Five

To Nathan and Julia, on the eve of your fifth birthday.

My sweet babies. Tomorrow you will be five years old. I’m seriously not sure how this is happening. I can still remember driving to the hospital the day of your birth. We were sure they were going to send us back home, since it was a full week and a half before the scheduled c-section. But I felt funny; different, and off we went.

That day, my whole world shifted. I had always known I wanted to be a mother. From the time your Uncle D was born when I was almost 7 years old I knew. But the day you finally took your first breaths in this world it was like I had just taken my first breath.

This past year has been amazing and challenging with you both, for many different reasons. You’re learning to assert your independence in new ways – negotiating and finding ways to play on your strengths (and sometimes my weaknesses) to get what you want. Luckily, most of the time we still outsmart you and can see through what you might be doing to your real intentions (like stalling bedtime to tell me you just want to say you love me – well played my loves, well played.)

The sheer level of sass emerging from you, “General Sassypants,” this year (you were promoted from Captain shortly after your 4th birthday) has really thrown me for a loop. Sometimes I have to stop myself from responding with a matching level of sass (or laughing) because you are so sassy beyond your years. But then, I’ll find myself under the weather or fighting a migraine and you turn into “Little Momma Julia,” bringing me sodas or kissing my forehead and brushing my hair off my face with such sensitivity and love it blows me away.

Recently, the talk of school starting and moving has thrown you outside of your comfort zone in a big way, and I’ve learned just how much like me you are. Even being away at your grandparents’ house for a few days was a lot for you, and you came home talking about how great it was to be back in our own house. I can tell already how hard going to school is going to be for you, and I can only hope you adjust quickly.

You might be a sassy smart little thing, but you are your mommy’s kindred spirit in so many ways. And you are in tune with me in ways I don’t even realize until you say something that knocks me sideways. You’re amazing, and adorable, and beautiful, and crazy and funny and loving. You make me laugh and you can make me cry and I love you bigger than the sky. I promise to do everything I can to nurture that bright amazing spirit you have.

The yin to Julia’s yang, my sweet boy Nathan. Your sweet nature continues to grow and grow and I long to find ways to continue to encourage your sensitive nature. You have amazed us this year with your capacity for reading and math, and you’d think that we drill you daily with as much as you can do. You’re reading at a 3rd grade level, doing subtraction in your head, and counting by 2s and 3s and 5s. I worry so much about you starting school, not because I don’t think you will do well, but because I want so badly for you to continue to be challenged. I pray your kindergarten teacher does more with you than make you the “Teacher’s helper.” Of course, reading at age 4 means your mommies can’t fool you anymore by telling you the restaurant doesn’t have root beer or mac and cheese. You’ll simply point and say, “yes they do, it says right here – ‘ROOT BEER’.”

Sometimes I wonder just where you came from, little man. You’re smart and funny and sweet and athletic and I think back to that little angry baby on the ventilator. Your mommies were so scared and so in love with you and all I wanted was for you to be home in my arms with your sister. I love the way you come running when I ask for a hug without even a pause. I love the way you will wrap your arms around me and pat my back and give me a kiss smack on the lips. The way your eyes light up when we walk into a restaurant that has sports playing on the tv makes me laugh, because I know sometime in the future you will have a wife or a husband who asks you, “PLEASE, just this once, can we watch The Bachelor Season 42 instead of Golf’s Greatest Putts?”

My beautiful babies, the differences between you can be summed up by your reactions to the same roller coaster ride experience: Julia, you bounded off the ride with a “that was awesome let’s go again!” while Nate cried out “that was TOTALLY NOT FUN!” But none of that matters when I creep up the stairs while you are playing together in the playroom and I hear one of you say “I love you” to the other. For 5 years you’ve been each other’s best friends, and I can only hope you will always be this close.

On the eve of your fifth birthday, I cry for the babies you are no longer, because you are closer now to thinking I don’t understand you than you are to thinking I hung the moon. But guess what? I’m always going to think you hung the moon and sun and no matter how old you are that will never change.

On the eve of your fifth birthday, I rejoice in the people you are becoming, and I hope for the wisdom to be able to nurture you in ways that encourage who you are and not who I or anyone else wants you to be. Because all I want you to be is your best, your most authentic you.

On the eve of your fifth birthday, I will climb the stairs and open your doors while you sleep, lean in and kiss your cheeks and look at you with the same awe and joy that I did five years ago. I will whisper “I love you” and I will pause for a second before I close your doors just to memorize the moment. Tomorrow you go from babies to big kids. And even though you already tell me you aren’t babies anymore, you’ll always be my babies. Five years ago I took what felt like my first breath when you took yours, and my life has never been the same. I love you, to the moon and stars and sun and back.

Happy Birthday.

Barbie and Wii and TV - Oh My!

Look out folks, it’s about to get offensive around these parts. Well, maybe.

No, I’m not going drop f-bombs or talk about my girl parts.

We’re going to talk about toys. No, not THOSE kinds of toys. Kids’ toys. Dollhouses, and cars, and books and such.

The reality is, this post is part of a larger set of posts done all around the interwebs (is that the “in” term these days?) about how much we judge each other as parents. It all starts before our children are even conceived. Assisted Reproduction vs. “natural” conception vs. adoption. Natural or medicated childbirth? Breast vs. bottle? On and on and on. And it doesn’t stop once the children grow out of infancy. We judge each other for EVERY. single. parenting decision we see other people make. See a kid acting up in a restaurant? We assume “someone” doesn’t know how to handle discipline. Hear a mom chastising her daughter for acting up? We wonder why mom doesn’t understand that Tar.get isn’t interesting for a 3 year old and why can’t she be more laid back and relaxed? Mom’s texting while her kid is on the slide? GASP, what a neglectful parent she is! Mom stays home with her kids and homeschools? Her kids will grow up antisocial and mom will never have her own life.

When does it end? And why won’t we just end it?

Kids’ toys are an easy target. SUPER easy target. Come on, look at Barbie. Her unwieldy proportions and her hooker heels and lack of anatomically correct parts – the box should come with a warning – “other mothers will JUDGE YOU for purchasing this for your child.” Wii and Xbox games should have one that says “your house will become the house that other children whose parents won’t let them have video games flock to, stock up on cheetos.” DVD’s of Dis.ney movies should say “find your own rainy day solution when all you want is a shower and they won’t stop nagging you for Halloween candy.”

Don’t get me wrong, there are things I won’t buy for my kids and there are things that I think aren’t appropriate. I’m not some total slack off of a parent who lets her son (my daughter isn’t particularly interested in video games) play Grand Theft Auto at four years old after turning off the DVD stocked with horror flicks while his sister wanders around with a copy of the latest Danielle Steele in large print.

But I am that parent who will let her kids play bowling on the Wii and watch Toy Story and Tinkerbell and play with Barbie and plastic kitchens and Mc.Donald’s toys, and sings along with them to the latest in pop music.

Now, I have NO problem if that’s not you. If you want to only buy things without plastic parts or throw your TV out or teach that Dis.ney is evil, go right ahead. Seriously. I won’t judge you, and I will respect your wishes when invited to your kid’s birthday party and if you decide your kid can’t come to my house because he or she will be exposed to things you don’t approve of, fine. I don’t need convincing that too much TV is bad or too much time playing video games is not ideal, or that there are toys with lead in them, or that you think that buying the things I let my kids have thwarts their creativity. I am just as conscientious a mom as you are. I research lead content, monitor what they watch and for how long, and only allow age appropriate Wii games in the house. We read before bed EVERY night and we talk with them all the time about what is and isn’t appropriate language and dress for their age.

So my question is this. If I can be respectful because you choose NOT to buy those things or let your children watch tv or whatever, don’t I deserve the same respect? The reality is, the toy judgment is just ONE MORE extension of the mommy-lympics that goes on as soon as we conceive a child. And it has to stop. As parents we are really good at criticizing ourselves for our choices; really good at second-guessing ourselves; really good at feeling guilty for every indulgence or thing withheld from our children. Trust me. I’m a gold medalist in self-doubt. There’s enough judgment from within without having to deal with it from other moms too.

Barbie lives in my house. Actually lots of Barbies live there. So do Buzz Lightyear, two leapfrog Tag readers, a Disney Princess vanity, boatloads of books, cars, and dress up clothes, glittery princess lip gloss, and a crapload of other toys lots of people probably don’t approve of.

And two four-year olds live there. Two four-year olds who are learning to read, learning to swim, behave themselves in public and say please and thank you most of the time. They are happy, and healthy, and I spend every day making sure they are ok. If you have to judge me, judge me on that.

Boys Will Be Boys, Even With Painted Toenails

There’s a column I read on Slate.com that’s called Dear Prudence. Granted, it’s an advice column, and Emily Yoffe gets it wrong more than half the time (in my opinion). But often the letters are comical, and the real fun lies in reading the comments from readers arguing whether Emily Yoffe got it wrong and why they are better informed or more right or morally outraged or whatever it happens to be.

The most recent column includes a letter from the parents of a five-year-old boy who asked (repeatedly and from Santa as well) for a skirt for Christmas. Now, the parents of said child make it clear this is not an issue for them, but wonder at what point they need to quell his desire to dress up as girl in order to make him more socially conforming for venues such as school, etc…

There’s been a lot about gender expression in the media lately, most recently a large uproar over a blog about a little boy dressing up as Daphne from Scooby Doo for Halloween .

This whole issue strikes a chord for me because, well, I have both a son and a daughter and they are both growing up in this world that still thinks that it’s ok for little girls to be tomboys but not for little boys to enjoy traditionally “girl” things. Look at the word that gets used for them – “sissy”. It’s pejorative. “Tomboy” is often said about little girls with pride – about little girls who don’t mind getting dirty or playing sports or who don’t spend hours with Barbie dolls. A “sissy” is weak. Because “girls” are weak. A boy who acts like or enjoys “girl” activities is going to be gay (like that’s a bad thing). Boys who play dress up are going to grow up and want sex change operations.

Really?

I have a four-year-old son. He plays t-ball, basketball, and is itching to be six so he can play football. The kid can throw a ball like nobody’s business. He asked Santa for a marshmallow shooter gun and a remote control car for Christmas.

And that kid loves to wear nail polish.

So. The. Eff. What.

He’ll also play princess dress up with his sister, wear a pink headband with his Buzz Lightyear pajamas, and scream at the top of his lungs at the tv when Heidi’s Colts get a touchdown.

Boys get the short end of the stick in a lot of ways in our society. Girls get all the sparkly pretty fun, and Moms and Dads and whoever else “oohs” and “aahs” over them and well, who wouldn’t want to participate in all of that? So a little boy wants a skirt, or wants to wear tights, or paint his nails. Guess what? Chances are he’ll grow out of it. Chances are, he’ll grow up to be a healthy, happy, productive member of society. And that won’t change just because you buy him a skirt.

The danger here is that when you start telling little boys that they can’t have a skirt because that’s for girls, you tell him that there’s a part of him, a part of who he is and what he wants to learn about, that isn’t ok. You send a message that he’s different in a way that isn’t ok to you – the person (or people) in his life who are supposed to love him unconditionally.

The other side of this coin is what if your little boy doesn’t grow out of it? To which my answer is, “And? What if he doesn’t?” As someone with friends who are transgender and friends with people whose children are transgender, I believe that the best thing a parent can do for a child exploring his or her gender identity is to have an open dialogue with the child and always make it clear that you love that child unconditionally.

Does non-traditional gender expression open a child up to teasing? Absolutely. Do we want to protect our child from the stares and taunts of other children (and more disheartening, other parents)? Clearly. Ultimately, though, forcing a child to believe that his or her expressions of gender in terms of halloween costumes and painted nails and hair length will make you love him or her any less is just as damaging if not more so. Bullying is a serious issue in this country, and children are bullied for a lot less than gender identity issues. But a child’s first bully shouldn’t be his parents. And by suppressing or quashing a child’s choice of attire or adornment because of it being traditionally for the opposite gender puts that parent in that role. Making a child feel less than because of his painted nails or her short hair makes a parent no better than a schoolyard bully. Sure, the intentions are different, but made worse because now the child feels unsafe in the one place that should always be safe – home.

My son loves nail polish. He loves to show it off. He likes colors like blue, and black, and yellow, and green. He likes it on his toenails. He likes it on his fingernails. And he throws a mean spiral with those painted nails. One of these days he’ll likely stop wearing it. And I’ll miss the way he’d run up to me to show me what new color the nanny painted them or how sweet his little toes looked all decked out in purple polish because he knows it’s mommy’s favorite color.

Love them. Let them be who they are. Not who you want them to be.

Marriage Matters

I’ve talked at length about why marriage equality is important. And for the most part, I’m fairly certain my friends agree with me. This isn’t for them. This is for them to share with their friends and family. This is for anyone who needs to go toe-to-toe with a friend or family member on why marriage equality is important.

It’s not the tax breaks. It’s not the insurance benefits. It’s not about big weddings or the ability to change our last names.

It’s about the children.

See, gay people want the same things straight people do. Find love, have a family, grow old together. But just like in straight relationships, things happen – people fall out of love; circumstances change; people go their separate ways. No harm, no foul, right?

Wrong.

I have a friend. She’s the sweetest, most honest, genuine person you’ll ever meet. I met her about 12 years ago. She was married to her wife (N) in a big ceremony, despite the lack of legality tied to it. She and her wife professed their love for one another in front of God and their families and friends. Not long after, a beautiful baby girl was born by way of N. My friend, A, was as much of a mother to their daughter as anyone could be. She woke for middle of the night feedings, changed dirty diapers, delighted in first steps and first words, and soothed her when she was sick.

A and N broke up. But their breakup occurred before California’s domestic partnership law included child custody provisions. It wasn’t until 2005, with the enactment of AB 205, that the Domestic Partnership law (originally enacted in 1999) conferred upon gay and lesbian couples most of the rights and responsibilities of legal marriage, including the right to child custody, visitation, and child support. (Continuing Education of the Bar). So when N decided to move 3000 miles away and take their daughter with her, there was nothing A could do about it.

Imagine. Your child. Miles and miles away, being kept from you against your will and little legal recourse to do a damned thing about it. You miss birthdays. Milestones. First days of school. Recitals. Soccer games. Years go by and you wonder if they even know how much you love them. It’s been years since you heard your child say “I love you,” or held their tiny little hand in yours, or comforted them when they were scared.

Marriage equality? Tell my friend it doesn’t matter. If she and N had been legally married, she would have rights to their daughter. Rights to see her, be a part of her life, and yes, responsibilities to help support her. Here is a woman who desperately WANTS to be a part of her child’s life, and through the deception and lies of an ex, is being forcibly kept from her child.

Parenthood isn’t about DNA. Parenthood is about who is there when it matters. She was there. And she would STILL be there if the law allowed her to fight for her daughter the way she should be allowed to.

Marriage? Forget your religious misinterpretations and your tradition and your “it’s the way it’s been for hundreds of years” and think of a 12-year old girl halfway across the country from a mother who has always loved her – who hasn’t been allowed to see or talk to her mother in 5 years. Think of a mother who has scrambled to exhaust every legal opportunity she can afford to fight for her daughter while battling an ex who does everything she can to keep her away.

Is this the message we want to send our children? That their parents only matter if one is a man and one is a woman? That their relationships with their parents hinge on the whims of an angry ex rather than the letter of the law?

In a few weeks, my friend will get the opportunity to see her daughter for the first time in 6 years. It may or may not be the reunion she is hoping for, that her friends are all hoping for her. My friend is tired, and hurt, and heartbroken. The fight is breaking her, and all she wants is to be part of her daughter’s life.

Marriage matters, and it’s not about whether or not you can understand how or why two women or two men would want to make a life together. The fact is, two women and two men make lives together all the time, whether you want to “endorse” it or not. And those relationships have children in them. Isn’t it time we tell those children that their parents belong to them? That they can count on us to make sure their parents take care of them, whether they stay together or not? That their moms or their dads are no less worthy of the rights and responsibilities that come with being a parent simply by nature of who they love? You may not be able to understand how a woman can love another woman, but surely you can understand the love a parent has for her child.

Today, in California, the Domestic Partnership law has given myself and H the rights that my friend so desperately needs. Across the country, gays and lesbians live in states like Colorado and Florida that afford no protection in the event a child’s parents split up. And it’s not just about relationships that break up. These states offer no protection in the event a non-biological parent dies – no survivor’s benefits, no social security, no rights to the parent’s estate.

Marriage matters. Gays and lesbians deserve better than second-class citizenship. In a world where we purport to tell our children to “love thy neighbor as thyself,” or live by the golden rule, don’t we have a responsibility to live by example?

These Small Hours

Welcome!  I'm a lesbian mom to twins (Nathan and Julia) born in 2006.  I write a lot.  More than I ever publish, so I thought I'd create a space to share the things I have to say about life, motherhood, infertility, and whatever else comes to mind.  


So what's with the title?  Well, as I was setting up this site, the twins were watching a movie and the Rob Thomas song "These Small Hours" came on, and it immediately struck me as appropriate for a blog about life with kids:


"Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain."

I can be funny, serious, irreverent, sassy, and crass.  If something ticks me off, you'll know.  I'm going to pull out some things I've written and stored away and put them here.  When it comes to comments, I'm all for healthy debate, but don't be a jerk.  

So that's the deal.  I hope you'll stick around!