guess who!

I think it's pretty obvious who these people are, but Katie inspired me to post this WONDERFUL picture!!!

I'm voting for that guy, what's his name?

Election day is fast approaching and in addition to voting in a very boring gubernatorial race, we Kentuckians will elect a new Attorney General.

During his time in the state house, Stan Lee (who is running for the post) has proposed legislation to deny domestic partner benefits at all Kentucky Universities, petitioned to remove all books in languages other than English from public libraries, and holds up the "traditional family values" our Religious Right is so fond of touting.

I will not vote for Stan Lee in November. In fact, I will thoroughly enjoy pushing the button for, er, the guy who's running against him.

Name recognition is HUGE. Last night, Roy and I hung out with our friends Jenny and Richard and not one of us informed voters could come up with his name! The AG last poll I saw had 30% undecided in this race. When they go to vote in November, whose name will they recognize? The man who's been a vocal member of the House for the last 20 years.

Ladies and Gentlemen of Kentucky, repeat after me:

Jack Conway
Jack Conway
Jack Conway

Bring him up in casual conversation, such as...

"I was watching the news the other night and did you know that JACK CONWAY is running for Attorney General?"

and

"You know, the name JACK CONWAY sounds so much like Jack Bauer from '24'."

I think that any time you can associate Jack Conway with Jack Bauer, the better.

http://jackconway.org/main/

maternal advice

Last night at 10:00 (9:00 South Dakota time) I called my mom for advice. Sophie had developed a case of the pukes Thursday (fun! fun!) and, while she was in pretty good spirits, she threw up about 4 times throughout the day. Not bad, but enough to be inconvenient and gross.

So she went to bed, a tired girl, around 7:15. I checked on her periodically and no throw up. No crying. No diarrhea. All good. At 10:00, when Roy and I were sufficiently tired, I walked in to her room to find her laying in a new spot in her crib, away from a new wet mess... SOUND ASLEEP. She was dry but the spot was wet with nastiness.

So I called my mom.

I have a great mom.

Her advice was to let her sleep. "It's obviously bothering you more than her" she mused. Roy went and got some pedialight to make sure she didn't get dehydrated and we created a station on the dining room table for when she woke up: cleaning supplies, paper towels, and a bottle. By the time we walked back in to her room she had shoved herself into a corner of the bed with her butt stuck in the air. SOUND ASLEEP. This child needed sleep to get better, so I covered the mess in her crib with a waterproof pad and we went to bed, prepared to wake up any moment.

At 5:30 this morning, I heard a cry. Roy and I sprung in to action. She was still in the same butt-in-the-air position. She hadn't thrown up again thank god and I picked her up, stripped her down, and tried to calm the obviously thirsty baby. Roy came with the bottle of electrolights, I stripped the bed and washed the mattress, put on the clean sheet. Roy stayed with her while I went back to bed, prepared to get up with her around 7am. She finally went to sleep for about 15 minutes and I woke up to her crying and coughing. "oh no" I though. Sighing I walked back in to her room. She was standing in her dry crib, smiled at me, and said DAT! pointing at her mound of stuffed animals, apparently right as rain.

Welcome to parenthood.

just because she's so darn cute

These are not the droids you're looking for

This is, as I call it, Sophie's Jedi sweater. It's the first sweater that I have made and while it still requires some finishing touches, I'm proud. The yarn was beautiful to work with and the pattern was so easy.

And she looks adorable, just in time for fall.

Discovery

Sophie is very curious about putting things IN things, so I gave her one of my mixing bowls to play with. I'm glad I had the camera handy.

this blog is about... wait.. football? That can't be right.

Last night, the Kentucky Wildcats beat the Louisville Cardinals 40-34. Andre Woodson was brilliant and Roy and I shared a good laugh over our previous quarterback, Jared Lorenzen, who was too overweight to be the kind of quick, lean machine we have now. This was the first time Kentucky has beat Louisville since 2002 and the first time in 30 years that Kentucky has beat a top 10-ranked team. The fact that it was Louisville just made it sweeter.

No, you haven't stumbled in to the wrong blog. I am talking about (wait for it) football.

The truth of the matter is, it wasn't until I moved to Kentucky that I even understood the rules of the game. Last night, after Roy got up to let the dog in, I was able to inform him that the clock was stopped because it was a 1st down (because they always stop the clock at a first down.) Thanks to the dear and wonderful Greg Berry, I occasionally get to attend one of these games and will even deal with the awful traffic to do so. He is the one who patiently explained to me the finer points of "3rd and goal". God bless you, Greg, for your patience.

Not only that, but as a friend from Wisconsin once put it, "Kentucky Football must make you really excited for Kentucky Basketball." The last few years have been pretty rough for Wildcat football fans.

I've never been one for sports. Sure, I'd watch tennis with my dad and cheer for our winning soccer team in high school, but other than that, I just couldn't get in to it. Perhaps it was the... how shall I put this... lackluster sports teams that my alma matter is known for.

The tradition of the Kentucky Wildcats is impressive. I won't bore you with stats about our basketball team being the winningest team in the history of college basketball and how it ranks 2nd (to UCLA) in the number of NCAA titles, but I could. Trust me.

As I was jumping around my living room at 11:00 last night (well past my bedtime), hugging and high-fiveing my husband, rushing outside to enjoy the fireworks that were being set off on all sides of us, I though... wow. What the hell is going on here?

But I know exactly what it is. The Kentucky Wildcats are the home team. Sure, they're rooted for (and despised) all over the nation, but I pass Rupp Arena or Commonwealth Stadium nearly every day. We used to see Tayshawn Prince (who now plays for the Detroit Pistons) in the gas station. When players get arrested, it's by Lexington cops and we can look up their mugshots on the jail website!

These are my boys. I'll never forget finding out that I was pregnant with Sophie while the 'Cats were being destroyed by the Kansas Jayhawks in Tubby Smith's worst loss - hey, at least we got SOME good news! I like to fill out 2 brackets for the NCAA tournament so I can have one that lists Kentucky winning it all and Duke losing in the 1st round.

I wear my blue proudly.

Go cats!

it's so beautiful I almost need sleeves...

... but not quite. Maybe in the shade, but even then, the coolness feels so good on my bare arms. The forecast for the weekend is a high of 70. The anticipation is almost too much!

I don't know if I have ever seen the sky so blue.

How to celebrate a birthday...

It all starts with a leisurely breakfast.


And then some cake.


And your family comes to your party.


And then you have some more cake.


And then your friends come to your party.


And then you have more

and more
and more
cake.

And presents, which you can see here.

Redemption

Okay, so I promised myself that my next post would be pics of Sophie. This is faaar from it. But I read this today during my lunch break and wow. I felt the need to post it. Just wow.

A Prayer for Larry Craig

By James E. McGreevey

Monday, September 3, 2007; Page A15

The Washington Post

My gut wrenched when I read of Sen. Larry Craig's bathroom arrest. I remembered my own late-night encounter with the law at a Garden State Parkway rest stop following a political dinner in north Jersey.

I pulled into the rest stop, parked my car, flashed my headlights, which was "the signal," and waited. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I saw a state trooper approaching. I desperately tried to convince the trooper of my innocence, showing him my former prosecutor's badge, a gift from the office when I left. The trooper radioed his office and returned. "I never want to see you here again," he said. I survived for another day.

I was in my late 20s. It would be another 25 years before my parallel lives collided and I was coerced out of the "closet."

Why do grown men in their 20s, or their 60s, do such things? I can answer only for me.

As a child, recognizing my difference from other kids, I went to the local public library to try to better understand my reality. Back then, many library card catalogues didn't even list "homosexuality" as a topic. I had to go to "sexuality, deviant" to learn about myself, and the collected works were few and frightening: "Journal of Nervous and Mental Diseases," "Homosexuality: Its Causes and Cure," "Sexual Deviance & Sexual Deviants."

If you haven't experienced it, it may be hard to understand the sinking feeling most every gay boy or girl of my generation experienced upon coming across that section of the library. All I could do was slam the drawer closed and leave, steeped in hopelessness.

No relief was forthcoming from my then-Catholic faith, which said the practice of homosexuality was a "mortal sin" subject to damnation.

In the way that teenagers do, I came to the conclusion that my only options were suicide, something for which I could never find the courage, or "closeting" my homosexuality. After all the whispering, fights, insults, reading of academic journals and lessons from the church, you simply say to yourself: This thing, being gay, can't be me. Everything and everyone told me it was wrong, evil, unnatural and shameful. You decide: I'll change it, I'll fight it, I'll control it, but, simply put, I'll never accept it. You then attempt to place "it" in a metaphorical closet, keep it separate from open daily life and indulge it only in dark, secret places.

The danger of this decision is the implicit shame it carries. I was convinced I was worth less than my straight peers. I was at best inauthentic, and the longer I went without amending that dishonesty, the more ashamed I felt. And the third shame, for me, was my behavior. From the time in high school when I made up my mind to behave in public as though I were straight, I nonetheless carried on sexually with men.

How do you live with this shame? How do you accommodate your own disappointments, your own revulsion with whom you have become? You do it by splitting in two. You rescue part of yourself, the half that stands for tradition, values and America, the part that looks like the family you came from, and you walk away from the other half the way you would abandon something spoiled, something disgusting. This is a false amputation, because the other half doesn't stop existing. When I decided to closet my desire, I also denied the possibility of life as a healthy, integrated gay.

But being in the closet uniquely assisted me in politics. From my first run for the state legislature until my election as governor, all too often I was not leading but following my best guess at public opinion. Politics was for me a way to secure the crowd's approbation while maintaining a busyness that obfuscated the desires of my heart. Despite being a moderately liberal governor, my stance on marriage was: "between a man and a woman." The position, in my mind, created a tension with the lesbian-gay-bisexual-transgender community that affirmed my bona fides as a "straight." Only after the crisis that resulted in my resignation, when public opinion no longer mattered, did I realize the importance and legitimacy of same-sex marriage.

Ultimately, like Sen. Craig, I resigned for the perceived good of my family, state and political party. And in so doing, I at long last accepted a fundamental truth, namely, that I am a gay American. In my soul, I found peace. In my heart, I found love. In my psyche, I disassembled the twisted separate strands of my life to create a healthy integrated person. And with my God, I found purpose.

I can only pray that Larry Craig and his loving family come to peace with his truth, whatever that may be. To those who judge him harshly, I ask that they fill their hearts with compassion and equanimity. The senator did not have a lover on the payroll, as I did; nor did he engage in sexual relations for money or use his office for unethical professional or personal gain.

Is it possible that we hold him to a different standard because a same-sex entanglement is involved? If being gay is, as I believe, a natural gift of the creator, what choice does a gay person have in being gay? If we condemn sin in an equal manner, so be it. But what if our condemnation tells to members of the next generation that they are to be shamed, repudiated and vilified inequitably for being gay?

I pray that the tide of American history continues to sweep toward the inevitable expansion of freedom that recognizes the worth and dignity of every individual -- and that mine is the last generation that is required to choose between affairs of the heart and elected office.

The writer, a student at the General Theological Seminary of the Episcopal Church in New York, resigned in 2004 after two years as governor of New Jersey.

One year ago today

Dear Sophie,

Exactly one year ago, at this exact moment, you were fighting to get in to this world. Or maybe, once you caught a glimpse, fighting to stay in the warm tenderness of your mama. At this exact moment your daddy was getting breakfast and your granny was by my side. I had just gotten a minor epidural and my feet were in the stirrups.

Your granny called your dad and said he better get up to the room.

Dr. Cunningham told me it was time to push and brought out a mirror.

Your granny called your dad again and said he better get up there NOW.

At 9:42, you emerged. You cried until you heard my voice, then your cries diminished to a whimper. They handed you to me and you nursed immediately, like you had been doing it your whole life. You weighed 7lbs 11oz and were 20 inches long and we thought you were the most beautiful thing ever created. Looking back you looked more like a head of cabbage, but you were perfect.

Exactly one year ago, you changed our lives forever. We were totally prepared and utterly unprepared for your arrival. We had all the stuff - the swing, the bouncy chair, the blankets, clothes, and diapers. But, I didn't know I would ever be so willing to play second fiddle. I didn't know that in every decision, I would consider how it would affect you. I didn't know that after an hour away from you, I would miss you so much that I would feel it in my soul. I didn't know that a love this deep could exist.

As I write this, you sit in your highchair eating yogurt and toast. You eat most everything now, and you only turn up your nose at processed green beans and peas. Good girl.

Every day, your daddy and I share a glance that says everything that cannot be said in words. "I love her" is all that we can say, but that's not even close. Welcome to your second year, dear little bird. We will do everything we can to make it as beautiful as you are.

love,
mama

Ramona Quimby, Age 8

The other day I was at the (evil and wonderful) used book store that lives in the basement of the library. I was innocently minding my own business when I stumbled into the children's book section. I bought lots of things, like 'are you my mother' and 'the foot book'. But what really jumped out at my was 'Ramona Quimby, Age 8.'

This was the book that made me fall in love with reading and I knew I had to get it for Sophie. I re-read it for the first time as an adult and was ASTOUNDED at how brilliant this book is. The knowing looks between the parents that lost me as a child, how Beverly Cleary made me feel 8 all over again, helped me to re-live my 3rd grade year. This is what children's literature is all about and I can't wait to share it with my kids.

This one's for Grandma Bix and Grandpa Tim

My mom and dad live 900 miles away. This makes going home for Sunday dinner a little tricky and they don't see Sophie as often as any of us would like. So this is for you, mom and dad. It's a little long but a pretty good representation of family dinners. Enjoy!

oh, and p.s. Recently, Sophie has learned to dance - er, bob up and down to music. Yesterday, we caught her "dancing" to the theme music to Morning Edition. That's my girl!

Happy Labor Day

We've had a wonderful Labor Day weekend! Roy labored harder than I did. He hung peg board for my bags and worked in the kitchen, building shelves and installing a new light. I bought 6 dozen ears of corn to freeze for the winter so I shucked and blanched, Roy cooled and cut (using his fancy, make-shift duct tape and dish cloth glove)... and that's in addition to the regular weekend stuff like sweeping the floors, doing the ridiculous amount of laundry that accumulates, and take time to cook delicious dinners. For the first time in months the temps were below 85 degrees and we could open all the doors and windows. There is nothing like the smell of fresh air in a stuffy house.