Blogging for LGBT Families at a time when I’m more curious about the secret language of Nine . . . when I’m squeezing every loving moment, every hug, every insight, every quip and observation about life, itself, from the next two days before Miss E scampers off to spend ten whole days at Camp Grandma . . . proves challenging. Now, I love that I can always run over to Mombian for that dose of same-gender-loving perspective I crave and I am Thrilled with a capital-T that she hosts this themed day every year.
I’m just not . . . feeling it today.
It isn’t that I don’t believe in LGBT families – and I don’t mean “believe” like you might believe in fairy dust or God or the roundness of this earth or anything else you can’t see, smell, or hold in two hands – on the contrary, I very much believe in this family I’ve made with my partner and our two girls, and the families around me on every side. But this is my life, my every day. Not much of it is gay.
I’m lucky that way. Where I live. Very, very lucky.
Don’t get me wrong. There are moments now and again when being gay is more than a blip on the screen.
I was angry when the Illinois legislature failed to call for a vote on marriage equality last week. When my partner and our eldest daughter arrived home, I was sitting at the dining room table scouring my Facebook feed and grumbling quietly. “They didn’t call the vote,” I said as they walked in – after a quick hello and the tiniest flash of a smile to greet them.
“I know,” they replied in tandem, one of them holding out the “knoooooww” a bit longer than the other, neither of them especially disturbed.
“That’s ridiculous,” I continued, prodding them into a conversation to match my mood.
My partner walked into the kitchen for a glass of ice water. “Well, what did you expect?” she called back to me.
That’s the thing. Despite all the busses and rallies and calls and tweets and posts and general hoopla, I never really expected to be married under the law. But I am a bit of a dreamer. I am. So I hoped they would call the vote and we would win and that . . . deflation . . . left me feeling glum.
I wanted to send my Honey roses and propose.
I wanted to celebrate our 11th anniversary next week with wedding bells chiming in our future.
Because I am just that old fashioned . . . A fact about myself I’m learning slowly as I age.
Yet, the absence of marriage hardly impacts my everyday life. Yes, it is annoying that I can’t claim my partner’s new prescription eyeglasses against my tax-protected medical spending account, and yes, it’s bothersome that I need a legally notarized document to say that my worldly assets should be passed along to ALL my girls in the event of my demise. But this isn’t something I puzzle over daily.
It isn’t something I puzzle over as much as I should.
I know the culture is shifting. I’ve witnessed the parents of Miss E’s classmates turning their Facebook profile images into symbols of support, one after another. It’s shocking to me how widespread this “show of support” has become. And it isn’t just show. Not by far. It’s real. I feel it in the way I’m seen on the playground before and after school – as a person first, and then as gay. This sequence has shifted over time. Because we know each other now.
I have great hope.
But I am not naïve.
None of us knows what the Supreme Court will decide, or how – if at all – the shape of our lives will change in the wake of their decision. What conversations will happen among my daughters’ friends? What new work will need to be done?
I am clear about one thing only: It will always be important to tell the stories of our lives – our struggles, our dreams, our hopes, our giggles, our every day — LGBT or otherwise. I know this to my bones.
Even though today, I don’t feel gay.
And I have nothing new or life-changing to say.
I’m just a mom whose daughter is scampering away for ten days and I will miss her.