Thank you, Michelle Obama

Now that Michelle Obama has had her first full day as first lady (in cute black flats, I noticed -- it'll probably be awhile before she can look at a pair of Jimmy Choos without shuddering), I'd like to take this opportunity to offer her some gratitude.

Thank you for being who you are. I don't think most people realize the import of what it means to black women to have such a fantastic black woman in the White House. What images do we usually get in today's pop culture? Harpies, hos and shrill baby mommas. Sassy sidekicks. Overweight know-it-alls who dispense sage advice. And now we have Michelle Obama as our first lady -- she's intelligent, self-assured, ambitious, successful. An adored wife and adoring mom. How can America's -- and the world's -- thought process about black women not be altered by this fact? Also, thank you for not giving in to the pressures of what others think the first lady should look like. Thanks for not starving yourself into a size 4, or covering your arms and shoulders because showing them is "not first ladylike," or bowing to the pressure to wear pantyhose.

Thank you for giving Barack Obama a chance, all those years ago. Our new president has said that when he and Michelle met, she turned down his date offer many times. Black women are the least likely to marry in American society; for generations we've been raised to be self-sufficient. We've also started looking for love outside our race, and while I'm certainly not judging people's choices (I date non-black as well as black men), it can't be denied that this strong black couple sends a powerful message. So years ago, when that cocky young hotshot came calling, again and again, Michelle saw something that let her know he might be worth her time. The result is a true partnership that has yielded spectacular results. Her husband is enamored to this day. During their tour of inauguration balls, he was holding her just as tightly during the 10th dance as he was the first -- all the while giving her smoldering looks that let us know just how hot he thought she was in that dress.

Thank you for raising your daughters as what they are: little black girls. Is there any relationship more complex than that of a black female and her hair? Sure, the Obama girls are resplendent with flowing locks and bouncing curls on special occasions -- say, when their dad is sworn in as the president of the United States -- but every other day, they look like normal girls, with easy-to-care-for twists and hastily brushed ponytails. They spend summer breaks in braids. (Raise your hands, black women, if you had cornrowed hair during childhood summers. Mine is raised just as high.)

But this is about more than hair, of course. Sasha and Malia Obama are smart, confident, well-behaved kids who are as comfortable with standing in front of a million people as they are playing with a group of friends. It's beautiful to see and a testament to how they've been raised. Which brings me to ...

Thank you for taking your mother with you to the White House. No nannies for these girls while mom and dad are away on state business. Speaking as a woman who spent her childhood raised by a mother, two grandmothers and a great-grandmother, the effect our elders have on us can't be over-estimated. They teach us the finer points of life in a way that sticks with us forever. As Garrison Keillor said of the Obama girls during a recent broadcast of "Prairie Home Companion": "They''ll do fine, 'cause they've got that first grandma with them now in the White House. And you can tell just looking at her, she is a grandma who means business. This is a grandma who's gonna make sure that those two girls don't wind up in the roles of famous people who are not that bright, if you know what I mean."

And finally ...

Thank you for risking all that you love for us. It's historic to have a black family as America's first family, and there are people out there who wish them harm. Gen. Colin Powell decided against a run for president in part because his wife, Alma, feared for his safety. Barack Obama would never have run for president if Michelle hadn't agreed to it. The entire family has committed to serve America for the next four to eight years, and there's an element of risk to their lives every day. It's a sacrifice few would make. Here's hoping the prayers sent from all over the world do their job to help keep the family safe and sound.

Speaking the language of love

Let’s play a little relationship multiple choice.

I feel most loved when the important people in my life:

(a) don’t hesitate to show affection through all sorts of physical manifestations – hugging, kissing, whatever … depending on the person and our relationship.

(b) tell me that they love me and offer other encouraging words. I need to hear it before I can feel it.

(c) stop their busy lives for a little while to talk, walk, go to a movie – doesn’t matter much the activity, as long as we’re spending time together. I crave that connection.

(d) gives me gifts when I don’t expect them – they’re not always expensive, but they’re always thoughtful.

(e) does things for me – washes my car, gives me a shoulder rub after a long day at work, cooks me a great meal. It’s always things that make my life easier or more enjoyable.

Got your answer?

Then you’re on your way to understanding the five love languages as conceived by Gary Chapman, author of a series of books that started with "The Five Love Languages: How to Express Heartfelt Commitment to Your Mate." His theory is that people give and receive love in five ways: through (a) physical touch; (b) words of affirmation; (c) quality time; (d) gifts; and (e) acts of service. You can love someone so much it hurts -- but he won’t feel it if you don’t show that love using his love language.

I’m fairly certain I’m an E, though A probably runs a close second most days. And my husband has figured it out without reading a book – when I’m stalking around in a foul mood, he’ll tell me to soak in a bubble bath while he cleans up the kitchen after dinner. (Or is that code for go soak your head?)

Can’t hone in on just one love language? Could be that you speak several very strongly. Could be that your love language changes depending on the person you’re with, or that your love language has changed over time.

Or could be you’re just high-maintenance. Let your friends, family and significant others be warned.

Enjoy a corny love moment

There's a blog -- 1millionlovemessages.com -- where you can go and declare your love for all to see. You can write a love note, post a photo, record a song or recite your favorite sonnet, then post it on the blog. Link your post through one of the networking options and your message will go even further.

The blog was created by a 30-year-old guy in Portugal who hopes to reach 1 million posts. When I looked, it hovered around 900, so he has a ways to go. The posts are from all over; I read notes from the Ukraine, Malawi (where Madonna adopted her youngest kid), Spain, Indonesia, the Philippines, Saudi Arabia, France, the U.K., New Jersey, California and more. Many were from young lovers; I saw a creepy message that included the book cover for "I Know You Really Love Me: A Psychiatrist's Account of Stalking and Obsessive Love." I have one word for the recipient of that missive: RUN!

To me, the most touching notes were from children to their mothers and from moms to their kids. One poster offered a message to "Everyone": "Tell people you love them today. You never know when you may see them again. (And don't forget about animals, too!)"

Got a minute? Why not go tell someone you love them?

Crushes: Different as a kid vs. adult?

Think back to your school days -- maybe it was elementary school or even as late as high school -- when you spotted a gorgeous smile from across the room that made you stop dead in your tracks.

You would then spend countless (underscore countless) time thinking about that crush, plotting how to accidentally run into your crush in the hallway, figuring out ways your friends could befriend your crush, feeding or perhaps devilishly denying the rampant gossip line that you do indeed have a crush and dreaming about how your life would be so much happier if your crush were on your arm.

Ahhhhh ... those were the days.

Now, as adults, I wonder if the way we approach crushes has changed? One would think maturity and experience would play into the way we handle the situation, actually asking a person out face-to-face instead of sending your best friend over to the other side of the playground to do your dirty work.

But there's a part of me that wants to say we never lose those juvenile tendencies to notify an intended love we have our eyes on them. How are the butterflies in the pit of your stomach any different at age 11 than they are at 53? Just because you're divorced, does that mean the way you approach a man at a bar is any different than when you approached the boy in the library during study hall?

When you break it down to its core, pursuing the object of our infatuation doesn't seem to discriminate toward age.

What do you think? Have you found yourself chasing crushes differently as an adult?

Sexy, soulful sonnets

In honor of all the lovers out there, here's some sigh-inducing sonnets -- the first a lot sexy and a little scary, the second from The Master.

Sonnet XI by Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Sonnet 55 by William Shakespeare

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme
but you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even if the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Love hurts - read all about it

Here's an interesting recommendation that landed in my Inbox, courtesy of veryshortlist.com: The book "My Mistress's Sparrow Is Dead," edited by Jeffrey Eugenides. He's the author best known for "Middlesex," a literary saga about a hermaphrodite. The award-winning novel got rave reviews, was featured on Oprah's book club and was devoured and much-loved by just about everybody I know.

"My Mistress's Sparrow Is Dead" (and I would've recommended it on the awesome title and cover alone) is an anthology of 26 love stories. As Very Short List puts it: "In his introduction to "My Mistress’s Sparrow Is Dead: Great Love Stories, from Chekhov to Munro," Jeffrey Eugenides makes an important distinction between love and the love story: 'Love stories depend upon disappointment, on unequal births and feuding families, on matrimonial boredom and at least one cold heart. Love stories, nearly without exception, give love a bad name.' "

Valentine's Day is coming. I'm so reading this to get in the mood!

I've got love on my mind

A friend recently shared her frustration with me about dating. She's tried everything the books, magazines and Oprah experts recommend -- going to church, joining clubs based on her hobbies, volunteer work, Internet dating -- and she still hasn't met a man she'd consider pursuing a relationship with. She's like me: a thirtysomething who doesn't really want to date for dating's sake, but is looking for more than just someone for drinking and casual sex. (Not that there's anything wrong with either.)

I admit I've been floating on a sea of sighs since returning from my friend's wedding a few days ago. There wasn't a single available man there (well, maybe the DJ, but I didn't ask), so most chicks would have found the event a total bust. Not me. I was heartened by seeing all the happy, obviously still-enamored couples of all ages enjoying themselves as they giggled over drinks and boogied on the dance floor -- sometimes with their kids as adorable partners. I'm aware I have no idea what's going on in their relationships; for all I know, they fought in the parking lot as they approached the door. But for those few hours, everyone was caught up in the joy of a new marriage, and the thrill of being on hand as a man and woman, misty-eyed, pledged themselves to each other.

That wedding day, juxtaposed with my friend's frustrations, gave me pause. It reminded me of something I think most of us tend to forget: We can't take love for granted.

There's no guarantee each and every one of us will have a healthy, loving relationship. Look at all the single people out there. Look at the high divorce rate. And how many folks do you know in unhappy relationships?

Life is such a crapshoot. Folks who find love experience fate, or destiny, or sheer, stupid luck -- whatever you want to call it. I wonder, do people in love realize what a gift they've been given? There's nothing set in stone that says every human will have a mate.

As a single person, does that knowledge depress or scare me? Both, a little. Am I less inclined to date? Of course not. The need to share, to connect, to love is innate in us. I've told my friend to keep searching. Maybe she (and I) will be among the fortunate ones.

My parting words for my first blog

Not all families are as close as mine. So I fully understand when I hear a daughter or a spouse leave a loved one and the farewell consists of a simple "see ya later," or perhaps "adios."

But, what if by some unfortunate circumstance, your loved one doesn’t live another day and the final words resounding in your head are, "Yo, holla at ya later, Ma"?

Love is a touchy subject. Some people live their entire lives never hearing the "L" word uttered from their parents' lips. How sad and how hollow a feeling that must be.

I learned at a young age to always say "I love you" (ILY) because I never knew when or if I would talk with that person again. Parting words are the fossils we leave behind.

But what if the big ILY is too mushy for your spouse to say front of his co-workers? You know what I’m talking about, ladies. You call your husband at work. He’s in a cubicle surrounded by big, burly, ball-scratching men. You say ILY and he mumbles a Neanderthal-like response, then quickly hangs up and tries to appear as though the entire conversation never took place for fear of severance from future male bonding.

At first, you think it’s your cell phone service breaking up. Then, you realize. He’s just a big wuss. Saying ILY in front of his buds is too sensitive. Fine. So what’s the answer?

Find another endearing phrase that lets others know what they mean to you. Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore found theirs in "Ghost" -- "ditto," and I say that works. So does "Hey, me too."

Do you and your loved ones have alternative phrases that stand in place for ILY? Should our spouses just suck it up and say the mushy words out loud – co-workers or no co-workers around?

I feel like we don’t put enough importance on telling others how much we care, even if we’re at work in tight quarters with hairy jocks as co-workers. So, stay classy Charlotte.
I love you.