Respect

I have quite a few friends, family, acquaintances who have children who have come out in the last few years as transgender.

And can I take a moment to say how freaking proud I am of this generation of parents who have done such an amazing job of creating a safe, loving space where their children feel comfortable being their true selves without fear of being kicked out of their home or treated badly? I am just verklempt over the whole thing.

Anyway!

Speaking of safe, loving spaces, my mom had us all over for Easter dinner this year. It was lovely. We started out on her deck but the sun, that brilliant ball of fire, was quite intense and so we ended up taking it into the kitchen.

In the course of conversation, my brother mentioned that the daughter of one of our step-cousins has come out as transgender.

I could tell by my brother’s tone that he was disgusted by this. I sat and listened as he talked about the person who used to be called Eva has asked to be called Bailey. Bailey has cut their hair very short and wears masculine clothing.

Finally, when my mom and I didn’t seem to be reciprocating his angst over Bailey’s requests, J said, “I just don’t understand it.”

I took that moment to gently say to him, “Well, you don’t have to understand it to respect it.”

He looked a little surprised but let it set in and replied, “True.”

I explained, “Just because you don’t understand it, that doesn’t mean their need to define who they by their own standards rather than by society’s standards isn’t important. Respecting the name they’ve chosen for themselves and using the pronouns they ask you to use is important because it shows that you respect their autonomy, their right to be who they really are. I’m glad Bailey’s dad is being so awesome about that.”

My brother didn’t have much more to say after that and honestly, I’m glad. I didn’t want to fight with him but this wasn’t something I was willing to just let go while he sat there and spouted off. Maybe I’ve given him something to think about.

I hope, for his sons’ sakes that they’re both CIS because honestly, I’m not sure how accepting that household will be if they’re not. It breaks my heart because for all the celebrating I’ve done in the paragraphs above about this generation’s parents, well, obviously, there are throwbacks still among us.

All the Ways I'm the BEST WIFE EVER (there are like two ways but still...)

Tom loves IU basketball. He just does. He doesn’t care that he’s never even been to Bloomington, or that he’s never seen a game in person.

He love IU basketball so much that he usually listens to the games on the radio because we don’t have fancy television like cable (hello, 1990 called and they want their cable back) and so he tunes in to radio stations that are broadcasting the games and he sits back to listen.

Alas, one Wednesday evening I settled in to take the television away from Olivia and her insane YouTube videos. I told the Roku to log in to Netflix only to be told that I couldn’t watch it because Alyssa was already watching iCarly on her smart tv in her room and we’re cheap and so only one of us can watch Netflix at a time.

Sigh.

Fine. I brought up Hulu. And what do you think was right there on the home screen? The IU vs Rutgers game.

I called out to Tom to see who IU was playing on the radio. Duh. The game Hulu was airing was the game he was listening to.

Why yes, we do have a Roku on the television Tom watches. But he’d never logged into Hulu and so didn’t know how to watch the game.

Being the loving, devoted wife that I am, I logged his television into Hulu, assured him that he would never had to log in again and found the IU game for him.

The look on his face as he settled onto the couch to WATCH the IU game on the actual television was worth the next hour of sitting in the living room with Olivia while she watched eleven thousand Melanie Martinez videos being played in reverse. I wish I was making this up for shock/comedic value…

At half-time he came to find me and asked me how we could make it easy for him to find the channel on Hulu that was airing the game.

I told him we’d make him his own profile on Hulu and that we’d add the game channel to his favorites and then we’d show him how to find his favorites.

Alyssa wanted to name Tom’s profile “Papa Karen”. I said it needed to be “Tiny Dada.” Tom declared that it will be “The Man.”

Ha.

I have no room to talk. Mine is Tommie.

Alyssa’s is “Not Scabitha.”

Olivia doesn’t have a Hulu profile because she’s too busy watching YouTube and the insanity that lives there to be bothered with something as boring at Hulu. After I got Tom all logged in and settled in front of the IU game, I welcomed him to the 21st century.

So after I got him all set up to watch college basketball on his actual television, we muddled along for a few weeks and guess what? Ohio opened up Covid-19 vaccines to everyone 60 and over. Guess who's sixty in this house? Hint, he's a dude.

Tom registered himself online to get a call to schedule his appointments. But, poor guy missed the phone call that came the very next dya. He attemped to call back but the number was always busy.

Two weeks passed and Ohio opened appoitnments to those 50 and up. Guess who's 50!?! Meeee, that's who!

I registered myself on a Tuesday, got the call while at work the next day and had my appointment all set up for a Thursday. Yay! Tom was seriously jealous of my phone answering abilities. He tried calling again and again and again to no avail. I suggested he go with me to my appointment and see if they had any extra doses since my appointment was for 5:10 in the afternoon. He refused, acting like I was suggesting he crash a baby shower and eat the mom-to-be's share of the cake.

So, I brushed off my wife of the year trophy and while I was at my appointment to get my first vaccination, I asked the ladies sigining people in what my husband should do to try and schedule his appointemnt. They ushered me behind the curtain, sat me down (I didn't sit) with Theresa and Terry and they set up Tom's appointments right then and there.

I was able to go home from that appointment half vaccinated against Covid and with appointments for my husband to be the same. Yes, I did tell him how lucky he is to have me.

Like Mother...

Once upon a time, way back when I was a junior in college, my science teacher invited me and my best friend, let’s call her Roxann, since that’s her actual name, to go on a road trip. This road trip consisted of Mrs. V, her best friend (her name might have been Kristy but I honestly have no idea because guys, it was like three hundred years ago) and me and Roxann.

We were headed from the far northeastern corner of Indiana to McCormick’s Creek State Park, which is southwest of Indianapolis. Don’t ask me why our teacher invited us along or what the purpose of this trip even was. I just remember that we went and it seemed like no big deal at the time. I also remember that we had a really great time.
We left on a Friday morning and returned on Sunday. So yes, we spent two nights in a hotel room with a teacher and her friend. Looking back, it seems like it should have been weird but at the time, there was no weirdness.

I remember walking around the state park with Roxann, exploring fallen trees and checking out sink holes. I also remember taking pictures with a disposable camera. I know I have those pictures somewhere in my vast collection of boxes collecting dust in our garage.

But! What I remember most actually has nothing to do with environmental biology (that was the class that Mrs. V was teaching us that year) or even with the state park.

I remember going out for breakfast on our way back up to the corner of northeastern Indiana. We stopped at a diner to fortify ourselves for the arduous journey that would take about three and a half hours.

As we gave the waitress our orders, I asked for eggs and toast. The waitress asked me how I wanted my eggs cooked.

Now, let me remind everyone that I grew up in a VERY small town and we rarely, if ever, went out to eat for breakfast. My mom made eggs two ways, fried and scrambled.

So, I asked for my eggs to be fried. The server just stood there and asked, “But how do you want them cooked?”
I didn’t understand the question. I mean, what? I wanted them fried, what was so confusing about that?

Finally, after what felt like ages of silence, Mrs. V realized that I was at a loss and asked if I wanted my yolk runny or hard.

Ahh, got it. Duh! I was so embarrassed. I asked for sunny side up eggs and the server left with relief.

Alas, I have repeated the mistakes of my youth on my own children.

One morning, one of my girls was out with her girlfriend and they were having breakfast. This child of mine ordered toast. The server asked what kind of toast she wanted. You know, white, wheat or rye?

My poor darling, socially-awkward child gave the server a confused looked and said, “Buttered?”

Ha! Hahahahaha. I mean, I couldn’t laugh at myself and the ‘fried egg’ incident until years later but oh my goodness could I laugh at my offspring and her ‘buttered toast’ moment.

Now she and her girlfriend have a code for awkward moments. They called them ‘buttered toast’ moments.

I love it.

Of course, I do feel a little bad that I’ve stunted my child by not taking her out to breakfast a little more often that I, myself, went when I was a child. But guys, let’s remember that I do so love my sleep and weekends are precious and damn it, we have eggs and bread and butter for toast at home.

Gym

Report cards came home for the second quarter.

I don’t think it was mentioned here that Olivia was on the honor roll for the first quarter. All As and Bs. That’s pretty awesome, don’t you think?

The second quarter was much the same except…well, in the first quarter, she had health class.

Health was replaced by gym in the second quarter.

Care to guess what she got in gym?

Let me just say that she didn’t fail gym, which, honestly, I think was probably generous of the gym teacher.

She ‘earned’ a D- in gym.

All the rest of her grades were As and Bs again. But gym class was a struggle.

Tom was pissed, by the way; not at Olivia, but at the gym teacher for giving her a D-.

I laughed. I mean, come on. It’s gym class. Who even cares about a D- in gym class.

Tom was worried that the D- would demoralize Olivia.

Hello, m’Dude, have you and I not been living with the same child for the past fourteen years? She could not possibly care less about grades, in gym class or any other class for that matter. Grades do not motivate her. Honor roll, schmonor roll.

And let’s be honest here, it’s not as if Olivia is in the running for valedictorian. I don’t say that to be mean, it’s just the truth. Even if she didn’t have 5p- syndrome, she doesn’t care enough about grades to be bothered with something like that. That kind of status means nothing to her.

I gently reminded Tom that when it comes to gym class, Olivia is incredibly uncooperative. She will not participate. I don’t know if she can even force herself to do so. But she doesn’t even try.

So, D- is most likely fair in a class where participation is the bulk of the grading criteria.

He was still pissy about the whole thing. When he walked away, Olivia and I shared a look. I whispered to her, “We don’t care about gym, anyway, do we?”

She grinned and shook her head. See…at least two of us in this house are on the same page. Too bad it's not always the same two.

Narcissist

peaking of FB, my niece (my sister’s younger daughter) recently posted on FB something like, “It’s so hard to have a mother who is a narcissist and who has bipolar…”

The post went on to explain how her mother makes her feel small and inadequate and never quite good enough.

I didn’t reply because, well, I don’t know my niece very well and I honestly don’t know my sister all that well either and it’s not really any of my business.

My sister’s other younger sister (not my sister) did reply with something along the lines of: I love my sister but don’t ever let anyone make you feel small. You are deserve better.

My brother (the brother that is also my sister’s brother) also replied. He told Niece to not let anyone, not even her mother, make her feel bad. Just love her kids and blah blah blah.

So, yes, her cry for help was heard and she got the replies she was looking for.

Okay. So. My sister has always hated her mother. Her mother has been dead for decades now but Sis never had a nice thing to say about her mom. If you ask her, she’ll tell you that her own mother is a narcissist and was never a good mother.

If I had been inclined to reply, I might have said something about how I hoped that Niece would break the cycle of bad mothering. That if she felt her mom was a bad mom, maybe she, Niece, could do better by her own children.

But that probably wouldn’t have come across as helpful as I’d have liked.

So instead I just went and asked my husband if I was a narcissist. I mean, I don’t want to be a narcissistic mother. I really hope I don’t make it all about me all the time.

Wait.

It All Started with a FB Comment

It All Started with a FB Comment I belong to several groups on FB. I mean, don’t we all? I belong to two that are for cancer survivors, one is dedicated to those of us who had triple negative cancer.

I belong to that one where we all pretend to be ants. Don’t judge, it’s cute and fun and I joined during my six week quarantine in the beginning of this never-ending pandemic.

The others, the ones I’ve actually belonged to the longest are for parents of kids with 5p- syndrome, aka Cri du Chat.

It was on a post in one of the 5p- groups that I commented.

The original post was written by a writer with a niece with the syndrome. This author is writing a story with a character who has 5p- syndrome. The question the writer asked was whether a high-functioning 14 year old would be able to read a young adult story and understand it.

I was probably the 30th comment when I wrote that Olivia would absolutely be able to read and understand a young adult book. I explained that Olivia is high functioning, reads at above grade level and is able to understand everything that she reads.

My comment received almost immediate replies from a couple of parents with similar aged, similar capable daughters, asking if Olivia would be interested in communicating with their daughters. As we started talking back and forth, we all noted that our girls don’t have typical friends their own age. They just don’t seem to connect with their typical peers in a way that fosters friendships.

We exchanged phone numbers and Snapchat info. And so far, Olivia and I have spoken to Rosalie and her parents on the phone and O plans to do a video Snapchat call with her soon.

Olivia spoke really, really well on the phone. I was really proud of her. The girl we talked to sounded a lot like Liv, which was awesome. The parents and I compared notes and found that our girls have very similar stories. Their daughter was diagnosed at a younger age than Olivia but their early symptoms, their early health issues are eerily similar. So…this should be interesting.

Nicknames

Nicknames Way back when I was at my old job, we had a new guy, a young man, start working for us. He was probably in his early twenties.

He had the same name as one of the guys who’d been with the company for centuries.

In the beginning, everyone called the new guy “New J” and the one who’d been there “Old J”.

Alas, the seasoned employee did not actually appreciate being called “Old J.”

Someone suggested the younger, newer employee be “Little J” which would make the older employee be “Big J.”

Do I need to say that he didn’t like that one either?

I finally suggested that we call the older, longer employed guy “Real J” which caught the younger guy off guard because, as he pointed out, that would make him “Fake J”. Well…duh.

Luckily, in the end it didn’t matter because the Js didn’t work in the same department and so were never really near each other and they didn’t really share close co-workers so if someone called for ‘J’ most people knew who was being summoned.

But yes, the whole ‘real’ and ‘fake’ monikers amused me greatly, as anyone who knows me would expect.