My hard drive died (seriously?), but I hope to have a new one soon. Trying to blog via iPad, but it will only let me post titles, no content (?!).

No Joke

The other day, I looked up from this rock climbing baby on my computer screen:

(window shopping the Patagonia website)

To this rock climbing baby in my dining room:


I couldn't help but notice that Leo looked significantly less protected than the baby in the computer. And also? My baby's got skills.

Welcoming a New Decade

Last Tuesday, I celebrated my birthday and with it welcomed in a new decade: I am now 30 (thirty!) years old. I can remember turning 10, and how exciting it was to enter the "double digits." And I can remember turning 20, and feeling relieved to finally leave the "teens" behind. But I must admit that it has taken much more effort to generate any enthusiasm about entering my thirties. I think of the show, "thirty something," which I loved in my early teens, and try to identify with it in some way. And I fail. I just don't feel like a 30-something. I can't possibly be that grown-up.

on my original birthday

1980

on my 10th birthday
1990

on my 20th birthday
2000

on my 30th birthday
2010

Anyway, I've been trying to convince myself that being 30 (or, more generally, in my thirties) doesn't have to mean anything. I've already accomplished a lot of what people hope to achieve in their thirties. Here I am, a married, mother-of-four, homeowner. But I do feel some pressure to, you know, figure out what I want to be, and all that.

Do I want to be a lactation consultant? Do I want to be a teacher? Do I want to be a writer? Do I want to start a charter school? Or a home daycare? What is my vision for the next 10 years? How have I still not figured this all out?

Aside from asking myself these existential questions, I have been busy celebrating. I spent my birthday going from one delightfully mellow activity to the next: a bike ride to an outdoor breakfast café, a couple of hours lying in the sun, a family trip to the Farmers' Market, a picnic at a local lake (bread and cheese and chocolate covered strawberries), topped off by an early bedtime for the kids. And then this past weekend, My Love together with my mom (and help from others) threw me the most perfect birthday party ever, complete with all of my beloveds, 60 balloons, Indian food for all, a backyard fire, musical instruments making beautiful noise (the guitar was passed from lap to lap), many children falling asleep one by one (until they were all-- all!--asleep, and the mamas and papas could keep partying), a mamas' arm wrestling competition, and finally: an epic game of Egyptian Ratscrew on the kitchen floor. At the end of the evening (or rather, when the party ended, early the next morning), I felt so very, very loved, and full of hope that maybe my thirties will continue to be so deliciously fun.

Some photos from the party:


It is hard to pick a favorite part--there were so many favorite parts--but if I had to choose one, I'd go with the music-making around the fire. And I especially loved watching my little curmudgeon leave his grumpiness behind for at least a few minutes while he got into the rhythm of the drumming:



So, I'm 30 now. And so far, it's really not so bad. It's kinda like being 20, except for I don't get carded anymore (ever! this is new in the last year), and I have this amazing house and all these kids. I still feel like I have my whole life in front of me, regardless of whether or not this is true, and I hope I hold onto that feeling for as long as possible. I can't wait to see what comes next.

Pride!

Last Saturday marked the 29th annual Northampton Pride parade (and I can't believe it took me a whole week to finish blogging about it!), and we were there--all six of us--to stand in the hot sun, clap, cheer, laugh, cry and feel proud. I've written about Pride before, and much of what I said then still stands true (I hate how consumerism has crept in and taken over), but this year I didn't feel as bothered by the fact that Pride (at least our local version) isn't especially political anymore. It felt like a celebration of love, and of life--of being true to oneself and of not being ashamed of that truth--and I interpreted the message to be much further-reaching than GLBTPQ issues alone. And it felt like a fun, crazy party for our whole community (queer and straight together), and I was so glad to be a part of it.

Wonder Woman

The past couple years have been rather hard on our collection of queer parent friends (which was unfortunately minimal to begin with), and nearly all of the legal marriages that were so very celebrated 5 years ago have now ended in divorce. Seeing these fragmented families at the parade on Saturday hurt my heart. I know that heterosexual marriages are dissolving at horrific rates as well, but for some reason it feels more devastating when I see it happening to families like mine. To the couples who fought alongside us for the right to marry, and who we sat beside in the fertility clinic (waiting for sperm to thaw and for babies to be conceived), and who gave their hearts to children not knowing if adoptions would go through, and who I never imagined would be fighting to keep their love alive, or worse: giving up on that fight all together.

So this year at Pride, I found myself getting teary about all of the usual things (the gay youth, the religious groups, the elderly lesbians), and also about the fact that sometimes love--this beautiful love that we celebrate so exuberantly at Pride each year--is really hard. Sometimes it's hard because you're 15 and you feel trapped between the amazing feeling of realizing that you're a girl who loves girls, and the terror of what that will mean for your future. Sometimes it's hard because loving the person you love somehow makes you a second-class citizen in the eyes of your government. And sometimes it's just hard, having nothing to do with sexual orientation or legal recognition or anything beyond the fact that hearts are fragile and life is complicated.

* * * * * *

The kids were at first enthusiastic Pride-goers, and then less so (as the sun melted us and the parade went on and on and on), but they stood and watched until the final contingent had marched by, and then demanded ice cream and fried dough. There was not much commentary on any of what they experienced (the throwing of the candy probably demanding the most discussion). But later, when we had our new (and fabulous!) friends (and neighbors!), Katrina and Rania, and their sons, Riley and Kale, over for some post-Pride pizza, the kids decided to put on their very own Pride parade. And surely this was my favorite part of the day: watching our sons march proudly down the sidewalk, bold and beautiful and free.

Zeb provided the music

Riley had the important job of throwing rice snacks to

the [imaginary] on-lookers, emulating the candy-throwers from earlier in the day.

Kale rode in the stroller, but was clearly no less proud than those on their feet.

When our friends had gone home for bed, I sat our kids down on the front steps and attempted to interview them about Pride. The dialogue was cut short when my camera card ran out of space, but I still love this clip (especially the part when Zeben refers to the drag queens as "fancy girls"):

double-click to watch full-size

Happy Pride!