Hengeman

There are a lot of things to say about living with a seven-year-old, and here’s one:  playing Hangman is a lot harder than you ever thought.  Why?  Because she’s still learning to spell.  So, I lose again and again on words like:

LOOME (what you weave on)

CONTINU (something that keeps going)

and my personal favorite,

CARISMAS TREE (something you might decorate in December).

It brings Hannah no end of joy to draw all of the little body parts of the poor hangman, right down to the eyes, hair and incongruous smile.  She tops it off by writing on the side, WINNER HANNAH.

Loser, Mama.

If I lived here, I wouldn’t be sitting in this #$%& airport

Well, I’m still in Austin — specifically, in the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport, where the chief entertainment of the day has been watching the airline post a new delayed time for our flight out.  Not that I object to delaying flights due to bad weather (this time in Dallas, which is where I’m headed first before flying to beautiful St. Paul).  The upside is that there’s really pretty good food here and I found a comfortable chair.  The downside is, I’m still sitting in said chair.  The guy next to me is searching for alternate flights.  Good luck, my friend.  I’d do it too if I didn’t think I’d have to eat the cost of one of the tickets.

My main goal now is to get home before midnight.  There’s a specific reason for this, other than, you know, sleep.  I have my first radio interview tomorrow for She Looks Just Like You — with Newstalk Radio in IRELAND.  In fact, the book seems to be getting attention abroad — the publisher has also had inquiries about interviews from media in England and Australia.

Missing

I’ve been in Texas for a few days now and I’m off to do a reading of She Looks Just Like You tonight at BookWoman, Austin’s independent feminist bookstore.  And I’m missing the kid.  Her school, in a fit of brilliance, sends out a daily e-mail summarizing what the first-graders have been doing, along with some pictures of the little tykes collecting bugs on the playground or making geometrical shapes out of paper in order to count the faces (flat sides) and corners (you got it).  Normally, these messages are a great way to stay in touch with what she’s up to, since she comes home and regularly reports that they did “nothing” in school.  But when I’m away, I hang on them, waiting to see her face today, today.

La Cage to La Crib

What could more perfectly capture the current state of gay culture than a MUSICAL about gay parenting?  ”The Kid,” based on Dan Savage’s book of the same name which chronicles his experiences adopting a child with his partner, just opened Off Broadway at the New Group.  Old gay culture (show tunes! Judy!) meets new (babies! formula! PTA!).  To anyone worried that the gayby boom will somehow erase the unique  characteristics of gay culture, I say worry not.

It is true, of course that the daily lives of gay parents are much like the lives of straight parents — picking up after the kid, staying up nights when he’s sick, going along on school field trips.  And indeed, the New York Times review notes that “the primary objective of ‘The Kid’ is to make the potentially confrontational seem all-embracing and prosaic.”  But does this erase gay culture?  No!  Because we (or at least the guys) can take it onto the stage and sing about it.

New film: Gayby Boom!

Artist and filmmaker Lisa Marie Evans is producing a new documentary film, Gayby Boom!, about (you guessed it) GLBT parents and their kids.  She’s looking for home videos from around the globe to include in the film.  This looks like a great opportunity to share real perspectives from real people about what life is really like in and for families with GLBT parents.

On the Road

Well, I’m here in Akron, Ohio, getting ready for A Different Kind of Mother’s Day, my first official book event.  I arrived yesterday after an interesting (harrowing) flight through a thunderstorm (did I mention how much I dislike flying?).  But here I am, trying not to be nervous.  Today’s event, which is sponsored by a public radio station (91.3 The Summit) along with the Gay Community Endowment Fund, Equality Ohio and the Community AIDS Network, will be held at the Weathervane Community Playhouse.

I am nervous, yes, but also excited.  I’m also jazzed by how often people say they’re interested in She Looks Just Like You because: a) they are GLBT parents themselves; 2) they are related to GLBT parents; 3) they are friends of GLBT parents; 4) their kid goes to school with someone who has GLBT parents.  We are everywhere and that is a radical change.

No Puppies Here

Ever since Mike Huckabee shared his ever-helpful opinion that “children are not puppies” (and therefore should not be experimented with) as a defense in his so-called argument against gay and lesbian parenthood, I have been musing about his observation.  Not the part about gay parents being akin to pedophiles, but the part about the puppies.  And I have to say, Mike, you’re not joshing.  Kids are not puppies.  Puppies are way easier.

There are the obvious things, of course.  You can kennel the dog.  You don’t have to send the dog to college.

But then there are the less obvious things.  Kids are way wilier than puppies.  A puppy will shake your hand 10,000 times if you keep giving him liver-flavored treats.  But kids?  They keep changing on you.  And this (in addition to the pedophile and incest part) is where Mr. Huckabee is so wrong:  raising kids is all about experimentation.  Yes, you can have rules and standards.  Yes, it’s important to be consistent.  But what works one day may very well not work the next.  It’ll drive you crazy, especially if you expect a kid to respond like a dog.  But it’s a good thing, really.  Parents have to keep experimenting precisely because kids keep growing and learning and stretching out in new directions.  If they didn’t do any of these things, parenting wouldn’t be nearly as challenging or nearly as fun.  And if they didn’t do any of these things, kids would grow up to be well-trained, perhaps, but not the leaders, the artists, the thinkers that we (presumably) want them to be.