Drum Roll Please

I want first to thank everyone for their ideas and input for my name as a mother. I thought a great deal about it and really enjoyed everyone's input. I was almost going to go with Poppy but then I had a thought. I want to be identified as a mother to our child, just as Peaches will be. Although Poppy has a parental sound to it, it has male parent sound to it (the main reason I wanted it). I want people to hear our child call to me and know that is the child's mother, well one of it's mothers.

Time for the unveiling!

Henceforth, my child will call me Mumzy.

This name is within my cultural and ethnic heritage of British Canadian (my mother's side). I felt that was important to embrace as soon I will be helping my child to embrace her/his culture and ethnicity of birth as well as my own.

I also made my choice because I have an affinity for unusual letters like X, Q, and Z. Those of you who know my secret identity know I added the x that was dropped two generations ago back to my name.

Thank you everyone. Tune in next time to hear about our super weekend of home repair and moving a friend.

Pluto

So what the fuck is going on with the planets? First I hear that there are four more. Then I read Pluto is not a planet anymore.

Who died and left the astronomers God?

Teva Stink

While you are all delurking, tell me what your cure for Teva Stink is. I have two pairs of Tevas that I LOVE but they smell worse and worse. How have you cured the stink? I hate to throw them away before they are worn out.

What to Call Myself?

As a semi-butch dyke, I am trying to decide what to be called by our child when we adopt. My wife will be going by Mama. The struggle is to find a name that I like, that fits my semi-butch status, as well as identifies me as a parent.

Here are a bunch of names we have have tossed around. None really fits perfectly.

• Mami
• Mom
• Mum
• Mumzy
• Mumz
• Mummy
• Poppy
• Mumma

Here are our rules.

1. No first names, like Mama Hashbrown
2. No made up names

So what do you think?

Here are my thoughts. I really like Poppy for three reasons. First, it does not have a history of specific traditional female role like the other names. Second, it sounds a lot like the Latin American name for father, Papi. Third, it is a flower that I adore. My fears of what others will think and assume is where the problem lies. People will assume that since I have a more father-like name that I am the "man" in the relationship with my wife. That whole butch-fem/man-woman role thing is so old and so tiring to confront. It goes on so much already because I have short hair, don't wear dresses, and like power tools. I do not want to compound the pre-existing assumptions with a man-ish parental name. I also think about the trouble it may cause for our child especially as s/he is a teen and adult, having to explain it to friends, bosses, coworkers, future in-laws, etc. But then I ask myself, why do I think about what others may think? They will think what they will think no matter what I decide. Why not just do what I want? Maybe I should just be called Parent.

So I am asking all my readers to chime in with what you think. I am not looking for you to make my decision but want some input and maybe new ideas. So delurk and comment, please.

Love, Hashbrown

Fun and Sun in the City

Yesterday was a gorgeous afternoon in Boston. Instead of working a few extra hours or going to a work function, I went to sit in the sun, on the grass, in Copley Square. A local radio station was sponsoring a free concert with Toby Lightmen and Shawn Mullins. Toby Lightmen was great! Shawn Mullins was a bit too depressing for me right then. It was beautiful to sit, enjoy the sun and music, and look about at the beautiful buildings surrounding the square.

I was there the day before too. Instead of waiting underground for the local train that would get me home 15 minutes earlier, I sat by the fountain, enjoying the sun and being in the city. It is times like these that remind me what a great city Boston is and how much I love it.

911 from 9/11

I got my copy of the Metro this morning from my favorite Metro Lady. On my way down to the subway platform, I started reading the front page. It was the story of one of the 911 phone calls from the World Trade Center. As I waited for the Red Line, I choked back the tears as I read how the 911 operator continued to talk to the woman for 21 minutes after the woman stopped speaking. The operator stated she wanted to encourage and support the caller even if she could not speak or was perhaps unconscious. The story ended with the line going dead and the operator’s exclamation of horror. The kindness, dedication, and humanity of that 911 operator, reading the caller's fear of death, and knowing the end of the story before it came, it all ripped through me like the subway entering the station. The doors opened and I swallowed my tears and strived to pull it together as I climbed into the jam-packed train and rode to work.

A Night to Remember

I saw bigotry rear its ugly head yesterday night. Horrible, horrible words were uttered and shouted. I saw the worst in people. It was shocking to see just how far we have not come. The comfort in which people asserted their racist beliefs, right here in Massachusetts, was horrifying. I guess I forget just how bad the beliefs and attitudes are; I had begun to believe we were further along. We aren’t. I was frightened. I was angry. I was disgusted. It was real.

Dear Ms. Know-It-All,

I just wanted to clear up a point with you after the meeting last night. During the meeting, you said my wife and I had an "alternative lifestyle." The term "alternative lifestyle" implies that our way of living is a substitute for when "normal lifestyle" is not available, such as alternative plans, alternative fuel source, alternative routes, and alternative treatments. These are all things that are not as good as the original but sort of suitable. This is not acceptable to my wife, the GLBT nation, or me. We are called lesbian, transgender, gay, bi, queer, trans, bisexual, two spirited, questioning, and omnisexual. If those terms are too hard on your lips, you can revert to the acronym GLBT.

I also want to inform you that I do not have a "lifestyle." The term "lifestyle" implies something transient, something chosen, something fun. I live a life. And I do have style, a style unto myself. Oh yeah!

I recommend you get some education but not from me. I am sick to death of having to be an educator to your ignorant, backwards, crazy-ass self. I am too busy living my life and maintaining my style.

Love,
Hashbrown

Everything is Back to Normal

Reuben must be feeling better. I woke at 4 AM from a weird noise so I got up to investigate. Here is Reuben with his big melon head inside the cat food container. He had pulled off the flip top lid and then the rest of the lid. Evidently, he did not get the memo that he is supposed to be on soft food only.

Josie is still growling and hissing at him anytime he comes around. I am sure that will go back to in a day, when he does not smell like surgery any more.

Also, I hear a familiar thumping. He is trying to open the lids again. Oh, Reuben!

Worry

About a year ago, we took our two cats, Reuben and Maddie, in for dental cleanings and extractions. When we adopted Maddie at one year old, she already had breath that could stop a truck from bad teeth so it was no surprise that she needed some teeth pulled at the age of 2. Reuben was 7 and had poor teeth as well, not to the extent of Maddie.

Maddie died after the surgery. She escaped while they were placing her in the carrier and ran about the OR. They finally got her back into her carrier. From all the excitement, she vomited and inhaled it. The blessing of this was that she died at home in Peaches arms with Reuben and I next to her. Maddie’s passing still stings; I miss her little cricket purr.

Maddie

Today, Reuben had to go in again for a dental cleaning and extraction. He has two more teeth that have gone bad. When I found out that he needed the surgery again, my heart ached again as it has not for months. It was with trepidation that I took him in to the vet this morning. I do not want to loose another cat that way.

The vet’s assistant called a bit ago to say that Reuben did well through the surgery and was waking up from the anesthesia. I can go pick him up at 4 PM. I am slightly relieved that he is doing fine from the surgery but will not be relieved completely until he comes home and plops on the bed.

Reuben

Update

Reuben is home now and doing ok. He is a bit nutty from the anethesia but that will wear off as the night goes by. He is fangless now. Poor Bubba!

My Brother, My Friend

This week, my parents and my older brother (who does not talk to me) are visiting my younger brother (who is an incredible friend and support). I don’t like it when they visit him. I worry that something will be said that will take his love and support away from me.

In my mind, I know this will not happen. He has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Through bad relationships, sadness, substance abuse, happy times, coming out, and hard times, we have been there for each other. Our friendship has never faded. I love him and I know he loves me.

He has told me many times that he supports and understands my decision about our parents. He has told me that he would have given up far before I did and that when he thinks about how they have treated me, he gets wicked angry and wants to cut all ties with them. But he values peaceful relationships and believes he can effect change through those relationships. This is my battle, not his so I do not expect him to fight it for/with me. But his support means more to me than words could ever say.

In December, he is moving to the Pacific Northwest. I am so proud of him for pursuing his dreams and going to get his doctoral degree in Chiropractics. But it is so far away. I fear I will see him even less often than I do now, which is 1-2 times a year. I think I worry too much. I know I am blessed to have such a fantastic brother and friend. So many people do not have such a relationship with their sibling. Maybe when he is a doctor and making the big bucks, he will be able to come visit us more, cause Lord knows, I will never make the big bucks on a music therapist salary! You know what I am saying?

So Far Away From Me

Our seventh parenting class is a potluck where we can invite friends and family who will be our supports as we raise our children. There are so many people I wish I could invite who are so far away and could not attend. I would love to have my younger brother and his wife, Peaches family, my friend S and her family in Colorado, L&L in Ohio, T&R in Florida, my pseudo grandmother in Pittsburgh, Psycho Kitty, Chica, and any and all of Peaches’ friends! The world is so different from when I was young. We travel about and move so far from those we love for the careers we love or the wives/husbands/partners we love. The world is made smaller by email, blogs, phones, and letters. I feel everyone’s love and I know they feel mine. But when things like this come up, the world becomes so impossibly huge. So, to my friends, be glad you live so far away, cause you’d have to sit through three hours of Ol’ Talkie!

Where is my liquid eyeliner?

I think sitting on a bed of nails for three hours would be more pleasant than going to another parenting class. Sadly, we have four more to go. Oh God, save me from this. It took them an hour and a half last night to cover two of the 18 handouts. And it was not very in-depth or intense information. One of the social workers, Ol’ Talkie, as named by Peaches and I, does just that. She talks and talks and talks.

Also, it is evident that Ol’ Talkie is already evaluating us by our participation, the content of what we say, and how we act. And she is coming up with her own ideas for our behaviors. Last week, after I had my dyslexia melt down, she apologized at the end of the class. But then she said she noticed that I was speaking up in class more after I revealed that I have dyslexia, as if the two were related. They were not. I simply spoke more for the topic was evaluating children’s’ strengths and weaknesses and treatment plans. This is work I do every day and could do in my sleep. So of course I spoke up more. Being evaluated is something I do not like when it is done improperly.

I feel so oppositional in there, like I am about to go into a mosh pit at a punk bar in the 80’s. Except I cannot bang into people and thrash about in the class, nor can I wear black liquid eyeliner, spiked gauntlets, or chain necklaces. I want to doodle or journal or knit but there are not that many people in the class so the social workers would see I was not paying attention. So I pretend for three hours that I am living for every word they say.

I don’t know what I am going to do ‘cause we have four more of these classes! Where is my “My Life with the Thrill Kill Cult” tape? I need some help here!!

Unsettled

I feel so unsettled tonight. Today was not a great day, however things turned out fine. There is so much on my mind and I don’t even know where to start of what to do with myself. I kind of just want to go to bed and forget about everything. But it is only 8 PM and I am too restless for that.

Therapy day always leads to a hard evening for me. I feel raw and open, processing what I talked about and what my therapist said. This family crap is so hard, so deeply set, it is like my battle with the vine weeds in the front garden. I dig deep and rip out as many roots as I can, and it comes back. I spray it with round up and it comes back. I hate those fucking weeds and I hate that I am still dealing with all these issues from my family.

It has been two weeks since I last emailed my parents. After receiving their itinerary, I emailed them, telling them that their email, while it may not have been intended to be mean, was mean and hurtful because it illuminated how they would be visiting each of my siblings and not me this summer. I told them to not send such emails to me any more. I have not heard from them at all. Not that I am dying to have it out with them but the message I hear is that I am not worth their time to respond.

In therapy and on the drive home, I thought a lot about feeling worthless, or feeling like I have to prove to others my worth because I do not believe others see it. It is not a good feeling to have. But it is there and has been there for so very long. I am sure it leads to my drive to over achieve in my field. I am sure it is one of the main causes for my anxiety. I am sure that it is the reason for my insecurity.

In the session, my therapist said something like, “I would like to talk about this more next time.” Hell yeah, I am ready and we are going there. I mean, it sucks to talk about it or feel it so very directly but I am sick of feeling it. I have every belief that with her guidance, I will exorcise this feeling and move forward. I feel I am on the edge of the next burst of growth and I am ready for it. I know it will hurt to go through it but hell; I already am hurting and have hurt for so many years from these things. It will not be that bad to walk through it and find the end of it. But that means nights like tonight, where I feel unsettled and don’t know what to do.