Yep. It's time again for THAT post.
I know Mothers' Day isn't until Sunday, but it's on my mind this morning. This year will be our 3rd Mothers' Day, and the first with a forever-baby in our arms.
2011 found us mothering 2 children who already had a mother. 2011 surrounded us with people reaffirming our first Mothers' Day, even if the kids weren't forever. Even if we loved those kids deeply, despite spending the week beforehand creating Mother's Day gifts for their "real" mom. Even if we felt cheapened by letting strangers assume they belonged to us.
2012 found us childless. T was growing a small belly, a visible reminder of the baby we'd have by the next Mothers' Day. 2012 surrounded us with people congratulating us on our first real Mothers' Day, happy for us that our real kid was on her way. My insides cringed, and the mother I was in 2011 felt invalidated. I'd already been several kids' mother in prior years, why was this year the one I should celebrate as my first Mothers' Day? Read about it here.
I'm not sure what 2013's Mothers' Day will bring. I know the mama I am to E is different than the mother I've been before. In small ways, every year it'll be a "First Mothers' Day" of sorts I suppose.
The woman I am today tells the small, petty parts of me to forgive easier. To give everyone the benefit of the doubt. To accept the heartfelt sentiment from someone's comment instead of criticizing their word choice or allowing what they say to offend me.
I am a mama. Mothers' Day is coming up, a day to celebrate all mothers. I will celebrate myself and my achievements on Sunday, as well as feeling intensely thankful for my own mother, and the multitude of mothers I have in my life.
And maybe... just maybe, people might consider thinking their words through a touch more. Quantifying what makes things "real" versus false is the biggest faux pas here, I think.
Genuineness and sincerity may speak quietly, but the way they make us feel is everlasting.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Horses and nostalgia
As many of you know, T and I started a photography (and other artsy things) business in February. We've done a lot of baby and kid photos, as well as family sessions. Directly following the start-up and the Facebook page launch, I contacted a local saddle club that always hosts an annual state-wide gymkhana to see if they had a show photographer lined up yet. They didn't, and were thrilled that someone wanted to come and do it.
A gymkhana, for horses and their riders, is a competition typically comprised of 4-5 events designed to test the speed, agility, and teamwork of the horse and rider pair. They are all timed speed events and vary in their design and pattern to be run.
This gymkhana that we signed on to photograph is one of the biggest gymkhanas in the state. It's a 2-day competition and its winners are the very best of the best in Arizona.
In high school, I competed in gymkhanas regularly and worked hard at it. I ran at this state gymkhana for 3 years and loved it every single time. I looked forward to it for months; my horse and I and trained and prepared. The last time I ran in this gymkhana was almost 10 years ago.
 |
| Rocky and A, all decked out for a drill team performance - 2003 |
I very much was looking forward to getting to photograph this gymkhana! That being said, I also knew that it had the potential to be brutal on us. Taking photos of every single rider, every event - it takes over the whole day. The weather was forecast to be be clear and warm with a breeze. Ninety four degrees isn't all that hot for southern Arizona, but it is pretty warm to be out in the sun from 7am to 7pm, holding perfectly still while taking pictures. On top of that, we of course have a baby with us. We'd hoped to both be photographing certain events, so we needed to make arrangements for E. Saturday, we brought the teenaged daughter of a friend of ours to hang out with her and Sunday my parents and sister came to be with her. It mostly worked pretty well, considering that she's only eight months old as of today. E spent the whole time in the shade and slathered in sunscreen, so she really just got bored. And kind of warm at times.
I arrived early Saturday morning by myself to start setting up our table and canopy. There is simply nothing like the crisp dawn air, the smell of fresh hay and desert springtime, warm dirt and horsehair. The younger riders were being boosted onto the backs of their horses and ponies by their parents. Many of the teens had hopped onto their horses bareback and were walking from their overnight stall spaces to their trailers, where their tack was stored. The adults scrambled around with last-minute preparations, final instructions to their kids, organizing coolers and tents and trying to slap some sunscreen on the toddlers running around before going to retrieve their own horses.
I don't think there is actually any way to describe to you how I felt that morning, but I'll try.
My heart beat a little faster. My lungs swelled in my chest, trying to take in all the scents of my teenage years. Scents that have been missing from my life for awhile. A smile stretched my lips as I watched little girls trot past on their carefully color-coordinated horses, giggling at some inside joke between them. Pink reins and pink saddle pads matched the pink boots their horses wore. Others chose lime green, turquoise, purple, blue. Horses were bathed and groomed for the occasion, saddles had been cleaned and oiled.
Reminded me of the evening prior to the gymkhana, when a 16 year old me would spend two hours lovingly going over every inch of her saddle and tack, making sure it shone richly in the amber lamplight after the rest of her friends had all left the barn. I'd wash my saddle pad and my horse's support boots in the washer in my house, and my mom would remind me to wipe out all the clumps of horsehair after I was finished. I would go to Michael's and buy blank tshirts and iron-on letters and decals. I made myself a custom shirt for each day of the competition, different ones every year.
 |
| April 2002 |
Friday, my whole family would pack up and we'd go pick up the trailer and my horse and head the 2 hours south to the fairgrounds. I'd settle my horse into his stall, we'd park the trailer, and then we would go check into our hotel. I always meant for Friday night to be an early night, but with entry to the gymkhana came entry into the county fair, so we'd ride rides and eat fair food before heading back to the hotel, where I was usually too excited to sleep very well.
Competition day started early, as the horses needed to eat before we could get going. I loved rising with the sun (just on gymkhana days!) and greeting my horse, Rocky, as he woke. I'd give him a good, thorough grooming as he munched his breakfast.
Gymkhana days were filled with anticipation, anxiety, adrenaline. I loved them; I worried about doing poorly. The state gymkhana... all the emotions ran hotter than usual.
Watching all the riders direct their leaping and jigging horses through the gate gave me fond memories of Rocky, dancing sideways along the fenceline, waiting for me to give him the go-ahead.
 |
| A and Rocky in 2002 |
I saw the horses charge, hooves cleaving dirt, nostrils flared, and I remembered when that was me. Men and women alike calling out commands and encouragement to their mounts as they rounded barrels or darted between poles.
It might seem like they're running along the surface of the earth, but that's just a trick our minds play.
In truth, these horses fly. And in riding them, we borrow wings.
If I could go back, I would remind myself every day, every competition, to savor every bit of it I could. To just be present as much as possible. At 16 years old though, I don't know that I would have known what that actually meant.
I know that one day, my family will be a gymkhana family again. I don't know when that'll be, or what it'll look like, but there is no doubt in my mind that we'll have horses. But I do know that it won't be what it was before. And it's not supposed to be - I've lived that part of my life already, it would be stupid to want to live it again. I look forward to seeing what horses are in my family's future.
But for now, I'll take photos of other people's horses, with their rippling muscles and gleaming coats. And I'll wish I could go up to every single one of their riders and whisper quietly, "Don't let today get away. You don't know where tomorrow is going to take you. And buy some damned photos, because we're really good and I wish I had more photos of me and my horses."
 |
| A professional photo of me and Rocky that my parents bought in 2003 |
 |
| A photo T took at the state gymkhana - April 27, 2013 |
 |
| A photo T took at the state gymkhana - April 27, 2013
*a special note: Horses have been one of the most enriching parts of my life,
and there isn't any way I would have gotten to participate if it weren't for my
amazing, loving, encouraging, supportive family. Mom and Dad, thanks for
giving me an incredible, irreplaceable gift. I am eternally grateful for it, and you.
|
Saturday, April 20, 2013
On The Day You Were Born
by Debra Frasier
"On the eve of your birth
word of your coming
passed from animal to animal.
The reindeer told the Arctic terns,
who told the humpback whales,
who told the Pacific salmon,
who told the monarch butterflies,
who told the green turtles,
who told the European eel,
who told the busy garden warblers,
and the marvelous news migrated worldwide.
While you waited in darkness,
tiny knees curled to chin,
the Earth and her creatures
with the sun and the moon
all moved in their places,
each ready to greet you
the very first moment
of the very first day you arrived.
On the day you were born
the round planet Earth
turned toward your morning sky,
whirling past darkness,
spinning the night into light.
On the day you were born
gravity's strong pull
held you to the Earth
with a promise that you
would never float away...
...while deep in space
the burning sun
sent up
towering flames,
lighting your sky
from dawn until dusk.
On the day you were born
the quiet moon glowed
and offered to bring
a full, bright face,
each month,
to your windowsill...
...while high above the North Pole,
Polaris, the glittering North Star,
stood still, shining silver light
into your night sky.
On the day you were born
the moon pulled
on the ocean below,
and wave by wave,
a rising tide washed
the beaches clean for your footprints...
...while far out at sea
clouds swelled with water drops,
sailed to shore on a wind,
and rained you a welcome
across the Earth's green lands.
On the day you were born
a forest of tall trees
collected the sun's light
in their leaves,
where, in silent mystery,
they made oxygen
for you to breathe...
...while close to your skin
and as high as the sky,
air rushed in and blew about,
invisibly protecting you
and all living things on Earth.
On the day you were born
the Earth turned, the moon pulled,
the sun flared, and then, with a push,
you slipped out of the dark quiet
where suddenly you could hear
a circle of people singing
with voices familiar and clear.
"Welcome to the spinning world," the people sang,
as they washed your new, tiny hands.
"Welcome to the green Earth," the people sang,
as they wrapped your wet, slippery body.
And as they held you close
they whispered into your open, curving ear,
"We are so glad you've come!""
Yes, darling child, we are so glad you've come.
7 months and 19 evenings ago, you arrived here safe and sound. Your birth was the thing I've waited for the longest of anything in my whole life, and you've made me more whole than I knew I could be or should be.
Some days, kissing you and cuddling you and playing with you and telling you that I love you are sufficient ways for me to express to you how I'm feeling.
And some days, I feel that I could write you a letter that would let my pure, bleeding heart soak a whole ream of paper without really telling you of the depth of my love.
Your imperfections make you perfect. Your need for me and Mom makes me feel vital and important.
The way you reach for me with tiny, chubby fingers and imploring eyes the color of a stormy sea make my insides melt and in that instant, I know that I love you infinitely more than I love myself. And I love myself an awful lot.
Growing up, I remember my mother telling me that she loved me more than I could ever know. At the time, in my childhood, I only recall feeling cherished and adored and always loved. Now that I have a daughter of my own, I think I must finally know how much my own mother loves me. I find myself whispering to Ever, as she's falling asleep, that I hope one day she'll know the full depth of my love for her.
Maybe I'm still learning about the depth of love that a person is capable of.
"On the eve of your birth
word of your coming
passed from animal to animal.
The reindeer told the Arctic terns,
who told the humpback whales,
who told the Pacific salmon,
who told the monarch butterflies,
who told the green turtles,
who told the European eel,
who told the busy garden warblers,
and the marvelous news migrated worldwide.
While you waited in darkness,
tiny knees curled to chin,
the Earth and her creatures
with the sun and the moon
all moved in their places,
each ready to greet you
the very first moment
of the very first day you arrived.
On the day you were born
the round planet Earth
turned toward your morning sky,
whirling past darkness,
spinning the night into light.
On the day you were born
gravity's strong pull
held you to the Earth
with a promise that you
would never float away...
...while deep in space
the burning sun
sent up
towering flames,
lighting your sky
from dawn until dusk.
On the day you were born
the quiet moon glowed
and offered to bring
a full, bright face,
each month,
to your windowsill...
...while high above the North Pole,
Polaris, the glittering North Star,
stood still, shining silver light
into your night sky.
On the day you were born
the moon pulled
on the ocean below,
and wave by wave,
a rising tide washed
the beaches clean for your footprints...
...while far out at sea
clouds swelled with water drops,
sailed to shore on a wind,
and rained you a welcome
across the Earth's green lands.
On the day you were born
a forest of tall trees
collected the sun's light
in their leaves,
where, in silent mystery,
they made oxygen
for you to breathe...
...while close to your skin
and as high as the sky,
air rushed in and blew about,
invisibly protecting you
and all living things on Earth.
On the day you were born
the Earth turned, the moon pulled,
the sun flared, and then, with a push,
you slipped out of the dark quiet
where suddenly you could hear
a circle of people singing
with voices familiar and clear.
"Welcome to the spinning world," the people sang,
as they washed your new, tiny hands.
"Welcome to the green Earth," the people sang,
as they wrapped your wet, slippery body.
And as they held you close
they whispered into your open, curving ear,
"We are so glad you've come!""
Yes, darling child, we are so glad you've come.
7 months and 19 evenings ago, you arrived here safe and sound. Your birth was the thing I've waited for the longest of anything in my whole life, and you've made me more whole than I knew I could be or should be.
Some days, kissing you and cuddling you and playing with you and telling you that I love you are sufficient ways for me to express to you how I'm feeling.
And some days, I feel that I could write you a letter that would let my pure, bleeding heart soak a whole ream of paper without really telling you of the depth of my love.
Your imperfections make you perfect. Your need for me and Mom makes me feel vital and important.
The way you reach for me with tiny, chubby fingers and imploring eyes the color of a stormy sea make my insides melt and in that instant, I know that I love you infinitely more than I love myself. And I love myself an awful lot.
Growing up, I remember my mother telling me that she loved me more than I could ever know. At the time, in my childhood, I only recall feeling cherished and adored and always loved. Now that I have a daughter of my own, I think I must finally know how much my own mother loves me. I find myself whispering to Ever, as she's falling asleep, that I hope one day she'll know the full depth of my love for her.
Maybe I'm still learning about the depth of love that a person is capable of.
Friday, April 12, 2013
"The Talk"
Lately there has been a lot of talk about how we live in a "rape culture". Victims of rape are being publicly shamed and blamed for being stupid enough, drunk enough, slutty enough to get raped. As awful and wrong as I know it is, sometimes I even hear a little voice inside my head that says "Well, she really shouldn't have drank so much she passed out." I've been trying to figure out where this voice comes from and I think it can be traced back to how our society approaches sex.
Today I was listening to the radio and they were addressing this issue. They asked people to call in and tell how they talk to their kids about sex. Over and over I heard people say they teach their daughters that they need to set their boundaries and stick to them. They need to make sure they don't get in a situation where they don't have control. Their advice to their sons is that they need to respect those boundaries and not take advantage of women. That's all fine and good, but does that mean that it's acceptable for the males of our species have no sexual boundaries? Why can't we focus on teaching all of our kids, or rather, society as a whole, that we should all respect ourselves and each other enough to know that rape in any form shouldn't be tolerated? Isn't teaching boys that it is okay for them to have no boundaries just making it worse?
I think it also relates back to gender roles. I have a hard time with the rules society places on gender. I really feel like assigning qualities to be masculine or feminine doesn't do anybody any favors. I know we've come a very long way, but let's not lose traction in progress because we're busy telling our boys to be boys and our daughters how not to get raped.
I have more to say, but I'm having a hard time organizing my thoughts today. I promise my next blog will be on a more cheerful subject and include lots of pictures of my amazing daughter (who is crawling up a storm nowadays).
Today I was listening to the radio and they were addressing this issue. They asked people to call in and tell how they talk to their kids about sex. Over and over I heard people say they teach their daughters that they need to set their boundaries and stick to them. They need to make sure they don't get in a situation where they don't have control. Their advice to their sons is that they need to respect those boundaries and not take advantage of women. That's all fine and good, but does that mean that it's acceptable for the males of our species have no sexual boundaries? Why can't we focus on teaching all of our kids, or rather, society as a whole, that we should all respect ourselves and each other enough to know that rape in any form shouldn't be tolerated? Isn't teaching boys that it is okay for them to have no boundaries just making it worse?
I think it also relates back to gender roles. I have a hard time with the rules society places on gender. I really feel like assigning qualities to be masculine or feminine doesn't do anybody any favors. I know we've come a very long way, but let's not lose traction in progress because we're busy telling our boys to be boys and our daughters how not to get raped.
I have more to say, but I'm having a hard time organizing my thoughts today. I promise my next blog will be on a more cheerful subject and include lots of pictures of my amazing daughter (who is crawling up a storm nowadays).
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Not enough.
The problem with inviting strangers from across the globe to read your thoughts is that sometimes, you want to write but you're cautious to share what's been tumbling around in your brain. I just wrote a blog. Just. And I wasn't brave. And it wasn't enough to quiet the buzzing in my head.
I'm going to try again.
That day we were apart and broken; my heart plummeted through my feet. I needed to see you, but I didn't think you'd agree. I felt like poison, like black death dragging you down. I was addicted. I was drunk and high on you and your fears of being with me hurt worse than anything.
I sent a hopeful beacon to you, begging to see your face. You said yes.
It wasn't safe to come to your house. You wouldn't let me. We met on campus, standing too far apart and too close together. I searched your face, not knowing where you were. I was too scared to look into your brown eyes.
You sighed. We sat in the grass. I picked at my shoe.
I glanced up and caught you staring at me. I was drawn close, closer than logic told me I should go. Would you push me away?
No, you met your lips to mine instead. I groaned and pulled you into the grass with me. We lay together for time interminable, kissing and crying and holding one another, trying to stop the inevitable shatter. We looked up into the heavens, darkened by being on the wrong side of the earth. The stars shone on, unaware of the loss I felt deep in my chest.
"I can't do this." you told me.
You left me then. I was alone.
After all these years, I know that you were fighting to know your heart, fighting for the courage to leap beside me. We both struggled because the depth of our feeling was so intense, so fast. I know that you loved me, even that day, or it wouldn't have been so damned hard.
It's easy to forget after eight years what it took to get here.
All of this, our life together, is because of love. And courage. And strength. And faith that together is better than apart.
I love you for fighting for us, for loving me.
But - don't forget what it took. Don't forget what it still takes.
I'm going to try again.
That day we were apart and broken; my heart plummeted through my feet. I needed to see you, but I didn't think you'd agree. I felt like poison, like black death dragging you down. I was addicted. I was drunk and high on you and your fears of being with me hurt worse than anything.
I sent a hopeful beacon to you, begging to see your face. You said yes.
It wasn't safe to come to your house. You wouldn't let me. We met on campus, standing too far apart and too close together. I searched your face, not knowing where you were. I was too scared to look into your brown eyes.
You sighed. We sat in the grass. I picked at my shoe.
I glanced up and caught you staring at me. I was drawn close, closer than logic told me I should go. Would you push me away?
No, you met your lips to mine instead. I groaned and pulled you into the grass with me. We lay together for time interminable, kissing and crying and holding one another, trying to stop the inevitable shatter. We looked up into the heavens, darkened by being on the wrong side of the earth. The stars shone on, unaware of the loss I felt deep in my chest.
"I can't do this." you told me.
You left me then. I was alone.
After all these years, I know that you were fighting to know your heart, fighting for the courage to leap beside me. We both struggled because the depth of our feeling was so intense, so fast. I know that you loved me, even that day, or it wouldn't have been so damned hard.
It's easy to forget after eight years what it took to get here.
All of this, our life together, is because of love. And courage. And strength. And faith that together is better than apart.
I love you for fighting for us, for loving me.
But - don't forget what it took. Don't forget what it still takes.
Springti... wait, no, Summertime!
Well, it's certainly been awhile, blog! I've missed you.
E turned 7 months old beginning of this month! Wow. It's surreal, because I've been here every day and kissed her face every day, but somehow I feel like surely someone's played a trick on me. It's impossible that all our baby friends are talking about the theme for their little ones' first birthday party. The weather is heating up and leaving winter (and the fleeting spring, for that matter) in the dust. The snow. No, the dust is a better analogy, since there's a lot more dust here than snow. The weather warming up is really the first indicator to me that E is a lot older. She was born as the summer died, and now a new summer is blooming. Already.
I am madly in love with E, and as the number of things she's learning increases exponentially, I am having such a blast being her Mama. Something new every day, it seems. She's become so much more mobile and independent. I miss her being a tiny new baby, but truthfully I'm really looking forward to seeing her grow and mature. Just... not too fast. I'm afraid I'm going to miss something.
People have lately been doing something I was told nobody would care about after E's arrival. They've been turning to me and saying, "So how are YOU doing?" And they mean it. I don't know if it's like, "How are YOU doing as a non-gestational mom?" or "How are YOU doing with only working part-time?" or "How are YOU doing with all the attention being given to E?" or "How are YOU doing with T being at work all the time?" or what. But I want it known that I appreciate that all these people are sincere and genuinely care about my answer to their question.
I'm not really ever sure how to answer it. I don't particularly care to LIE, but it's better and simpler to just smile and say that I'm great. But it's complicated. I am great... but I'm also stressed, lonely, elated, joyful, depressed, eager, questioning, unsure, unmotivated, thrilled and driven to do my best by Ev. Every day.
Do I want to have that conversation with every single person who asks how I'm doing? Of course not. After all, life isn't particularly simply for anybody, right?
I strive to live in today, live in this hour, live in this fortieth minute that my precocious daughter is asleep in a row. Tomorrow I'll try and do the same thing, and the day after that.
And you know what? That's more than good enough.
E turned 7 months old beginning of this month! Wow. It's surreal, because I've been here every day and kissed her face every day, but somehow I feel like surely someone's played a trick on me. It's impossible that all our baby friends are talking about the theme for their little ones' first birthday party. The weather is heating up and leaving winter (and the fleeting spring, for that matter) in the dust. The snow. No, the dust is a better analogy, since there's a lot more dust here than snow. The weather warming up is really the first indicator to me that E is a lot older. She was born as the summer died, and now a new summer is blooming. Already.
I am madly in love with E, and as the number of things she's learning increases exponentially, I am having such a blast being her Mama. Something new every day, it seems. She's become so much more mobile and independent. I miss her being a tiny new baby, but truthfully I'm really looking forward to seeing her grow and mature. Just... not too fast. I'm afraid I'm going to miss something.
People have lately been doing something I was told nobody would care about after E's arrival. They've been turning to me and saying, "So how are YOU doing?" And they mean it. I don't know if it's like, "How are YOU doing as a non-gestational mom?" or "How are YOU doing with only working part-time?" or "How are YOU doing with all the attention being given to E?" or "How are YOU doing with T being at work all the time?" or what. But I want it known that I appreciate that all these people are sincere and genuinely care about my answer to their question.
I'm not really ever sure how to answer it. I don't particularly care to LIE, but it's better and simpler to just smile and say that I'm great. But it's complicated. I am great... but I'm also stressed, lonely, elated, joyful, depressed, eager, questioning, unsure, unmotivated, thrilled and driven to do my best by Ev. Every day.
Do I want to have that conversation with every single person who asks how I'm doing? Of course not. After all, life isn't particularly simply for anybody, right?
I strive to live in today, live in this hour, live in this fortieth minute that my precocious daughter is asleep in a row. Tomorrow I'll try and do the same thing, and the day after that.
And you know what? That's more than good enough.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Being "Normal"
I know fighting with people on the internet is futile, but I found myself doing it recently. They were saying that they had worked with some gays before and they were just normal people and that gay people should stop making drama and prove they could be normal, hard-working people.
Of all the things someone could say to provoke me, I'm not sure why this tipped me over the edge, but it did. Maybe it was the implication that sexuality has something to do with work ethic. Or maybe its because telling a marginalized population to "just be normal" is part of the problem. If no one stands up and says how things are wrong, nothing will ever change. Let's not revert back to homosexuality being something we just don't talk about.
Today I am sitting by my wife while our daughter takes a nap on her lap. Yes, for all intents and purposes, we are normal. I see it in my daughter's eyes when she looks at us and everything is right in her world. We are a family, regardless of the path that led us here.
I feel endlessly lucky that we haven't faced any outright discrimination, just the everyday heterosexism that exists. Most days is just background noise to an otherwise beautiful song. Most days E's laughter is enough to drown it out. However, every once and a while it can't be tuned out and I can't help but say something. Sometimes it is the bazillionth "that's so gay" comment and other times its something more intentional. Some days it is having to cross "Father" off of forms, again, and others its the biannual medical power of attorney we have to have in case anything happens to E while she is with her mama. Once a year it is filing taxes. Until my family is recognized, we can't be normal, and I feel like a poor example for my daughter if I never speak up and tell people their words sting. To them, I'm sure I seem like another angry lesbian, but they were just unlucky enough to be the final straw.
In other news, every year February and March are crazy at my job, this year is no different. Most unfortunately, Valentine's Day is also in February. Over the past few years I have become rather jaded about the commercialization of holidays and Valentine's has taken the brunt of my cynicism, much to A's dismay. This year A told me the origin of the holiday which partially honors a saint who performed marriages for people who weren't allowed to be wed. I can appreciate and celebrate that, especially since my own marriage is not recognized by many. So Happy Belated Valentine's Day everyone! Here are some cupid pictures!
Of all the things someone could say to provoke me, I'm not sure why this tipped me over the edge, but it did. Maybe it was the implication that sexuality has something to do with work ethic. Or maybe its because telling a marginalized population to "just be normal" is part of the problem. If no one stands up and says how things are wrong, nothing will ever change. Let's not revert back to homosexuality being something we just don't talk about.
Today I am sitting by my wife while our daughter takes a nap on her lap. Yes, for all intents and purposes, we are normal. I see it in my daughter's eyes when she looks at us and everything is right in her world. We are a family, regardless of the path that led us here.
I feel endlessly lucky that we haven't faced any outright discrimination, just the everyday heterosexism that exists. Most days is just background noise to an otherwise beautiful song. Most days E's laughter is enough to drown it out. However, every once and a while it can't be tuned out and I can't help but say something. Sometimes it is the bazillionth "that's so gay" comment and other times its something more intentional. Some days it is having to cross "Father" off of forms, again, and others its the biannual medical power of attorney we have to have in case anything happens to E while she is with her mama. Once a year it is filing taxes. Until my family is recognized, we can't be normal, and I feel like a poor example for my daughter if I never speak up and tell people their words sting. To them, I'm sure I seem like another angry lesbian, but they were just unlucky enough to be the final straw.
In other news, every year February and March are crazy at my job, this year is no different. Most unfortunately, Valentine's Day is also in February. Over the past few years I have become rather jaded about the commercialization of holidays and Valentine's has taken the brunt of my cynicism, much to A's dismay. This year A told me the origin of the holiday which partially honors a saint who performed marriages for people who weren't allowed to be wed. I can appreciate and celebrate that, especially since my own marriage is not recognized by many. So Happy Belated Valentine's Day everyone! Here are some cupid pictures!
 |
| She's so cute, I can't stand it! |
 |
| Pensive Cupid |
 |
| Showing off her new trick! |
 |
| "No! I wanted chocolate!" |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)