Pounced

Somebody pounced her way into our lives two weeks ago. Not a tiger, though I wish, but someone equally as cute. V and I were taking a walk, and a tiny, affectionate, starving kitten demanded our attention and pets. She came home with us, to at least reevaluate and contact some friends, but as it pans out, we're keeping her. Her name is most likely Latke, though frequently Lottie. (Abridged version: I was calling her tater tot; V was calling her cupcake and muffin. We settled on potato pancake.)

Calcifer likes to chase her, which she's totally fine with. Mei Mei has been miss hissy fit, but she's getting better. And Lottie is charming the pants off of us. Her tail fluffs when she plays! She's probably about 7 months old, and much less starving already. We meant to stop at two cats...

Bug

I accidentally made a new "friend" yesterday morning: salmonella. And then we had a photoshoot yesterday evening with three boys under 4, which "conveniently" coincided with the time my new friend decided I needed to use the restroom for obscene amounts of time. And then a shoot this morning with two boys under 4. I'm exhausted.

I've been doing a lot of lying on the couch, eating soup and jello. V has been amazing, doing the dishes, making soup, editing pictures. I'm so glad we're going away for her birthday this weekend; she needs it.

At the moment, her computer isn't cooperating (the one with photoshop, that we make a chunk of our living off of), I'm totally wiped out, and life looks like it might be heading downhill for a bit. This was not in the plans.

Room

I have today off, because the kids are out of town visiting their dad's extended family. So, instead of photography and homework and litterboxes, V and I rearranged our entire living room (/dining room). It looks kick-ass.

Because that's what a real day off is, right? Not what needs to be done, but what begs to be done, when we're sitting on the couch on our computers, looking around, unhappy.

We're very happy now.

PDA

In a way, this article on Salon goes along with my recent post on "claiming" my gay-ness in public. I can relate to most of the sentences in Christopher Records's piece, and I hate that. I'm generally the (much) more comfortable one, but that doesn't mean I don't think about these things.

Great relationship, not-so-great-but-totally-understandable paranoia. C'est la vie.

Happy

"Would you like to wake up every morning with happy, positive thoughts?"
So asketh the Jehovah's Witness tract we found on our front porch.

"I'm in-right, out-right, up-right, down-right happy all the time!"
So sangeth the wee children's church kids, myself included.

Is it any wonder, then, that depression was the unnameable? It wasn't just that I was taught to "pray through it"; it went more to the core. Depression was a failure of God in my life, and therefore, unacceptable. Not that I ever actually spoke the word, or admitted to myself that it was what I was struggling with...but I still knew how to "deal with" depression. Pray it away. Be happy all the time.

A few weeks ago, I read an article on happy being the only acceptable emotion. The context was contrasting attachment parenting, where children are generally allowed to express themselves, with hyper-conservative parenting that frequently results in children too terrified (of being spanked, frequently) to show any emotion that isn't positive.

I definitely wasn't raised in that latter camp. But the same mentality showed up in my children's church, and is still being heralded as the cure-all that Jesus will bring. "I've been set free; he has made my life wonderful" was an unspoken refrain of my growing-up years. There wasn't a category for depression. The answer was always: Jesus.

No, Jehovah's Witnesses whom I'm glad we weren't home to have to deal with. Dialoguing with you, or more, attending the conference with "a live play" that you want me to, will not make me wake up happy every morning.

"Since Jesus Christ came in, and cleansed my heart from sin, I'm in-right, out-right..." That one didn't work either.

And you know what? It's okay. Because at least it isn't fake.

Refresh

Few things are as healing - even when I didn't know I needed to be healed - as spending time with fellow LGBT-ers, ranting about conservative family, and then being at a housewarming party where someone refers to V and I as his "absolute favorite lesbians, which means you rank even higher than Rachel Maddow."

This weekend away feels so wonderfully refreshing. I'm almost in shock.

Claim

Growing up, I heard a lot of "If you were at gunpoint, would you stand for Jesus or would you renounce him?" We all pledged that we would be like the missionaries and high schoolers who chose death over denunciation. We were told that we would never know unless the moment happened, though.

I still think about this a lot. The thing is, though, my brain has replaced "Jesus" with "wife." We live in a decently liberal city in a conservative state; I still live on edge sometimes about being gay. The scenarios in my head aren't usually life or death, but it's the same principle. If a police officer stops me for speeding and asks where I'm going, do I mention I'm on my way to pick up my wife? To the wrong person, that could be me asking for trouble.

It frequently occurs to me, since I love to be so vocal about having a wife, that I could be asking for my food to be spit in, or my speeding ticket marked up to the next price bracket, or, more casually but still hurtfully, would-be friends and acquaintances to walk away. It's always a risk.

I read once, I don't remember where, about how for LGBT people, holding hands on the sidewalk is never just that. It's so true; it's true of so much more than holding hands. One word could change anything and everything.

Despite all the stress, I'm glad the word isn't "Jesus" anymore, though. I'll take my wife, any day.