My Foray into Educating the Internet

I don't like to argue on the internet much. Years of being a mom has taught me that nobody is going to change the type of diaper they use just because someone else disagrees with their choice on a message board.

But there are occasionally times when I simply can't pass up the opportunity, like yesterday.

This week, Rochester, NY radio show hosts Kimberly and Beck were fired after making some derogatory and, at times, outright hateful comments about the transgender community.

After listening to the clip (which was awful), I immediately emailed the radio station. I didn't ask for them to be fired, but instead talked a little about my daughter and the uphill battle she faces. I asked for them to look into education and sensitivity training for their staff - particularly their morning show hosts. I even sent them a piece I recently wrote about raising a trans* child, with permission to use it in-house. But the station made the decision to fire the hosts, in part because this wasn't the first time they'd stepped way over the line.

Naturally, some of their listeners and longtime fans are upset. They took to Facebook to declare their emancipation from the station, screaming that they'll find somewhere else to take their ears. But there were others, too. who left comments cheering on the company's supportive stance on LGBT rights. I was one of those people.

Overall, my comment was well-received. People are learning about transgender issues, and their views are changing. 

But then the trolls started to trickle in. That was to be expected.

This one was really thoughtful. I felt like she was just trying to help in her own little judgmental way. Maybe Mary is that busybody woman in church who likes to take the other parishioners aside to discuss how short Abigail's dress is. And did you see her husband? I think he's... straying.

Of course, Mary would never say anything to Abigail. That would just be rude. But on the internet? Well, on the internet, Mary will just tell it like it is. That's the power of being online. It's like giving the car in front of you the long-honk. You would never be so bold with that person if they were standing in front of you. But behind the wheel, or a keyboard? Mary's going to let them have it. Abigail, your dress is too short and your husband is a douche. Amanda, your daughter is mentally ill. I don't know her at all and have only read 6 sentences about her life, but I'm ready to make my diagnosis.


But every now and then, something amazing happens, like this:

OMG. Christmas came early.

I felt like I had been given the most glorious gift. It might as well have had an LED bow on top. This can't be a real person, right? I mean, nobody would actually be so... but they would, wouldn't they? Because internet. I pulled Geekster over to the computer at eleven last night and showed him the glory that is Joseph. We stared in awe at both the content and its poetic delivery.

Where you do start on this one? I'll tell you where: You immediately adopt the word "cripalities" into your vocabulary. We tried to fit it into every sentence we could:

"Honey, would your cripalities prevent you from making us a snack?"

"Cripalities aside, I think Montreal has a good shot at the cup this year."

"Joseph isn't sure which 'your/you're' to use. That's a serious grammatical cripality that I'm trying to be respectful of."

His comment is just the gift that keeps on giving. A guy who isn't a parent giving me parenting advice, lecturing me about God and suggesting that transgender issues are the result of spoiling children? Pure gold. This is not a comment. It's a work of art.

I've been talking to Gutsy a lot about judgement and hate, and how there will always be people who won't understand her or anyone else who doesn't fit the "norm". We've discussed how hate has nothing to do with the person being hated and everything to do with the person doing the hating. Thankfully, she finds internet trolls amusing, and knows that the vast majority of people support her brave decision to live an authentic life. The girl is positively surrounded by love.

We've tried to teach our children that knowledge is power. The more knowledge you have, the more you can use it to defend yourself and get your point across without stooping the other person's level. A tactful delivery is everything. So instead of ignoring Joseph or lashing out at him, I chose this route:

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go find some Barbies and twigs to help me with my obvious parenting cripalities.

Learning to be "Enough"

So there was this girl, and she struggled with never being enough.

She wasn't educated enough. 

She wasn't successful enough.

She wasn't fit enough.

In related news, she couldn't seem to put down the box of cookies enough.

She resented the mistakes she'd made; there were many. She sometimes wondered if she would ever rise above them all and be like all those other people.

Oh, you know all those other people. Come on. Who are you kidding? You are those other people. 

To this girl I'm talking about, I mean.

To her, you're the educated, successful, fit people who can put down boxes of cookies (and some of you can even not buy them at all, which is superhumanly impressive.) You're the people with nice jobs and fancy papers with your names on them hanging on your walls. You're the ones who get your kids to eat vegetables and take the family on vacations without wanting to turn them into a future prime time murder investigation special.

Those people. The ones who have it more together than her.

And this girl would watch those people, and wonder what she was doing wrong. She would hold her head down just a little when she met you for the first time, pray that you didn't ask the wrong questions, and skirt around the answers if you did. She became quite good at this verbal obstacle course. 

This girl was scared, but didn't show it. She was nervous, but never let you see it. On the outside she appeared confident, composed and some would even say witty. She hid behind a smile and great hair (no, seriously. Super nice hair with the right products in it.) People would say, "Random Girl Who Is Not Maven, you're so awesome! Keep being you!" and that girl would say, "Well, yeah. Of course I'm awesome" as if they weren't telling her something she didn't already know.

Sometimes she almost believed it, too. She was very convincing. (Must be the hair. Very distracting.)

But then, when something big would happen, that girl would fall hard - probably harder than she would have if she hadn't stitched together a false confidence from the views of others. "Remember that time so-and-so said you were great?" *stitch* "And that other time your blog post that thing you said helped a lot of people and they thanked you for it?" *stitch stitch* 

It was a beautiful fabric, though; a mosaic of compliments mirrored back at her. But it was not a solid fabric, and would tear when life got too heavy.

That girl had big plans, and she held onto those plans like she would Johnny Depp's... hand. The kids would get older and they would need her less and less. And she would find time - lots of time! - for other things. She would build a full-time career - like, a really good one that makes all the monies - and she would feel like she's contributing to society. She could be successful. She could be a grownup, like the rest of her friends. She could do more for her kids. Maybe she could even stop eating cookies.

As long as she followed through with those plans, she would be okay. And maybe, for once in her life, she could feel like she's on equal footing with the rest of the world. No more less than. No more those people, because she would finally be those people. And her thighs would get smaller and her kids would eat broccoli and life would be grand.

Except, of course, that things didn't quite work out that way. Life had other plans for her, at least for now.

The girl felt smaller than ever and incredibly frustrated. This was supposed to be her year. Her year! She had lined everything up, all the ducks or ponies or whatever. And then the ponies had startled and squished the ducks with their clumsy death hooves, and they ran away and there was no more line, unless you count the duck carcasses. Not cool, life and ponies. Not cool.

But as she munched on a box of cookies tucked unceremoniously under her arm, pieces of torn fabric lying all around her from her most recent fall to the bottom, she realized something: She didn't have to let her circumstances define her.

Maybe, 

just maybe, 

she had always been enough.

Maybe she had to stop looking to external accomplishments to validate her existence.

Maybe she had to stop scrutinizing her waistline every time she looked in the mirror like it was some kind of measurement of how worthy she is.

Maybe she had to redefine "success" so that it encompassed all the great things she already is.

Maybe she should stop comparing herself to those people, and take stock of just how much the world had already taught her and given her.

Maybe she needed to look at what she already gives the world, because she gives a lot.

Also, maybe being a grownup is highly overrated.

It would be easier said than done, of course. There would be many deeply rooted thought processes to undo. She would have to think about how to weed that old garden in her mind over cookies (maybe just one or two, though). The Great Undoing, she would call it. And it would be worth every step. Because the girl realized that living the way she had been all these years was no way to live.

She wasn't going to reinvent herself, but rediscover herself.

She wasn't going to get successful, but celebrate her existing success.

She wasn't going to feel less than other humans anymore, but learn to appreciate her unique role in the human experience.

She would soak up her children's hugs, her partner's smile, the laughter on her friends' faces every time she made a joke, the tears she wiped for others, she tears she shed for others, the kind things she did just because she can. And she would do this all, of course, with great hair. Those are the confidence builders, and the foundation of a life well lived. That stuff. The good stuff.

She would excavate and furiously polish the riches in her life until they gleamed. There were so many right in front of her the whole time, and yet all she had been doing was looking at what she didn't have; at what she wasn't, not what she is. And she, like all humans, is simply magnificent.

No, the girl wasn't perfect, she would never be perfect, but she was certainly enough.

Saying Goodbye to My Son (and Hello to My Daughter)

(Photo Credit)

Last week was a week of changes. They were giant hungry tentacle creature kind of scary changes. Crawl out from the river bank and eat your dog kind of scary changes.

(Maven watches too much sci-fi kind of scary changes.)

Gutsy had her first endocrinology appointment on Tuesday. It was an all-day event in which much testing was done. We had to find out if she is in puberty, and, if so, how far along. Puberty goes in "Tanner" stages, from I to V (in pretentious roman numerals, of course, because it's medicine.) Tanner I is at the very beginning and V is at the end.

Gutsy is in stage III. Mid-puberty.

This is both good and kind-of-ok news. It's good because it's still early enough that she doesn't yet have a lot of masculine and non-reversible traits seen in later puberty. It's kind-of-ok because it's a stage later than they like to start hormone blockers for transgender kids. Normally Tanner II is when the party gets started, before any of the changes happen.

But the endocrinologist assures us that it's ok. We're arresting puberty mid-way, before the big growth spurt, the extreme deepening of the voice, the Adam's apple and the facial hair. If Gutsy had waited much longer to tell us, things could have been very different. I'm breathing a sigh of relief for her. Going through those pubescent changes when you don't identify with the body you were born into can be very traumatic and have long-term, unwanted consequences.

This is step one in what will probably be a long medical process. It's the beginning of saying goodbye to the son we used to have.

I didn't think it would be this hard, you know. I was foolish to think I would handle it better than I have been. I figured I have two other sons, so that might make it easier. I guessed that the fun and excitement of having a daughter would outweigh any sense of loss. I was wrong. Oops.

Because last week we also started packing up her boy clothes, and I can't even bring myself to pass most of them down to her younger brother. Right now, the idea of seeing those clothes on him in a couple of years makes me really sad.  Maybe that will change, but I don't want to find out. I just want to give them to someone else's child and never see them again.

Last week, we started the name change. She's having a very hard time seeing her given name on official documents. She broke down when she got her very first bank card in the mail, tore open the envelope excitedly, and saw her old name printed in big gold letters on the front.  It's very masculine and reminds her of the unhappy person she was before she came out. That's not who she is; she's someone else now. She's ready to legally become that person.

My heart doesn't feel so ready.

Letting go is hard. Saying goodbye to him is hard. I know the same amazing person lives inside my daughter, but it feels like my son is gone. I'm grieving. I'm not saying it's the same as losing a child, because it isn't. But it's still grief, and it's still real, and it still hurts. I know I need to ride this wave. It's an unfortunate part of the process.

But it's not all ravens and emo haircuts over here. On the other side of this emotional chasm is a whole lot of joy. It's great watching her come out of her shell, little by little. She's smiling more, going out more, and spending more time with all of us. She and I are growing closer. We're getting to know each other as mother and daughter, which has been a lot of fun (and at times a little OMG TWEEN GIRLS WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME). She's my giddy mall companion, my partner in crime for cheesy teen television. Those parts are great.

I'm watching her grow up before my eyes. She faced some big fears in the name of being who she really is. She's terrified of needles - absolutely panic-stricken - and yet she had three of them at the hospital last week, including a giant one in her thigh. She's staring down years of injections - possibly a lifetime. And yet she's willing to do it all to live an authentic life.  Her resolve is strong and her bravery astounds me. It also drives home the fact that this is not a choice for her. It is a medical necessity.

So I'll go through my own shit knowing how important this is to her. I'm sure it pales in comparison to the shit she's going through. I can't even begin to imagine how she must be feeling, how scary this all is. She talks to us about it, but I think we'd have to be inside her head to really see it.

These are big changes for an eleven-year-old, and big changes for me. Some days, I feel like I'm on the bank of the river, holding a leash attached to an empty collar. What life giveth, the giant tentacles taketh away. 

Transitions are tough. But my love for her is, thankfully, a a lot tougher.

Birth is hard. Rebirth is even harder.

Photo credit: http://lynndove.com/

I haven't been writing much lately. I feel like a non-writing jerk who doesn't have her priorities straight. But my heart's just not in it. My heart is elsewhere, with a kid who is having a tough time and needs her mom.

When it's not there, it's on the treadmill so it doesn't give out too early from all the stress calories I've been feeding it. And when it's not there, it's trying to keep up with work, or volunteer obligations, or visiting family and friends so they don't also think I'm a jerk. It's trying to maintain balance, trying not to get too stressed or worn out, trying not to let go of the dreams and goals and expectations I've had for myself for so long and feel like I'm letting go of.

But it's not in writing, because I'm worried that I'll repeat the same things over and over again and you're going to get sick of it:

My kid is transgender.

Her life has changed.

Our family dynamic has changed.

My role as a mother has changed.

Society isn't set up to welcome her.

I don't know what to do to help her a lot of time. I'm floundering as a parent. I feel lost and scared and lacking the necessary know-how to be that kick ass mom I want to be.

My heart is full to bursting with many emotions the last few weeks, and it doesn't generally lead to the humorous blog posts so many of you have come to expect from me. And then I get stressed out because I'm worried I'm losing my voice as a writer, and I see the one thing that is all mine - this deeply engrained love of the written word that allows me to escape and share and connect with others - slipping away from me. That hurts my heart in ways I can't even describe.

But I can't help being in this place at this time. I can't fight against how I'm feeling. I'm a lot lost in a situation that is so much bigger than I am.

How do you put something so fresh and raw aside and continue writing funny life anecdotes?

How do you laugh about silly shit when your child is crying because kids who used to be kind are excluding her?

How do you handle the pain of knowing your child won't go on the grade 6 grad trip because she's not out to all those kids, there will be a swimming component (bathing suits - eep!), no unisex change rooms or washrooms, and quite likely boys' and girls' teams?

How about the actual graduation ceremony in June, where she doesn't want to wear a dress, but also doesn't want to wear a shirt and tie?

How about the awkwardness and uncomfortableness she had to go through when opening a bank account this weekend in her legal name (that we can't change until she's 12)?

How do you not want to throat punch the world sometimes when it is so unforgiving to a little person who only wants to live as her authentic self?

I was in labour for 27 excruciating hours with Gutsy before the emergency cesarean. The umbilical cord was wrapped around her body and she couldn't descend. My heart nearly gave out during the surgery from exhaustion. But it didn't. In the end, despite all the scary and the unexpected, we ended up with a beautiful 10lb 4oz baby that was five years in the making.

I'm trying to view her transition from male to female in the same light. There are contractions of pain with a few breaths of reprieve in between, but we are making steady progress. A lot of my focus is on getting her through it, safe and sound.  Her arrival will forever reshape our family. As she emerges, it is fundamentally changing me as a woman, a mother and a human being. I am not the same Maven I was two months ago. And while I will welcome back much of the humour and wit I like to keep in my back pocket for my personal writing, it might not be quite the same as it used to be (probably because it's been in there so long, next to my ass.) But in the end, we are going to have a thriving, happy child.  Just like labour, that is the end goal.

Yep. Transition is like a rebirth. It's mighty uncomfortable for both of us (but especially her - I don't kid myself). My husband can only squeeze my hand and remind me to breathe. Just replace "I am eating ice chips between contractions" with "I am unceremoniously stuffing my cry hole with chocolate when it is not busy crying," and "I'm going to lose a lot of weight through this process" to "I need to be the highly improbable lovechild of Jillian Michaels and Richard Simmons if I want any hope of being able to fit through my front door in six months" and that is my life right now.

On Friday morning, we went through the Starbucks drive-thru. Without any prompting or indication from me as to my child's gender, the barista handed us our drinks and said, "Have a nice day, ladies!" It was the very first time someone outside of our circle had presumed her female. My daughter is beginning to look like a girl. She's finally being seen for who she really is.

Gutsy's face lit up brighter than I've seen in years. I had to stop myself from bursting into happy tears - just like when I held her for the very first time.

This journey, you guys. Pain, fear, uncertainty - and unimaginable joy.

Update: This post was picked up by BlogHer.com which is ten shades of fabulous. A big thank you to the editors for choosing to shine a light on trans* issues. I'm one happy mom today! 

Ok, But Kids Should Really Come with Manuals

Photo credit: Pixabay.com

Tomorrow, Gutsy and I are going out to buy her an Easter outfit.

But not just any outfit, my friends: something pretty, something frilly, something blingy and befitting the Maven's only daughter. This is the first holiday where Gutsy gets to dress up her outside to match the person she is inside.

Because we have such a supportive family, my darling little trans*girl can go to dinner wearing exactly what she wants. She will be greeted with her new name, and people will be doing their best to use her chosen pronouns: her and she.

You know, I go to Easter dinner every year and wear the clothes I want and get called her and she and sometimes stop being such a bitch, and I never give it a second thought. My gender identity - and the way other people see me - is something I've always taken for granted until very recently.

Once, a couple of years ago, someone I hadn't seen in a while ran up, placed her hands on my stomach and asked me if I was pregnant. I wasn't, and spent the next few hours crying into a bowl of chips (pro tip: does not help the situation). I felt so bad that someone had looked at my appearance and drawn conclusions that weren't true. It made me feel pretty horrible about my body.

I take how I felt and I multiply that by 1000, and I think maybe I might have a kind of but not really even remotely close idea of what it must feel like for someone who's outside doesn't at all match the inside.

And so I look at my eleven-year-old daughter, and I think she might just be the strongest and bravest person I've ever known; Strong for dealing with what she has for so long, and brave for taking the unimaginably challenging steps to become who she really is.

Incidentally, do you know how hard it is to be in awe of someone you're supposed to be the boss of? I basically worship the kid and yet I also have to yell at her for not bringing her dishes to the kitchen. "You're super amazing and I can't help but shout it from the rooftops, but clean your damn room before I set fire to it with a blowtorch." That's the balance I have to strike, people. It's not easy.

In fact, there are a lot of things that aren't easy. I keep looking for the manual she was born with. I think it was called So Your Baby is Transgender: Easy Answers to Every Issue You Never Thought You'd Have to Deal With. I can't find the damn thing anywhere.  It might have shot out of my uterus during a contraction and slid behind a hospital chair or something.

So now I'm flying blind, which is most unfortunate. I'm not sure what to say when Gutsy tells me she's worried about dressing too feminine at school and instead goes for the gender-neutral clothing. Question number 22 in the manual, no doubt.

I don't know how to handle sleepovers with male friends she used to have sleepovers with before she came out as female. What do you do there? Is it status quo, or is it a no-no now? Do I bring it up with the parents I hardly know? Do they even know she's transgender? Do I open that can of worms and possibly make things worse? Those are likely answers #146-192 in said missing manual.

Oh! And what about when her friends are friendly at school, but don't seem to hang out with her after school nearly as much in the last week or two, and she says it's probably nothing but you lie awake worrying if people are keeping their distance because of who she is? That's super fun.

And what about the neighbours who know you have "three boys" and are going to start questioning where the second boy went and where that girl who kind of looks like him came from? They'll have to be told, but if those conversations go sour it's going to be a very interesting street to live on.

I'm pretty sure a bunch of those questions are addressed under the large chapter called "CALM YOUR TITS, MAVEN." Because really, that's what I need to be doing: calming my tits. I keep creating scenarios in my head that don't exist, when we already have enough actual scenarios to deal with. A writer's brain can be its own magnificent level of hell.

When I get overwhelmed like that, I try to take stock of the facts. Here's what I know for sure:

Not very long ago, we had a sad little boy who hard a hard time leaving his room and was medicated for anxiety, OCD and depression. He couldn't handle crowds, couldn't eat out of bowls that weren't white, couldn't stand the thought of germs. He flew into rages and would inevitably turn to me in tears, asking what was wrong with him. I spent many nights worrying about his future.

Today, we have a happy, chatty, smiling girl who is frequently out of her room and happy to be around other people. She's going off her medication to test the waters without it (and I believe she'll be successful.) She eats out of any bowl she likes, doesn't have panic attacks, and confidently assures me that I need not worry: she can and will find solutions to her problems - and if she can't, she will ask me for help.

She is resilient and insightful beyond her years. She's already proven that. So I need to let go a little bit. I need to trust her and learn from her. For the most part, Gutsy does not let her fear guide her. Why should I let mine?

Living in the moment is a tricky thing at the best of times. I know this won't be an easy road for her, but I also know that it's easier today than it would have been even five or ten years ago. I know that we have the best support system any kid could ask for, but especially one with additional hurdles to jump. And I know that, if I can just stop worrying about the hurdles that don't exist, I'll have more energy to help her with the ones that do.

What I know is that maybe I don't need the manual that possibly torpedoed out of my birth canal over a decade ago. I need to take a page out of hers, instead, and live bravely.

Off to calm my tits with some chocolate, which I hear is very tit calming.

I'm dreaming again, and it only took 16,000 people to convince me.

I'll admit it: I've been losing sight of my dreams lately.

When I was a teenager, I not only wanted to be a writer, but also believed I could be. I was going to use my words to make a difference in the world, to advocate, to shine a light on important causes. My English Writing teacher lit a fire inside me with her encouragement and mentorship. She believed in me. I left her class that year knowing I could make my dreams come true. (Thank you, Mrs. Wagland!)

And then I grew up. I had babies - the screamy type - and a mortgage. I learned about retirement savings and the cost of University tuition. The heavy weight of responsibility was like a viral darkness that crawled up my arm and through my ear and into my head, knocking my brain around with a giant bat. "Wake up, fool! Do you really think you're going to make it? What makes you so special?"

And slowly, I started to lose hope.

I've taken a lot of jobs I never planned on taking in the name of growing up. Amongst them, I ran a daycare out of my home (I should have asked to be paid in Xanax), did tech support for a large telecom company (throw me off a bridge), tied about 8,000 pairs of sneakers at a school, and worked as someone's admin assistant because, you know, editing and filing other people's writing is almost the same thing, right? 

Time and time again, I've tried to convince myself that this is what adults do.

These days I do work as a writer. I took that full-time leap about a year ago. But I'm not accomplishing the things I want to accomplish. I never get up the courage. I have my blog, I write articles here and there, I have about a dozen first pages of the book I'm going to write "one day." I've hit a plateau because I'm scared and because I keep telling myself that grownups have real jobs.

Once again, I've started looking at other lines of work. Maybe I could go back to school to become a social worker. Social workers help people, right? That's always been a part of my dream. I could totally do it, too. I'm just crazy enough to work in mental health, and I'm really good at nodding and making empathy sounds like "mm-hmm." I could probably make marginally more than I'm making right now, but in a collect-a-paycheque-every-two-weeks kind of way and not in a we-are-eating-hot-dogs-for-dinner-this-week-because-mommy-didn't-score-that-contract kind of way.

But the real reason I've been thinking of retraining? I just don't believe in myself anymore. I don't think I can do it. I don't think I have the skill and the insight required to make it as a writer. I look at all the other successful authors out there and I think, "You don't have what they have."

My dreams, it seems, are buried deep under the cynicism of adulthood.

Or they were, until a couple of days ago.

As a blogger, you occasionally get invited to things. This year, I was invited to National We Day, a massive event held in Ottawa on April 9th by Free The Children. Their goal is simple: to empower a generation to shift from 'ME' to 'WE.' How do we do this? One action at a time, one voice at a time, one passionate soul at a time. As co-founder Craig Kielburger said during the press conference, "We want to show that it's cool and possible to change the world." Not exactly a small goal there, Craig. I like it.

If you're not familiar with this organization, you need to be. Right now. I'm serious. Stop reading me and watch this video:

Ok, come back now. I miss you.

Despite my thoughts of stepping away from writing, I decided I would go. What did I have to lose? Media events can be really fun, after all, and this was supposed to be a pretty big deal. The list of speakers and artists was long and impressive, and the spectators were equally as respectable. See, you can't buy a ticket to National We Day; Children from all across the country earn their way by raising funds and creating positive change in the world.

I had no idea how much of an impact those kids would have on me.

The event itself was phenomenal. On stage were the likes of Martin Luther King III; Her Majesty Queen Noor of Jordan; the Governor General of Canada; National Chief of the Assembly of First Nations Shawn A-in-chut Atleo; Simple Plan; Spencer West (Who, despite having no legs, climbed Mount Kilimanjaro on his hands. Guys. His hands. I will never complain about going to the gym again); Hannah Alper (11-years-old and already an incredible advocate - with great hair!); and, of course, those passionate and motivating and undeniably handsome brothers and co-founders of Free The Children, Craig and Mark Kielburger.

Hannah Alper and Craig Kielburger during the morning press conference

To say I felt star-struck would be an understatement. I was a little kid all over again. I tried really hard to be professional in the media box.  I wound up cheering as loudly as the kids in the audience and choking up whenever a speaker said something meaningful. So, like, I was very professional. Award-winning professional, even.

It was impossible not to be swept up in the energy of the day. 16,000 humans in one stadium, coming together to celebrate doing good things? What's not to love about that? I could write ten more blog posts about the incredible people I was introduced to that day.

But since this is about individual stories all coming together, let me tell you what this day meant to me: It lit that fire again. It reminded me that I am a writer and advocate to the core. I have a path to follow, and the only thing blocking my way is me (and the occasional pile of dishes or screaming child). 

Two days later, that feeling is still with me. I know We Day is about young people and I am anything but young (today I turned on the radio, heard a great new song, downloaded it, rolled down the windows and blasted it out of the car feeling terribly hip, and then realized it came out five years ago and it's actually awful. Legit.)

But once upon a time, I was a teenager with a gift for words and a dream, and that teenager is still in there. It's time to let her out.

It's time to dream again.

Parenting is Like Driving in a Van Full of Stoners

Parenting has been such a weird journey.

For some people, it's like stepping into a sedan, hitting the highway, setting the cruise control and only having to swerve now and then to avoid the odd pot hole or road kill. They happily play top 40 music and travel-sized Battleship. That's the typical scenario.

But it's not our scenario.

In ours, we didn't qualify for the loan on that sedan. We had to go on Craigslist and ride share. A van full of bearded stoners pulled up and they were all, "Hop in, bros! Let's bunk. I'm Bartholomew, the acupuncturist/circus performer. This is Pan. He does poi and throat singing." The van is temperamental, it puffs out black smoke, and it's even broken down a few times on the side of the road.

I can say with certainty this wasn't what I expected, bros.

Like most parents, Geekster and I used to hold our fresh little babies and wistfully dream of who they would grow into. We expected bumps and surprises, of course. No plan is perfect. But the bumps and surprises I was expecting were more in the realm of "my son came home drunk at 15 and barfed on the shag carpet" or "What do you mean, you were suspended from school for drawing a large scale penis on the teacher's car?" You know. That stuff.

But we've hit a few, uh, "unexpected speed bumps" so far. Two kids with hearing loss, one with mental illness, a child who's had pneumonia eight times, a rare autoimmune disease.

And now, as you probably know, we recently found out we have a child who is transgender.

Well, will you look at that? Someone better put Peter, Paul and Mary on the 8-track and turn on the lava lamps, because shit just got a lot more interesting.

I don't mean that in a bad way, bros. I'm good with it. Truly. I mean, I'm not terribly familiar with Peter, Paul and Mary, but Bart has them on repeat now and I'm learning a great deal about harmonization. That's how exposure works.

And speaking of exposure, Today is the International Transgender Day of Visibility. If I knew about this day last year, I would have probably mentioned it as an ally, but wouldn't have written an entire post about it. And now, here we are, in 2014, with a trans*girl I love unconditionally, and for whom I will do everything I possibly can to make her life journey an easier one.

I will educate and advocate for her.

I will challenge discrimination for her.

I will write blog posts with weird road trip metaphors for her.

This will not be an easy journey, but we're kind of used to that by now (We've had practice.) However, I can say with certainty that, as challenging as this road will be, I am both proud and grateful to be the mom of a transgender child. Her strength astounds me, and her authenticity inspires me. I've become more confident, more assertive, more determined. To say she has fundamentally changed me would not be an overstatement.

The road is bumpy, the van a little iffy. Those giant painted flower aren't helping my carsickness very much, either. But we are seeing parts of the road we would have never seen if we didn't have to make so many stops while Pan tops up the oil. This trip is a little different than the one I expected, but it's a good one.

Such a good one.

F*ck The Life Plan

Please try not to be jealous of my amazing artistic abilities.

It's funny how life works.

You make a plan, you dream about the plan, you maybe draw little pictures of the plan, you plan out how to execute the plan... and then, unless you are exceedingly charmed, life turns around and gives your plan the big ol' hairy finger.

You are confused by Life's spectacle, but try to ignore it because you need to remain focused. It's all up to you, you know. You're at the controls. All you have to do is complete these tasks, meet these goals, learn these things, and all will work out the way you want it to.

And if things don't? If things still aren't going your way, what then?

You make a vision board. Duh. All the Pinterest peeps are doing it! You slap a giant piece of cork on your wall and add clippings and shit to it all the time. It's sort of like a serial killer's shrine - except you're not murdering anyone (we hope), merely shrining the shit out of your expectations.

Amused, Life will sometimes walk by your vision board. It will say, "Why, hello there, little human. Are you planning again? Totes adorbs!" And look like it wants to pat you on head. It closely examines the cutouts from your favourite magazines, runs a hand over the inspirational quotes from the people you admire most, all the while snickering under its breath as you glare fiercely in its direction.

You get angry at Life. You tell it to move aside so you can pin up another meaningful saying. You tell it to shut up; you're creating your future right now. Or maybe you're envisioning it. Or perhaps even manifesting it. You're using one of those words that you believe with all your heart will allow you to live the life you want and deserve.

Life winks knowingly and walks off, bumping into the wall as it leaves.

And then the vision board falls down and breaks your toe.

So you can't go skiing that weekend.

And your fiancé goes without you.

He comes home two days later and announces that he met someone. Her name is Elsa. She's blonde and her parents are rich.

He moves out and you're devastated. The bills start piling up. Bill collectors know you so well that they start sending you Christmas cards.

You have to let your housecleaning service go and the vision board starts to get dusty.

Life feels bad for you and brings you a roommate. She openly picks her nose and becomes overly animated when watching Dr. Phil (which she does every. single. day.)

Alone in your room and screaming into your pillow, you ask yourself where the fuck Elsa and Picker the Clown were hiding on your stupid, stupid vision board. Behind the wedding dress collage? You start tearing the thing apart, looking for them.

You can't find them. But amidst all the pictures of sandy beaches and perfect bodies and beautiful babies were a few important words you had clipped out:

Gratitude

Acceptance

Resiliency

All words that mean strength of character to you. All things you hope to be.

That's when it hits you:

You realize how grateful you are to have a roommate to pay the bills, even if she screams at the television between 5 and 6 every evening.

You accept that your ex is a douchebag cheater man and hope Elsa's parents make him sign a pre-nup. At least he showed his true colours before you put a deposit on one of the dresses you had pinned up, right?

You finally see how amazingly resilient you've become. The Big Awful Scary happened and you're still here. Look at you! That's eat-half-a-cake-in-celebration material, if you ask me. (Don't ask me. I'm bad for your waistline. Please see above picture.)

This is how I've come to look at life (including the half-a-cake thing.) It's ok to make plans. Sometimes they materialize, and that's worth celebrating. But the things that didn't go well - or at least didn't turn out as we expected - are worth celebrating, too. We learn from losing, from having to get up and brush ourselves off, from having to figure a way around monstrous obstacles, from pushing past our darkest fears.

If you always live comfortably inside the box, it's hard to know how to think outside of it.

My plan never accounted for a lot of things in my life. But, as a wise friend said to me recently, those unexpected twists and trials seem to have prepared me to be the mom and woman I have to be today.

When I was at my darkest after Gutsy came out - when the visions of insurmountable obstacles and ugly intolerance swam before my eyes, when I felt so low and sad and afraid for her- I was able to call on what Life has taught me time and time again: These feelings won't last forever. This will become your new normal. You will find your strength and footing again, just like you always have.

That's how I've found the strength to call the right people, make the right connections, advocate passionately, and remind my daughter every day what a powerhouse she is and will continue to be. We are going to move mountains, I tell her. We have that strength inside of us. The world won't know what hit it.

Life didn't turn out the way I expected it. I'm glad.

Fuck the life plan.

Because You Asked

Credit: http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/962472

When your child comes out as transgender at eleven-years-old and nobody saw it coming, people have a lot of questions. In the last month, about half the time I spend with anyone who knows us involves answering those questions. The other half involves me asking them to dig deep for any good gossip that can distract me from the churning medical encyclopedia that is my brain these days. 

But I'm all about answering questions, because education and understanding are what will make this world a safe place for my daughter and others like her. So here are a few of the things I get asked the most. 

(Incidentally, interviewing myself = best borderline narcissistic game of all time.)


How do you feel now that your family has made this so public? Any regrets?

No regrets at all. Going public was the best thing we could have done in our particular situation. It took a huge load off of us having to tell each person individually (I'm unbelievably lazy). We told family and close friends first, then dropped the atomic trans bomb on everyone else. Sorry, guys. Also, I know not everyone reacts to news in the same way, so giving each person time to process it and maybe read up on it before saying anything to us was a good idea. It's made for a more positive reaction, overall.

Different trans families do things in different ways. Some pick up and move far away so they can start fresh in new communities with their child living as their preferred gender. That wasn't going to work for us. We just moved less than a year ago. Our kids love their new schools and my husband is ten minutes from work. As a writer and social media whore with "three boys," I would have had to go completely offline or stop talking about my kids altogether. So we decided to take a bold step into the spotlight. It was a huge risk, but has paid off in wonderful ways. Though my self-absorbed self might desperately try, I can't take any credit for your reactions. They are yours, and they're a testament to how open-minded and compassionate you are. You've been incredible. Thank you.

How's Gutsy doing?

She is transitioning to life as a full-time girl. Everyone uses her new name and the proper pronouns (we all trip up from time to time.) The kids at school are starting to do the same, taking the cue from a great teacher and her close friends. We found a stylist who is going to make her hair totally adorbs while it grows out, and we know a few teen girls who are happy to take her on shopping trips to find the right clothes. Like all transitions, this one will take time. It's been an interesting experience and a great learning opportunity for all of us, so far.

My daughter's world is lighter since she's been able to start living as her authentic self. She's far less anxious, smiling more, and no longer living life tucked away in her room whenever she's not at school. She's interactive and animated, funny and sweet. The world is finally starting to see the beautiful person that had been locked inside a shell that doesn't represent her. If I could sum up what I'm seeing, I would say she's emerging. And it is an honour to watch those wings unfold. 

How is the school handling things?

Really well, actually. It was a bit of a bumpy start, but I think we're all on the same page now. The gist of it is, Gutsy is in charge of her transition and our job is to support her in any way possible. They're going to be doing some staff training, are getting the right people involved, and are helping us work with the middle school she'll be attending next year. 

This all came about during the meeting I had on Friday with several school officials and teachers. I went prepared. I brought printouts. That I, um, highlighted.

And manuals.

And books.

And I almost brought the posters in but decided at the last minute to leave them in the car. They can be for the next meeting. Best not to overwhelm the educators. You have to know when to make your moves. This time: Printouts and books. Next time: Posters and "Sexual Healing" on the ghetto blaster to woo them a little. Gentle and slow.


How are you doing?

Better in the last week. I was a bit of a hot mess before then. Still looked dead sexy, of course, but was a wreck inside. My blood pressure was shooting up so high that the doctor took me off caffeine.

Yes: caffeine. Liquid orgasm. Productivity foreplay. Dildo in a cup. I was devastated. On the other hand, I would prefer not to have a stroke or a heart attack right now because that might not help our situation.  So, for the last week-and-a-half. I have been a decaf-only girl. That's probably the most traumatic thing that has ever happened to me, but I'm working through it.

I'm getting informed. Information helps me sleep at night. It makes the whole thing less scary and new. I've spoken to several experts, read my weight in books and articles, got to second base with PubMed research papers (nice boobs, PubMed) and attended two LGBT-focused workshops in the past week. 

My fear and sadness have nothing to do with my child being transgender and everything to do with how the world will treat her. I'm scared of people and their reactions to who she is. The best way to combat ignorance - and I know we will face a lot of it - is through knowledge. I am educating myself so I can, in turn, educate others. 

I'm contemplating getting a shirt that says, "Listen to me, Bitches." I'm sure it would be a hit at school functions.

How's your husband doing?

He's a little less stress-y than I am, actually, but he chalks it up to being distracted at work all day while I spearhead the "Gutsy is Emerging and We Need to Help Her" Campaign. He's never put a lot of emphasis on gender. He just wants his child to be happy, so if this is making her happier, then he's behind her 100%.

But he still gets to drink real coffee which makes him a little bit of an asshole. (Thankfully a hot one.)


How about Spawnling and Intrepid?

Amazing. Adaptable. Supportive. We had therapy all lined up for them until we realized they were totally cool with it. Things are no different here than they were before the big reveal. I guess you could say we're a very typical family is a somewhat atypical situation. 


Has your family been supportive? What about your friends?

Our family has been fantastic. Everyone from Gutsy's cousins to her great-grandma have wrapped her up in love and acceptance. The vast majority of our friends have also been incredibly supportive. Not everyone will be, but most of them have been as wonderful as I expected they'd be.

Last night we went out with a great friend of mine and her boys, who have known Gutsy for many years. And you know what? It was business as usual as far as the kids were concerned. They played and laughed and had a great time. The only difference was that they referred to Gutsy as "she" and used her new name. When they slipped up, nobody cared. It was no big deal. When children are raised by open and accepting parents, they, too, become open and accepting. I am making it my mission to surround us with people who are just that.


Ok, but what about the other people? There have to be people who aren't all rainbows and unicorns about this.

I'm  happy to say that we're talking about a very small minority, here. None of them have been outright negative, only silent since we broke the news. No phone calls, emails or texts. Not even an "I don't really know what to say right now, but want you to know we're thinking of you." Some of them are very active on Facebook and, while they normally comment on or like statuses I write, have done neither in the last few weeks. Some will only acknowledge posts I make that have nothing to do with Gutsy, which I think hurts even more because I know they've seen what's been going on. 

I realize everybody processes things and deals with them in their own way and in their own time. I've been trying to give them that time, but I'm running out of patience. When families are in crisis of any kind, they need support. I've supported some of these people through some pretty big stuff, and if they can't return the favour, then our friendship has sadly reached its expiration date.

As much as I'd like to, I'm not going to systematically chase people down to find out why they have their blinders on. I'm guessing most of what I hear will be negative, anyway, and I don't have the time or patience for that. I have to direct my energies elsewhere. My job is to be Gutsy's (and Intrepid's, and Spawnling's) mom, keep my shit together, and make sure we have a support circle. It's not to try and convince people to stick around.


What are the next steps in the process?

Other than building up her wardrobe, growing her hair out, educating the community and looking quite fabulous, we have appointments lined up at the local Children's Hospital's Gender Identity Clinic. They have a fantastic team of doctors, nurses and social workers who specialize in this transition business. We're still in the preliminary stages, but the next step will be to get a formal diagnosis of Gender Dysphoria (which is needed for medical interventions), followed by checking for signs of puberty. As you can probably imagine, going through male puberty when you feel like a female inside would be a fuckton of trauma for a lot of kids, including Gutsy. In the early stages of puberty, a hormone blocker can be given to stop those changes from happening. It has no side effects and can be removed at any time to allow that puberty to happen, should she ever change her mind. Step 2 would be giving her female hormones to allow her to grow into a body that more suits her gender identity, but that won't be for a few years. 

What do you worry about most?

Holy fuck. What don't I worry about? I'm all kinds of late nights and early mornings these days. I worry about middle school, bullying, violence, handling sleepovers, bathrooms, change rooms, public swimming, angry school parents, missing any signs that she's getting depressed, the unbelievably high suicide rate, dating, employment, family, children... And that's just off the top of my head.

And now we see firsthand why I'm not allowed any caffeine.

I worry about a lot of stuff, but I try not to let it take over. She is happy today. She is healthy today. She is loved today. This is a veritable exercise in living in the moment. I'm doing a pretty decent job most of the time.

I should win something. 

Like the ability to drink coffee again.

Pout.