

Where we are now compared to where we were two years ago was worth the thousands of dollars we spent on counseling. People don’t discuss this kind of stuff but they SHOULD.

We were both so broken when we got together, but in a good marriage you help one another replace the missing pieces. We've definitely helped fix one another.

We have a few trauma bonds as well as a mutual appreciation for rap, old school hip hop and 80’s alternative rock; we share the same disgusting sense of humor, and we initially bonded over Tim and Eric and Seinfeld.

We also liked the same types of memes- you know, important shit!

He’s the coolest man alive, just crippled when it comes to making decisions about new jeans or what movies to watch.

Ethan and I met at Midtown Montessori, our place of work.

I first laid eyes on him when I was taking a tour of the school which was located inside a church building. When we got to the sanctuary, my new boss pointed him out. He was the assistant to the Elementary teacher and in training to become a full-time guide. On top of that he was also the outdoor guide in charge of the garden and giving lessons on nature.

There he stood, surrounded by children who were preparing for their Halloween program.

I thought, “he’s okay looking. I’ll probably end up going out with him at some point.”

I’ve always gone for nerdy types. I think they call it a sapiosexual when you get turned on by people who are a lot smarter than you are.

Once, I heard one of our bosses praise Ethan for answering a really difficult geometry question. I don't know, man, I don’t know nothin’ about geometry cuz I was better at Algebra, but something about that interaction screamed: “he’ll complete you.”

Yes, I’m aware that I am a deeply disturbed individual. :)

Now, I ask the question to my partner of five years,

“what did you think when you first saw me?”

“Wow, she has long arms,” he says.

“No, you have to say something nice,” I reply, getting annoyed at his lack of romance.

“Okay, I thought, What is she doing? I thought, what is her deal, ‘hey, look at that person,’ Cuz I was in the middle of community day: the worst hell in the world-”

And now he is showing me a YouTube clip of a Bigfoot sighting.

He always describes how he had to show me how to lock the church up during my first week there and how he was extremely annoyed because no one else showed me how. Just once, I wish he'd lie and say, "you know, I was so attracted to you that I was just happy I got to spend a few brief moments alone with you."

Sigh. But this is the real world! And because Ethan is so anti-creep, he probably thinks that's a super creepy thing to say, lol

I didn’t know why he disliked me so much but he definitely had this people pleaser's attention.

But we did start to develop a friendship based on our mutual love of art.

He began to tease me about my clothes which hurt my feelings, I think they call that “negging” and in those days that shit worked on me like a charm because of my unresolved daddy issues. I was beginning to become what they call "a bitch in heat" for E.T.

I brought donuts and coffee to work for his birthday 4/5/19, that night I had plans with a local photographer friend named Will Knutson to take photos and get a couple of drinks after.

Ethan invited me to take a walk with him and look at the tulips at the Dixon the next day.

We never got to go.

I believe Will put something in my drink because I’ve never been drunk like that before. While we were at this fancy restaurant bar, I was practically ignoring Will because I was flirting with Ethan over text and in my mind, this wasn't a date. I knew many girls who were just friends with this guy, that was something he used as bate, that and obviously taking photos of girlies. He paraded around as "girl gang approved" like the sick fuck he was.

I was beginning to black out soon after I compared Ethan to George from Seinfeld.

Will drove me back to his house and had sex with me while I was unconscious. I don't remember the drive, I don't remember going into the house. He must have carried me inside.

I might as well have been a corpse.

That fact that this had happened to me a second time had me reeling into a full on self-hate spiral after I woke up in his disgusting bed with him cuddling me.

I had a nightmare that bleeding hands were pulling me into a massive grave, bloody, bald heads wretched around just above the surface and their arms dragged me down with them.

I tried to get a rape kit done that morning but everywhere I called was closed for some weird reason, plus rape kits are so invasive. They call it: the second rape.

I couldn’t believe it, I was in complete shock.

I hate even admitting this, it’s the weakest, most shameful thing about my past. I hate that this is a part of the story of my life.

Long story short, Ethan became my solace during that horrible time. I had cut off a lot of people because they were friends with Will.

Ethan was patient with me while I processed things. I was determined to get well and stop my self destructive behavior. I was done allowing anyone to use my body like a rag doll and I was done bleeding myself dry for people who treated me like I was transparent.

And Ethan was there for it all, he carried me through some really dark times. I went out with him two weeks later. After our first date on 4/20/19 at the Hemp Festival, we were basically inseparable. He taught me how to love myself again; I don’t know what might have happened if I didn’t have him, but God is merciful.

Ethan is the first man in my life to truly be a friend to me. Before him, the only valuable asset I seemed to have was my body.

I know nearly every woman in the world can relate.

I tried to have male friends as a single adult but “nice guys” are the fuckin’ WORST. All of them genuinely think you tricked them by just being friends with them, and they feel sex is OWED them for wasting their precious time pretending to care about you as a human being.

Growing up, pain meant love.

No needed to mean yes to please my folks.

“Lie down with dogs and you'll get fleas.”

And remember, men are dogs, but you have to find one to settle down with and have a couple of puppies.

Were you born? Then get married, be fruitful and multiply or God will be angry you didn’t raise another Pentecostal for “The Kingdom”

In fact, I learned about sex from our many dogs, especially my father’s favorite rat terrier who was constantly trying to fuck the pig.

My mom didn’t even have to explain, she was thrilled that I had figured it all out from the animals. We never officially had “the talk”.

Yet I knew way too much about my adult relatives sex lives as a child.

An ex once told told me that I was “raised by wolves” which was 100% true but it was said in a mean, condescending way.

I was molested at seven in a pool by an older boy, and raped twice, once at nineteen, the last time at twenty-four.

One of my female “friends” so delicately asked,

“how the hell do you get raped twice?”

35% of people who were sexually assaulted will have it happen again.

Add in a drinking problem and the percentage probably goes up.

When I told Ethan what had happened, what shocked and relieved me was his reaction: he said he was sorry that happened to me and then he hugged me.

I felt so much tenderness for him in that moment.

Women have been the hardest on me about this whole dark thing, which feels more devastating as a female.

But I can’t judge because when I was eighteen an acquaintance of mine was raped while she was asleep by another acquaintance of mine, her boyfriend. I told her that that wasn't rape. I said it after I went viral. I said it publicly. Then I put her rapist in my documentary for clout.

So I got my punishment, I got what I feel I deserved double-fold. Sure, maybe that's a fucked up way of looking at it, but it makes sense to me. It seems… fair.

I caused her a lot of pain, and then I got mine.

I did apologize years later and she forgave me, not that that makes it any better at all.

Anyway, because my first time was forced on me, I didn’t value myself at all and I continued to go for men who treated me like handful of worms...

What all of this has taught me is that I hold no authority to judge anyone at all, ever, period.

My family get togethers are shit talking contests; the elders on my mom’s side (since my dad’s family disowned him years ago) come over on the holidays and talk mad shit about everyone they’ve ever met, other family members, and maybe even you if they forgot you were sitting right there.

On the other hand, Ethan’s family has been extremely involved in AA and since that organization values confessing all of your faults in order to reclaim control over your life, I’ve always felt a lot safer over there.

The conversations are light and humble. It would explain why Ethan is the least judgmental person I’ve ever met.

Will Knutson is a sick individual, I wasn’t his first victim but hopefully I was his last.

This is his "apology" to all of the women he has harmed:

I did try to get justice, but it was too many years later plus cops suck.

For the record, I do forgive him, and I forgive Addison, too. Hopefully, they are changed men. May they find God and may God have mercy on them.

I am working on forgiving myself; writing it down here is definitely helpful in that regard.

The Knot

And how top notch is this institution of marriage shit?

I’ve been married for only three years so essentially I don’t really know what the fuck I’m talking about. Hilariously, I wrote a blog post about marriage after one year of it, thinking I was saying anything at all.

I love talking about relationships and marriage. I believe that women and the feminine spirit build societies and communities. Women are feelers of the heart, energy readers, deep divers.

Men and masculine energy is the strong-hold that keeps everything safe and secure, at least that’s what these natural energies are supposed to do.

Neither one of the sexes hold all the keys, that’s why we need one another in order to open all the doors.

Ethan and I eloped on October 24th, 2020. We were married in Overton Park on a cold, foggy evening. We were wearing thick coats and I had draped a salmon colored sheer scarf over my head in homage to the Orthodox Faith I was still running from. (I was real confused on where I stood in terms of Christianity, which one is the right one, etc.)

We were ordained by a woman Presbyterian priest with just our boss as a witness. The ceremony lasted a couple of minutes and our plan was to have our family attend the actual wedding ceremony in the coming spring.

I remember looking up at him, feeling so much excitement, happiness, and a little twinge of “Oh, shit, this is finally happening.”

Ethan had this intense look on his face. He looked overcome by emotion, which, I guess, is what you want to see from your groom.

It’s so touching to see the man you love show such vulnerability, and it was a beautiful moment. It was just the two of us, no distractions, no worries, no body we had to please or make comfortable.

I did feel bad because my mom cried about missing it, but after the shit show our spring ceremony was Ethan and I both agree that we made the correct decision, lol.

The day before our official wedding ceremony, my father and I got into a huge fight because he didn’t want to include Ethan’s homemade wooden arch, thinking it would ruin his “vision” he had for the wedding landscape. (Tensions were also high because I worked with my dad for a few weeks and we tend to trigger one another big time)

“But it’s my wedding!” I said that about five times before I started sobbing.

But he still refused, yelling in my face, “you didn’t help with the landscape so you don’t get a say so.”

My dad has always had this strange habit of making all my big days all about him, birthdays, wedding, baby shower, etc.

“My father always wanted to be the corpse at every funeral, the bride at every wedding, and the baby at every christening.”- Alice Roosevelt Longworth about her father, Theodore Roosevelt. This quote fits perfectly here.

Ethan ripped some of the tea lights down from the car port/reception area and glass went everywhere; he was angry on my behalf.

He didn’t care about the arch as much as he cared that I was upset, bless him.

I think in that moment, even though everyone was screaming, I knew I was making the right decision to marry Ethan, the first man to try and protect me.

He treated me like a woman who needed protecting in this moment, where my father had never been gentle with me a day in my life and had always seen me as another son. My mother was always my protector growing up.

By now, my mom was yelling at my dad to just let us put up the arch.

They both drove off in their trucks to calm down, leaving us speechless in the front yard.

My dad eventually came home and agreed to allow the arch to go up. Of course it was beautiful and it fit perfectly for our wedding. The arch meant something to us.

I had to apologize to my father later to appease him and make him feel better. I had to in order for the actual wedding to go smoothly.

In the end, everything turned out fine, Ethan and my dad love each other and all was well with them. Men tend to move on quickly where maybe women are much better at seething quietly, planning your demise.

But for me, that whole fiasco ruined my whole wedding day. I couldn’t understand why I have to have a dad who is a giant emotional toddler.

On top of that, Ethan got mad at me because there were too many forks at the reception. Here’s a photo that our really mediocre photographer captured of that lovely moment.

HAHAHAHA photoshop is dope. (the forks are A.I.)

One of Ethan’s underage relatives was behaving in a creepy manner towards another one of his even younger relatives. She came to me crying and I had to tell the boy to back off of her.

I was running around all day, putting out little fires and feeling massively guilty for existing the whole time.

We couldn’t have alcohol at the wedding because most everyone in either of our families is living an alcohol free life. Thank God for my best friend who snuck in some wine.

Ethan and I were so happy when it was all over.

We were so ready to enter into our year of married HELL. >:)

Hell Marriage

The night after we eloped, we ordered Pho, picked it up, and headed home. Ethan's was cold.

At this point in our lives, he was having a really difficult time at work, it was kind of early Covid days, and he’d been off his anxiety medicine for over a year. Working together was no longer "fun".

He got mad at the fact that I was playing smooth jazz while we ate our Pho. Smooth jazz is romantic to me, sue me. And even though I was getting fed up with his shitty attitude, I bit my tongue because I just wanted to have a smooth honeymoon night, sorry bout it!!

But I had a sinking feeling already that things were about to get much harder.

We laugh about it now, but we fought so much that first year of marriage. It’s funny looking back, but it is was so hard in the moment. We were such different people then, it feels like a lifetime ago. Our love was so shallow and superficial. We were such massive jerks to one another.

Neither of us knew how to be in a healthy relationship, my parents fought all the time and often pulled me in to pick sides. Ethan’s parent’s divorced when he was eight, his dad went to prison for some years and suffered from a really bad crack addiction. He would break in and steal from them to feed his habit, plus would beat the shit out of E's oldest brother when they tried to stop him.

Divorce isn’t in my immediate blood. My co-dependent parents clawed their way out of so many dirt graves together that I’d say their marriage is pretty safe ever since the past twelve years, though there were lots of close calls, plus I PRAYED they would finally just get divorced.

But no, their ashes will return to dust after dancing a thousand years in their hurricane. It’s been a thirty-eight year forest fire of a marriage. And people of their generation don’t go to therapy, as I'm sure we're all very aware.

My mom’s parents will make out in front of you. There is no in-between those two families.

I remember being sixteen, laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to a very intense family feud involving aunts and uncles and cousins downstairs.

I was laying there praying: “Please, Lord. Don’t let me end up like them.”

I prayed this prayer over and over and over. For years and years and years.

Ethan and I had different plans for our future; we knew we needed to figure our shit out if we were to ever start a family.

We had been in pre-marital counseling to get a cheaper marriage license and after that we went through a year of marriage counseling plus individual therapy. Kudos to E-Man for being one of the few men who sticks with therapy. We read so many books, too. We spent thousands on getting better and it was absolutely worth every solitary cent.

Our marriage counselor was the head honcho at Harding University, and had been working as a couples therapist for over fifty years. He had such a calming energy, like a warm grandfather type. He wore shirts with cars all over and gave us peppermints and things to fidget with. He was extremely fair and knew when to challenge both of us at the correct time. I recommend him to any couple who need some outside help.

IT IS OKAY TO ASK FOR HELP.

We worked so hard and we made it out the other side knowing how to love better, for each other and for our son and future children. I’m so proud of us.

Orthodox Christianity in Our Marriage

I remember when Ethan and I first started going to our Orthodox Church again, him for the first time. We were almost one year married and at this point we were not getting along at all.

My worst nightmare was becoming a reality.

We sat upstairs in the corner of the church and during the homily, I started to tear up because I really missed being there and needed to hear whatever the priest was saying.

Ethan thought I was crying because of him and he started to accuse me right there, so we had to leave after about ten or fifteen minutes.

It seemed like something strange had come over him.

When we set off to drive home, he was so angry that he began hitting the breaks and swerving, no people or other cars were around but he was really scaring me. I started having a really bad panic attack; those happened so regularly back in those days.

When we got home our fight continued.

It got so bad I just lost it right there. It felt like my body reacted before my brain could, my brain was tightening and malfunctioning from the stress.

I hit my head really hard against the wall multiple times and I fell to the floor. Describing it now, I’m like, “ugh, for real, dude?” Haha, how cringey and overly dramatic. I ended up giving myself a concussion, I got nauseous and my vision went blurry for a little while.

In the moment, it looked like it was the final straw for our marriage; or at least, like the end of something.

And if it was the end of our marriage, I didn’t know if I would be able to survive the shame of divorcing after one fucking year.

Our poor dog was freaking out.

Ethan calmly walked over to me stared down at me, his black eyebrows furrowed in anger.

I desperately needed comfort; I needed to get out of there. I felt like a helpless child.

I ran out to my car and got in. Ethan didn’t follow. He never chased me, I was always chasing him.

I drove one street over and called Ethan’s dad, hyperventilating, head aching. 


“Something’s wrong with him, Bobby! And I can’t take it anymore.”

“Has he been taking his medicine?” He asked.

“No, he stopped taking it the summer we started dating.” That was over two years ago.

“Well, we didn’t tell you about Ethan’s disorder because we knew you were different.”

“Great, thanks.”

Ethan has an extremely severe anxiety disorder and PTSD, most of which was caused by complex trauma as a child. Without his medicine he doesn’t sleep well, eat much, and is in a constant state of survival mode.

My father-in-law told me to come over to their house down the road and hang out with his wife, Ethan’s stepmom who I’m really close with. He was going to come to our house and have a talk with Ethan.

When I arrived at their house, my father-in-law was just leaving. He rolled his window down and gave me a pitying look. I was still in my Sunday dress, a royal blue and gold empire waisted gown from Free People. My eyeliner and mascara left black rivers down my cheeks from crying and screaming. I will never forget every detail about that day.

Everything changed after that.

Things did get better; Ethan got back on his medication and it was like going back to the beginning of our relationship when we first fell in love. Because the man I fell in love with was taking care of himself again.

Months prior, I was finding us in many hard conversations having to say, “I’m not having kids with you until we learn how to fight in a healthy way.”

I know that had to hurt him, I knew how bad he wanted kids, but he knew how much more I wanted them.

All of the love was there; I knew Ethan was a good, wonderful man. I never doubted that.

It was how we were handling our triggers that was the ultimate issue. I didn’t want to bring a child into this world to parents who throw batteries at one another just because someone burned dinner.

And we did get violent. I hit him once, like I smacked the hell of his hand a few times and I have always felt awful about that.

On top of everything going on, Ethan’s oldest brother, who has some kind of anti-social personality disorder, started to harass and bully me because I wouldn’t set him up with any of my hot girlfriends.

I wish I were joking.

A few days after he went off on me, I woke up in a blind rage. I mean literally, the rage woke me up and I immediately got up and began to get dressed.

I went to his work, got in his face and threatened to beat his wimpy ass if he ever spoke to me again. I had the weapon of choice in my hand.

He flipped me off and my father-in-law had to get in between us.

He had given me a tripod for my photography for free and later that day he came to our house to take it back.

Ethan had just dumped it in our trash can because it was trash day.

I yelled “you're a LOSER!!” out the front door as I watched him kick our garbage cans.

And there was also a new dent in the side of my car.

Enraged isn’t even a good enough word. In the past twenty-four months, every man in my life had verbally attacked me for some insane reason.

I even had a full water bottle thrown at my the back of my head by my drunk brother.

There was my dad’s behavior at my wedding, and my grandfather wrote me a scathing message about how ashamed he was to have a democrat baby killer as a grand daughter. I’m fucking pro-life, bruh!

So yeah, my resentment and pent up aggression was up there…

Over the next few months, even though we were getting professional help, the trauma from our throw downs had caused a lot of deep wounds and resentment.

I had a really difficult time with depression and probably a little PTSD. It was as if Ethan’s complex trauma had transferred over to me.

I remember going camping out of town that October, I was having really intense suicidal and even some homicidal thoughts that scared the shit out of me. I was just filled with so much hatred. Ethan didn’t know what to do, neither could he seem to understand what I was going through. I was angry that I had put up with his worst and yet he couldn’t have empathy for what I was dealing with right now. I hated him a little; I was filled with a lot of hate for all the men in my life. I had held it together until this very moment. I needed someone to lean on, but found no one would just stand there.

The next morning, I got up early and took a hike alone. I wandered through the woods, moaning like a wounded animal, begging God to just end my life. It was the most alone I had ever felt since I was six.

I sat down in a pile of damp leaves and we minced words, me and God.

After that, I stopped crying and walked back to our tent. Ethan was still asleep and didn’t even know I had gone.

We talked, explored a local museum, took a walk, then drove home. Things improved after that trip.

I had a few more episodes where I behaved like a dying wildebeest. The pain had to come out someway, like pressure being released from a balloon. And I would rather scream at the top of my lungs than hurt myself or another person. I never had anymore homicidal thoughts, thank God.

I can say all of this now because of how different things have been since then. We’re just different humans altogether.

We set out to get our shit together and we worked incredibly hard, never giving up, even way before we had a baby.

To conclude this part- It wasn’t lost on me that the day we went back to church, things in our lives began to heal. After two years of abuse from all the men in my life, I’m not sure what would have happened if we didn’t choose that day to go back to that church.

I don’t know where I would be: Dead? In prison? Thank God we’ll never find out.

Going back to St. John’s, I was reminded that there are good, solid, kind men who exist in this world. The type of men my husband wants to emulate, the type I want my son to follow the examples of.

I do thank God for them.

I’m truly grateful. The other feeling I have is relief.

(I feel like something in our our marriage really did fully heal after it was blessed, which was our third marriage ceremony, lol. Our families were annoyed, but who cares?

And so now divorce is literally impossible! jk... but kinda)

Motherhood:

It is bowing, bending, breaking apart for our children like kindling in the fire. Offering our burning bodies like a prayer to God that He will protect our children always and keep them on the straight and narrow path. That the angels will constantly guide their steps.

If I can be a bridge for my son to walk on, let each bone be laid down for him to walk across the stars. Or let my blood be the water he swims across to get to safe, dry land. When I die in the flesh, let my spirit continue to walk with him and hold him still as if he were still a nursing infant in my arms, smoothing his impossibly soft hair, cheeks, brushing my fingers across the bridge of his tiny nose.

Praying that when he suffers, he will always find God’s peace in his heart, that he gain enough strength to bear each affliction with hope, standing upright though his back may bend in sorrow for a moment.

Ever since our eyes met, when he was lifted from my gaping, bleeding womb, I felt as if our spirits were mingled like smoke.

Maybe even before that, maybe even before he was conceived, like we were written in the stars before time began.

Perhaps this is all playing out just as God wrote it with his giant hands into the black, peaceful dark.

Perhaps nothing is wasted and in the end there will be unbreakable joy.

“I want your flowers like babies want God’s love,” Iron & Wine

love

I wrote this May 22, 2020 about love. It was just my usual journal entry, but I thought it was a good and still relevant today.

in my experience with men, i have found relationships call for parenting. parenting yourself, parenting your partner; in my Christian walk, God parents me.

as a woman who wants children, i find that seeing intimate relationships in this way is a way of training yourself for motherhood.

because it requires patience and grace to succeed in love, and i covet more patience often, i look at each difficult moment as an opportunity to be better. in an effort to not hurt my partner with the heaving weight of my emotions in the moment, i look inwardly at what has and has not worked in the past, what i have learned lately from books about this subject.

i treat these moments like a test. like everyone is watching to see what i’ll do. will i be victorious? will my partner and i be better people after this?

i put all my energy into it, because when i look at him, i see his inner boy.

i access what he might need. i also see the man i love dearly, and i feel myself ache and melt with love. sometimes i think of our first kiss, or when we picked strawberries or when we traveled together.

above all, i know i must respect him as i would a friend.

i chose to accept him as he was, and i choose to love even some of the parts that have hurt me before, but when they rear their ugly heads again, i do resist them.

i choose to listen to my surroundings. what has and hasn't worked for other couples? i respect their mistakes, i am grateful for them, because i learn.

and sometimes i think, what a blessing beyond measure that God gave me him: a wise and loving man. sometimes he shows me his fragility, his inner child. he doesn’t realize this, but i smile for it.

our love has always felt natural. it is a gift from God, a tender mercy for us.

That's enough trauma bonding for now.

Once again, thanx for letting me vomit my inner thoughts into your eyes. :)

"every day I pray for universal love"

Happy Valentine’s Day, ya suckers!!!!!!11 <3