I really did not expect this. At least not yet.

The thing is, a very lovely girl in his class, we’ll call her NamelessGirl, has had a rather obvious crush on him for  a couple of months. And he seems to have some of those kinds of feelings back, although he is a lot less willing to admit to them.

Three or 4 weeks ago, NamelessGirl totally mortified Noah, by playing “texting”  (tapping on your hand with one finger and saying something about the person) and telling Noah that she thought he was handsome. He told Jill someone had told him the most terrible, awful, horrible thing anyone had ever said to him. With her heart in her stomach, she inquired, and he reluctantly admitted this story.

He also admitted to “texting” her that she was pretty. She was apparently not offended by this.

On Tuesday, he came home with a note in his coat pocket. From NamelessGirl. It is a crumpled, green, construction paper snowflake, apparently originally folded into a card. On the front, in pencil, it says, “Noah I love you” The inside is decorated with crayon snowflakes.

Tonight at bedtime, Josie announced that she was not going to marry Henderson, she was never going to get married. Then she asked Noah if he was going to marry a girl when he grew up. Hot with defensiveness, he fired back, “I DON’T KNOW!” and hid under the blankets. He emerged as I commented that most of the time, boys marry girls, but they don’t have to, and some boys marry other boys, and some girls marry other girls. “Like you and This Mommy!” I told them both they couldn’t get married until they were grown-ups, and they didn’t ever have to decide to marry anyone, then I changed the subject.

A few minutes later, after tucking Josie in, I lay down next to Noah. The look in my eye made him hide under the covers, peeking out with one fascinated eye.

“You know, it is ok to have funny, liking-feelings for a special person, either a boy or a girl, and most people do get those feelings sometimes.”

Hide.

“And it’s ok not to have them.”

Peek.

“You don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to, but if you ever do want to, I promise I won’t laugh or tease you about them.”

Hide.

“There’s just one thing I think it is really important for you to know. Even if you don’t have those feelings about someone, if you know they have them about you, you have to be nice to them.”

Peek.

“We know that NamelessGirl has those kinds of feelings about you, right?”

Nod.

“Well, it is ok if you don’t have those feelings for her, or if you do. And it is ok for you to tell me, or not. But you have to be nice to her, ok?”

Hide.

“Ok.”

Long pause, in which I consider the lumpy pile of blankets, hiding my son.

“Can I ask you if you have those kinds of feelings for NamelessGirl?”

He half-shouts, “NO!!!” from under the blankets.

“Ok, sweetie. Goodnight. I love you.”

Noah’s head emerges from the blankets. “I love you, too, Mom.”

I have lost 10% of my body weight — 17.2 lbs. Actually, I lost 18 lbs, but both of those things happened at the same weigh-in. Ten percent!

That’s still more than my pre-pregnancy weight, and since Noah will be 6 in a few weeks, I think it is high time for my body to return to that state. And since when I got pregnant with Noah, I was right on the BMI borderline between “normal” and “overweight,” my long term goal is to land myself about 2/3 of the way down into the normal range.

I’m trying to set a few mini-goals on my 42:42 journey:

1) Pre-Pregnancy Weight: 150.

Aspiration: Reach this goal by 2/9/12

3) Down by 25 pounds: 147.

Aspiration: Reach this goal by 3/1/12

4) Three-fourths to Goal: 140.5 marks the 3/4 point on this journey.

Aspiration: Reach this goal by 4/5/12

5) 20% Lost: 137.5 means I will be 80% of the woman I was in August.

Apsiration: Reach this goal by 5/3/12

6) Last but not least, 130.

Aspiration: Reach and maintain this goal by 7/4/12: Independence Day!

Why 130?

A few reasons. That was my wedding weight, and I looked awesome at my wedding. 130 is also comfortably in the middle of the normal BMI range for my height. The range is 120-150. And 130 fits well with my turning 42 obsession with the number 42 — it seemed like “the answer.”

On the other hand, except for my wedding, I don’t remember when I last weighed 130. Law school? College? It may not be a realistic goal. If I keep exercising and eating healthfully on the WW plan, and I plateau before I reach 130, I’m not going to beat myself up over it. I’ll keep working towards that goal until the 42:42 game I’m playing is over — when I’m 43. At at that point, I hope I’ll have been hanging out at the same roughly 130 for 4-6 months, but wherever I am, I’ll re-evaluate and make sure I’m still making healthy choices as I move into 43.

His name was Darin. We weren’t extremely close, but he was part of a group of friends that were an important part of my life in the 1990s.

Back then, Darin was first a student activist, and then worked for the University of Wisconsin’s statewide student lobbying organization, United Council. I’m pretty sure that he was also part of the group my friend Mindy, and probably other US Student Association activists and staff referred to as “the straight, white, guys from Wisconsin.”

From 1993-1998, and especially in the fall of 1995 and the summer of 1996 to spring of 1997, a LOT of my social life revolved around UC staff and USSA. We hung out a lot, excessively at a bar called the Echo Tap, and I came in dead last in the one and only football pool I’ve ever joined (although I think ultimately all that money went to guys from The Onion).

I learned to follow football games from these guys; before I started hanging out with the UC crew, I found the game completely bewildering and boring. And although I was probably closest to David, Sachin, Michelle, Tim, and Dean, who shared my political obsessions, Darin was always there if we had an event, or were watching a game, and he was often with us out drinking Uff Da Bock.

Like many of the UC staff, both from that era and otherwise, Darin remained politically active, stayed in Madison, and was working for the state. He was married. He was 40 years old. He had a son who was 3 years old — Josie’s age.

And yesterday, he collapsed while playing basketball with his friends. He was rushed to the hospital, but they weren’t able to revive him.

As Sachin put it when we talked this evening, go hug your kids, and make sure your life insurance is in order. You just never know what’s going to happen.

And if you are they praying type, pray for Darin, and especially for his widow, and his 3 year old son.

On the one hand, although I did everything I was supposed to do on weight watchers, I was still up a pound. It feels very unfair to be super-careful with my eating, and to successfully exercise 5 days/week, but to gain instead of losing. I *know* I’m in this for the long-haul, I’m making healthy choices, and that the gain may involve building some muscle.

Logic and knowledge have nothing to do with my feelings about this.

But I haven’t given up, although I did miss 2 mornings of exercise in a row. There has been no massive gorge on Halloween candy — I’ve had a couple of pieces, but nothing outrageous. And I’ve gotten up the last 2 mornings, exercised, and gotten homework done in the early morning.

On the encouraging side, I had a FABULOUS IDEA that has completely reinvigorated my PhD work. I’m not going to try to explain it here, but in a nutshell, it involves a feminist and queer theory analysis of copyright law.

I promise, that makes more sense and is less boring than you might think. It was one of those ideas that propels you forward instantly, where you find yourself WIDE AWAKE after bedtime, excitedly looking for articles and reading until the wee hours.

And on that note, back to statistics.

This is the background against which my own health, well-being, and body-image “stuff” now takes place.

On the one hand, modeling exercise and healthy eating is good for me and good for the kids.

On the other hand, modeling dieting, obsession with weight and personal appearance, not so much.

And of course, my “stuff” is still my stuff. There is no feminist or lesbian “get out of jail free” card for having been enculturated as an American woman, even if I can think critically about my reactions.

Seven weeks ago, I stepped on the scale and realized I was at my highest non-pregnant weight ever. (I count the first 6 weeks or so after the baby is born as still “pregnant weight.”)

I really, really didn’t like that feeling.

So I did two things that I’ve been thinking about doing since Noah was about 2 months old. First, I joined Weight Watchers online. My doctor, who is also one of my closest friends, has had great success getting to and maintaining a healthy weight through their program, and has been encouraging me as well. Plus they were having some sort of promotional deal where you got a bunch of time free in the online program. (Who has time to go to meetings? I do not.)

And last week, I pulled out the T-TAPP video that I bought on the passionate recommendation of Ask Moxie, maybe 5 years ago, again in the aftermath of my 50 lb weight gain pregnancy with Noah. I never did the video then; sleep won every time. But I’ve been doing the basic instructional video (just over 15 minutes) for a week.

This self-care thing seems to be working. I’m eating a ton of fruit and vegetables. In the first 6 weeks, I lost 8.5 lbs, which seems like a healthy rate. The exercise is making muscles all over my body hurt, but in that good, something is working here, way. I raced around with Josie on the playground on Saturday, and I definitely had more energy than I expected to have.

A month from today, I turn 42. There are no crazy weight loss goals for my birthday, but I am shooting for “42:42″ — a total loss of 42 lbs, to be completed and sustained during my 42nd year. That will bring me back down to my wedding weight, still well within the normal BMI range. And I can hit doing the exercise tape a total of 42 times by my 42nd birthday, if I keep it up every day until then.

Josie is showing signs of being similarly obsessed with Cars Toons, a DVD of short stories featuring the same characters.

Except that by “the same characters” I mean Mater, Lightning McQueen, and Mia & Tia, the twin simpering fangirl cars who had no loyalty and became simpering fangirls of the bad guy car late in the first movie. There’s no sign of Sally the Porche-lawyer turned entrepreneur and advocate for small-town history and culture.

In terms of gender depictions in film, I’d rather have Disney’s princesses than CarsToons. At least the Princesses DO SOMETHING other than bat their eyelashes, giggle, and manipulate/betray the good guys. Mulan saves China. Belle helps her father invent things, reads books, rejects boorish suitors, and saves her father and the misunderstood bad guy. Cinderella at least wants some fun and a better life. Snow White also runs away and tries to create a better life for herself, even if it is in service of the 7 (male) dwarves.

Mia and Tia, on their best days in Cars Toons, are NASA door openers (who fawn), surgical assistants (who fawn), Spanish bullfighting fans (who fawn), and Japanese street racing fans (who fawn). In one short film, a film noir parody, Tia manipulates Mater into a trap set by the bad guy, because “it’s the only way I could save my sister.” At least she has agency, even if it is to be a liar and betrayer.

Owen Wilson & Larry the Cable Guy, what is your power over the preschool set? And

I’ve been thinking a lot about being out, and why being out matters, and for that matter, why it matters that I am a lesbian, and in particular, a lesbian parent.

There are times when I hate National Coming Out Day. Sometimes I feel like its a day when I “should” come out, even when there isn’t a good context, and it will be awkward, and I don’t wanna and you can’t make me. I know that’s me doing my thing — there are no Lesbian Police checking to see if I’ve made my coming out quota or anything like that.

And quite frankly, fear of awkwardness isn’t a very good reason not to come out. Fear for my safety, fear for my kids, fear for consequences that really matter — those might be good reasons. Awkwardness is just awkwardness, and life is full of awkwardness.

And being out really does matter. Why else would there be more than 1800 It Gets Better videos, and almost half a million people who have pledged to help it get better? It is a lot easier to be scared, and to believe scary stereotypes or rumors about people when you don’t know anyone “like that” — or don’t think you do. And while there certainly are LGBTQIA people who run the full gamut from “ordinary” to “extremely unusual,” once straight people know that they know someone LGBTQIA, their attitudes nearly always change. It’s hard to be scared of someone who sits two cubes over when you hear them kvetch about their boyfriend the same way you do, or someone at the school playground whose kids exasperate them exactly the same way yours exasperate you. Or to think that someone you know from a volunteer program, is really that different from you, after you see them survive and rebuild after having their heart broken.

When straight people see LGBTQIA people, whom they know to be LGBTQIA, in our full humanity, it makes a difference.

Why should anyone care?

In theory, they should not. No one should care who other people date, are attracted to, love, or with whom they build families.

But in reality, some people care.

Our government cares.

And if I want to change their minds, coming out is step one.

I do want to change their minds. Partly for me, but more for my kids. Right now, they still accept that some families have two mommies, some have a mommy and a daddy, some might have two daddies, or even just one parent. But over time, that matter-of-fact quality will not work as well as it does now.

The idea that someone might try to make Noah or Josie feel ashamed of being part of our family…it breaks my heart.

So…I am out. As much as I can be. Every day.

(But I still try to prevent it from being too awkward.)

We are not her typical patients. She works for a community health center, which is code for “health care for poor people.” Obviously, her choices and values are part of what we love about her. The quality of care is just as good as it was when she was in private practice, but there are no toys in the waiting area, there’s a guard in the entry, and today was the only time I’ve ever noticed another white patient waiting. (There are often attractively dressed, perfectly made-up white women around the waiting area, but they are pharmaceutical company reps.) Sometimes it takes a ridiculous amount of time for a nurse to return a “can we get in today?” call, leading us to have a close relationship with the neighborhood Urgent Care receptionist as well. Apparently, when you are uninsured, you have to spend a lot of time waiting.

Today was Josie’s 3 year old checkup. (For the record, she is perfectly healthy, 39″ tall, weighs 35.2 lbs, and is almost exactly on the 50th percentile line for 4 year old girls in height.)

The nurses were lovely — Josie didn’t even cry at her shot. (We had missed a vaccination last time; they were out of what we needed.)

But the support staff is still learning about a few things — like families that are not quite typical.

The discussion started like this:

Receptionist: Are you her mom?
Me: I’m one of her moms.
R (looking alarmed): Are you her legal guardian?
Me: Yes.
R: Are you her birth mom?
Me (looking stunned): I don’t think that’s any of your business. Why are you asking?
R: Legally, I’m required to ask that.
Me: What? No you aren’t. I am her legal parent. What difference does it make whether or not I’m her birth mom, or she’s adopted?
R: I have to make sure you are authorized.
Me: What? Why don’t you talk to Dr. Tully? She can assure you that I can authorize medical care for Josie.
R: She’s with a patient. You’ll have to wait.
Me: That’s fine.

A few minutes later, Josie was summoned by the nurse. We were about to take off her shoes so she could get weighed, when the receptionist announced that we were NOT checked in yet and should not be taken to an exam room. The nurse looked confused, so I explained, “We’re having a dispute over whether or not it is any of her business whose vagina Josie came from.”

The 4 or 5 women staff in the immediate vicinity began to buzz. Josie and I returned to the waiting area. The receptionist and I went back and forth a few more times. (My main point became, “The terms ‘birth mom,’ and ‘parent,’ and ‘legal guardian’ are not synonyms.”) I knew that if I caved and said, “Yes, I am her birth mom,” things would move along more quickly. But someday, Jill will be the parent at the doctor’s office. And sometimes, other parents in 2 mom or 2 dad families will come there too. So I stood my ground, unwilling to answer the question.

(Let us also leave aside the apparent weakness of the receptionist’s powers of observation. The fact that I am this child’s biological parent is so obvious as to be remarked upon by strangers in parking lots. But that is not the point.)

Eventually Josie was weighed and measured, her blood pressure was taken, and she had charmed and been charmed by a lovely nurse.

Not long after that, Madelaine arrived. She had already seen my Facebook status update, which noted my love for her and lack of love for her support staff. She had spoken to the receptionist about what happened, and explained to her and why “are you the birth mother?” wasn’t the right question. Madelaine arrived and immediately conveyed the receptionist’s contrition.

Some days it is harder to feel like the Ambassador from Planet Lesbian Mom than other days.

It was kebab made with minced beef and lamb, and pistachios, and magical deliciousness. It was so good that I insisted on returning to the restaurant again later in the week, so I could eat it again.

Yesterday, I stopped at the co-op for milk, and noticed that they had fresh, local, ground lamb. And pistachios. And, of course, good ground beef.

So I bought those things, and attempted to recreate this amazing delicious dish.

I have a few disadvantages, like having no idea what spices were in it, and not having a grill. Or skewers. But I do have the Internet. I found a few not-quite-right dishes, most helpfully including a Jamie Oliver lamb meatball with pistachios recipe.

Here is what I did instead.

Liza’s Turkish Meatballs, aka the Best Meatballs Ever

Ingredients:

• 1 pound each of ground lamb and ground beef (I used chuck).
• 1 cup salted, shelled pistachios
• 2 eggs
• ~20 saltine crackers
• 1.5 tablespoons cumin
• 1 tablespoon cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon lemon zest (dried)
• 1 tiny pinch red pepper flakes

First, I dumped all of the pistachios into a marble mortar & pestle that we got for our wedding and hardly use anymore. This was a bad idea — some got pulverized, others barely cracked. Next time I will do it in 2 or 3 batches. The goal is crushed, not pulverized, think “ice cream topping” size bits.

After they were crushed, I dumped the pistachios in a large glass bowl. (Also a wedding present.)

Then I crushed the red pepper, which was tricky given the minute volume. I should have thrown in a cracker or two. Dump. Followed by the rest of the spices. And although I listed amounts above, I didn’t measure any of them. I cook by shaking out spices until I think that’s about right. It mostly works, although I recommend measuring salt. Or adding it one small shake at a time. What I wrote above is my best guess of the volume.

Then I crushed the crackers in two batches, and dumped them too.

(Crushing things with a mortar & pestle is fun — I highly recommend it!)

The eggs went in last. When everything is in the bowl, plunge your hands into the gooey meat mixture and squeeze everything together in a sort of knead-squeeze-knead-squeeze pattern until you can’t see different kinds of meat or identifiable bits of egg, and the spices seem more or less evenly distributed. For me, that takes about 3 minutes. If you are squicked out by all the meat texture, it might take longer.

That’s when I remembered that I hadn’t preheated the oven, so I washed my hands, and turned the oven to 385.

Next, I took out 2 cookie sheets and sprayed them with a tiny bit of cooking oil, which turned out to be completely unnecessary.

I made oblong meatballs that were about the length and width of two fingers. This recipe made 25 of them. I cooked them for 15 minutes, but thought they needed a little bit more time, so left them in for 18 minutes total. They were beautifully browned and delicious when I took them out, and Jill and I each ate one immediately.

They aren’t QUITE as fabulously wonderful and magically delicious as the ones I ate in Istanbul, but they are very good, and I am very happy with the results of my Turkish Meatballs.

(Next: Will the kids eat them?)

Today was the first day that BOTH Noah and Josie are in “Big Kid” school — or for those of you who speak Montessori, Children’s House. Josie is in 3-year-old kindergarten, and Noah is in 5-year-old kindergarten. They are in different classrooms, but in the same school and similar groups of children.

As I told Facebook:

I really thought that The First Day of School was going to be no big deal. The kids were there for summer program until 10 days ago! Josie spent afternoons in the very Big Kid classroom that is now hers. So wrong. Noah tried to hide behind me instead of greeting his teacher — the same one for the last 2 years. Josie sobbed. And when I bent down to comfort her, I split my pants.

That’s right. I split my pants on their first day of school.

And as Jill told Facebook, I was wearing orange undies. (What can I say? I like bright colors. And I didn’t expect anyone to see them!)

Mercifully, I carry a large purse, which I was able to sling over my shoulder and back, and butt, without it looking completely weird. Or at least without it looking so weird that anyone commented on it. And I was able to comfort Josie, who was fine within a few minutes after we left.

And Josie continues on her current mission to do EVERYTHING her brother does.