Apparently the topic of women having safe, affordable access to birth control and other forms of health will just not die.

For a historical context of how insane it is that we are still having this conversation in 2012, see my former law professor Louise Trubek‘s New York Times op-ed yesterday, about her role in litigating this in 1957.

1957!

In 1983, two things happened to me that seem related. One I actively chose. The other one happened to me.

In health class, we had an assignment to write a research report. I don’t remember what the parameters of the assignment were,but I decided to write about different kinds of birth control. Mainly, I remember 2 things. The Boston Women’s Health Book Collective book, Changing Bodies, Changing Lives, was so chock full of good information that although it was the source for 90% of my information, the teacher gave me double credit for the work — 2 A’s for 1 report. And at the time, there was a “pill for men,” which was derived from cottonseed oil, being tested in China. (That was in Newsweek.)

Yes, I studied birth control options in my public school, and I kicked ass doing it.

Let me be perfectly clear: I was 13 years old. I had kissed one boy. That was the full extent of my sexual experience at the time, and for a good while after that. (Granted, we kissed a few times.)

The other thing was the thing that happened to me.

I suffered such severe menorrhagia that I began blacking out every time I stood up, or had to walk up stairs. No exaggeration. I would stand up, and my vision would go fuzzy and dark from the outside in; and, I usually had to clutch the handrail on the stairs, so that I wouldn’t collapse and fall down.

After 3 weeks, I was no longer able to hide what was going on from my mom, who took me to my first gynecological appointment. They gave me a massive dose of some kind of hormone to stop things, and told us that if I could not keep them down for 24 hours, I would have to be hospitalized.

14 hours later, at around 4 am, I threw up with the kind of drama that I can only describe as exorcisian. Mom rushed me to the hospital, where I got a blood transfusion, a lot of drugs, and finally the ability to stand without fainting.

And when I left the hospital, the doctor gave me a prescription for birth control pills. (And iron supplements.) The birth control pills were to make my body both menstruate, and STOP menstruating. On a regular, appropriate schedule.

I was no slut.

And the birth control pills I was on didn’t make me get sluttier, they didn’t make me have sex. But they did make my body work, they made me not need another blood transfusion, and they made me able to safely LIVE MY LIFE. You know, standing, sitting, walking up and down stairs — the basics. Concentrate on classes, conversations, not walking into traffic because I was no longer obsessing about whether or not I needed to rush to the bathroom, or in the alternative, die of embarassment — I’m not talking about anything too crazy.

I was lucky. My parents had good health insurance, and could afford my treatment and medications.

Everyone deserves the health care I had, although I really hope you don’t need it.

(Especially if you are a teenage girl.)

PS: I would have deserved that health care, and respect, even if I had been having sex. Even if I’d been having sex with every boy — and girl — I knew. I can tell you for damn sure, if I had gotten pregnant at 13, I would have had an abortion. I think we can all agree, 13 year olds should not become parents.

 

I am very excited to tell you that a book project, to which I am a contributor, finally has a real publication date — JUNE 1, 2011!

The awesome, intelligent, funny, and delightful Joanne Bamberger, AKA PunditMom’s book, Mothers of Intention: How Women & Social Media Are Revolutionizing Politics in America, is finally coming out!!!

You can buy it through that link, which will, in theory, pay me a few cents sometime this century, or ask your local bookstore for a copy.

I am in amazing company in this book. Some of my favorite bloggers, writers, activists, and social media leaders contributed chapters. I can’t WAIT to read what they said. (I know I should link to them. But if I started, I’d be here for 2 hours, and I’d have to link to at least a dozen people in the book, maybe more. There are at least that many people I admire and consider role models in the book, maybe even that many I consider friends.)

 

 

It has been a very sober last not-quite-24 hours. I’d dozed off with the light on and my book open when Jill came into the room last night and said, “Wake up! The President is about to come on TV and announce that they caught and killed Osama bin Laden!”

I woke up, and listened to talking heads tell that story for about 15 minutes, before having to crawl back into bed and to sleep. It didn’t hit me until this morning.

My feelings today are complicated. On the one hand, I am relieved. I think he was a dangerous man, and I believe the US was rightly at war with him and with his followers. I wish that I felt his death would make us safer. I wish that his death would help end the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I cynically doubt either of those outcomes, although hope springs eternal.

I admire the brave Navy Seals who directly took this action. I once had a boss who had been a Navy Seal. The calm, efficient, get-it-done quality they have turns out to have been the right tool for the job. And I admire the President, for making sure that we had good intelligence, and authorizing the action.

I am uncomfortable with hearing about people celebrating the death. The idea of celebrating any death makes me feel queasy.

I am proud of how many of my Facebook friends have put up this quotation from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.:

“I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” -Martin Luther King, Jr.

UPDATED to note that apparently the first sentence of the quotation is not actually from Dr. King. However, Google Books confirms that the language beginning with “Returning hate for hate…” is correctly attributed to Dr. King, from A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, p. 594, edited by James M. Washington.

I have been thinking about my own September 11, 2001. About how I can still barely say the phrase, “I just want to go home,” out loud, without my voice breaking. I felt so alone. So horribly alone, stuck out in California, worried about what was then still my city, DC.

I didn’t know anyone who was injured or killed at the Pentagon. But I lived 12 blocks from the US Capitol building. And I worked about 8 blocks from the White House. I knew that my city was changed forever, but I couldn’t walk around and see it. I couldn’t be there.

For everyone who lived in or near one of the impacted locations, or who lost someone in the attack, it was different. Normally, I am a person who reacts to news with a political lens, almost immediately. But I couldn’t be with that viewpoint right away, not when it was personal. It took a long time for me to get objective enough to think analytically.

That does not mean I supported the excessive response of the US government. I don’t think I am safer because I can no longer take a full tube of toothpaste on an airplane. Or because secret federal FISA courts can authorize the FBI to see what I check out from the library or look at online, without my even being under “reasonable suspicion” of criminal activity. In the old days, law enforcement agencies needed “probable cause” to believe that such intrusion would give them evidence about a crime before they could get records like that.

I continue to believe that our invasion of Iraq was completely pretextual, and that the loss of American, British, and Iraqi lives will be a blot on US history that future generations will find cringeworthy and baffling.

I don’t know exactly what I think about the war in Afghanistan. It didn’t seem like a completely unjustifiable idea at the time…but that isn’t even where they caught Bin Laden, in the end. No one with a democratic sense of values, no one who opposes poverty, or supports freedom of religion, or the rights of women, or free speech, could fail to oppose the Taliban. But we don’t go to war against all dictators. And in a budget crisis, in an economic crisis, can we justify continuing to spend billions of dollars per year fighting a land war against them, in their homeland? Is there still a them there? How would we even know? I do know that still being at war there almost 10 years later seems insane to me. Are we going to stay at war there forever?

My September 11 story has a silver lining.

I finally quit waiting for a seat on an airplane to take me home, and instead decided to rescue myself and drive from Irvine, California, back to Washington, DC. When my cell phone came back into network range in Flagstaff, Arizona, it rang. A woman I barely knew was calling. She was stuck in Denver, and asked if I would detour 6 hours to pick her up. I thought about it for 10 minutes, then agreed. It was through her that I met Jill.

If I had not said yes, if I had not detoured 6 hours to pick up a near stranger, I would never have met my wife.

 

You know how sometimes so much can happen that you want to blog about that you find yourself unable to blog at all?

The last month has been even more like that than the past year.

So, bullet points:

  • There have been giant, massive, peaceful, friendly, loud, frustrated protests in Madison every day for approximately the last 3 weeks. They’ve been in support of the right of unions to engage in collective bargaining. There have been smaller, but still surprisingly large protests at UWM and around the state, too. I went to Madison three times, and to a march around UWM. Grandpa took Noah to Madison one day. I wish I could go more, but this whole PhD thing is also a huge demand on my time. :)
  • I am so proud of the 14 Democratic state senators who have left the state to prevent the state senate from reaching quorum and passing this disaster budget.
  • Last Saturday, Noah was exactly twice as old as Josie. Yes, I am a geek for figuring that out to the day.
  • We had THREE date nights last month. One was school-sponsored, we hired a babysitter for our anniversary, and Grandma & Grandpa took the kids overnight. That is approximately half the date nights we have had since Josie was born.
  • This weekend we took the kids to a waterpark. They were super-well-behaved, and we had a blast. I’m so glad they are old enough to do stuff like this.
  • We loved hanging out with a combination of new and old friends at the waterpark. Especially since they had kids in the same age range as ours. (Ok, baby Violet is a pretty little baby. But Josie likes babies, so we’re counting that.)
  • I submitted a paper for an academic conference and was rejected. Maybe next time.
  • I did a fun little project for a class, gathering information about books about or including characters with two-mom families: http://lesbianfamily.org/books-for-lesbian-families/
 

Ever since Dan Savage announced the It Gets Better project, where older LGBT people tell younger, stressed out, considering-suicide LGBTQ teens and young people that they should try really hard to hang in there, because life gets better, I’ve wanted to contribute.

The thing is, I hate video of myself. And in my heart of hearts, I am technologically old: I like my computer to be quiet and have the images be still. So I didn’t.

Two things happened yesterday, November 2, 2010, that made me decide I have to contribute to It Gets Better, even if I don’t do video.

1) The elections. They were depressing, and probably a significant setback for the prospect of LGBTQ civil rights in the US. But not nearly as bad as the 2004 elections, when state anti-gay marriage ballot measures were all the rage. That year was WAY worse. See? It gets better. Ok, bad example.

2) I got offered an awesome fellowship for my graduate school program.

ASIDE for those of you who may not realize how Ph.D. programs work: Although most people have to find their own ways to pay for college and for professional degrees like law school or business school, most Ph.D. programs are different.

In a Ph.D. program, accepted students usually get offered some kind of part-time work doing research or as a teaching assistant. Most Ph.D. students do not take out student loans to pay for their degrees. The luckiest get something called a fellowship, which pays a similar amount of money, but doesn’t require the student to teach or work on someone else’s research.

Back to point #2. Yesterday, I was offered the opportunity to become one of those lucky ones. And it would not have happened if I were not out as a lesbian.

Really!

Here’s what happened: My doctoral program received a major grant, providing the opportunity to expand the diversity of both the program, and in the long run, our academic discipline. The terms of the grant proposal defined diversity very inclusively, specifically including (among many other perspectives) sexual orientation.

In the ordinary course of life, I’m out. But the way I look almost never sets off people’s “gaydar,” and sometimes LGBTQ issues just don’t come up. I don’t generally walk into a room and announce my sexual orientation. But I’m social and chatty, and my partner and I have been together for almost 8 years. We have 2 small children together. So my having a wife does come up pretty often. (Most frequently in the context of my answering the question, “So what does your husband do?” Answer: “Actually, my partner is a woman. She does blahblahblah.”)

When I started the program, I knew I was out to at least some of the faculty and my fellow students. I assumed that meant I was out to everyone, or at least close to everyone, but didn’t give the matter much thought.

A few weeks into the semester, during one of my classes, we had a conversation about the fact that doctoral students were needed to serve on various departmental committees. I volunteered for the Research Committee, commenting that I was concerned about being pigeonholed as “The Lesbian” if I sat on the Diversity Committee, so I wanted to serve elsewhere.

The next day, the professor approached me, tactfully inquiring as to whether or not he had correctly understood that I was an out lesbian, and thereby a member of an historically underrepresented group within the profession.

I agreed that I was, and assured him that I was generally out, and even slightly surprised that it had not come up previously, but of course, sometimes it doesn’t.

As we continued talking, he brought up the grant, and asked if it was something that would be of interest to me. The fellowship offers some fantastic opportunities within the program and the profession, and covers 3 years of study: of course I was interested!

I was formally interviewed a couple of weeks later, and yesterday, they offered me the fellowship.

So if you are a lonely, or depressed, or bullied, or fearful young person, and you are or wonder if you might be lesbian, or gay, or bisexual, or living in the wrong gendered body, or are otherwise feeling misfit and miserable, I promise you, it gets better.

In college, you will find people who like you and want to be around you because of who you are, not in spite of it. You’ll have an easier time avoiding the people you don’t like or want to see.

After college, there’s a good chance you’ll find someone who loves you because of who you are, and about whom you feel the same way. In my case, we also made the choice to have a big honking wedding, and to have children together.

Official Adoption Picture - Josie

You can do that, too, or you can choose to build a different kind of future.

And if you are really, really lucky, someone might even decide to reward you for being out.

P.S. I went to go upload this story to the It Gets Better web site, and found that Laura Bush did an It Gets Better video! Thank you, Mrs. Bush! My fellowship is funded by the Institute of Museum and Library Studies’ Laura Bush 21st Century Librarian program!

 

Today is Blogging for LGBT Families Day, the 5th annual such celebration and acknowledgment. Having been part of it since the inception, with varied degrees of advance planning and success, I can’t let it pass me by.

But today, I’m feeling both sad and delighted for some of my friends and their LGBT families.

I’m so sad to have heard this weekend that Congresswoman Tammy Baldwin and her now-former partner, Lauren Azar, have separated and dissolved their domestic partnership.

Lauren was a classmate of mine in law school. While we haven’t stayed close over the last 13 years, there was a time when we knew each other well. In fact, before she and Tammy met, Lauren briefly dated one of my housemates — an interestingly intimate way to get to know someone. She and Tammy seemed so well matched, but having a spouse who travels constantly, and sharing an under-the-political-microscope life must be extremely difficult. And of course, it is impossible to ever really know what is going on in someone else’s relationship.

Still I can’t help but believe that social support for a relationship helps keep it healthy and intact. Who knows whether theirs would have lasted if they could legally marry? Or if it were as difficult and expensive to dissolve a domestic partnership as it is to legally divorce?

Regardless of the whys, wherefores, or their eventual long term happiness, my heart goes out to both Tammy and Lauren. I hope that they untangle their lives with as little pain and suffering as possible. I hope each of them eventually finds herself in a thriving new family.

The good news I’ve been thinking of this weekend is every bit as good as the bad news was bad. This weekend welcomed to the world an adorable baby boy, Walden, son of another of my law school classmates and her partner. It also welcomed an adorable baby girl, Cady, daughter of one of my undergraduate classmates and her partner.

Walden and Cady, each of you are celebrated, welcomed, and so eagerly anticipated as members of your two-mom families, and your wonderful, thrilled extended families. All four of your mothers are part of a movement that expands how families are perceived — and at the same time, both of you owe your existences to one of the most fundamental human drives. We love, we crave family love, and we are driven to create families and to nurture new members of the next generation.

Walden and Cady, thanks for making that happen for your parents. I know you’ll bring your mommies as much laughter, terror, love, frustration, affection, awe, and exhaustion as Noah and Josie bring to me and to This Mommy.

And to Andrea and Rebecca, Kim and Peg (and big sister Bea!), my most heartfelt congratulations on your beautiful new babies.

 

The original Pppptoo-ers post generated some of the most interesting discussion on the blog of late, so I thought I should follow up. Also, Noah continues to be interesting on the subject.

Last night, Noah succcessfully earned back access to his Bristle Blocks (now “Krinkles”). The first thing he made was a vaguely gun-shaped Pppptoo-er, for This Mommy.

Then he built a stack of wheels, and told me it was a “Sandwich Pppptoo-er. It pppptoos out sandwiches for you to eat! Eat this ketchup one, That Mommy!”  Noah then pppptooed me 3 peanut butter sandwiches and some mustard. Something tells me I’m going to remain the cook here for a loooong time.

“Noah, do pppptooers hurt people?”

“No…they pppptoo things at you and you might fall down.”

“What are pppptooers for?”

“Pppptooing.”

A few minutes later, while coloring with markers, Noah explained to me that he was drawing a “weapon” which was a special kind of pppptooer. It was yellow, and it pppptooed circles.

This morning, Noah made a picture of a bubble pppptooer out of bubble stickers that the Easter Bunny gave him. “When you get a bubble pppptooed at you, you have to jump over it!”

So, I think there are a few concepts going on here for Noah.

When you hear the classic video game/movie “pppptoo pppptoo” sound, it comes from an object. You and I might call it a gun or a weapon, or maybe a laser. Noah doesn’t see them exactly the same way, although he may be starting to get that they are related objects.

In Noah’s world, pppptooers emanate something: bubbles, sandwiches, sounds, circles, things that might make you fall down. But they don’t seem to hurt people.

This makes me not quite ready to think of them as “toy guns” although they are probably moving in that direction.

I have a mix of feelings and opinions about the issue of toy guns, and clearer views about real guns.

Let’s tackle the easier question first: I would prefer that Noah not play in a house where there are real guns. I definitely don’t want him playing somewhere with real guns that are not locked up. I’ve read too many stories about children — mostly boys — who accidentally shoot their friends because they had no idea it was a loaded, real, gun.

When Noah gets older, if he wants to learn how to shoot in a safe, controlled environment, ie riflery at summer camp or a similar well-supervised and out-of-the-house appropriate location, I’m ok with that. I think that him knowing that guns are not toys and must be handled carefully and with respect is extremely important.

Toy guns are a more gray area.

I think a flat out ban is ineffective, much the way Covert, Reno, and other commenters observed. I think it led me to lie about having the squirt gun, not to have no interest in squirt guns.

(And by the way, my first with-a-paycheck job was for the Milwaukee Gun Club, a recreational skeet shooting establishment. I never touched a gun while I was there, but I sold ammo, cokes, and beer, and worked as a trap setter and puller. I tell this to illustrate that it also apparently didn’t drive me away from guns or “gun people.” Whatever that means.)

I think that most people, including children, are capable of making the same distinction that Noah is already making: fantasy vs reality.

Pppptooers and the myriad of toy objects that emanate things are distinguishable from guns, even if they are shaped like guns and we call them guns. Video games where the object is to shoot something or someone also use pppptooers, even if the pppptooer creates exploding things/dying things results.

As Noah gets older and starts to understand what he is “really” pretending when he plays with pppptooers, and most likely stops calling them pppptooers, I think it is important for us to be talking with him about the risks and dangers real guns present.

I expect that the mix of literature on violent video games will get some intense review as Noah gets older. Damned if I’m going to let my kid unthinkingly play a game where they get points for sleeping with a prostitute and then ripping her off or killing her — looking at you, Grand Theft Auto. But I don’t want to give those games the allure of the forbidden, either. There may be age limits, time limits, location requirements (the living room where your Moms can interrupt or worse yet play along, springs to mind), and forced tedius and embarrassing conversations with your mother before certain lines can be crossed.

And I also think that commenters Eric and Richard make excellent points — there are a lot of critically important issues that create the environment for many of the risks that guns then tip into crisis.

Jen, I think that ties into your excellent points, too. Modeling AND talking about the whole pantheon of our values is important — critical, in fact — for what we try to teach him about guns and pppptooers to make sense and to help him grow up into the kind of man we hope he will become.

So far, we haven’t tried to talk a lot about alcohol, except that when one of us has a beer or glass of wine with dinner, we tell him that they aren’t drinks for kids. We’ve let him sniff the drinks, to which he universally responds with “eeeeeeeuuuuuwwwww! YUCK!” We’ll cross the line for discussing responsible drinking when we first see a tipsy or drunk person that he might notice.

Same with cruelty, only that’s already more hands-on. We don’t allow Noah to hit or kick or otherwise hurt other people. We haven’t quite sorted out how to handle him pretending to hurt himself to get our attention — I lean towards ignoring/downplaying, Jill leans towards intervening/stopping.  We model and discuss how to be gentle with Josie, where he an and can’t touch her, like not putting his fingers in her mouth, but allowing him to tickle her belly, for example.

Like Tammom said in her comments, what it comes down to is giving Noah and Josie the best tools and training we can to help them learn how to make good decisions.

Only time will tell if we’ve done a good job.

(On a sort of related note, have you seen all the articles that the US is in a dire ammo shortage, because since November 5, the second amendment fundamentalists have been buying guns and ammo at such an insane rate that police and sheriff’s departments can’t get what they need???

Does anyone else find it scary to hear that the radical fringe right wing is stockpiling weapons??? On the other hand, maybe the way to keep Noah from playing with guns is to tell him he has to pay for them himself.)

© 2012 LizaWasHere Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha