tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1957624059999880102024-03-13T23:26:19.941-05:00Snip-its from a Lesbian HouseholdA capture of an "All-American," lesbian Family. Allow me to introduce you to our normal.Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-58751387784678856782014-06-14T21:51:00.001-05:002014-06-14T21:51:18.272-05:00At the Hands of the Oppressor: A Reflection on Marriage Equality Week in Wisconsin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On Friday, June 6, 2014, Judge Crabb granted marriage equality in Wisconsin.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wasn't far from home that evening, but it felt like the longest drive I'd had in a while. Only moments earlier that Friday, my love, Sara, sent me a text message stating that marriage equality passed in Wisconsin. Thrilled. I arrived home thrilled. We gathered our things and raced down to the courthouse to apply for our marriage license. This probably seems really reactionary, and it was. We'd been waiting nearly eleven years for this day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Outagamie county courthouse greeted us with locked doors. A cold, uninviting sign was taped to the door. The courthouse had implemented summer hours to conserve energy. New hours were 7:00 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. Disappointed, but not surprised, Sara and I headed home. Grandma and Grandpa had our babies for the weekend, so we were off to celebrate this magnificent day in our state. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The local gay bar, the place where we first felt comfortable being out, met us with hugs, a cold drink, and the best fish fry in town. We hunkered down with some close friends and conversed about the day's ruling. Marriage equality? In Wisconsin? Hardly any of us could believe it. It was surreal.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Saturday delivered us to our first PrideFest. Milwaukee bound, we were eager to spend the day with friends and see artist (and my secret crush), Mary Lambert. The day was fulfilling and way more social than I normally am in an entire week. Mary Lambert sang her heart out. I cried like a baby. It was a happy, happy date-day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I welcomed the quiet, normal Sunday. And, looking back on the entire last week, Sunday was the only normal day in it. It was the only day with level emotions, house cleaning, grocery shopping, and kid keeping. Sunday was my kind of day. We checked off our laundry list of to dos, picked up our kiddos, and spent the evening at home eating pizza and enjoying one another's company. It was an "early to bed" night because the next day was marriage license day. We were summoned by a friend to arrive to the courthouse early. There would be news crews and they would want statements. This was our history. We were in!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Monday morning came quickly. No one wants to wake their kids up early to go to the courthouse, so we were sure to tell ours that it was a party. Getting them out of bed was no problem. We all put on our nice clothes. We were television ready, but, more importantly, we were ready to get married should our clerk of courts, Lori O'Bright, be kind enough to waive the five day waiting period associated with marriage license applications.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was chilly, but we didn't complain. We arrived at the courthouse at 6:15 a.m. We were met by some familiar faces, some unfamiliar faces, and a few different news crews. We interviewed with Fox 11 first, followed by Channel 5, and finally the Post Crescent. I think my family was exhausted before the courthouse doors even opened, but none of us were willing to show it. Sara and I were well aware that this time in history needed voices, voices for families like ours and couples like us. We were willing to be part of those voices.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The amount of support at the courthouse on Monday was wonderful. I don't recall seeing anyone protesting. In fact, the only protestor I saw stood, very cross, behind the desk at the clerk of courts office. Lori O'Bright glared as we filed through the door into her office. Sara and I led the way with our kids. We were followed by some friends of ours, also there the apply for their marriage license, several other couples, and the news crews.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We greeted Lori pleasantly and stated that we were there to apply for a marriage license. She pierced us with cold eyes and abruptly stated that no same-sex marriage licenses were being issued by her. Then, in all her glory, she looked toward the back of the room and summoned any straight couples seeking a marriage license. No one advanced. The silence in the room was deafening.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then the questions began. It was polite interrogation, but interrogation nonetheless. Why? Why? Why? Was it because of her personal beliefs? Did she recall Judge Crabb's recent ruling? Why? Why? Why? It didn't take long for Mrs. O'Bright to get flustered and retreat to her office. What. The. Fuck.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I so wasn't expecting that. Sara wasn't either. I'm not sure anyone in her office that morning expected to be met with such disgust and resistance. Her hate was not disguised. She laid out right in front of us on her desk. Her face said it all.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We began a peaceful protest, one that Sara and I had to excuse ourselves from. With a new job, she was in training and could not excuse herself from work. My work week was complete hell from a scheduling perspective. I had back to back meetings all week with several presentations that I had to prepare for and deliver. Any other week I would welcome that kind of work chaos, but this week I longed for desk time and solitude. As it ended up and unbeknownst to me at the time, my work schedule was a much needed distraction for the shit show that Wisconsin marriage equality turned into.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I didn't want to leave the courthouse on Monday silent, so I left Mrs. O'Bright with a letter. Others left flowers on the desk as a way of demonstrating what she was taking away from the couple's that showed up there that morning. That Monday morning was our first defeat of the week.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sara and I each made it to work for 8:00 a.m. We used our breaks to check in on progress at the courthouse. Nearly three hours after our departure, Lori began issuing same-sex marriage licenses. As I understand it, took her getting someone to help her locate the eighty-eight pages of opinion that she should have read in advance and consulting with her legal council to come to this decision. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Waiting an entire day to apply for our marriage license was difficult, but we did it. We arrived at the courthouse promptly at 7:00 a.m. on Tuesday and were met with a little less bitchy O'Bright. She was very matter of fact in her requests, but was not rude this time. She shuffled us through the process quickly. We asked her to waive the five day waiting period. No. We asked about a refund in the event of a stay. No. She explained the rules surrounding the license and the fees associated with changes and sent us on our way. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For two days we were happy. Elated even. We had successfully submitted our marriage license application. We would pick up our license on Monday and have a shot-gun wedding immediately following. We would get in just under the wire. Judge Crabb would have a hearing that Tuesday and determine whether or not a stay would be imposed. If a stay is imposed, which it had been on all other marriage equality states except Oregon, marriage equality could go away temporarily or permanently. We couldn't risk it after waiting all these years.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Pins and needles began Wednesday night when we learned that Judge Crabb moved the court date from the following Tuesday to Friday of the current week. We wanted to be proactive, but I couldn't get out of work due to an early morning meeting and presentation. Instead, Sara went down to the courthouse to talk Lori O'Bright into waiving the five day waiting period. Our argument was one of extenuating circumstances resulting from the change in court date and the likelihood that a stay would be imposed. Again she denied us. Relentless and cold, she showed no mercy. No signs of backing down. The ability to waive the waiting period was up to her discretion and she was taking full advantage. Sara and I were sickened.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Other couples pleaded with Lori that Thursday. Though at one time she did consult with her legal council, she ultimately denied all of them. She would only waive the five day waiting period for extenuating circumstances such as those defined by, oh, I don't know, her. Meanwhile, in other counties, some couples are experiencing the same as us while others apply and marry on the same day. If you want to know what it feels like to be bursting with sorrow and joy and fight all at the same time, ask me. I could blubber about it for hours. And, as much as I'd like to feel numbness right now, I am so overflowing with sorrow and joy and fight.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Friday came. It was a grueling day of waiting for many, but for me was distracted by stacks and stacks of meetings. The hearing was to being at 1:00 p.m. I left work and arrived home to no verdict. We waited and waited. The verdict came at about 5:30 p.m. Stay. As much as we expected it, it was like a blow to the gut. We would not be married on Monday or in the state of Wisconsin anytime in the near future. Marriage equality was stayed. Sara and I and so many other same-sex couples were again not equal in the eyes of the law.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We were immediately contacted by a friend to do an interview with the Post Crescent and with Channel 2 news. Sad and frustrated at the turn of events, we agreed. We would check the rawness of our emotions at the door and speak to the facts. In our county, Outagamie County, all of this heartache could have been prevented at the hands of one woman, Mrs. Lori O'Bright. She took the immediate futures of same-sex families and crushed them. No, that is not a pessimistic statement. It is fact. And it is why families like mine have to fight so, so hard to be equal in the eyes of the law.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sara and I will not be married on Monday. We will be rallying on Monday. We will be a voice among many at the Outagamie county courthouse peacefully expressing our anguish as a direct result of Mrs. O'Bright's decisions. Those of us that were able to apply for a marriage license will be requesting a refund of our money on the grounds that the imposed stay prevents us from even obtaining our marriage license. I'm interested to see how Lori reacts to this request, especially given her resistance throughout the course of this past week.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On Friday, June 13th, Judge Crabb put a stay on marriage equality in Wisconsin.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our fight continues, peacefully and respectfully, but by no means silently.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-63902524209645104642014-03-21T20:02:00.001-05:002014-03-21T20:02:13.141-05:00Some Self Reflection. About Me.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I don't do well with chaos.<div>
<br /><div>
I had my first panic attack, and then I had another one the next day.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I calculate my actions even when I disagree.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't fight dirty. I don't appreciate people who do.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I apologize when I am wrong. Acknowledging wrong doing speaks volumes about one's character.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm regimented and systematic.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm honest. To. My. Core.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I try hard. All. The. Time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I will love and protect my family until the day that I die. #mammabear</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I communicate clearly and often.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm planner. I plan with other people so there is no confusion.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have very high expectations of myself and others.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't like to be disrespected.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I will not tolerate disrespect towards my family.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love my job.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't love school. At. All. It's a formality, but I do well anyway.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I believe in equality for everyone.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I encourage my children to live to their fullest potential. They are taught honesty and dignity and respect. Regardless.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love my children. They both have the right to be acknowledged and heard.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am a woman of principle.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am strong. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am opinionated.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Most of my decisions are made based on factual evidence, not emotion.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am introverted.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am analytical.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes I make gay jokes. And I'm gay. I really need to stop doing that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't cry often, but, when I do, I cry hard.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My grandma in-law is my hero.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm getting married soon AND having a wedding AND looking smashing in a fabulous dress.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't have a lot of friends, but the friends that I have are good ones.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My favorite color is blue. Dark, dreary, gray, deep blue.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't have any enemies. At least I didn't.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I understand logic. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I could never work in medicine or mental health.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I take calculated risks. Is a calculated risk still a risk?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am not fond of television except for a handful of shows.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm often contemplating everything.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I find the unknown scary and exciting.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't tell secrets.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I like dinosaurs. Like, A LOT!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I find self-reflection important.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you tell me I can't, I will.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-68637071944284420922014-03-19T22:08:00.000-05:002014-03-21T18:58:59.668-05:00This Poem.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This poem. It struck me.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>For there is kinship and there is camaraderie</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Wherein lies the difference</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>When the blood of those that are not becomes more warm and
familiar than the blood of those that are</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>You are strangers to me with faces that are common to my
mind, but a presence that is foreign</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Thoughts of you are happenstance, composed of distant
memories</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I shake you from my head</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I shake you from my bones</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>But you reappear and reappear</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Who are you</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>There is subtlety in your movements as you slip in with the
drafts to grasp my helping hand</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Endless abet lest your demise</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Endless abet to exhaustion </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I was helpless </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>And bitterness built our relationships and quietness evolved
from you to me and me to you and you and you and you</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>A very sustainable silence</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Strangers, you are and you leave me here, abandoned, until
you need me again</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Desolate, desolate</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Until you seek the wounds within my doors that used to let
you in</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Far from your reaches am I, hidden well beyond the seals</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I only hear you, your voices waning</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Lost from my head</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Lost from bones</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Gone</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>For there is kinship and there is camaraderie</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Wherein lies the difference</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>When the blood of those that are not becomes more warm and familiar than the blood of those that are</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>~Author Unknown</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Creative writing, such as this, pulls at my heartstrings. This blog, my purging place. I miss its cleansing effect.</div>
</div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-26530316158316241902013-12-22T22:49:00.000-06:002013-12-22T22:49:52.095-06:00Thaw<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My blog brain got left in a textbook somewhere in Fall 2013 semester. I found it today, but it is a little dilapidated. I'm trying to reform it from structured to creative, but rigor has set in inhibiting its malleability. Spring semester rumbles in about three weeks. I best find a softening agent for this numb mind of mine.<br />
<br />
Right now I am sitting on my couch. I am cozied in a blanket with my boy dog at my feet. There is tea steeping, my favorite kind, which is Earl Grey. The tastebuds on my tongue find it tantalizing. This sounds glorious, but truthfully I am waiting for the snowplow to clear the street I live on and make a fucking nightmare out of the end of my driveway. Mmmm. The tea tastes really good and the snow is actually really pretty.<br />
<br />
So my blog has been frozen for the better portion of five months. Something about college and work and house repairs and child rearing and lack of time. I don't know. I was present. My blog was not. It should have been pulling its feed from my brain. That's a really shitty user experience, Blogger. Really shitty.<br />
<br />
But let's not dwell on the past five months and just know there were some things about college and work and house repairs and child rearing and lack of time. I'd rather focus on more compelling news like gay marriage progress and yada, yada, yada, this little gay girl is engaged and is going to be in full on "lipstick lesbian" style next October. No thanks to you, Wisconsin.<br />
<br />
Luckily, my partner of ten years, my bride to be, has relatives in friendly Minnesota, one of the seventeen states that has legalized gay marriage. We will head there for a very small ceremony and top it off by a slightly larger reception here at home.<br />
<br />
Besides the obvious excitement of a marriage I've waited so long for, I'm equally as excited to work with vendors that have been and are a continued voice for equality. We've yet to iron out some of the details, but reception location and photographer have been selected. Oooooooo! I could burst!<br />
<br />
Tomorrow work beckons. The office will be still as people are out for the holidays. The quietness will be welcoming, that is if I can get out of my driveway. The damn snowplow has yet to clear my street and I am heading to bed. I will see what kind of goodness it left me in the morning.<br />
<br /></div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-1408820143327365382013-07-27T22:24:00.000-05:002013-12-23T19:05:03.804-06:00Don't Give me Tin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Tonight I am washing my ears with Mary Lambert. You know her. She's the pretty, red-haired femme from Seattle. The one that belts the chorus to Macklemore and Ryan Lewis's <i>Same Love</i>. Her. Her lyrics slice through my skin like a knife. They're raw.<br />
<br />
<div>
I haven't touched this blog in well over a month and not because I haven't wanted to. I miss it. I long for it. It's my therapy, but with school and uninvited home repairs it has been a distant friend. I miss you, friend. I'm glad I found you tonight.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
So tonight I sit here doing my homework. I have two finals papers to prepare for next week. I thought Mary would sing me through them. Instead she sang me right to my blog. Thank you, Mary. Nothing like distracting a girl.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm here and so much has happened in the last month and a half. My son turned one, started walking, and began destroying the house. My daughter is four, but has accelerated to the level one swimmers. For the first time ever, she is the smallest in her class. My kids are growing leaps and bounds. I can't keep up with it. It's daily, this growth. I can't imagine missing a day or a week or month or more of that growth. My Sara is well into her RN position and she loves it. Not only does she love it, but she excels at it. And me? Well, I'm just humming along through school and working and trying to hold it together. Here I am wishing I was okay at mediocrity. It would make the tasks at hand much easier to tend. I would maybe have chance to breathe.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
The deepest breath I've taken in the longest while was just last Thursday. Sara and I celebrated our ten year anniversary. Ten. Whole. Years. Do we have to start over with the counting when we get married? That just seems cruel. Anyway, I came home from work last Wednesday. I was planning a candle lit dinner on the front porch for the two of us. We would indulge in some sushi and a nice red wine. She would be surprised to find out I took Thursday off to spend with her and the kids. It was going to be lovely. Was...<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
There was no candle lit dinner. There was wine. There was homemade bean tacos. They were excellent. It was nice. Our porch was in the process of being repaired and wasn't quite finished. Plus it was a bit chilly, so that kind of put the kibosh on the whole thing. Meh. It's alright. We had really good wine, and really good tacos, and really good company of each other and my sister. It was nice.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
So Thursday rolls around and, truthfully, ends up being a huge pile of shit. I wish there was a more tactful way of saying it. There isn't. The porch guys finished up the porch. No more dry rot. People can now stand on it without the fear of dying. Buuuuut, our main sewer pipe began leaking. Not only is it leaking, but it is leaking from the second floor bathroom. Fucking nasty. Annnnd, not only is that main pipe leaking (which we temporarily fixed by not using that toilet), but both bathrooms had the shittiest tile work ever done on them and it is all cracking. In short, both bathrooms need to be gutted and redone and perhaps we may cut open the kitchen ceiling again to fix some more plumbing.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
I resolved Thursday afternoon to the couch crying and trying with all my might to get the numbers to work in my head. Sara showered while I did this. When she finished she arrived back out in jogging shorts and a shelf-bra tank top. She was wearing make-up. When I asked her why she was wearing make-up, she told me it was because she wanted to look beautiful. I don't think that woman knows how beautiful she looks every single day to me. She told me, practically begged me, to go shower. Reluctantly, I did. I didn't want to though. My wallowing was comfortable to me.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
I showered. As I was toweling off, I hear Sara outside the door. She tells me she has to go pick up my sister. <i>What the hell? </i>My sister, who has been staying with us, was downtown with a friend. <i>Perhaps they got in a fight?</i> Sara told me she was taking Kaz and bolted. I exit the bathroom and see my sister's friend in the kitchen holding Kaz. <i>Apparently there was a baby hand-off at some point. </i>There I was, in all my glory, my hair still dripping wet and my towel barely hugging my body. I asked him (my sister's friend) what was going on. He shooed me upstairs instead. <i>I suppose it would be more comfortable for him to explain if I had clothes on.</i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
I entered my bedroom. On the floor were two packages and my cell phone. Still buck ass naked I dropped my towel and phoned my wife. I ask her what is going on and she prompts me to open the packages. I oblige. The first contained a short, but elegant black dress. I saw the dress at a store recently and fell madly in love with it. There was a note with the dress that said to put it on and proceed to the next package. I did, still on the phone, and now holding back tears.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
The second package contained a pair of sandals. They could be elegant or casual. That night, they were to be elegant. There was a note with these too. It said to put them on, leave our babies with my sister and her friend, and meet her (my wife) downtown. I had hung up the phone by now and was scurrying to the bathroom to slap on some make-up and perfume. Good thing I shaved my legs when I showered.</div>
<div>
<br />
I drove downtown, a measly ten blocks away, and met my wife. At some point she managed to get all dolled up herself. I later learned she did this in her vehicle somewhere on the college campus. I don't know why I find the image of that fiasco sexy, but I do. I definitely do.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
She took me to Cena. We had a table for two in the back. She took me out for a nice elegant dinner and a shared pitcher of sangria after a terribly shitty day. She took the day and wiped it clean. She made me feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet. She made me forget our disasters. She executed just what I tried to execute the night before. She followed up dinner with dessert at the martini bar. She made sure I was the center of the world. I made sure she knew she was and always will be the center of mine. It was lovely. Happy ten years, beauty. You still make my heart burst.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Tonight I'm listening to Mary Lambert. She sang me right to this blog. I ought to listen to her more often, but tonight I best be getting back to my homework.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-46961811520814788782013-05-20T06:39:00.000-05:002013-05-20T06:39:14.822-05:00Everything in Nothingness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My mind is numb. It is thoughtless and bored and happy and nothing. There is emptiness in my mind and I love it. The semester is done and my tired brain will have two weeks to "rest" before the summer term begins. Nothing is going to ruin those two weeks. They're mine and they're filled with everything non-school and they're wonderful.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The week days start out early. There's exercise in the morning, packing of lunches, baby yawns, and dragon breath. Some days, if Sara has to work, I greet the nanny. She is always eager to hug my babies and that makes me smile. These two weeks I head to work relaxed. I love my career and these two weeks I know I will leave work with nothing else to do but love on my family. I feel calm. My mind isn't crowded now, and I remember the things it use to have space for like enjoying the scent of the coffee that sneaks its way out of my to-go cup and teases my nose.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't have to do homework during my lunch hour over the course of the next two weeks. I can eat and take a walk. I can chat with my friends or embrace forty-five minutes of solace. I. Don't. Care. I have nothing to do but not think. I sing more than usual at my desk during these two weeks and I'm not sure if it annoys my co-workers. I'm not sure that I even care if it does. I have room in my noggin for more songs than usual and intend to take full advantage of it. There will be melodies from Elbow and Daughter and tunes from Cake and Yellow Ostrich. I might dance while I sing, but it would be nothing more than an office chair jig.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At quarter after four my work day winds down. The weather is nice this time of year and I'm not lugging around any school books. It is only my lunch sack and purse and phone and keys that meander to the parking lot with me. I feel light. Out of principle, over the next two weeks, I won't carry a single book. Not even for leisure. It would remind me too much of school. I'll have none of that. It would be bad for my psyche.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I arrive home, it's to happy kids. They're playing outside or inside. If it's a nanny day, I get the skinny on the day's events as she packs up her things to go. The kids, Graisyn mostly, don't want her to leave and I try to soften that blow with the promise of more outside time or a show or some snuggles. She's a new nanny and I'm already becoming second best in the eyes of my babies. I think that would bother most people, but not me. I would much rather have them elated by their caretaker than crying every time I leave the house.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So the kids and the dogs and Sara (if she's home) and I go for a walk. It's a short loop, maybe half a mile, but it's the most brilliant loop that I've ever walked and it reminds me how much I love our neighborhood. We leave the house, each dog leashed, Kaz in the stroller, and the rest of us on foot. We take a left. Sometimes, to change it up a bit, we take a right. Going in reverse is cool, but only if it's spontaneous and infrequent. My mind is blank with occasional thoughts of "how much I love my kids" or "what to have for dinner" or "how nice I have it" passing through.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We take a right at the end of our block and mosey down the street and over the bridge. This bridge looks over the park and, beyond the park, the river. The view is magnificent and it puts into perspective the grander things in life. A little further down and we hang another right. If you recall, it's a loop. All of our turns are right except the first one or if we had gone in reverse. This right takes us down a big hill, the kind you would shift a car to neutral and coast down if you were driving. This hill leads us to the base of the park and the river. My babies are in love with the park. I am in love with the river. There are pelicans on the river and geese and ducks. The pelicans are my favorite. I am in awe at how majestic they are.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Down past the river and the park we hang another right. We had just descended down a hill of healthy stature, so an upward hike is in our midst. We embrace it. Knowing that Grai's legs tire quickly on this hill, I challenge her to a race. Whoever gets to the top first wins. She smokes me every time and stands at the top panting while waiting for me to catch up. I finally reach the top and we continue on down the street until we turn right once more. Home. My mind is smiling. I'm smiling. I'm fully enjoying every ounce of my family and my surroundings and it is all uninterrupted.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Upon our return home, there is dinner to be had. We nibble on good things at our house, but if we feel lazy we might just have cereal. After dinner, it may be a bath night for the kiddos or Grai would select a thirty minute show of choice. Kaz is usually pretty restless by now so he is changed, bottled, snuggled, and tucked in. He loves his bed and wants nothing to do with being rocked for even a second after his bottle is complete. I don't like it, but I respect it. In to bed he goes just in time for Grai's show to be done and for it to be her turn for bed. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hear her trudge up the stairs. She's tired from the day, but she won't admit it. We scrub her teeth, grab some books, and pile into her bed. Once stories are complete, we relish in a few minutes of cuddle time and talk about our favorite parts of the day. I get the same response from Grai each time I ask her what she liked best about the day. "Coloring," she tells me. I think she's sick of the question or she really does love to color that much. We leave her room with hugs and kisses and "lights out when the big hand of the clock is on the 9" or 10 or whatever fifteen minutes looks like that night.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Usually, once the kids are in bed, I would hit the books, but not in these two weeks. In these two weeks I find my wife again or I find her more than normal. For those of you that can't read between the lines, I am definitely talking about our sex life. It is pretty healthy most of the time, but amplified when school isn't blocking everything fun and romantic. I love it. It is gratifying and refreshing and beautiful. With Sara, in these two weeks, I can rot my mind with television or play a game or sit next to her as I write a blog. It is heaven and my mind is free.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I will enjoy every iota of my time away from school. I will not take it for granted. I will remember during the course of the next two weeks that there is so much more to life than school and that it is all sitting right in front of me. My mind is simple right now, filled with nothing but the sweetness of summer, happy children and puppies, and a beautiful wife. I sigh and the stress from semesters past melt away. Tonight's toast is to an empty head. Cheers.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-3243843091285233172013-04-21T21:13:00.002-05:002013-04-21T21:13:54.165-05:00Breaking up is Hard to do<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I don't give a shit if Allstate sues me for the title of this blog.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Tonight I will brief you on child care. I am picky. Sara is picky. And we should be. Everyone that has a child that needs child care should be. If there is one thing we should get right in this life it is the selection of the person who will care for our children if it isn't ourselves.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sara and I got lucky the first go around. Sara was researching cloth diapers and came across a little in-home care center right around the corner from our house. <a href="http://stassoul.blogspot.com/2011/06/who-will-raise-our-baby.html" target="_blank">We ended up choosing her.</a> She stuck. Did we pick her or did she pick us? I don't even know, but I do know that she was one of the best things to happen to us and our daughter and our son.<br />
<br />
Given that many children spend the better part of their waking time away from their parents, and that this was definitely the case for our two hooligans, I don't have a problem admitting that our provider did the better part of the raising. We supported her in this effort just as much as she supported us. We did our best to be consistent with things like nap times and meal times. And she followed suit with our standards of discipline. It was a joint effort and an effort that went relatively seamlessly for the better part of four and a half years.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But time happened and somehow we have a daughter that will be starting 4K this fall. We need transportation for her to and from the 4K site. Transportation isn't something our current provider does and I don't blame her one bit. It's expensive to haul a bunch of juveniles around. I know. I work in insurance. Let's not even begin on the liability that would be involved. Certain safety features. Harnesses. Car seats. It's craziness. I used to ride in the front seat before I could even see over the dashboard. Laws Shmaws.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The looming schedule of 4K and Sara's less demanding hours required a different need of child care for our family. We needed to find someone who could do part time, be the chauffeur for 4K and swimming lessons, and provide a similar (ideally the same) level of love, nurturing, support, and discipline our babes were receiving with their current teacher. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sara did all of the leg work for this nanny thing. I was uninvolved until it came time to meet the candidates. She signed us up for this nifty nanny Web site, Care.com and reached out to at least a million people. (Okay, closer to 70).<br />
<br />
We chatted with a few that could undoubtedly get the job done, but we needed more. There were shoes that needed to be filled. Then we found someone, a nanny I mean. She was young and responsible and a step ahead of me even. I fell in love with her. More importantly the most critical judge of all, Graisyn, fell in love with her.<br />
<br />
It was heartbreaking and defeating when her fiance killed the deal. He wanted her to move to DePere and get rid of her vehicle so they could save money. I guess they want to get married and start a life or something. Jesus. Weddings are expensive. When the gays can get married I'll bet they throw all wedding related stuff on sale. It would be like Kohl's cash. Yup. She should definitely wait.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But she's in love, so she didn't wait. Instead, she politely declined our job offer so we sought other options. We looked some more and didn't find anyone worthy. I told Sara I was done and that we should wait until fall, closer to when school actually starts. She agreed reluctantly because neither one of us is a last minute person. We like the idea of proactivity.<br />
<br />
I learned Sara was continuing the search under the radar when she called me at work to inform me a potential candidate was meeting us at the house promptly around the time I was to arrive home. I was not pleased and I was less pleased after I met the individual. She was an older woman (not that I'm age discriminating) who had little to zilch experience with child care. She did raise two of her own, but they had long since left the nest. I'm sure I quit listening when she asked if the kids needed to be supervised outside because I suppose it isn't obvious that a four year-old and an eleven month-old require pretty constant supervision. Needless to say, she didn't work out and it was very awkward the following Sunday when I saw her at Woodman's. #duckandrun.</div>
<div>
<br />
Once more I pressured Sara to wait. Once more she agreed, but I should have known better. Secretly, she was corresponding with yet another nanny wanna-be. This nanny was<i> the one</i> though. She asked oodles of questions. Oodles. And this was before even meeting her. She came over for the first introduction and she engaged both children. Graisyn talked to her, something she'd only done with the long lost nanny stolen away by fiancé guy. Post meeting, she emailed Sara with more questions. She was engaging and the questions she asked showed the general care and concern she had for children. She seemed delightful.<br />
<br />
Even in finding a teacher and nurturer that we're sure would be a good match for our children, the ultimate decision to take them away from their place of comfort and contentment was grueling. I've often wondered if I'm just dramatic about decisions like this or if other parents experience similar emotions. Still, past all the emotions, we knew our current provider would understand the need for change. We knew it would be hard for her too, but she would get it. She would squeeze her babies on their last day and send them on their way. And I know she will be hoping just as much as we are that this new person taking over her role demonstrates just as much love and care and concern for Grai and Kaz as she did. God willing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-58193969182307430452013-03-08T21:13:00.002-06:002013-03-08T21:13:49.079-06:00Play Games With Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The world had presented me with a smorgasbord of little life scenarios as of late. I have thoughts and opinions about all of them. Around me, there is new life. This life is new to me and new to the world. There is lost life, and this life is new to another world. I learned of the saddest story of a family that could not wrap their arms around their son because of his sexuality. I have been let down by people that could not, for this or for that, hold true to their commitments. I have opinions about all of it. Every single bit of it. I could tell you how I feel about new life and lost life. My ramblings about homophobia could be endless. And disappointment? I could rant about constant dialog and continual discussion that turns into nothing more than, well, nothing. I won't though. I will keep all of my thoughts and opinions to myself. I'm quite good at it actually. Tonight, we are talking about Candy Land.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Graisyn Quinn is four now. She is every bit of four and sometimes older. She's witty and crass, while hysterical and opinionated. She's a lot like me, but amplified. My persistent little queeny is the perfect person to whoop her opponent's ass at Candy Land, or Chutes and Ladders, or The Lady Bug Game. But remember, tonight we are talking about Candy Land.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We've been trying to teach Graisyn the importance of playing fairly. In this venture, I am learning that there are a lot of approaches to molding this character in a spirited child. For example, Graisyn will knowingly cheat. I HATE cheating. I simply loathe it. While there are others that will allow her to cheat because she is "only" four, I will not. I give her one reminder followed promptly by the stink eye. If any further violations occur I close up shop. For me it is not a matter of following the rules. Sometimes rules are meant to be challenged. For me it is a matter of honesty. I know she's only four, but I've got news for all readers who are rolling their eyes at this very moment. The girl does not cheat when she plays with me. She doesn't even attempt it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So the other day Grai and I decided to crank out a quick game of Candy Land prior to my leaving for work. I shuffled the cards and picked the yellow pawn. Grai opened up the board and selected the blue pawn. We were off. I selected the ice cream cone card, which put me immediately near the finish line. Two minutes in and I won the game. It was uneventful. I didn't say much about winning and Grai was fine with losing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Round two. This round lasted for several minutes. My pawn passed up Grai's on the game board. Hers passed up mine. It was competitive, but fun. She was laughing and mildly taunting me as she neared the finish line. She was certain the win would be hers. I thought she was going to burst with excitement. There's just something about victory I think.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Graisyn did win that round. I lost just as gracefully as she did after losing the first round. She won in such a strange way though. I've been thinking about it ever since.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Good game, Grai! You won this one."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I know," she replied and grabbed my hand, "Good game, good game, good game." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"What?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I told you it was a good game."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Why yes it was," I said.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My daughter has learned how to win and do it graciously. She can lose without throwing a fit or being sour. She has replaced her excitement of cheating with enthusiasm for the game. She is growing up. Before I know it she will be starting school. She will need to know how to win and how to lose. She will thrive if she can conduct herself with honesty and integrity. What better way to learn these basic life lessons than through a game. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Now go get the game, ya little shit! Mommy is gonna whoop your butt this time!" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm kidding. Geez.</div>
</div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-16107249698269012272013-02-16T18:08:00.003-06:002013-02-16T18:10:56.672-06:00Read me a Story - First buy me the Book<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You see, there are all these social media outlets that I have been using to vomit information on my newly released book. Problem is, not all of my readers follow me on those outlets and I figure everyone needs a chance to know that the book is now available for purchase. Check it out:<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Buy on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Abbott-McAbbott-McHumphrey-Samantha-Tassoul/dp/161225151X/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1361059357&sr=8-1-fkmr0&keywords=abbott+mcabbott+humphrey+mcgee" target="_blank">Amazon</a>:</div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bnMHqr93_F8/USAepV3JP-I/AAAAAAAAAVk/5unsUUpik8Q/s1600/P2060055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bnMHqr93_F8/USAepV3JP-I/AAAAAAAAAVk/5unsUUpik8Q/s320/P2060055.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Buy on <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abbott-mcabbott-mchumphrey-mcgee-samantha-tassoul/1114490356?ean=9781612251516" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a>:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fr558j6yYM8/USAetJdYFPI/AAAAAAAAAVs/e59UTwX_FMI/s1600/P2060056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fr558j6yYM8/USAetJdYFPI/AAAAAAAAAVs/e59UTwX_FMI/s320/P2060056.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Thank you, my readers, for your support. Happy reading!</div>
</div>
</div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-16337997478841980102013-02-10T20:19:00.000-06:002013-02-10T21:24:06.351-06:00Stranger<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This blog is becoming a stranger to me. The once intimate relationship we shared is fading away. Stop, my stable friend. Don't go. My absence is not in vain. I have been sharing my words with another soul. It is shameful, but it is true. I have left you, my lusterous screen of white, for school.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Oh barf. I am not that sappy. Nor am I that poetic. It is true though. School has become all consuming. It has sucked away any pre-sleepy time freedom I had. In fact as I type this now, I can hear Psych beckoning me. Shut up, I tell you. Shut up! I am at one with my blog. The academic voices will not be silenced. Somebody save me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In more recent news, I am an emerging author. I am anxiously awaiting receipt of my first children's book, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AbbottMcabbottMchumphreyMcgee" target="_blank">Abbott McAbbott McHumprey McGee</a>. The publishing of this book was nearly a two year process for me. It was a self-study process too. I figured out on my own how to get published...<br />
<br />
Train of thought "rudely" interrupted by a sneak attack kiss from my wife.<br />
<br />
Ah, yes. To get published, I walked my happy ass down to the local library and check out as many children's books as my arms would carry. My little girl is especially fond of reading, so the oodles of books spilling from my arms was a plus for her too. The name of a publisher is printed in each book. I literally Googled the names of each publisher to see how they accepted work. Most, I would say 98%, require that you work with a publishing manager. I did not have the time or the money for that, so all of those were out.<br />
<br />
Before I began to feel defeated and shove my dream of being published under the rug, I stumbled upon a small publishing company. The company I selected works through publishing agreements, not full-blown contracts. This provides opportunity for the author to be picked up by a larger publisher. Wanna know the other added bonus? This publisher is practically in my backyard. That's right. They are planted in Milwaukee, WI. Something about that just makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Warm and fuzzy.<br />
<br />
So I submitted the written portion of the book to Mirror Publishing and they bit. They liked the storyline. Great! Then they wanted to know about the artwork. The artwork? Huh? I can draw and I can paint, but I didn't have time for it. I inquired about having someone do the art for me, but they cautioned that it would be costly. Ugh. Fine then. I'll do it myself. And I did.<br />
<br />
I opted to use photos for the pages in the book. I used a photo editing app that was pretty amateur and, while I don't regret it, I'm not sure I'll ever use photos again. My vision was not met on the pages. The edited photos do make the story interactive though. They also allow readers to see the life of the real Abbott. I suppose in that respect, justice was served then.<br />
<br />
Once the written material and artwork was submitted and approved, the waiting began. I waited for e-proofs. Then I waited again for the physical proof. Now I'm waiting for the first batch of books. One hundred of these puppies will arrive to my front door. It is with these that I will start getting my name out. They will be used for book signings. That's right, this little introvert will be sitting in front of a bunch of squealing boogers at local coffee shops, the library, and wherever else I can get into to read and hopefully sell some books. I'm nervous. Okay, I'm excited too.<br />
<br />
I am most hopeful about my future as an author. I don't expect it will put food on my table, but it will be, at minimum, a hobby for me. It will be a way for me to share my writing with the world. It will be a way for me to demonstrate my talents as an artist. I have two more books in the pipeline, and I'm learning Adobe CS6. This is dangerous, people. Dangerous. Watch out.<br />
<br />
Goodnight, sweet blog of mine. Words never looked so good on you.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-36456740040594676552013-01-19T22:12:00.001-06:002013-01-20T09:35:57.213-06:00Nearly Three Decades<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Next week I am going to be twenty-nine years old. Twenty-nine. I've spent the last week or so reflecting, in what little time I have to reflect, on my life as a twenty-something. There has been nearly nine years of this life, and I don't think a single year of it was calm. It hasn't been a bad ride, but I would definitely say it's been comparable to a bustle through a big city.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. I moved from Kaukauna to Neenah with the love of my life. We moved into a duplex in what I would refer to as the ghetto. If Neenah actually has a parcel of land that would meet the definition of a ghetto, this was it. We made it out alive and even got to witness a major drug bust. I would classify this as momentous. Don't do drugs.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2. I bought a puppy. Her name is Lexi. She will be nine in July and is just as much of a pain in the ass as the day we brought her home. Damn dog.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
3. I changed positions at work (four times actually in my 9+ year tenure). I anticipated being bored after five or six years, but I decided I really liked the company and stayed. They like me too...I think.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
4. I met and cared for an old lady in our little Neenah hood. She liked chocolate and puzzles, but more chocolate than puzzles. That woman could pack more chocolate in her face than anyone I know and all the while she was consuming it would bitch about getting diabetes. "You're too old for that shit," I'd tell her. She'd eat more chocolate. God rest rest her crazy soul.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
5. Neenah sucked. At least where we lived did. We moved to Appleton where I (we) purchased our first home. We had awesome neighbors. We drank a fair amount. We loved life. We'll never buy a fixer upper again. Word of advise (from my father in-law), "If it has a VIN or an address, it will ALWAYS cost you money." I don't know if I have it verbatim, but it was something like that. He could not be more right. He's actually always right.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
6. I got pregnant. No, it was not an accident. I'm gay, for those of you that don't know. That shit was accomplished turkey-baster style.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
7. I gave birth and then adopted my own daughter. If it sounds fucked up, it is. If you want to the story, start at the beginning of this blog.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
8. My partner made a career change. I supported her hind end through school. She owes me big time. That's why she's supporting me through school now. Ugh.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
9. My partner got knocked up. Better her than me this time. She was lucky enough to not puke her brains out the entire time. She gave birth. It was nuts. I have son.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
10. I adopted my son. I know more about Wisconsin adoption laws than I care to. How many twenty-somethings can say that?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
11. I wrote a book. It's a children's book, but it's still a book. It will be published this year. Then I will write more and I will publish more. You all will like, buy, and read.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
12. I earned a promotion at work. I earned this promotion after passing it up the first time it was posted because I told myself I was uneducated. Other people told me I was uneducated. I am NOT uneducated. I am self-educated. I am getting my institutionalized education, but damn it, I have built a fantastic life for myself and I did not do it on stupidity. I did it on strength, intelligence, and determination.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
13. I sold my first house and bought a second house. I do not know many of the neighbors, but I do know I love the neighborhood. I love the granola-ish vibe it throws. I love the trees and the parks that it is close to. I miss the old neighbors, but we aren't that far away. There are probably a lot of Subaru cars here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
14. I lost people I love. Let's leave it at that. Otherwise I will cry.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
15. I'm getting educated. I attend this thing people call "higher education" nearly full time now that my partner has graduated with her R.N. And I work full time. And I'm raising a family. And I'm not sane. At least I'm bulletproof.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
16. I fostered boxer dogs. I'd like to do it again when I am done with school and the kids are a bit older and the yard is fenced in. Give me five years and I'll be cleaning up shit for something I'll never own. #payingitforward.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
17. I became a foster failure. I am the owner of an obnoxious, eighty pound boxer boy. I adopted him even after he destroyed our first house. He's a lucky dog. I'm a lucky girl.<br />
<br />
18. I canceled cable. What. A. Joke. What a money suck. What a waste of time. I think I will do homework instead. Oh, kiss off! It's fun.<br />
<br />
19. I've become annoyingly loud about gay rights. Just wait until I hit my thirties. I'll probably be louder. Perhaps, if I didn't have a family that was directly affected, I'd keep my mouth shut. See #s six and nine above. Then perhaps read the rest of this blog. Oh...and I came out.<br />
<br />
20. I started this blog. I am madly in love with this blog. This blog allows me to be open and vulnerable. For those of you that know me personally, this is something I never am.<br />
<br />
I did not do all of these things alone. I did them with my partner, my wife, Sara. I am proud of my accomplishments and of the life I, we, have built. I have one more year left in my twenties. My gut says I'll be spending it being schooled by those that "know better than me." Guess I better buckle up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-43046334508678319572012-12-23T11:22:00.001-06:002012-12-24T18:38:34.545-06:00Run for the Hills<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>927</o:Words>
<o:Characters>5289</o:Characters>
<o:Company>Fox Valley Technical College</o:Company>
<o:Lines>44</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>10</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>6495</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sara began her endeavor in the Registered Nursing program when she
realized she was at a dead end job that would not be for very much
longer. That was nearly five years ago. She evaluated her passions at that time
and it was very clear that she was meant for the medical field. Her compassion
for others is unsurpassed. She is ever curious, eager to learn, and her
demeanor is nothing short of professional. She wanted to be a nurse, so she
began her student career at Fox Valley Technical College (FVTC).</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
Sara progressed quickly into her student career at
FVTC. She was
delighted to have teachers and mentors that realized her potential and that
would push her to new heights. They were honest with her. They encouraged her. They were the best kind of brutal. There were others that that tried to poke a pin in her aspirations. Maybe they were just trying to be realistic when they told her she could
not work full time, raise a family, AND be successful in the nursing program. They apparently did not know my wife. She is unstoppable, so of course she did not agree with that assessment. Instead, she embraced those that inspired her. You know the kind...the people that leave you
feeling more energized than you did when they arrived. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
I am so proud to say, after years of blood, sweat, and tears, Sara has not only graduated, but has also lined up a nursing career for herself! This is greatly in part to the
professionalism she has portrayed during her tenure within the system she currently works. She worked her way through the ranks and,
in doing so, has gained great respect for all positions leading up to the
registered nurse. She has been recognized by colleagues, her superiors, and,
most importantly, her patients for her quality of care and professional work
habits. In my opinion, she is the epitome of what a nurse should be. Biased or
not, I would not want anyone with standards lower than her own caring for me.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
The goal of our college educators is to deliver the best to
the industry. They did that with Sara. They did that with her peers, but they did
not do it alone. It was the drive of the students that got them through. It
was support from their equals, their friends, and their family. All it all, it was group effort that was sustained by those that
wanted it most, the students. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
I'm looking forward to seeing my beautiful wife more. My children are eager to get to know their mumma, who has been more absent than present for the benefit of their future. Together we will continue to foster the support system that we have built so that I can finish my education without the worry of my family being neglected. It's onward and upward from here. We will run for the hills and not look back. It's time to breathe.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
Don't forget, honey. Boards are January. ;-)</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
We love you and could not be more proud!</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LToipIlnMEw/UNc86zs4P2I/AAAAAAAAATc/RjlZ9M80mlg/s1600/PC150058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LToipIlnMEw/UNc86zs4P2I/AAAAAAAAATc/RjlZ9M80mlg/s320/PC150058.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Sara getting ready to speak at her R.N. Pinning Ceremony</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-16480316027983573882012-11-25T21:23:00.000-06:002012-11-25T21:27:56.517-06:00Making History<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We are all very well aware that our beautiful country of the United States of America is a divided one. Those that have not noticed this have been sheltering themselves. There is unrest, pre election, during election, and post election. It is the perfect storm. People with a bitter taste in their mouth and people sipping on the sweet nectar of the results are clashing. The angst can be observed among families, friends, and neighbors alike. A new level of antipathy is transpiring in human communication if mutual political opinion isn't shared. It makes me sad.<br />
<br />
But more than sad, I find it annoying. It seems that people have forgotten a few ground rules surrounding voting, politics, and the like. Here is a friendly reminder of some of them for those who could not play nice this year.<br />
<br />
1. Shut up.<br />
Pardon me. I mean, please be quiet. We all have our own reasons for voting for one representative or another. Unless you can engage yourself in respectful, adult conversation and/or debate without belittling another for his or her vote, keep your mouth shut.<br />
<br />
2. Reflect.<br />
Take a good, hard look at your life in the past four plus years. Do you still live comfortably in your home? Are you driving a four door sedan or larger? Can you or did you vacation? Do you own any luxury items? Do you have access to quality health care? Do you have a job? If you can say, "yes" to all or most of these things, then I encourage you to evaluate your complaints. If you cannot, then let me extend my apologies for the unfortunate series of events that has cause your demise.<br />
<br />
3. Decisions.<br />
Many times, though not all the time, a person's good fortune comes from the personal life decisions he or she makes. For example, I would love to have full equal rights for my family without having to go through thousands of dollars of legal fees to obtain them. Instead of deciding to wait for the law to catch up with the times, my wife and I decided to pursue legal security via life and estate planning and the adoption of our two biological children. Was this the fair route? No. Was it a decision that needed to be made to ensure the security of our family? Yes. We all have things to complain about. What are you doing to get the best results for you and your family?<br />
<br />
Now, keeping in mind these three little rules, I am going to write a biased blog about our most recent election. Though it will be weighted with my political views, I can assure you that it will be written in a respectful tone, that I dedicated more than enough time to reflecting on the past four plus years of my family's life, and that I have evaluated all of our major life decisions.<br />
<br />
This election was about much more than the price of gasoline, the cost of campaigning, the amount of debt our country has, tax breaks, or even state of the economy. These things have consistently been a component of nearly every Presidential election. Take a look at history. It's an obvious tradition. It doesn't matter if the party is Democrat or Republican. Each has there own views and agendas on those topics. What this election held that was different and that was a pivotal point in the history of our country was a social component.<br />
<br />
For the first time in a long time, the people of our nation were put in a position to address human rights. For the first time in a long time, a President took a controversial position on gay rights and the rights of women in the work force. There was a statement of equality for all. Perhaps that statement was made because our President realizes that the economy of this country does not run on straight, wealthy, white males alone. Perhaps that statement was made because our President is human and possesses even an ounce of empathy and compassion towards other human beings. Perhaps it is both.<br />
<br />
In any regard, this election was not and is not trivial for my family or for families like mine. The re-election of our President confirmed that equality for all is just as important as rebuilding the financial stability of our great country. Three states, Washington, Maine, and Maryland, won the freedom to marry, and Minnesota blocked an anti-gay marriage amendment. Wisconsin elected Tammy Baldwin, the first lesbian congresswoman. New Hampshire elected a pro-marriage governor.<br />
<br />
Across our nation people are making an effort to move this country forward from a social perspective. This excites me, but I'm not excited only for me. I'm thrilled for my children. I cannot wait for the day they understand when I tell them that the President of the United States loves our family and families like ours. I will gush when I tell them that he and many others are working very hard to make sure our family has the same legal securities as everyone else's. I am eager to teach my children about this moment in history. It is a critical one. We are making history and it is good.<br />
<br />
I shall close with just a couple remarks on the economic state of our country. It is not all doom and gloom, folks. I think it is easily forgotten that our President walked into financial ruin. He did not create it. The work required to amend those damages will extend far beyond a four-year term. It may even extend beyond his eight years in office.<br />
<br />
Is our government making progress? Yes. Is it happening overnight? No. Is the overall state of the economy something that we as individuals should consume ourselves with? Kind of. We should all be concerned, but it should start at home with our personal finances. Believe it or not, responsible fiscal management at this level will contribute to the overall financial health of our country.<br />
<br />
Finally, I think there is something to be said about privilege. I could live in Sudan, a country that ranks as one of the world's worst economies. I could live in Rwanda or Ethiopia where there are incomprehensible levels of crime and hunger. Or, I could live in Jamaica, one of the most homophobic places on earth. I don't. I get to live here in the United States of America where I am comfortable and well fed and moving toward equal rights. I am, we are, privileged. This country is ready to make history. Let's go!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-9916054535975476482012-10-28T20:47:00.002-05:002012-10-29T21:03:24.863-05:00Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sara and I just purchased our second home. It is a large, mature home that has been tastefully updated on the inside, and that has room for me to get lost in leisurely landscaping on the outside. There is a wrap around porch that will welcome me and my wife on nice evenings for a glass of Malbec or Syrah or whatever my glass will hold. My kids and my dogs will have room to romp at will. There is room for them to create chaos and have hideouts and secret little places that only they will know of. There is room to grow.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So in anticipation of our move, we are packed up our things. All of our memories shoved into plain, drab, brown boxes temporarily, only to be unveiled again at our new home. One of my dearest friends told me it will be like opening presents, a much needed boost since I had been an emotional mess since the boxes appeared. I was not sad to leave our home. I was and am excited about our new home. But, I think I was overwhelmed with leaving all Sara and I had created there in that little house. There was a bit of sadness even though I understood I would be taking the memories with me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That little house is the house where Sara and I grew together as a couple. We learned more about each other there and we relished in each other. Everything that young couples do, we did and we enjoyed every minute of it. I learned how to love and how to be loved and I will take that with me every where I go.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Lexi, our old boxer lady, grew old in that house. She's reluctantly continuing her journey to graydom in our new house. I am prematurely joining here. That house was her first place with a fence so she could run freely without fear of a leash or chain stopping her short. That is where she learned what being a dog is all about.</div>
<div>
<br />
It was between the four walls of that old house that Sara and I decided to create a family. Okay. Fine. We conceptualized it there and got basted at the doctor's office, but either way, We brought two squealing bundles of joy home to that house, a Graisyn Quinn in October of 2008 and a Kazmer Joseph in May of 2012. Our lives haven't been the same since.<br />
<br />
We made friends at that house. We watched their children grow into strong, intelligible young adults. They accepted our new little family with open arms, no questions asked. Gay, straight, or otherwise, they never cared. Together we shared bon fires and birthdays and dinners and occasion after occasion. I don't have many friends, but I think that's what friends are for.<br />
<br />
Sara changed careers while we lived in that house. She stuck her middle finger straight up in the air at her job and began the process of educating herself to care for people. If you have ever met my wife, nursing is the perfect career for her. She is empathetic and compassionate and brutally honest. Her decisions are calculated and she makes time to understand each and every patient she touches. She is what a great nurse should be.<br />
<br />
One day Sara and I got a bug up our butts to save the world. We did so in that house. We didn't have the room for it. We didn't have the time for it. But, we did it nonetheless. We fostered boxer dogs in that small, old house. It was wonderful. We will do it again someday, but meanwhile we are getting ourselves settled. We are getting Sara finished with school and myself started with school, and we are raising our very young family. If this journey brought us nothing more than a bout of patience, it brought us our Abbott, a big, goofy, white boxer boy.<br />
<br />
To some people a house is just a house. I can't live by that philosophy. It feels too cold for me. To me a house is where you build a family and a house with a family is a home. We built a home at our old house and we will build a home at our new (old) house. I can't wait.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aSqKd3bbiV4/UI3gf571eaI/AAAAAAAAATI/iO0Ocz8qxiw/s1600/PA030299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aSqKd3bbiV4/UI3gf571eaI/AAAAAAAAATI/iO0Ocz8qxiw/s320/PA030299.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-48792014129467709442012-09-09T18:12:00.000-05:002012-09-09T18:12:35.985-05:00Blank Slate<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I am amazed at the ability children have to love and accept unconditionally. They love without question and without boundaries. They are not apt to resist differences. Their points of opposition will surround a toy or space in a sandbox not race or gender or family make-up or physical dissimilarity. Children, unlike adults, have the ability to look far beyond these things to see what is directly in front of them. Another human being. A person with wants and needs and aspirations just like them.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As adults we are given the privilege of molding our tiny beings. That's right. It is a privilege. It is not something to be scoffed at or brushed off. We take them away from their innocence and expose them to a gamut of human emotions and behaviors. We teach them our own worldly definition of normalcy coupled with judgement and recognition of irrelevant disparities. We teach them how to love, to demonstrate empathy, to be selfless. Or, instead, we fill their cups with apathy, ignorance, and hypocrisy. We are given the power of influence.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Influence is a scary tool. I think it can be a gift or a curse. When it is used to demonstrate good, it is a gift. On the contrary, when it is used to develop bad, it is a curse. My partner, no...that is such an insult, my wife and I want to teach our children to that it is okay to love whomever THEY choose. We don't need for them to be gay or straight. We need for them to be safe and loved and happy. It is important that they respect individuality and that they are humble, yet confident. They should grow understanding that hard work pays off and that honesty, integrity, and charisma are desirable traits. Most importantly, they should be as the good Lord intended for them to be. They must love themselves first. Then they will have all the love in the world to share with others.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Graisyn, you are smart. Graisyn, you are beautiful. Graisyn, you are kind and important.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Kazmer, you are smart and you are handsome. Don't forget, you are kind and you are important.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">These are not things that we can instill in our children on our own. I think Sara and I would agree that we would be naive to think we could do so. We can do damn good job at it, or at least kill ourselves trying, but, at the end of the day, our children are influenced by many, many others outside the secure walls of our home. The thought of this used to scare me, but now, as I watch them grow, it excites me. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Why?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Our children get to live in a world that communicates on a scale beyond my mind's comprehension. Because of this they will be exposed to more culture than Sara and I and even our parents combined. I envy them. I was in a bubble growing up. I was surrounded by straight, Catholic, anglos. There is no ill will intended with that statement. It is a fact. My bubble kept me safe and unexposed. I knew the community around me. Nothing further.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">This bubble has been popped for Grai and Kaz. Human migration and technology has fostered cultural integration. They have been dumped into a melting pot where they will fit in and be misfits and make friends and have foes and create successes through learned failures and, I hope, thrive. Let me and Sara, and all adults with greater influence in their lives, inscribe them in such a way that they continue to take pride in the beings that they are, love without precincts, and embrace the differences of themselves and others. </div><br />
<br />
</div></div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-15792827962396557132012-08-01T20:33:00.000-05:002012-08-01T20:33:44.290-05:00Finding Calm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Kazmer is now eleven weeks old. This means I have been back at my place of employment, my job, my paycheck, for seven weeks now. I am happy to have my job, but the truth is I am sad. I would rather be tucked tightly at home with my little family wasting away the days with childish banter, messy meal times, naps, playing, extra snuggles with my lover, dog walks, and everything family. Wouldn't we all.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure that I took full advantage of the twelve weeks off that I had with Graisyn. In fact, I am sure I didn't. I was actually eager to go back to work after having her because she had colic and I needed a break from that. Looking back I think what I needed was less of a break and more of an understanding. But it is water under the bridge, I say. Water under the bridge.<br />
<br />
During my four weeks off with Kazmer and Graisyn, I learned how to appreciate the world through the eyes of a three-year old and the eyes of a newborn. I was forced to turn off my work brain and move solely to family brain. It was lovely and I needed to find a way to better balance the two. I loathe my work brain. It is focused and strategic and demanding. It is driven and nagging and bored. It is everything not family and it was too easy to bring that brain home with me. I am in love with my family brain. It is everything playful and curious. It is loving and patient. Okay, sometimes it isn't. It is kind and uplifting. It is serious and authoritative when need be because it is the discipliner. It is calm. Okay, sometimes it isn't.<br />
<br />
Sara and I walked Graisyn to daycare nearly every day while I was off. She only went part-time. She still needed routine, but we needed her home too. While she was gone, Sara and I took every second to learn Kazmer. What did his cries mean? Was he hungry or tired? Did he just want to be cuddled? When Graisyn was home we played and she adored her brother. She was eager to help with him and even more so to hold him or to kiss him or to hug him. We had and have a very full and happy house.<br />
<br />
I was afraid that little bubble of happiness would burst on my return to work. I wish I would have brushed that fear aside and replaced it with balance and courage. But alas, I did not. I trudged to work on that very first day convinced that I had not been away any longer than a weekend or maybe an extended holiday. I was pouty and out of sorts worried that I would be one of THOSE people who can never seem to set work aside to show their own family they are loved and appreciated.<br />
<br />
But that won't be me. Only a few days into my return to my turbulent sea of beige I made the decision that I was not owned by work. Essentially, I was and am owned by my family. And I don't mean that negatively. After all, that is the way it should be. Sure there are days when I bring the stress of the office home with me, but more often I come home to be pummeled by my kids and kissed on by my wife. I put myself in a position where I am in control of my time. I will always work hard. I will always put forth my very best effort, but I am working to live, not living to work. This is the way I have decided to absorb the shock of returning to the office when I would rather be home tickling my kids until they pee. It is in this decision that I found calm.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-7480468092450308312012-07-04T20:18:00.001-05:002012-07-05T20:52:00.834-05:00LaCrosse County<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The thought of a family mulled around in my head the whole while I was growing up, but I think I thought I would never have one. Come to think of it, it took me at least a decade to admit to myself that I was gay. So, when I realized I was gay, I pushed the idea of a family out of my head entirely. Why? Because gay people don't have families. It isn't right in the eyes of everyone...whoever "everyone" is. But I am gay and I have a child. In fact, now I have two. Wow.<br />
<br />
These were my thoughts as my family and I, the four of the six of us (excluding the two doggies), made our way to to the "friendly" courthouse in LaCrosse. It was June 8th, 2012. It was adoption day, and, as I drove along with my family, I realized, again, how lucky I was and am. I was a gay girl with the beautiful lover and the forbidden two children. I had one girl and one boy, both perfect in every way imaginable.<br />
<br />
We left the house that morning before six. We needed to be at the courthouse before ten, so we wanted to give ourselves plenty of time for the normal traveling with kids incidentals...you know feedings, shittings, changing of outfits, gassing up the car, etc. Plus both Sara and I were concerned about the stress level in the car. When we had travelled to LaCrosse for <a href="http://stassoul.blogspot.com/2011/05/judgement-day.html" target="_blank">Graisyn's adoption in December of 2008</a>, she cried the entire way. It was dreadful. We did not want the same experience, not that there would have been much we could do to change it.<br />
<br />
To our delight, the drive to LaCrosse was uneventful. The most excitement we experienced was possibility of three deer lunging out onto the highway in front of us. In all our luck, the deer remained properly stationed on the side of the highway. They must have valued their lives. Outside of that, I think we stopped a total of two times, once to pee and get gas in the car and once to pee and feed Kaz. There was minimal crying from Kazmer; only a sputtering when he was hungry. And Graisyn was very unlike Graisyn. She was saintly.<br />
<br />
We arrived at the courthouse shortly after nine. As instructed by <a href="http://www.law4kids.com/" target="_blank">our lawyer</a>, we made our way through security and up to the second floor where she was waiting. We made small talk. She cooed over the kids and Sara wandered off to pump. It wasn't too long before Kazmer's guardian ad litem made her appearance. She too ogled over Kazmer and raved at how big Graisyn is getting. I was quietly proud.<br />
<br />
Sara soon rejoined us and said her hellos to the guardian ad litem. The prior court session, I think it was small claims, was just adjourning. It was ten. Our hearing was scheduled to begin. We corralled into the courtroom and took our seats. The guardian ad litem was at one table. We and our attorney sat at another, adjacent table. Sara held Kazmer. I held Graisyn. Everyone faced the judge.<br />
<br />
Sara was sworn in first after the judged doled out beanie babies to Kaz and Grai. Toys come first, then business. Kaz sat quietly in Sara's arms as the questioning began. Did she understand what she was doing? Was she an equal participant in the conception of Kazmer? Was she coerced in any way? Did she understand that I would be an equal parent to Kazmer? Did she get that she would have to terminate her rights so that we could adopt him together? Was she aware that, if the adoption was granted and our relationship was dissolved, she could collect child support from me?<br />
<br />
Grai and I heard the banter of questions in the background, but really I was trying to keep her entertained. She did fine except for one moment when it was my turn. Then, as the mic was slid across the table to me, she made it a point to say that this wasn't really her idea of fun. Silently, I agreed with her. No one in the courtroom acknowledged her statement and it was my turn to be questioned.<br />
<br />
I hushed Graisyn moving her over to Sara's lap and taking Kazmer. I received nearly the same questioning as Sara, but was moved to tears when the judge informed me that, without this adoption, I had no legal rights to my son. Of course I already knew that, but there was something about hearing those words from a judge that made me feel sick and angry and defeated. It is always in that moment of understanding that I hate this state. It is always in that moment of understanding that I am bewildered by the ignorance of people. Then I move past it.<br />
<br />
The judge quickly stopped my tears. She told me we didn't need the whole courtroom crying as she motioned our lawyer to get the box of tissue she had at her bench. I agreed, apologized, and calmed myself. Our lawyer finished the questioning, made a final statement, and turned to the judge for commentary. Gently the judge reminded us of our reasoning for being in her courtroom that day. She went through a summary of the questions and moved to grant the adoption. It was all done in a matter of thirty minutes.<br />
<br />
After a successful hearing, The judge called us up for photos. She instructed Graisyn to take her seat at the bench. She reminded Graisyn that she remembered her adoption day and told her that it was an important job to be a big sister. She told Graisyn that someday that chair, the judges chair, might be her chair. She told her to do good things to change the world. Sara and I were humbled. We smiled for the camera and headed out of the courtroom in time for a Subway lunch and our long drive home.<br />
<br />
Now I know it isn't fair that we have to adopt our own children. But, fact is, we do and I can't help but wonder if these people, our judge, and our lawyer, and <a href="http://www.adoptionsofwisconsin.com/" target="_blank">our caseworker</a>, and Kaz's guardian ad litem, know what a difference they make. With them, we have created a level of secret progress in a state that is so quick to directly deny our rights. Someday, families like mine won't have to do this. In the meantime, I suppose we are okay with paving the way. And, in the meantime, I can call my family mine.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1NBPdXcZUEM/T_Ti-DIolII/AAAAAAAAAPc/32Xd5yFf5cY/s1600/P6080123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="309" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1NBPdXcZUEM/T_Ti-DIolII/AAAAAAAAAPc/32Xd5yFf5cY/s320/P6080123.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-86722763584733031822012-06-21T07:16:00.002-05:002013-02-28T15:45:11.379-06:00Toot-Sweet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
PLEASE NOTE: This post is surrounding circumcision and my and my partner's personal views on the procedure. It is not a judgement of parents who have opted, or not, to have this procedure performed on their male offspring. I do welcome friendly conversation and/or debate on the topic. Read on at your leisure, but be warned that some of the content is quite strong. Thank you.<br />
<br />
If a little girl is born in our great country there is no discussion of genital circumcision. At least there shouldn't be. It's illegal. In fact, the World Health Organization views this procedure on female minors as genital mutilation.<br />
<br />
In this country, because it is most prevalent in this country, the decision on whether or not to circumcise a male minor is still part of being a new parent. Sara and I discussed this procedure when I was pregnant with Graisyn. Secretly, I think we were both relieved to find out she was a girl and that this would be a decision that we could avoid.<br />
<br />
The decision on whether or not to circumcise came up again when Sara was pregnant with our son, Kazmer. Sure we had researched the procedure before, but Sara's recent OB rotation for her nursing clinical solidified our decision to have our little guy remain intact. <i>Readers who are easily agitated should not continue reading...</i><br />
<br />
Circumcision is no longer the "in thing" to do. In fact, 80% of the world's males are in tact. The United States is just running a bit behind the times with 54% of males being circumcised. And though percentages vary by region, with 75% of males being circumcised at birth in the mid-west, this continues to decline annually. Why?<br />
<br />
People choose circumcision for their male children for a variety of reasons. Some do it to promote health. Others for religious reasons. Still more for reasons of appearance so that the male child's genitals mirror that of other males in the home or other males that they will encounter throughout their life. Sara and I researched the health side of the argument and there was just not enough strong evidence to persuade us to circumcise Kazmer. Neither of us has a strong religious following currently, though I was raised Catholic and was well aware of the circumcision beliefs held by the church. We both found the idea of inflicting the immense pain that comes with circumcision on an individual for cosmetic reasons appalling, so this was not ever part of our discussions. Our consideration of the procedure was based on the bias of health and the actual procedure itself.<br />
<br />
There isn't enough health related evidence to motivate circumcision. A common theory is that being circumcised helps to prevent STDs and promotes cleanliness. In fact, mature sexual behavior prevents STDs and bathing every once in a while prevents pocket lint. Seems logical to me, so we'll be providing our little guy with age appropriate sex-ed and body wash. May the force be with him.<br />
<br />
Knowing that health was not a strong enough factor to base our decision on, Sara and I took time to learn how the procedure is performed. As I mentioned early, Sara was able to witness the procedure being performed during her OB clinical. I found a video of it online and we both did a load of reading. My personal opinion is that if parents were asked to observe the procedure or were given an inkling on how the procedure is performed, that many would not opt to have it done. I could be wrong, but for the sake of making a case, I'll describe it for you. <i>Again, readers who are easily disturbed should not continue reading...</i><br />
<br />
There isn't always anesthetic, local or otherwise, given to the baby during the circumcision procedure. This would mean no numbing of anything. However, the baby is given a sweet, syrup like substance called Toot-Sweet on a pacifier to enjoy while being physically restrained so the procedure can be performed. Fun.<br />
<br />
The most common way to perform a circumcision is through the Gomco method, though there are other procedures equally as painful. With this method, the foreskin is gripped with some tissue holders while a tool is inserted between the baby's foreskin and the glans. The tissue holder is then used to pull the foreskin lengthwise so it can be cut lengthwise to create room for the circumcision tool, the Gomco clamp. This clamp is placed over the glans and the foreskin pulled over it. The doctor then checks to make sure the positioning of the clamp is correct before tightening the nut on the clamp and using a scalpel to remove the foreskin. Enjoy your Toot-Sweet, little guy, and make sure to thank your creator for lack of short term memory. <i>Did't get the full picture here? Don't worry. The World Wide Web leaves nothing to the imagination. </i><br />
<br />
Once the procedure is complete, the baby is understandably traumatized and irritable. Many studies note these babies as inconsolable. Freshly circumcised babies often don't feed well. Many are sensitive to the positions they are laid in and express dramatic reactions to having wet diapers. Of course, all of these side affects will pass as the baby's circumcision heals.<br />
<br />
What usually won't pass is the dark ring around the penis. I personally always wondered what the intent of that mysterious ring was only to learn that it is the scar left behind by the circumcision clamp. There are other repercussions that are, in my opinion, up for debate, but that include a decrease in sexual satisfaction on both the part of the circumcised male and their female partner. Believe it or not, the foreskin has a job, people. It is there, like a sleeve, to protect that little unit known as the penis from friction, injury, exposure to foreign bodies, and more. For the ladies, it means good-bye chafing and hello really, really good sex. Now I can't attest to this first hand, but I do know someone who can and research shows that the ladies prefer the ones with the sleeve.<br />
<br />
So we're happy that we chose to leave Kazmer intact. If he happens to be upset later in life that he missed out on a little Toot-Sweet, I'll be the first to throw a bottle of corn syrup at him and remind him that the sleeve he sports promises nothing short of an awesome sex life...oh, and, ummmm, that the good Lord created our bodies in the exact way he intended. I'm certain he will be grateful, though maybe not for this blog post.<br />
<br />
<b>Curious? Annoyed? Interested in learning more? Here are some of my sources:</b><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
"Circumcision Resource Center." <i style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Circumcision Resource Center</i>. N.p., n.d. Web. 20 June 2012. <http://www.circumcision.org/index.html>.<br />
<br />
"How Many Baby Boys Get Circumcised?" <i style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">BabyCenter</i>. The BabyCenter Editorial Team, n.d. Web. 20 June 2012. <http://www.babycenter.com/404_how-many-baby-boys-get-circumcised_10331716.bc>.<br />
<br />
O'Reilly, Kevin. "Male Newborn Circumcision Rate Falls to Lowest Level." <i style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">- Amednews.com</i>. N.p., n.d. Web. 20 June 2012. <http://www.ama-assn.org/amednews/2012/02/27/prse0302.htm>.<br />
<br />
Peleg, David, and Ann Steiner. "The Gomco Circumcision: Common Problems and Solutions." <i style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">- September 15, 1998</i>. N.p., n.d. Web. 20 June 2012. <http://www.aafp.org/afp/1998/0915/p891.html>.<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Hartmann, Wolfram. <i>For the Hearing
on the 26th of November 2012 Concerning the Drafting of a Federal Government'
Bill: Drafting of a Law regarding the Scope of Child Care and Custody in the Case
of Male Circumcision</i>. Rep. Berufsverband Der Kinder- Und Jugendärzte, 26
Nov. 2012. Web. 23 Feb. 2013.
<http://www.rz-etelsen.net/Hartmann%20-%20German%20Statement.pdf>.</span><br />
<br /></div>
Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-68912172492920749712012-05-26T10:56:00.000-05:002012-05-26T10:56:47.787-05:00A Welcome Cry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Our boy was due on May fifth. He had no plans on making his arrival on that day or any day in the foreseeable future, so Sara was scheduled to be induced on May eleventh. We were instructed to arrive at the hospital at seven o'clock in the morning. Sara would be doing triple shots of Pitocin. Fun.<br />
<br />
So the May eleventh came. The hospital bags were ready. We had Grai scheduled to be dropped off at daycare and picked up by some of our dearest. In our minds were were all set. We would leave the house at twenty to seven, drop Grai off at her teacher's house, and head to the hospital. We would be a few minutes early, but that was in our nature. We are punctual people. People that aren't drive us both nuts.<br />
<br />
But then Sara peed. It was quarter to five in the morning and she just had to go to the bathroom. On her arrival back to our snugly bed, she was quick to realize that she might still be peeing. Odd, I know. Try being the one sleeping next to her. She nudged me to tell me about her trickle. She told me that she thought she may have experienced some incontinence, but, that on further examination, discovered that her water had broke. Cool, I thought. I was still sleeping.<br />
<br />
Sara did not welcome my continued slumber and urged me to turn on a light. Fine. Wait. What?! Of course. It was go time. I popped out of my sleep and obliged. I ran to the bathroom and grabbed a towel and placed in strategically near the leak. Success. Now what? We were scheduled to be induced on this very day anyway. Were we to go to the hospital now or at the same time that we were scheduled? I wasn't sure, so I did the only thing I could recall needing from my labor. A shower. I asked Sara if she would like to shower. She did. This gave me time to get Grai up, load the bags, and find the phone number for our doctor.<br />
<br />
When Sara was done showering, she phoned the doctor's office. The nurse told us to come in at seven o'clock, our scheduled induction time, unless things were progressing unusually fast. They weren't. Though Sara was having regular contractions, things weren't progressing at all. We just didn't know it yet.<br />
<br />
We dropped Grai off, made our way to the hospital, got checked in, and headed up to the labor and delivery ward. Sara's nurse hooked her up to the monitors. One for her. One for our baby. Everything looked great on the monitors. Then they did the check. Nothing. No dilation. No effacement. Baby hadn't even dropped yet. The nurse checked with our doctor and he ordered that Sara be induced anyway.<br />
<br />
At 9:20 a.m., the Pitocin drip began and so did the real labor. Early on, the contractions the Pitocin produced reminded me very much of my labor. They seemed to be tolerable. Sara and I got some Facebooking in. We sent text messages, e-mailed friends, and we did laps and laps around the labor and delivery ward. Quickly, though, her labor changed. She was experiencing intense back pain which hindered her ability to continue our jaunts.<br />
<br />
Sara finally started to dilate by one o'clock in the afternoon. She was becoming more and more miserable with each contraction. With her only position of comfort being draped over me with my fists pushing as hard as they could into her lower back, I was beginning to become fatigued myself. I think she was at one or two centimeters and I think we both felt like this was an awful lot of anguish for not much progress.<br />
<br />
A few more hours past and the nurse checked Sara again. Three centimeters. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. This was ridiculous. Sara was inconsolable. My arms and back were screaming at me. We were both irritable. Sara finally gave in to the idea of an Epidural. Thank you God. Thank you! I don't like pain medications, but there are times, friends. There are times.<br />
<br />
The Epidural was administered after five o'clock with a spinal to provide immediate relief. Sara was laughing at the next contraction. It was that effective. Again, thank you, God, for creating people smart enough to create drugs like these. We are forever indebted to you.<br />
<br />
To our regret, the Epidural did stop Sara's labor progression almost immediately. Even with an increase in Pitocin, it took just over four more hours for her to progress to five centimeters. Our stubborn little baby, bless his heart, still had not dropped. It was nine thirty at night. Not even coffee was cutting it anymore.<br />
<br />
Over the next hour, Sara progressed rapidly. She went from five centimeters to nine and a half, but still no sign of baby Kaz in the birth canal. The nurses, ours and a student, had Sara try different positions to keep things moving, and, in all the shifting, Kazmer's heart began to decelerate. 130 beats per minute, 100, 90, 84, 70, 66. With the scare of a four minute deceleration, the nurses called in our doctor and had Sara flip from her back to her elbows and knees and put her on oxygen. Now for those women who have experienced labor, it is known that labor embraces humility. That humility is doubled when you are forced to have your bare ass high in the air for everyone to view. I'm sorry, Sara. At least you have a nice ass.<br />
<br />
After twenty-five minutes of elbows and knees, Sara was flipped again to her back. Again, Kaz began to decelerate. Our doctor had also arrived. He and the nurses advised that the baby's decelerations were the result of the umbilical cord being crimped or being wrapped around the baby's neck. Neither sounded good to me. Neither was good. Sara was turned back to elbows and knees again to allow for more slack in the umbilical cord and bring Kazmer's heart rate back up. The doctor called in the surgical nurse and prepped the O.R. for an emergency c-section. No one let on to Sara that this was being done. She would have wigged.<br />
<br />
At twenty to eleven, the nurses had Sara flipped to her back again and did another check. She was finally at ten centimeters and only had a smidge left to efface. With the nurses assistance Sara was fully effaced. It was just after eleven p.m. Kaz was still not in the birth canal. Still, in hopes of avoiding a c-section, the nurse instructed Sara to push.<br />
<br />
With me supporting the right leg and the student nurse supporting the left leg, Sara pushed with each contraction. It took some time, but by eleven forty-five, the top of Kazmer's tiny head was visible. His heart rate continued to be stable until we was fully crowning. It was just after midnight and he began to decelerate again. Come on, kiddo. No c-section. No c-section.<br />
<br />
It wasn't too long before the doctor joined us back in the room and began to help with delivery. I was thankful. Sara was pissed that he was blocking the mirror she had been using to help herself through the pushes. Even with the help of the mirror to guide her and the assistance of me, the nurses, and the doctor, our boy's noggin would not make a full appearance. It was twenty after twelve in the morning on May twelfth. Sara was given one more chance to push with the assistance of the vaccum. If Kazmer was still resistant to birth, the c-section would be performed. One. Two. Three. Push!<br />
<br />
The last push was the longest one. The vacuum was only used for forty-five seconds, but it worked. His little head emerged, cord wrapped around his neck, followed shortly by his long, lanky body. It was twelve twenty-nine in the morning. Kaz, all naked and slimy, was freed of his umbilical cord and placed immediately on Sara's chest. She hugged him. We were both crying. He was not. Cry, baby. Cry, baby. C'mon, baby. Cry. Seconds seemed like long minutes, but he soon let out the most welcome bellow. Thank you, God! Happy birthday, Kazmer Joseph!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">May, 12, 2012, 12:29 a.m. 20.5" long and a comfortable 7lbs. 1oz.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ehwd6PbXYrE/T8DwVl4UvpI/AAAAAAAAAN4/TjO5vI1gh1c/s1600/P5120017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ehwd6PbXYrE/T8DwVl4UvpI/AAAAAAAAAN4/TjO5vI1gh1c/s320/P5120017.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-16286109793011697312012-05-04T22:33:00.000-05:002012-05-04T22:33:32.773-05:00Unstuck the Kid!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">With the hassle of adoption paperwork, home studies, and interviews behind us, we've <i>almost </i>nothing to do but wait for the little squirt to arrive before the court date to finalize his adoption is set. And waiting for him we are...<div><br />
</div><div>We (Sara) are presently at forty weeks pregnant. Forty weeks and stalled. You see, the last three visits to the doctor produced nothing. Not a dilation. Not an effacement. Not a decent of little, fetal head into the birth canal. Nothing. Of course, he's not going to stay in there forever. Come hell or high water, he'll come out, and I'm learning valuable lessons while I wait. Let me share them with you.</div><div><br />
</div><div>1. DON'T joke that nothing is happening as you enter the exam room. The luster of this joke will be lost in the fact that your wife is still not effaced or dilated. She will be angry at everyone, but mostly you.</div><div><br />
</div><div>2. DON'T tell your wife that this little delay of game is okay because it will give her time to focus on the end of school. She's sick of school and she's sick of being pregnant. And, at this point, she might be sick of you too.</div><div><br />
</div><div>3. DON'T remind her that she requested this baby to remain in womb as long as possible, you know, for convenience sake. She will not care to recall this statement nor will she appreciate the reminder. Trust me.</div><div><br />
</div><div>4. DON'T tell her you understand. If I were a man, I would be in worse shape than I am. Thank God I'm not. It's bad enough I had our daughter three weeks early. Clearly I don't understand.</div><div><br />
</div><div>5. DON'T offer comfort in suggesting that the cervix can thin at any time or that dilation can occur once labor starts. At this point, you've aggravated her so much, this is beyond the realm of comprehension.</div><div><br />
</div><div>6. DON'T tell her she's overreacting. Just don't, okay.</div><div><br />
</div><div>7. DON'T sit awkwardly in bed next to her because you're afraid to open your mouth or stay or leave or blink or leave the bedroom light on or turn it off or anything. She will think that something's wrong with you or, worse, that you think something's wrong with her even though it's neither. You're just scared shitless. Say something. Then pray.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I've been praying a lot. Talking, a minor wincing in anticipation of verbal backlash, a quick prayer session, and a sturdy brace for response. I've got the methodology down pat, and I can see the end is almost near. So can she. We're both excited and anxious and glad and nervous and all those jittery feelings you feel right before you have a baby. We're both a bit on edge waiting. All three of us are and Graisyn maybe more than the two of us. In fact, I'm quite surprised that she hasn't managed to pull him out by his ears. Ahh, yes. There's always tomorrow for that.</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div></div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-23969881777631788502012-03-25T09:23:00.003-05:002012-03-25T09:30:47.636-05:00A dog Bowl for Every Occasion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Even if you have a caseworker that is human you might be nervous. Even if you don't have anything to hide your stomach might be turning in on itself. You might sit at work in your cube and pray to stay because it's easier than the alternative. Heck, you'd even put in a few extra cold calls.<br />
<br />
But you don't. At two-thirty, and not a minute after, you pack up your shit. As you shut down your computer, you'll notice that the sweat from your hands has left fingerprints on the mouse and keyboard. "Fuck," you'll think, "This is stupid."<br />
<br />
So the weather is nice and you walk out of work because you're doing the right thing and you care about your family and this home study thing is only a couple hours of your life anyway and is an absolute necessity for the adoption of your own son. You'll set all your crap down in the back seat on top of the cradle that holds your unborn son's carseat. Then, with a sigh, rather, with a cleansing breath of the warm air outside, you'll get in the car and drive away. This will be the quickest drive home you'll have had in a while because today you don't really want to go.<br />
<br />
The family is waiting when you arrive home. It is nearing three o'clock and the caseworker is scheduled to arrive at three sharp. You don't know it yet, but she'll be late. A detour will through her off her route. After walking in the door, you set down your things and promptly remind everyone, dogs and all, that they are to be on their best behavior. You don't know it yet, but they will.<br />
<br />
After hugging your wife, you will express your nerves. She won't appease you because there is nothing to be nervous about and she isn't nervous and you, yet again, are the worrier. But it is just a nudge past three now and your wife does not like waiting for people. Neither do you, and the two of you have found a common ground.<br />
<br />
You will wait for a few more minutes before you call. Meanwhile, your wife has excused herself to use the bathroom. She is pregnant and pees all the time. In the meantime, you have collared and leashed the beasts because they are boxers and they will level your caseworker when she arrives.<br />
<br />
Phone in hand, you will mutter, "Jesus Christ, where is she?" Then you will apologize to the Lord for involving him at all, but will also make sure to excuse it do to the stress you have unnecessarily put on yourself. You dial, but never get to hit the green "call" button on your wife's cell phone because your daughter will chime, "MOMMMMMYYY! Someone is at the door!"<br />
<br />
The dogs drag you to the door and you motion your caseworker in directing her to keep walking, that the dogs are leashed and will remain so until they settle. She obliges. You will state that you and your wife were getting concerned and that you were just getting ready to call to see if she was okay. She will mention the detour as she walks into your home with her shoes on, unpacks her notes, and settles in on the couch.<br />
<br />
Both dogs carry on with their excitement and your wife has since emerged from the bathroom. You will ask the caseworker if she has a dog. She will tell that she did, a pit/lab mix, but that the dog has passed away. You will be empathetic as will your wife, but this information will create an immediate sense of relief about the size of your dogs and their rambunctious behavior. The caseworker will excuse herself to use the bathroom as you offer her a glass of water and she graciously accepts.<br />
<br />
In a few minutes everyone will reconvene in the living room. The caseworker will get started right away. She is just as bubbly and warm and normal as she was when you and your family <a href="http://stassoul.blogspot.com/2012/03/afternoon-extravaganza.html">visited her in Madison</a> just a couple weeks earlier. She will start in on her list of questions, but she will incorporate tales of her own life along the way. Secretly, you will be embarrassed for your nerves, but still annoyed with the requirement of the entire process.<br />
<br />
Curious from earlier, you will inquire about her dog. This will become a fifteen minute conversation, but it will be a conversation that is welcomed by all. At this time, your dogs have settled and are laying down. You will think this is unusual and you will state so. The caseworker will rant about how her dog used to run the neighborhood. She will tell you about the eight foot cyclone fence and the steel bars weighting down the bottom of it. She will tell you that the dog managed to escape it anyway and, to this day, she does not know how. Talk of her children and you and your partner's child will mix in with the conversation and it will be known that her dog was a precursor to her children and that her dog was her baby. She will tell you both that she used to buy her dog a different feeding dish for every holiday and that the dishes were plastic. Everyone will giggle when she reveals that her dog was allergic to plastic and this will cause you to think that she is definitely not here to judge you or your partner's parenting.<br />
<br />
The three of you plus a child and two dogs wrap up the talk of discipline, canines, and relatives and move to the study of the home. She, the caseworker, will stand up and glance around the living room. You motion her to the dining room, next the kitchen. In the kitchen you mention the fenced in backyard and she looks out the window, but says that she had perused it prior to coming inside.<br />
<br />
Stepping out of the kitchen, your wife leads the way to the basement and you make mention that it is just a basement and that it is creepy so the dogs always accompany you down there. In the basement, the caseworker will agree that it is creepy and will tell both of you that she is happy to see that there aren't any bedrooms down there. You tell her that the bodies are stored in the chest freezer and open up the freezer so she can see. She peeks in the freezer and, in a sarcastic tone, you tell her that you are kidding. Your wife will beckon all of you upstairs.<br />
<br />
Upstairs and upstairs again you visit the bathroom and three bedrooms. The caseworker will let your daughter show off her room first and, in her room, your wife will gently scold her for jumping on her bed. The caseworker will retort that her kids jump on their beds, but she will do so in a pleasant tone so that it is evident that a red check has not been added to her notes.<br />
<br />
After all the rooms are said and done, there is a gathering in the hallway. She will tell you and your wife that smoke detectors are needed in every room and you will kind of argue that the smoke detector in the hallway is three feet outside of each bedroom. She will push back and you will submit. After all, it is only a couple of smoke detectors.<br />
<br />
The three of you plus a child and two dogs make way down the stairs and you notice that the caseworker is gathering her things. You will glance at the clock and note that she has been at your house for nearly two hours, plus drive time, and you will see more dollar signs.<br />
<br />
The caseworker will remind you and your wife to add the smoke detectors and send her photos of them installed. She will tell you that everything else seems to check out but that they will be double checking all documents back at the office. You excuse her, tell her to drive safe, and, closing the door behind her, claim the rest of the evening as your own.<br />
<br />
On a walk with your family, that same night, you will recall the dog bowls. There was one for every holiday. You and your wife will chuckle in the silliness of it, but will also relish in the moment because for this home study you both got to deal with someone human.<br />
<br />
</div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-64428664603629700782012-03-11T19:52:00.000-05:002012-03-11T19:52:17.715-05:00An Afternoon Extravaganza<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Sit me down with coffee and, please, get a water for my wife. Oh, and my daughter would like some juice. You know, the kind in the pouch, the kind that she doesn't get at home because there is too much sugar in it. Make us comfortable on your broken-in sofa, your davenport. Our asses could use a bit more squish after our hour and forty-minute drive to visit. Thank you for your hospitality. Will you please badger me?<br />
<br />
Sara, Sara's pregnant belly (a.k.a. Kazmer), Graisyn, and I arrived in Madison at <a href="http://www.law4kids.com/">The Law Center for Children & Families</a> and <a href="http://www.adoptionsofwisconsin.com/">Adoptions of Wisconsin (A.O.W)</a>. I had just finished a near full day of work and Sara had racked her brains with everything medical. It was 4:34 p.m. The weather was shit, but much better than it could have been. It was a balmy thirty-two degrees so the wet that fell from the sky was slushy. We considered these ideal driving conditions and arrived to our destination safely. It was February 29th and our first face-to-face introduction with our case worker.<br />
<br />
On our arrival, a young man let us into the unsuspecting office building shared by <a href="http://www.law4kids.com/">The Law Center for Children & Families</a> and <a href="http://www.adoptionsofwisconsin.com/">Adoptions of Wisconsin</a>. The building was not immediately accessible. Maybe this was for security. Probably it was because it was after hours. Immediately we were greeted by a short woman. She was young. Sara's age, I think. Her hair was wavy and plain brown, but she wore a warm smile and a presented a soft handshake. She introduced herself as our caseworker...the A.O.W. side of things. I think I was relieved.<br />
<br />
We were early. Our appointment wasn't until 5:00 p.m. It was 4:34 p.m. We would wait. Our newfound caseworker had a few things to finish up, some paperwork and some calls to make. It was okay though. We were early and I had a three-year old and a wife doing the pee-pee dance. We could wait.<br />
<br />
After we all relieved ourselves, we greeted back in the hallway by our lawyer. She was just as pleasing as she was when we went through <a href="http://stassoul.blogspot.com/2011/03/adoption-fundamentals.html">Graisyn's adoption</a>. Tall and slender and also young. She was smart and always reassuring, plus a real stickler for the rules. Her familiar face was relaxing as she settled us into the little suite with the sofas and our beverages.<br />
<br />
We took the opportunity to catch up while we waited for our caseworker to complete her tasks. It was nice. We had lots to talk about. She was curious about life since Grai's adoption and our dogs as she too was a boxer lover with a bouncy boy herself. We wrapped up the conversations with blurb on adoption related next steps and good-byes. It was 4:54 p.m.<br />
<br />
Shortly thereafter, our caseworker joined us in the room. She sat down facing Sara and me. Grai played quietly in the corner behind her. She was armed with pen and paper. We were armed with credit card and documents supporting our relationship and our family. Between the three of us, we could have burned the building to the ground.<br />
<br />
"We're here to talk about the children today," she stated, "When I do the home study, we will talk more about you."<br />
<br />
She segued into small talk about herself and her family and I was quickly realizing that this interview wasn't going to be anything like the one that we had when I was pregnant with Graisyn. She was conversational. We didn't feel degraded or interrogated or scrutinized. She welcomed our answers and related them to her own life. It was unusually comfortable, like talking to a friend.<br />
<br />
We chatted about many things that evening. What are our discipline philosophies, like Love and Logic, for example? What things does Graisyn like to do? How does Graisyn feel about a sibling? A brother? Do we do things as a family? If so, what? Does Grai have child care during the day? Does she like it? Will Kazmer go to the same home to be cared for? Do we have pets? If yes, how do they interact with Graisyn? How do we think they will respond to a baby? How do our families feel about the children? Are they supportive? Do we have a surrounding of friends that are involved in the children's lives? ARE WE NORMAL?<br />
<br />
Yes we're normal and, no, she did not ask us that. Admitting that many of the questions seemed a bit odd since Kazmer is being born directly into our family, she made certain to document all of our responses. These responses, coupled with the findings of our home study on March 21st, would create our adoption story. These and our money and our application for adoption and our trial would make our son ours.<br />
<br />
It was 5:49 p.m. Our interview was done. Even though our case worker and our lawyer did all things possible to ensure our comfort and ease our anxiety, we were all exhausted. Swiping our credit card and bidding our farewells, Sara, Grai, and I headed back out into the sleety weather and piled in the car. The grumblings of our tummies played in tune to the radio. I'll take a foot-long veggie on wheat. Toasted, please. Sara will take the same and quarter that for Grai with a side of parfait and a cookie. So long, Law Center for Children and Families. Until next time, A.O.W. Subway, here we come!<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-41129627253136481432012-02-24T19:11:00.000-06:002012-02-24T19:11:57.351-06:00Support Me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;">I do a lot of ranting about how unfair things are for my family, but this blog post is not a bitching session. No. I will not gripe about the blatant and obvious inequalities, though there are plenty. Rather, I would like to send praises to those who raised us, to those who grew up with us, and to those of who we accumulated along the way, all of whom continue to support and inspire us. That's right. This blog post is to say thank-you to those who can stand, or even love, to be around us because, believe it or not, we aren't contagious. See. Sometimes I can be gracious.</div><br />
1. The mamas and the papas...on both sides. Because there is something to be said about spankings as needed, balancing a checkbook, humiliation, pride, working your tail-end off for life's necessities, and unconditional love.<br />
<br />
2. My siblings. I love them and now I have to share them with Sara. I should charge her, but the funds would be extracted from a joint account. With them, it was about building booby-traps for dad on the railing at the top of the stairs to bombard him after work and playing hide-and-seek and building forts. With them, it's about having those two someones to share life's moments of bliss, sorrow, and pissing and moaning.<br />
<br />
3. The parent's parents. I am inspired by anyone that can raise 2+ children even it was "the time" to have large families. If a brood can overtake the brooders, that scares me. Humor aside, and not applicable to all of our grandparents, but certainly to a set or two, thank-you for putting the love my family ahead of beliefs and values. I know our "lifestyle" doesn't fit those beliefs and values, but the love is there anyway. And to Ma Rab. She doesn't kiss anyone's ass, and I'm pretty certain she rules the world.<br />
<br />
4. Our friends. We don't have a lot and we're too busy for the ones we do have. But, no matter how much they are neglected, they keep coming back for more. Thanks guys. There will be food, spirits, and open calendars sometime in 2013 after Sara's graduation...promise.<br />
<br />
5. The teachers. I won't speak for Sara, but I know I had some notable ones in, say, kindergarten, fourth, fifth, and sixth grade. There's a couple I would pluck from high school too. These were the people that taught me to get my head out of the sand, challenge myself, and be whoever the hell it is I want to be. Good news. I spend fifty percent of my time being the person I want to be, but by day I'm a sales representative. Block your phones, I might be calling you.<br />
<br />
6. Sara's cousin. Because anyone who even considers planning her career path around bettering the life of my family deserves her own shout out. You know who you are and you are inspiring.<br />
<br />
7. Graisyn's teacher. She didn't even blink when she was introduced to a child with two mommies. She took Graisyn in with open arms, and I think she even asked us if we needed or wanted a rainbow flag somewhere on premise to show <i>friendliness</i>. Cute. That makes me giggle.<br />
<br />
8. My dogs. <i>Yes, I just became "that" person.</i> Sue me. Our dogs look at us without judgement, and I know that when Abbott growls at me he is muttering, "Mommy, wanna play," and not, "Mommy, you're such a fag."<br />
<br />
When I look at my life, now and in past, I see that it is daubed with people who were willing and are willing to support me. Thank-you for listening to the struggles of my family, for providing insight as needed, and for celebrating our victories. Lord knows I never saw myself or my family on the sour end of what turns out to be our very own political and legal nightmare. I wouldn't have. It took this idiot 19 years to figure out "gay" was even part of her vocabulary. My feet would be stuck in the mud if it weren't for the support of all of you, so thank-you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-49662621435815936052012-01-21T14:56:00.001-06:002012-01-21T15:00:52.293-06:00Here we Come Adoptioning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">With Sara nearing the third trimester of her pregnancy it is time to get the adoption planning for Kazmer underway. We both are in awe at how fast the pregnancy is going, but honestly, and shamefully, I think our lives have been too busy to really sit back and enjoy it. I don't think either of us is excited at the thought of the adoption process. I know I'm not, but it's one of those necessary evils. Per the wisdom of our attorney, this time shouldn't be quite the pain in the ass that it was with Graisyn. We should save time and money. Given my love of time and money, I am very excited about this. I am also, for lack of a better term, cautiously optimistic.<br />
<br />
The first conference call with our attorney took place this past Wednesday. I scooted out of work early in high spirits. I was anticipating a productive call with explicit action items given to each party. Sara's phone rang at 3:00 p.m. She answered and placed our lawyer on speakerphone. On the other end a pleasant voice chimed a "hello" and a friendly laugh and a "hey, how's the pregnancy going" to which we provided appropriate responses. It was small talk, but it was needed. The three of us were getting reacquainted after nearly four years of attorney free bliss.<br />
<br />
She, our attorney, is an attractive, younger woman. She works at The Law Center for Children & Families. She is matter of fact and by the book and I very much like it that way. Though she's not gay, she likes us gays and she is an advocate that is dyed-in-the-wool. She likes boxers too, so that's an extra added bonus. Anyway, she quickly guided the conversation to the obvious point of discussion, adoption. She told us there were some changes to the process. She also told us not to worry because the changes affected mostly her, not us. Thank God.<br />
<br />
Still, there were changes. First, and at the forefront of my brain, there was no increase in the cost of her fees. In fact, we're eager to receive a discount for it being our second adoption case with their office. Only a $3,000 flat fee this time (not including travel and mileage) instead of the original $5,000. Second, and we are very sorry to our tree friends, there would be more paper. Lots more. A nice lady by the name of Shelley Jay tried to kill the entire concept of gay/lesbian families for all the family-trying homos in the state of Wisconsin. Our attorney even mentioned that the chaos Jay's case created caused them to put all alternative family adoptions on hold for nearly four months. To think one woman wanted a child with another and went through the same shit that we are going through to protect our family only to throw it in the face of her ex, her child, the professionals that made her family possible, and the gay community because she wanted to terminate her parental rights and claimed that she didn't sign a single document agreeing to the adoption to begin with. Bitch pleeeassse! I recommend Googling that one if you care to learn more.<br />
<br />
Back to my family.<br />
<br />
We will be dissolving ourselves in a ream or three of paper from our attorney's office. Per our conversation with her on Wednesday, she will be putting that package in the mail. Upon receipt, we are to follow the instructions provided with the contents to guide us through the paperwork. Sounds vaguely familiar. We can do that. We were also instructed to contact the adoption agency to schedule the home study update. Since we had already completed a full one with Graisyn, she advised that this should just be an update and to expect a charge somewhere in the realm of $500 from the adoption agency. Fair enough. We wrapped up the call with our attorney and proceeded to reach out to the Community Adoption Center to schedule our home study update.<br />
<br />
Sara dialed and again put the phone on speaker. A crass lady at the center answered. Sara explained who we were and what we needed. Snidely, the lady informed us that they would not do an update to our home study. Sara reiterated that we already had a home study done through their agency with the birth of our daughter, Graisyn. I could feel my blood starting to boil as this woman sighed, asked us who our case worker had been, and told us to hold on a minute.<br />
<br />
She returned to the phone seconds later. With my chest growing tight and blood running hot, she advised that our case worker "kind of" recalled us and that they still weren't willing to update our home study. She told us home studies are only good for one year. <i>Bull shit. If that were the case you'd have stated that right off the bat. Why then did you put us hold?</i> She carried on with the costs of the home study and, with as much grace as she had managed to muster thus far in the conversation, told us that they had doubled their prices from a $1,500 flat fee to a $3,000 flat fee and that this, of course, did not include travel and mileage.<br />
<br />
I butted in and asked her to repeat herself. She obliged to which I interrupted again, "You're kidding me, right? If this is going to be the case with your agency, then we'll find another who is willing to work with us."<br />
<br />
"Okay," she said and we hung up the phone. I looked at Sara. Sara looked at me. It was the "now what" look. Sara called and left a message for our attorney to provide alternative adoption agency options and we scanned the Internet. We came across an agency listed on our attorney's Web site and decided to give them a whirl. Sara handed me the phone. I pushed it back. "You have more tact," I said. She dialed.<br />
<br />
A comforting voice answered. "Adoptions of Wisconsin," she said, "How can I help you?"<br />
<br />
<i>She said, "How can I help you?" Exhale and loosen up chest of mine. She wants to help us.</i> Sara explained our situation and the message the last agency delivered to us. The woman advised that they could do our home study, but that it would need to be processed as a full and not an update as they did not do the original filings. She even put us on hold to find the most cost effective method for us. The costs would be a $1,200 flat fee excluding travel and mileage. A bit more gut wrenching than the $500 we were anticipating, but much more doable than the $3,000 the woman at the Community Adoption Center laid on us. I'd really like to know how one agency can pull a number of $3,000 out of the air and the other can perform the exact same functions for $1,200. I'm going to call and write the Community Adoption Center for an explanation. I'll let everyone know when I get slapped with the harassment lawsuit.<br />
<br />
We ended the call with the woman from Adoptions of Wisconsin. It was 4:30 p.m. by the time all was said and done. An hour and a half of phone time and we were both fatigued. Shortly following our final call, Sara already had the paperwork from Adoptions of Wisconsin in her inbox to complete. Fifty-five pages of peering into our lives. Fifty-five pages of interpretation and judgement including, but not limited to, full body physicals. Most people can get that for free. We prefer to pay for ours.<br />
<br />
I finished the evening sobbing with frustration and exhaustion while folding a load of laundry. Sara played around on her computer. She didn't cry at all. Funny, it's usually the other way around. "There's nothing we can do," she said, "This is just what we have to do. The state just isn't there yet, so there's no sense in being upset over something we can't fix."<br />
<br />
She's right. I know that she's right, but I just want to know why. Why isn't our state there yet and why can't I fix it?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195762405999988010.post-40372967370064533472011-12-31T18:40:00.000-06:002011-12-31T18:40:01.718-06:00Resolving the Resolution<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I am not one who is fond of New Year's resolutions. In fact, I, under most circumstances, view them as an individual's response to an annual formality or obligation. A have to do. Not a want to do.<br />
<br />
<div>Every year the media engages this philosophy picking at the brains of those who are vulnerable. Gyms offer specials on memberships. Sporting good stores offer best price sales on exercise equipment. Then there are always those companies who are looking to help with debt management or savings. Anything really to start out the new year on a totally clean slate. Anything to substantiate that one will be a better human being than they were the year prior. Anything to show self-improvement.<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div>Call me pessimistic, but how many successful New Year's resolutions have you seen? I haven't seen many. The success stories I have had the opportunity of observing are not of those who wanted improvement for one measly year, but those who opted for a lifestyle change, something that would better themselves for the long term. These types of people decide they need a change in a certain arena of their life, be it weight, money, relationships, etc., and just do it. Change for these types of people is not warranted by the strike of a clock or day on a calendar or, better yet, a tradition shared by the masses. It is simply executed after the observation for change is made.<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div>I digress.<br />
<br />
<div>Let's discuss alternatives for the traditional New Year's resolution by taking a futuristic approach. I will use myself as the example.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div>More recently, within the last twelve-ish months, I came to grasps with the daunting task of furthering my education. That's right folks, college. Yuck. Sorry, but just yuck.<br />
<br />
<div>Now following the traditional New Year's resolution approach, I would have strategically placed this goal around the corner from the first of the year at spring semester enrollment. This is not the avenue I chose. Instead, I enrolled as soon as I possibly could with the understanding that I would take small bites at a time while my wife, Sara, finishes the endeavor of obtaining her R.N. She only has one more year to go, people! I can almost see the finish line. There it is! There it is!<br />
<br />
<div>Why did I enroll immediately after being slapped in the face with the realization that one may as well be defined as professionally unsuccessful if they don't have a degree? Well, because this is a life changing resolution, one that required prompt action for many reasons. I will list only a few:<br />
1. Knowledge doesn't amount to much without a degree. I have come to terms that the professional world leans more on paper than on information. This opinion is based solely on experience.<br />
2. Degree = more money. Hopefully...<br />
3. More money = able to better provide for my family and our needs and wants. Hopefully...<br />
<br />
<div>So down the road of education I travel. For this resolution I have selected a technical college as the atmosphere for which I am using to expand my mind. I am not one for institutionalized learning, so this choice was ideal for me because it expands learning beyond the book into the real world; also known as "hands-on" learning.<br />
<br />
I digress again.<br />
<br />
<div>It is important to keep in mind that these types of resolutions do not normally provide immediate success. In my case, it will be a few years before I have the prized paper, my diploma, in my hand to help me with the reasons 1, 2, and 3 above as well as those that are unlisted. But, remember, there will be small milestones or successes along the way, i.e. me getting over 95%+ in the classes I have completed thus far. Use these to keep you motivated and see you through to the resolutions completion whether that is next month, next year, or next decade.<br />
<br />
<div>If you're a resolutioner, a New Year's resolutioner, or something in-between good luck and may the force be with you now, in 2012, and beyond.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Samhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196261957787635767noreply@blogger.com0