Non-Photo Friday: I is for IUI

What else could I be for? But no. We're not taking a picture.

We're at 2 dpo and we're both feeling hopeful. Last time around we felt pretty negative from the beginning, but this time we both feel we could be in the game.

I have a list of reasons, which I am far too superstitious to post now, but will reveal once we know one way or the other.

It's good to be hopeful. But the TWW is torturous.

Belated Photo Friday: H is for Holiday

Here's some photo evidence of holiday cheer around the O household.


Tree 2006. It's not a real tree (Co is allergic) but doesn't it look great? This Jew can't tell the difference! And Co even indulges me with my Tree-In-A-Can, a candle that smells like real spruce. Mmmmm.... In this picture you can see the stockings hanging on the bedroom door, and if you look closely, a few of the South Park ornaments. Heh heh.

Though we will be a Jewish family, Co's culture includes this celebration, and I enjoy being a part of it. Who wouldn't want an evergreen full of lights at this time of year?


We live across the street from a park, and this year the two columns at its entrance are decorated with these festive blue lights.


And of course, the Holiday Hound. Oh, Mom, not the ears again!!

Six Weird Things About Lo

I've never been tagged in the blogosphere before, so I offer Brooke my greatest thanks for making me feel like one of the cool kids. I give you 6 weird things about Lo (with a little help from my wife, who kept insisting, "But you're not weird." Yeah, right).

1) I like to read several books at a time. Often I have a novel, a work of non-fiction, and a young adult novel (my excuse is that I teach 7th grade; the truth is that I never stopped reading kids' books) going at the same time. I like the variety. As a kid I used to make stacks of up to six books and read a chapter at a time.

2) I can play any song I hear (on the flute or recorder, my instruments of choice). This might be my early Suzuki piano training. I was taught to play piano, at age seven, only by ear. I was never taught to read music, which frustrated me to no end so I taught myself how to read the treble clef so I could play through my mom's Rodgers and Hammerstein and Song Fest on my own. My dad says his mom, who was a piano teacher, had perfect pitch (which I do not have!). I am no great musician, but I enjoy playing.

3) I hate carbonated beverages. They do not quench my thirst. (Co says I am the only Jew on earth who does not like seltzer.) This also means I don't really like soda. When I was in Europe -- and this was over ten years ago so things may well have changed -- it was very very hard to find non-carbonated water. I learned to say non-carbonated in Polish. (Niegazowana, in case you're interested.)

4) I prefer dogs that are short and long. You've all seen the famous Maggie Mae (and a lucky few have met the beast!) and I grew up with a Welsh corgi. We got the corgi because I fell in love with my grandparents' corgi. I will have to post both corgis' pix at some point...I do love oddly-proportioned canines.

5) I am a Luddite. I do not own an mp3 player of any kind and I don't even use my computer to listen to music (when we burn CDs we use Co's). I own a record player and a used amplifier my dad got me because I prefer to feel the weight of the radio tuner as I turn it. I hate the digital kind. (I'm going to have to fold because it's not working so well, but I'm dragging my heels.) We do have a DVD player, a gift from my mom, but I maintain that both VHS and audiocassette are much more practical media. You can't continue to add material to CDs or DVDs. I far, far prefer editing tape (I've worked in radio) by hand than by computer. It's just so much less....tactile. I'm not convinced that progress is always for the best.

6) I am always hot. I have been known to go outside in a T-shirt in 30 degree weather. My dad tells a story of me going swimming on Cape Cod in December. This leads to some arguments with Co -- who is always cold -- about opening the windows. Since we live in an overheated city apartment, I don't put the T-shirts away all year round.

I tag anyone who wishes to reveal six weird things! And you'll get to hear Co's weird things eventually too, since she's been tagged, too. :-)

My F-ing Family

So, we were supposed to go meet my nephew this weekend. We were supposed to go last weekend, but I was sick (got antibiotics on Thursday). I've been dragging around with this same cold for about a month. Ugh.

My sister emailed me that she had to go to her nephew's birthday party, and a benefit at the theatre she and her husband run. Okay, fine (although she found out about the birthday party after we planned our visit, and told us as much); I don't expect much more from my sister. After demanding we come up to see a show at the theatre one spring, she didn't visit with us because she had to weed her garden.

My mom and my sister live 10 minutes from each other and we were going to stay with my mom anyway. So I asked my mom if we could just spend Saturday with her and see my sis on Sunday. No, we couldn't, because my mother also had to attend the same birthday party and benefit (my mom, too, found out about the birthday party after we planned our visit....and my sister's nephew is not even technically related to my mom. And my this theatre has shows every week. Every f-ing week. And my mom lives ten minutes away).

My dad is visiting my sister for the second time in two months around Thanksgiving. I last saw my dad in June.

Both my mom and my sister expect us to come next weekend, which is when Co might get her period. After all of the loving support they've offered during this difficult time for us (and especially considering the outpouring of attention I expect when I produce a non-biological child for them), I think I'll schedule a weekend around the twelfth of never.

I never, ever dreamed my family would be like this.

Purple-Orange Fish

So the deed is done. A purple-orange fish made friends with Co in the waiting room at the fertility clinic...

It was all pretty routine. I hate seeing Co in pain but it went quickly. The count of this sample was 60 million, and we're hoping Co released three eggs. Sounds like pretty good odds, but who knows??

So into the TWW we go.

Photo Friday: B is for Birthday

Today is mine.


This is me on (or within a few days of) my first birthday, out on a walk with my mom and my pull-toy doggie (the only one they let me have until my eleventh birthday).

I am now 32. Several of you have blogged about the emotional weight of turning 30. I wasn't so worried about turning 30 -- I've always felt old for my time, so it felt right to finally be such a solid age as 30. The year I turned 30 I got my first driver's license, got married, and got tenure at my job. I felt accomplished.

For me, 32 is the real deadline, because my mom was 32 when I was born. In fact, she had just turned 32 a few weeks before, so I have long been unable to fulfill the assumption I always made that I would have children at the same age as my mother.

So, I'm not feeling so psyched about this birthday. Another year down the drain. Crap.

My Mom

My mom is driving us crazy.

Poor Co actually hung up on her today. I don't know if I would dare to do that, myself.

First of all, every time she talks about our new nephew she needs to talk about his family resemblance to "our family." Which is starting to grate on both of us, since our own child (should we ever have one) will not look like "our family." I am not such a big fan of my looks that I really care so much about passing them on, and I am dying to have a baby that looks like Co. (And at least in theory I am going to have a biological child down the line.) I just think my mom could maybe say that less to us. (Admittedly, maybe there is not so much else to say about a creature that only eats, sleeps, craps, and pees.)

Second of all, whenever the subject of TTC comes up, she brings up examples of heterosexual infertility. WE DON'T CARE. Of course, there exists het infertility, and we feel akin to you all out there, but honestly? That does not make our lives easier. That does not take away trigger shots in the belly, hoo ha bullets, ultrasounds every 20 minutes, and the pain of failure. Mom does not know about these things, but for all the bragging she does about all the lesbian parents she knows, it would not be so hard for her to find out.

So, I am feeling weary and cross and like you in the computer are the only people I ever want to talk to again. Bleh.

Photo Friday: A is for Aunt

As I mentioned (well, buried) in an earlier post, Co and I became aunties this week. My nephew S. was born October 15, 7 lbs, 13 oz. (I won't type his full name here, but for those of you familiar with the Bible...let's hope they never cut his hair.)

I have such mixed feelings about it all. I want to be a mommy, not an auntie. I am cross that I was "lapped" (Charlotte's term) by my younger sister. She announced her pregnancy a month or so after we had begun discussions with our first failed KD (and shortly after we had gotten the big "no"). In the space of a day or two, I had to cope with re-adjusting our conception plans, and with realizing that I would not be providing my parents the first granchild. To top it off, sis has continually been insensitive about how difficult and complex this experience is for us where it was easy for her.

But S. is a cute little guy, as you can see. In the picture above he reminds me *so* much of my sister as a baby and (to my relief) I'm feeling some affection. I'm actually looking forward to meeting him and holding him....of course, I am a huge sucker for an infant.

So I am settling, if uneasily, into aunthood.

(Alternatively, A could stand for a**....and I can't wait to kiss this little one below!!)

Every Sperm Is Sacred

We watched part of Monty Python's The Meaning of Life last night, and were treated to this little ditty.

I pointed out that for what we pay for it, it sure ought to be sacred.

Co, being the mathematician in the family, figured out that since there were 30 million little fellas in our Blue Fish IUI sample, and we paid $450 for the vial....each sperm cost $0.000015.

A bargain at twice the price. Let's just hope one of them did the job.

Symptoms, Aunt-hood, and Vehicles

Co has been gassy and nauseated. Is that good?? (Co is not counting chickens, because, she insists, she has been gassy and nauseated before and has never been pregnant.)

We are supposed to call Dr. Quick on the 23rd if she hasn't gotten her period (I assume for one of those mysterious betas). FF predicts her period a few days before that.

In other news, my sister had her baby today. If one more relative calls me and says "Hello, Auntie" I am going to pitch the phone across the room. Oh, boy. I'm a lesbian aunt. How unheard of. I am in no mood to be defined by my sister's fertility.

I don't feel like a very good person for not being more excited.

Our big news is that we pick up our "new-to-us" car on Tuesday night. It's a 2003 Saturn Ion, silver-blue. With both a CD player and a tape deck! (I honed right in on the important details.) I'll post pictures.

I might even post pictures of my nephew S (since my sister and her husband have a self-aggrandizing website where they plan to post his visage all over the Internet, I don't see why I shouldn't. But I don't have any pix yet).

IUI: Code Name Blue Fish

So, Co has decided to name our tries (reminiscent of Sacha), though we didn't name our fresh attempt. This one is "Blue Fish," both because Co was clad all in blue when we did it, right down to her shark socks; and because she made friends with a little blue fishie in the fertility clinic's big calming fish tank while we waited for *an hour* to get the deed done. The little blue fish kept swimming near Co and opening and closing its mouth in little "o"s (you know, like the little O we're trying to make) and had a cute fishie wiggle. So if this one works (everything crossed!!) the little one gets a blue fish stuffed animal.

The IUI itself was incredibly fast. Thank you, Dr. Quick. As Co indicated in her previous post, the speculum is never fun, but the cathether was tiny and virtually irrelevant in terms of pain. Dr. Q only had her lie down for 5 minutes afterward, though I've read elsewhere of people having to stay prone for up to 20 minutes. P the Lab Guy, a.k.a He Who Defrost and Washes Sperm, was very nice, and happily told us that there were 30 million of the little guys in our sample (which I believe was only .5ml).

It was all so quick, Lo didn't even have time to corner Dr. Quick with her millions of questions. I did ask him if this ever works the first time, to which he replied, "Of course." Oh, you optimistic RE, you! So here are some of my questions for you, oh blogosphere:
1) Co had two large follicles, one on each ovary. Might the trigger shot have caused both to release?
2) Co found a statistic that, on average, one ovulates 41.5 hours after a trigger shot. Any commentary on that?

Photo Friday: Water & Uncomfortable

For water, I offer a picture of the beach that was our backyard for a week in the Virgin Islands (St. Croix) this summer. What a blissful honeymoon. Look at the color of that water...and it was warm as a bathtub.


A bonus water picture: a horse swimming at that same beach. I had never seen a swimming horse before. But I guess it's a good way for them to cool down in the sweltering summer.



And now for uncomfortable:



(Didn't think I could go that long without posting a picture of the first baby, did you?) The mommies think the reindeer antlers are just adorable, but as you can see, Maggie does not agree. In this picture she is using her paw to push me away while I held them in place. Every year we get a few quick pix before we put her out of her misery.

Alternatively, I could have posted a picture of Co's butt hormones. But we don't pick them up 'til tomorrow, and also, she would kill me.

Adventures in Synagogue

(Actually, my congregation meets in a church, but my adventures in church are an entirely different post...)

I was asked this year to give one of the speeches asking people to donate money. (This is less offensive than it sounds because my congregation, unlike every other synagogue in this neighborhood and many other places, does not requires expensive tickets or temple membership to attend high holidays services; we do request donations.)

People usually talk about their journey to the congregation in these speeches, and I was specifically asked by the rabbi to focus on LBGT visibility. She, like me, is a lesbian in an interfaith relationship. Just one thing I like about this place!

So I was kinda nervous and uncomfortable about telling my little story -- and especially about asking for money! -- but people complimented me afterwards and it ended up being nice to speak about myself to my community.

I noted that I love the congregation because I feel comfortable as a lesbian, and my non-Jewish wife also feels comfortable. I did not mention that my non-Jewish wife was not with me this morning because she was busy getting her follicle measured. Hee hee. But she's coming with me this afternoon. I can't even begin to explain how much it means to me, how much I love Co for wanting to raise our children Jewish, and for joining me in my tradition.

I'm not the most observant or reverent Jew, I certainly am not supposed to be blogging in the break between services on the holiest day of the year...but being Jewish is an inextricable part of who I am, and I am so happy that I have found a congregation where I can be my whole complicated self. And where I will be happy to bring my (cross fingers hard) children.

Now, scroll down to give Co and I advice about complicated medical techniques for conceiving said children....

Photo Friday: Windows

This window is at the aptly-named Riverview, where Co and I got married last August. The window itself isn't so spectacular, of course, but the grand sparkly river one can see through it is lovely. And any memory of our wedding makes me smile.

Photo, Uh, Tuesday: Lo's Stuff (with Sperm Washing News)

I'm a teacher, and this is the load I carry to school. I never stopped carrying a backpack, but went straight from student to teacher. My current powder blue one has many secret pockets, which is necessary because I've also never taken to carrying a purse. I do have a "weekend purse" so I don't always show up shlepping the backpack (but I would if I thought I could get away with it).

The tote bag was a free gift at a Liberty game (yes, I have paid my lesbian dues!) and I do not always bring it, just the days (like today) when I have extra materials.

I included the shiny binder in the pic because it's, well, shiny. That was my new school year treat from CVS.

NOTE: In other news, while making copies in the school office today I received a call from the lab and had to duck into the stairwell to discuss the washing of sperm. As Cali accurately reported, it is okay to wash sperm multiple times. You might lose a few in the process, but motility will only be increased. Phew. (As the lab guy asked me somewhat indignantly, "You think I would do something to make you not pregnant?" Well. I should hope not.)

The Fat Lady's Warming Up...

Co's temp dipped today. Now we really have to decide who to order up from the bank...Scroll down to weigh in.

Oh, well. At least now I can say I've seen, you know, semen.

Donor Roulette

We are trying desperately to narrow ourselves down to one donor. (The fat lady hasn't sung yet. Co is due to get her period this weekend. It's been a long cycle, due to delayed ovulation....if I didn't know so much about charting, I'd be all excited that she hasn't gotten her period yet, but alas, I know it's nothing notable.)

So here are the two finalists:

Funny Guy: He is half Jewish, half Irish & something else. This makes him a mixture of both of our ethnicities (and since we'd try to use the same donor to get me knocked up down the line, that's attractive). He is into Asian philosophy (as am I) and just seems like a generally nice person (the sperm bank faculty recommended him as being intelligent with a sense of humor). He's a researcher in molecular pharmacology. And, as indicated by his nickname, his whimsical sense of humor shone through in his profile. A drawback: there is some alcoholism in his family (maternal grandmother) and that makes Co uncomfortable because of genes on her side. We've negged lots of donors as soon as we saw any family history of substance abuse, but we got really into this guy somehow before we noticed it, so now she (and I) are torn.

Nerdy Science Guy: He is neither of our ethnicities. He's a genetic researcher, and a self-described science nerd (we both find that charming). He was also recommended by our lovely sperm brokers as a genuinely nice person, intelligent with a sense of humor. He has a son, who he writes about very affectionately. He's artistic as well as brainy.

So, I am begging for any advice or ass-vice. I didn't think the ethnicity stuff mattered to me, and we aren't at all concerned about looks. Our initial first choice donor (Corgi Guy) did not share either of our ethnicities and I would have happily gone with him. But somehow, faced with these two choices, it seems to matter a little bit.

Help...

Our Weekend of Sperm

So, after much advice from my friend J, who is a health professional, as well as our friendly neighborhood nurses on blogger, we came up with a strategy about the hepatitis issue. We asked KD about a variety of risk factors, and we were reassured by his answers, so we decided to go ahead with insemination.

This weekend Co was likely to ovulate, and we had to go up to Boston for a wedding -- fortunately it was KD's younger brother's wedding! On Saturday Co's temp dipped, so when we got into Boston, we did the deed. We got the spike on Sunday, and we insemmed again this morning (Monday) (the wedding was on Sunday and our KD best man was a bit busy!).

All went smoothly, as far as I can tell. We had great advice from dear blogger friends, as well as our trusty books, about how to take care of business. We even got a free oral syringe from Walgreens!

KD and his wife were both incredibly generous and even eager to help us out with timing. There was a bit of cloak-and-dagger to it all, since we were around ALL of our (and KD's) family, and we don't intend to share our plan until later on (if it even works). Co and I were staying in a hotel room *right next to my mom*, but fortunately she was out during both of our insems. THAT would have been quite an experience. Though we did get to exchange the mysterious Macy's bag with the cup in front of his grandmother. Hoo boy.

Sneaking around with sperm also made it much easier to be around my eight-month pregnant belly-rubbing little sister.

Oh, and by the way, the wedding was lovely too. My cousin's new bride (who has essentially been in the family for six years) is a great person.

So, here we go....since Co's luteal phase is usually exactly 14 days, we are officially in our first Two Week Wait. AAAAAAAAAH!

Photo Friday: Show Me Your Politics

This first photo is of my friend's daughter at the big Pride March on Washington in April 2000. A group of us: Whimsy, SandraMort, and a bunch of other folks went down in a big van (SandraMort's I believe) and stayed overnight in one hotel room. It was great fun. And little E showed her early proclivities for queer rights! (That's me holding her. I'm wearing my shirt that says "gay maidl" in both English and Yiddish. "Maidl" means "girl.")



This second photo brings the theme right home...


It was taken a few years ago (1999) at the ten-year reunion of World Peace Camp. The folks on the steps of the dining hall are the members of the orchestra for our camp musical, called, what else, Peace Child. (We named our little band No Respect, and wrote a parody of "Imagine" about suffering in the orchestra pit.) Yes, I really went to World Peace Camp when I was 14. What more is there to say, really.

Help! An Interactive Post

So....we will not be able to get hepatitis test results on KD by this weekend.

Here is what we know: he is clean for HIV and STDs and he is monogamous (with his wife). There is no reason to think that he has hepatitis; he looked it up online and has been told by doctor friends that he would know if he'd had it.

But, we don't know.

Also, he is a smoker (of tobacco).

In addition to the obvious health risk, state law here forbids insemination to women with hepatitis.

There's a temptation to go ahead, since it seems awfully unlikely that he has hepatitis, and his sperm is, well, fresh. But would that be a very foolish risk to take?? Should we wait 'til October and just go frozen all the way?

Please advise.... (I know it's a decision we have to make for ourselves, but we're both wondering what the Internets have to say, especially health professionals...)

Photo Friday: Music, music, music!

These pictures are from a yearly folk festival that I (Lo) have been attending since I was nine years old. First with my parents, then with my friends (fostermama and fostermommy, Whimsy and Jest, and some other blogless folk), now with Co and our friends. Of course I dream of someday bringing my own children to this event...

This is Pete Seeger with his banjo. He's the organizer of the festival, and an icon to many. I grew up with his music.









This is Holly Near. I love Holly Near, which suggests that I was born just a bit too late...in my defense, my (straight) mom listened to Holly Near while I was growing up and my sister and I went to many Holly Near concerts with our family.



Finally, here are people sitting beneath a willow tree, enjoying outdoor music. Bliss.

In Other News...Our Anniversary!

Today is our first anniversary! We had a beautiful wedding (as hinted by the pictures here). It makes me smile to remember it. Tonight we will drink a bottle of wine we saved from our jaunt to the Shore right after the wedding, and see how the top of the cake held up after being in our freezer for a year. (Co can't wait to get the freezer space back.)





One whole year of being married to my beautiful, brave, intelligent, funny, sweet Co. Just the first of many... And hopefully, we'll be soon be adding to our little family.

Last Minute Photo Friday: Our Rack

So here it is...our rack. I love Photo Friday now that we have a digital camera!!



It's actually an expandable plastic shelf, the only possible way to properly store and display all the spices Co needs for her delicious dishes. At one point the spices were alphabetized (Lo's doing), but I haven't kept it up.

In the spirit of the theme, here's a gratuitious picture:




Though clearly it suffered on the trip home (which I'm sad about it), this was my favorite souvenir from our trip. Co tried to convince me initially that it was meant to be a shell. Um, what do you all think?

Happy Birthday Co!

It's my girl's birthday! And isn't she a cutie??

Happy, happy birthday sweetheart. I am grateful every day that you came into my life.

Lots of love from Lo and Maggie Mae...

Photo Friday: Where I Blog

Now that I have a laptop, I aim for the most comfortable spots in the house. Sometimes, I admit it, I blog in bed. But I am most likely to be found here:



I sit where Maggie is sitting in this photo. The tray on the coffee table doubles as a computer desk.

Photo Friday: Lo Climbs A Mountain

Here is my Photo Friday story:



The trail begins...



These white blazes continue all through the Appalachian Trail. Follow the one on the left...



...to the top of the mountain!!

Here's a gratuitous shot of mountain laurel from the trail (I know, we're limited to three, so I won't submit this one officially, but it's so pretty):

Paws are Crossed

Maggie O wants everyone to know that her paws are crossed for everyone in the fertility sweepstakes. (Especially Marci, Sacha and anyone else still hoping for pregnancy this cycle.)

Photo Friday: The Cutest Rainbow of All

Here is our double-rainbow dachshund. The rainbow collar is her everyday attire. (I -- Lo -- searched far and wide for it and bought it at a big march in D.C. She has a skinny little neck.) The Family Dog T-shirt, though adorable, is a less common piece of attire for the simple reason that she hates clothing. We've decked her out in it more than once for the local Pride parade though. Oh, those evil mommies.

(Click the link above for more pix of Maggie in her rainbow-wear. Thanks, J!)

Speaking of the local Pride parade.....here's a rainbow picture from there, as well.



If you click on this link, you will see the proud leader of our municipality with a rainbow flag. Yeah. Whatever. Maggie is much cuter.

Embarrassing Question

Ok....how do you post photo sets from flickr, so that they appear both as links to the photo set, and images on their own accord?

Everyone else is doing it, and I've tried that whole "trial and error" thing.

Your reward for helping, of course, is the Lo & Co photo collection..... ;-)

My First Crush

At left: the glow of young love.

This post is inspired by my recent viewing of Little Manhattan. (People who have never had a love affair with New York City may find this movie less charming than I did, but still pretty damn charming. I mean, it's about fifth graders in love, and it's realistic. What's not to be adorable.)

Anyway, my first crush is something I have spent my entire life not talking about, so here's to breaking THAT silence:

I was in the 4th grade, and she was in the 5th. She played the lead in the school play. My best friend and I played recorder along with the music teacher's piano. During those long hours in the school auditorium, I fell madly, passionately in love. But I was nine years old and I had no idea that I was in love. I knew that I wanted to know her full name and where she lived (one neighborhood over from me, I learned, and I did find her in the phone book, but of course I never called her). I knew that all of a sudden the sappy love songs on the radio spoke to me (I mooned over Billy Joel's "For the Longest Time" a lot). I dreamed about her, and made lists in my diary of the details. In fact, my diary entries from that year offer descriptions of my daily sightings. In short, I thought about her all the time. When she touched me -- when our hands brushed, when one day she put her head on my shoulder and moaned about memorizing her lines -- my whole body felt like it was on fire. I told my best friend that I REALLY REALLY REALLY wanted to be friends with her. That was the best I could do to understand what was happening.

Later in the year we did another play, at the local afterschool program where all the neighborhood children headed after school. I played Tweedledum to her Alice. I had a pillow shoved up my shirt and I lived for every minute of it.

At the end of that year, since was she was a Fifth Grader, she would move on to the local junior high, while I would stay in elementary school. I was tense about this development, but found solace in the knowledge that after just one more year I would join her there. As it turned out that was not to be, because my family moved to another city the summer after fourth grade. I mourned this girl for months after the move. I insisted on buying the same brand and color of sneakers she'd had, I named a LOGO computer program after her, I moped and longed and yearned. I didn't know why, exactly, I just missed her more than anything else about home (and I missed home a lot).

The story about me, in my family, is that I am a "late bloomer," and I wasn't interested in relationships because I was too busy with other affairs. Well, it turns out I wasn't late at all. I just didn't know what was happening. I was pretty early...the girls I knew weren't really into boys until at least fifth grade, and even then, the interest had a lightness, an airiness, a putting-on that does not at all remind me of my passionate fourth grade crush. Fifth grade was when kids "went out" with each other without actually speaking or touching. As it turns out, I had pretty intense physical yearnings as a nine-year-old. I was interested, all right.

It's just that I was 22 before I had the sense to realize what I was feeling. Now THAT is where I was a late bloomer.

Photo Friday: My Great-Grandfather's Hometown

This post is late because we were at my tenth college reunion...that, however, is another post (soon).



I took this picture outside the train station in Vienna, 12 years ago. It is definitely right up there with the weirdest things I have ever seen anywhere. It appears to be a statue of a pig. A naked pig, with big muscles, wearing a large tie, a hat, glasses, and white gloves. And, of course, pink shoes. The purpose or symbolism of such a statue, however, entirely eludes me.

I'm cheating, of course, because Vienna is by no stretch of the imagination my hometown. I've been there once. As indicated by the title, however, Vienna was my great-grandfather's* hometown.

This week's theme got me thinking about that concept of "hometown." It wasn't really necessary thinking, since the assignment was clear enough: take a picture of something weird where you live. But that word "hometown" always gets me. Where I live now is one of three places I could call "hometown," and whenever I am asked where I am "from," where is my "hometown," I wonder which city counts as my hometown, if there is one place that is The Answer. The place where I was born? The town where I went to high school? Or the middle city that imprinted upon me so deeply that I have chosen it as my adult home?

I'm hardly the the only person on earth not to hail from a single place -- three cities is even a rather short list, in comparison to many people I know including my mother -- but coming from a single "hometown" is a quality I envy. All three of my cities have had their influence on this person I am. I can't say I'm sorry to have lived the life that created this self I inhabit. But the grass is always greener...


*And even with this claim, I'm still cheating. My great-grandfather always called Vienna his hometown, but it wasn't. He hailed from a small village (shtetl) that was at different times in Austro-Hungary, Germany, and Poland. (Now it's in the Ukraine.) He did live in Vienna for several years while he did his apprenticeship with a furrier, and from Vienna he immigrated to the U.S. Here in the States he met my great-grandmother (a true city girl from Budapest). They courted, married, raised children and then grandchildren, and finally died in the same Big City that is one of my hometowns...the one I have chosen for my adult life. My heart is here in the city of my ancestors (but also, my heart is in another Big City, where the ancestors on the other side chose to settle). I did feel an unexpected tug of familiarity when I visited Vienna, a city I'd never seen before but that somehow still lived underneath my skin. Place matters so much, often in unexpected ways... (just one of the reasons it makes me angry when people suggest to me blithely that if I'm not satisfied with the rights I have where I currently live, then I should move...)

Make My Family Legal

This post is in honor of Blogging for LGBT Families Day.

Yesterday there was discussion, in a court, about granting same-sex marriage in the city where I live.

Since I began to realize (at the tender age of nine) that I was probably a lesbian, I took it for granted that I would never have the same rights or privileges as the other members of my immediate family. The domestic partnership I have is, frankly, more than I ever dreamed I would have. The privilege of adopting my own child is, in fact, more than I ever dreamed I would have.

It never occurred to me that in my lifetime I might be able to live where I want to live and have a family just like any other family. I have always known, grimly, that I would live a cobbled-together extra-legal existence and grit my teeth and smile when relatives have two weddings when "well you know, this one is the *legal* ceremony."

I was raised by two parents who lived through, believed in, and were a part of the civil rights movement of the 1950s/1960s. I sang the songs, I walked the talk, I dreamed the dreams. I knew from a very early age that Rosa Parks wasn't just tired, she was part of a movement, she was sitting down to change the world.

But like the children I now teach, I also grew up thinking that civil rights was something that happened in the past, something that great people (including my mommy and daddy) had taken care of so that the children (me and my sister) could grow up in a world without hate, or at least *with* fair laws.

Of course, I got older, and I realized that the fight for civil rights is not over, and the road towards true tolerance and diversity and the ability to all live together and appreciate each other....it's a long one.

As a Jew, I have a constantly evolving awareness of my own role in the dynamic equilibrium that is American cultural/racial/ethnic politics. I watch cultural/ethnic/racial/class diversity play itself out on the subway every day. I have long understood that as a (white) American Jew, my role (as my parents before me) would be as an ally, working to end the oppression of others.

But as it turns out, I am a member of a group that does not have the full spectrum of civil rights in the U.S.A. I am not sorry that I am "married" to the woman that I love, but I do not feel that I chose to love her any more than I chose to be born a female, or a Jew. And I find myself uncomfortable and even somewhat ashamed to be in a group (gay people) that is denied so much in this country. That surprises me because I do not think that any other group with civil rights problems should feel shame -- if anything, the lawmakers in this country should feel shame for not moving faster towards justice -- but there it is.

So the possibility of marriage in my city -- and in another pending case that could be decided any day, marriage on the statewide level in the next-door state where I work -- seems both like something I should have had long ago, and more than I should even hope for.

I may be mistaken about this, but as I understand the law based on marriages in Massachusetts, being married would mean that my wife and I would not have to adopt each other's biological children; we would be automatically included as a second parent on a birth certificate. The thought of that simple privilege actually brings tears to my eyes.

Here I sit, frustratedly checking the Internet daily (even hourly) for news that will make my family legal...and yet even that is a kind of hope.

Here's to all our families, the love that creates them, and the legal rights we need to keep them safe.

Blogging for LGBT Families

Photo Friday: Grace

This photo is the view I see each day when I leave my building. I live in a city -- a very urban city -- and I crave the urban, I resonate to the urban, I panic when I am too far from all-night diners and bodegas. Even so, I appreciate this: my park across the street, trees waving gently each morning, a moment of green grace and peace each morning before I tumble into the frantic pace of a teaching day.


The grace in this photo is, again, the park....in my city, few people have back yards and front yards, so we all soak up our Memorial Day sun together. Barbecues and bike-riding and dogs wading in the lake, baseball games and couples cuddling and a man practicing the most graceful of martial arts moves while a little girl rides her pink bike past and three toddlers throw a football at each other. Our grace is each other, and these willow trees overseeing it all.


P.S. This week's participation in Photo Friday...as well as a more multimedia blog...brought to you by our new digital camera!!!! Yes, it finally happened!! A Canon PowerShot has joined the FamilyO.

Guest Star KD

So, now I'm back to the plans for OUR family, instead of reacting hysterically to the dysfunctional one I came from...

We have decided to use my cousin as a KD. The catch, as I explained earlier, is that he lives not on the North American continent, but on the African continent. (In the novel [Lifetime movie?] that is my life, it makes perfect sense that there would be a perfect KD, and he would live that far away. I'm a reader and a writer, so I tend to think in narrative, and this is a great plot twist. EXCEPT NOT IN REAL LIFE, DAMN IT.)

However, he will be in the country for a month or more later this summer. Which means we get one (maybe two) tries, and if it doesn't work, we get back on the phone with the Sperm Bank of California. We're going to register with them and have our consultation soon. Of course we are hopeful that we can get our one "shot" to work, but we are both way too pessimistic/realistic, in general, to count on it. We'll have the frozen treats lined up.

We are going to surround that ovulation with so much baby juice, Co's poor little eggie won't know what hit it. Any advice for maximizing this opportunity is welcome. (Such as, it is considered best to inseminate every day or every other day? Do you need to give it a day to, well, build back up?)

Co is already getting excited about peeing on sticks. My, how the blog world has inspired us.

It also seems like Cousin KD comes back to the States/Canada more than I would have thought, so there might be some other opportunities? We're definitely going to have to play this by ear...

Competitive Childbearing, Again

So, I have found out that my sister is planning to name her child for the same relative that we are planning to name for. (This is somewhat dependent on the gender of Co's and my children, whether we end up really doing it.)

It is okay, in Jewish families, for more than one child to be named for an ancestor. It happens.

In this case, my sister wasn't sure if she even wanted to name for this relative (you know, if someone had a lot of faults, do you want to name for them? stuff like that). Last we spoke about naming for relatives, she said she wouldn't do it.

Co and I innocently expressed our opinion that it is okay to name for this relative, and why we feel that way.

And now, apparently she has changed her mind.

I know I can do it too. But she will have done it first. This was something I wanted to do for my Daddy. But now I can't, and it's my own fault for being honest and telling her our thoughts.

Is my rage/desire to curl up in a ball and disappear completely unreasonable??

I really don't know.

In Praise of Nurses

At least two of the women on my "blogroll" are nurses. So, I thought I would share info about a book about nurses written by my Aunt Bernice. (She is not really my aunt in the biological sense. She is, in fact, not technically biologically related to me. But we here in Queer Family Blogland know how that is.)

The book is called From Silence to Voice: What Nurses Know and Must Communicate to the Public.

(I haven't read all of it yet, I admit, but I do own a copy!)

Lo's Interview Q's, plus Interview Take 2

Okay, three people have agreed to be interviewed by my cutting-edge, biting, journalistic mind. So Charlotte, Deana, and Eryn, here are your questions. I'm looking forward to reading your answers!

Charlotte:
1) I/we all know you're a mom, and a chef. What other hobbies/pasttimes are dear to your heart?
2) What would you say is the best part of being a mom for you? The hardest?
3) Of your various ethnicities, is there one you identify with more than another?
4) What drew you to being a therapist?
5) Do you love where you live? If you could live anywhere else in the world, would you? (And where would it be?)



Deana:
1) What is your favorite thing about your recent move to N.Y.C.? (You can list a few if necessary. :-)
2) What's the best thing about your new job? What's the worst thing about your new job?
3) What would be your dream job?
4) How would you describe the role of religion in your life?
5) What's your favorite book & why?


Eryn:
1) Have you always known you wanted to have a child(ren)? Explain...
2) Cape Cod & Western Mass....compare & contrast.
3) What's your favorite candy?
4) How did you and Amy meet?
5) What do you enjoy about working with college students? (or, what do you find frustrating about it. Or both.)



----------------------
Being the interview slut that I am, I agreed to be interviewed by Sarah. Here are my responses to her questions.

1) If you could live in any another country (other than your own), where would you live and why?

Canada. Because I am fluent in English and adore French (though I wouldn't say I'm fluent); because Stephen Harper notwithstanding it's to some degree a socialist country and that's more my speed; because when I'm there, I feel like I'm in one country among many (as opposed to the USA hubris of being The Only Country That Matters). And, I admit it, Coffee Crunch. I would repatriate over Coffee Crunch.


2) What would your dream job be? Why?
My dream job would be to teach middle school in a K--8 setting to a sincerely diverse (in terms of race, ethnicity, class, ability) group of children. And where I have the opportunity to design my own curriculum. That is more or less what I do now. However, this is all pending the feelings & actions of New Boss. We'll see. I may need to find a new dream job.


3) If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? Please Explain.
I am way, way, way , way too emotional. I would turn it off.

4) What would you ultimate vacation be? Why?
Hmmm. The beach would be involved. I *love* the ocean -- getting right into the waves. I also love being with Co and Maggie, at the ocean. And I love cooking fresh local food. So, I guess renting a house near a beach. I have other ambitions, like going to Europe...but to be honest, the ocean and my family is really what I dream about.

5) If you could travel back in time to see any event in real life, what would it be and why?
That is a tough question. I have often wished I was alive during the American civil rights movement in the late '50s -- '60s. I would have wanted to be a part of that. I'm not exactly sure what I would have done but I wish I had been around to do something.

Thanks Sarah!

Interview with Lo

So, this is a meme from Art-Sweet (who credits HD).

The meme works like this:
* Leave me a comment saying “interview me.” The first five commenters will be the participants.
* I will respond by asking you five questions.
* You will update your blog/site with the answers to the questions.
* You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
* When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

And now, my questions, as posed by Art-Sweet herself:

1. If you could ask George Bush one question, which he would be required to answer honestly, what would it be?
In exactly which ways are your policies (particularly educational ones) hypocritical and self-serving?

2. How did you meet Co? Was it love at first sight?
I met Co at a cafe. It's a cafe in the city where we live that has books of personal ads....sort of like Internet dating but not quite!!! I went to the cafe with my friend W. and we both made pages for the books, and looked through the ads. I "requested" a number of people, including Co. The people at the cafe called me back a few days later to say that Co had agreed to meet me. Of course, the cafe arranges for you to have a date at the cafe. So we did. And it turned out that her best friend J. from college was my best friend from graduate school. Weird.
I wouldn't say "love at first sight," I would say "deep interest" at first sight.

3. If you could relive one year of your life, what year would it be - and why?
I think it might be seventh grade. That was a very hard year for some reasons....but a wonderful year for others. I really felt like I was a part of my school community, my home life wasn't too terrible. I could feel my little wings starting to spread. I remember that fondly.

4. Do you also hope to bio-mom at some point?
Yes, I do. Our plan (the best-laid plans of mice and men....) is for Co to have Baby 1.0 and me to have Baby 2.0. And the brilliant logic behind this plan? She's 1 year older. I think that's a fine enough reason.

5. What do you like about seventh graders?
I like in them what I liked in myself in 7th grade...all that potential. All that becoming. The experimenting with identity, the wondering, the soul-searching, and the glimmering beginnings of abstract thought. I find it a very exciting age to enage intellectually because it's really the beginning of kids being able to engage intellectually!
And, also, they're funny. I have a pretty 7th grade sense of humor. Not all the time, but enough so that we amuse each other.


So if you'd like to be interviewed, comment on this post and I will oblige with five questions for the first five people.

Family Drama (Lo's Lifetime Movie)

**Please scroll down to read about sperm! I really want any and all input about our options.

I need to pick out a Mother's Day gift this weekend, and that's not so easy.

My mother and my sister are not speaking to me right now. (So for immediate family, that leaves my dad, who is divorced from my mom, and is speaking to me. But he is very New England male [not to stereotype, some New England males are very warm, but it's a type], a distant character.)

My mother and sister both say I am manipulative and abusive and they can't take my negativity any more. I have discussed with my therapist, of course. I will be as honest here as I was with her. Here's what I have done: after initially expressing joy that my sister was pregnant, I shared my concerns with my mother and with my father (they both share my concerns, which are largely financial, and were not upset with me for expressing them). I did not tell my sister how I felt. I finally told her (I think twice) that it's hard for me when she goes on and on about her pregnancy and her anxieties about circumcision, because Co and I are in a place where we can't even *try* to get pregnant right now (since we're in the midst of looking for a donor/saving the $ for popsicles/going to doctors).

One of the times I asked her to be a little more respectful, a) we had just (the day before maybe?) found out that our original PKD was a no-go, and b) she was buggine me about my opinions on circumcision. Male circumcision is a hot button issue for me, as some people who read this blog know, and something I really, really, really, really don't like to talk about. I am not circumcised. I do not have any brothers. My father, since we are a Jewish family, is (I have been told) circumcised. And that is all I will say on the matter.

My sister and my mother both feel that my telling my sister my honest feelings was (as stated above) hostile, manipulative, and abusive. So right now they have chosen to distance themselves from my painful presence. I've been told this verbally as well as through email.

I do not WANT to be ANY of the adjectives listed above, and have done a lot of thinking about whether I did something that was, in fact, unfair and hurtful. I guess I don't think I have, so it's painful to me that my honesty has both of them so upset (I did try to express my feelings kindly and gently, I really don't want to hurt anyone; I can be a passionate person, no doubt about it, but I have not yelled at my sister; I admit that I yell at my mom sometimes, but mostly I just cry around her).

I've been clearly warned by both mother and sister that if I do not choose to "behave" myself (I don't know what that would mean, I put it in quotes because it's a word they both use), I may not get to have a relationship with my niece or nephew.

OF COURSE I want a relationship with my niece/nephew. OF COURSE this freaks me out. However, one thing my mom and sister don't understand is that as a lesbian with an alternative definition of family, there are already children in the world who I fully consider my nieces and nephews. So while it is certainly momentous to become a biological aunt, this is not the first time I have eagerly anticipated the arrival of a child to whom I will feel that kind of connection. I will not list names here....but Z. and N. and E. and R. and D. and A. are all my nieces & nephews in my heart. I don't mean to discount the importance of my sister's child, I really don't, but I'm hoping people in the community I'm writing for will understand what I mean.

So this weekend I need to pick something to send for Mother's Day, because it really would be hostile not to send her something (as I always have) just because she is kind of ignoring me right now. And that's not going to be an enjoyable task. I also have to pick a birthday present for my brother-in-law (sister's husband) for the same reason. And I am going to enjoy that task even less. Oh, the joy.

Plus I'm sick (no it's not allergies, though here in the Northeast the pollen is laying waste to much of the population), which is not improving my outlook on anything right now.

Sperm Options

Quick disclaimer on the photo: I'm no fan of Woody Allen. However, this post just needed a photo of him in a sperm costume as illustration. It's from the movie "Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Sex...but Were Afraid to Ask." I often feel like my life should be sub-titled, "Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Lesbian Conception..."....you get the idea.

I've been wanting to write about this latest update in our sperm-venture for some time. My job has been sucking the life out of me (and everyone else who dares work there) but here it is 9pm and I'm actually at home!! Wheeee!

"Option" #1: This one's not a real option (yet, anyway). A friend "put a bug in the ear"* of someone she knows about the concept of donation. (That's different from directly asking.) She promised she'll tell me if she hears anything on that front. I don't know who she asked and I'm certain it's no one I know (she's an elementary/high school friend and we don't live in the same state); I only know that he fits our requirements. [Our requirements are that he has sperm and does not live in our neighborhood (and of course HIV testing and no Tay Sachs or CF carriers, though even that last part could go if Co turns up clean on that front).] Well, and obviously that he does not want to be a parent in any sense of the word. I am trying to be patient and act like I don't care and it doesn't matter to me that she opened that can of worms, and for the most part that's true...but also, I'm pretty sperm-obsessed right now.

*I once really did have a bug fly into my ear. It was horrible and traumatic and I have friends who still tease me about the intensity of my reaction, but really, Gentle Reader, think about how it would feel to have wings flapping in your ear. ;-)


Option #2: The second idea is realer. I have a cousin who I've thought of more than once. He's a 2nd cousin, for those who keep track of such things; that means we have the same great-grandparents and not the same grandparents, not that we ever met those shared great-grandparents. I only have one first cousin, and she's, well, a she. This PKD Cousin is the same gentleman my mom once suggested as a donor for both of us. She repeated this suggestion at our Passover visit, pointing out once again that he is only my second cousin. Little did she know I had already sent out an anxious email query, which after some consideration he and his wife answered with a "sure, we would do that for you if we could."

(NO, not as a donor for both of us, we would only use him for Co. On my father's side of the family, second cousins are considered dateable, but there have been (in my humble and scientifically informed opinion) some negative consequences. Diversity is healthy in every. single. way.

The serious catch is that he does not live in the United States. He does not live in Canada, either; I mean a serious plane ride away. However, he has plans to be in the States in both August and September. We could, essentially, try twice and see what happens. (Do I know if those dates coincide with an ovulation? No, I don't right now, but if we were going to try this, we'd just have to try it. With fresh sperm, it IS possible to get pregnant when you're not ovulating. Just ask those rhythm method people.)


The other serious catch is that I don't think it would be a great idea for the rest of our relatives to know (at first, that is) that the child was biologically related to him. That's the reason it took me so long to bring this up with him, more than his distance. He has parents and two grandmothers to have, well, feelings. However, they really wouldn't need to know in the beginning. We want to be honest with the child, of course. But by the time a theoretical child would be old enough to be talk/understand, either my cousin or his younger brother would have produced an heir, and that would change the family dynamic. (I'm having serious tense trouble here. If English has a proper subjunctive, I was never taught it well.)

My family is very spread out, so this child would exist only in photos for my cousin's close relatives (his parents and one grandma live in Canada, and not a part that is close to us, and the other grandma lives in Florida). If the kid turned out to look a bit like him, well, people say he and I look alike. (Because we are named for our shared great-grandparents, he for the great-grandfather and I for the great-grandmother, there has always been a desire to suggest that we have a connection. And, well, we do.)

So the input I'm seeking from the blogosphere is this: does that sound like a crazy and unhealthy idea? Does the idea of not disclosing the child's donor to the rest of the family (including, say, my mom) at first sound very unhealthy? My cousin said he is okay with it either way, so long as the child would know (which of course is a must for Co and myself as well).

We can also just buy the "popsicles" from Sperm Bank of California and we really are okay with that. But I will openly admit that I *like* the idea of having this cousin as a donor. I think he would be a really good Super Uncle. Also....Charlotte has written about the idea of donor as "surrogate self." I can't get Co pregnant, and while I am not heavily invested in picking someone like myself from the lists of sperm bank donors, I can't deny the attraction of this cousin who is somewhat like myself. He's a professional writer...deeply political...very musical....while we do not look alike, really, we were both little blond, blue-eyed kids with Semitic features and that made people say we looked alike. He's only six months younger than I am (though a grade behind in school as a result) and we had a pretty intense bond for parts of our childhood. The most charming example I can think of is playing Simon & Garfunkel duets (he on guitar, me on flute) when we were 10 or 11. I do not NEED to have my genetics represented in this child (and this isn't my brother by a long-shot; I don't have a brother or any male first cousins) but yes, there is something I like about having someone connected to me be number 3 in this project. He even fits my somewhat bratty self-hating requirement of not being 100% Ashkenazi Jew. (His mother converted before she met his father, and he was raised as Jewishly as I was, but that doesn't change the genetics. I do want to intentionally mix up the world, damn it.)

This is too long, I think, but I do want to share it all. So if you've read this far, thank you for your patience, and I politely request your commentary. (And if you know me in that foggy place we call "real life," please do not publish anything that would reveal PKD Cousin's identity. He's not world famous but I bet he'd like to stay that way.)

"I Had a Bad Day" or Why Lo Wants To Be A Plumber

There is some Big Drama going on at my school about leadership. I really can't post about it right now, though I will when I can (one of the Major Players has requested confidentiality). I am looking forward to blogging about this power struggle, because there have been some hysterically funny moments. Today the Business Manager, a sweet grandfather who is rumored to be a Republican, and who was slightly flustered when he and I had to talk about domestic partnership, made a joke about testicles in front of me. That is not normal in our community.

Suffice to say, this nonsense has kept me busier than any human being should be who is a) not applying for a job and b) not earning a six figure salary. However, I really believe in my school (a small community that is diverse in race, class, ability, you name it...) so I'm fighting 'cause, well, someone has to.

Tonight, while I was lying half-clothed face down on the floor trying to figure out why the dishwasher won't drain, I was making a list in my head of reasons it might be a good idea to try being a plumber. Now, I am not mechanically inclined. I found out through experiential learning tonight that there are sharp things in dishwashers. (Band-Aid now on left index finger.) I have to pause and think "right tighty lefty loosy" every single time I pick up a screwdriver. I would be a really lousy plumber, and your pipes will thank me for staying out of this field. However, I had a pretty long list in my head noting why plumbing (is that a word?) is better than teaching. I almost convinced myself it would be a good idea to look for apprenticeships.

And the truth is, I love teaching, there is really little else I could do well in this world. My mother has pictures of me at four in which she says I am "teaching" someone. (Well, that might say more about my mom than it does about me...)

Another thing I was very aware of, as I was poking around inside the dishwasher with a toothpick (as per the instruction manual): I get tired of being female sometimes. I sometimes feel very helpless as a female (this power thing at school has involved lots and lots and lots of men yelling at and even threatening women, including myself) and I know that the thing between me and the dishwasher was my attempt to dominate something in my life. I teach 7th grade, and when you teach 7th grade, every single day is all about struggling for dominance. (I don't mind that so much with the children, since mostly I watch them struggle for dominance with each other. I may not be taller than all of them, but I do not want to be friends with any of them, and that gives me power.)

I am no shrinking violet, but I am relatively short (about 5' 4") and I have a strong startle reflex. When men shout at me and move towards me physically, well, I don't like it. And to tell the truth I don't really know what to do about it, either (except for getting involved politically and trying to win that way).

N.B.: I do not mean in any way to imply that my lack of mechanical/technical inclination is because I am female. It's really not. My parents tried...my dad gave me his childhood Erector set and they bought me very few dolls. It's just about who I am. I do have some traits people would consider "male."

The end of the dishwasher story is that I figured out the problem, but since I am uncertain of how to fix it, I'd rather call someone who does (a.k.a. our Very Cool Super) than risk screwing it up further with my experiential learning. 'Cause that could get expensive....and we're saving our money for sperm. :-)

California Adventure

So here's the details on the trip to California:

I actually have a fair amount of family on the West Coast. My family's roots are all Northeast (via Eastern Europe, they immigrated to Boston and New York) but we've wandered.

The impetus of this trip was my cousin M.'s Bat Mitzvah in Stanford/Palo Alto. These life events (Bar/Bat Mitzvahs, weddings, and even funerals) are also excuses for family reunions, since my dad's side is spread across two coasts and two countries; (there's a few of them in Vancouver, B.C.). P., the youngest of my father's first cousins, is the mother of 13-year-old M. (and 11-year-old N.). M. did a beautiful and very focused job reading from the Torah and chanting blessings, and then reading her own interpretation of the Biblical instructions for Jewish dietary law (a.k.a. "keeping kosher"). Since her Torah portion was about food, her party had a food theme as well....chocolate. Co and I sat at the Ghirardelli table. (Other tables included Toblerone, Lindt, See's...) There was a chocolate fountain and tiramisu for desert, and "M's Bat Mitzvah" Hershey bars. It was really a lovely event, not too much excess (except for the chocolate, but really, one can never have too much chocolate), truly fun for both the kids (no less than 40 12-year-olds running around) and the adults.

We also paid a visit to my one first cousin (on my mom's side), who lives near Santa Cruz. Cousin C. (not to be confused with my wife Co) has two small children, 3 1/2 year old S. and 5-month-old E. It was great fun to hang out with C. and her family. Her husband R. is very sweet. They have a house up in the mountains surrounded by huge, huge trees. You have to drive up roads windier than Highway 17 to get to their house (but it's worth it). We hung out at the beach in Santa Cruz and saw sea lions in their natural habitat!

Our third planned destination was The Sperm Bank of California in Berkeley. Though TSBC is happy to do phone consultations, I felt strongly that it must be "bashert (Yiddish for "fated" or "meant to be") that we would be so near the actual office right at this time in our lives, so I arranged an appointment. We headed off from Santa Cruz with our printed-out profiles in hand....only to end up with a flat tire on our rental car. On Highway 280. We pulled over to the shoulder by an exit ramp, called the rental company's Roadside Assistance, and waited, both of us churning in our typical ways (I tend to think that all signs must mean something deep and intense that I must read like an oracle; Co tends to believe in crappy luck).

There was some confusion with the Roadside Assistance phone staff; the woman in Utah, who answered my call, couldn't get anyone to believe her that I was at Exit 37 on the freeway. The tow companies kept insisting that California does not number its exits. Well, I don't want to get too involved in California freeway politics (more on that in a moment) but we were sitting by an exit ramp literally staring at a sign that read "Exit 37." Hmmm. Eventually I was able to name some landmarks and our location was decoded. So when 20 minutes later a white truck pulled up behind us and a man began to jack up the car to change the tire, I wasn't surprised.

I was, however, surprised when my cell phone immediately rang and a disgruntled voice told me that he was from the rental car's garage and that I should tell the man to stop what he was doing. I really had no desire to stop this very, very positive turn of events, but being the Good Girl that I am, I walked over to the man (who was now almost done putting the donut on the car) and said, "Uh, you can stop." He glanced at me and said, "That's okay." Then another truck pulled up and the disgruntled voice came over in person. He was a short scowly guy with a blond crew cut. Scowly Crew Cut said, "He didn't tell you who he was, did he?" Co and I stared at each other. Nice Tire Changer seemed pretty good to us. He had handed Co a pamphlet but we had not read it. Scowly Crew Cut told Nice Tire Changer that he would finish the job (really at this point there was no job to finish). Nice Tire Changer replied, "You know we don't work like that." Scowly Crew Cut insisted on double-checking Nice Tire Changer's impeccable work.

By this time I had figured out something was going on, though darned if I knew what. Scowly Crew Cut hung around a bit, complained that Nice Tire Changer hadn't "introduced himself," had Co sign a piece of paper, and finally left. And it was thus, from the lips of Nice Tire Changer, that Co and I learned about the Freeway Safety Patrol. In California, if you have car trouble on a major freeway, there are people who will come help you FOR FREE. Insurance (especially crappy rental care roadside assistance in Utah, no offense Chicory) be damned...if they see you in distress, they will help. And the garages who profit from the insurance companies don't like it one bit.

Wow. That is some cool socialist hippie California stuff!! I wish we had that program in the Northeast. Nice Tire Changer even stayed behind us and helped us merge back into traffic.

The next step of the adventure was to trade in the wounded Chevy Malibu for another car (since we still had to get to Palo Alto). I called the closest location of the rental company and they assured me they had plenty of "midsize" cars. When we arrived, however, the agent said they could only give us a Nissan Murano, which in case you don't know (I sure didn't) is an "SUV crossover vehicle." Neither Co nor I had ever before driven such a vehicle (we own a Saturn sedan) so that made us a bit nervous. I think that the rental agent expected us to be excited about receiving the big silver Murano for the same price as the Chevy Malibu. However, not only were we mildly anxious about driving the enormous beast, I personally have a previous association with the word Marrano(which of course is what I heard when he said "Murano"). So, I am hoping that spending the weekend with me and Co, at a Bat Mitzvah, helped the big silver beastie get in touch with its Judaism. In return, the Marrano has given us the opportunity to say we have driven an SUV.

Finally, the Marrano assisted us with one more visit: we met Charlotte, S., and LM in the flesh. It was fun!

*We did not make it to the sperm bank, of course, which disappointed me mightily, but of course we can and will arrange a phone consultation. Our primary relationship with that bank would be a postal one anyway. So I do not, personally, take this as a sign that we will not be using their goods....although some other possibilities have suddenly and unexpectedly reared their heads. I'll be blogging about that soon...

Blogging Away From Home

I am in California, with Co, for a family event (a Bat Mitzvah).

(We do not live in California. This is kind of a Big Trip.)

I cried at the Bat Mitzvah, which shocked me, because I have never cried at one before. A Bat Mitzvah involves lots of 12 & 13 year old girls running around and giggling and hiding in the bathroom and, in 2006, doing cell-phone related stuff...making calls and taking pictures and sending email and making Belgian waffles (okay, perhaps that last was a slight exaggeration. but only slight). However, as a person who is thinking as mindfully (not to say obsessively) about having children as I am, seeing the ritual of passing a tradition down through the generations actually brought up something in me that made tears run down my cheeks.

I am here with Co, as I said, and also with my father, and his wife, who is not my mother. I lost count (I was counting at first) of the number of times people assumed she was my mother. I've been letting it go because they're not people that I'm going to see again, so that's okay, and I don't want to create ugliness. (There's a Jewish Thing about Not Getting Divorced.) But She. Is. Not. My. Mom. We get along now, okay, but I repeat: Not. My. Mom.

But my father's first cousin and her husband (the parents of the Bat Mitzvah Lady) are wonderful people and I would actually choose to be related to them, if I had a choice, which is amazing. How many of those people do we get in this life? And I have another set of cousins on my mom's side, that I would choose. So that's Good.

I'm going to go now and soak up more California calm.

Lo's Shrink Explains It All & Digital Camera Advice

Some people have told me that my "wail" post was not very lucid.

A clearer point: I have become the metaphorical "black sheep" of my family. I think this is funny and weird, because I'm really not a very radical person...I am a teacher who owns property (well, it's a co-op, so I own a photocopy of a stock certificate). I am a lesbian, but in a liberal family that espouses, well, liberalism.

Nonetheless, I have become invisible to them; I hear a lot of comments about how my wedding is "just like a real wedding" and it is going to be "easy" for me to have a baby.

Um, no. On both counts. I won't go into it, because this is the place where you all Get It.

And the more I challenge them, the more they resent me.

You can imagine a cycle starts here....

Anyway, back to food blogging and how cute our dachshund is. Did I mention she's cute?

And in the interests of showing you pictures of both (food & dachshunds) we are teetering on the edge of the digital camera divide. Please recommend brands and models here. (My only requirements: on the cheap side [but not crappy] and I really, really, really need a viewfinder instead of just an LCD screen.)

A Wail

I tried to think of a better or more creative title for this post but opted for the simple truth.

We (me, Co, and the dachsie) went to my mother's house to celebrate Passover. She lives in a house I never lived in with her husband (she hasn't lived in my childhood home for years now and there have been a number of places, and partners, since....my dad's the one who left her, though).

The truth is I had three childhood homes that I remember (the fourth is the apartment I was born in, but I don't remember it, we only lived there until I was two) in three different states (and not all of them were in the Northeast!). My mother and sister now live in the last state where the family landed, but not in the same city where I lived for 8 years. My father lives in that same state as well, though not in the city where they raised us, and not near my mother and sister. I can actually feel my breath get shorter when we cross the border into that state. It is not a place I ever really liked, though I cannot deny its effect on my personality and growth and selfhood.

The details are long and complex and perhaps not even worth relating....the simple truth of the situation (from my perspective) is that she (and to some degree my younger sister, you know, the one who is pregnant) have an image of me that does not match my own image of myself. Their image of me is of someone with serious emotional problems, someone needy and angry and manipulative who must be "managed" at all times and who has a habit of "ruining" events with my unpredictability.

It's not how I see myself. My own memories involve hiding from my mother's inevitable rage (especially at holiday times) because no matter what I did, whether I was hiding in my room or helping by her side or doing cartwheels in the living room (I actually never learned how to do a cartwheel; it's a metaphor, if you know what I mean) she became enraged at me for ruining her holiday. I came to the conclusion early on that my existence has ruined a lot of things for her....but once I learned how babies were made, I knew whose fault that was!

She does not direct this kind of rage at my sister (nor did she until I left the house, but I didn't know that until many years later), probably because my sister was and is passive and small and blond and sweet and feminine and pretty. And now, pregnant. Though I was not fat as a child (despite what I thought at the time) I was always tall. This fact is funny to me now, because I am only about 5' 4" and am constantly asking students to get things off shelves for me, but I grew to my full height quickly. At the age of four people regularly thought I was six; at six, people thought I was eight; etc. etc. By 8th grade I was regularly taken for a college student. I still can't imagine how that worked since in my perception and in pictures I look like such a, well, 8th grader.

Really, this needs to be a photo-essay, so I can show what I mean; one of these days I'll scan the kiddie pix.

The point of this post being, I guess, that family dynamics die hard, and I hope I am the person I think I am, the grown-up who lives in the city I love (childhood home #2, as it happens, though not the actual house of course) and raises a dachshund with love and has a wife I love who loves me....a person with a career that matters, a congregation that matters, a real life where I am not ruined, not a ruiner.

That is all.

Lo's Body Part

If I could take a picture (no digital camera yet), I'd take a picture of my eyes. They're a complicated body part for me because their color is so, well, difficult to ascertain. Depending on lighting and what I wear (which I imagine has to do with reflection of light) they can look blue, green, or grey.

My father says they are his father's eyes. (My father has blue eyes, my mother and sister have green eyes. I never met my grandfather -- I am named for him, actually -- and there are no close-up color photographs of him where I can see his eyes.)

My sister and I also both have the same rather odd feature: there's a thin circle of yellow flecks between the black pupil and the blue/green/grey iris.

All of these quirks could be beautiful, I suppose, in the hands of a writer or an artist. Yet I have always felt uncomfortable that it is so hard for me to answer the question "What color are your eyes?" Because I cannot answer the question without looking in a mirror to see how they appear that day, and that feels strange. I have taken a stab at the question and answered "blue" or "green," only to have the person squint at my face and correct me. "What color are your eyes?" should be an easy question. I did not know what to write for my driver's license (I believe it says "blue.")

I don't particularly care whether my eyes get passed on to the next generation. I'm fascinated by genetics, and I feel strongly that brown eyes are a more desirable trait than blue/green. I am more sensitive to sun than my brown-eyed friends. Also: my vision is nowhere near perfect (I'm nearsighted and have had glasses or contacts since I was nine years old). My eyes do not always do what they need to do, and they are confusing.

But Co once called them sunflowers, and that helped me love my strange eyes.

Someday when we do have a digital camera, I will post a picture.

Sperm Update

We have an official appointment with our sperm bank of choice, The Sperm Bank of California.

We feel quite solid about that choice, both of us being the research-decisions-to-death-with-multiple-sources sort of personality (is there a quiz for that??).

So now we're playing that waiting game, until our appointment on Friday, April 20. This reminds me of the holding pattern in which I swirled while we waited to meet with our PKD (who is now our FKD, where F means "failed"). At least we know this time that, in our capitalist society, if we can raise the funds, we can have the goods. There is no Wife, just a loving group of lesbian "midwives" at the bank o' sperm.

I am personally looking forward to the large amount of information/advice the sperm bank promises to provide...I'm officially done with my own research and ready to turn to the Experts who have made babies in this wacky way before. (Which is to say I'm starting to go in circles with myself, like Maggie chasing her tail. Which she actually rarely does.)

So. Once again, Now We Wait. (You know that I am not going to be real suave or peaceful about the whole TWW thing. I can already see myself climbing the walls. However, you'll all be pleased to know that that self I can stare at, climbing those warm buttery beige apartment walls, is not actually speaking to me. Because then I would need a paraprofessional like my pre-schizophrenic student.)

And on another note, do other people sometimes feel so biologically driven by this whole process that they reflect, deeply and daily, on the fact that we ARE animals?

Edit/Update

Indeed, as several commenters correctly surmised, I am very happy for my sister and my whole family that the first of the next generation is growing. There's really no one in my life I'm as close to as my sister in the way that I am close to her.

It's just that...I'm the oldest. And I want this. I want this so, so so so badly. (Well, you all know. You all are the people who know!!!) And for a while there, the way things were going, it looked like I might get to have the first grandchild (Lord knows I didn't get the first marriage...my sister married [religiously & legally] a few years before I did and since I live in the U.S. I am still not legally married). And that kind of felt good to me, you know? Having the first grandchild, even though it's so hard for us to do.

But that's not how it's going to be. I'm going to be the Late Blooming Lesbian YET AGAIN. Maybe I'll change my cute little pseudonym from LO to LBL since those appear to be my real initials.

(I'm getting used to this new turn of events, I'm not as down as I might sound in this post. It's just that sometimes I get tired of all the drama/detritus that comes with being queer. 'Cause if we weren't, we'd have been first.)

My Little Sister Is Pregnant

...and we're not.
In the immortal words of Langston Hughes, "There's nothing more to say."
And I am a bad, bad person because I feel anything but pure joy.
Thanks for being there, people, 'cause if you weren't, I'd be all alone with my shrink! And my darling Co.

Photo Friday: Lo's Spring

Here's the portent I look for to show me spring has arrived in the Northeast.
Because I am Jewish, I never received these delightful items in baskets for free; I saved my allowance and started buying them as soon as CVS, Woolworth's, and the other candy emporiums of my childhood started putting them out on the counter. Since a lot of that childhood was spent in New England, the availability of the Cadbury creme egg usually occurred significantly before the weather actually got warm. Hence: for me, seeing those eggs on the counter will always make my heart lift. Spring is coming! It is, it is!
If it were up to me, I'd put a Cadbury creme egg on the seder plate. Maybe someday I will.

Edit: It is my passionate interest in comparative religion that makes me joke about this tacky replacement. I would only do it in appreciative company. Also, Passover/Pesach is by far my favorite holiday (American or Jewish) and part and parcel of my joyous reaction to Spring & its Cadbury creme egg harbinger.

No Sperm For You!

So PKD said no.
It was a qualified no -- his partner wasn't so comfortable and we have the sense he is interested but if one's partner is uncomfortable, well, that does make it hard. So that's that. I guess I can't exactly blame the other party for hogging the sperm. Well. That there is a lie. I can, and I do, and I am, but I am trying to get over it.
This means we will need to use a Sperm Bank. If anyone has any positive suggestions, we sure would like to hear them. I know Charlotte had a good meeting at the Sperm Bank of California. Anyone know anything about Pacific Reproductive Services?
I was so excited. We were going to redefine family. We were going to have a baby with a cool guy. And it turns out we're not doing any of those cool things. We're just going to buy some sperm. I am trying not to feel like the biggest loser in the world.

Lo's Favorite Button

(I come from a family of political button collectors. My grandfather did it, my parents did it separately and together, and I have two bags of them in my bottom dresser drawer. No, I haven't found a good way to display them in my small apartment.)

I have a lot of ones I love [no nukes/no cows!], but I do think this one's my favorite:

Choice in Everything.

(I know life's never that simple, but still....)

P.S. We sent a letter to PKD. Well, Co calls it a letter, I call it a short email reminder. But hopefully we'll hear from him soon.

A Meme

I got this meme from BB and Sarah and from Calliope. I love it that the term "meme" comes from genetics (as I understand it, it's a segment of DNA that replicates itself). Cool metaphor.

Four non-teaching jobs I've had:
1. Worked in the back offices at a bank.
2. Cashier at an "au bon pain."
3. Temporary admin assistant for the Security (no, not securities) dept. at a major stock company, offices were at 2 World Trade Centre (don't worry it was in 1998).
4. Curatorial assistant at a museum devoted to broadcasting (I helped with the soap opera exhibit. I've seen episodes of One Life to Live from before I was born).

Four Authors, Books, or Series I read over and over:
1. Cheaper by the Dozen & Belles on Their Toes by the Gilbreths (Frank B. Gilbreth Jr. & Ernestine Gilbreth Carey)
2. The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot
3. Harry Potter
4. The Westing Game (I teach it. I love it, though, that's why I teach it)

Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Meet Me In St. Louis
2. Georgy Girl
3. In a Child's Name (LIfetime, 4 hrs, my sister affectionately calls it "the glowing blood movie")
4. The Wizard of Oz

Four TV shows I love(d):
1. Buffy the Vampire Slayer
2. Degrassi...Junior High, HIgh, Next Generation
3. You Can't Do That on Television
4. Law & Order (I also like Special Victims Unit, but *not* Criminal Intent or Trial by Jury!! I will be trying out "Conviction" tomorrow night.)

Four places I've lived:
1. Chicago, Illinois
2. Montreal, Quebec, Canada
3. Swarthmore, Pennsylvania
4. Brookline, MA

Four places to vacation:
1. Jersey Shore
2. Cape Cod
3. Montreal & Laurentides
4. Walt Disney World (I really do love Disney World. It is against everything that is good and right that I love it, but I can't help myself).

Four sites I visit/use daily:
1. Blogger blogs
2. Livejournal
3. Google
4. myspace to spy on the kids (kidding!!!!)

Four people I'd like to meet in person, based on their blogs:
(I found this a bit hard)
All of you!!

Four foods I yearn for:
1. Chocolate. In pretty much any form, except "white," which lacks, oh I don't know, cocoa.
2. Co's chicken & dumplings. Mmmmmm.
3. Dill pickle chips & all-dressed chips (Canada has better flavors of potato chips than the States. I made a list once.)
4. Co's homemade brownies (I know, I know, falls under chocolate)

Four inventions I'm grateful for:
1. The Internet
2. Radio
3. As Calliope said....anything that helps me get sperm, plan sperm, etc.
4. Anything by Macintosh. ;-)

Four musical choices for my personal soundtrack:
1. Holly Near
2. Rodgers & Hammerstein musicals (if you didn't yet know I was a cheeseball, here is your proof...)
3. Buffy the Vampire Slayer soundtracks including the musical episode (yes, we own these)
4. Coldplay

Four nouns that describe me: (I've enlisted Co's help)
1. Organizer
2. Jew (yet my passport says American!)
3. dachshundmommy
4. 12-year-old (in a 31 year old's body)

Four Bloggers I'm Tagging:
Anyone. Everyone.