The Republic of T.

I’ve never spent much time in or near family court. Even when Parker’s adoption was finalized, D.C. family court was having an “adoption day,” where almost nothing was on the docket but adoption finalizations. Our attorney told us that the judges really loved “adoption day, ” because it was such a welcome change from what they saw on a daily basis. But that day, we were so happy that we didn’t give much thought to what the family court judges see all day. After all, we hadn’t seen it.

But yesterday was different. We were among four families finalizing adoptions yesterday, but it wasn’t adoption day, so much as “adoption hour.” And we were in among the other families, who are in and out of family court for reasons a lot less joyful than our reason for being there. We sat beside some of those families, talked with them, saw the judge, finalized Dylan’s adoption, and went home.

I didn’t think much about the experience, until I got home and read the fallout from John McCain’s comments on gay adoptions.

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It’s official! We finalized Dylan’s adoption today, in front of the judge and everything! So, I can finally post a picture. And just for good measure.

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As you’re reading this, I’m either on my way to, in, or on my way back from New Jersey. There reason for the trip is incredibly happy one. Today is the day we’re finalizing Dylan’s adoption. Last week we got a letter from the adoption agency’s lawyer, confirming the court date. Wanting to make sure that Seven months after we first got word that he’d been born — and after his birthmother chose us to be his adoptive parents — and set out to lay eyes on the newest addition to our family, the judge will declare that Dylan is finally a member of our family; and that we legally and officially what we’ve known we were since day one: a family.

So, you might think I’d be all set to rail against John McCain saying he doesn’t “believe in” our families.

In recent weeks, Mr. McCain has left many Republicans unsettled about his ideological bearings by toggling between reliably conservative issues like support for gun owners’ rights and an emphasis on centrist messages like his willingness to tackle global warming and provide a path to citizenship for illegal immigrants.

Those tensions were apparent in the interview as well, as Mr. McCain offered a variety of answers — sometimes nuanced in their phrasing, sometimes not — about his views on social issues.

Mr. McCain, who with his wife, Cindy, has an adopted daughter, said flatly that he opposed allowing gay couples to adopt. “I think that we’ve proven that both parents are important in the success of a family so, no, I don’t believe in gay adoption,” he said.

Frankly, I don’t need John McCain to “believe” in my family. But his statement is an opportunity to talk about something I’ve been thinking about for a while.

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Well, that didn’t take long. Just this morning I asked:

I’m just wondering if it’s too far-fetched to suggest that we’re probably not too far from the day when someone — a gay couple who gets married, or the person who officiates — does get arrested and locked up. What happens then?

I guess I have my answer.

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Actually, I didn’t. And I couldn’t if I wanted to.

Why’d I bring up serial killers? I actually spent several months last year immersed in research about serial killers for a fictional project I worked on during my brief sojourn as a consultant. I’d always been simultaneously intrigued and repelled by serial killers, and the research — because I swore I would spend as much time learning about the victims as I did the killers, up to and including looking at any crime-related photos I found — eventually left me more repulsed than intrigued. And, in at last one aspect, surprised.

What amazed me was how many of them were married, and how many of them had married after their crimes, trials, and convictions. After learning everything else about them — reading and seeing what they did to their victims, and reading the accounts of those who survived — what probably surprised me most was that there apparently wasn’t anything these people could do that was bad enough for them to lose the right to marry.

What brought this to mind was news of the latest serial killer to tie the knot, or at least the latest to try.

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Five-year-olds, for those who don’t know, ask a lot of questions. No. Really. I mean a lot of questions. Questions about questions, even. My policy, as a parent, has been to answer the ones I can (age-appropriate answers, of course), and to say “I don’t know” when I really don’t know the answer.

Some questions are easy. Parker had noticed that Daddy is a vegetarian, and the stuff that Daddy eats doesn’t taste like the stuff that Papa eats. So, I just explain to him that Daddy doesn’t eat meat and Papa does. But after reading this Washington Post article, I realized that there’s another question coming my way sooner or later, and I haven’t really thought about how I’m going to answer.

“Daddy drinks wine. Why don’t you?” asked my son Nico at dinner not long ago. Taken aback, I considered my response: “Because I’d just guzzle down the whole bottle plus the two more in the fridge before passing out in the mashed potatoes” would have been true but probably not the appropriate response for a 3-year-old.

Instead, I lied. “I just don’t like the taste, sweetie. You know how you don’t like, um, corn?”

Nico wrinkled his nose with distaste, and we moved on to other subjects, such as why cats have mouths but still can’t talk and whether Hugo from school is in fact mean or whether he was just having a bad day.

Comparing wine to corn seemed to work in the short run, but I knew it was only a temporary solution. What do you tell your kid when you’re an alcoholic and a heroin addict in recovery? Or if you have other skeletons in your closet?

I had been sober for five years when my son was born, so he never knew me in the days when I used to walk around with smeared lipstick and a tendency to vomit.

I now have a life story to hide or reveal.

It’s been almost 16 years since I had my last drink. Do I have a story to hide?

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(Update: Per Kip’s comment below, there are numerous news stories circulating about, which say that the pregnancy pact may be a hoax. That’s what I get for writing a post at night, scheduling to post the next day, and not checking Google Reader in the morning. But I think the rest of what I said below, re: sex-ed, is still pretty valid.)

Maybe it’s because Dylan is six months old, and I’m still sleep deprived. Maybe it’ because I’ve one of my “assignments” this past week was to pick up a copy of The No-Cry Sleep Solution, which I will spend some time reading each night, between the time Dylan goes to bed and the first time Dylan wakes up. (I’m the night-owl in the family, so I am generally still awake for the first wake-up, between 11:30 p.m. and 1:00 a.m.).

But this story makes me want to scream.

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As I write this, it’s getting late, and I’m tired. It’s the day after Father’s Day; the end of the day after Father’s Day. Aside from Parker’s usual swimming lessons, we had Capitol Pride.

We marched with the Rainbow Families contingency, after spending the afternoon decorating bicycles, strollers, and wagons, meeting other families, and watching the kids play with together. We walked with Parker on his bicycle and Dylan in his stroller. It was great, being together as a family, walking with other families, and hearing the cheers of support from the people watching the parade.

I should be asleep now, especially since it will be just a few hours before Dylan wakes up, and it’ll be my turn to get up and get him back to sleep. But there’s something I’ve been wanting to write about since the California Marriage decision came down; something that’s been on my mind since I read the decision. Something that changed in a way that overwhelmed me so much that I had to walk away from my computer for a few minutes. Something changed; or didn’t change, because its something I’ve always known is true. But just hearing it validated in a way it hasn’t been before … did something to me..

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Monday morning is usually pretty busy for me, so it seems like as good a time as any for a round-up post. I don’t get to do as much reading (or writing for that matter) as I’d like to, but when I do I always find stuff I’d like to blog about but know that I’ll never have the time. It’s a mix of blog posts and news items that that caught my eye, and usually started me thinking of something I’d like to write.

Gay couples in California will officially start getting married today. I’ve been collecting posts and articles about marriage, meaning to write a blog post, but haven’t had the time to put them all into a context and stitch them together with some kind of narrative. If I wait until I do, I never will. So, I present them here now in round-up format, with abbreviated comments where I’ve had time to think about something to say.

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Kid’s really do say the darndest things. Especially five-year-olds.

Case in point, the following conversation occurred last night, while we watched a Barney holiday special (by way of Tivo) before Parker’s bedtime.

Parker: Daddy, I want to be Santa Clause

Daddy: But I’d miss you.

Parker: But Daddy, I’d come to your house first.

The kid’s daycare is closed for a teacher training, and I’m at home with the boys so there won’t be much blogging today. But I didn’t want to let the day pass without posting this.

Bay Windows has posted a beautiful story about the daughter of Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick coming out publicly.

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After the kids go to bed, the television in our house is usually turned to one of the channels of the Discovery franchise. And, once he’s had his fill of my crime shows, the hubby usually declares that it’s time to watch something in which no one dies a horrible death. Last night, in the course of flipping channels, I caught a commercial about a show I’m definite going to watch.

I’d have missed it if I’d been a little close to the remote, because a commercial for the Duggar family — those conservative Christian darlings of the Quiverfull movement — came on, and my usual reaction is to dive for the remote while mutter something about Discovery giving these folks a platform. But fortunately, I was to slow and the remote was too far away. Otherwise I’d have missed the commercial for “Quads with Two Moms.”

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