Interesting Reads

Posted on January 10, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

When I started this blog a year ago, I promised myself that I would give it a 12-month commitment and, then, reevaluate.  I’ve done that.  I’ve decided to keep on blogging, I’m just not sure if I’ll stick to my stringent publishing schedule of two posts per week.  If that were the goal, I’ve already failed in 2012!  Whoopsies!  While I get myself refocused and rededicated, here are links to some news stories that have captured my attention recently. 

We have some important stuff to cover in the coming weeks, including C.J.’s fifth birthday and his new ballet/tap combo class.  More soon.  Thanks for sticking around!

“Open Letter to Parents: Your Kid Might Be Gay”, Huffington Post, 1/5/12

“Dear Customer Who Stuck Up For His Little Brother”, sweetupndown.tumblr.com, 1/3/12

“Riley on Marketing”, YouTube, 5/6/11

“The ‘genderless baby’ who caused a Storm of controversy in 2011”, TheStar.com, 12/26/11

“IT”, darlenetandogenderblog.wordpress.com, 12/20/11

“It’s Okay to be Neither”, RethinkingSchools.org, Fall 2011

 

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Reflections: Raising My Rainbow Turns One

Posted on January 4, 2012 by raisingmyrainbow

Last October my effeminate three-year-old son wanted to be Snow White for Halloween.  I Googled a bunch of random phrase combos, trying to fit a life dilemma into a search bar.  Boys dressing as girls for Halloween.  My son wants to be a princess for Halloween.  Boys as Snow White.  Boys as Disney Princesses.  Should I let my three-year-old be Snow White for Halloween.  Gender-neutral Halloween costumes.

Not much turned up with those search terms.  I got search happy.  Boys playing with girls toys.  Boys dressing as girls.  Boys liking girls things.  What are the chances of an effeminate boy growing up to be gay?  Little gay boys.

I gave up Google and moved to parenting sites and mom blogs.  There weren’t sections within the parenting sites that I visited or dedicated mom blogs for people like me raising a child like mine.  I desperately wanted to connect and get some answers. 

Nerdy Applebottom published her infamous “My Son is Gay” post about her son being Daphne for Halloween.  I got excited.  Then she went back to writing content more typical of a general mom blog.  But, I wanted more about Boo.  I felt like I was so close to finding a mom and child and blog that I could relate to.  Enough waiting and searching, I’d be that blogger I’d been looking for.

So, my Christmas gift to myself and 2011 New Year’s Resolution was to journal about the adventures in raising a slightly effeminate, possibly gay, totally fabulous son. As a new year launched, so did RaisingMyRainbow.com.

I started RaisingMyRainbow.com for myself.  To record my feelings and experiences, like any blogger, but not to rant or stand on a cyber-soapbox or be sensationalistic. 

I started it for any other person in a situation similar to mine, raising a gender nonconforming son.  There had to be more of us out there, right?  Right?!  We need support, to hear other people’s stories and know that we aren’t alone.

And, I started it in hopes that I would draw the LBGTQ audience, because they are the ones who have the answers to a lot of my questions about raising a child like mine.  Like: When did you know you were different?  When did you know you were gay?  Did you do this?  Did you do that?  How did your parents treat you?  How do you wish they would have treated you?  How did your peers treat you?  What can I do for my son that you wish someone would have done for you?

My audience wasn’t everybody.  I understood that.  I’ve heard from people who aren’t comfortable with my blog.  But for every one email of opposition, I get about a dozen of support. 

When I started writing I knew I had an effeminate son.  I didn’t know that I had a gender creative, gender nonconforming, gender variant son.  I wasn’t hip to the lingo.  A few weeks in I learned that.

Although I knew the difference between gender and sexuality, I had it reinforced by readers time and time again.  I still do.  I don’t mind.  Have I considered that C.J. is transgender?  Sure, I’ve considered it a lot actually. It’s hard to see a four-year-old boy in a cheerleader skirt waving pom-poms and not consider it. Go ahead, try.  For now, he identifies mostly as a boy.

Early on, people started sending me research, links to articles and videos that they thought I’d find interesting and they started sending mail to C.J.  A dialogue started that spans 45 countries.  As it happened, I realized something that I had never thought about before.  All over the world, there are families raising gender nonconforming kids.  The next generation of the LGBTQ community is being raised, right now.  And, you know us parents, the ones raising that next generation of the LGBTQ community?  We have no idea what we’re doing.  As is the case with most parents.  Some have assembled around my blog and some have emailed me.  The joys and struggles that come with raising a possibly LGBTQ child are much the same, whether you live in Untied States, Ireland or Dubai.  I didn’t realize that until I was about six months into blogging. 

At about the six month mark, too, the hate mail nearly stopped.   I had prepared myself for it to only increase with time.  But, the opposite happened.   I think that there are three reasons for this.  The first is that I think people got the sense that I wasn’t going away.  They were right.  The second is that I think people saw, in the comments at the end of each post, that I have a huge amount of support.  They were right.  And, lastly, I think that if people read even one blog post they saw that I love my child and I’m just trying to parent in the best, healthiest, most loving way possible.  They were right again.  From time to time people will ask why I don’t approve negative comments to be published on my blog.  I would, if there were any.  Hate speech, profanities, bullying and foul comments wouldn’t see the light of day.  But, constructive criticism, opposing views and uneducated opinions would be there for all to see, if there were any.

I’m a little Type A, if you haven’t noticed.  So I wrote a plan for my blog before I started it.  My plan was to publish two blog posts a week.  Monday’s blog post would be the meatier of the two.  Thursday’s post would be brief.  I’ve stuck to my schedule pretty well considering that I have a job, two active kids, a husband, friends, hobbies and a life.  But, at times, it has been tiresome.  This is my 100th post.  Cheers!

It has been an amazing year of learning. We’ve learned a lot about ourselves and our sons.  We’ve learned that for the safety of our family, we may have to distance ourselves from certain types of people.  We’ve learned who our real allies are, the people who will, no matter what, support us and join us as we take our journey and raise a gender nonconforming, possibly LGBTQ son.  Most importantly, we’ve learned that we aren’t alone.  We began having play dates with other gender creative families.  I’ve built relationships with moms who traveled this path and are a little further down the road than I am and are now raising amazing young adults.  I’ve reconnected with people from my past who were struggling with their gender identification and sexuality before my very eyes, without me or our peers knowing. 

I’ve seen the kind of father my husband is and have been amazed.  Raising a child like C.J. can tear marriages apart, but, I can say that, after this year, I’ve never felt more secure and confidant in my marriage and the man I picked to spend the rest of my life with.  I’ve seen our older son start to “get it,” and start down the path of being a really cool person who has an open heart and open mind.  He’s a person who knows compassion, understanding, tolerance and, most of all, fun.  He gets things that a lot of members of his peer group aren’t even aware of yet.  In some ways he’s years ahead with his innocence still intact.  I can’t wait to see who he becomes.

During the last year we’ve entered the warm embrace of the LGBTQ community and the community of families who are or have raised a gender creative child.  That warm embrace feels good, it feels like home.

We’ve learned the deadliness of gossip and how it can poison good things.  We’ve learned that prejudice can breed prejudice and work every day to teach our children to be tolerant, even when the favor isn’t returned.

One question that I do get a lot, still, is people wondering what I’m going to tell C.J. about the blog when he gets older.  In short: everything.  I’ve written every post with him in mind.  I’m glad that I’ve encouraged myself to record the happenings of his fourth year.  These are stories that entertained you and I hope that he holds them dear to his heart someday.  More than that, I have other cool stuff to show him, like hundreds and hundreds of emails of support and some emails from people whose lives we’ve changed.  Parents who gave up struggling over gender and, instead, choose to simply love their child, no questions asked.  That is one of my proudest achievement of 2011.

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Christmastime 2011

Posted on December 21, 2011 by raisingmyrainbow

Last Christmas C.J. was beyond ready for Santa.  He had memorized the name of the specific doll that he wanted and was eager to let the big man know just what was expected of him on Christmas morning.  C.J. was nearly four and there was very little stage fright.

Look at those lashes and pretty pink lips!

This year on a trip to the mall, as we approached Santa in the center court, C.J. started to, simultaneously, pull away from me and hide behind me.  He ran in a circle around me as I ran in a circle around him, each of us trying to grab the other.

“I don’t want to see Santa!  I want to see Mrs. Claus and the reindeer,” he pleaded.

“Okay, okay, we aren’t going to see Santa today.”

“I want to see Mrs. Claus and sit on HER lap and tell HER what I want,” C.J. insisted.

Great.  Where was I going to find a place where C.J. could sit on Mrs. Claus’s lap? 

“There’s Mrs. Claus,” I said pointing to Santa’s photographer who just might have been too big for the customary elf costume and was, therefore, relegated to the role of Mrs. Claus;  which is the role I would have wanted anyway because, one would assume, that it comes with a little more respect and right to authority.  But, really, what do I know about the inner workings of the Mall Claus-to-elf employment org chart.

“She doesn’t look like Mrs. Claus.  She’s not old enough.  Where are the reindeer?,” C.J. asked.

“They must be parked out by Nordstrom Rack,” I mumbled, as we cut through J.C. Penny’s to get to our car. 

A few days later, our family of four was at Knott’s Berry Farm.  Bless their berry souls for letting police and fire families in free between Thanksgiving and Jan. 31.  My intention was to get the boys’ picture taken with Santa at Knott’s.  When my oldest son was younger — before C.J. made his grand entrance with a flourish into our lives — I considered myself a connoisseur of Santas and, so, I know that Santa at Knott’s is as close to the real deal as you’re going to get. 

We walked into his workshop, which was filled with toy souvenirs to buy, and C.J. quickly realized what was going on.  He began to wring his hands, which is what he always does when he is getting nervous and unsure.  But, he also knew that if he was going to tell Mr. Claus what he wanted for Christmas, now was the time.  The countdown to the 25th was in full swing, he knew this because most of the chocolates were gone from his advent calendar. 

C.J.'s souvenir from Knott's. He's got a thing for Lucy lately,

C.J.’s Brother hopped right into Santa’s sleigh to shoot the shit for a while.  His legs were outstretched and crossed at the ankles; he had one arm up on the side of the sleigh and was chatting up Santa about Bey Blades, video games and Percy Jackson.  C.J. would not enter the sleigh.  So he sat on the steps to the sleigh.  He wouldn’t look at Santa.  Santa leaned across the sleigh, across C.J.’s Brother and tapped C.J.’s shoulder. 

“What do you want for Christmas little boy?,” he said jollily.

“Mama, what do I want for Christmas?,” C.J. looked at me helplessly.  He froze.  Like I would if I came face to face Tina Fey or a grizzly bear.

“How about anything Disney Princess?,” I offered.  Funny, at that point I was more concerned with helping my son capitalize on his big moment than what Santa would think about my boy wanting a girl toy.  Things have really changed in a year.

“Yeah, ANYTHING Disney Princess,” C.J. said with a big smile.

“Alright!,” Santa said assuredly as he gave C.J. a high five.  The flash snapped and we walked away.

C.J. wasn’t specific with Santa, but he sure was with me.  In the form of a list that is two pages long.  Single spaced.  His brother’s list took up a mere half a page. 

The Top Seven Things C.J. Wants for Christmas:

  • Barbie Princess Charm School Princess Doll (her outfit magically transforms into three different fashionable looks!)
  • All the Monster High Dolls
  • Everything and anything Disney Princess
  • Fisher Price Doodle Bear
  • Pink or purple razor scooter (because he’s so rad that now he scoots on two wheels, not three)
  • A jean skirt for his dress up bin
  • Hot Wheel’s wall tracks (which really threw us for a loop)

The Top Seven Things C.J.’s Brother Wants for Christmas:

  • Xbox Kinect
  • TV
  • Cell phone
  • Bike
  • Backpack with only one cross-body strap (because “the new kid in his class who just moved here from Chicago has one and it looks really cool”)
  • Dictionary
  • Rock tumbler
  • Microscope

My sweet angel...

On his last day of school before Winter Break, C.J. took part in his pre-K class’s Holiday Recital.  He was so excited because all of the kids – boy and girls — got to be angels and wear white dresses/gowns that they made themselves from white pillowcases.

I talked to Ms. Sensible after the performance and let her know how happy C.J. was because all of the kids dressed the same and got to wear dresses. 

“You don’t think that that as a well thought out decision this year?,” she asked with a wink. I hope Santa is good to Ms. Sensible this Christmas.  And, I hope he’s good to all of you, because you’ve been amazing to us this year.

I’m planning on taking a blogging-vacay from here until 2012.  I’ll see you when I return, right?   Cheers!

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Holiday Tidbits #2

Posted on December 15, 2011 by raisingmyrainbow

Every year during the holidays we adopt a needy child through my work and we buy her/him the things s/he wants most.  Of course, this year I selected Jonah, age 5, who wanted Justin Beiber’s holiday album, Under the Mistletoe.  C.J. loves that he shares a love of the Beibs with Jonah.  He wanted to meet him and listen to the c.d. together.  Maybe next year.

* * *

FYI, C.J. is still working on his Christmas list.  It’s two full pages long.  Single spaced.  His brother’s list is half a page long.  C.J. is holding out hope that he will get everything on his list.  This should be interesting.

* * *

I have a question for you: What books do you read and enjoy that are about growing up LGBTQ and/or parenting a gay child?  I just might want to expand my library (and learn from other people’s mistakes).  Let me know if you have any suggestions.

* * *

I caught C.J. singing in the bath.  Without further ado….Here is C.J. covering his favorite holiday song, Wham’s “Last Christmas.” (Click the arrow on the player below.)
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My Son Wants to be a Mommy, Not a Daddy

Posted on December 12, 2011 by raisingmyrainbow

His name was Aaron.  He had stick-straight, baby-fine blonde hair that fell in his eyes.  He had glasses and was tall for his age.  We were in early elementary school and I could always count on my persuasive powers to lure him toward the corner of the classroom where the pretend “house” was.  There was a small kitchen, a bassinet and an olive-green-colored rotary phone with a long spiraling cord. 

That’s where it happened.  That’s where I could convince him – when none of the other boys were paying attention — to be the Daddy, the token male who would play house with us.  Finally, we had a traditional, nuclear family.  I was the Mommy and Aaron was the Daddy.  Sometimes we posed like we were getting our family portrait taken in the Sears photo studio.  He sat on a stool, I was behind him with my two hands on one of his shoulders, he held our babies in his arms. I played the part of Sears’s photographer, too.  The picture is still in my mind.

One big happy family.  Poor Aaron.  I thought of him one morning last week.  I was tying C.J.’s shoes and noticed that he had been quiet while getting dressed for school.  C.J. is never quiet while getting dressed; after all, he has big opinions about what he should and shouldn’t wear.

“Mommy, today when we get to school, can you tell Gigi that I don’t wanna be the Daddy all the time?  Sometimes I want to be the Mommy.”

“What?,” I asked, a little confused.

“When we play house at free time she always makes me be the Daddy and sometimes I wanna be the Mommy.”

I stared at C.J. as numerous thoughts ran through my mind:

  1.  The NERVE of some little girl telling my son that he can’t be a Mommy!
  2. Well, at this point it really isn’t possible for him to be the Mommy.
  3. What does it matter to Gigi if C.J. wants to be the Mommy, she really is a bossy little thing.
  4. Maybe C.J. needs to learn that he does have to be the Daddy because he is the boy and boys are Daddies.
  5. How would Gigi’s parents feel about me and my son teaching her a thing or two about gender and identity?
  6. Maybe C.J. can be the primary caregiver “Daddy” while the “Papa” is working the 9-to-5 at some hip ad agency or modern design firm.  Or, maybe the “Papa” to C.J.’s “Daddy” would be a lawyer or doctor.

C.J. has a group of four or five girls he hangs out with consistently at school.  Occasionally another little red-headed boy will join the mix.  At free time they like to play house and C.J. is always relegated to the role of Daddy.  This, to most, would be the obvious and only choice for him, unless he wanted to be the baby, but he is way too type A for that.

We were walking up to his classroom and he started crying, which he has never – in his illustrious, two-year academic career – done.  They were slow, silent tears, but they were there. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked as I knelt down to his level.

“Will you talk to Gigi?”

“I’ll talk to Ms. Sensible and I’ll help you, okay,” I said.

His peers filed into the classroom and we hung out on the sidelines.  Ms. Sensible could see that C.J. had been crying.

“We’re having a rough morning.  Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” she said

I explained the situation to Ms. Sensible. I explained that, sometimes, my son wants to be a Mommy, not a Daddy, and the girls in the class won’t let him.  I explained that I understood both sides.

“I don’t know how to handle this.  I’ve never done this before,” I admitted to her.

“Me neither,” she said to me and we stood quietly.

“I’m going to email his therapist and see what she says,” I said.

“Yeah, do that and let me know what she suggests,” Ms. Sensible said.  “For today, I’ll keep an eye on the situation.”

“Thank you.”

C.J. looked at us with hope in his eyes.  Today, he might get to be a Mommy.

I emailed C.J.’s therapist.  She’s amazing.  She’s cute, hip, sweet and spunky.  I think she’s my age.  If she weren’t my son’s therapist and there wasn’t the whole doctor/patient thing going on, I think we could hang out and have fun.  We would get a mani-pedi while reading gossip magazines and, then, sneak off for a Starbucks and some chocolate.  Or, maybe we would meet up for dinner and each say “yeah, I could do a glass of wine” and that glass of wine would turn into two and a half glasses each and we would end up in Nordstrom trying on perfume and giggling uncontrollably at something that amused no one else in the entire store.  Maybe we would go to a farmer’s market.

But, alas, in the real world, I only see her once a month when C.J. has an appointment.  She specializes in gender issues, parenting and children.  So, she’s a perfect fit for us and well worth the hour and a half drive each way.

Anyway, I emailed C.J.’s therapist and she immediately proved why we adore her.  I don’t know how she got so smart, but I’m glad she did.

She said that we should step back and look at the bigger picture.  “C.J.’s friends won’t let him ___________ and it hurts him badly enough that he cries about it.”  She told me to encourage C.J. to use his words to express himself to his friends, tell them that they are hurting his feelings and ask them to stop the action that is hurting his feelings.

Simple enough, right? We practiced at home.

“I don’t wanna always be the Daddy, I wanna be the Mommy sometimes, too.  It’s not fair that I always have to be the Daddy,” C.J. told me he was going to say to his girl friends.

I picked C.J. up from school.

“How’d it go?,” I asked him.

“Gigi said no.  I can’t be the Mommy.  I always have’ta be the Daddy.”

I listened and observed.  He didn’t seem that upset.  The next step is for Ms. Sensible to talk with the girls to discuss the importance of taking everyone’s feelings and opinions into consideration.  It’s more a lesson in empathy than gender. 

We can all use a lesson on empathy every now and then.  I thought about looking Aaron up on Facebook to possibly apologize for not asking him if he wanted to be the Mommy, instead of the Daddy.  I don’t remember his last name.  Maybe it’s for the best.  But, Aaron, if you are reading this, I’m sorry.  I never thought to ask if you wanted to be the Mommy.

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Ballerinas, Buns and Boobs

Posted on December 4, 2011 by raisingmyrainbow

Most mornings I awake to my two sons and some sort of mayhem.  It could include, but is not limited to, someone’s extreme hunger; children eating sugary contraband after sneaking downstairs unattended; a lost doll; a lost password for a computer game that is expressly forbidden until at least 7 a.m.; a lost T.V. remote control; someone’s dire thirst; or death by morning breath as one of my children spit-whispers directly into my face “Mommy? Are you awake?”

As part of the morning routine, I make six meals (three breakfasts and three lunches).  I do my makeup in a small decorative mirror that hangs above our wet bar, which also allows me to keep an eye on the kids as they eat their breakfasts and watch cartoons.  I get them dressed.  Three sets of teeth brushed.  I do their hair.  I load their backpacks.  I load my bags.  Then I can get dressed.  Then, sometimes, I have time to do my own hair.  All of this in an hour and a half.

On Wednesday I was upstairs.  Hair in hot rollers.  In only my bra and panties.  The boys were ready for school, waiting for me on the couch and watching the rest of the latest episode of Pokemon.

“I see ballerinas!,” I heard C.J. say downstairs in the living room.

“I SEE BUNS!,” I heard C.J. exclaim.  Then came laughter.  I continued to hunt for something to wear.  Hot rollers burning my ears. 

“I SEE BOOBS!”   Uproarious laughter.

I ran down the stairs.  C.J. and his brother were pointing and giggling at the T.V.  I rounded the corner to find them watching the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, which I had recorded the night before. 

“All right, settle down,” I said hunting for the remote control. Throwing decorative pillows to and fro.

“I see YOUR boobs and buns, Mommy!,” C.J. declared.  Now both boys were pointing and laughing at me. 

“Where’s the remote?,” I asked.

C.J.’s Brother handed it to me and informed me that he turned on the fashion show because he and C.J. wanted to watch it.  I started to change the channel and C.J. started to cry.  I started to think that my hot rollers had been in way too long and I would now look like more like Little Orphan Annie and less like Sofia Vergara.  Great.

“Mommy, pwease don’t change it.  Pwease, pwease, pwease,” C.J. pleaded.  “I love dare costumes.  I love dos angels.  I love da wings.”  Of course my sweet, creative gender nonconforming son would fall in love with pageantry and exhilaration of a an amazing fashion show.

C.J.’s Brother was blushing, shaking his head yes and giving me a glimpse of what a pre-pubescent boy might look like.  I took a good look as Miranda Kerr bounced her perky way down the catwalk.  I lost focus when I saw Orlando Bloom.  He smiled.  I smiled. 

“You’re in the way!  Her shoe came off!,” C.J. yelled, waving me to the side.

The show cut to interviews and quick snippets of past Victoria’s Secret Fashion Shows.  I looked at the clock.  We were going to be late.

“I have to put my clothes on.  You have two minutes until we load the car,” I called over my shoulder as I took the stairs two at a time and started to take the rollers out of my hair.  I threw on some clothes, put my hair in my standard “Bad Hair Day” style and hoped the curls would fall with time.  I raced back down the stairs and herded the kids into the car.

“Can we watch the rest when we get home from school,” C.J.’s Brother asked.

“Yeah, can we Mommy?  Can I get one of those underwear costumes for Christmas?,” C.J. asked.

“We’ll see and they don’t sell them in the store,” I answered both boys.  I had no intention of letting them watch the rest of the show or getting C.J. an “underwear costume,” but didn’t want to argue at that point.

“C.J., you might be able to order one of those angel costumes online.  We can check it out when we get home,” C.J.’s Brother offered.

“No…please…you guys.”

There were no words.  I had no idea what to say.  We arrived at school.

“I can’t wait to tell my friends about dos angels.  I love dos wings,” C.J. chattered as he skipped to class, holding my hand.  I said nothing. 

That was the day that my little boy, wearing socks made for a little girl, told his four girlfriends in class about the angels in their underwear and the dress up costumes that they might be able to buy online.

That night, with the boys tucked in their beds, I sat down with a new bag of Pepperidge Farm’s Nantucket cookies to watch the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show.  C.J. and his brother really would have liked the Super Angels portion of the show; I was tempted to show it to them.  The cookies started to not taste as good as I watched the models work the walk.  “Yeah, but they are in their twenties and haven’t had kids yet,” I scoffed to myself.  Not true anymore.  I was lying to myself.  They are in thirties, just like me.  They are moms, just like me.  I closed the bag of cookies.  I deleted the show.  I went to bed and counted angels until I fell asleep.  I’m sure my boys did the same.

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Holiday Tidbits

Posted on December 2, 2011 by raisingmyrainbow

C.J.’s Brother:            C.J. are you singing “Deck the Halls?”

C.J.:                              Yeah.

C.J.’s Brother:             Where did you learn that song?

C.J.:                              At Forever 21.

* * *

In school this week, C.J. was instructed to draw a snowman via connecting the dots and, then, color him like a “traditional” snowman.  Here’s C.J.’s idea of a “traditional” snowman.  C.J. has never seen snow firsthand; perhaps he really does believe it is purple.  I love the sassy snowman’s matching pink hat, scarf and gloves.  I wonder if they came as a set or if he had to painstakingly search for the three separately.  I just made a mental note to ask C.J. when he wakes up tomorrow.

* * *

There is a local radio station that plays only holiday music from Thanksgiving to New Year’s.  C.J. and his brother want to listen to it nonstop (which is okay with me, but it may drive their dad a little crazy, allegedly).  The song that C.J. loves the most?  The only song that consistently gets him moving and grooving?  Wham’s “Last Christmas.”  Cheers to you, George Michael!

* * *

This has always been one of my favorite Christmas decorations.  I put it out this year and my brother, Uncle Uncle, said in his jolliest voice: “Ho Ho Homo Santa!”  If this is Ho Ho Homo Santa, what would be a reasonable name for his reindeer?  It’s something I’ve been contemplating for days now.

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Christmas Decorating Gone Wild

Posted on November 28, 2011 by raisingmyrainbow

“I LOVE ANGELS!”

“Okay, C.J., but we have to get all of the Christmas decorations down before we can start opening the boxes,” I repeat over his screams.

It’s the Sunday after Black Friday (or Thanksgiving or whichever one you celebrate) and C.J.’s Dad is up in the attic handing down boxes of decorations to me and C.J.’s Brother.  As each box is passed down, C.J. asks what’s in it.  I reply by reading the writing on the box.

Two boxes came down that read “Angel” and C.J. nearly pissed his new pajama bottoms that I bought at one in the morning two days earlier.  He was bouncing around yelling “I LOVE ANGELS” while his dad was yelling “IT’S TOO HOT TO BE CHRISTMAS” from the 100 degree attic.  Of course we had a heat wave in Southern California the day that C.J.’s Dad had to climb to the hottest spot of the house and retrieve 10 boxes of heaviness so that we could deck the halls with boughs of holly; it’s not exactly his most favorite chore of the year anyway. 

C.J. finally got his wish, to open the two boxes marked “Angel.” He squealed out of habit and then a look of slight disappointment crossed his face.  I don’t blame him.  The angels aren’t my favorite either, but once upon a time when I loved Shabby Chic and thought Rachel Ashwell was a design super-star, I loved them. 

“When do we paint them?” he asked.

“We don’t paint them,” I said.

“But, they are just white,” he stated not being able to comprehend why a blank canvas would be left blank.

“Yes, angels are just white.”

“Dat’s boring.”

C.J.’s Dad swooped in to put the angels in the spot they have occupied every Christmas for the past eight years.  He obviously wanted to get the decorating job done and to watch the football game that was on T.V. and it wasn’t helping that Uncle Uncle sat on the couch watching “Pop Up Video.”

“NO!,” C.J. yelled. “The angels don’t both go there.  One goes there and one goes here.”

He was pointing dramatically and moving things around and standing back to give his merchandising a better look.  He was like a mini Tim Gunn in the workroom.

“The angels have both always gone here,” C.J.’s Dad pointed.

“Boys, let’s not fight,” I instructed, as I do a few times each day.

The angles in their place (one where they have always gone and one where C.J. wanted them to go), we opened another box. 

“A STAR!,” C.J. yelled as he picked up the gold star that perches on top of our Christmas tree.  He held it high above his head with his right arm and marched through the living room, kitchen, dining room and family room. 

“I’m da Statue of Liberty!,” he announced.

“C.J., please get back here and give me the star.  I don’t want you to break it,” I said.  Maybe I should have decorated when the kids were at school.  C.J. proceeded to run around the house with the star, being Lady Liberty as I chased him.

He handed over the star and, when I wasn’t looking, took two of our beaded and embroidered Christmas stockings and put them on his feet, they went up to his crotch. 

“I’m an ice skater girl!,” he said.  Sure enough, the glass beads on the stockings allowed him to glide on the tiled kitchen floor.  A regular old Johnny Weir.

Uncle Uncle was still on the couch, now getting the 4-1-1 on Christina Aguilera’s “Ain’t No Other Man” video.  The person best suited for decorating my house wasn’t helping.  Between him and C.J., I should have been able to host my own version of Design Star and have a seriously festive interior.  Instead, Uncle Uncle got the boys hopped up on Rice Krispie treats that they made the night before when he was the babysitter on duty. Which was when C.J.’s Dad and I went on a date and saw J. Edgar, who I had no idea was gay (I’m not exactly “up” on history) and while everybody in the theater was hating on Mr. Hoover, I was pulling for him because he liked to dress in his mommy’s dresses and because he cried after she told him that she’d “rather have a dead son than a daffodil (gay) son.”

Yes, the frenzy of the holiday season is upon us: boring angels, liberty stars, ice skaters, J. Edgar Hoover and all.

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C.J. is Thankful For…..

Posted on November 25, 2011 by raisingmyrainbow

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, a day for celebrating the blessings of the past year and the things we are thankful for.  Among many other things, I’m thankful for this blog and my supportive readers.   I asked C.J. what he was thankful for and here are his top five answers:

  • I’m thankful for my family.
  • I’m thankful for clothes.  I like clothes.
  • I’m thankful for toilets so I don’t have to poop on the floor.
  • I’m thankful for stop signs so our cars don’t crash.
  • I’m thankful for American fags.  (Come to find out, he meant American flags.)

* * *

Quick request, if you read Raising My Rainbow and are part of a gender studies program, can you please email me at raisingmyrainbow@gmail.com or leave a comment below letting me know where you study or which school you are affiliated with.  It’s just for my knowledge.  I’m just interested.  Promise.  Thanks so much!

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Are Gender Nonconforming Kids Special Needs Kids?

Posted on November 21, 2011 by raisingmyrainbow

“Do you ever feel like you’re raising a special needs child?,” a friend asked me recently.

“Yes, but I feel bad saying it,” I admitted.

“You shouldn’t,” she assured me.  “My husband and I say all that the time that we don’t know how you do it, we don’t know what we would do if we had a son like C.J.”

The view from my run. C.J. in a dress, sweats and his brother's old shoes. Holding on to Frankie Stein and listening to Britney Spears. And, yes, he's too big for the jogging stroller.

My son is gender nonconforming and I consider him to be a specials needs child.  He is a child and he has special needs.  Very special.  Like other special needs children, he needs an advocate, a protector, someone who will take a little extra time to explain things to him and someone to educate others on his behalf.  That person is me.  And, often times it’s exhausting. Some days I’m tired of living and breathing gender issues and it feels like there is no escape.

I travel before him, where and when I can, to alert people to his arrival and his uniqueness. I clear the way, often wondering if that’s what’s best.  Am I encouraging people to have preconceived notions about him before they meet him?  Am I doing him an injustice and disservice by not letting people get to know him and love him as him, gender nonconformity aside.  Can his gender nonconformity ever be an aside?

Special needs kids are often defined by what they cannot do.  My son cannot blend in.  He cannot wear boring socks.  He cannot resist having his nails painted.  He cannot stop dancing when music comes on.  He cannot resist the urge to strike a pose for the camera.  He cannot play pedestrian games like cops and robbers or cowboys and Indians.  He cannot shun a good skirt with lots of “twirl” to it.  He cannot choose to play with a group of boys over a group of girls.  He cannot keep his hands off of beautiful hair.  He cannot say no to a great craft.  He cannot turn the other cheek to things that sparkle, glow, shine or have a good use of color.  He cannot conform to traditional gender roles.  No way, no how.

I love him for all of his “cannots.”  But not everybody thinks that they are as special as I do. 

C.J. has a butterfly fetish lately. He got this one at the local farmer's market.

I was in the grocery store the other day and C.J. was wearing Tinkerbell boots, pink sunglasses and beaded accessories of his design.  He had a pink plastic microphone and was singing Aqua’s “I’m a Barbie Girl” like he wrote it, sang it and copyrighted it.  The produce section truly is his stage.  Not everybody wants to be his audience.  I get comments.  I get looks.  I give comments.  I give looks.  People insinuate and sometimes say flat-out that my son is gender nonconforming because I’ve made him that way.  Damn me for encouraging him; him being a special needs child is my fault.

If my son had Down Syndrome or Autism or a peanut allergy, they wouldn’t blame me for his special needs.  They wouldn’t find fault in me and say that I caused it. 

I’m thankful that my child is healthy and happy. When your child has special needs all sorts of fears and worries seep in, grab hold and tease your reason.  When your child has special needs, so do you.

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