Telling the Stories

I took my dog for a walk today. It's been a long week and I wanted some fresh air, some quiet time.

There were packs of suburban moms. They seem to run in packs out there.

I usually go out later in the day but today I was there by 8:30am. I don't think I'll do that again. Wave after wave of moms in their jogging suits, some with coffee in hand, walking their pure bred dogs.

I felt out of place. Me, in my jeans and John Deere hat, with my mutt.

Pure bred mutt. All mutt.

It's not new, mind you. I always feel out of place in packs of suburban moms. At the elementary school, I have been around long enough to meet most of the parents and I have a comfort level there.

Today, though, I was trudging along thinking about teasing, taunting and bullying. What I could do to make a difference. How do I keep talking to my kids about it without them feeling like I'm obsessed.

I am obsessed.

I realize, after a conversation last night, that my kids face not only teasing about themselves, but about having a mom that "looks like a dad." Why, they are asked, does your mom look like a man?

Hey, Jake, your dad is here.

It happens a lot. I don't tend to notice it much anymore because I always get called sir.

Do any of these moms, briskly walking by, have to deal with this?

All kids get teased at some point. There is no question about that. Why does it feel like it has escalated? Is it that cell phones and facebook pages are now being used to taunt? Is it that they are inundated with media images that promote comparison and competition?

How can we make it better?

What happened to a country proud of it's individualism? Or is that just one more lie perpetrated by the media.

I turned up a hill to a more remote part of the woods. As always in my life, the woods bring me a sense of calm. Safety.

Sirdeaner Walker is going to speak tomorrow at Springfield College, at the breaking of silence there. I am in awe of this woman's strength and in the quiet, I knew the answer.

We have to keep telling the stories. Over and over again. That's all I know how to do, and I realize that is the most powerful thing to do.

Faith Community and LGBT Community Come Together

I went to a funeral today. Of a little boy. 11 years old. He lay in the coffin, in a grown up suit, dead.

So little.

He killed himself last week because he was taunted, over and over, for being gay. Who knows if he was, or wasn't- not really the point. He was a sweet kid, they said, who loved to sing and dance. Very bright.

The school did not respond to his mother's repeated attempts to have the bullying addressed, to have it stopped. Instead, they sentenced the kid to have lunch with his abuser, for five straight days.

He told his mother he was suspended. It seems he was desperate to get out of those lunches. When they proceeded, anyway, he hung himself. It was too much.

I went today with a friend. The woman sitting next to her told her it wasn't the first time. There had been two other students at the same school, who suffered the same taunting. One girl, one boy. The girl tried to kill herself, her mother found her OD'ed on pills and got her to the hospital in time. The boy left the school, to pursue music.

This is baked in, deeply rooted homophobia. And just like baked in, deeply rooted racism affects us all, so does the homophobia. Sitting in that church today, I knew one thing for certain- This community of African-American Pentecostal church members and the gay community have a great deal in common.

A dead little boy.

If there is ever a time to make that bridge, it's now. No where in the national media is this story. No where. Is it because he was poor and black? Maybe. Is it because he was called gay and we're just not going to deal with that? Maybe.

I don't really care. I want to make that bridge. Because together, I think we can change things.

One of my sons is eleven. He came home from school and saw the picture on the service program.

I think I know him, he said. He looks... so familiar.

He doesn't, and didn't but ... we all do.

Please make this story get out in the media. We should be outraged it has not made the evening news, the NY Times, the talk show circuit. An eleven year old boy killed himself because he was bullied. Maybe the queer community is the only one who really understands.

Let's stand behind this family and make a roar so loud no one can ignore it.

Please.

Why?

This is not an easy day.

Going to this funeral, and I realize I was a suicidal 11-year-old. The pain was too much, most of the time.

Zachary, my middle son, my 11-year-old, wanted to go. He said he thought he should be there.

Why?

I don't know. I just should.

After a day of thinking about it, he decided not to go. I'm glad. I think it's too much for him to hold. He holds so much.

I told him he could write a note to the mother. He agreed.

This story never hit the major news wires- why? Is it too gay? He didn't identify as gay. He was just a kid.

Why? Why doesn't anyone care? Why is there not outrage in every state, in every home?

Why didn't the school take this more seriously? Why did the mother's calls go unanswered? Why was it allowed to go on so long that an electrical cord wrapped around his neck was the only answer to the constant taunts?

This is going to be very hard today. Partly because it touches a part of me filled with pain.

And partly because it makes me angry.

Why?

11 Year Old Kills Himself After Gay Taunts Left Unaddressed

An eleven-year-old boy hung himself in Springfield, MA yesterday. He had been repeatedly taunted as "gay" even though he did not identify as such. His mother went to the school over and over again, trying to get something done.

Nothing happened.

So for all those right wing nuts who insist we are teaching all sorts of positive gay messages in our school, fuck you. You caused this kids death. You and your bullshit rhetoric.

I wish we were teaching more positive images of LGBT people because then "faggot" and "queer" wouldn't hurt so much. I wish that boy had an advocate in the school who listened to his mother. Who did something.

I'm angry. How can this happen today? Why did that mother have to lose her son? Why was that boy not taken care of by the school officials?

It reminds me of when my son Zachary wanted to do the day of silence in his class. He wanted me to go in and explain. I was told no, it's too scary to talk about Lawrence King. It's too... much. A permission slip would have to go out to the parents. We can't talk that way without permission.

Which of course meant it was sexual in nature, even though it was not. This crime is not gay only. This crime- and it was a crime the way the issue was handled- was about bullying. Teasing. Mean, hateful words.

I'm beyond angry. This is something that could have been prevented. I have an eleven year old son. He wanted to recognize the day of silence. He understood how words can hurt.

He's not gay.

And when we all wonder if marriage equality is the end all and be all of the movement? Think again. In the first state in the nation to accept equal marriage rights, kids are still taunted. Humiliated.

"Two of the top three reasons students said their peers were most often bullied at school were actual or perceived sexual orientation and gender expression, according to From Teasing to Torment: School Climate in America, a 2005 report by GLSEN and Harris Interactive. The top reason was physical appearance."

Carl would have turned 12 on April 17th, the national day of silence in schools. The irony turns in my gut. I must do more. How can I as an advocate, as an activist look his mother in the eye and say I'm sorry? We're trying to push for welcoming, safe schools but haven't made it there yet?

We still need permission slips to talk about how it's not okay to call someone a dyke. lezzy. How the words cut like knives, and the targets aren't just LGBT kids, but all kids.

An eleven-year-old boy is dead today because no one in the school did a thing to help him. They should be ashamed- and they should go to jail for it.

And on Monday, I am going to the funeral. I will promise the mother that until the day I die, I am going to fight for comprehensive anti-bullying policies in schools. Because I'm a lesbian, because I've been on the other side of the taunts but mostly because I am a mother.

We must end the violence.

"GLSEN, the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network, recommends four approaches that schools can begin implementing now to address anti-LGBT bullying and harassment.

# Adopt a comprehensive anti-bullying policy that enumerates categories such as race, gender, ethnicity, religion, sexual orientation and gender expression/identity. Enumeration is crucial to ensure that anti-bullying policies are effective for LGBT students. Policies without enumeration are no more effective than having no policy at all when it comes to anti-LGBT bullying and harassment, according to GLSEN’s 2005 National School Climate Survey.

# Require staff trainings to enable school staff to identify and address anti-LGBT name-calling, bullying and harassment effectively and in a timely manner.

# Support student efforts to address anti-LGBT bullying and harassment on campus, such as the formation of a Gay-Straight Alliance or participation in the National Day of Silence on April 25.

# Institute age-appropriate, inclusive curricula to help students understand and respect difference within the school community and society as a whole."

It's not that hard. It's not about sex. It's about dignity. And clearly, about saving kids lives.

Streamers, Votes and a Great Wife

I have the best wife in the whole wide world.

At least today she is.

Without my request, without my begging, she took today off. We have two teacher parent conferences, plus it's Jake's birthday. Oh, and it's Tuesday, my most dreaded day of the week.

On Tuesdays, Zachary and Jake get out of school at 12:30pm. Don't ask me why, it's just the way it is. It tends to be a day of playdates, running around, friends, lunches, and often appointments. Ben and Zachary always have their music lessons on Tuesdays. One of my friends said she can tell it's music lesson time because I start sending endless emails via my iPhone.

It is always the longest day of the week for me.

People often think with four parents, it must be easier. It's not. It can be a scheduling nightmare. No one is ever happy. Always something forgotten, always another thing to plan. As the stay at home parent, I am usually the one left with the running around and the object of ire when things don't work out.

Not today. My wonderful wife is helping and I didn't even have to ask.

I've been doing this "job" (I use quotes because god knows I don't get paid for it) for 14 years. Like any job, it has it's ups and downs. There are things I love doing and things I don't. I am on call 24//7.

A friend wrote to me yesterday and said even something as simple as wanting to go to a lecture at night, or a movie, or anything, results in a major effort. And if someone is sick? Or it's raining so practice is canceled, forget it. You're on.

Whatever you've had planned, it's thrown out the window.

When the kids were little, it was easier. Okay, it wasn't easier it was different. I had more control over what was going on, when it went on, and could plan the week without a huge amount of effort. Not anymore. They have their own ideas about what they are going to do- and I believe that is how it should be.

As I write this, a historic debate is happening in Vermont. Ninety nine votes are needed in the House to override the veto- the Senate is all set. Me? I have to go decorate the house with streamers and balloons, wrap presents and go buy the ingredients for a much loved, birthday boy requested taco dinner. Jeanine is at the dentist with Ben, and I'll be able to make a conference call today that is very important.

I think she knew I was running thin. She's a good woman and I know this was a treat.

I love being the mom of three boys. No question. Lately, though, the lack of flexibility in my own life has left me on empty. No time to write, to really sit down and write, no time to have a thought that is not interrupted. My office is a mess of urgent things to do, like those pesky bills to pay, taxes, forms to fill out. Not to mention the laundry, the every day picking up of the house, kitty litter to be changed.

I hope we get the votes in Vermont. I hope they realize this is not the changing of the world, but the acceptance of the change that has already happened. If I'm a threat to society as we know it, it's only because I haven't done my boys laundry in the last few days.

Let me tell you, that smell is enough to kill anyone.

Now, onto the streamers....

More Food for Thought

Food for thought on this beautiful Sunday morning:

One teenage boy can consume copious amounts of food. Soon, I'll have three teenage boys. The question really is, where do we put another refrigerator?

Madoff goes to jail, finally. Will he actually spend serious time in jail, or get the fluff treatment most white collar criminals get? And, do you get to wear Armani in jail?

Why is March such a tease?

How is it that executives who have brought a company to the brink of total collapse, as in AIG's case, get 100 million in bonuses? And more importantly, how do I get a job there?

How do you get an eleven year old to use soap?

How do you convince an eight year old an entire roll of toilet paper is not necessary after one bowel movement?

When will someone go to jail for approving torture? Read today's "Tales from Torture's Dark World" in the NYTimes. How did we let this go on? Will we ever own up to the horrors of the Bush administration? Will anyone ever go on trial?

The sun is out, the dog is eyeing me for a walk. I'm going to go think about these things, hold the silly and the serious, trying to stay balanced in my understanding of the world.

The Coleman Cooler

Jeanine reminded me of the funniest story this morning... if you work at Berklee, you cannot read this.

I was taking her to work and we passed the Fenway building. Fenway Community Health is a fabulous organization that serves the LGBT community. When we first decided to get pregnant, we went there for an informational meeting. We learned all about temperature taking, speculum using, and timing for pregnancy.

According to my mother, it's was easy as sitting on a toilet seat. Not so.

We went there to pour through catalogues of sperm donors. It was hard to imagine we could pick the traits we wanted, but we did. After many months of charting, we were ready. We ordered through the Fenway and went to pick up our sperm.

Very expensive sperm, mind you. For two hundred dollars a vial, we were ready to go. They suggested using two, so we bought our two and waited for the right time. When we thought we had a green light, we were to go to the Fenway and pick it up.

Now, sperm comes frozen, at least the kind that's been 'washed' and tested and is available to purchase. We had to bring a cooler to add some dry ice to, that they would supply, and take our lovely little specimen home to make a baby.

All good, right? Well, no one told us how big of a cooler to bring. And I'm thinking, for four hundred bucks, it's gotta be a whole helluva lot of sperm. Buckets full. So I grabbed our big ol' coleman picnic cooler.

Big cooler.

We walk into the Fenway, with our enormous cooler and the staff starts to crack up. Yes, they are professionals but the sight of these two lesbians, with terror in our eyes about what we are about to embark on, with a cooler ten times the size needed must have been quite a sight.

They composed themselves and showed us to where the dry ice was- of course there wasn't enough there to fill even a quarter of our cooler. We took some and then got the two vials of sperm.

They were about an inch long and an eighth of an inch wide. Half full, I might add.

Now we knew why they were laughing.

We took our two little baby hopes home and the next day Jeanine purchased a much smaller cooler for the next trip. As we became pro's at this, we had the tank itself delivered straight to the house- which is another long story about the FedEx guy and dropping off the goods, which will be for another day.

Today, as I was driving Jeanine in, she said she'd been thinking about it because Berklee is buying the building, our sperm building, and putting offices, classrooms in it.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to keep a straight face, she said.

Of course, we still have the enormous cooler. It's gone to Maine and back for years.

Ready to carry anything.

It's Time

It's time to make some serious changes in my life. I've been torn for the last few weeks, knowing what I need to do, unable to actually do it.

I came across something I wrote last year in Maine:


All I can hear is the rain lightly dropping on the leaves and the gulls on the water caw caw cawing at each other over some issue important to gulls.

I don’t understand their argument so it’s simply a sweet sound bouncing across the water, telling me I’m in Maine. Downeast Maine.

I love my family. I love my kids beyond anything in this world. And I love Walter and Allan, the kids’ dads, and the world we have created. Not easy, never simple but always beautiful.

I love my wife. I can’t believe, after all the trouble we’ve had in the last few years, I can say that now. I love her. Deeply. It’s not about how beautiful her eyes are- although she is still stunningly beautiful to me and was even when I didn’t like her very much- it’s about the connection we have.

The last few years, we did a total remodel of our relationship. Gutted the house, ripped out the foundation, and started over. Some have accused me of being restless, always restless, never happy with what I have. That may be true. I am easily bored and often move on.

I’m a control freak. I spent so much of my life not trusting anyone; I pack everything on my back and assume the captain’s chair.

Just like my mother, some might say. Not exactly like her, but similar. I don’t think my mother ever consciously thought, well, now, I am in control of this situation and I’m going to work it for all it’s worth. She simply wasn’t that aware of her surroundings and her emotional state.

You do what you have to do, she said all the time. As if life was a miserable trek to the dump to spend a day shoveling other people’s crap. And you were expected to smile about it, and say thank you.

I’m not very good at that. I’m not sure I ever want to be good at that.


And yet it is what I've continued to do. Why am I so clear when I'm next to the water, listening to the gulls? What gets lost when I come home, and sit at my desk?

I go pick up the shovel again.

Why does the rain feel like a treat there, an opportunity to build a fire, drink hot coffee and listen to all the thoughts running through my head?

Instead I'm pulled in so many directions, I can't see the forest for the trees. I don't make enough effort with friends who love me, spending time on connections that are hopeless.

Why? Why do I need love from people who do not love me? Is it because being pushed away is more familiar? Safer?

There are many people who only want my time. Why can't I make it all work?

The answer, I believe, lies in making the changes I know I need to make. Ending commitments that only drain me. Letting go of relationships that cannot and will not work.

I need to drop the shovel. It's my mother's shovel and she hated it, too. I cannot expect my kids to move through life without it if I continue to do it.

It's not going to be easy. But it's time.

Soup, Salad and Bread

I feel like I've been running through the poppy fields with Dorothy and Toto. I'm so tired.

It's the snow, again, and it's making me crazy. I've abandoned my office to sit next to the fire. I wish I could blink my eyes, have a fabulous soup on the stove for dinner, with a winter salad of walnuts, cranberries, mixed greens and a nice balsamic vinaigrette. Loaf of freshly baked sourdough bread and a nice, thick Irish butter.

That would require going outside in the cold and snow. Blah.

Lately, I've been panicked about money, panicked about the economy, panicked about whether or not my son will manage to bring his grades up enough to get a new cell phone or if we'll have to have yet another battle.

Watching the snow fall, again, I realize that my community is broke and more snow means more broke. I'm glad the plow guys and gals made their money this year but in a year of empty local coffers, it's hard to take. More programs will be cut from the school. More teachers let go. It's hitting hard in my affluent suburb- the effects on urban and rural schools will be devastating.

Jobless numbers have soared to record highs and a friend in the investment field told me today to look at the chart- the Dow's next resting level will be 4,000. That's a long way down still to go. My dream of soup and salad seem frivolous. "Nearly one in seven homeowners is underwater, owing more on their mortgages than their homes are worth."

And my son wants a new iPhone even if he gets C's and D's.

I read an article this weekend that discussed how kids of this generation will grow up, how the economic turmoil will effect them. I'm looking at my own and so far, they seem to not notice a great deal of the changes. I'm careful to talk about the economy in serious but not scary terms.

An eight year old does not need to worry yet about the debt being piled onto his head by his government.

I point out empty stores, places that have closed recently. They nod their heads but I'm not sure any of it gets in. I am reminded that my mother grew up in the Great Depression and often told stories about the poverty, the difficulties. Later in life, she admitted that her father, a candy salesman, actually did very well. Her family never went hungry. She was, however, at a friend's house once where they served squirrel stew. She took one bite and threw up all over the table.

Still, the stories and the reality seared into her being. The article spoke of children of that era wanting simple jobs, with life long guarantees. Gold watches and 40 years service at the same company. She never understood when I would leave a job to take another.

I'm a contractor, I'd explain. I'm not suppose to stay in one place long.

Seriously, I never thought I would work for a single company nor do I want my children to do that- I want them to experience several different careers. I want them to explore.

Will that be what they want? Will this economy turn around in time for them to remember little of the shuttered businesses and people losing their homes? Or will we sink lower, to the point where even if they get through unscathed, as their grandmother did, the stories will carve out their reality?

Nothing a little soup, salad and bread wouldn't help. It's about comfort, controlling what I can, finding a peace in simple things. A fire. The daily newspaper delivered- at least for now.

And trying to not move too far forward because the unknown ends up like the poppy field- overwhelming and exhausting.

Even with a thin veil of snow.

Brothers Home

Ben missed his brothers terribly. He went out in the car and minus one big explosion upon walking in the door, there was a lot of love going on.

Brothers home. All is good. They all go outside- Ben says, let's not waste the sunlight...

Ben comes back in.

Can I have a ladder?

Huh?

Do we have a ladder- bigger than the step ladder in the kitchen.

Why?

Do we?

Why?

Where is it?

Tell me why...

Well... we thought we would all climb on the garage roof.

Why?

I dunno. Just because. Where is it?

Needless to say, no ladder was sprung. All boys disappointed they did not get to... um... walk on the garage roof.

There you have it. Brothers home.

Turned Corners

Zachary and Jake come home from camp today. I can't wait to see them and hear all about their adventures.

Ben admitted yesterday that being an only child was lonely. He missed his brothers. He actually missed them so much he went with Jeanine to pick them up.

Go figure.

I think we turned some corners this week. It's not perfect and we'll still have a ruckus tonight at some point. I understand a lot more about what Ben needs right now.

A lot of love, freedom and firm boundaries.

A friend called today and, in regard to another issue, likened the experience to being on an airplane. There are those who have bought a ticket and are sitting and there are those driving the plane.

Everyone needs to land safely.

Ben is in his seat but ready to drive the plane. In time, he will. It's hard to stay seated until the plane comes to a complete stop. And until you land on a river and survive, it's hard to appreciate what goes on in the cockpit.

We'll all get there.

Nature of the Beast

More shopping is the plan for the day. I'm doing my best to help the economy. Well, Ben is doing his best to help the economy.

The week has been sweet so far. I don't want to leave. Ben is in a great mood, we're having fun, no sassy back talk and he even just took out the vacuum without any complaints.

The only drawback is every day he takes a shower, I have to wait an hour before I can. Not a drop of hot water left after that boy.

It occurred to me, as I was walking along the beach today, that as I feel my own body relax, the pulse of going going going slow down, the effects are seen in Ben. He draws on my energy far more than the other two.

The catch is how to keep it when we get home.

I know exactly what will happen the minute his brothers return from winter camp. There will be immediate competition for who had the best time, who did the best things. It never comes from Zachary and Jake. I'm not sure there is anything I can do to avert the clash.

Maybe a few more long talks over lunch will help. Maybe it's simply the nature of the beast. If life were always vacation, then I would never get anything done.

I certainly can't keep shopping.

For now, I'm going to savor every moment. Fill the memory banks with the way I know Ben can be. When the pressure of life pushes both of our buttons, I'll remember how he snarfed down all my coleslaw at the restaurant, walking on the beach with the dog together, and cuddling on the couch watching TV.

And breathe before I open my mouth.

Perfect Parents

I'm at the Creating Change conference in Denver. A massive gathering of LGBT folks put on by the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, it is something to behold. An entire hotel filled with every beautiful aspect of our community.

I've never been to one before and I must say, I'm a little overwhelmed.

I went to a session today on "Invisible Families," which talked about LGBT parenting and how we are identified in the community- or not. It was a six hour session and I'll be honest- I didn't stay for it all. But in one small group session, we talked about the changing nature of how we are seen in the community today.

One woman talked about her fears as a soon to be mom. The challenges that face her, her partner and their baby to be felt incredibly scary to her.

It is, I thought, but I didn't want to freak her out.

The irony is, most of what she needs to be afraid of isn't about being a lesbian and being a parent. No question there are hurdles and discrimination but when that sweet baby comes into the world, the obsession about when the last diaper was changed, how often they are nursing and please god, will there ever be sleep again takes over the angst about being different.

Until they are school age- then it comes back and rightfully so.

One point made, that hit home for me, was the concern that we are so afraid of being judged harshly simply because of who we are, we try to be perfect.

And there is no such thing as a perfect parent.

The pressure, though, is there. Some of it is self imposed but some of it comes from the community at large asking questions- do you have appropriate role models for your child? If you are two women, you must have a man in your life to help teach children manly things. If you are two men, well, how can any child possibly live without a mother?

Questions not often asked of heterosexual couples. Or single heterosexual parents, although I do think single dads deal with similar issues. I wonder if people who ask "do you know the father?" realize how incredibly insulting that is. Do they? Are they sure?

There is also an overriding fear of being too sexual. One woman quoted a couple in Canada who had a newborn, who swore they were in bed by 10:15pm every night and went straight to sleep.

As if that makes them OK to parent? I say get them a babysitter and remind them that without a healthy sex life, chances are they won't make it through the next 18 years.

And yet a Florida pastor urged his heterosexual congregation to have sex every day for a month. He believed sex was important to relationships. And that while "Jesus disapproved of pre-marital sex and promoted sex in marriage."

But since we're seen through the lens of sexuality, we have to go overboard to prove we are sexless. Only there to parent, nothing else. Because... well, I'm not really sure why.

Except that we all feel the pressure to fit in, to be okay in the communities eyes, and our community, when we become parents, changes drastically. We are thrust into school situations where we are the only ones. We want our kids to be accepted.

We want to be accepted. It's human nature.

So we tuck away parts of ourselves, and our struggles to look the right way.

I wanted to tell that young woman it would all work out. Get a strong group of other gay parents to have time with- some of it is for the kids but mostly? For you. So you have a place to say, I'm struggling. I'm scared. Where you don't have to be the role model for every gay person who ever had a child.

For goodness sakes, don't ever stop having sex. We didn't go through all this bullshit, discrimination and angst to give up an essential part of being human.

There are no perfect parents. Parents are, as a whole, are messy, make mistakes, wish back things we've done. It's the most terrifying and exhilarating experience you will ever have. You will feel joy and love in a way you never knew imaginable- unconditional and on a cellular level.

Try, please try, to let the world's judgment stop at your doorstep.

There are no perfect parents.

A Few Questions For Monday Morning

I have a few questions... simple questions but ones that perplex me.

I am proud of the kind of food critics my children have become. Over the years, Jeanine and I have encouraged them to think about the food they are eating. It has it's drawbacks, though. Do other people's children ask for a specific style of sandwich cut? Zachary insists on triangles. Jake likes rectangles. Who can keep this straight at 7:30AM?

Does anyone else get up in the morning and look with joy for the newspaper on the front step? For eight years, I dreaded what would be on the headlines. Now, I find myself eager to see the news. Very strange.

I noticed yesterday that Ben's mustache is coming in. I also noticed mine is, too. As he edges into manhood, I'm edging into menopause. I'm wondering... will we start shaving at the same time?

The Republicans don't like the stimulus plan being presented by the Obama administration. Why is anyone surprised? A bunch of pork crazed maniacs when in power, suddenly the GOP is claiming purity. Please. Like a two year old caught with donut sugar on his face saying someone else ate the last one, do they really think anyone believes them?

You know you've been married a long time, perhaps too long, when you can anticipate being blamed senselessly for years to come. Jeanine insists I moved a cable of hers- you have no idea who many cables there are in this house due to her studio- and I know that for the next thirty years I will be blamed for it's disappearance. Does she think I went out back, dug a hole and buried it? And to what end?

With Gitmo soon to be shut down, does anyone else wonder if war crime indictments might be forthcoming? We as a country are quick to put to trial other leaders- will we have the courage to put our own leaders on the witness stand?

What do you think?

Another Lesson Learned

Today was a very productive day. I cleaned up all the construction mess, finished off painting around the new windows, washed every sheet, blanket and bedding item. I mopped floors and made beds and shoveled the walk.

I also hung curtains. Okay, they are Roman shades, not curtains with lace and frill but they had all come down to have the windows replaced. I went to hang them up.

Now, I am not someone who uses power tools. In fact, unless you count a swiffer mop, I really have never used a power tool. Sure, I've had to screw things together and I always do it by hand.

But there was Jeanine's drill. And the shades. What's the worst thing I could do?

It took me a while to realize I had to drill a small guide hole first. Once I did, they shades went up, boom boom boom. Easy. I was quite proud of myself.

In fact, I was feeling quite butch. Ha! I can do this stuff, too.

Until I looked closely. I had hung them all up backwards.

All of them.

Lesson learned- stay away from the power tools. I must accept the things I can fix, and bug my wife to do the rest.

Besides, the windows are so beautiful, I don't think they needs any shades.

We Will Transcend

I have to be honest. I ran off to Maine today, to our house in Ogunquit. I had yelled at Zachary yesterday. He was nervous about a visit to a school he is applying to, and I had no patience for it.

He didn't deserve it. Not at all. I should have been calm, reassuring, and talked to him about trying new things. How bravery is doing something you are scared of- not at all about not being scared.

I didn't. I yelled.

When Jeanine got home from work, I asked her if I could go away for a couple days. I needed some time, some quiet, and a place to regroup. The holiday break, on top of the week she was gone, had stretched me farther than I could stretch. I found a new way with Ben that is working so well and requires me to dig deep into a place of calm I don't naturally go to.

It's been worth it. And it is hard.

I am incredibly fortunate to have a loving wife who understands. A second home I can leave to, that is full of comfort and peace. I know my blessings are many.

I also have good friends. One sent me this link this morning.



I have wonderful men in my life, who I adore. I would add them to the "ladies" mentioned. Respectfully.

Parenting well, more than having a political voice, more than anything in my life, is the most important thing. When I die, I will not wonder if I wrote too much about HRC, or too little, I won't remember Obama's lack of LGBT appointments to the cabinet. I won't worry about ticket sales to an event I hosted.

I will only think of my wife, my children, and my friends.

Thank you, Libby. You touched my heart with this.

I know. We will transcend.

Here Comes the Sun...

The sun is in the perfect spot on the horizon and the light is pouring into my office. Sure beats a SAD light box, not quite as good as Hawaii. It almost seems to radiate enough heat to go sit outside in but I know better.

Our president-elect has been making the rounds in the last couple weeks. Most recently, splashing the airways with his Surgeon General nominee. While the media seems thrilled with opining over the choice, I can help but wonder about the real tasks of the administration ahead.

We love a sunny outlook in this country. Perhaps because we were weaned on Bambi losing mom, but when anyone even begins to tell a happy tale, we are quick to believe.

I love the sun. I don’t particularly like reading about the bombing in Gaza, children found huddled with their dead mothers. Or the reality that one out of every seven homeowners will be foreclosed on this coming year. Or how billions upon billions of dollars are needed to move our public school systems forward in order to remain competitive with the rest of the world.

I know I have to. I am in the sun. So many are not.

I hope Obama stays clear of the media drama. That he stay focused on the war, the economy and education and not the pictures of his “abs” from the beach or his choice of an appointment to a relatively minor post.

The LGBT community has been disrespected- see Rick Warren’s part in the inauguration events next to our, um, marching band- and passed over in this administration already. I’m not surprised. He said “gay” a lot in his campaign speeches which was great but the actual embrace, a real seat at the table, is still a far away dream.

To be honest, if he gets the war, Gaza and the economy right? I’m happy to let him slide until he builds the credibility to go ahead and make a few things happen- like the end of DOMA, DADT and a fully inclusive ENDA. If you’ve fixed those things, some civil rights should be a piece of cake.

Let’s not forget, rights are free to give. They don’t increase the budget. Leaves the country with good feeling, no raised tax ceiling.

This is Obama’s moment in the sun. He may never again reach such high levels of popularity. Please, for the country’s sake, may he not be blinded by it. I don’t mind a somewhat goofy choice for Surgeon General and as long as the General in Regional Command is dedicated to leaving Iraq.

I hope he uses the power of words carefully, especially when talking about the economy. A single Hank Paulson speech can tank the markets for weeks. What we need is economic stability, not the current panic driven roller coaster.

Mostly? Let’s all stay focused on the real issues of the day and not be suckered by some of the ratings-driven, sexed up nonsense the mainstream media throws at us.



Because just like now, as the sun is slipping down behind the house next door, the sun will go away. I hope we have the real change we need when it does.

It Doesn't Make Sense

My son came home from school yesterday after having watched a movie about the Civil Rights movement in the 1960's.

It was horrible, he said.

As he described the church bombing, the hoses and the police dogs, he asked me, why?

People who were in power wanted to stay in power. They wanted to beat them down but they fought back.

Jake was listening to this conversation. After about an hour, he came up and asked me, Why did they kill the girls that were changing their clothes?

I said, They bombed the church. They didn't care who was inside.

He kept asking questions, throughout the rest of the day. Finally, I said to him, You're trying to make sense of this. It doesn't make any sense.

Eleven gay bars in Seattle had ricin threats sent to them in the mail on Tuesday. Last night, hackers brought down a bunch of LGBT blogs.

"Pam's House Blend, RadicalRuss.net, American Liberalism, BeThink.org are some of the sites affected. I haven't gone down the whole Soapblox blogroll yet, so far it seems the state blogs were not affected; I assume the hack is restricted to only one server."

As I listened to my sons try and digest the horror of the Civil Rights movement, I wanted to say something about what is going on today in the LGBT movement. How transpeople all over the south are being killed with no real police effort to do anything about it. How Sean Kennedy's murderer is being set free after little time in jail.

How could I? How could I explain that people do hateful things to people who are different and that I, their mother, am one of the targets? Just because the one I am in love with, the one I want to spend the rest of my life with, share the responsibilities of adulthood with, share my bed with, is a woman instead of a man.

It doesn't make any sense.

Neither Great Nor Horrible

It's been a long day and I'm tired. We made it to Florida but not without major fireworks along the way.

Just normal teenager stuff, I guess.

It was hard to have my sister in law come up and nail Ben's outrageous sense of privilege. I mean, she had only spent a couple hours with him. But she's right. It does ooze out of his pores.

Because so much of the family is down here right now, we're actually staying at a hotel. It's a little odd to be here on the beach instead of our usual space. I'm sitting on a balcony, though, and listening to the waves crash.

It's a nice change of pace.

I had a terrible moment with Ben this morning. It made me feel like I was no better than my mother in the parenting world. Maybe worse because so many people think so highly of my thoughtfulness.

I was not thoughtful.

The irony? My mother would have cut me slack, soothed me, and said I did the best I could. She was generally very kind about my parenting.

It's not about me, though. an easy place to slink to for comfort- I'm a bad person- instead of realizing it's a hard moment in Ben's life. He's struggling, anxious and afraid.

And he's still a boy in so many ways.

Except when he uses the "f" word with me.

He's a good boy. I'm a good parent. Neither of us are great. Neither horrible. Just average and trying our best to figure out the world.

Tomorrow, we will hit the beach. The Floridians we are visiting rarely like the beach in "winter" but luckily there are many other folks here, all from cold climates and dying for the sea breeze and sunshine.

It'll be okay.

I hope.

Radical Change in Ordinary Moments

All I can say is that is one helluva lot of work for a single day of celebration.

It's quiet in the house now. The boys went with Walter and Allan to sleep over last night. This morning? Haircuts. We are off to Florida to celebrate Jeanine's Mom's 70th birthday and there will be a family photo taken. I'm not going to have them look like orphaned children pulled off the streets.

The cats are snorting their catnip toys. I fear for the tree but it's going to be taken down today, along with all the dishes piled up being cleaned, the decorations all put away.

I think that's my favorite part of Christmas- getting back to normal again.

Jeanine is still sleeping and there is much laundry to be done before I can pack for the trip.

Last night, we all played the game the boys gave Jeanine for Christmas- Rock Band 2. Allan scored a perfect 100% singing "Spirit in the Sky." We had a fabulous dinner of homemade wontons, finishing just in time to see the Celtics choke and lose.

As much as I love being a grinch and complain, I have to say, Christmas was very nice this year. Jeanine and I talked about how we only have a few more years with the kids being so excited they have to be up at 6AM. We'll have to give the cats their little 'nip stash the night before so they tear across us in the morning.

This holiday has been filled with old and new friends. I've mended a relationship with a friend that was very important to me. We went bowling with our Moms group that has become my extended family the weekend before Christmas which was playful and fun. As we all lounged on couches eating pizza after, I tried my best to soak in all the love.

It's a little overwhelming sometimes.



Ben was thrilled with his gift from his most inappropriate Aunt- Flava of Love, seasons one through too many.



Zachary ended up outfitted for... something.



And Jake... Jake is still little, in so many ways. He pretended to believe in Santa, although quietly he did tell me he knew better. I told him the magic of Santa never goes away.

There were a few tears- the new Star Wars lego set was hard to assemble even with Mom Jeanine's help- but nothing dramatic. I took my dog on a long walk in the woods and it was a glorious, sunny day.

As I get ready for the clean up, I can't help but wonder what it will take in this society to recognize my family. Do we have to be victims of brutal crimes to be sympathetic? Do we have to be dying or sick in hospitals before someone believes asking for our rights is a reasonable thing?

Why can't it be simply because it's the right thing to do? In so many ways, as I sit here this morning, I'm like every other suburban housewife. I don't understand.

Maybe it's because no one takes the time to see the ordinary. It doesn't make you cringe, nor laugh out loud. I hope to create radical change in those moments. I do not want to be a victim to be heard.

For now? I'll go fill the dishwasher. Start taking the lights down off the tree. Wake my wife up and get her to unclog the sink in the bathroom downstairs.

Christmas is over. I love my family.

And just like every other suburban housewife, I will do my best for them in this coming year.