Everywhere, Flowers

And just like that, our world went from twigs and tiny buds to green leaves and colorful flowers, bursting out just about everywhere. I love this time of year--it just so happens to coincide with my birthday--when the trees are bursting with petals and beauty is forcing its way up through the earth wherever it can. This year, things are happening earlier than usual: by my grandfather's calculations, the tulips are 9 days ahead of where they were last year (my grandfather is an amazing gardener who grows many, many tulips each year and then hosts an outrageous "tulip party"), and, even though it's a bit unsettling, I am not complaining.

our house, front-side

We planted tulip bulbs in front of our fence last fall--which always seems like such a hopeful thing to do--and even though we knew that they would come up (or at least that they should come up), it's still a surprise every time I see them, standing proud and colorful, welcoming us home.


Even more surprising are the flowers we didn't know to expect: those that were long gone by the time we first toured the house in late July. There are several flowering trees on our property, and they're all blooming up a storm right now.


While all six of us have been enjoying and appreciating these new blossoms, Zeben is surely the most enchanted by this abundant and flower-full spring. In this way, again, he takes after my grandfather (they also share a love of birds and frogs), and it's hard not to find his flower obsession endearing, even when it brings out his stubborn temper. The other day we were walking to town (or rather, Lena and I were walking, and Luke, Jaz and Zeb were rolling), and I happened to snap this picture of Zeben, about to pick a flower from someone's garden:

Followed by this photo, taken after I explained that we can't just pick flowers from other people's gardens without asking permission first:

classic mad pose

There were tears followed by a refusal to continue onward until, finally, a compromise was found: we decided that picking flowers from trees and bushes on private property was allowed, just not from gardens. Happiness and purpose and forward motivation returned.

Lena, lifting Zeben up to the blossoms

Happiness is a tiny flower

Breathing in their sweet smell

I'm not really a flower person, per se. But I love color--oh so very much--and I love how the flowers are adding so many splashes of vibrant color to our neighborhood at this moment. And I love how this is when the flowers choose to show up, after the long, bleak winter, just when we need them the most. My favorites are the volunteers: those who grow all on their own, up out of the middle of the lawn, or in a crack between slabs of cement on the sidewalk; in places where we sometimes fail to see the potential for such random beauty. And while I know that their purpose on this Earth is simply to reproduce themselves, I can't help but think that there is an intended message here: a reminder that beauty is all around us, even where we least expect it, a plea for us all to take the time to notice, and appreciate, and smell the flowers.

Hammer and a Nail

I was so obsessed with the Indigo Girls during my early teenage years that I couldn't fathom ever not being obsessed with them. I remember my high school guitar teacher--always trying to get me more interested and invested in music theory--asking me how I would know it was the Indigo Girls if I heard a new song of theirs on the radio one day. He wanted me to describe the sound of their music, the style that made their songs theirs. But I was so hung-up on the impossibility of the suggestion: an Indigo Girls song that I didn't already know?! that I couldn't answer the question. In truth, this exact scenario has played out many times for me. I haven't even listened to the last several Indigo Girls' albums, and I haven't seen them live since 1997. So I often hear a song on the radio (or my new favorite: Pandora) and think, "is that Amy Ray singing? Is this an Indigo Girls song?" and reflect back on that conversation with my teacher and feel a bit wistful for my 16-year-old self and all of her convictions and devotion. But it is funny, now that I am playing my guitar so much these days, given the current role of the Indigo Girls in my life (non-existent), that all I know how to play are Indigo Girls songs. Of course, I can play just about anything with lyrics and chords in front of me, but the songs that I remember--that my fingers mysteriously seem to recall all on their own--are all Indigo Girls songs. And so that is mostly what I play. And I especially love to play their song, "Hammer and a Nail," because it contains the one bit of guitar tab that I ever memorized (and that likely my children will have permanently stuck in their heads due to how frequently I pluck it out), and so it's especially fun.

Clearing webs from the hovel
a blistered hand on the handle of a shovel
I've been digging too deep, I always do.
I see my face on the surface
I look a lot like narcissus
A dark abyss of an emptiness
Standing on the edge of a drowning blue . . .

This weekend I spent quite a bit of time getting out of my head and using my hands (and humming this song), and it felt so very good. My Love and I together worked to put in some raised beds in our backyard for our vegetable garden. This was a task that required the invocation of the FBTSOYP Fence Company, and an eventual acceptance that perfection was not our goal.

We had never built raised beds before, and would have been at a loss as to where to even begin if it weren't for the fact that our yard is mostly shaded (by four surprisingly grand, coniferous trees). So we knew where the garden had to go (in the one mostly sunny spot), and with limited space, there were limited design possibilities. I say this--that the possibilities were limited--but, in truth, I didn't feel especially limited at first. I had a vision of a circular garden of raised beds (a half-dozen trapezoids) with a stone patio in the center, and I felt relatively certain that we could make it happen. My mother was my sole supporter (this is no surprise to me, for she is the source of all my grandiose planning genes, plus she designed a really amazing raised-bed garden at her old house), and everyone else thought I was insane. Ultimately, I conceded: maybe I was just a little insane. We decided to keep things simple and make two regular rectangles instead.

Even still, two rectangles would require what amount of lumber? And we would put them together how? We marked out the beds (one 3' x 16', the other 4' x 16') with stakes and rope and did some math to figure out how much wood we would need. We decided to make our raised beds extra tall in hopes of keeping out predators (namely, one small plant destroyer named Leo), and we decided that we didn't need to splurge on fancy wood: if our beds only last 5 years, that's OK. (Honestly, I don't let myself think ahead more than 5 years into the future anyway since that would involve incorporating teenagers into any plan or vision.)

Stake and String Beds-to-be

wood at the ready

But even after we had selected the wood at the local lumber shop, and had it cut to size (how cool is it that they will do that for you? Free of charge?), and had our friend Gaby drive it home to us in her pickup truck, and unloaded it all onto the lawn, I sat around for the better part of an hour lamenting over how to begin. This is when getting back to the FBTSOYP mindset came in handy. Once we remembered that we didn't need for things to turn out perfectly, the whole project felt much more doable.

And thankfully, the kids were rather agreeable to our benign neglect all day, allowing us many hours of hard labor with minimal interruptions.

Leo, sleeping in the stroller beside us

Zeb at the water table

Jaz in the hammock

Luke in the sandbox

Me, with a hammer and a nail

My Love, digging a trench
(and Leo, sucking on nails)

The finished beds are definitely a bit wonky, but we are pretty pleased with them regardless, and I don't doubt their ability to hold dirt (oh my, we are going to need a lot of good dirt), which is really all that will be required of them.

the view from our 2nd story bedroom window

Oh the vegetables we will Grow!

My hands are blistered and my arms are sunburned and it feels fabulous. Almost as fabulous as it feels to be making this little backyard dream slowly turn into a reality.

I've been thinking about all of the questions I've received thus far on my Ask Me Anything post, and I'm excited to start answering them; some of them are really great! There is still time to ask more, I will leave the comments section open until Tuesday night. Thanks!

Ask Me Anything

This baby, this cutest baby ever, this nearly 10-month-old baby (what?!), is the flirtiest baby I've yet to know. He makes a point to connect with nearly every single person we come across, winning people over with his outrageous eyes and irresistible smile. And people can't help but get sucked in, to stare at him unabashedly, to smile back and sigh. He is not shy at all. He is so open and willing to share himself--his beauty, his love, his excitement--with everyone. It's intoxicating. He breaks down barriers, starts conversations, welcomes questions from strangers. Some people feel uncomfortable around babies. But not this one.


In attempt to be a little more like my son, I'm once again choosing to open myself up to your curiosities. Lately I've been getting several emails a day from blog readers--and I really do appreciate each one, so much--and I understand the way that getting to peek into someone's life (like my blog allows you to do) can make you yearn to know just a little bit more than what you're being shown. And so, channeling Leo, I say, ask me anything.

I will do my best to answer.

The Dark Side of Three

My once-sweet 3-year-old son is fast approaching the not-so-sweet age of 3-and-a-half. The half-birthdays have always proven most difficult in regards to our kids' behavior, and it seems that for Zeben, 3.5 is no exception.

Zeben
April 2010

"I hate you!"

"You're stupid!"

"I don't love you anymore!"

It is so hard at this moment to remember the baby he once was, to appreciate Zeben for all of his curmudgeony quirkiness. To not feel hurt and dismayed by his angry words. To know that he is still so very small, still in so much need of me: of my comforting body, my calm reassurance, my unending patience.

But sometimes, these days, Zeb just isn't very likable. He cries easily (and loudly!), crumples into a ball over the injustice of the fact that someone else has already pushed the button for the elevator ("I don't like anyone in this elevator!" he yells from the floor), and is quick to physically attack his big brothers when he doesn't immediately get his way. It can take every bit of my willpower to scoop his body up in my arms and pour my love into him when such a big part of me wants to just escape him somehow. He's just so unreasonable! And, yet, as soon as I hear myself think those words, I have to laugh at myself; I should definitely know better than to expect reason from a 3-year-old.

Laughter, I believe, is the key to surviving the dark side of Three (and, I suppose, of parenting in general). I try not to let myself forget how very funny Zeben can be in the midst of his mean grouchiness. His mind is constantly working to make sense of the world these days, his vocabulary continues to expand rapidly, and when he gets something wrong--or even better, not quite right--life with Zeben can be pretty hilarious.

The other day he was struggling to balance on one foot while he put on his pants. His tolerance for frustration is at an all-time low, so there was lots of groaning involved as he teetered and tottered from one foot to the other.

"Ugh! I just can't do it!"

"You can do it," Lena and I chimed together.

"No I can't! I can't bounce!"

"You can't balance?" I asked.

"Right, I can't bounce! Ugh!"

"Ba-lance," I corrected.

"Bounce!" insisted Zeben. "Like when you try to bounce on one foot!"

"But, 'bounce' means to hop up and down, and 'ba-lance' means to be steady and not fall over."

"Ugh, whatever, Mom! Help me put my pants on!"

Little exchanges like this need to be milked for all that they're worth these days, as Lena and I work to appreciate every little bit of humor that Zeben brings to this impossibly contrary time. When I made the kids' beds this past weekend (we were expecting company; bed-making is nowhere near a daily occurrence in our house at the moment), I set up all of the stuffed animals along the edge of Zeben's mattress. He's very much into stuffed animals these days (especially the four he insists on bringing with us wherever we go: Little Hop, Leo-The-Monkey, Little-Cute-Little-Elephant, and Funny Bunny), and likes to tell just about anyone that he is "collecting a stuffed animal collection." So I knew that he'd get a kick out of seeing all of the animals on his bed, and I was not disappointed. What I didn't expect, however, was that he'd come across all of the animals and ask,

"Hey, what are these guys all doing up here?"

"Oh, I just made your bed and thought you might like to see them all sitting on it, waiting for you," I explained.

"Um, but, didn't you think they all might like a book to read?!"

Um, no, can't say that I did.

Zeben quickly righted my wrong and spent a (rather frustrated) half-hour setting up books for the animals to "read."

Nearly pleased with himself

my favorite was the mouse

Thankfully there continues to be much sweetness between Zeb and his baby brother Leo, without which we might really struggle to enjoy our third son these days. By savoring the moments--however fleeting they may be--of camaraderie and spontaneous affection, we gain the ability to tolerate--however intolerable it may be--Zeben's less lovely behavior. We know not to despair, that this phase will morph into something new, that as long as we can remember to laugh at the end of each day, we are doing just fine.

Zeb and Leo
April 2010

But, I would be lying if I said we weren't seriously, seriously excited for this phase to end. I'm kinda hoping for May 15th, the day after Zeb turns three-and-a-half. But I'll settle for anytime this year if I have to. Four never looked so good.

"I don't have a Papa."

A couple of weeks ago, we were sitting around in the kitchen with some of our mama and papa friends while our collection of children ate their supper at the table in the next room. And I overheard, as the little ones reached for slices of pizza and settled themselves into their seats, a most fascinating conversation. One of our small friends, nearly five years old, asked something along the lines of "where is your papa?" to Jaz. This particular small friend is quite familiar with our family structure (and the structure of many other families in our town, seriously, this kid could very well work for the census), so the question was asked in a joking tone. But Jaz answered rather seriously,

"I don't have a Papa."

He paused, and so did I, momentarily distracted from meal preparation.

"And I'm OK with it."

He spoke calmly and confidently, as if he had rehearsed his response--and perhaps he has, perhaps this is a response he's had to give many times with friends at school--and he didn't seem the least bit annoyed or bothered by the question. He went on:

"And, I do have 5 uncles, two grandfathers and one great-grandfather."

By this point, curious small friend had lost interest and wasn't listening, and I got the sense that the last bit was added on for Jasper's own benefit, as he reassured himself of the presence of the important and beloved men in his life. And it was that last sentence that really struck me because it isn't part of the story we've told the kids over the years about our family. Though we have always chosen to focus on what our family is rather than what it isn't (e.g. "our family has a mom and a mama" vs. "our family doesn't have a papa"), we haven't purposefully expanded our definition of family beyond the "two moms, four kids" description. In fact, I have always been careful not to introduce the concept of a "substitute father" by pointing out the significant men in the kids' lives, and I certainly would never have suggested that having "5 uncles, two grandfathers and one great-grandfather" would somehow make up for not having a Papa. Not that I think that's what Jaz was necessarily saying when he added those details to his "I don't have a Papa, and I'm OK with it," explanation.

I guess what surprised me was the way that he seemed to be justifying his two-mom family as an acceptable alternative (to a "typical" one-mom, one-dad family) because:

a) he's OK with it, and
b) he has a lot of men in his extended family.

It made me think that somehow he's picked up on the fact that society at large finds fault in lesbian families. Because the truth is that these ARE the issues that people seem to have with the lesbian family structure. People worry that children of lesbians will yearn for a "normal," heterosexual family unit and that they will suffer for being deprived of relationships with men (this worry seems especially prevalent in regards to lesbians raising sons). Even really well-meaning, otherwise supportive, loving people in our life have commented in such a way as to imply that our kids need or would benefit from a "father figure."

I don't deny that the kids might sometimes want a Papa. This is something we talk about, at least with Luke and Jaz. A few years ago, Lena and I participated in a survey of lesbian families, and when we completed it, the woman doing the study sent us a copy of the book, "The Daddy Machine" as a thank-you gift. And despite the b-grade illustrations and the ridiculously rhyming text, Luke and Jaz love it. The general plot line is about a brother and sister--with lesbian moms--who decide that even though they love their two moms, life might be even better if they could have two moms AND one dad. The kids build a machine that makes daddies, and are soon overwhelmed with way too many dads--who do all of the things that dads do--before ultimately deciding to send all the dads back into the machine (aside from 2 who decide to stay and move in next door as lovers?). Frequently after we read this book, we will have a small discussion about what it would be like to have a dad, how our life would be different, what Luke and Jaz would want to do with their dad. Usually the conversation digresses into a discussion of what other kinds of machines the kids would like to make, but I'm glad that we're at least attempting to talk about this stuff now. I'm certain that it will be a much more complicated topic when the kids are older, and I'm glad that we're building some sort of a foundation to perhaps make those future discussions easier.

I have never worried about a lack of men in the kids' lives. Truthfully, there are more men actively involved in loving them than there were in my life when I was little, but even if there weren't, this is not something that would worry me. It is important to me that they be exposed to people of all genders (including transgender and gender queer), but we have never gone out of our way to make sure that they are spending "enough" time with men. We find that it happens quite naturally. Even when Luke and Jaz were babies, I remember that they would often crawl into the lap of the one daddy--among dozens of mothers--who brought his daughter to the local parents' center. It always made me laugh. They know how to get their needs--whatever those needs may be--met. And I really, truly, honestly believe that they would be absolutely fine even if there weren't any men in their lives at all, that a lack of male role models would not necessarily have a negative impact on what kind of men our sons grow up to be (assuming, that is, that they grow up to be men . . . as we say in our family, "most boys grow up to be men, but not all").

All of this is not to imply that we are not incredibly grateful for the men in our extended family who love our sons so well. The more people who love our kids, the better. And it is so very reassuring to me to know that these are the men that Jaz (at least) thinks of when contemplating his lack of a Papa. I couldn't really ask for a better group of "male role models."

Leo (9.5 months) and Uncle Ethan

Leo loving Ethan

Luke and 3 uncles, together on the kitchen couch
Uncles, L to R: Will, Ethan and Max

I would love to hear how other Papa-less families have approached this topic with their children (or plan to, if your kids are still babies). Please share below!

Taking a Stand

Leo, 9 months

Once again I seem to have fallen off the wagon in regards to this blogging thing, but I have decided to take a stand and recommit myself to documenting--and reflecting upon--our life in this space. Tomorrow kicks off another long stretch of daily writing, and I am feeling excited to get back to it.

Thank you for not giving up on me as I have faltered over the past month.

Tuck Turns Two

This past weekend we drove to Boston to partake in a birthday celebration for our sweet nephew, Tucker, who was turning 2. How is it possible that in two short years such a tiny baby has grown into such a big kid?

Tucker, 2 days old

Tucker, 2 years old

No one appreciates Tucker's switch from "baby" to "kid" as much as Zeben, who, despite much adoration from Tucker over the past year, has not been the friendliest big cousin lately. At the birthday party, Zeb seemed to finally get it that Tucker isn't a baby anymore, and he now likes to boast that he is Tucker's "favorite cousin."

Tuck and Zeb

My favorite part of the celebration was watching Tucker's glee
at the sight of his birthday cake.

hands clasped in anticipation

And, since Tucker was the inspiration for the very first t-shirts I ever decorated, I felt especially glad to make him a new one in honor of his special day.

a "2" tee for Tuck

We stayed until bedtime and all four of our kids fell asleep in the car on the 100-mile drive home. My love and I held hands and listened to music and--as much as I normally despise driving--felt a wonderful sense of peace. It was lovely, and I felt like we should be making the trip more often to visit the adorable Tucker (and his parents!) so that the cousins can become even better playmates.

Thank you to Addie and Max for a great party!
Happy birthday, Tucker!

For the Love of Eggs

Last Saturday we hosted our annual Spring Equinox Celebration (aka "the egg party") in our new backyard. The timing was a little off (two weeks post-equinox), but the weather was amazing; it really felt like spring.

a few days worth of eggs

This year our egg party was much enhanced by the presence of our seven lovely hens, and the fact that they provided all of the eggs that we used in our celebration. This was one of my dreams last year, and when I think about all of the dreams that have come true for us since last spring, I really just feel overwhelmed with gratitude. And my faith in living the dream, in making things happen, has never been stronger. It was a good mindset with which to celebrate Spring and Life and Growth.

In the week leading up to the party, we started getting ready by blowing out eggs (and trying to come up with uses for the contents--we ended up making (and eating) a couple of Equinox Pound cakes, and saving the rest for an amazing strata that our friend Megan made). We were bold and brave and let the kids help with the blowing, which was kind of a disaster (many, many egg casualties), but also pretty fun (at least for the little ones).

Zeb and Aviva, blowing/pumping out eggs

note the pile of casualties to the left

We saved the filling of the blown-out eggs (we fill them with birdseed) for the actual party, and many hands helped to stuff the tiny openings with seeds.


The throwing of the eggs--making wishes for Spring as they break open against a tree--is generally the highlight of our Spring Equinox party for many of the attendants, and this year was no exception.

After the eggs had been thrown, those that weren't completely broken
were picked up and thrown again
Yes, you can wish more than once on the same egg.

We also used plastic eggs (filled with doughnut holes from the local doughnut shop) for an egg hunt. The kids pooled the found eggs in our wagon before devouring them as a group.

Last year our process table was full of wheat grass, but this year it was so hot out (plus we had neglected to plan ahead and grow any grass) that we decided to fill it with water. Leo spent much of the day splashing alongside the bigger kids.

Linus and Leo

Mini-Lena

There was lots and lots of delicious food (that pretty much all got eaten), including strawberries.

Hanging out with the chickens was a popular activity choice.

Our friend Luke giving "Pumpkin" some love

When the sun went down and the temperature dropped, Lena made a fire in our outdoor fireplace, a perfect ending to a beautiful day.

Spring is here, and we couldn't be happier about it.