At least he's not smearing sh*t on the walls

Things Milo could be doing with his stubborn, high-spirited nature during these times of intense life changes:

1) breaking things

2) punching people

3) making himself throw up

4) launching food and overturning dinner plates

5) marking his territory with urine

6) stashing, storing, smearing, or otherwise playing with his own excrement

7) sneaking out and getting drunk with the guys... 

8) hooking up with the loose girls at day care

9) making fake IDs with my iPhone

10) having nightmares, really falling apart...

I guess an occasional 2 hour bedtime show-down is small potatoes. 

At first, I thought it was standard stalling and tried to be firm. But 30 mins in (20 mins after his older brother had started snoring), I stopped focusing on getting what I wanted and just started rummaging through drawers for a white flag to wave...

When he sat on the top stair, twinkled his non-tired eyes, rested his full, puffy cheeks in his not-so-tiny hands and answered my, "You are going to bed right now" with:

"No.  I'm not."  Then he got quieter:  "I. Am. Not...   Not going to bed...   Not tonight."
Then he looked at me, with pity and exhaled: "no. I'm not."

Serious as a heart attack.

People, I know when I'm beat.  My mama did NOT raise a fool.  I'm all about being the adult - "the parent" and setting limits.  But it was the calm in his eyes- like the sea in a glossy travel brochure; it was his non agitated, purposeful stare...

And as Yoda- oops, I mean - JAKE told me earlier today, "Mommy, do you know the secret to beating your enemies?  Make them your friends."

"Okay," I told my curly haired challenger, "If you're not going to bed, come down here and and help me clean up.  You can start by cleaning up your cars."

Trying to get them to bed early on transition day, I had planned to return the 17 die cast metal cars (we counted them aloud 4 times as he parked then in the shape of letters (and one time in the shape of a "mark" that I when I tilted my head a little I realized was a pretty perfect "question mark") away.

When the cars were away, I had him put the couch cushions back and fluff the throw pillows.  Then I told him to go get two books and we read them each - twice.  Then we headed upstairs and drank a small dixie cup of water and as I laid him down, we talked about his day:  The hole he dug in the sand (It was huge)... The sand he put on the slide (even though his teachers told him not to put sand on the slide)... We talked about kindergarten coming up in the fall.

He didn't know that I had already decided I wouldn't even be trying to leave his lower bunk bed until I was dismissed.

Back when I worked in the ICU, I had this little rule, if a patient/or family rang his/her call bell 3 times within 20 minutes, I would pack up my charts and go in there and sit.  I would first see what they needed, and answer their question or request; BUT then I would pull up a chair or desk and sit there yammering and/or charting until the patient and/or family would say something like, "You must have other work you have to do."

When I stopped peppering Milo with questions and the conversation started to lull, I didn't make a move to leave.  I didn't even shift my weight, but still he grabbed my face and whined: "I NEED you." I held my hands over his hands, tight on my cheeks.

"I need you and love you too,"  I replied

"I WANT you."  He pulled me tighter.

"I'm right here."  I kissed both his palms and offered him mine. 

"I ALWAYS need and want you."

"Me too."  More kisses on his hands and arms

"You always... yell at me."  

I laugh.  "I SOME-times yell at you when you don't listen, but I am not yelling right now."

I snuggled in closer. "I'm staying right here until you tell me I should go."

Literally 10 seconds pass.

"When you hear the 'DING' you go.... DING!"  He high-pitched the last word into a flawless, one-toned bell.

"Okay, when I hear that noise, I should go?"

"No.  It ding'd.  You should go now... it already ding'd."

 Now I'm laughing, hard: "Wait... Now? go now???"

"Yes.  You have to. It already Ding'd.  Sorry.  I love you.  Now go."

Bahahahahahahaha!

Seriously, this kid is ridiculous.

Eulogy for Gramma Bella

When I went to write this, I looked for a few quotes about grandmothers…  The first two I found were:

“Grandmas never run out of cookies or hugs” and the next: 

“A grandmother is a little bit parent, a little bit teacher, and a little bit best friend.”

Done.   My work was done.

These so perfectly fit our Grandma Bella, that it made me feel a little deflated- those are so generic- anyone could look them up on the internet...  and OUR gram was so special…

You probably read in the paper that my grandmother had 21 Grandchildren, 22 Great grand children, and 1 great-great grand daughter.  It is remarkable to note that FIFTEEN BABIES: 1 grandson (Alex), 13 great-grand kids, and baby Mackenzie (The great-great-grand) were born in the last 9 years since our grandpa died. 

Gram experienced a lot of grief after Grandpa died, but looking back, these years were teeming with babies-

and she LOVED that.

But of course if you knew her, you know she didn’t have just 44 grandchildren.  Our spouses, our inlaws, our cousins on the other sides of our families, any one we brought to her house, anyone who was our friend… she counted all of them too… that’s literally hundreds (possibly thousands of people that knew her as

Grandma Gaetano or Grandma Bella) and she welcomed and treated everyone one of us with love and respect.

I had the idea that I might get up here and mention some of the most important things that Gram taught us.

THAT is a completely overwhelming prospect.

I mostly wanted to represent the grandkids in taking an opportunity to publicly thank her for all that she did for us.  I think we all did our best to tell her this every chance we got- to get as many hugs from her as we could…

What is hard to put into words (in the face of losing her) is that we are losing a relationship that was above all else uncomplicated. 

To be Bella Gaetano’s grandchild was to be loved and appreciated. 

Period. 

She loved us without exception and without expectation. 

She wanted to know us, and see us, and be seen by us. 

She met us where we were and asked nothing more of us than what we could (or were willing) to give. 

She bragged about us. 

She laughed with us. 

She didn’t compare to us each other. 

She just enjoyed us.  

For many of us, she was the first person we brought our grievances and heartbreaks to: When our parents took our favorite toys away or bestowed some insult or punishment, she brought out the cookies and the hugs- sometimes tough love, too- but usually not.

When we started showing up at her door with our tattoos and our more legitimate heartbreaks, scholastic and relationship failures, and other mistakes and adult struggles…

She behaved as a friend. 

She treaded lightly.

She listened more than she preached.

She offered compassion and reassurance…

She reminded us that life was hard, but it was long. 

Without minimizing our pain, she asked us to see hard times as necessary and temporary.

She worried about us when we were hurting…

She locked her blue eyes on us- daring us to see what she saw: that no matter what we did or what we didn’t do we were enough, always worthy of love.

She mostly did this without words… 

Truthfully, a LOT of the time she did it with FOOD. (She could heal a heart with a little plate of parmesan cheese and sautéed zucchini, a plate of food that your parents wouldn’t have been able to get you to eat if all of your lives depended on it.)

She might also cheer us up or distract us with a funny story, or a ride on the golf cart,

or invitation to walk with her or to help her clean up her yard.

Gram was such a good role model.

She had LOTS of friends.  Because she was so generous and so eager to help a neighbor, she collected people and racked up loyalty the way some folks rack up debt.  And her friendships were long lasting and withstood the tests of time, because she knew that giving to others did not subtract from, but only added to what was hers… 

She liked to keep busy and visit with people. She was quick to laugh and forgive small grievances.  And mostly her friendships were strong because she was a good judge of character but never a harsh judge of people.

She taught me that a life well-lived usually means losing labels like “us” and “them”.  And accepting and finding things to appreciate about everyone that wanders into your life.  She was eager to meet new people. She enjoyed watching people do things they enjoyed, even if it was something she would never be interested in doing.  She gave everyone the benefit of the doubt.  She sometimes suffered fools GLADLY.  She expressed and experienced gratitude.

Gramma knew her worth and stood her ground- with her husbands, in her business dealings- but she was not immovable.  She was always willing to show vulnerability.  She would put herself out there even if it meant sometimes getting her feelings hurt.

She didn’t stifle laughter.

She didn’t stifle tears.

She was present. 

She was participatory. 

She never shied away from having her picture taken.

She made her mark on people- on purpose-

not because of what they might do for her but for what she might do for them.

In the last 2 weeks of her life, my gram attended 2 weddings.  The one I was lucky to be with her at, she would have stayed all night. 

This was not a woman who prioritized sleep over living. 

Who looked for rest over dancing or watching others dance.  

Who couldn’t keep up with the kids. 

Who would leave a lobster uneaten.  (If you know her, you know she was no joke with a lobster).

Katy and I apologized to her that we were interested in leaving before the dancing was actually over (we were her ride back to the hotel) and in her usual form, she said something like,

“Yes, you two work so hard, you’re probably exhausted.”

(She wasn’t even rolling her eyes at us when she said it).

My sister and I were talking about our sadness and we know that there has never been a moment of our lives (because we were her grandchildren) when we didn’t know that this day would come. 

But this is the other side of being loved so completely. 

This is the bittersweet nature of having been so perfectly nurtured. 

These are the tears that are shed for you when you live in such a way that hundreds of people know they have lost one of their best friends.

We celebrate these tears, because they are from and for you, Grandma.

And the most important thing is –

We will try to take care of each other- using you as a role model. 

Because, if we do our job right, people who never even got to meet you will get to feel how it felt to be loved by you.







 

Keeping me on my game

The other day, I'm buckling Jake into the car seat (seriously, every other kindergartner we know can buckle themselves in) and he holds up his hands in a full shrug:

"So, what's a 'Husband' anyway?"

I can't help feeling like I'm walking into a trap.  I know he knows what a "husband" is, after all.
I think he's pretty much asking me why we don't have one, but I don't want to over-blow it.
I take a deep breath, knowing I have 15 seconds to figure out how to play this and I lead with my inner goof-ball.

"You KNOW what a HUSBAND is?!?" I say in my best, exaggerated, game-show host voice.

"No," he says with a convincing earnestness.

"A husband," I say matter of factly, "Is a man who is married.  If a man is married, he's a husband.  If a woman is married, she's a wife."

Jake contemplates his fingernails, while I continue, "When a man and a women get married, they are a husband and a wife." I employ a sillier voice at this point, "HUSBANDS and wives. Husbands AND wives.  Husbands and WIVES...  But SOMETIMES, there's a..." I pause for dramatic effect "WIFE and a WIFE..."

"Like in our house!" We say it in unison and he smiles.

I let it hang in the air like a "Ta-Da!!!"

"And SOMETIMES," my voice is full of drama and mischief, "There is a HUSBAND and a HUSBAND...  But USUALLY..." I borrow the cadence of that dog food commercial from the 80's.  "Usually... it's husbands and wives, husbands and wives, husbands and wives." (Kibbles and bits, Kibbles and bits, kibbles and bits).

Jake all but yawns.  "Yeah," he says completely unimpressed with the theatrics, "I guess you just have to decide who you love..."

(sigh.)

Yeah...

First wake

My dad's Uncle George died the day before Thanksgiving (last week).  As I prepared to go to the wake on Sunday, Jake asked where I was going. 

Me: Papa's uncle died and TT and I are going with Gram'ma Bella to the wake.
Jake: What's a wake?
Me: Well, when someone dies, there is usually a wake and a funeral... Or some kind of ceremony where you can go say goodbye, and go hug the family and tell them that you are sorry about losing the person they loved.
Jake: Who did they lose?
Me: Well, Papa's uncle George died.  So Papa's cousins lost their dad, and Papa's aunt lost her husband.  When someone dies, we say we "lost" them.
Jake: Oh.

I absentmindedly asked Jake if he wanted to go.  It wasn't an accident exactly.  He seemed interested and there is something I want to try to teach these boys early on about life being special and about death being a part of life. And about what it means to belong to a clan of people- that you have respect and are generous with your time, and sometimes you stop what you are doing to show up and bare witness at these events. 

Jake: Maybe... I have to think about it.
Me: okay (In my head: "ut oh")

(I never thought he'd agree...
After a few minutes, I thought of a way to deter my 'soft pants' loving boy...)

Me: You know, if you go, you have to put some dress clothes on.
Jake: What do you mean?
Me: I mean, I am going to put work clothes on and you will have to dress up.
J: Like, in what?
Me: Like a sweater, or a shirt and tie, and church pants and shoes.
J: What sweater?
Me: I don't know... like the new one that TT bought you...

(After a few more minutes...)

Jake: I'll wear a tie.

Me: Oh... Okay. (pause)  So, we should talk about what it will be like...  At a wake, there is usually a box called a coffin that the person who has died will be laying in.  And there will be flowers and pictures and his family will be there and we will go through and hug all of his family- Papa's aunts and uncles and cousins.
Jake: Okay.
Me: And at some wakes the coffin is closed and you can't see the person inside but sometimes the coffin is open and you will see the person.
Jake:  LIKE A SKELETON?!?
Me: Oh, no... He will look like he's sleeping.  He will have his clothes on and of course all his hair and his skin... Maybe his eyeglasses...
Jake: (interrupting) HE HAS EYEGLASSES?!?  (The idea that he might see eye glasses seemed as shocking to him as the idea that me might see a skeleton.)
Me: (giggling) I don't know... maybe he does or maybe he doesn't...  The coffin might be closed, but it might be open.  And he will look like he is sleeping, but he won't be sleeping because he isn't alive anymore; remember how we talked about what happens when a person dies?
Jake: Yes.
Me: Their heart doesn't beat anymore, and they don't breathe, and their body is still there, but their spirit isn't inside their body...  ?
Jake: Yes.
Me: Do you still want to go?

Jake: Yeah, but I want to wear the red tie...

Katy likes to tell people that before she met me, she had never been to a wake or funeral.  And now she never stops going to them.  She is gracious about this and says that if it weren't for me, she would have had no idea how to conduct herself at her grandmother's funeral.  I almost skipped Uncle George's wake, but it was at her "it's the right thing to do" urging that I was getting dressed to go.  As a former ICU nurse, I'm more confortable than the average bear with corpses.  I sometimes have to stop and remind myself that these things can upset "lay people".  There are some funerals that children should NOT attend.  Very tragic, unexpected deaths... funerals where the adults are generally falling apart and so grief stricken that they are not able to look out for the emotional well being of kids in the room...

When our friend Liz's husband died leaving her widowed with 4 children (3 of the 4 were grade school age and younger), of all of the things she did that impressed me, none impressed me more than her plan for the kids.  After a brief appearance at the wake, she had them brought back to the house where Katy and I played with them and fed them dinner and got them to bed.  Of course they had to go to their dad's wake, but the emotions were too intense and the line at the funeral home too long to subject them to the entire event.

When my friend John died, I have this stark memory of his nieces a few feet from the coffin only 6 or 7 or 8 years old and my brain was forming the judgemental thought, "What are these parents doing letting their kids just hang around here near the casket all night?!?" when their kiddie conversation came into auditory focus:

Munchkin 1: Do you know why he doesn't look like himself?
Munchkin 2: No?  Do you?
Munchkin 1: I think it's because his soul has left his body
Munchkin 2: Yeah, so it isn't really him anymore... just his body.

I had the urge to stoop down to eye level and grip their shoulders gently and tell them that he didn't look like himself because the mortician in this joint isn't worth shit and has clearly never heard of blush or hair gel... but as I exhaled, the psycho urge passed and I realized that (of course) these children were wiser and more balanced than I.  Truthfully, kids just don't have the baggage that we do.  They don't usually bring their accumulated insecurities and fears into the room; or if they do, their accumulation is miniscule as not to even register.

When my mom saw Jake at the funeral home, she tried to hide from me that she was a little freaked out, asking several times, "Aren't you worried that he will have nightmares?"

And here's the thing.  Jake already has nightmares.  He's just like his freakin' moms.  A few weeks ago he crawled into our bed and told us he dreampt that there was a fire and he was trying to save Milo.  [A FIRE?!?! Seriously?  Where did that fear come from, Disney?!? I promise, we've never talked about fires around the dinner table...]  And last week, he was crying because he dreamed that his grandparents left without saying goodbye.  Some kids have more bad dreams than others.  I've got to try to find some books to see if there's a way to teach or talk your kids out of bad dreams, because I was one of those kids.  At a very early age, I dreamed scary, stressful things.  I still think that is part of the reason I stay up so late- Some of those dreams are sad and exhausting- maybe it's better just to stay awake.

Anyway, I've come to believe that 1) My dreams are not necessarily premonitions.  2) Bad dreams are not something that always happens because of unrest in your conscious life.  It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with your perception of safety or security.  I know this because I was a very safe, protected, nurtured, sheltered child.  And so are our boys. 

Jake is a thinker and he reasons things out.  He likes to be prepared.  And even though Milo is comparitively our "spontaneous frat boy"... He also is a thinker, and a dreamer. 

"You are not quite right" is what I've heard in response to the explanation that this first wake was a "dry run" for Jake.  He will have to see some people he loves in coffins in the coming years and decades and this was his first.  I'm sure we will have follow up conversations and clarifications, but he came through the event without a flinch or twitch or question.  This was just an experience to him.  Not positive.  Not negative.  Not even that big of a deal.  Just something to stash away in his mental filing cabinet.

My working theory is sometimes (maybe) the sheltering and protecting that we do for kids is unnecessary. Sometimes (maybe) that "protecting" contributes to anxiety and unsettled emotions.  (Emotions like, "What if I am not good enough? What if I can't handle all that I am asked to handle?") Trying to pad the sharp corners of the world isn't what I want to accomplish as a parent.  Life is full of struggle and sadness, disappointment and grief.  Our job is to teach them how to deal with downsides, show them that they can handle uncomfortable situations.  Create a time and space where they can safely learn to be vulnerable and successful in struggle.  I kind of believe that is the only way to fully appreciate joy and love.

Uncle George's wake was the perfect opportunity for Jake to see death. To see a body that was without it's spirit. Someone that he didn't know. An event that had no personal sadness or confusion attached to it.  He observed a portion of the ritual without experiencing the associated loss/discomfort.

And when a kid that cries in the morning trying to decide what pants to wear (because he sometimes has trouble making decisions). When that kid tells me he wants to put on a tie and come with me to a wake, I'll go ahead and take him at his word.  I won't tell him he can't handle it.  I will stand next to him and let him see one way death can look.  Because I trust Jake.  Even at this young age, he is so trustworthy.

And I trust myself.  I know if we stumble into a room or situation that upsets him, I will be able to talk him through that discomfort.  I know Katy will always help me with that.  I know she and I will resist the urge to remove painful obstacles so that our boys can learn to overcome difficulties (at least a bit) on their own.  It won't always be easy.  Sometimes we will fail by doing too much for them and protecting them too vigilantly and either forgetting to let them struggle or losing our steel when confronted by the reality of their discomfort.  But we're lucky...

These boys already have the minds and hearts of strong, wise men.  I'm so proud of them.

On exceeding expectations...

Jake: (As Katy is offering him a sandwich) I. DON'T. WANT. IT!!!

Katy: Try again, Jake, we don't talk like that.

Jake: (instantaneously) Um, Mama, thank you for offering that to me, but I don't really want it right now.

Me: Ten points for Griffindor!

Katy (Under her breath to me) Way to set the future bar higher for yourself, dude... It makes more sense now why he keeps getting all those stickers at school...

Halloween

There was a big snow storm 2 days before Halloween, so it really screwed things up for that holiday. Somehow, we had our costumes all worked out- well in advance... a miracle for these two somewhat-behind-schedule moms. Then it started to snow about 11am on Saturday. Big, wet flakes that accumulated to about a foot of heavy snow and took out a lot of trees and branches. We were out of power for 5 days- no heat, no electricity, and trick or treating was officially cancelled in our town. But we did dress them up: First from my sister's box of "extra dress up" Jake found his cousin, Cam's witch costume from 2 years ago.

(Jake and Cam are the same age- so that's why he looks a little too sexy for his clothes)

Man, he is Purr-dee... isn't he?!? I think he's very handsome, but he also makes a beautiful princess boy when he wants to!!!

Then, not to be outdone, Milo wanted to wear a dress. So, I couldn't resist putting him into this tiny-dog costume I found. It seemed cruel to undress him for it- we're not raising strippers here, after-all! So I put it on him OVER his clothes!

Awwwwww!

Then the main event... we dressed our boys in their "real costumes" and my sister's girls in the play things of their choice and headed out to the THREE houses in the dark that had candles in their windows.

These were taken at school this week...

The cutest panda ever!!!

Sweet-smile, slouchin' Superman...

Jake as "Clark Kent"

Brothers:

BONUS PIC:

I borrowed my dad's leaf blower and it dangled over the back seat a little. When I looked into the back, Jake had grabbed onto the handle. At the next glance, Milo was imitating him. The image made me laugh- as if they were human bungee cords, keeping the thing from rolling out of the hatchback.

:)

Today in creepy kid wisdom...

I have become increasingly amazed at the introspective power of children in general, but also toddlers in particular.

It's more than that thing that will make a child look at someone with bad acne and say,
"why do you have all those red dots on your face?"

Or size up a person of small stature and inquire,
"So, are you a midget or something?"

I'm talking about when a kid is trying to label and understand the world and they come up with an explanation that is at once S-I-M-P-L-E and COMPLETELY profound. Jake does this over and over again, with such frequency and such little fanfare that I can never even remember the examples or conversations. But I have witnessed him capture the essence of "human fears" and "economics" and "relationships" with dialogue that was not parroting of adult explanations but instead an application of some previously internalized concept to a different or more abstract situation...

Boy: We take good care of our friends right?
Mom: yes!
Boy: And we share with them...
Mom: yes...
Boy: But people we don't know might be our friends?
Mom: yes...
Boy: And we should be nice even if they aren't our friends...
Mom: Yes!
Boy: I would share my snack with anyone that needed it. But if my friends needed more snack, I would have to save some for them and me- and not just strangers...
Mom: well...
Boy: What if people take our stuff and then we can't share with friends
Mom: Um...
Boy: Sometimes people that are mean are just sad...
Mom: huh? (wondering if I ever told him this or if he is coming up with this on his own)
Boy: Like Doc Hudson was in Cars... about his accident...
Mom: (sigh) yes
Boy: He wasn't Lightning's friend, but then he was after...
Mom: Yup.
Boy: Sometimes, it's like everybody is our friend, but also, everybody is not our friend.
Mom: (holy shit!) yes... essentially.

That is a compilation and not an actual conversation, but people wonder why I say things like, "yes... essentially" to my kids. It's because if you are going to give me some Gandhi-esque sound bite, I'm not going to reply, "You're so silly, boo-boo-bear!"

This morning it was a slightly different twist...

First of all, Milo AVOIDED ALL THE PUDDLES IN THE DRIVEWAY!!! Katy and I have been working on this, with (occasionally) painstaking patience. We've tried to teach and show him that there is a time for PUDDLE JUMPING and a time for NOT puddle jumping. This morning, we implored, "Please AVOID the puddles, Milo!" and he did a soft shoe around them walking carefully as if solving a puzzle.

Both moms were thrilled and tripping over ourselves to take credit for teaching him to be this amazing and then we quickly swapped saying, "No, it was you honey... You are the reason he is so wonderful!!!"

At that point while we were giggling with each other near the front of the car, we overheard some absent-minded muttering in the back seat:
Moms: What, Jakey?
J: You know what Syndrome says on the Incredibles?
Moms: No, what?
J: "When everyone is super... no one will be."
Moms: huh?
J: Syndrome says, (with more emphasis on each word) "When everyone is super, no one will be"
Moms: (blinking at each other silently)
T: (to katy) Of 115 minutes of movie, THAT's the line that sticks with him on an average morning on his way to school?!? (laughter)
K: (to me) You're the one that planted your creepy "dark" poignancy in him...

Conversations with kids: Birthday edition

Today is Milo's 2nd birthday.

We've been prepping him for several days:

Moms: Who's bday is tomorrow?
ML: Noooo
Moms: Milo's birthday is tomorrow!!!
ML: No, Mommy... Mama
Moms: Not our b-day... Milo's birthday

This morning, we snuck into his room before his brother was awake and with quiet enthusiasm sang "Happy Birthday" to him. He actually acted shy, smiling but sort of hiding his head with his arm; and then pointing to us and saying, "No... YOU... Mama... Mommy." It was some combination of:
"Why are you guys singing to me? I don't want a birthday, YOU have one..." and
"I'm not completely comfortable with this attention and recognition."

It was cute but confusing- this patten is a few days in the making. Milo, embarrassed?!? Could that be right? What does it all mean? But just so we know were we stand in the order of things, when Jake woke up, he approached Milo. In a sleepy (almost like an over-tired teenager) voice with a vaguest modicum of excitement, he scratched out a single (non-musical) phrase:
"Happy Birthday, Milo."

The response came without any hesitation. Completely pleased with his brother's acknowledgment, Milo gave a full grin, "Thank you, Jake-Jake".

(sigh)

I'm not going to have to join Tumblr now, am I?!?

I don't really know WTF Tumblr is except it is a different platform for posting info...

Sort of like a cross between Blogger and Twitter, but I came across this and it made me cry... I read it several times and several times I just couldn't help but squeeze out a few tears.

Go Ahead, I dare you not to weep a little at the obviousness of these parental instincts and the "Well sure- it is about time" rarity of something written so simply, so honestly...

[CLICK ON ABOVE] to visit the page...

A few additional thoughts...

1) This is what is good about the Internet- there are so many options for creation and beauty. You can't focus on the debauchery without acknowledging the space (enormous space) that exists as it never has before to CREATE...

2) This was this mom's FIRST Tumblr posting. She likely told a few friends and within 2 days 37,500 people had commented on the post (that does not include the heaven-knows-how-many of us read it without comment)

3) This type of "going viral" is sort of appealing to me... it's like a "gold rush" for the "twenty-tens". You never know what shit is going to take off.

Brothers at play

Katy took this video of the boys at the park last night.
I just love it!
I love the way it is shot at their level...
I love that it is just them...
This is exactly how they are right now-
JB is at his best when he is running with, entertaining, and/or coaching his brother.
ML (as he has since he first learned to laugh) reserves his most genuine, heartfelt laugh for his brother.

I have this joke that I tell when people ask what the boys are like:
"In the worst case scenario," I say, "JB will grow up jealous and sullen that his brother doesn't follow the rules, and gets to have so much fun... And ML," there I pause for dramatic effect, "Will end in prison... But, if all goes well, they will keep each other in balance."




I love ML's sheer joy.
And I love the part where JB says, "Get up here, Mi..."

I think this video clearly shows how well the balancing act works so far.
(sigh)

I HEART NY

After about 2 years of ballyhoo and political drama, the NY state senate voted in favor of marriage equality. The house had already passed it and the governor has been pushing for the legislation. Cue fireworks.



Just in time for NY pride (Saturday) and the 42nd anniversary of the Stonewall riots (Monday).

For a state that most of the nation regards as mindless in it's progressive flaunting of liberal ideology... There were a lot of people dead set against letting this pass. When you think of NY, you think, "If gays can't marry there... where they hell CAN they get married?!?" But it has been years that this statute has been un-passable and 5 other states plus the District of Columbia beat NY to the punch.

The thing is, NY is the 3rd most populous state in the union. This is a big deal in terms of access to marriage protections for same sex couples.

Inspired by this hilarious nonsense, I created the following graphs to highlight for GSO readers, the trend in the US related to marriage equality and also the numerical significance of this law passing in NY.





In basically 10 years, we went from ZERO access to marriage equality or civil unions to SOME access...












There are over 307,000,000 currently living in the United States. Yesterday, roughly 5 percent of them lived in states that had equal access to marriage for gays and lesbians.

Today, more than 11% of the country's population lives in states that have marriage equality!!!










ONE MORE:

Hee-Hee!

Pink Dot

Really beautiful:



hat tip: Joe.My.God

Spring has sprung...

Today we walk out of the house and JB notices there are daffodils in full bloom at the end of the driveway. "LOOK!" He shouts, "There are flowers now."

These have been growing for a few days/weeks, but he apparently just noticed them and felt they had sprung up overnight. We walk (ML waddles) down toward the mailbox and I'm talking about spring-

Mommy: These flowers are called daffodils... They are the first sign of spring. When the winter is over, and the plants and grass get enough rain, everything starts to turn green again and flowers start to bloom, that is called spring.

JB: (nodding, starts to take over the teacher role) Yes, it is spring because there is no more snow, and the flowers are growing... Smell the flowers, ML

ML: (bends over the 3 inches it takes to shove his nose near the flowers and sniffs obligingly)

JB: They are real nice, mom... (then he starts muttering to no one in particular) I don't see any pollen... I don't knew, maybe the bees took it out already... nope, none in there either... there should be pollen... hmmm...

Bahahahahhahahhahahahhah...

He just went on and on reviewing everything he knows about pollination and flowers and bees! I might have found it less amusing except I know I haven't taught him about this, so the explanations came as if from a book they read to him at school.

I don't know WTF he thinks pollen looks like, but apparently he knows it when he sees it (or when he doesn't)... I'm not sure there is anything funnier than a tiny mammal muttering so matter-of-factly about science and biology

Come out, come out, wherever you are... Part 2

On St. Patrick's day this year, I was in Texas.

I've talked about how the political climate struck me as a tad bit suffocating in Part 1.

I was having a good time and it is quite lovely on the San Antonio river.

Missing my boys and my sweetie, I still wasn't going to ignore the fact that it was ST. PATRICK'S DAY. And on most years that goes by fairly UN-celebrated by me (due to familial and work obligations, not because I don't want to get all sloppy on green beer and Irish car bombs.)

There was that one time when my sister and I took the day off to spend it in a bar in South-ie...

and we drank all day until everyone in that place seemed like a pal...

But usually it's a toss up: "sleep... Green beer? Sleep... drunk girls in a too crowded bar, spilling green beer everywhere?? Sleep... spending too much money on bad Irish food and over priced car bombs???"

I know... I'm lame. I usually chose the sleep. Especially since the kids were born and wrecked my ability to sleep off green beer.

Anyway, this year, I was away from home, getting plenty of sleep, only responsible for myself. I had intended to round up some nurses or others from the conference to go rouse a little rabble.

It didn't work out. The 2nd day of the conference ended weird with some opting to go visit a site and others rushing away early and I was somewhere in between, ending for the day far too early for dinner. I went back to my room. Had an ichat with my family and then decided to head out on my own.

Going out to a bar on your own is strange, especially when you don't have any sexual favors to barter with or center banter around. It's not my game, but I think I understand why there are those people that travel a lot for work who make up an alias... It can only get you into trouble, but it's just so that you can go out and "hunt" for a dining companion, right? Anyway... I found a bar Durty Nelly's

This place was all set for the night; the piano-man was in the center of it all, singing ditties and limericks and keeping everyone entertained:

I found a seat about 12 feet from the piano, up against one of those boxed-in support poles. There was a small (14") table to my right and one empty chair besides mine. I was there for about 30 minutes when I started to get restless and feel awkward about being alone. I wasn't really in the mood to be so outgoing as to make new friends, and I for sure wasn't interested in giving up my seat to go make screaming small-talk (over the sound of the music) with strangers.

I sat for about 10 more minutes, my blood feeling like mercury rising as it measured my increased discomfort. Then in walked two couples looking for seating. They seemed disoriented like when you step from the sunlight into a darkened room and can't quite find your bearings. After I watched them twirl around a few times scouting for unavailable seats, I motioned that they might want to pull some chairs around the small table next to me.

Shuffling.
Confusion...
I got up and quickly corralled 2 extra chairs, pointing to a 3rd in a far off corner. They were happy and silly and it calmed me. We introduced ourselves and ordered up a few more drinks. The "Hi"s and "Where are you from?"s and "What brings you to San Antonio?"s lasted 10-20 mins. They had a few stories of this long trip they had taken to the western edge of Texas, and being social with them was as easy as stirring up a pitcher of iced tea in the summer.

We weren't too far into it when Mary asked about my kids (I showed pictures) and if they were okay with their mom so far from home...

I paused. I admit it, it is not how I roll usually- hesitating to bring up my wife- but this Texas place is strange. People down there seem to have a special way of not expecting the obvious (or what might be obvious to me...)

I smiled. Giving her the most reassuring and genuinely friendly vibe I could muster:

"Well, they have two moms, so they are doing okay..."

"What's that?!?" Mary asked blinking.

"I'm married to a woman, and our boys have two moms, so they are in very good hands when I'm away."

Two blue eyes stop blinking and fly open - wide as saucers.
SRSLY.
She literally brings her hand to cover her mouth which is now gaping open.

I can't even formulate the mental "oops" because her reaction is so extreme, so cartoonish that I am actually giggling.

I wait. There's not much more for me to say, so I let her get a grip of herself and recover from the (apparent) shock.

The other members of her group are not really aware of what is going on... They are eating peanuts, looking around... the music is loud and they have missed the meat of our conversation. I don't think they have noticed her surprised expression.

She lets her hand fall to her lap and her mouth is still open when she forms the words, pausing dramatically between each one. Searching carefully for each syllable, it's as if she is inventing language from scratch. She leans towards me.

"Are..."

It is too loud in here for a whisper to be audible. Though she is shouting, her eyes focus and her posture grows conspiratory in nature.

"You..."

She glances left and then right.

"A..."

I can barely handle it. Is this for real? Is she going to have a stroke???

She squeals the final word: "Democrat?!?"

I about lose my shit. I expected LESBIAN not DEMOCRAT. I nod enthusiastically as I laugh and smile hard at her. (Unlike being gay, being a Democrat is NOT illegal in any state.) But I am wondering, will this be the thing that prompts her to overturn the tiny table between us??? I just can't figure out what is going on... What is about to happen?!?

"Yes," I tell her again as she continues to stare at me blankly.

Then it explodes:
"I AM A DEMOCRAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
(yes, that many exclamation points)

And a round of hoots and howls and giggles.
She is speaking wildly now- dozens of words a second- it is even more cartoonish than before- Now I freaking love her!!! And yet I'm struck with instant empathy. Here is a woman, deep in the heart of TEXAS, who is so isolated in her liberal politics that an Irish (1/4 Irish-mutt) lesbian from the North-East who shows up at a bar on St. Patrick's day is her best shot of MAYBE...

NOT DEFINITELY... BUT MAYBE...

Meeting a fellow Democrat.

You know what this means, right??? In Texas (And Mary has lived there all her life and presumably been out there looking for others) you more likely to run across an OUT homosexual than an OUT democrat...

I don't believe they aren't there, it's just that they have to hide in the closet!!!

Holy shit.

I about pee'd my pants at that bar... The night didn't end until we had shared a few too many drinks and Mary dialed up her 18 (? I forget his exact age) year old son for me to have a chat with via cell phone. (I have no idea what that was about either, but he was just as sweet as he could be and didn't seem the least bit surprised- It clearly happens to him all the time.)

Though none of her other companions indicated to me that they were also democrats, they seemed pleased as punch that Mary had located another one of us in this quaint section of the world.

I say again, "Holy shit." Can you imagine if I hadn't come out to this poor lady??? She would have spent the entire night assuming I voted for George W. Bush and sent money to Sarah Palin's PAC on a monthly basis?!?

You have no idea how profoundly this effected me. Let's just say, there are people all over the world, that need to know they are not in this alone!

;)

Qunitisential ML

ML had his 18 month well baby visit yesterday.

I took a half day to bring him and was rewarded with several hours of ML being ML. This kid can be a holy terror, but he is as sweet as pie and funny and charming and beautiful.

In the waiting room at the pediatric practice, he was sweet and playful and looking for an audience. Making eyes at everyone that walked in, he would frequently stare at an individual until s/he locked eyes with him. And then once ML was sure they were all watching, he'd go on playing as if he didn't just command everyone's attention with his eyes and put himself on display. It was adorable to watch and hard to believe that the entire scene was contingent on my presence. He puts on a good act of "Mr. Independence". Even I am sometimes duped into believing the character sketch that he writes- that he would be this interactive among strangers, even if one of his parents wasn't present. But experience has taught me that he is shy when outnumber by strangers...

When it was time to go into the exam room, he tensed up a bit. He let me undress him and then when I put him on the scale, he started wailing. It was the first cue to him that something would be expected of him. He comforted quickly and easily and readjusted.

When Dr. L came in, ML made sweet faces, but was acting with subtle nervousness, pulling nervously at his diaper, etc. Then he relaxed a bit again. When ML relaxes, "Sr Destruction" will sometimes appear. He all but ransacked the exam room, around and around, opening cabinets, and drawers, doors and the garbage... Up, down, Up, down... crawling around, touching everything, pushing every button he could find, etc.

He did his tricks:
1) How old are you ML? (holds up one finger)
2) How much does Mommy/Mama love you (stretches his arms wide)
3) What does "cold" look like? (holds tight fists near his face, and shivers)
4) What does "hot" look like? (put hands in front of face like saying "stop" and forms "aaaaa" with his mouth)
5) Where's your belly, mouth, eyes, nose, ears, hair, etc (he points)
6) Give her "the Look" (he drops his chin to his neck, puts his lips into a pout, and looks up at you from under his forehead and bangs)

During the physical exam, started crying when she looked in his ears, and lost it after the vaccination was administered. I cuddled him and whispered that he was okay. I asked him to thank his doctor, and he quickly signed "thank you" through tear-streaked cheeks without a break in the whimpering. He recovered by the time he was dressed, and was back in full "ladies man mode" for our trip back through the waiting room. As we walked out, I heard a girl about 6 years old say, "I liked that boy, he was really cute."

The kid can tear a room apart in 3.5 seconds, but he really is a superstar!

Vital stats:
Weight: 25lbs, 10 oz (50th percentile)
Ht: 34" (90th percentile)

You

My kids are cute

...And loyal blog watchers should not have to see the Title "ARMED GUNMAN" every time they check the GSO.

I am working on a few posts
(including Part 2)

But for now, this is how my boys looked on St Patrick's day:


JB at 41 months old:




ML at 17 months old:

Come out, come out, wherever you are... Part 1

When you come from and live in New England, places like Texas are not easy to understand.

This is a BIG-BOTTOMED GIRL of a state. ("As big as Europe," I was told.) While I'm intelligent enough to know that there is diversity of thought and opinion in every region, my personal experiences lead me to generalize things about the average Texan... S/He:

• Owns at least 3 shirts fashioned from or adorned with the American flag
• Would fist fight you over the statement, "All Americans were once immigrants."
• Thinks our president should be in jail (for some as yet undefined "crime")
• Has more friends that are convicted felons than friends that are Democrats

Not to say they aren't good people, I just think most Texans see things different than I do.

So far on this trip to Texas, I've come across a rash of folks who are afraid to say things that most of the people I hang with consider "facts". At this health care conference, for example, several people (including a few industry leaders) slowly and cautiously indicated to me that they (stutter, stammer) "Supported..." (swallow, deep cleansing breath) "health care reform" (pause with squinted eyes to see if my head was going to explode.) This tip-toeing around progressive politics is much more foreign to me than the accent or the climate.

It is uncomfortable- like being in the home of a woman who apologizes too much when she's serving you a delicious meal because she is used to the barrage of complaints that usually come from her husband.

On day one of the conference, I gave someone a reassuring, "Me too!" (about the “support health care reform” thing) But by day three I responded this way:

"I don't care what they say about Newton, I'm not embarrassed to say I “support” that gravity theory of his."

The Texan nurse on the receiving end of my sarcasm looked at me quizzically and then giggled like we were co-conspirators at a toilet-papering event on Mischief Night.

Nothing like watching a bunch of liberals coming out of the closet about their causes.

Still, I understand, because while here, I've found myself experiencing something I haven't in a long time: Hesitation to reveal my sexual orientation. When you first come out of the closet, the decision of how or when or IF to come out is a major aspect of every new conversation (though the person you are conversing with might never know you are doing all this debating and sweating in your mind.) In CT, MA, and 3 other states there is full marriage equality. When I meet new people, and they ask about my family or they bring up their spouse, I say, “my wife... our sons...” we all move on to the next thing.

This is a huge change in the last 6 to 7 years... It is a change in the world, but not a change in Katy's and my behavior, necessarily. She was the same when I met her over 11 years ago- comfortable in her own skin, unapologetic, not needing to soft-shoe around her identity or our budding relationship. This is one of the things that attracted me to her. Both of us agreeing on how we would communicate (who we are and exactly how we are related to each other) to the world. Meeting her and agreeing on this "code of communication" is how I got to live the life I wanted to live.

People who think the gay population should stay in the closet have a warped perception of what coming out entails... Coming out as heterosexual, for example, happens anytime you reference a “wife,” “husband,” boyfriend, girlfriend, your wedding, anniversary, your children, your grandchildren, your pregnancy...

Here's my personal code:

• I am not ashamed of who I am or who I love

• I am a little ashamed that it took me realizing I was gay to realize just how freaking homophobic the world is

• I don't believe for one second that God is ashamed of me either

• If your version of “God” has a problem with me, all you need to know is that my version of “God” doesn't – end of story

• I don't need to tell you about my wife and kids, but probably a lot of the time, I want to... They are awesome, after all!

• If the conversation turns towards families, and I have to hear about yours, you're sure as hell going to hear about mine

• I come out to people because it is the one sure-fucking-fire way to find other gay people

• I will not behave in a way that makes a closeted person in a crowd feel there is not an ally present for him/her, if that makes me “too open” tough shit.

• If some usually-silent alarm goes off inside my head that makes me want to hide my sexual orientation, I try to quickly determine why... (Am I in personal danger somehow?) If it is to protect your feelings or your bad politics, or to let you defame God's good name right in front of me... I pretty much come out, or at a minimum, walk right away from you.
  

• I will not be UNcomfortable so that you can be more comfortable... If my brain is spinning, “Should I say something? Should I say something? When should I say something?” That is a red flag for me that it is time to say something

• I will give you the benefit of the doubt

• I will not be rude, or aggressive, try to put blame on you, or not be generous with you...

• In the moment, I try not to judge you for your ignorance. I try to educate you. This may sound arrogant, “Why am I 'teaching' you after all???” But if you are not gay and you are talking to a gay person about gay issues, you should probably do more listening than talking. It is just a sound guiding principle.

• If you are going to keep saying ignorant things to my face, you are going to get the debate of your life (that may include some elevated vocal volume)

• I try to ask myself: WTFWJD?

When Katy and I went to Las Vegas about 5 years ago, we were at the gate of an airline waiting to board. Katy had a hat on and was playing a video game on her phone. I struck up a conversation with the 50-60 year old dude next to me who was from Texas and was in LV for some type of shooting competition – I know, right?1? So stereotypical, huh?!? I wish he wasn't pushing his lifestyle choices on me!!!

Anyway, I know a little about guns and so I kept asking him questions about ammo and qualifications, scoring, types of weapons used (not necessarily in that order.) It was very pleasant, I learned quite a bit and then he started asking me questions- what were we doing in Vegas, where was I from, etc. Katy looked up from under the visor of her baseball cap and said, “Can you give me some money? I'm going to get a drink.” Lord knows that was probably the only time I've ever been the money holder on a trip together, but it was enough for the dude to finally understand how we were related.

“Is that your daughter?” he asked without any hint of apology.

I almost choked on the wad of dip I had tucked into my cheek while chatting the dude up (What?!? it was before you could Facebook friend someone!?!) and said, “Um no... that's my wife.”

DUH... WINNING

This guy got all red in the face and before I realized that I should have “protected his delicate sensibilities” by staying in the closet and NOT throwing my “lifestyle choices” up towards his redNECK, he attempted a lecture that began and ended with: “I do not believe in that... that is not something that I-I-I-I am not going to... because I do not believe in...”

Quietly, I cut him off: “I don't care what you believe in...”

I said it in the neutral but friendly tone of a waitress who is really saying, “It doesn't matter to me if you'll be dining alone” when she asks, “Are you waiting for anyone else to join you?”

He stared at me, trying to figure out what to say next- I guess he was used to telling others that he “didn't believe in the gays” but perhaps he wasn't used to actually talking to one, or one that talked back.

All at once, I wanted to reach over and gently lift his chin, so that his mouth wasn't hanging open in that embarrassing way. Instead, I raised my eyebrows and gave him that “Don't get mad at me, that's just the way life is” shrug that I inherited from my dad. I told the dude:

“You asked who she was, and that's who she is... It doesn't matter what you believe in.”

I might have been more openly hostile, but honestly, I was so thrown off by the postulation that I was old enough to be Katy's parent. I was like, “DUDE... How bad do I look?!?” It was this reaction that I was making a conscious effort to censor. I have to say, I was very nonchalant in my delivery. I wanted him to feel and believe my apathy. Hidden behind my yawn-worthy response there was of course something simmering. Something like:

I don't give a corn-fed-turkey shit if you approve or me or not!?! I am real. (Pause. Pause.) You and your beliefs are immaterial in this matter... You don't even get a vote!!!

But I held that in and just stared at him... Poor, big dinosaur about to go extinct and no one's even had the courage to tell him...

We weren't staring each other down exactly, but I was definitely looking at him to see if this was over or if he had more to say. And for his part, I guess, he might have been waiting to see if I was going to take this further too. And finally, he said, “Well.” And I said “Mmm” and we ended the eye contact before it caused one of both animals to bare our teeth.

After a few silent moments next to each other, Katy came bounding back with a soft drink, and I grudgingly noted how much she looked like a middle-schooler all bouncy, and casual, and what-not. Then a few minutes later the dude -blinked- piping up with some small talk about the weather forecast.

Score one for the bitches.

The first thing is, all these years later, I can't believe the audacity of that guy..

But then too, I also am still kind of proud of the balls on me ;)

I learned an important lesson that day. When coming out to strangers- the worst case scenario is actually kind of fun!

PART TWO - St Patrick's day 2011

Superbowl VW ad - PREVIEW!

My favorite part except for the tension in the tiny hands, is the perfectly-expressioned parents... with less than 10 seconds of air time, they perfectly capture what it feels like to live with a toddler...

I've watched this 1/2 a dozen times all ready!!!

Conversations with kids

JB (looking through a see-and-learn book): That's a submarine...
Me: What is a submarine?
JB: A submarine is a thing that goes under water.
Me: What kind of thing?
JB: A boat. A boat that people live on that goes under water... (turns page and points) That's a fire station.
Me: What happens at a fire station?
JB: A fire station is where the firemen are and where the trucks are waiting for an emergency. (Turns page.) That's a space shuttle...
Me: What's a space shuttle do?
JB: That's a rocketship... Like an airplane that goes into space and stuff.
Me: (nodding, totally impressed with this display, but trying to keep my cool)
JB: (turns page and points for me) That's a movie set...
Me: What's a movie set? (I'm truly curious how he's going to explain this one...)
JB: That's where they fire up movies...

I lose it!
Hilarious!

Today's construction book observation

JB: Mommy, wanna see something NOT cool?
Me: sure.
JB: (pointing toward 2 men standing in the middle of a construction site in one of his board books) These two guys are not wearing helmets. They are at a construction site, but they do not have helmets on.
Me: oh, wow.
Katy: What?
JB: (pointing emphatically) These two guys, standing next to each other at a CONSTRUCTION site, are not wearing helmets! (as an afterthought, said mostly to himself...) That is not cool.

He makes a good point... Those guys clearly think they are above the rules!

Not cool.