Riley is missing school today. This is particularly notable because this is only his 2nd absence in 3 years of school. The first absence occurred on his first full-day of kindergarten. Kim and I were enjoying a relaxing anniversary cruise and my mom was watching the boys. She drove from Roosevelt to SLC after the weekend and arrived in SLC late so decided to keep him home rather than send him to school tardy. It was an issue for Kim at the time. I just laughed. Beggars (moms who want to go on cruises) can’t be choosers (“make sure he goes to school.”) Kim couldn’t comprehend how a person could allow a child to stay home from school unless there was a family emergency, a sickness, or another major event. Kim views education differently from my me. Growing up, I just had to tell Mom that I was falling behind on school and needing a day to catch up on homework and she’d call the school with an all-purpose, “she’s needed at home” excuse. The good part of that philosophy is that I never had to learn to lie, pretend illness, or fabricate family emergencies. The bad part of that philosophy is that I never received the coveted attendance award.

Riley was awarded “outstanding” attendance in kindergarten – the absence the first week of school marred his record from the get-go. He won “perfect” attendance in first grade since there was no anniversary cruise to contend with. So far this year he was on track for the “perfect” award again. Which was why at 2 PM yesterday when I was stuck in Roosevelt with an unexpected snowstorm continuing to dump on us, I struggled with the decision about whether to drive home or not. I called the statewide number for road conditions. The two major mountain passes I would have to get over were described as “Currently precipitating. Snow packed. Slippery. Icy. Chains or 4 wheel drive recommended.”

In preparation for the drive, my sister and I went into town to buy snacks and water. The grocery story shelves were sparse. The meat aisle was empty. The supply truck couldn’t make to Roosevelt. I should have taken that as a sign from the Universe that I was meant to spend an extra day in Roosevelt.

But Riley was worried about missing school. Casey missed Mamma Kim. And I figured my sister needed a break from me and the boys. In a single weekend, Casey drew on her wood floor with a marker (not permanent), the boys managed to overheat the motor to the jets in her bath tub, Casey took a tumble down her entire flight of stairs, Casey played an annoying singing penguin carousel game constantly until Uncle Q. took a screwdriver and wire cutters, tore into the thing, and cut the wire to the speaker. Riley lost a board game and had a come apart because Linda wouldn’t keep on playing to see who would get second place. Linda’s lecture to him: “Riley there is only 1 winner and the rest of us are losers. You are one of the losers” wasn’t helpful. I, of course, was the winner.

Linda isn’t used to children my boys’ age. And to be honest, my boys are higher maintenance than most. I’ve outworn my welcome there so many times. But she has a wood-burning stove and keeps the house at 80 degrees. She drinks coffee with me in our pajamas and we put real Irish Crème in it. Sitting with Linda by the fire giving each other pedicures is like intravenous Prozac that gets me through the winter.
So when the snow let up about 2:30 PM, I loaded the boys up in the car with our water, snacks, extra blankets and cell phone. We were going to give it a try.

We were fine until the mountain pass we call Strawberry. The wind was howling and blowing the new snow in drifts across the road. At first Riley was mesmerized by the “dry ice” effect and he pretended we were driving through a witch’s potion. “The wicked witch is trying to cook us to eat us, but we have to keep driving out of the cauldron.” But then he noticed a couple of cars that had slid off the road. He noticed that every car that passed us coming the other way was a giant pick-up truck and he got scared when the gusts of wind engulfed us in white out conditions. He started counting the seconds that we couldn’t see the road and his anxiety was only worsened by the “f” word the driver kept muttering. (Me? Would I do that?) We took our position in a line of almost a dozen cars and we followed in each others tracks. The snowplows were out but they couldn’t keep up.

It was the worst driving conditions I had ever driven in. But we went slow and took our time. Casey slept. Riley stressed. I cursed. And we arrived home safely about 7:30 PM. The typical two hour and fifteen minute drive took us over four hours.
Riley and I were both too stressed out to eat dinner.  I took a bath and Riley watched Pippi Longstocking to settle down.

Riley woke up this morning and puked.  Then he started crying because if he goes to school he might make his friends sick.  And if he stays home then he won’t get “perfect” attendance.  I really despise that award.  Despise it!  I said, “Look dude.  You’re puking.  Maybe you’ll have to settle for “outstanding” attendance this year. You’re not going to school.”  How many parents have to beg their sick child to stay home?

So Riley is home sick today.  Maybe he actually has a bug, but I can’t help but wonder if he’s home because of the stress of the drive.  Next time we’re staying in Roosevelt.

My sister hosted Thanksgiving this year.  She’s a little bit on the OCD spectrum.  We got a Thanksgiving packet a few weeks prior that included a meal that we were responsible for and what part of Thanksgiving dinner we would cook.  Then the week prior, we received an “invitation” in the mail inviting us to the after dinner family talent show.  The only requirement is – if you “ate” you must “participate.”  Beings I planned on having a lot of turkey I figured I’d have to come up with a talent.

Short of standing up in front of family and solving the rubik’s cube in 3 minutes or less, I have no talent.  In fact, I’m anti-talented.  When I start singing, dancing, playing a musical instrument or the like, people leave.  They get up and leave the room.  I guess that could be my talent.  ”How to clear a room in ten seconds flat featuring Ruth…”

Casey read a book.  Papa played guitar and sang. My brother in law played the saxophone.  My niece did a stand up comedienne routine.  Riley was a magician.  My sister alphabetized long words like the librarian that she is.  (Guess you had to be there.)  Are you curious yet as to what I did?

What happens when you get 21 family members in a room and REQUIRE them to showcase their talent?  I’ll tell you what happens.  You’re bound to get a strip tease out of it.  A strip-polka if you’re lucky.

What was I to do? It was my Grandma’s idea.  I couldn’t let her down.

When Grandma was about ten years old, this song was popular.  It was considered so risque that the local radio station banned it.  But Grandma used to stay up late at night to listen to the Tijuana Mexico station so she could hear her strip polka.  I can only imagine her dancing around the room flinging off clothes.  And here she is 69 years later basically doing the same thing.

This Thanksgiving I am particularly thankful for my Mom and Grandma.  For lots of reasons, not the least is this.  Who else would I dance the strip polka with?

I don’t like snow and I don’t like cold, so you may be wondering about the title of this post…. It’s a call to action.

Calling all babydykes, mohos and transy -

doesn’t matter if your butchy, femmey, or a pansy -

If you’re gay and between the ages of eighteen and twenty-eight

Whether or not you have a mate (or even a date)

The closet doesn’t matter, whether your “out” or “in.”

She won’t tell your school, your church, nor your kin

She wants your story.  She thinks it will be fun.

But most of all, I want her to be done.

Kim just got IRB approval to start her research and they approved a “snowball sample” method which means that Kim is posting her “call for participants” on Facebook and e-mailing folks and essentially trying to get the word out.  The best part…… Once she sends it, I can do with it what I want.  I can also Facebook it.  Blog it.  Turn it into a bad rhyming poem.  Shout it from the rooftops! Whatever.

So here goes.  Since I really want to Kim to be done with school in May so I can go forth and prosper in law school, I figure it is in my best interest to facilitate her completion the best I can.  And since, I am in no way equipped to write a dissertation, I will do the next best thing, give her free advertising.

So if you are LGBTQ 18 – 28 years old, grew up in and currently live in Utah, Kim would love to have you as a participant.  And I would consider it a personal favor.  If interested/qualified…read on.

From Kim:

I am trying to learn more about the relationship between mentoring and social networks for LGBT/Queer youth who grew up and came out in Utah. I am writing to you to extend an invitation to participate in this study and also in hopes that you can refer other possible participants who would be willing to contribute to this research. (You might be too old?  But even if you are, I’m sure you know people who aren’t.) I am pulling together a group of 10-12 LGBT/Queer people between the ages of 18-28 who grew up, and still live, in Utah. The members of this group will participate in a series of four focus group sessions that will last about 2 hours each.  I will also meet with each group member for an hour-long individual interview after the focus group sessions are completed.

I hope to share the information I gain through this research project with people and organizations dedicated to working with, supporting, and advocating for LGBT/Queer youth.  My goal is to provide information about the experiences LGBT/Queer youth in Utah have had with mentors and social networks, especially in regard to coming out and developing LGBT/Queer identities.  In doing so, I will provide suggestions for better meeting the needs and wants of LGBT/Queer youth in Utah through formal and informal mentoring and social networks.

If you think you might be interested you can either call me at 801-879-6209, respond to this email, or email me off of facebook and we can discuss questions you might have and details regarding the process of the study and your schedule so that I can begin to schedule the focus group sessions.  In the meantime, if you have any questions for me about the study, or my background please feel free to contact me by leaving a comment or by calling me at 801-879-6209.

The study will be done primarily through focus groups and will be interactive and pretty fun – lots of story telling! I graduate in May so it’s my goal to get as much data collected before the new year as possible. I know this time of year can be hectic, but I am confident that participating will be worth the time, and I’ll work with all of the participants to schedule our four focus group sessions at the time that works the best for them as a group.

I’m looking forward to talking with you, and learning from your experiences and ideas.  If you know people who you think would like to contribute to this study, please share this information with them and encourage them to contact me.  Thank you.

In peace ~ Kim

I had a friend – a former bishop and active member of the LDS Church send me an e-mail this morning.   He wrote:

Also, to help me understand the significance (or lack thereof) of this development, I would appreciate your comments.

http://www.sltrib.com/news/ci_13758070

Below is what I wrote him back.  I thought it was probably worth sharing.

My response isn’t  sugar coated and I hope he didn’t take offense as  it reflects my honest feelings about this new non-discrimination ordinance.  I am thrilled to have it.  But perhaps I’ve been shoved into the ground so much by this organization that there isn’t a whole lot of trust.  I guess time will tell.

Dear Friend,

I am happy to share my comments about the non-discrimination ordinance. My feeling is that the Mormon church had to do something to save face. During Prop 8, high ranking Mormon officials routinely said that this wasn’t about gay people/this was about marriage.

From Equality Utah’s Website…..

During and following California’s Proposition 8 campaign, the LDS Church declared it is not “anti-gay” and “does not object to rights for same-sex couples regarding hospitalization and medical care, fair housing and employment rights, or probate rights.” On November 5th, Elder L. Whitney Clayton stated the LDS Church does not oppose “civil unions or domestic partnerships.”

Yet after Prop 8, Equality Utah came out with the Common Ground Initiative and there was a solid wall of silence from the church. Add in the public relations nightmare of the Main Street Plaza arrests and the subsequent Kiss-ins that made National news and it seemed that the Mormon Church’s hypocrisy on this issue was completely exposed. I also think that this is a very personal and painful issue to many in the church. For a Church that touts the importance of the family, there are so many families being torn apart because of the gay son or daughter, niece, nephew etc.

So I am not entirely sure that the “motives” are completely pure. Yet, I am not positive the motives were pure in the 1970s when African Americans were finally allowed to hold the priesthood. Still, the political and personal change within the church since then has been astronomical. I truly believe that this (like the priesthood issue) is the start of a shift in the rhetoric and policies of the church. Are we on our way to same-sex marriage? No. Obviously. And I’m glad we’re not. Without Amendment 3, I don’t think the Church ever would have felt comfortable endorsing any civil rights for gays while the thought might be that it will lead to marriage. But in a post-Amendment 3 era, it just looks mean-spirited to not allow anything while marriage is so protected in this state. For so long, the “talk” hasn’t matched the “walk.” And this brings it more in line.

The Church in Utah is a major shaper of public policy and so, yes. This is huge. And the impact on individual gay and lesbians cannot be understated. Especially in a recession like this one, the fact that we cannot be fired or denied housing in SLC protects many of us. Truth is we need these protections statewide (Discrimination is more likely to occur in Roosevelt than Salt Lake anyway in my view.) And we still need to address the co-parent adoption issue.

The people who are making a big stink for “marriage” are in places fully protected like Maine, Vermont, Massachusetts, New York etc. They have the privilege to want “full” equality. Here, I’m happy to take the scraps because it is so much more than has ever been allowed to me before. And, on a more personal note, Riley heard this on the radio today and almost wept with happiness (he is a drama queen). To him, this symbolizes safety. He knows his moms won’t lose our jobs or we won’t lose our house. Were we at risk of that? No, but he doesn’t know that and many of the most vulnerable in society (targeted by multiple issues of oppression) are at a much greater risk of facing this discrimination. When I was at EU, I got the numbers each month from the Labor Commission of who tried to file a discrimination claim based on sexual orientation and gender identity, and the numbers were always shocking. And each number represented a life that was so unfairly impacted and the Labor Commission could do nothing to fend off this discrimination or even provide recourse once it had happened.

It is huge. And the church statement says that they are trying to follow what Jesus Christ taught. I’m all for that.

I just had to name this post “Boobs” mainly because whenever I use the word at all, my stats go up astronomically with all the google searches for boobs that must occur daily.  I love the ego boost.  And then there’s this side of me that smirks at the thought of some internet porn junkie sitting down with his search terms all ready and then getting all pissed off when he gets to my blog instead of his porno site – because Dammit, this blog doesn’t even have pictures!

Actually, it is rather unfair of me to be posting about this news now, as the drama is all over.  But now that it is over, I realize just how worried I have been this week.

So the news is I don’t have cancer.  And I knew I didn’t have cancer.  But I also knew that Riley was a little girl at 15 weeks pregnant so I’m not so successful on the oracle front.

Just over a year ago I found a breast lump.  Actually, I found a lump the summer of 2006 and had it biopsied and it wasn’t cancer so we just left it – all biopsied and non-cancerous right there just above the areola on my right breast.  But then last summer I noticed a new lump right next to the old lump.   I went to the Dr. to get it removed but insurance gave me grief.  First they said they wouldn’t pay for surgery because they believed that it was the former 2006 breast lump I wanted removed.  So the radiologist took a new ultrasound and showed that there were 2 lumps in there.  Then, insurance said that they’d pay to remove the 2008 lump but not the 2006 lump.  But at that point, the Dr. wanted the 2006 lump – though biopsied and non-cancerous to be removed at the same time as the 2008 lump.  Insurance called it a pre-existing condition and wouldn’t do it until I had the insurance for a year.  Shortly after that I ended up leaving my job which meant that I lost insurance.  I got new job/ new insurance in January and intended to get the lump out right away but then was informed that my new policy had – that’s right – a pre-existing clause to it as well.  So I waited the required six months and then made an appointment with an AMAZING breast surgeon who agreed that we needed to get both lumps out.  She also said that I needed to have a mammogram and another ultrasound as a “Baseline” so that in the years ahead of me, we’d have films that would show what these babies looked like when I was 35.  Well, mammography showed 5 (yes 5!) breast lumps, not just the 2 that I knew about.  And because of my age, and the look of the lumps, the doc wanted to remove all 5 lumps, so on Monday that is just what I did.

I thought the news that I had 5 lumps might swing in my favor as I asked hopefully, “Can’t you just chop ‘em off?  I’m done nursing my babies.  Let’s just get ‘em both and end this once and for all.”

The doc insisted that there was no need for “extreme measures.”

Extreme Measures.  I can’t even count the number of people I know who have suddenly had a double D package where a mere B existed before and no doc is saying, “I’m sorry.  I can’t perform that procedure.  There is no need for “Extreme Measures.”

So, Monday morning I went under general anesthesia and had 3 lumps removed from my right breast and 2 removed from my left, and I was told that the pathologist would biopsy the lumps and I’d hear in about a week whether they were benign or not.

The surgery went well and they sent me home with the same pain pills I got after my C-Section.  I thought it seemed pretty excessive, but by Monday night, I was happy for the pills.  I’ve been healing fine though and have had a lot of visits and help from friends since Kim is out of town at a conference.

Then, on Thursday night the phone rang.  The woman identified herself as being from the cancer hospital and my stomach immediately lunged into my chest.

“Why would the hospital call late on Thursday night?” I asked myself.

“Because you’re dying of cancer.” I answered myself.

I squeaked some sort of greeting then she informed me that all of the lumps were benign and how she wanted to call me right away so I didn’t have to keep worrying about it.

Worrying about it.  Worrying about it.  I realized that I had been worrying about it.  But no more, these uneven, dented, bruised, stitched, and scarred puppies are cancer free.

Moab – where redneck meets tree hugger.  And it doesn’t sound like it’d be a very good marriage, but here they are years later recycling their ziplock bags filled with deer jerky.  You don’t have to know what I’m talking about.  My sister knows.

My family spent this last weekend in Moab and we had a blast. My sis splurged so we could have a motel room and Kim was even able to go.  She also bought us tickets to the local Pumpkin’ Chuckin’ festival, and while I wasn’t too excited at first, it didn’t take long to get warmed up to the idea of full grown men in tights launching pumpkins from their catapults, trebuchets, and cannons.  It was quite a sight that I can’t quite put into words, but 2010 – Moab – Pumpkin Chuckin’.  Be there.

For us, the day was more about the other festivities than the pumpkin chuckin’.  I enjoyed my first pie eating contest.  As did Riley.  As did Casey.  It was homemade organic Youth Garden Project Pumpkin Pie so I was content to lose the competition and savor every last bite of that pie.  Casey was adorable trying to eat the pie without his hands.  He felt like such a big kid being called up for the competition.

Riley was a little too close to his neighbor’s hair, but I think he protected his pie the best he could.

Casey gingerly nibbled his pie.  He didn’t win, but the age groups weren’t set up in his favor (14 and under.)

Did I mention that Riley’s Halloween costume was “White and Nerdy.”  If you haven’t seen the Weird Al video then you’ll have no idea who he is.  Casey was Bob the Builder.  After the festival, they did a little bit of trick or treating and overall halloween was a blast.

The organic gardening adventure/experiment of 2009 is now complete.  Here are our results:

Cucumbers:  F

Most of them were so bitter we couldn’t eat them.  But it was okay because mom had so many that we had all we wanted.  Their eggplant, broccoli, and squash gets A grades for sure.

Tomatoes:  B

They tasted delicious especially the roma grapes, but they came on late, and we fought the snails all summer long.  In fast, those damn snails made me really really want to go buy chemicals and say “Take that you little bastards.”

Strawberries:  D

The few we got were tasty but we didn’t get nearly enough.  Rhubarb too.  But hey, we have next summer for these little guys.

Peppers: A

The serranos were a bit too spicy, but that’s what we have Doody for.  The fajita bells were tasty.  The Anaheim and Poblano peppers singlehandedly made the summer.  I’m a pepper roasting, skin-peeling expert at this point.  The banana peppers were good too but I have yet to try them pickled. (Thanks mom for doing that.)

Watermelon: ? Maybe the watermelon should get a good grade, and the gardeners should get failing ones.  I just don’t know.  We picked one too soon so we waited on another and it split right there in the garden.  The few we got that were ripe (but not too ripe) were good.  But with 3 watermelon plants, we expected more than 3 tasty watermelons.

Herbs: B

The cilantro was a bust but the basal and mint made excellent pizza and mojitos respectively.  But don’t get them confused.  Casey spent all summer cutting sprigs of mint and basal to put on his dresser “to smell good his room.”  It was an odd combination at first, but one we got used to.  Now that we know the cilantro/cardamon progression, I’m sure we can keep the cilantro longer next year.

Pumpkins:  A+

Our cucumbers may have been bitter and our tomatoes a tasty treat for the snails of the neighborhood, but our pumpkins were a blast.  How do you like them pumpkins?

Only 5 this year, probably because we cut a lot of the pumpkinflower for quesadillas.  Last year we had 13, but none as big as these.

Lifting with your waist and below might be good advice.  But it wasn’t enough to get me to carry these.  So I rolled them.

Casey’s masterpiece, with the help of Will and Mamma Kim and lots of other folks.

Riley’s working on a pumpkin that pukes.  If he ever gets it done I’ll post another picture.

There’s something really powerful and amazing about growing your own food.  This is the 3rd year we’ve had a garden – and this is the biggest garden yet- stay tuned for next summer.  I have no idea where we’ll be, but I imagine we’ll be gardening.

And the better questions is this.  How can he do this for 90 minutes without getting bored, but the five minutes it should take to clean his room typically takes a half hour or more because he’s “got bored” or “forgot” what he was supposed to be doing?

I’ve agonized for week now on my law school personal statement and have written no less than 14 introductions.  I’ve only finished two of them and I’m torn over which one I like better.  The first one is about my family, my partner and the boys and our little acts of activism and then ties into my desire to make a bigger difference through law.  The second one is about my background, being a first generation college student, not necessarily having a roadmap but coming to law through my desire for social change.  I’m worried that the first one will make me sound too “family” oriented and the second one I worry that the second one will seem like I’m saying “poor me.”  My babes are so important to me but they are nowhere in the second essay.  I will keep plugging away on both, but if one speaks to you in a more authentic way, please let me know which one.  And, no I don’t want to merge them together because the length is already a big issue and I think I need to keep the topic pretty tight.  Of course, you can e-mail me if you don’t want to post the comment on my blog.

Option 1:

The hairdresser hoisted my son into the booster seat that topped the parlor chair. She proceeded to comb out his rusty ringlets and looked shocked at the length once the tresses were wet and tame.  She twisted the locks into thick piggy-tail braids then stood back to admire her work.  She retrieved her scissors, glanced at my partner, then at me, then at Riley himself.  We each gave her a decisive nod.  She held up the bulky twisted clumps, chopped them off, and then sheared until only a spiky half-inch remained.

When my son Riley was three years old, a friend from daycare was diagnosed with cancer.  In response, Riley decided to grow his hair “all the way to sit on it” so he could donate it to another child in need. His friend with cancer received treatment and recovered.  Still, Riley grew his hair.  For more than two years Riley never wavered from his goal.   When he finally cut it, he donated twelve inches to Locks of Love.

Option 2:

I grew up in a small oilfield town that endured cycles of boom and bust correlated with the cost of a barrel of oil. My father joined the oilfields as a laborer alongside his brothers just like his father had done. My mother’s brothers worked the oilfields too and she and her sisters married men in the business. My dad progressed up the ranks and carried job titles that included worm, roustabout, roughneck, derrickhand, driller and finally, toolpusher. It was difficult, dangerous work and the dangers often struck close to home. One uncle lost the use of his arm in an accident, another uncle broke his leg, and my uncle Richard was killed.

It was shortly after my uncle’s death, when I was ten years old, I decided I was not going to marry anyone in the oilfield; instead, I was going to go to college and make it on my own. I came to that realization in a flash. I was standing in the emergency room at the local hospital after my mother received a frantic message that my father had been involved in an oilfield accident and was receiving treatment there. As she pulled me through the sterile halls of the hospital I accepted what I assumed was my father’s death and realized that my mother, whose only work experience was preparing meals in a rehabilitation center, was going to have to raise four children on her own.

Don’t worry, if neither one will do, I have a dozen more just waiting to be fleshed out.  Maybe I’m hyperobsessing because my test score gets released on Monday and there’s a big part of me worried that my score will take me out of contention for a good school before I even get any further down this road.

I talked to my dad on the phone tonight and he told me I was breaking my uncle’s heart.  Me?  Breaking my uncle’s heart?  I wondered what I could have possibly done. My dad said that I’m breaking his heart because I don’t blog anymore.

I made some excuse about being busy.  I am busy.  Very busy.  I thought I was getting some jab for taking August off as a vacation month and then letting September follow suit.

It didn’t even dawn on me that my dad thought I had QUIT blogging.

Then an hour later my brother calls and asks why I’m not going to blog anymore.  More specifically, he wanted to know why a person would write that she is quitting blogging and then post another post a few hours later.  I could see where he was coming from.  Maybe just the thought of quitting was motivating me to keep on writing.  Some sort of Pavlovian response.  Speaking of that – whenever I ever think of going on the Atkins diet, I suddenly have an uncontrollable urge to eat potato chips and crackers and pasta.  Just a minute.

I need to go get some carbs.  Apparently just writing “Atkins Diet” requires the same response.

Suddenly I realize that I’m a dumbass and by posting my last column, I made it seem like I was quitting the blog.

I’m not.

For the last 2 years I’ve been writing a monthly column for a local LGBT newspaper called the Q.  This month is my last column which I cross posted on my blog.  I’m know that I don’t post nearly as much as I should, but I’m not ready to give it up yet.  Especially because I can’t live with myself knowing I’d be breaking my uncle’s heart.

Uncle.  I’ll keep writing this blog as long as you keep reading it.  Deal?