LesbianDad

Speed demon, Berkeley, CA.

No, it’s not a sign of panic (though that does reign, from time to time, in our humble abode), but a sign of solidarity with working people all over the world. And so I find myself compelled to post this topical little dittie, and postpone (or would it be “post-post”?) the previously promised dittie composed to fit Chumpy’s title, “Waving not drowning.” So up to my eyeballs am I generally that I didn’t realize last week that today would be none other than May Day.

Like many of my countryfolk, I lament the hi-jacking of this day of solidarity with our fellows world-wide. (Here’s an account of the origins of the day by the Wobblies; or the Wikis if you prefer to compare/contrast. For neopagan-curious sisters and brothers, I offer up this Wiki page on Beltane, whose extremely low profile I also lament, while I’m at it.)

In a modest gesture of atonement, I want to acknowledge all those whose labor supports my partner and me as parents (what with this blog’s focus on matters parental; lord knows if I acknowledged all those whose labor supported our cushy existence, I’d have to make an interminable series of it). But I often find myself whining, kvetching, or otherwise wringing my hands over this or that childcare inconvenience, possibly leaving the impression that I stagger through my days, from sun up to sun down and beyond, the solitary provider of all my kids’ material and emotional needs. Not so, not so. It’s merely that I’m complaining in spite of the abundance of support I recieve.

Continue reading ‘May Day May Day!’

Our Family Coalition, the Bay Area’s queer family organization, held its tenth annual LGBTQ Family Night at the Berkeley YMCA this past weekend. And I won’t be the only one to tell you that when they say in their notices about the event that “hordes” of LGBTQ parents and their children attend, they are not exaggerating. The hordes were even more copious this year than first time we went, two years ago.

Back then, we were shaky and vulnerable following the year anniversary of our nephew’s death. It was our first outing to an Our Family event, a sign, at least to me, that we were beginning to restore to ourselves some of the resources I had once imagined we’d be in the thick of, back before our nephew’s cancer battle broke open the ground underneath our feet, transforming our hearts, our priorities, and our capacities. The first half of our daughter’s first year was consumed with the fight for his life; the year following that, we simply made do, holding our daughter and each other close. We made very little in the way of connection outside our immediate sphere of family and friends.

That spring two years ago, we steered our weary trio into the Y and were met with hundreds upon hundreds of queer families; many with kids around our girlie’s age, but even more of them farther down the path than we were. It was heartening, absolutely; inspirational. But all of it was in greater volume than our grief-thin skins could bear. So we packed up after dinner and headed home, exhausted.

We actually skipped the festivities the next year, deciding at the last minute that we didn’t have it in us. What ground we had gained in our recovery from sorrow had been lost to the strain of the First Year of the Second Kid. And by spring, we’d gotten far enough into that year to know that we were not up to juggling the both the kids amidst swarms of other people. Even if they were supportive, fun-filled swarms, reflective of the sex/gender demographic of our family unit. “Know your limits!” and “Less is way more than enough!” were the rallying cries of the time.

This year, though, things were different.

Continue reading ‘Queer families and tree frogs’

Sister and brother, Berkeley, CA.

Remember last week, when I did a Reader Appreciation Day funfest thingie, and asked folks to send in potential post titles, for which I would then write a matching post? The winning title-submitter would become the proud owner of the prototype LD Loves Me keychain: explicable to a select few; cheap as can be; ordered in a fit of whimsy online. In actuality it turned out to be a button with some flimsy keychain attachment. It looked so good in the facsimile image on my computer screen.

Well! After much deliberation, the judge n’ jury of two came up with:

• Waving not drowning

from our UK correspondent, Chumpy.

Continue reading ‘We have us a winning post title’

Begs the question, doesn’t it. SINCE I NEVER WANTED TO BE A PRINCESS AT ALL. Now a Prince, we can talk.

You’ll never guess which one of the above pictured items was checked out of the library when the lil’ monkey was there with Other People Who Shall Remain Nameless*, and which one was purchased in a compensatory fit by Baba. So Xena wields a weapon, and people are shrieking and running for cover on every other page. And she’s wearing an outfit that is best suited for the Folsom Street Fair. Least she has sensible shoes boots on.

Oh, these are bleak days around Casa LD.

‘Scuse me while I go scream into a pillow.

*In the interest of full disclosure, I will note that the adult among the Other People Who Shall Remain Nameless did at least apologize for what got dragged home from the library. With a sweet sympathetic look. As if to say, “Good luck keeping these horses in the barn.”

Lil’ monkey, nearly two years ago. Now this pose is her brother’s. (With doggie now an angel at his shoulder.)

Busy Baba, with
No time to write a blog post,
Punts with old photo.

[And Happy Passover, for those of you celebrating!]