Monthly Archives: May 2009

Things We Talk About At Breakfast

Rocky: “What if your brain came out your mouth?”

Blue: “What would it taste like?”

Ru: “Meat.”

Rocky: “Throw-up.”


Barbie’s Garden: a Photo Montage


On our wedding anniversary, in the spring evening sun on the steps of the Reservoir, I got down on one knee and proposed to Ru: “Will you marry me, legally?”

She was a little overwhelmed, but she managed to accept.  We’re going to join history, in my home state, on the island where I was raised, on the lawn overlooking the saltwater cove.  Or, if it’s winter, in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace, and we’ll toast with hot chocolate.

“Poop Seeds!”

When Rocky goes poop in the potty, one of her moms will often be in there with her, tp in hand; though the little Cheeto is entirely capable of cleaning her own light-roast-coffee-bean booty, she still clings to small vestiges of babyhood, and we’re not the type of parents to force her into grown-up-ness.  Hey, she’ll be 13 soon, and you know nobody’s gonna be seeing her nekkid then.  She’ll be fine.  So one of us will be in there with her, and she’ll say “Poop Seeds!” which signals the start of the game.  She hands you [imaginary] seeds from the toilet [but not for real – did I mention that?].  You then must take the seeds and plant them.  Then you mime the Poop Seeds sprouting into plants.  Then she tells you what’s growing.  Lollypops is a favorite, and you even are granted the privilege of  picking your own flavor.  Dresses often grow as well, or flowers to put behind your ear.  It’s funny how things like that seem normal, everyday, within a family.  But it’s funny and weird, isn’t it?  “Poop Seeds!”

I Love You Morning Sleepyheads, by Rocky


Recently Added to Rocky’s Critter Collection:

One eastern tent caterpillar, by the name of Prickly.

Two slugs: Slimy and Gooey.

She keeps them in little homemade terrariums, feeds them garden lettuce and leaves, and pets them daily.  Yes, Rocky pets slugs.  Must be the donor…

It’s good to be gay, ayuh!

The whole gay marriage thing has been something I’ve put away in a little room in the back of my mind.  I’m not sure why.  Melissa and I were “married” seven years ago, and have been “married” ever since, so what’s the law got to do with it, you know, besides the quotation marks and all that they imply?

I couldn’t think about it, because it wasn’t possible.  It would all get overturned, eventually.  I had gotten used to being “married”.  Then Ru got this new job at a hospital here, with great benefits for herself and Rocky (until somebody decides to test the Kentucky legality of her Texas adoption in court), and I have to buy this crappy expensive insurance for myself.  And Mom wrote a beautiful letter to everyone she knows about me and Ru, and our relationship, and all that we’ve been through and still survived, and how we deserve the rights and privileges of marriage more than many straight couples she knows.  I remembered how expensive our Power of Attorney had been, the only marriage-like protection we could get. There were pin-pricks in my armor.  Then, Maine.

When my Mainer sister called me to tell me the news (my straight family is so much more up on gay culture than I am), I just about leaped out of my boxer briefs.  Maine!  My beloved land of childhood!  My Home State!  Dirigo, I lead!  Black-capped chicadees!  Blueberries!  Olympia Snowe! Moose and lobstahs and bee-ah, oh my!  FOR GOD’S SAKE, L.L.BEAN!

It wasn’t Other People’s states anymore.  It was MY state.  Suddenly, it seems possible.  For the first time, I’m realizing “marriage” is not, deeply in my heart, marriage.  Of course I’m committed to Rukan, maybe, as my mother says, more so than many legally married people.  But there’s something in that piece of paper.  Equality.  Safety.  Aspects of marriage I’ve never had the opportunity to take for granted.

Maybe it’s time to stand up and fight.