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.

Pre-Election RANT... UPDATED

Every time a friend on FB "likes" Mitt Romney, I have to resist the exceedingly strong urge to DE-Fucking-Friend... and I have to sit on my hands not to write an expletive-laced response

I have a lot to say about Obama and why I think he is the right leader for the country, but in this moment, I'm not in a pro-Obama space or even an anti-Mitt space as much as I'm in a How do you stay close to people who claim to like or love you, but vote against your basic human rights?!?

I agree with Doug Wright:
"I wish my moderate Republican friends would simply be honest. They all say they're voting for Romney because of his economic policies (tenuous and ill-formed as they are), and that they disagree with him on gay rights. Fine. Then look me in the eye, speak with a level clear voice, and say, 'My taxes and take-home pay mean more than your fundamental civil rights, the sanctity of your marriage, your right to visit an ailing spouse in the hospital, your dignity as a citizen of this country, your healthcare, your right to inherit, the mental welfare and emotional well-being of your youth, and your very personhood.' It's like voting for George Wallace during the Civil Rights movements, and apologizing for his racism. You're still complicit. You're still perpetuating anti-gay legislation and cultural homophobia. You don't get to walk away clean, because you say you "disagree" with your candidate on these issues."

I would only add:
It's not close. It's not even close. These candidates are no where near each other on how they intend to treat my family if elected. It isn't abstract. It's very personal to me. With the brush of a pen, he could* reverse the incredible protections Obama has put into place for families like ours. (*Not only COULD but has promised to). Vote for Mitt if you need to, but while you are doing it, remember you are casting a sure vote against Katy and me. Whether it's for your pocketbook, your contempt of unions or environmentalists, your "pro-business" stance, your belief that the deficit will be reduced faster or the employment rate will improve quicker, or that you think we will somehow be viewed as
Stronger throughout the world... There is NO DOUBT that gay and lesbian, bisexual and transgendered Americans are better off (by a COUNTRY MILE) than they were four years ago. So, it's true, I do sort of wish my "fair minded" Republican friends would read up on this issue and just be honest: "Look, I know this guy wants to fuck with you and your newly won civil-rights, but I don't really care about that. I doubt very much you'll stop being friends with me just because I cast votes for people that vow to De-legitimize your family and legal marriage; it's frankly a risk I'm willing to take."

UPDATED RANT:  I went 9 rounds with a dude on a FB thread after one of my friends re-posted my above rant...  Each time I responded, I said to myself: "That is all, I'm not going to respond again." But I couldn't help myself. And in the end, I decided I just couldn't let him have the last word...
It's a little immature, but yeah, that's the space I was in. Enjoy!

First day of Kindergarten: Hopes and Dreams

During orientation today, the principal at Jake's school encouraged us to "get to know" her and share with her our "hopes and dreams for his kindergarten year."  Kate and I sat side by side in a humid basement that they call the "gym/auditorium" and even though I was closer to bursting into a puddle of sweat vs. tears, that line did make me shrug away an emotional shudder.  Maybe I hadn't realized I did have hopes and dreams for him at this early stage in the game, maybe i was shocked in these first few seconds of contemplation how basic they were.

Perhaps to a fault, I don't give a shit where he is with his reading or math.  The kid is smart and a "pleaser" with two academic-minded moms, he will excel in school and be reading like a champ in no time...

I hope he has fun and learns to love those put in charge of his learning.
I dream that what happens this year sets him up to trust the people we call "teachers" and to feel safe in the buildings we call "schools".

I hope he makes friends and learns how to be good and generous to other kids.
I dream he has the experience of acceptance and friendship without learning to crave and chase the "high" of feeling popular.

I hope he somehow learns to appreciate the special qualities of others without feeling jealous.
I dream he learns to appreciate the special qualities in himself without feeling superior.

***************
In the middle of the first 1/2 hour in his class room, Jake pulled at my pocket and said, "I have to go potty."  His teacher showed him the room and he was in there for several minutes before the motion sensor light went out.  Over the din of the classroom, I heard quiet yelling, "Anyone... Hey, Anyone... Anyone out there..." it was soft at first and grew louder.  I realized what must have happened and the lights flew on as I opened the door and rushed in.

He shrugged at me, "Hey," he said, not quite embarrassed.
"Hey, buddy!" I said laughing in a way that I'd hoped would reassure him.  "If that ever happens again, you just have to wave your arms around to get the lights back on again."  I offered several more sentences in the way of explanation.  And then I noticed his red face and watering eyes...
He was about to cry, and I didn't want that to happen...  All these emotions rushed to me: he is way more nervous than we realized... He's afraid.  And he was literally left in the dark, oh no...

And then I heard the splash as he dropped (what I later realized was the third) rather large turd in the tiny "to scale" toilet. Misty eyes, cleared and the normal color replaced the red in his cheeks.

Here's my kid!  First thing he does at kindergarten is take a huge dump!!  When I told the story to Katy later, she mocked me with her mind-reading skills: "Oh MY GOD... it's like when you go into a book store and the info overload sends you running to the public restroom!!!"

It's funny because it's true.

I couldn't help it. I reached down and planted a kiss on the top of that kid's head.  "I love you so much, Jakey."

"Yeah," he said absentmindedly contemplating the status of his bowels.  The absurdity of the situation hit a peak as he obviously bared down one last time.  He relaxed his abdomen, shifted on the seat, took a short breath in and out, and I easily identified the cues- he had completed his business.

Looking up at me, he shrugged: "Can you believe I'm in kindergarten?!?" He asked excitedly.

Brief, awkward silence.

"Yes, baby.  I'm so proud of you," was the only thing I could think to say.

I've admitted it before, and I'll say it again, this kid is weird.  His moms are fine with it.  In fact his brand of quirky, honest sweetness is probably less weird than we are.  I'll sometimes tell him he's weird so he recognizes that word doesn't have to hurt: everybody is weird in some way(s).  I dread the day when someone makes him feel bad or insecure about the amazing things inside of him.

I hope that doesn't happen to him in Kindergarten.
I dream for him that when that does happen he has a good friend near him to reassure him that he doesn't need to make apologies for who he is.

Jake has a bunch of friends that he's gone to day care with for several years.  Today, KK shouted to him in the parking lot, "Thank you, Jacob!"

"You're welcome," he spouted over his shoulder as we all walked away from the bus.  When I asked him what he did that she was thanking him for he looked at me as if to say, "What the fuck are you talking about?"  It became crystal clear in that moment that this is just the beginning of me asking what I think is a perfectly legitimate question and him acting like I'm blind, deaf, and dumb.

Colin is Jake's BFF since he was 6 months old.  It's because of Jake and Colin that we are friends with Col's parents.  Now those kids are stuck with each other at least through high school, because Katy and I have really grown to love those dirtbags (Private joke).  When Jake asked us what a "kindred spirit" was recently (after the term came up in Puss in Boots) hearing the definition prompted him to report to us that Colin was his kindred spirit.  Sometimes the two boys greet each other with this term of endearment (sigh).

Life can be hard, even for kindergarteners.
I hope that he hits some bumps (even at this tender age) so he can start to grow confident in his ability to overcome challenges and obstables
I dream he'll have some good little peeps by his side reassuring him and giving him sound toddler advice.


***************
A few weeks ago, katy and I both picked Jake up from day care.  When the kids saw us come in together, it set off a sewing circle of banter among 4 four-year old girls.  They were working on some craft at a low-to-the-ground, circular table and the image in my peripheral vision was oddly similar to a group of old ladies gossiping while shucking peas- heads bent together, hands busy, absentminded familiarity with one another.  While I tried to get Jake to gather his things, I started to catch the content of their conversation:

Girl 1: Yeah, that's how it is.
Girl 2: He has two moms...
Girl 3: No dads...
Girl 1: No, he didn't come with one.
Girl 4: Not a dad in sight.
Girl 2: Nope, just only moms

Jake was oblivious and I realized that the arrival of the two moms simultaneously (when we usually took turns picking up our boys) likely prompted some solidification of the concepts that these little girls have been well aware of for a long time.

They weren't questioning the legitimacy of our family structure.  They weren't trash-talking.  Just hammering the points home to each other in a way that old friends might discuss the inevitability of an impending summer shower:

"Looks like rain"
"yessir, there's no way we're getting out of this one..."
"I guess we better bring the laundry in"
"These rains come and go"
"The sky is sure dark"
"It's been dry- we could really use the rain."

I hope that it will be sometime before Jake is exposed to a conversation where he realizes there are people in the world that have a problem with his family.
I hope if someone indicates there is something wrong with his family structure, there is a teacher (or one of those pea shuckers) right there on hand to immediately correct that lie
I dream we have a few years of solidifying his confidence before he gets a wiff of this part of the world from anywhere.


I didn't cry today. If it hasn't happened yet, I've probably avoided it.  But I wouldn't be surprised if it hit me later in the week or month.  Putting this kid out into the world,  further out of the sphere of our protective capabilities is humbling.  It makes me feel the intense weight of human vulnerability.    It makes me want to grab the break and slow down time a bit.  It makes me want to pray more.

Okay... there.  A few tears dripped down...
Is everyone happy now?

Happy Birthday, Jimbo

Summers come and summers go.  Summers fly by.
But these last few summers have been some of the best of my life.
Having kids- even little kids that aren't in school yet- has made me realize how ingrained in our memories a concept like "summer" can be. And how important "living" (spending time with people you care about, splashing and playing and trying not to get sunburned) is to learning about the world.  The experience of "summer" is a blessing that I am proud to be able to share and pass on to my kids.

I imagine if we didn't know Jimbo and Sue, we would have figured out another way to create a summer for our children.  But I'm so grateful that we have these friends.
Jimbo and Sue open the pool in May and close it well into September.  The pool is heated and I mean to at least the mid-80s.  There's a full size refrigerator, a shaded TV area to watch the Red Sox, and enough seating for at least 25 on a daily basis.

There was a "TBR pool" in my childhood (that was owned and operated by Jimbo's parents).  The rules at that pool were simple:
- Please come to the pool
- Come to the pool anytime, day or night
- Bring anyone to the pool that you wish
- Bring anything to eat or drink
- If you do not bring food- some will be provided for you
- Please don't even call- just come over if you want to swim
- If we aren't home, you know how to get in (to the pool and the house) no need to wait for us to take a dip or have a beer out of the fridge.

When Jim and Maizie (Jimbo's parents) sold their house and the pool of my childhood memories sometime around 2000 or 2001 (I think), my mom called me:
"I don't want to forget to tell you," she started, "The TBR's sold their house.  They are moving next month."
My mouth went dry.  I was a little sad in that "end of an era" kind of way, but mostly, I was stunned into the realization that had my mom not made this call in a timely fashion, I might have been on the business end of some handcuffs and fingerprinting ink.

As I walked into their new pad, the experience of greeting total strangers who were acting completely "at home" in the TBR's house would not have tipped me off.  I can imagine the change in furniture might strike me as surprising, but it wouldn't stop me from checking out what beverages might be in the mini fridge on the porch.  They would have had plenty of time to call the cops as I laid my towel on the fence, disrobed, and dove into their new pool...

Fortunately for my family, Jimbo and Sue continued on the "mi casa es su casa" tradition.  Same pool rules with at least one bizarre addition: No plastic cups or dishes at the pool.  (What can I say, Sue really likes to wash dishes and clean up broken glass, poolside...) With 4 children age six and under, my sister and I have negotiated our way around this regulation.

I've known Jimbo my entire life. I've actually known him longer that that.  He and my dad were best buddies in high school.  When we were young, my parents didn't do that surrogate "aunt" and "uncle" thing that Katy and I are inclined to do as a way to introduce our very close friends to our children.  As one of 8 children and one of 4 children, respectively, I guess Mom and Dad figured, there were enough uncles and aunts to keep straight without adding more titles.  If Jimbo was like an uncle to me, it was mostly because his sisters were like aunts to me and by the power of the transitive properties, the brother of an aunt has to be an uncle...

But I was so shy when I was little, and Jimbo is not exactly a chatterbox.  I'm not sure I said more than 20 words to him until I was in high school.  His kids were in need of babysitters when I was just exiting that "babysitting age", so for a couple of decades, our 2 families had very little in common, except some cherished holidays that we spent together. 

Fast forward 20 more years.  In some ways assisted by the "staggered" generations, there is an extended family here that we have chosen, and it is as strong as any family forged in DNA or bonded by blood.  When I think of my dad eulogizing his parents, I see Jimbo and Sue in the pews behind us in a church that was foreign to them, and then scampering about, helping with food, acting as a protective presence after the services as well.

When I think of our children being born, I look right past the huge gift basket that Sue presented us to the beaming, excited smile on her face, and the chiding "My little dog
comes first, but I am going to love these kids!!!"

So similar to his dad before him, Jimbo is successful and proud- yet, humble.  He is quiet yet fun.  He is generous as to make generosity seem obvious.  I've never seen him lose his cool.  Even when I've seen him in tumultuous situations and/or embroiled in conflict, I've never seen him riled up or contemptuous or even the slightest bit indignant.  He's not particularly religious (that I can tell) but he generally acts out the "do unto others adage" without giving it a moment's thought.  He has fed and clothed and bathed (and offered a pool to) not only me and people he loves, but any stranger that any of us leads onto his property. 

Last summer we watched Jimbo's mom slip mostly away- deeper and deeper into Alzheimer's. I'd sit by her with the kids explaining over and over who we were. Even under a veil of memory loss, she was who I've always know her to be: polite, full of smiles and gentle laughs, occasionally opinionated and strong-willed. She'd sit poolside in the evening and when Jimbo walked in, she'd light up.  She'd go straight to him or call him over... It became clear that Maizie frequently thought Jimbo was her husband.  Son or husband, she wanted to just be near him. And there they often sat, hand in hand for a bit of time.  It was hard to watch but harder to look away from: Heartbreaking but thoroughly endearing.  As he ages, it is impossible not to see why his mom would be confused.  If you didn't know G'pa Jim (Jimbo's dad), it won't mean as much, but the apple did not fall far from the tree, as they say.

Whether golfing or riding a motorcycle, or watching a movie, a ball game, playing a board game, just being in his presence helps me appreciate the healing powers of socialization, of community Rest and Relaxation.  To be with him is to see a man SIT and experience joy and contentment, to appreciate the little things (and the big things). Spending time by his side, I feel I have learned to be better at relaxing at having fun.

Because of Jimbo and Sue, our recent and current summers are not just long and lazy, they are full and rich.  They are not trite.  The pool is where we bring our laughter and silliness, but also where we bring our stresses and sorrows, where we share and try to swim away our anxieties.  It's where I bring my boys to cool off and learn to swim and to experience a certain civility that might be dying out in the world; and where we are lucky enough to watch a lot of our dreams come true. 

Happy Birthday, Jimbo!  We love you!

The Weight and Wait of Parenthood

[Author's note: This post is a little more raw (and long) than most that I put up... I've just had a lot on my mind and I'm trying to "Shake some things out". To all our peeps out there who are going through crazy shit. We love you. The greatest gifts include friends that will not only support you, but turn to you and lean, rely, and/or involve you in their sorrow. The friends that wade around in the muck with you are treasures, but the ones that ask you to be in the muck with them are truly a gift. To all of you who are willing (and even eager) to read the multitude of words below- and read this blog on a regular basis, I hope you know that supporting my writing this way is a gift that I can't really repay except to say, "Thank you for hanging out with me in the muck that my mind creates. I really appreciate it." This post has taken me about 2 weeks to write and another week to "clean up". It's still a disaster and probably not fit for public consumption. HAHA! Enter the Blogosphere... especially after that really sweet thank you that I wrote up there, you're practically emotionally blackmailed into reading the snivel below :)!!!]
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I'm in one of those "things" right now. It's a warm, sunny 65 degrees out. The mild winter has given over to an early Spring. Our bellies are full. Our money is sufficient. Our careers are fulfilling and still full of promise. Our children are healthy and beautiful, talented and delightful. Our family and friends abundantly generous and loving. But...

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn

I'm in a tender spot. When I just carried a sleeping Milo from the car to his bed to finish his mid-day nap, I nearly broke apart into tears- tears of happiness, tears of sorrow, tears of worry, tears of heaven only knows what. Carrying him, I couldn't help note the weight of him- symbolic of so much contradiction: He's so big and so tiny at the same time. He's everything we needed to complete our little family, everything we wanted and dreamed of... he's so needy and so independent. At 2 1/2 years, he has already changed me, taught me things I didn't know I didn't know. I went to put him in his bed and stopped and held on. I cradled him close for a few more moments. I thought of our friends and family members who have lost children and pushed that terrible terror back down into my gut and summonsed the happiness and clarity of this perfect moment. His weight and beauty so tangible. This is parenthood, the weight of holding on, the weight of letting go. The joy and grief of holding on to something that you are simultaneously preparing to let go of... Like the very breath in your lungs.

"Waiting for the other shoe to drop" used to be something I did with intense vigilance. But for most of the last 10 years, I've gotten better about it. Be present, be zen, consider the lilies in the field... yada, yada.

I think I've mentioned it here before, I come from people that tend NOT to be superstitious; but sometimes one or two living ancestors will admit that within the core values subtly passed down (especially to and from the women) is embedded a belief that you can somehow ward off tragedy if you put enough effort into preventative forms of worry.

And I've been a fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around

All of these questions, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
So I like to keep my issues drawn
But it's always darkest before the dawn

The last several months, life for me personally has changed considerably- almost entirely related to changing jobs. I had to say "I'll see you around" to some very fun, lovable, trustworthy friends that I worked with every day. And then I started to spend my days as a stranger on foreign turf with people I don't know well, if at all. I left a position where a lot of decision making authority was in my hands, to take a position where there are several more layers of managers above me, weighing in on decisions that would have been mine at the other shop.

Due to the size of the institution that I currently work at, earning trust, making a good first impression, and doing lot of homework to understand history and context has become the most important aspect of my daily professional life for the past 3 1/2 months. Learning a bunch of new names, systems, and the rules of an odd new game is the kind of roller-coaster excitement my brain thrives on, but the kind of "why am I stuck to the side of this centrifuge?!?" nausea that my intestines just can't wait to be over.

Concurrently, longer work hours mean that the family dynamic has shifted slightly. The boys (who were theoretically equally reliant on both Mommy and Mama) have grown to expect more time with Mama during the work week. The job is going well, Katy has been amazing, but I have to admit all of this has left me to feel a bit vulnerable and somewhat insecure in my roles both at home and in the office.

Frankly this is an unsettling side-effect of what should be a win-win scenario. By all accounts, I am doing well in the new job- getting great feedback about my performance and feeling at least an intermittent sense of accomplishment. Additionally, our family structure is a might bit stronger now owing to the increased money and stability, that accompanies the new job.

It's confusing to just not feel "happy-happy-happy" when all indicators (seasonal, economic, social, professional) indicate that conditions are more than ripe for contentment and bliss...

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

For whatever reason, my reaction to the stress of these "life-changes" includes a heightened awareness of all that can (and does) go wrong in life. And an empathetic desire to run to people that I love who are in heavy-hearted times and wrap them in some magic blanket... Maybe as a way to deflect my own fears and insecurities.

At this very moment in time, we have friends that are sick, dying, have cancer, have children with cancer, are on the brink of divorce, trying to forgive a spouse for cheating, are losing their parents, are losing their jobs, are reeling from the suicide of a friend, are trying to recover from depression, illness, injury, addiction, are picking up their lives and moving across the country to follow their dreams... I'm not generalizing here, like, "We mostly likely know people who are going through these types of things..." I mean there are individuals that we care about very much that all of those things are happening to.

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
And given half the chance would I take any of it back
It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone
It's always darkest before the dawn

Oh whoa, oh whoa...

One of the mornings in the last several weeks, both boys were in bed with us- a surprisingly rare occurrence- and Jake, recovering from his 2nd bout of pneumonia in as many months, hacked a junky hack without waking; and Milo put his hand on my face and sighed a sleep-drenched sigh. I reached over and touched Katy with my palm, the underside of my arm resting on the two small heads in the middle. In that moment, I felt so light. Yes, our days were slightly too filled with mucus, yes we are a bit over-tired, and yes, I was awake at the unGodly 3:44 AM... but this was the exact type of moment I yearned for all those years ago when we were ready to have a child, and it wasn't working.

I had this private moment of pure contentment and gratitude and then a few days later, C texted me from CA.

"How's it going?" I inquired which has recently become shorthand for "How's life in the strange, stressful land of baby-making?" (Or Turkey-baster-ville as we're inclined to refer to it with our lesbian friends).
She texted that they had decided to take a break from "trying".
"oh..." I replied.
"It was just a little too sad."

Yup. That wasn't just a text to me. Ugh. The memory of that place is not so far away. It came flushing back like a big wave. Reading that message on my iPhone, I FELT that sadness. It brought all my (current, unfocused, and practically unexplainable) sadness to a sharp point and in solidarity, I wanted to jab that point into my forearm.

Oh, that place of ache- Where you finally put out into the universe what you really WANT and it is not something small or material, but something tremendous and life altering. And you do it in humility with an understanding that you don't always get what you want; but you do it intentionally and you try to be patient in that place of uncertainty and vulnerability... And when it doesn't work, when the pee stick comes up negative month after month, at first it catches like a hangnail on your psyche, and then it starts to feel like something life-threatening. And you don't know why it hurts that much because you look around and your life is pretty damn good. It's confusing to feel such gratitude and such grief at the same time.

The very same hour I received the text from C, I heard this story on NPR. And I just couldn't believe the timing. I had a little epiphany, and got a little closer to understanding it.

I think the reason it hurts so much is because your kids are out there, and you're worried about them even if you haven't met them yet... You can feel these little spirits out there- the ones that are to be your children. You feel their breath on your neck sometimes, even before they exist. You feel it so real it cannot be mere imagination. And you want to trust what you've been told (what you generally believe) that everything happens for a reason... all in good time, etc... but still, ask any parent... being away from your kids is really quite devastating.

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me

One of my best friends from childhood, A, is in the last heat of the parenting Olympic trials. The event is a new one called: "You think you've had a bad year? You should see the shit I've been dealing with for the last 12 months!!!" If you turn on the news on any particular day you realize that she's probably not even in medal contention, because there is no limit to the amount of heartbreak in the world. But last May, her oldest son was convicted of a serious crime. After sitting through a trial during which the police involved contradicted their own testimony and perjured themselves, and the "victim" denied the original accusation on the witness stand, she started to believe that everything was going to be okay. And then had to listen to the jury return a guilty verdict that was beyond the understanding of most of the legal experts in the room. Her son has been in a maximum security state prison since he was sentenced and though it's been nearly a year, there is no word on when the appeal will be scheduled.

The physical, psychological, and societal separation from her full-grown (but-still-her-baby) son has been shocking. Yet, as she walks around, people can't even perceive the sadness she has endured. She's one of the strongest, most loving, generous, resourceful, lacking in self-pity, and rational people I've ever known. In the mean time, her 18 year old (second) son has told her she will become a grandmother in a few months. Not a tragedy by any stretch- but still- could we just possibly have dealt with one thing at a time. Speaking to her on the phone, I'm all like, "Don't buy one, single baby thing without checking with me first b/c we are about to unload everything you need from crib to boppy and I even have a whole bunch of stuff you'll probably wish you never heard of..."

I try to talk to her about what she needs, if there is anything I can do. But mostly what I want to ask her is, "How is your heart? Is there anything I can do "mother-to-mother" to help plug up any of the holes in your armor that might leave you exposed and vulnerable?" She tells me nonchalantly that this has taken it's toll on her relationship with her husband. And more pressing, he is finally working on treating his addictions. My heart sinks. Not really surprised at this news, that this has been happening in the background too. I just want to shake a fist at the furies and say, "GIVE HER A BREAK"!!!

"I don't know how you're holding it all together," I tell her.

"As if I have a choice" she says. And then she puts it out there and wraps the truth around both of us: There is nothing that matters as much as these things. This year of razor sharp heartbreak somehow brings with it validity and redemption. Sorrow to better enjoy the sweetness of life. There is no choice but to experience sorrow in life, but if there were, it might not be the best idea to opt out of it.

I do understands what she means. If you've never spent a day clawing out of a cave, or stroking a hand in a hospital room, or anxiously waiting outside of an ICU or a courtroom, it's hard not to pity your innocence. Blessedly rare are those individuals that are able to look upon and recognize actual happiness without the focusing lens of sorrow and heartbreak.

All I can say, to our friends C and L (struggling in Turkey-baster-ville) is, "I know. I'm sorry. Hang in there." I want to leave it at that because in my experience, when you are trying to get pregnant, people offer way too-fucking-much in the way of opinions and advice. But since no one has ever accused me of talking too little (why use 5 words when you can write 2500?) I'll add an encouraging, empathetic, tender-hearted:

"Get used to it".

Barely relying on metaphor, this is the start of parenthood. That negative pee stick, and all the things that will happen before and after you and your children are reunited it's like boot camp for your hearts; for the endurance marathon that follows. Stretch and pull and run, and use ice and heat intermittently to soothe your aches, and start to believe that you can do it, because you can... (but believing that you can is really half the battle).

It's already started, you don't even really have a choice in the matter.
It's both a long wait and a heavy weight.

But you can do it.

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

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.

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!

Local Honey

We started this blog 6 years ago. Every year (for 6 years) I've been invited, encouraged, interested, eager- to take part in this. But whatever it is about June 1st? I could never make it work.

In some ways this is redundant. What is the GSO but a blog about our family. Every time Katy or I blog, it is for at least one LGBT family.

As I write, I mentally review the week we've had and the weeks coming up, and I don't freaking know how parents do this. And then I remember, we are doing it... We ARE parents.
This is not a dream but a "dream come true"... (shrug)

With a 1.5 year old boy and a 3.5 year old boy, every day is an adventure.
Every meal is a crap shoot.
Every bedtime is a cliff hanger. (Will we sleep through the night or won't we?!?)
Next week, Katy is away at a conference and I will keep the home fires burning, but looking at the week we've had, I miss her already.

First, a few tid bits:

1) I'd just like to say, that the two moms are suffering a little right now. After more than a week of this "cold" I'm willing to concede that I may have developed seasonal allergies late in the 4th decade of my life. But seriously, if this is what a little pollen can do to a woman, evolution may be working against us. I promise, I'm going on local honey as soon as I can locate some...

2) Pink eye is running rampant through the day care. ML got two scoops of clear goopey in his left eye, and we had to get drops called in prophylactically to keep him from being erroneously diagnosed and tossed out of work camp day care for two days. In a scheduling Cirque Du Soleil that amounted to nothing less than a Parenting Coup, we had him on 24 hours of drops before any ocular pink-en-ing could occur.

3) JB's first dance recital is Saturday. His dress rehearsal is tomorrow night. He has the prince costume, pink tights, make up (including foundation and purple lipstick- that he requested Katy buy for him), black ballet shoes, a new haircut, and he is poised to steal the show. Most importantly, he is very excited and proud. And it is the most normal thing in the world to him. I pray that we get to keep him like this for several more years- where he gets to enjoy the things he enjoys in blissful ignorance that some of them (baseball, football, watching garbage trucks) are "boy things", and some of them (cooking, dancing, wearing lipstick) are "girl things".

Back to the post...
What the heck does it mean to blog for LGBT families?

In some ways, our blog is all about the fragile capacity of memory. I need to chronicle these times because if I can't remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday, how will I remember how adorable my kids were in the first real winter of their lives? Or how will I accurately portray to them how insane they sometimes made me, as I grow older and romanticize our early years together?!?

But that's only part of it, really. I blog for more people than me and us.

I blog for our family and friends that totally support us. I blog for our acquaintances that might not understand us. I blog for Oprah- that she might somehow stumble upon this space and find someone to pay me to write for a living...

When i first came out, one of the strangest things to me was the censorship that suddenly surrounded various aspects of my life. Prior to realizing I was gay, I was an open book. There was nothing to hide, nothing to dance around, no question that couldn't be posed. "What's new? Who are you dating?" And endless follow up questions about any man that might come close to fitting that description. But after "word got around" about me, conversations temporarily got quieter, more one sided... There were obvious school and work questions, questions about where I was living, but then things slowed down. Only a few would venture to the "who are you living with?" And even fewer would jump right out and ask about "dating" or a "girlfriend". My coping strategy was to just put it out there. I felt, the sooner I came out to people, the sooner I could convey this was not something that I needed to hide to feel secure. If it was public knowledge that I was OUT, then innocent discomfort based on a fear of being too personal or inadvertently OUTING me would prove to be unnecessary. I spoke quietly, but as clearly as I could about all aspects of my life.

This was not necessarily natural to me. But like when you teach yourself to be comfortable speaking in public, I just decided it was the way I would try to take care of not only myself, but others that I loved and worked with and played with.

When I met Katy, she reinforced this model of behavior. People don't know that she quivers a little on the inside and silently worries so much about what other people think, because when you talk to her, it seems like she's all carefree. She seems to say what's on her mind without pause. She tries not to couch the truth unless there's a really good reason. Once I fell in love with Katy, our relationship demanded an entirely higher standard for living out and proud. I mean, she's not someone I'd ever consider hiding, even for a moment. (As Lissa would say, "What's the point of having a trophy wife, if you can't..." Lissa uses that preamble in all sorts of scenarios.)

So we are a gay family, but we are certainly not separate or isolated from other families. And we are open and clear on what puts us into this very distinct category of families, but often, we are so busy living our lives, that we feel a little removed from vitriol aimed particularly at us.
Consider this:
- 31 states in the country have CONSTITUTIONAL AMENDMENTS that forbid marriage between two men or two women (the acknowledgement that we are a family)
- 39 states in the country have STATE LAWS that forbid acknowledgement that we are a family
- There is a federal law (DOMA) that disallows the federal acknowledgment of our state-sanctioned marriage. That includes not counting us as a family in the census; not counting us as a family in the tax code; not counting us as a family in terms of disability, social security, medicare, military benefits; that includes not counting us as a family in terms of immigration, international travel and protections, and federal employment.
- Federal law is still unclear on the status of gay men and women in the military- Don't Ask, Don't Tell (DADT) is supposedly on it's way out, but until that transition is completed, gay men and women are prohibited from serving in the military; which as far as I'm concerned means an out gay man or gay woman (even if s/he could win the general election and earn the votes of the electoral college) would not be eligible to serve as Commander in Chief or President of the United States.
- In at least 41 countries, it is AGAINST THE LAW to be gay or in a gay relationship
- Many of the worlds religions claim without any hesitation that God either hates gay people, wants them to live in denial of their natural inclinations, or will definitively punish same sex attraction with eternal damnation.

In a world with these types of headlines, with so many powerful, famous, and vocal people that are lining up to condemn us for being gay, when I consider our family, and our lives...
The sad truth is I don't feel all that gay.

We don't live in a gay house, in a gay town, have gay jobs, go to a gay church-
(Well, actually, our church is a little gay...)
But what I mean is, we are just living. We are conventional and mainstream and we are comfortable that way.
We dabble in activism and keeping this blog is one tendril of that activity.
We are surrounded by good people of all stripes, and we feel boring and not "different" at all...

This year we went to PRIDE in North Hampton, MA. North Hampton, if you don't know, is the lesbian "San Fransisco" of the east coast. It is the "New England, town-green, raise your chickens under the worn out kayak in your yard, 7 sister all-women's college surrounded, hemp-wearing, local honey and maple syrup-making, artist collective, non-profit supporting, justice seeking, female indie-rock band launching, queer women raising children, challenging each other to cook-offs, reading contests, inter-mural soccer, and 1/2 marathons;" it is the year-round answer to p-town. (deep breath)

When you go visit friends in NoHo, there are always 2-3 husbands in a group of 10-15 women, but they're the type of guys that are more liberal, intellectual, feminist, or bohemian than any of your female relatives back home, so (in the most innocent, respectful, and non-emasculating way) when you are with them, you forget there are men in the room.

So we are in the car, heading up there (for PRIDE) I started to get a little insecure.
I started thinking, "We are going to J and J's house and they are so, well... cool and they've got the right shoes and kayaks and schedule that's healthy for their kid... And their son isn't in day care for 40 hours a week, and they probably don't even let him have chicken nuggets or PLASTIC toys (let alone Ball Park Franks) and we are so STRAIGHT compared to them..."

And then I thought:
"STOP!!!!!!!!!"
"THEY ARE STRAIGHT! Tracy, they can not be gayer than you... YOU are married to a woman!!! That IS the very DEFINITION of GAY!!!"

But, isn't it true that nowadays, GAY FAMILIES include so much more than two people of the same gender who are in love and/or sleeping with each other.

J and J who are practically gayer than us- even though one of them is a MAN and one of them is a WOMAN (Because they do live in a "cool gay house" in a "cool gay town" with our very best gay friends) J and J are part of this gay family.
Our parents and sisters and brothers are all part of this gay family.
Our cousins, aunts, and uncles by birth and our cousins, aunts, and uncles by choice are all a part of this gay family.
Our softball team and coworkers are all a part of this gay family.
Our college friends, Our Facebook friends, and readers of this blog, and the people that take care of our children every day at their school are all a part of this gay family.
My mom's hair dresser, and my father-in-law's tennis buddies and my grandmother's sister, brother, and church friends that are always asking about our boys... are all part of this gay family.
Anyone that has ever stopped a homophobic joke or tirade because they've thought of us and said, "That's just not true and just not nice."
Anyone that has ever decided not to vote for an anti-gay politician because of how that effects our family or the future that our children will grow up in.
Anyone that has ever turned to their small child and said, "There's nothing wrong with dancing if you are a boy or driving a truck if you are a girl, and I love you no matter what you grow up to be" is part of this gay family.

So when I blog on June 1st (into the early morning hours of June 2nd) for LGBT families, I'm blogging for all of us. I'm blogging for the visibility and viabilty of progressive lifestyles and families (gay and straight) that fight a political machine and a standard of living that tries to make fact out of the myth that gay people are somehow a threat to our society. And the way that we fight (because we are so tired out by working our jobs and raising our kids, and keeping our houses in order) is by mostly just living. Living with and near each other and taking care of each other and raising our kids together.

I am so proud and feel so lucky to be living the life I am living with all of you as part of my family. It numbs the mind. It strengthens the heart. And emboldens the spirit.

It somehow makes the breathing easier. (Like an elixir for seasonal allergies)

Two minute update

I have two minutes to post b/c we are hosting Easter tomorrow and the kids are out of the house for 2 hours so that we can "clean" without having to reprimand ML for sticking his arm straight into the toilet every 3 minutes or so (the hook and eye lock I installed on the door is completely useless, because he has calculated the exact rhythm-pressure-code of wiggle, pulsing, banging, and pausing required to get the hook to magically "jump" out of the eye... the only way it even slowed him down is the one time I left it UNLocked and he spent 90 seconds reaching above the knob toward the lock to try to reach and fiddle with it.)

Life is good. It is cold and rainy today, but tomorrow is supposed to be nicer. We went to a Seder last night- my first... familiar with the stories and some of the words, not familiar at all with the food - so strange that I could be so unfamiliar with an entire meal of "traditional" food. It was yummy, though.

The boys are very sweet and smart and very whiny and needy and actually starting to fight a little - want the same toys, vie for affection. Not too much, but definitely both of them playing various things up for attention and starting to show signs of, "Whatever he has I want"... I'm not sure if it is the Irish/Italian/Catholic genes/ socialization in me that I find myself believing the corrective action for this issue is to add another sibling to the mix... It's as if I want to say, you think you don't get enough attention now, wait until the new baby comes shooting into town; I'll give you something to whine about!!!" Horror at the thought of adding more chaos to this dirty home! But there's so much love in these walls, something inside of me thinks we should divide it up and share it more.

(Katy is somewhere whimpering that I have put this out into the universe- she's just not interested in that "solution".)

Katy and I have been working hard at trying to be healthier. We joined the Y and have a work out strategy that includes going there a few times a week and using the treadmill in our basement more and playing along with a Jillian Michaels tape now and then. It is working. I feel better. I've lost 13 lbs. I can do 20 (full) push-ups. She's been run/walking 4-5 miles at a clip and I've been doing 3-4 (a larger and larger percentage of the time has been running over walking) I have another 25-35lbs that I'd like to lose. I've never been fixated on my weight, but I'm 2 years and 2 months away from my 40th birthday, and I think I'd like to start that decade super fit...

I feel torn about doing all the things I want to do- excel at work, work out, eat right, write more, have fun with these kids- doing them all well... It seems so POSSIBLE every morning and when we are "falling-apart-tired" at night, it seems so implausible. But mostly, I feel lucky and grateful (that's redundant, right?) for my wife and friends and family.

Okay, that was 12 minutes... time to go clean the house!!!

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!

;)

Coming home tonight

Almost a week since my last post, but a lot has been happening...

I've been away.

I came home from Texas last Friday night (3/18). Spent Sat with the family: did some running around, playing with the kids, grocery shopping, etc. Went to a baby shower for my cousin's wife, spent a few hours with my CT cousin-friends (That's a word I just made up... It's like "sister-wife" in Mormon country, and is used to describe people that you are related to by birth, but more and more as you grow older, they are your friends. While we're here, I think I'll also coin the flip side: "friend-cousins": These are people like the Tabors/Menzies/Priors and the Vuolos... people who fate has so kindly intertwined your families' lives that you are friends with them, but you think of them as cousins...)

Then Katy's parents arrived (Granny and Granna) and we had dinner and I got to the business of packing a fresh suitcase, and bathing, smelling, and snuggling my kids enough to carry me though this week that I have also been away. Katy and I woke up at 3:30 in the AM (last Saturday) to get me to the airport for my 6am flight to Sunny and Warm LA county. The trip with layovers and waiting times on the tarmac to "replace computers on the plane", and flying around in circles to avoid weather patterns, and the harrowing shuttle journey to the hotel took over 15 hours.

It has been neither warm, nor particularly sunny.

But, I have been working my tail off (so to speak).

Only as this week has wound down (Thursday night, Friday, and now) have I truly started to feel the weight of my- not "homesickness" exactly- but yearning to have my babies near me. I think I just compartmentalized it fairly well at the beginning. Also, I knew that (between Katy and my in-laws) the boys were not only in good hands, but they would be distracted and having fun in my absence.

Still, attending these two conferences back to back, I have been away from my family for 11 out of the last 12 days. Even Katy and I have not spent this much time apart since we started dating.
And it has been weird to miss a week that my in-laws took to spend with our family. I've been wondering what I have missed in terms of "bonding opportunities" with them, and while I was out here in CA, my God-daughter and sweet Mac-a-doodle turned 5 years old!!! So, I felt a little sad that night that we weren't all together celebrating.

I've done my best to put the time to good use. I've met a lot of interesting and fun people. I've networked and bonded. I've gotten to spend this last week rooming with (and joking and laughing and theorizing and scheming with) Tara. Tara has been a BFF of ours since Katy's and my grad school days. This week only confirmed why: she is good people. She is real and full of brain and heart power, and loyal and honorable, and not only hilarious- but appreciates (and plays off of) my particular brand of wit. She is funny, without being trivial, and carefully measures the weight of her words and actions like only a soul-sister of mine could.

It is absurd that we ended up here this week together, and I can't help but thank God (The Tiny Baby Jesus, or whatever older version of him you prefer) for the way this trip took T and I out of our other lives and put us here, together for a week.

I also tried to use the time well- to appreciate the things a mom of small children loses out on: Sleep, "Quiet time", complex and extended adult conversation, "me time", I've done some list making and sorting through of things in my head, a kind of spring cleaning of my brain. I've also hit the gym whenever possible and done some sweating- and yesterday got myself onto some of the beaches of Malibu for a little hike.

At the end of this, I am eager to get home. But I think I am going back a little bit of a healthier person. Maybe more focused, more grateful for what I have, more (possibly?) full of energy (though taking a red-eye tonight might put a damper on that).

I can't wait to see my sweetie and our kids!