Vice and Virtues

Growing up in Catholic school, I heard a lot about virtues and vices and how the former were good and the latter bad. Catholic school is kind of like that, black and white, good and evil, smart and dumb, Catholic and other.

This is not an exaggeration, but simply how things worked, and what group you were lumped into: "good, smart, white, Catholic" or "bad, dumb, not-white, not-Catholic" pretty much sealed your fate in those hallowed halls. Thankfully, far before the plaid skirts of grade school changed to the grey skirts of high school, I realized life was a bit more complicated than this.

However, I still hold some internal judgments when I hear words such as "virtue" and "vice", which made the past few days quite interesting. Interesting indeed what with it being Pride (a biblical vice) and also time for the President's Stonewall Reception(where he counseled the queers, once again, to have patience (a biblical virtue).

Though not all aspects of Pride fill me with joy or make me proud, it does feel good to see other families like ours, and other kiddos like Baby Bear all assembled to celebrate their sameness and difference in a safe, accepting space. The realization that finding others like ourselves, and finding something in them (and therefore in ourselves) to be proud of is sometimes hard for a recovering Catholic brought up on a steady diet of guilt and, when that failed, humiliation.

But I was proud this weekend. I was in charge of the little one each morning, and got us out of the house and ready for the day each time with very little tears and a bag full of sunscreen and hats and cereal puffs and all other absolute necessities of life with a wee one.

And I was proud of the organizations and companies I have connections with, as they put their best faces forward for the world that walked by each day. But mostly, I was proud of our family, and the other families like us, pushing their strollers and loving each other just like all the other families around the world on a lovely late June weekend. There's not a thing that can tell me the pride I felt was somehow bad or shameful, because that doesn't make any sense at all, and never did, even in the days of plaid skirts and Peter Pan collars.

And what about the patience counseled by our President? I've got plenty to say about that too, but no energy to say it tonight. Tonight, I'm going to bed thinking how proud I am of my family, and every family like ours.

The Day After

It has been nearly a decade since I have felt this good on a day after a Presidential election. Four years ago I was dumbstruck, and four years before that I was still waiting for results. But this year, tired as I am after an early Tuesday morning of election protection volunteering, I feel hopeful about this country, and confident that the first president elected during my son's life will be one who deeply cares about the issues that will face my little man.

But I feel hopeful for another reason, not just because of the election of Barack Obama, not just because of the amazing number of young black men I saw leaving suburban polling places yesterday and proudly affixing their "I voted" sticker to their chest, not just because of the amazing outpouring of happiness I saw all over this nation last night.

I feel hopeful also because last night, in his first speech as President-Elect, despite the hateful ballot measures passing in CA, FL, AZ and AR, our next President included "gay and straight" in his litany of the different folks who came together and demanded change. And the words rolled off his tongue more easily than I have ever heard from any politician, save maybe for a few of our local greats here in Minnesota.

I feel hopeful because he said it, and included us, and has brought so many people together that I believe he can do the same for families like mine, for people like me, and for those who fear my family. Because I know it can only be fear that makes people feel that they should have the power to prevent me from commiting myself in front of my family, my friends, and my God (in whatever form my God may take), to the mother of my child, my best friend, my partner for life and beyond. And I know it can only be fear that caused the voters of Arkansas to decide that two otherwise completely qualified hopeful parents should be prevented from adopting or fostering a child who needs a home simply because those parents happen to be of the same gender.

I am hopeful President Obama can bring about a time when my infant son does not have to worry about someone else deciding that his family, his mommies, are such a threat that discrimination against them needs to be codified as the law of the land. I am hopeful we will see that day, and that it will be in Tommy's lifetime. And I believe it will, because America is a different place now than it was 10, 20, 30 years ago, and I am hopeful it will be even more different, even better, even fairer for all families and all children, in the future.

So if you have that same hope, please vow to continue this fight for a fairer America. We're on our way, but we're not entirely there yet.

Our Village

I don't know who first coined the phrase "it takes a village to raise a child," though I know it was the title of a book by Hillary Clinton. I'm not sure of the source, and don't want to attract throngs of Clinton-haters to this blog (though don't worry, I don't kid myself that the throngs will ever arrive...) so I'll just say, I don't know who said it, but it is so so true.

Our Baby Bear isn't even here yet and I already realize how true that statement is. We have so many amazing friends and family members already willing to pitch in and help. Aunties T and B cleaned our house better than it's ever been this weekend, part of their gift to us for the birth (one whole YEAR of cleanings, one a month, for Baby Bear's first year). Grandma Bear arrived Sunday and has been SUCH a help so far, getting Mama Bear focused on birth stuff, making delicious dinners and just providing an extra set of hands around the house. And the list goes on and on.

Not a day goes by where one of our friends doesn't drop a note in my inbox or call on the phone and ask "is there anything we can do?" And the amazing part is, they really mean it. We have some soups already on their way to our freezer, offers to mow the lawn and walk the dog, offers for emergency babysitting...the list goes on and on.

And you know what? I think we have so much support because of who we are. I don't mean "who we are" like "Oh, Mama Bear and Butch Mama are SOOO cool and great that people fall all over themselves to help out." No, that's not what I mean at all. We have so much support because we are lesbians. I am sure of this. Here's why: I think women in general are better at offering help and knowing what needs to be done, especially around new baby arrivals. AND, I think our community in general (the greater GLBT, not just lesbians) helps each other out more - the whole idea of chosen family.

I feel blessed right now, even as we discover a few instances where folks we thought would be helpful are decidedly not (I won't name names, but boy, it's a doozy). I feel blessed to have helpful folks to compare those people with to be able to say "Nope, you don't measure up, you're out of the chosen family."

And right now, even as I read things that anti-gay marriage or family folks publish or say, I'm not as angry anymore. Now, those statements just make me feel pity for those folks, because they will never know the joy of chosen family like we do, and their kids will never grow up with this many loving caring individuals around them.

Now if only I could feel pity for those folks who remained nameless up above...the non-helpfuls. The ex-family members. I'm trying, but....nope, not there yet. Still just angry. I'll keep trying though....

Waiting is the Hardest Part...

Dear readers (all three of you):

I vow that I will not cop out on the next post and use a song title as the title of the post. I realize this is about as cheap a writing ploy as starting your paper for an English class with some very deep quote, and I apologize, but give me a break, it's hot outside and I haven't been feeling very creative.

But, back to the lecture at hand (ugh! that's a song lyric too! I can't even stop myself!)....waiting. I am growing very very tired of waiting for your arrival Baby Bear, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to happen any time soon.

Mama Bear's feet are swelling more now, but you seem to be rather high in the tummy BB, and this leads me to believe that you may become an August baby, rather than a "last day of July" baby as you are now scheduled. That doesn't stop at least 8 people per day from asking me when you're due to get here though, so I say "July 30th at least that many times per day...and then think "or later." And then get more impatient.

But don't hurry on my account buddy, you just stay in there until you're good and ready to arrive. Seriously, it's crazy out here. Hot, high gas prices, expensive milk, nutso neighbors. You just take advantage of all that free food and what I imagine is a nicely climate controlled environment while you can. Mama Bear and I will continue doing little putsy things, and avoid the not fun things (like washing all of your tiny Baby Bear clothes so you don't get the dreaded "fresh from the store" rash) and we'll be here when you're ready. But for the time being, could you lay off of the kicking Mama Bear in the ribs? That's REALLY uncomfortable for her, so try to be a little more gentle okay? There will be plenty of time for roughhousing with me when you get out of there and a little more sure on your feet. But Mama Bear? She doesn't like the roughhousing, so wait for me on that one.

Ready or Not, Here He Comes!

I'm not sure that this blog should start yet, as the true reason for it won't be here for at least a few more weeks, but I'm still typing, so I guess it will, whether I'm sure or not. That's quite an apt way to start for this subject, since our family is about to change in much the same way. Here he comes, ready or not. I suppose I should explain all of this, lest this blog become some sort of Virgina Woolf "To the Lighthouse"-esque in media res exercise in literary devices. (Ohhh, I love it when that English major my father found questionable comes in handy for sentences like that!!) So without further ado, it begins....

I am a soon to be lesbian mama of what I suspect will be a brutally handsome baby boy. I suspect this, because my partner, who we will call Mama Bear, is, quite honestly, the must beautiful and glowing pregnant woman ever, save for possibly the Virgin Mary. (Before you get all up in arms and suspect I am some Bible-thumping homo, you should know something. I'm a recovering Catholic-14 years clean-but some old habits die hard, so when I refer to all things Catholic, know that it is not in any sort of devout way). Mama Bear resembles one particular old-time movie beauty, and has an amazing laugh and perfectly proportioned features, so I'm glad she's donating half of her DNA to this fellow, because he's bound to be a heartbreaker.

But let's get back to the point, shall we? And that point was me. Me, the most amazingly lucky dyke, who in a few weeks will get to see Mama Bear bring this little man into our home, and watch as her pregnancy glow changes into the glow of a thoroughly exhausted but, I suspect, ecstatically happy new Mama Bear.

So our family is about to change in ways I'm sure we can't even imagine. Or might not want to. Or may be unable to due to some survival instinct adaptation of the species that won't let you know what you're in for, because if you did no one would ever give birth. Who knows, but I do know it's about to change.

This weekend, however, is Pride, and Mama Bear and I have a lot to be proud of. We've both overcome a fair number of obstacles in our day, and have both worked hard to get to a place where we enjoy our jobs (most days) and are doing something we each love. We have some great pets and a great family on the Bear side, despite what that Goldilocks story may have you believe. We have a great home that we will actually own in 28 or so years (why do people say they own their homes? No you don't, the bank owns your home, you rent from the bank), and on many days, that home is filled with friends and neighbors that we love like family.

All in all, we have a lot to be proud of, but this will be the last year we are not "proud parents." It's strange and wonderful and exciting and scary and crazy-making to contemplate that, especially given that I often feel as if college was yesterday and that someone should really be paying closer attention to me, lest I hurt myself. But, someone, somewhere, saw fit to send those $300+ per vial sperm hurtling into Mama Bear's egg about 9 months ago, so we'll be the ones paying attention quite soon.

I don't know what I intend to do with this blog, but I feel like it's important to get thoughts and pictures all together some place, so that this little man can someday look and know how very much he is loved. Some of my own larger obstacles grew from a place of not knowing that, so this guy, my guy, is going to know that better than anything, and starting even now, before he confirms that handsomeness that I know is on the way. So, sit back and get ready, because things are about to change, ready or not.