The Republic of T.

I don’t know if these two bloggers were on the same wavelength or what, but I did a doubletake when I saw was looked like high heels for babies over at I Blame the Patriarcy.

A glance at the website reveals a link to an Entertainment Tonight article describing the crib shoes (wait, crib shoes? Why does a bedridden infant need shoes?) as “made from soft, flexible fabrics with a collapsible heel and are not intended for walking.”

The pair of women sexopreneurs who invented the infant fuckme pumps chap the Twisty hide in many ways. Forget about the obvious antifeminist implications of infant pornulation for a second; what’s with the repellent adult pastime of casting children in the role of joke-butts? Warning, says the website, these Heelarious shoes “May cause extreme smiling and hysterical laughter when in use (this is completely normal).”

Normal! Man, what is wrong with people? Why does everybody think it’s okay to openly jeer and laugh at kids? Do they think the tots just don’t notice that they are perennial objects of mockery? Last Halloween, at the neighborhood cul-de-sac trick-or-treat party (or what I like to call the Barton Creek Toddler Burlesque), my 4-year-old niece Rotel flat-out refused to wear her elaborately cute costume. It was obvious that she just didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself for the amusement of the drunk adults. Much consternation ensued. Rotel was seriously in violation of some primal code of childhood conduct when she dared to expect that she could collect candy without putting on Hilarious Kid Drag. She was robustly critiqued for having had the temerity to assert personal bodily sovereignty in the face of patriarchal tradition. I am happy to report that she prevailed in the end, but it was clear from the reaction of the neighbors that they considered her strange, and I don’t believe for a second that the kid won’t carry deep emotional scars for life. Probably she will turn to a life of crime.

Now, according to the website, the shoes are not meant for kids older than six months, and not meant for walking. (They collapse if any weight is put on them.) But come on, people!

I mean, first of all, don’t sentence your daughter to a life of corns and bunions. Take it from me, I’ve worn high heels. (Yes, I’ve done drag. Deal with it) They are not meant for the human foot. Even wearing them for a few hours did a number on my feet for a while.

Second, can we just let children be children, please? Sure, a little girl (or little boy, for that matter) might try on mommy’s (or daddy’s) pumps, and it’s cute. But putting these on a baby? There’s a point at which we need to start questioning people’s sanity. What’s next? Pimp and Ho costumes for Halloween?

As for the rest, see Habladora’s post for a larger discussion.

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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With my morning pretty much sewn up with work and meetings (and since I’m no longer taking my laptop to meetings) at work, it’s hard to say whether I’ll get around to writing or posting much at all today. I’ve got something almost written, and a couple of things I’ve been wanting to write for weeks now. But they will have to come after everything else.

In the meantime, I might as well do here what I spend most of my time doing anyway: promoting the writing of others who have time to write, whereas I don’t. Granted, it’s not so much writing, on my part, as just copying-and-pasting, but it fills this space. And if you came here looking for something to read, the least I can do is help you find it.

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Image details: DC Mayor Reacts To Supreme Court Ruling On DC Gun Ban served by picapp.com

Well, the finally did it. I first mentioned it years ago, when this blog was in its infancy. So I guess now I should say, thank you Kay Bailey Hutchison. Thank you. By the time you take your ass back to Texas, there will undoubtedly be more guns on the streets of Washington, D.C.

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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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Y’know, it really shouldn’t be news when people commit to each other, except maybe for a engagement announcement or wedding announcement in the paper. It definitely shouldn’t be controversial, like Bishop Gene Robinson entering a civil union with his partner of 19 years. When two people step up to the altar or the steps of city hall to declare their love for one another, their desire to name one another as kin, and their desire to commit to one another, it should be celebrated, because it means a commitment to community.

And maybe that’s why it is controversial. Because, in many ways, it’s public. But it’s also personal. Sometimes in wonderfully surprising ways, when it turns out that you know the people behind the headlines.

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