Parenting without partnering

I've got a post up at The Mid today, where I'm talking about an unexpected (and oh-so valuable) perk of queer family — even in the midst of separation. Here's a taste:

[When we told the kids were separating, they have lots of questions.] The question I wasn't as prepared for, though, was, "How?" Or, as our 10-year-old, Rowan, put it, "How are you still going to both be our parents if you're not partners?"

I couldn't figure out what to say. Because we had to? Because we'd try hard and communicate and put their needs, the needs of this reconfigured family, above our own as individuals? Because we had schedules and smartphones? Because, even though the marriage itself had floundered, my soon-to-be ex and I had always been skilled at so many of the practicalities of what it meant to raise kids together? I didn't know how to explain it, how to let him and his brother understand that, even though there were bound to be complications, we'd make it work—because we always had.

And that's when I realized I had the answer all along.

Please check out the rest over at The Mid.

My gay husband — New post on VillageQ

Hey there – today on Village Q, I'm talking about why everyone needs a Gayhusband, even queer women:

Back in August, I came home one day to find my gay husband on my back deck, sweaty and intense, his arms elbows deep inside my … barbecue. What did you think I was going to say, gutter mind?

My gay husband, whose actual name is Rob, was deep-cleaning the barbecue. That’s one of his jobs, as was assembling the barbecue. He also washes dishes, makes lattes, occasionally batch-cooks vast quantities of stew or gazpacho (depending on the season), acts as our in-house tech troubleshooter, and holds the ladder while I clean out the eavestroughs. (He holds the ladder with one hand, while in the other, he manages to balance a latte and browse Grindr on his phone.)

Go thee and read the rest  posthaste. 

The Yoga Class Incident, Part II: Karma

For those of you who missed it, here is a small recap of Part I: Approximately eight years ago, when Rowan was an infant and slept not a whit and I was therefore certifiably insane, I threatened our donor, Rob, with grievous bodily harm (well, in truth I threatened his computer, but we all know I really meant him). I threatened this bodily harm — and I maintain that no jury would convict me — after he showed up for a visit, witnessed me and Rachel in all of our sleep-deprived, postpartum sturm und drang, and then proceeded to spend approximately 900 hours on his computer researching the best possible yoga class in the city for HIS OWN SELF to attend, narrating out loud in front of me and Rachel the pros and cons of each studio as we paced back and forth covered in vomit and drool.

Part II — in which karma is a bitch — picks up over at LesFam today. Please go forth and read! Namaste.

photo credit: lululemon athletica via photopin cc