BLOG of a LESBIAN MOM
RUTH McLEOD-KEARNS
Copyright 2013 Ruth McLeod-Kearns
This is for all families. It doesn’t matter the color, the sexual orientation, rich or poor. To be loved no matter our flaws, is what being a family means. What a wonderful world that is filled with mothers. A special thanks to Lex for the many hours at night he spends making dreams come true. To my wife for still loving me even though I’m a goofball. Spencer, my first born, and Satchel my baby, I love you so much! And to my mom, I love and miss you dearly!
4/12, 3:25PM: Blog Entry 12
Being a mom is hard! Doing it in Los Angeles: terrible (note to self, call realtor). Then, considering that we are raising two boys, oh, and the fact that we’re lesbians - top that! I’m not a writer, but my therapist insisted I vent to the public through my blog, but pay him (note to self, does he get full co-pay if I’m doing everything?). So, I’m back to my blahg. I’ll be honest, it’s better to yell at people I don’t know than to have my family hear it - so, lucky you!
“Jasper, come here and save this for me?” I am already mad that he isn’t here. Harsh, you think? But the kid is fifteen years old, and unfortunately, we are all hostage to his computer skills. Wonderful, right? Except, he has convenient hearing loss. Even if he is standing right in front of me. I have yelled so hard, his hair flies back like a boy Fabio. He doesn’t even flinch.
Even as a baby, he would ignore Susan and I. It really hurt our feelings that a one-week-old baby refused to look at us. Tickle, kiss, coo, we tried it all - not a thing. We had done hearing tests so many times, that we were handed a card for “Hypochondriac Parents” support group.
The woman who handed it to us was a nurse that looked like she had actually trained with Florence Nightingale herself. She even wore a nursing cap that wasn’t one inch smaller than a nun’s head gear. I was furious.
“Tsh Tsh”, the chubby lady said with her ugly ruddy cheeks.
That was It. “Don’t ‘tsh’ us, you pious bitch!” Susie started crying, pleading me to stop using just the hurt in her eyes. But I couldn’t - I wouldn’t. This was our kid and this idiot thought we were crazy. Moments like that drive Susie nuts. She always aims for the sensible and the calm. I, on the other hand, go for the gusto. One of the rules I follow is that I will NEVER tolerate an insult towards my family.
Susan is my polar opposite. Even the chinese symbols at the restaurant I go to strongly suggest that two people like us should never think about being together. She has a strong tendency to cry when there is confrontation. She does not like disputes of any kind. I have no problem with a good disagreement. In fact, I think a verbal fight is healthy. What couple is exactly the same?
I stare at nothing, thinking of the good ol'-days. Oh the memories. “JASPER!!!!” I really meant it this time.
“I’m here, I’m here!” The very tall boy enters my favorite place: the little studio that holds a very small stereo, a desk, a fan (because our air conditioner has boycotted this area) and my first manual typewriter. The other half of the room is where I paint. And finally, the computer: the machine built to give me the world, but instead, all it’s done is make me increase my kids allowances to get them off the damn thing and clean their rooms.
“Jasper I need you to save this and post it to my new blog site.”
“You’re writing a blog? About what?”
“It’s an assignment really.”
“Lesbian Moms?” He looks like he may vomit.
“Don’t worry, your friends will never see this.” It hurts me when the very core our family is built upon brings the boys angst. They have not known any other life. But they are always surrounded by families that meet the definition of normal, making our lives an anomaly. One day, maybe they will understand that love is such a gift.
“Now?”
“If you want to see your allowance before college, I would suggest now.”
“What a relief! My personal money manager just called and said I was short a million by exactly my $40.00 allowance. Praise Jeezus, mama! Our troubles are past!”
“Hilarious, smart ass. Just do it, please.”
He sits down, typing, moving, hitting enter, and it occurs to me that he really is talented. And as a bonus prize, I have the one kid in the world that knows everything about everything. It is like I birthed Ghandi. And yet, I can still picture him as a toddler, climbing in bed with Susan and I. We lost so much sleep just watching him in repose. It was pure good. We would both have a hand on his hand, foot, somewhere on his perfectness, bringing us both a smile as we drifted off to sleep.
There is something about this boy, who is turning into a man, that makes me remember so many little things in my life. Moments we enjoyed, then put on a shelf of mind trinkets that are the map of how we have arrived where we are.
My wife’s name is Susan Jestle-McCord. Before it was legal for same sex couples to be married, she was simply Susan Michelle Jestle. We were domestic partners and had some credence in the eyes of society. However, when something is out of reach, it makes it more than desirable to have.
I’m speaking of an institution that has slammed the doors of so many before us. We lived our lives within those constraints, dreaming of our future as a family that included children. We wanted to be somebody’s mom. We picked out sperm from a fertility clinic and off to the doctor we went. It was as romantic as having the flu, but desire was an energy as strong as space.
I was the first to be fertilized by #3214’s sperm. Couples were allowed to use the sperm from the same donor, so our kids would be half-blood siblings. I really thought Susan wanted to be first, but I did choose tails after all. We hit it the first time.
I was almost depressed by this. I figured that it would take many attempts. I made a timeline that let me slow my smoking down in doable increments, finish one last bag of pot I had bought just last week from the medical marijuana dispensary, and stop caffeine. I exaggerated my occasional migraine to get my hands on that card that made buying weed legal. Is this a great country or what?
Susie was just as excited as a child on Christmas morning. Our lives were instantly converted to the American dream. She hovered over everything I did. She discarded my paraphernalia, tossed out my Marlboros, and bought all decaf drinks and coffee. She was turning into my mom. We read, “What To Expect When You’re Expecting”, and I choked down the vitamins with yet another tab of folic acid so the baby would have a head that wasn’t divided in the lip or palate.
Susan even suggested a pregnant yoga class. I would rather hang myself. Besides being a lawyer, she was organized, really great with finances, conservative, and she was crazy about me.
4/18, 6:42PM: Blog Entry 19
Greetings! Exciting news. I have received a fan letter! I am pretty sure it was spam, but the praises bestowed on me, even though the person didn’t really seem to know my name, made my day. I felt like a real-life celebrity. (Maybe there is something to this social media gig.) And to add to my good fortune, I received a question from Kinsey in Huntington Beach. Kinsey asked if my wife and I are similar. The answer is simple: No! Not even close. Except being the same sex, we are different in every way. But we have remained in-love, a crazy kind of love from the very beginning. That is all I am willing to share, but thanks for the question, Kinsey. And thanks for the fan letter, “Buttercup”. Everybody have a safe and wonderful weekend. Signed, Crazy Casey.
That is me. Casey McCord. I wasn’t kidding when I said Susan and I are different. I am like a wind blowing through. My thoughts bounce around in wild angles that make it difficult
for me to finish things. I get bored with my brilliance. I’m not sure if Susie would call it “brilliance”, but she would use terms like “disorganized” and “hyper” - though my physique would never spell out anything meaning overdrive.
Susan wears a size two. TWO! I didn’t wear that when I was two years old.
I’m not sure why, but as a completely freelance artist, my clothes never meant much to me. I’m not fat, I just seem to be in the “Green Mile” blossom plan. I’d say chubby may be a “fitting” description.
This was the main reason why clothes shopping proved difficult on many levels. I distinctly remember Susan yelling from a changing room, “Hon, this is too big, can you see if they have this suit in a