Beauty

My children are beautiful.  Deny it!  I dare you.  Have you seen them?
I can say that shit, as none of them look like me! 
I had a woman on a plane go "I'm sorry for staring but your son looks so much like your husband it's uncanny." 
"Thanks," I say "But she's a girl."
"Nooooo, your son!"
She ment Haven.  Dude he's adopted!
I get that all the time.  Haven looks just like James!  (His adopted child)
And yea, Joliet is what happens when God get's bored making faces, so he re-printed James' face and added blue eyes and a vagina.  Joliet is the re-incarnation of my husband down to his weird hands. 
The Juneaux, who is this creepy, big eyes, baby that baby commercials are made from.  What gives?
And what exactly is my issue if my kids are so "beautiful?"
I can look back on my insane life with perfect 20/20 vision.  I can map out what happened to make which event take place, to affect which people, to cause which result into the future.  Do you know, I can blame myself for a man cheating on his wife 10 years later, because of my distain for men and inability to be loved, from my not feeling good enough about myself, from a father that wasn't there?  Now THAT is impressive. 
I can fight you to the death, but I will go back and re-analyse after the fight to find the heart of the issue.  Mostly my fault mind you.
I feel the greatest human tragedy is the inability to accept personal responsibility.
I can DO that....... maybe not straight away, but I got you.
You can even look back on a fight you and I have personally got into, and believe it or not, I have gone back and found my part....
So who care's if my kids are beautiful?
I guess I am scared for them.  Everyone wants beautiful kids, but I feel it's for selfish reasons "Look how beautiful my baby is, therefore I must be beautiful to produce this."
But what does that mean in the future?
Juneaux scares the shit out of me.  She has these eyes, that at 6 months, pierce through you like daggers.  Like she will be able to control people with her beauty.  She is seriously scary.
So what?  So I don't want my kids to use that, or be taken advantage of because of that, or to do harm with that.
I am scared for what they will do with that.
Will they trust they are beautiful?  Will they base their looks on others opinions of them?  Will they manipulate others with that? Will they be used for that?  Hell, being a parent is hard.
My kids aren't cute?  Haven has 7 year old girls who want to marry him KNOWING he's trans.  The kid is damn good-looking.
Joliet started off shaky, but looks like a freaky gap kid model, and Juneaux just grosses people out that I got 3 that attractive.  I heard that.  "That's not fair, all 3 are good looking." 
So what do I do?  I tell them they are everything but.  Smart, strong, talented, caring, patient, kind, empathetic, intelligent, motivated, athletic.....but I still say beautiful. 
With my whole life based on my appearance I am so confused how to parent kids without that being in their vocabulary.  Because it was a baseline in my self worth.
Pretty and bright.  I remember the first time a stranger didn't comment on my looks.  It was my date to 9th grade home comings mother.  She did not mention I was pretty.  What the fuck.  I remember because it was a constant, and when it wasn't there I was crushed.  What a stupid thing to worry about!  If someone thinks you are pretty!!!!
At 32, fuck being pretty, tell me I am smart, or determined.  I want spontaneous, creative, and kind.  I don't care if you think I'm pretty, I am a badass for lot's of reasons.  Being attractive isn't one of them.  With a world of beauty and measuring up, how do I stray these beautiful being away form that being their definitions? 
You ARE beautiful, but you are bold first.   You are creative first, you are athletic first.  How do you give them a different first?
Boo hoo Laura with your pretty kids.  Dude, they don't look like me, I got nothing to do with it, but I do have something to do with them becoming adults.  Productive, thriving adults......
So who care's right?  What do I do with beautiful?

Don't scroll down

Don’t Scroll Down-

The internet is amazing for so many reasons, c’mon.  I remember watching a commercial 15 years ago that said “one day you will give an email address instead of a phone number.”  I laughed.  Yea, the internet is amazing. 

The issue, is this alter ego people  assume that for some reason, has the audacity to say things that they would be punched in the face for in reality. Anonymity is not a positive, when those that chose to hurt, can hide behind it. So what baseline do we judge ourselves with, when determining our childrens  ability to express themselves? How much do you take in when living your life with a trans child?

 Jack Fuck Face wrote under a beautifully written article about a trans child, “Worst form of child abuse.”  (This was my moment of enlightenment.)  This comment I read cut me like blades in my eyes. But, Jack Fuck face would not say that if 2 things had happened.  1. He spent 2 minutes in my house or 2. He was saying that to my face, as I would groin kick him to the point his kids had belly aches. Jack Fuck Face isn’t real.   At what point do you hear the opinions or not?

Another one, was a man being interviewed saying trans kids should be put to death.  Right.  Way to be informed. Even though this shit is stupid, it still hurts!  It hurts because your friends and family hear that crap too!!!

I challenge you to stop scrolling down.  Rolling that thing on your mouse does not change your reality.  The people in your life who accept or do not, will not change by reading others’ stupid ignorant opinions.  I no longer scroll down.

The last time I scrolled down I read “Worst form of child abuse.”  Screw you Jack Fuck Face.  You are as important to my life as I am to yours.  You don’t know me!  Feel free to say that like a gangster!  You don’t know me!  Empower yourself with the fact, their opinion is as relevant as yours is to micro worm farming in Japan.  You don’t know shit about it.

So please stop scrolling down.  We are amazing and equal, and relevant, and happy and healthy as anyone. 

One quick comment.  Have you realised which kid of yours was trans?  Not the fragile one huh?  God did not chose the weaker, fragile child.  He chose the badass!

My new eyes

My new eyes-

The gift from a transgender son

When you list off all the things you wish for your beautiful baby lying in your arms, conflict with their body is not one.  You pray for their happiness, their love, their career.  You pray they are healthy, and have an easy transition at school and make friends easy. You pray they find peace, and fit in, and do well in school.   Not this.  Not to be in conflict with their body.

I can say with some assurance I have always supported my child.  Supported?  Yes, wanted this and accepted this fully?  No.  “Your child has gender identity disorder.”  Huh….. That’s not right.  So my baby is that?  80% of kids grow out of it….. Ok then, we will support until he decides this was all just a big mistake.

Maybe when we shave his hair off, he will feel strange and decide to be a girl…. Well that didn’t happen.

Maybe when we let him shop in the boys department, he will feel uncomfortable and decide maybe he is a girl….. No. Not that either.

When we start using the male pronouns at school, and when everyone says “he” this will all change, and he will be my daughter….. Instead.  He is free.

 

Supportive, yes.  Scared as all hell for the future his life will hold…yes…. Oh God why?! 

So we changed.  I always say that we transition, not our child.  They are just being them, we have to change.  I said it, and ment it, and tried it, and faked it… Until one day, I woke up with new eyes.

I used “he” with a smile and a cringe inside.  I sent him to school that first day, crying the whole way home believing I sent my child to the wolves and was about to ruin his life letting him do this!  I can’t just let him use the boys toilets when everyone knows he’s female!  I can’t just let his friends outcast him and bully him and make fun of this kind, sweet child! I must be the worst mother ever!  But listening to his pleas to be male since 18 months old.  His convictions of his reality.  His begging with God and me to make him male, and when will his penis grow, and how God made a mistake.  The kid said if I don’t let him be  boy he’s moving to Canada.  Canada?  Really?

It has been a year, and my new eyes are here.

I was faking it until I made it.  And I have made it.  So has he.

I could use “he” and “his” with fluency, and only mildly contemplate it in my brain.  But now, one year later.  A new woman has emerged.  This child is finally my son. 

Not just my son, but the son I always wanted!  If I could write out my perfect kid on paper… THIS WOULD BE HIM.  Not only do I now have a son, I have a perfect, amazing boy, who I adore and cherish and fawn over.  These are my new eyes.

I meet new parents of the little kids, and ache again for them, because I will remember the weight of the reality forever.  That time of uncertainty and fear.  This ache on your heart and guessing yourself and your child.  I remember that.  That is why I will always be a part of whatever support group I can.  I will be here for any parent, until they get the gift of their new eyes.

See, God didn’t make a mistake when creating my child.  God knew this kid was just badass enough to go through this, learn from this, and teach others with it.  Including me.  Me!  The one who thought she was all open-minded and go with the flow, and accept everyone…until it’s your kid, and the knowledge the world SUCKS and you don’t want your kid thrown in that! Me.  He is badass enough to teach me.

So please parent’s be patient.  Do not be upset or guilty with the questions you have and pain you feel.  You don’t want this for your baby.  That sleeping baby in your arms.  But your child too, is badass enough to do this.  You are amazing enough to support them.  We are all here together, and can go at it as one.

I love my new eyes.  The eyes that see a happy, healthy, outgoing, funny, annoying, pestering, cheeky little monkey of a child.  The eyes that after much deliberation, fear, guilt, pain, ache, and trepidation…… are now open, to the fact I have a son….

Joy, love, goodness, kindness, patience, self control, peace, faithfulness, gentleness.....

I am learning, not "Why me?"  But "What do you want me to learn from this?"

I am also learning that every temptation, or obstacle- gives you the ability to chose one of these gifts.  I have to chose to react with joy, love, goodness, kindness, patience, self control, peace, faithfulness and gentleness.  It's a choice.............That sucks.

My new obstacle is that I just got 250 books from the printer, completely screwed up.  $2,300 worth or recyclable paper in my garage.  Worthless.

I tried to react with patience and self control.  I tried kindness, and it didn't work.  They refuse to do anything.

During this book- I hired a photographer who agreed to photograph for portfolio work.  After shooting, holding my pictures hostage- demanded $2500...... Really?

I got an editor, who I trusted-charging me $2500 when I come to find out the going rate is about $600..... Really?

Now, the printer.... and I'm sad.  

So I cried out "What lesson do you want me to learn from this?"
First thing that comes to mind is that I need to protect myself, make wiser decisions, be more careful, get contracts?  I hate that the level of integrity in 2013 in the whole of the world is so low, you need contracts!  Why is trusting people such a bad virtue to carry?  I trust people therefor I am an idiot.

Why does this lesson have to cost my husband so much money?  It makes him give me the look of disappointment.  That mom look, of "Really?"  Not anger, he respects that I trust people, but I am sure he is over getting stuck with the bill. 

Do I just give up?  I worked sooooo hard.  This idea came when I woke up one morning and I was compelled to write this.  Fully out of my control, giddy with excitement, grabbed a notebook and filled it laughing and screaming how excited I was to do this.  I hit some road blocks, but pushed my ass through.... I am pretty sure the lesson is not to give up on the last lap.

I wish I could teach my children trust.  I would NEVER do this to you, so I assume you wouldn't do it to me.  That's not the case.

Joy, Love, Peace, Kindness, Goodness, Patience, Self Control, Faithfulness, Gentleness.............

God what am I supposed to learn from this?

Don't let me break her,

I believe this life is a lesson.  Lessons to  take to eternity.  You will get the same lesson until learned
.
I have a transgender child.

What lesson could be harder than living in a body that doesn't match your soul?  Anything?  Fucking anything?  This has got to be the most challenging, difficult, soul destroying lesson, and I am so blessed and grateful I get to guide and nurture a soul with this lesson.  Bring it on. 
You are mighty and powerful and strong and brilliant just the way you are.  You will be loved, and cherished, and adored for you as a soul not a body.
I'm sorry for your pain, but I will bear your cross and nurture your being for the beauty it is regardless.  You are spectacular.  You are great.

I don't worry about the child with the hardest life path imaginable.  I worry about Joliet.
Joliet is soft.  Delicate, fragile, precious.  I get upset with her and she crumbles at my touch.  "I'm so sorry mom, I am so sorry."  No question, no justification, just pure fear of my anger.... I fear for her.  I need my methods questioned.  I punish you, I need you to make sure my ruling is justified and accurate.  Please don't take me at my word, as I am just a mother trying my best.  My best may not be right. 

Joliet, if I say "no." respect me, but please don't cower at my word.  I too make mistakes...

"Haven don't eat that."
"But why?  Have you eaten it?  How do you know I can't eat that? Maybe you ate it and it was different than this. Maybe you are wrong."

The questioning makes me steadfast in my deliberation, and when not questioned, makes me fall short of real parenting. 
If they don't resist I become a dictator.

I don't "Rule" you, I direct you, please question the direction of me any EVERYBODY.
If my child doesn't question me, how will I know she wont question the masses?  Question EVERYONE!  Your teachers, the cops, the courts, the church.  Question until you have no more questions than question again!  Please baby girl of light, fear only yourself, and not my authority.  Everyone wants obedient children, but when a child refuses to question, and cowers at your authority, it kills me!  It kills me she submits with no distinction.  My baby, my beauty, my light.  I will tell you my course and ideas and ideals, but my God child, I am not perfect.  Please don't take me as such.

Joliet is kind, and sacred.  Her soul so pure and delicate that a stern look turns her to jello.  My baby,
I will get upset as a mother, but please don't take this as a definition of your character.  My anger will pass, your beauty and uniqueness will not.

I don't know how to parent a soft willed child.  I can do my child with the hard life path.  I can do my son with a non-conforming body, and fear of toilets, and partners, and secrets.  I can do the hardest of the hard.  I don't know how to do the submissive.  The gentle, the delicate.  How do I do the sensitive soul too kind for the earth?

How do I protect a being so graceful and sweet, the world would break?  How do I put this baby in a bubble?

Yea, yea, you are trans and society wants to burn you at the steak.  Fine, we will work through that, bring on the pitch forks!  I will beat some asses and take names son, and you are strong enough to fight with me....

How do I do the people pleaser?

Joliet you are perfect.  When people say otherwise how do I calm her?  How do I reassure her?  How do I protect her?

I fear for my baby.  Not the one with the hardest life path on earth...we got this.... but my baby with the sensitive soul. 

Please pray for Joliet.  Keep her spirit with you, and keep her close.  She needs support through this crazy maze.  I get locking girls in towers, but she would be too lonely so that's out.

Pray for my daughter. 
Pray for my guidance for her.
Amen.

The blind painter of children.

Looking back at baby photos is a joy for most mothers..  Most mothers that aren't me I guess.
Where do you start when your children's photos bring back everything you have ever done wrong?
I look at Haven at 3 and see how hard I was on him.  Haven has always been my wisdom.  This old Jewish man in a short childs body.  I remember fighting with James and Haven walking James by the hand into the bedroom so he could apologize to me.  Grown beyond his years since birth. Too wise and smart and good for me.  I would hold him accountable to actions far beyond his ability.  I still do.  I see him as a wise old man, when he is still just a baby.  I don't have photos of us at our hardest.  Who would have taken them?  Me working and then drinking the night away, him asleep.  My part time single parenting as there was no one else to take care of us.  Me full of resentments for the reality, and this sweet little child going with the flow. His maturity was just a reflection of my neglect and immaturity.

I am so sorry Haven.

I thought Joliet was ugly.  Yes my Joliet.  The 2 foot tall blonde angel of light that lives in my home.  The 2 foot tall angel of God's breath; that poops rainbows and vomits sunshine.  The 2 foot tall cherub that holds my face, and tells me she loves me 30 times a day, after thanking me for hugs, and telling me how happy I make her heart... That child to me was ugly..... This was just the reflection of me failing as a parent. Failing to do the one job God gave me to do... To comfort her. 
I was ugly.
Joliet cried for 18-20 hours a day.. for a year. 5 doctors by the time she was 3 months.  Each one stupider than the next.  The second doctor saying "Well, at least it isn't 22 hours a day."  Thanks mate. Doctor 5 asking if I tried a dummy......
Bitch I will stab you right here.....
 We went to sleep school, a four day programme.  We were kicked out after 17.  "You just have a hard baby!"....... I had no support or family... I thought I had made a mistake... I was a full failure to her and it made me resent her and not see her beauty.  You idiot woman....

Joliet I am so sorry.

I look at these photos and it is going so fast I HATED when people would say that.  Fuck!  It does go by so fast, and it doesn't come back.
Men who walk out on their kids, or people work obsessed, even though this is so hard you will fail continually, it is so amazing, and it DOES go by so quick.  Just stop.
I fail and hate myself for getting it wrong.  Why do the failures override the amazing unmatched joy and beauty of this parenting thing? Why do I look back at Joliet's face... This child model, blue eyes the size of 50 cent coins and breathe apologies over the pictures instead of gratitude? Fuck I'm sorrrrrry!  I'm sorry I couldn't fix it, I'm sorry you wouldn't stop crying.  I'm sorry James would come home to you screaming in your cot and me crying on the floor with a glass of wine next to me. I'm so sorry.

Haven I am so sorry I put thing's before you!  God I took you for granted, and put you second to my career and finding a partner.  I did that, and you didn't deserve it.  God I am so sorry Haven...

I yell too much, I get so annoyed, and if I hear "Mom, mom, mom, mom, look at me, look at me, look at me" one more freaking time my head will literally combust.  BAM like a cartoon.... I am so sorry.

I want to stare at them.
I want to be so close to my kids that they are inside of me.
I want to breathe them in.  All of them, their personalities, gifts, quirks, struggles.

I lie on the children's hospital floor with Titus in the ER and a security guard comes to ask if I'm OK.  "My baby is sick... he's so sick...."    "oh" he says.  " I thought you were hurt."    I AM HURT!  My baby is sick.  They are hurt so I am hurt. Stab me, shoot me, take this pain away.
They are sick and I feel physical pain!  I will die to take it away, I will take your broken arm, your skinned knee, your stomach ache, your cancer.  I will DIE right now, right here on the floor to save you.  I will give you my BRAIN. I will die right now... to save you.

When will this get easier?  This love, un matched, unequal desperate love for these children, at the same time, my insurmountable guilt for the wrongs I have done to them?  My mountains of mistakes?  My rivers of faults and my vast measures of fuck ups. Oh man have I screwed up.

Can I get a do-over? Is that Juneaux?  HAHAHA.  Just kidding... But really I can see me smothering her and over compensating, just for my screw ups with 1 and 2... Damn, James better keep his good job as I will be buying lot's of ponies.

I love them.

I don't just love them, I live them and thank God that even though I screw this up like a blind painter, I love them. 

That's parenting.

I'm a LIAR

I freaking hate liars....but the deeper I dive, the more I am seeing I'm a liar!
I know darn well I used to lie when I was younger, everything I did was illegal!  Of course I lied, or I would be in big trouble!
I don't blatantly lie now, but as I listen to myself tell stories.... I embellish.
It's not like my life and stories are so boring I need to lie, but my creative juices flow, and a story may get better and bigger than reality.
There's no room for the truth in a good story.
I think because I like my words and excitement, I may feel my stories need to get grander than they are.  Life with 3 kids is anything but boring, but my literal available span to leave the house is strictly calculated down to the minute of 11am-1pm, and from 3:30-5pm.  Come hell or high water my baby will be in her cot for a nap on time!  It's not an option.  So I guess because my time for acquiring experience and stories becomes more limited, the stories may become bigger.
The fish was THIS big.
Sometimes if the conversation is boring or I want to end it, if someone assumes something, I will just agree.  No harm no foul, even if it's not the truth.
Haven is my arch nemesis when telling stories, as if every word I say is not verbatim he will call me out like a casino snitch!  "That's not what she said!"  Ugh!  Haven!  That was the punch line!
So no, don't go cutting me off thinking I am not trustworthy or dishonest, but when I do have to admit, I am a bit of a liar.  :)
Babe, watch out, the last time I thought the back up sensors were "Being dramatic" I hit a curb! So James says "You told me the car didn't beep when you backed into the curb!!!!"  Well, I don't think it beeped..... well I didn't hear it beep, but maybe I just wasn't listening. Or maybe it did beep and I just thought it was being dramatic.  The last scenario was just a story of something like the truth.
"Well did it beep or didn't it beep?"  For God sake I have no recollection and can't remember so I just told 2 different versions of the story, ONE of which is true, but both you and I won't know which, as I honestly don't know.