Monday, October 15, 2018

Ten Years Later - the story of Us

On that Sunday, there was no indication that it might be a different or particularly important day in my life. It was February 20th, 2005. I can't recall what I'd done that morning or afternoon, other than I had a sense of excitement, of anticipation, because I was going to bravely walk into the indoor sports center, lace up my new roller skates, and step out onto those plastic tiles. I hoped not to look like an idiot. The coach that night had bleached blonde hair with black and pink streaks, heavy black eye makeup, some band t-shirt, and a broken thumb. Her name was eeka (lowercase e, yep), and she wasn't skating. Since it was my very first practice, I was going to require some special attention. The skating coach was actually a referee, a shy white guy everyone called Pablo. I remember his long braided goatee. Pablo was in charge of running the practice, which was populated with experienced skaters, and they were running drills I couldn't even dream of participating in.

Before roller derby practice, there was men's hockey on the schedule. I remember the building stank of stale sweat and plastic. It echoed with the jeers and laughter of everyone gearing up. Pablo rolled up to me and explained that I was going to be paired with an experienced skater, who would teach me the basics. I rolled, wobbly and uncertain, in my brand new speed skates, over to the corner. Pablo introduced me to a girl wearing a Care Bear shirt (the green bear!) and a jean skirt. She had short hair tucked behind her ears, sparkling brown eyes, and a grin that stretched across her face. Her name was Dirty T. 

I find it infinitely entertaining now, to think about that green Care Bear with a 4-leaf clover displayed proudly on his white tummy - he was the Good Luck bear. Indeed, he brought us more good luck and good fortune than I could imagine. 

T and I were eighteen. The only teenagers in the whole league. That night, she taught me to keep my knees bent, complete a T-stop, and how to fall to one knee then stand back up. But in the 13 years since then... she's taught me much more. That night, I made a new friend. She was generous and kind and quick to laugh and encouraging. She offered to pick me up for Wednesday's practice, since those were held elsewhere and it wasn't easy to find. I gladly took her up on it. She still is generous and kind and quick to laugh and encouraging, and I still need help with directions sometimes, but now I get to call her my wife. 

In May of 2008, she asked me to marry her. I don't remember if I said "yes", but I do remember the tears from both our cheeks mixing when I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her. We were twenty-one. Three months later, we joined our lives and hearts formally, in a small ceremony at the Laguna Hills county clerk's office. We asked the officiant to skip the ring exchange part, so that we could exchange our vows and rings with one another that evening on the beach, as the sun dove toward the waves of the Pacific. We celebrated with champagne and a barbecue in the cooling sand. 

The next morning, we were in a gorgeous little art shop, and the salesperson asked us what we were in town for. "We got married yesterday!" was the enthusiastic reply. It was surreal. The salesperson looked sincerely happy for us. We drove back home that day and celebrated with a huge number of friends and family members that night. 

The early years weren't simple. We loved each other; but it often felt like it was the two of us against the world. We fought hard for acceptance. We looked carefully around and filled our lives with people who could love us for who we were, but that bubble felt small sometimes. In a world where you feel that your love is constantly under attack, it's simple to grab onto each other and hold tight. We're both stubborn, hardheaded fighters and we weren't willing to give up. 

Over the years, our bubble has grown so much. We're accepted by a larger swath of people. I'm thrilled to tell people, "My homosexuality is the least interesting part of my life," and actually be right. Of course there are still challenges, and there will always be bigoted people, but we've got a huge support system and I know that I can face anything with T's hand in mine. We are extremely fortunate. 

Our family has grown in other ways, too. It started with a dog. Then we brought home a cat. Then we fostered some more dogs and cats and upon T's insistence, I grudgingly found them forever homes that weren't our own. I snuck home a rescue horse not too long after we were married (would not recommend) and surprise! She was pregnant. Soon we had a dog, a cat, the rescue mare and her colt, plus my old rodeo gelding. 

A year after the colt was born, we became licensed foster parents and welcomed three children into our lives and hearts. After two years of loving children who would never be ours, we decided we were ready for a child who was ours. In 2012, T carried and birthed our daughter E. My heart burst open with the intensity of my love for both of them, and I found that it knit itself back together even larger than it was before. Now we had a whole other human to fight for. We knew that we had a huge responsibility for this little life, not just the regular child-rearing concerns but I stayed awake nights worrying about her future with two mothers. Again, hand in hand in tiny hand, we stood together. Now we were advocates for a person much more important than ourselves. 

E grew into a magical, hilarious child. She was more than we ever knew we needed. Yet our family didn't feel complete. We knew we wanted two children. In 2016, I carried and birthed our son, C. Once more, I found myself being broken open and overwhelmed with the intensity of love I felt for not only C, but for our family as a whole. We were more than the sum of our parts. Once again, my heart found all its myriad pieces and stuck itself back together, but now with all the old stitches from before and the new embroidery I pieced it together with, it was larger yet again. As I held our newborn son and our three year old daughter and felt T's arms around all of us, I knew my whole world was contained in that embrace. 

We're older now. Turning 32 this year. Together, we've weathered storm after storm. Hand in hand in hand in hand, we are a unit. We are a force to be reckoned with. With an army of love behind us and our hands locked together, we will face what comes our way. 

It's not been an easy road. Life will continue to present us with challenges. It can be difficult to maintain a marriage while working and completing grad school and parenting two young children. There may be two children to hold between us, wife, but you are still the cornerstone to my castle. You help me keep my feet on the ground and my speedometer below illegality. 

I know that I can face anything, with your hand in mine. This has been the best ten years of my life. 
Happy Anniversary, darling. 




















































A Bonafide Kid

Daughter of mine;
Today you jumped off the bus and gave me a big hug. Your turquoise shirt has a cheerful cat wearing a floral crown, and your black leggings peppered with gold stars are ripped at the knees. Your feet look impossibly large in their turquoise athletic shoes, pounding down the pavement.
You are all smiles and radiance this fall afternoon. Today we're headed down a few houses to knock on the door of your schoolfriend, to see if she can come out to play. I'm flooded with memories and emotions, remembering my own days of playing in backyards and streets with neighbor kids.
These things feel impossible to me today. You cannot be in first grade. You cannot be scheduling after-school solo neighborhood adventures. When did your legs grow so long? When did the muscles in your back become so strong and sinewy? When did you lose the soft roundness of your babyhood? I swear I was there, and yet... you are still the chubby-legged 9 month old with untamed curls of my heart.
Your friend answers her door. You are so confident; so happy. "Are you ready?!"
"Just one sec!" she replies, before ducking back inside. Your friend has a cat ear headband, and the tips of her dirty blonde hair are dyed pink. She comes back out with a small backpack, and you wave and shout, "Bye Mama!" as you gallop off down the sidewalk to the small neighborhood park at the end of the street.
"Have fun! Be safe! I love you!" I shout after you, but a crisp fall breeze picks my words up and carries them away. You're running and laughing together, shoes slapping the pavement, pink hair and brown curls bouncing. I stand on the sidewalk and watch as you stop at the corner to carefully look both ways to check for cars before bounding across the street.
I am both overjoyed that you have this opportunity, and fearful of what could happen. I relish this chance you have to form a friendship that's all your own - no teachers, no parents to dictate what you choose to do with your time or how you interact.
I swallow my worries deep, shove my hands into my pockets, and turn away to walk home.
You are growing up. I see more and more of your true heart every day. I am in awe of you, young person who I love so overwhelmingly much.
Have fun.
Be safe.
I love you.




Thursday, October 11, 2018

Coming Out, #6,347

Today is National Coming Out Day.  As if coming out is a singular event. I couldn't begin to truly count many times I have come out over the years. I think the last time I came out was to a new coworker about a week ago. There have been times that is has seemed like a daily occurrence in my life. It comes in waves. They may be easy to bear or they may tumble you around, leaving you ragged and confused.

You have to come out to yourself before you can "come out" to anyone else. Then your friends and family. I think this is what people think of when they think of "coming out".  Even this can include so many conversations and so many layers.  So many emotions and expectations and reactions. What about your job? There are still a lot of states that sexual orientation is not a protected class so you can be fired. Even if you can't be, your life can be made difficult.

Then there is a lull... But maybe you change jobs or you move.  Maybe you are getting married and that grandparent you never told because they were of the "we just don't talk about it" mindset may or may not actually know. Maybe you're buying a car or a house and have to navigate loan paperwork (I swear I'm not still bitter about our loan being held up because they were waiting for our husband's credit reports... okay, I guess I am). Maybe you're on a date and the server just can't comprehend that you don't want the check split and that you are sharing dessert.

For me, having children changed everything. When we were foster parents, we discovered just how intrusive and tactless people are when children are involved. Children are public domain. Strangers make up a story in their head and if you correct them on their assumptions, it is offensive. When we had a baby that had a different ethnicity, people would ask me "what" her father was.  When the children looked more like us, it was more plausible to people that we were sisters and each had one kid than us being a family unit.

So it was a conscious decision that if we were going to have a family, we needed to be out.  O. U. T. We never wanted our children to feel like our family structure was something to be ashamed of. We couldn't continue to "pass." As it turns out, pregnancy gave us a lot of opportunities to practice. My [least] favorite comment: "Oh, you're having a girl? Is your husband disappointed?" Wait... what?

Since then we have had to navigate mom & baby groups, soccer classes, day care, school, swim lessons, pediatricians, and a million other situations where we are not the norm. Even the grocery store cashier-
"She must get her curls from her daddy!"
"Actually, she doesn't have a daddy."
"That's okay, Jesus can be her daddy."
um, no.

This is a legacy that we will pass on to our children. Regardless of changing public opinions, it is hard to be seen as "different." E is already faced with the decision of whether or not to correct classmates when they assume she has a father, whether to take one her mothers or a uncle or grandfather to "daddy" events at school.  We haven't labeled it for her, but these are her first "coming out" stories as the child of lesbians.

So to our allies on this National Coming Out Day, remember that coming out is not a one time shot. Sometimes it is easy and sometimes it is not.  It can be a beautiful, liberating experience, but it can also have catastrophic repercussions. And sometimes, after years and years, it can just be a chore.



Thursday, February 22, 2018

Magic in the little things

I think all parents believe there are things about our children that we'll never forget, but if there's anything I've learned this far, it's that the magical little moments slip away without even leaving a void. I think that's part of why I cherish photographs and videos and kid quotes and blog posts so very much. I hate the idea of forgetting, although I know it's happening.

Today, the littles were playing outside in the yard. C came to the door, shouting about poop. 

"You want me to help you clean up the dog poop, bud?" I asked. 

"Yeah! Yeah! POOOOOP, Mama!" came the enthusiastic reply. 

Laughing, I hauled myself outside. 

My sweet, hilarious little 2 year old loves pointing out dog poop. It used to be our daily ritual, until I broke my leg 4 weeks ago. Now it happens... considerably less often. 

But out he ran into the grass, ready for me to bring the rake and bucket. Who knew that I'd ever find cleaning up dog waste adorable? 

"Righ' dere, Mama! Poop dere!" He exclaimed, running up to the first poop pile he found with determined elbows and marching knees, then shuffling his feet up as close to the poop as he could get, all while pointing emphatically. I noticed his shoes were on the wrong feet and smiled to myself. 

After I raked up the first couple, he wove all around the far end of the yard, poop-hunting. 

"Poooooop, are you?!" He hasn't learned to say 'where' yet. It's fantastic. "Ah HAH! Dere you are! Righ' dere, Mama! Yeah!" 

He has such an earnest little face, this one. So sweet and so utterly unapologetic about his interests, even if one of them is picking up poop. Turning his face up to mine, he shrugs his little shoulders and lifts his hands into the air. "All done, Mama? No more poop?" 

"I think we got it all, love. Thank you for your help!" 

"Welcome!" I hear faintly on the breeze he leaves behind, as he's already running onto the patio to remind me where the bucket and rake belong. 

I wish I could keep the sound of his darling toddler voice and funny words in my mind, but I know they'll fade. One day, all I'll have is this blog. 

Future self: Today is just another day. A day in a long line of days during which I know all the following: My children are inescapably amazing. They are unerringly bright. But they're also challenging, as children are meant to be. Sometimes I get beyond my own ability to be reasonable, so how could I expect them to manage better than myself? Today is just another day. Work. Kids. Housework. Dinner. Bed. Rinse, repeat. Looking at my days that way doesn't tell the true story, though. 

The magic is in the little things. In E's amazed discovery of a new nasturtium bud; in C's complete devotion to keeping the yard clear of dog poop. In E's pride over having helped sew her own Belle apron and wearing it over a blue dress so she looks just like Belle. In C's happiness over climbing out of the car by himself and touching the garage door remote to close it. In eating warm homemade banana bread fresh from the oven. In the joy my ridiculous children have when they learn we're to have grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner - again. 

So I beg the universe again. Please let me keep this. Please let their places in my heart and mind live forever. 

Let me keep the magic. 


Saturday, February 17, 2018

Two

Today is your second birthday, sweet child. Yet your birth feels no further away than the flutter of the bluebird's wing. Reconciling the two can sometimes be a challenge for me, but all I have to do is watch you solve a problem, climb a tree, or say something surprising and I see the child in front of me, no longer the baby of my body.

It's been raining and chilly this week. But today, the sun unfurled his cloak and smiled gladly upon us as we celebrated you. We are a very lucky family to have so many people who love and care for us. Many friends and loved ones joined us this afternoon to wish you well as you step forward into your third adventure around the sun. 

Mom and I had somewhat of a contradictory day. As your parents, it's logical that we should spend this day with you, remembering the last two years. But as your birthday party was this afternoon, unfortunately, we spent the morning trying to get ready for the party. Maybe someday we'll have everything done enough in advance so that we're not rushing until the last moment. The odds don't seem in our favor though, so please don't get your hopes too high. So the morning and early afternoon were a bit hectic, but the party was truly lovely. 

There is something that always moves me deeply when everyone gathers around the lit candles on your cake and in one breath, sings Happy Birthday. In this moment, I feel completely unified with all the people who surround you, little one. This large group of people, of mixed backgrounds and ages, all came together to wish one little person well. To share their love with our family. To lend support and to join together in mutual joy. This circle of voices carries warmth and love and such a sense of  peace and comfort. I watched your small face glowing in the light of the candle on your cupcake and I saw your smile of shy pleasure as you looked around at all the faces singing to you. I hope you know how loved you are, and how precious you are to us. Sometimes, it still takes my breath away to know you're mine and I'm equally yours. 

You're on your way, my love! My big two year old. You beautiful soul. 

Happy Birthday! 



Sunday, November 12, 2017

Mothering humanity

Dearest children of mine,

I love writing to you. I love the thought that one day, an adult version of you, maybe even a parent yourself, will read my words from a time when you were still small and young. Perhaps you'll learn something about me you didn't know. I dream that maybe my words will help your current situation, whatever it may be. At the very least, I hope you can feel the love I carry for you always. 

But sometimes... I am filled with uncertainty about what I should write. To be honest? How honest? How much should I protect future-you from present-me?

The world is filled with unimaginable beauty and good, my loves. I want you to know all of it. There are good people everywhere, we call them "The Helpers". In every city, town, and community, there are The Helpers. Mom and I are some of them. You'll grow to become them, too. In some ways, you're already The Helpers, because of your good and joyful hearts. 

But today, this week... I'm struggling. I nearly wrote that I'm struggling to find my path forward, but that's untrue. You two are my path forward. You're the answer to every question I ask. But current events and the current political climate together create a country that I'm often disappointed in. Sometimes, I find the accumulation of terrible events and deeds happening daily to weigh heavily upon my shoulders. 

Right now, we have the most unqualified person in history sitting in the Oval Office, pulling strings and making decisions as if he truly represents the people of the United States. He's selfish and cruel, uncaring about the plight of the poor and middle-classed; unable to sympathize with desperation and heartbreak that come with disasters that have wreaked havoc in the lives of millions of people. His agenda includes taking affordable health care away from the masses, building a huge wall across the US/Mexico border, preventing anyone of the Muslim faith from entering our country, refusing to aid refugees fleeing murder and devastation in their home countries, handing tax breaks to corporations and the wealthiest Americans, and removing the ability for women to make our own decisions about our reproductive health, among other things. 

Earthquakes broke apart the earth and killed hundreds of people in Mexico; hurricanes and flooding ravaged Texas, Florida, Louisiana, Puerto Rico and the Caribbean islands. Months later, much of Puerto Rico is without power and water and food and the death toll continues to climb. Much of northern California and the northwestern part of the States fell victim to fire after blazing fire, burning up homes and businesses and lives. In October, a man mass-murdered 50 people at an outdoor music festival in Vegas from a 32nd floor hotel room with automatic weapons. A few weeks later, another man rented a truck and drove it onto a pedestrian path in Manhattan, killing 8 people. In November, another man mass-murdered 26 people inside a church in Sutherland Springs, Texas with a semi-automatic rifle. That was 6 days ago. Since then, we're learning about the horrific things that men in power have done to women just because they wanted to and they could. Huge names in politics and entertainment are falling from grace as countless women step forward to share stories long hidden and held close for fear of personal and professional consequences.  

I carry so much empathy and compassion for others that reading and listening to accounts from victims of any one of these issues is taxing. As a whole, the cumulative experiences of pain and suffering are crippling. At the end of all of it, through the haze of knowing that these things have happened and are happening, the thought I'm left with is: 

What if these things happen to MY babies, like they happen to other people's babies every day? 



I'm living on a thin edge between the planes of confidence and fear, my loves. Every decision I make is calculated to help you become the best adult you can possibly be but also to keep you as safe as I can. Having lived through middle school and high school myself, I know that being a kid on the fringe or being an "outcast" from whomever happens to be popular, can be character-building experiences. I also realize that for some kids, these terrible experiences have ended their lives. Ultimately, I don't get to choose what experiences you get and which you don't. We both just have to live with what comes to us. 

I know I make mistakes. I'll make more. I'm sorry for what I don't get right. 

Just know that everything I do... it's borne of my absolute love and devotion for each of you. 



So grow. Learn. Conquer. Seek. Step forward into the light and find your paths. Be bold and confident, children of mine, and together we will do our best to keep the fear and darkness at bay. Together, we will help create a culture, a country, a world that's a better place to be than it is today. 

I will always be behind you. 


Friday, May 12, 2017

A Hard Day

Hard days come in lots of flavors. Problems at work. Not enough sleep. All the right buttons being pushed.

Today was different.

It started like most days, getting the kids ready for school.  While E finished her breakfast, I was changing C.  I sat down on his floor and got him dressed and then he sat in my lap to get socks on.

The first pang.

It is one of my favorite things- when they start coming over and plopping down in your lap. It makes my heart warm. But it holds memories of the other little boy who used to run over to sit in my lap. Bold and proud.

"Ba!" he yells. Pointing at the ball across the room. His socks on, he runs over to grab it. We've always been careful to say "ball" instead of "a ball," but it is still a little tickle in the back of my mind. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if my mind hadn't already been there.

He's bouncing the ball in the kitchen. "Ba! Ba! A ba!"


Damn.













I'm about to go to Mothers' Day Tea at E's preschool, but I'm stuck in the feedback loop of our first Mothers' Day.  The one that felt like we weren't supposed to celebrate, like we weren't real mothers.

So this is for that first little boy. The one who tackled me to sit in my lap on Halloween. The one we took to the pumpkin patch and it exclaimed "A ba! A BA! A BA! A BALL!" as he picked up the pumpkins. 

Him and his sister. And the little girl before them. The kids who taught me to be a mother. My heart will always be broken, but its worth it knowing you each have a little piece of it with you.