Punkgirl Gets Out

I have something to tell you that I haven't previously shared on Suck At Home Mom's Cranky Blog, because it wasn't my secret to share.  Punkgirl gave me the go-ahead, though, since it's something she's pretty happy about.

Punkgirl is officially "out."  She knew two years ago that she was gay, but I had asked her to wait a bit, explaining that I loved her whether she was attracted to girls, boys, or both, or whatever, but that she was still very young, and since she's still too young to date, she had plenty of time to decide. She took her time, sought out her real feelings, and confirmed her original assessment that she was a lesbian.

She was disappointed, I think, that we didn't seem shocked, or disappointed, or something, but Coffeeguy and I had always expected Happyboy to have that conversation (though surprisingly, despite his penchant for pink pants and butterfly tops, he has a crush on a girl named "V"), so when Punkgirl came out we sort of just transferred that prepared "we love you no matter what" speech to her.  She wears a pin that says, "Gay by nature, fabulous by choice" and carries the book Annie On My Mind around wherever she goes, throwing them out as a flag for those who are like her.  She wrote a newspaper for her writing resources class, and in it included a pretend advice column post that questioned the best way to come out.  

We took her to Pride, and celebrated with her, and we became followers of GLSEN and PFLAG on Facebook and Twitter.

She is so well-adjusted, and I have to feel like part of that is because of the unwavering love we have for her.  Most of it is just because she is who she is.

So now you know.  Punkgirl is out.  And she is awesome.

To Party or Not To Party?

Rose turns one in a few short weeks, and I don't know where the time has gone. Usually as Punkgirl's and Happyboy's respective birthdays approach, I start planning big, crazy parties so that my giant family can attend.  We have tried the party at home (too difficult--my apartment is small and the guests never leave), the roller skating party (good, but kind of crowded), the bowling party (I liked that one, because we made it a super-hero bowling party), the bouncy house place (that one was a blast, but kind of pricey), and the hiking at the lake party (I liked that one too, but by the second hour it was freezing.)

Now that Rose's big, huge, milestone first birthday is approaching, I have planned...exactly nothing. Not only is the money a sort of issue--I only work one day per week, after all--but it's Christmas time. I could spend a giant portion of our Christmas money on a party I know she won't remember...or I can simply have a cake for very close family and leave it at that. A part of me feels like this is cheating Rose--no cool presents or fun party music--but another part of me thinks this is the only way to go.

While I love planning parties and I feel like they are milestones that should be celebrated and remembered...is it really a bad thing to skip the hype so close to the holidays? Does that make me the suckiest of suck at home moms?

White Baby, Black Doll

I remember when Punkgirl was little, and she loved baby dolls more than any other toy in the store.  She had about 100 baby dolls over the years, each with their own name and story.  Some of them were hideous...I remember one that used to shake like a crack addict and fall down.  I'm pretty sure we even called it "crack baby" (not in front of her, of course.). She loved every single one, but there was a very special set of twin baby dolls that she got on her first Christmas that have brought both her and her sister immense joy, despite the controversy they caused with strangers and even a couple of family members.

Punkgirl fell in love with a set of black baby doll twins when she was about 9 months old.  By in love I mean that she squealed and bounced up and down from the first moment she saw them, reaching out her hands for them immediately.  They have had many names over the years; once they were "the babies"...when she was learning colors they were her "beautiful brown babies"...when she was older they had "twin" names, like Emma and Ava or things like that.

From the moment she started carrying them around, she has had commentary. "Why do you have black babies?  You're white," was the least offensive. Neither Punkgirl nor her parents care if the babies are black, white, brown, or even purple; they are simply cute babies.  But for some reason, some people have a hard time understanding why I would buy my child a brown baby doll.  I had forgotten those conversations over the years, as Punkgirl stopped carrying dolls around (she's is 12, after all) and kept them neatly on her bed instead.  Now that 10 month old Rose has fallen in love with one of the twins (though interestingly not both) I find myself anticipating the same questions.  So I am preparing my answers ahead of time.  They're not complicated, but here they are, the top ten answers to the question "why does your white baby have a brown baby doll?"

1.  This is a cute baby.  Why would I want an ugly baby?

2.  She likes that baby.  They have the same lack of hair.

3.  I don't want her to judge anyone by skin color, so why start with a baby doll?

4.  Why the hell not?

5.  Why are you hating on a baby doll?

6.  It makes her happy.  SEE REASON #2

7.  Why do you only have a white baby doll.  Are you (gasp, look around, whisper) a racist?

8.  I believe in loving ALL baby dolls, regardless of color, religion, or sexual orientation.  In fact, this one just came out of the closet a few weeks ago. (Literally, my daughter has a box of dolls.)

9.  Are you still hating on a baby doll?  

10.  It's none of your damn business what I buy my baby, but in this case, it's been her sister's doll for twelve years, so she's part of the family.  That makes you a (second cousin, great-uncle, etc),  FYI.

So...what kinds of baby dolls does your child have?

Previously posted on BlogHer.

Trying to Change the World

This was previously posted ok BlogHer as "Never Stop Trying To Change The World

     Last night I attended Open House at Punkgirl's school.  She had reminded me at least four times to visit room 205, the classroom where she helps out the Special Needs program.  She has been working with the program since last year, when another child had introduced her to it, and from the first moment it has been her niche.
     She taught herself sign language over the summer, making sure that she would be able to communicate with all of the children this year.  She was thrilled when a child who never remembers names remembered hers. And she has as a screensaver a picture of her with the kids in the program, captioned "My Second Family."
     So imagine my horror last night, when the Assistant Principal told me they were ending the program that allowed the students to help out in the Special Needs program.  His reason seemed plausible enough, that they had four teachers and only a handful of students, so they didn't need the helpers.  But it didn't ring true, in light of the fact that another child had been harassing my child just last week, and that both she and Punkgirl help out in the SN program.  Never mind that the other girl had given Punkgirl a nasty note last year that threatened "If you show your lesbian ass in there again I will out you."  PG handled that by outing herself, and continuing her assistance in the program.
     Never mind that the teachers had told her that they were 100 percent supportive of her, and that she was their favorite helper.
     Never mind that they told her that the program was a "safe space" for her.
     Never mind that she is one step away from depression, and that one step is this program.
     This morning I called the school to discuss this with them, and to give the guidance counselor a heads up, and I got the Asst. Principal.  Without getting rude, there is a reason he is the Assistant.  While I tried to communicate the importance of the program to my daughter, she was busy calling me on the other line.  She was in tears.
     When I spoke to her, I found out that the teacher had told her that because of the "problems" between her and the other child, they weren't going to be allowed to attend any more.
     I exploded.  I was enraged.  I am ok with doing what is best for a program.  I would even be ok--infuriated, but ok--if the Assistant Principal had told me the night before that there were just too many issues, or if it was the only way to keep the girls away from each other. But he had not said that, so I had had no chance to prepare my child, and to let her know that SHE was not the problem.  Because she wasn't.
     Coffeeguy insisted on coming with me to the school, and I will forever be grateful.  My words were jumbled into a maelstrom inside my head, but his were not.  In concise terminology he conveyed disapproval, discontent, and disdain to the Principal and AP, that they had not only poorly communicated, poorly executed, and poorly managed this situation, but that they had done right by none of the children.  As one administrator started to say that they had to do right by the kids in the special needs program, he countered that---by yanking the volunteers out he was disrupting their schedule, and confusing them--"where are my friends that came to visit me every day?"  When they tried to say the school system "was not so poor that they needed students to work with the children in the special needs program", I countered with "But it's clearly so poor that it can no longer offer volunteer opportunities that allow the children to feel as if they are helping their community?  Thus keeping them from spending that time getting into trouble?" (This was my one, pointed, coherent addition to the argument.)  Coffeeguy ran that meeting like a board meeting, and he was the CEO.  We agreed that the best interests of the program have to come first, but that instead of handling it properly it was basically a giant clusterfuck.  The only credit I can give is that the Principal did offer to speak to Punkgirl about safe spaces in the school.  He plans to address the communication issues, and the implementation of other programs to allow the children to volunteer.
     So now, instead of waiting for her to come home and tell me what a great day she had with the kids in the program, she came home and cried in my arms.  My brave 12 year old, who never cries, and who has had to cry far too many times in Middle School.
      Coffeeguy had told the Principal not to be surprised to get a strongly worded response from Punkgirl in a letter about the removal of the program. She may not like the decision, but she'll agree to it--even if she'll also never stop trying to change it. She is doing that as I write, with the admonishment to be respectful, if succinct.  She is unhappy, she is devastated, she is sick about it.  But she'll never stop trying to change the world.
     

Priorities of a 5th Grader

     Last night was the Open House for my son's 5th grade class.  I was annoyed about having to go, because I've been to it before for my daughter and because they do the same thing every year, but I knew Happyboy would be sad if I went to his sister's Open House and not his, so I sucked it up and made my way to the Elementary School.  

     I always feel out of place--when I worked I had no time to donate to the school, and when I stopped working I had Rose, so I still couldn't spend time in the classrooms.  I am awful at small talk, and my kids have a few friends in the neighborhood--but not actually ones that go to their schools (they have friends at their schools, but they are not the same ones that are in our neighborhood.)  This means that I really don't know the other parents, the teachers don't always recognize my face, and I spend my time looking down at my kid's desk feeling like the nerd with no friends.  

     There is always a "surprise" from your child on said desk.  A letter, a question, something you have to respond to so you can't even lie and go to Target and just say you went to Open House.  This year each child wrote their 5th grade goal, and each parent responded with their goals for the child.  Now, I know schoolwork is not high on Happyboy's priority list, but I assumed he could fake it for the teacher.  Below is his goal paper and my response to it: 

     As you can see, he's a TMNT fan.  He's also more interested in art and music than any other subject.  I was almost angry, but in the end, it was so him, I could only laugh.  Trust my boy to leave something to take my mind off of being a nerd.  Happyboy, I hope you rock fifth grade.

Breaking Promises

     We were supposed to end the summer with a big goodbye, by repeating the best reward from all the summer challenges.  Punkgirl and Happyboy voted on dinner at the beach, which was pretty fun the first time around, is something you can really only do in summer (unless you want sand in your eyes and don't want to go in the water at all), and was cheap enough to fit into my non-existent budget.

     When the Tuesday before school came around there was just no way we could do it.  Coffeeguy had to work late, Rose had been up all night, and I had no sandwich bread or anything feasible to transport to the beach.  At 4:30 there were thunderstorms.  We told the kids we would make it the first day of school celebration, and had a movie night instead.  They fought over the movie, finally agreed on one, and only mentioned not going to the beach about 7 times.  

     On Wednesday, Coffeeguy had two people out at work, and he would probably be late.  Although he made it home by 5, I had already had the conversation that we couldn't go today (complete with angry accusations of "you said TODAY.)  The weather was supposed to be much better by the weekend.  We said Friday.

     Punkgirl was pissed enough to go to the INTERIM guidance counselor (hers was on maternity leave) to tell them how upset she is that she didn't get to go have dinner on the beach.  I was pissed enough that she was pissed that I spat out "Life doesn't always go the way we want it to! You deal with it and move on!"

     Friday it was freezing.  Knowing the pissy response I was going to get at the idea of not going, we gave them a choice:  We can go today, and not swim, or go tomorrow, and POTENTIALLY swim.  It was going to be 15 degrees higher tomorrow, and more than likely warm enough for them to go in the water.

     Cue the sulking faces and the pouty behavior.  As they sat down to watch the Goonies (which you can't help but laugh at, which is why we picked it) with popcorn and candy (having replaced Beach Dinner with another Movie Night) I began to analyze Punkgirl's reactions to postponing the trip.  We didn't do that often, and I found myself getting increasingly angry that she was all bad moody because I had to move ONE of the 90 activities I had planned that summer.  Sometimes things can't be set in stone, sometimes we have to be flexible, sometimes we just damn well can't do them at all---

     In the midst of my mental tirade I figured it out.  I wasn't angry with Punkgirl for being disappointed that we had to move our plans to another night.  I was mad at myself, for making her upset enough to go to a virtual stranger to settle her thoughts down.  I had parents who were divorced, and there were times where my father didn't show up after we waited anxiously all day.  My mother would say he had to work.  I remember being mad or upset, and my poor mother could never tell me that Dad couldn't take us today because she smelled alcohol on his breath.  I saw it as a broken promise, that Dad didn't want to spend time with us, that he had to work too much.

     Even as an adult, when my relationship with my Dad was great, and I talked about how awesome he was, my mother never told me why he couldn't make it on those days.  It wasn't until a few years after he had passed that she let on how tough it had been.

     Neither I nor Coffeeguy were alcoholics, and we weren't divorced.  Our broken promises were caused by inconvenience and weather.  I realized that Punkgirl was feeling the same way I had felt, like Mom & Dad just didn't want to spend time with her.  I felt awful.  So I decided, then and there, that I would make up for it.  We not only would go to the beach on Saturday, we would have dinner, they would swim and I would call their favorite cousins who live near the beach for an added surprise. We would bring the leftover candy from movie night.  It would be worth the wait, it would be fantastic, and it would change my "broken promise" into a fulfilled one.