Wednesday, December 10



A while back I found this on Pinterest . . .

I was almost in tears by the end (The 10th Doctor and Rose are my favorites). On a whim, I recently began reading some of the fan fiction out there featuring the pair and this story demanded to be written.

(Warning, spoilers for events in Doomsday and Journeys End)

Inspired by the idea that it was Rose, not Jackie who was pregnant and that Ten was the father. This features Rose and Meta-Crisis Ten,
set after the events of Journeys End.

So, here it is. My first piece of fan fiction.


It only took one look at the dark haired toddler and he knew. She had lied to him, let him believe the child was her mother’s. How her heart must have broken with each false word. Stranded on that beach where his other self couldn’t reach her, when the sun burned out too soon for him to tell her how both of his hearts beat only for her. The betrayal in her eyes when his other self had refused to tell her those words when they returned to that beach. He had done it for her, and to give this self, created with only one beating heart, the chance to heal. To be redeemed.
She looked up at him, nervously brushing her short, blonde hair behind her ear. Watching the face of this new version of the man she had crossed dimensions for. Understanding dawned in his eyes and she dropped her gaze; she was afraid of the anger she felt sure his eyes would hold.
A soft hand caressed her cheek, startling a gasp from between her full lips.
“Oh, Rose. I am so sorry . . . I should have been with you.” That broken whisper in her ear, forced her to meet his sad brown eyes. “Can you forgive me for not seeing the truth sooner?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. Don’t you see why I couldn’t tell you? You would have ripped the universe apart. I couldn’t bear being the cause of that.” Her soft voice trembled as tears filled her dark eyes, her broken heart still aching. There was no point in denying things now. “I waited so long, hoping that somehow My Doctor would come back for me. That we could be a real family . . . When you didn’t come for me,” she paused, visibly pulling herself together. “There was nothing for it. I had to find you. Torchwood was my best bet. I needed you. Our son does too.”
Her hope-filled eyes begged him to understand, to forgive her deception as she had forgiven his other self for leaving her behind. His arms crushed her against him before she was aware that he had moved. Being held in those familiar arms undid her, and the tears she thought had been banished quickly dampened his dark blue jacket. His breath caught as he buried his face in her hair, tightening his embrace and murmuring the soft, loving words that his other self had held back.
She slowly regained her composure, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. Feeling her chin move, he shifted to meet her lips with his own. Long moments of frenzied kisses and whispered reassurances passed before either one stopped for breath.
Still holding Rose against his chest, his glance returned to the child sleeping peacefully on Jackie’s lap.
“So. This is Tony . . .”

Hope you enjoyed it - Vixi


Thursday, November 27

I just want to say . . .

Thank you.
To those who have stuck with me back when life was challenging in more usual ways;
To those who found my story compelling enough to stay;
To those who have been challenged to think about things in new ways;
To those who are really only here for the sparkly bits;
To everyone who has found something in my words that speaks to them . . . 

Thank you!

Happy Thanksgiving to all.
 May you share time with those you love and support you, 
Have food to share.
And peace, in mind, body and heart.

Sunday, October 12


The woman I love is sleeping. I should be, too.

But this post has been rattling around inside my head 
for such a long time. I have to let it out.

It has been two and a half years since Hunny came out to me and we started on the journey of her transition. It has been beautiful, isolating, freeing, difficult, transformative, terrifying, joyful, bleak, nerve wracking.

And it has been so very worth it.

Some friends have been left behind, not because we didn’t want or need them, but because the changes were too dramatic for their comfort. We have made new friends within the community, helping us to rebuild what others had ripped away. Hunny has found a new community, others who have gone through what she has; those who have shared her struggle.

I have not found the same welcome. 
And I do not ask or presume membership, 
the dues are far too costly and the jacket wouldn’t fit anyway.

I understand many of the reasons why I am held at a distance.
 I am, at once, a representation of the spouse who stayed, and a reminder of the ones who didn’t. By staying with Hunny, by supporting and encouraging her transition, by loving her through everything . . .

I am salt poured into the wounds of those whose 
partners didn’t, or couldn’t.

Conversely, I have had members of the community look at me with such heartbreakingly forlorn hope in their eyes. Eyes that want the kind of love, the kind of life that Hunny and I have together but have already given up hope of ever finding it for themselves.

Eyes that have become resigned to loss and loneliness as the exchange they must make to live authentic lives.

At those times I often feel like an exotic animal on display, 
to be admired from a safe distance. 

To be seen and appreciated but too dangerous to get close to.

The world is often unkind to those who break the mold, and I don’t blame those who have been hurt, who have had to give up everything, for the sadness and anger that they feel when I am around.

Like I said, I do understand.

I still stand with you.

I promise not to bite any fingers that reach into the enclosure.

Sunday, July 27

I Thee Wed . . . Part 2

The guests were seated, waiting for the show to begin. As we waited for our cue, Hunny and I turned to each other, both of us realizing that the kids had never practiced their entrances. Elroy led the way, standing where the two aisles converged, waiting to walk both his mothers to the altar. 
As the first sets of bridesmaids started walking, the younger kids (Bam-Bam walked with Peach.  Raspberry carried a second ring pillow and walked with Strawberry) forgot their last minute instructions. Alani and Adoree quickly stepped in and each walked with one set. We didn’t want to budget extra for real rose petals (all our flowers were artificial. The venue wouldn’t allow any fake flowers where they might get blown onto the green) so Peach and Strawberry carried baskets with arrangements instead of scattering petals.
Finally, it was our turn. Hunny and I walked down the short set of stairs to the grass before separating to each walk down our own aisle. We chose to walk alone (Hunny’s dad is not in her life, my dad wasn’t able to attend, and we’re both adults who choose to give ourselves to each other), meeting together to walk arm in arm with our oldest child for those last few steps.
I looked in her eyes as our friend told the story of how our love came to exemplify what is most important. Elroy bound our hands in a handfasting ceremony, tying the cord decorated with pictures of our children,
tokens of the family we had created together.
Hunny had tears in her eyes while I spoke the vows I had written.

And the summer sun was not the only reason my eyeliner ran down
my cheek while she spoke hers. 

We exchanged rings, smiling as we repeated our ‘with this ring’s. 
And then came the kiss.
I dipped her (like in the movies) . . .  Away from the audience.
(In fairness, that was the direction I usually dip her, and I got too swept up in the moment to make sure our friends and family could see us).
We walked back triumphantly through the crowd (many of whom forgot to use the bubbles we had provided), and burst into tears in each other’s arms once we got past the last row of chairs.
 The guests headed inside to enjoy the appetizers and ambiance while we took pictures. Our photographer even managed to get the
picture for our Christmas card this year.
All photos were taken by our fantastic Photographer Jaymee Lynn.
Here is her website or you can contact her on Facebook.

Sunday, July 6

I thee wed (part one)

So we had our big day.
 A year of planning, thousands of dollars invested, headaches and heartaches along the way, drama from family and vendors . . .
And when it looked like it would be a disaster,
everything came together into the most amazingly perfect day.

 We won’t get the official photos back for about a month (because our photographer is a professional, and my eye liner ran down one cheek so she’ll have to fix every picture) but I couldn’t leave everybody waiting that long.
I promise I will share my favorites once I get them.
For now we only have the pictures our friends and family have shared with us.

 The big day started with mani – pedis at a crazy busy local nail art salon.
I chose sparkly French tips with crystals for the occasion . . . and not a single picture of them turned out. You’ll just have to wait for the official ones to see them, I guess.
Hunny went a bit bigger with 3D roses and dark purple crystals
to accent her French tips . . .

One of Hunny’s bridesmaids, Dashie, (who we had worried wouldn’t be able to make it) was able to get off work early, met us for lunch (because it was 11:30 by the time our toes were done). She totally came through for us at the last minute.
 After lunch she helped us get our stuff to the hotel, hung out (and kept the mood light) while we got our hair done in our room, followed our taxi
with the stuff we had to bring to the venue.
Dashie was a superstar and totally helped keep things going more smoothly
(and she rocked her purple dress).
My sister’s medical procedure ended up being too difficult and painful for her to join us. While we missed her greatly there was no way she could have participated
(in fact, pain killers and sleep were really all she could manage afterward).
Once we got to the venue, we had a chance to enjoy all the sweet, thoughtful touches the staff had for us. Hunny’s niece, CareBear, did our makeup (and did great, we were the ones who forgot the waterproof eyeliner). The A/C unit had gone out for the building (including the reception hall), so the staff had ordered
portable industrial units to keep everybody from melting.
Adoree and Alani arrived with our children in tow (and got them ready for us while CareBear did our makeup).  Both of our dresses had corset backs, plus we both had amazing corsets on underneath. There was much lacing
(with Dashie the only one who knew how to tighten the corsets),
and neither dress ended up tight enough (we kept pulling the backs up all night).
But when it was time to walk  . . . everything was perfect.

Because I was walking to meet Her.
(Update on my missing brother: It has been over 3 weeks since he disappeared. Search and Rescue did an exhausting and very thorough, search and other than a few early leads has come up with nothing substantial. It appears that he made his way out of the forest, but that just means he could be anywhere. Here's the post that has all the links for the search.) 

Friday, June 13

One More Week

First off, I’d like to thank all of you who shared the information about my missing brother. As of this afternoon, the search has not turned up anything substantial and the area where he was last has been exhaustively combed. We still have a couple of days with some smaller groups of searchers but the local authorities are working on investigating potential leads outside of the forest.
For continued updates please visit the
I will also post new updates here as we get them.
 Ok . . . *shuffles papers* . . . now onto the meltdown.
So, we are one week away from both
our 10th wedding anniversary and our wedding / vow renewal.
 A few weeks ago my sister (who is also one of my bridesmaids) let us know that due to health complications she may not be able to be in the ceremony,
and possibly unable to attend at all.
This sucks.
She was one of my original bridesmaids, is incredibly open and supportive of both Hunny’s transition and of our relationship, and has been an excited participant at every stage of planning. Her health absolutely comes first, but it will hurt if she isn’t able to be there.
 Since my brother has been missing for a week, it is less and less likely that he will be able to attend. While I am hopeful that my brother will reappear unharmed with an awesome story of his harrowing misadventure, the longer he is gone the greater the likelihood of an extended medical stay.
Not only is this hard because of the worry and fear we are all trying to keep at bay, it also makes it less likely that my parents will be able to attend. I’m fairly sure that they will, rightly, choose to remain in the search area in case there are any other discoveries made. I understand the necessity, unfortunately the search area is about 500 miles from the venue, and it seems unlikely that they will be willing to leave the search for that long.
This does further complicate things for us as my mom was planning to be our childcare from the night before the event until the end of the weekend (so we could have a day or two as a second honeymoon). Happily, Adoree and Alani (my remaining bridesmaids, also from our original wedding) have totally stepped in to make sure the kids get to the venue so that 
Hunny and I can get ready on the big day. My friends are amazing.
 Today, Hunny found out that one of her bridesmaids may not be able to make it due to training at a new job, but our makeup artist may also be working
and so unable to get us ready . . . one week from the event.
 So, we may be down to 2 bridesmaids each; be doing our own makeup (any pointers on false lashes? I have never used them . . .); and most of my immediate family may not show up. And we still aren’t sure how Hunny and I are getting to the venue, we have a limo booked to take us from the reception (cause neither of us will be able to drive in our gowns) but if our childcare is only for the day of than we can’t rely on the hotel’s courtesy shuttle to get us (and much of the wedding stuff) to the venue in the first place as we won’t be going to the hotel. (Our other option is to change out of our gowns at the end of the reception, but this is less than ideal with how the venue’s changing are is part of the bathroom in the reception hall.)
At this point I’m not sure whether to laugh, scream or cry. I’d like to lie down, but the kids are too rowdy (even after playing in the yard), and Hunny has already been crying so I can’t afford to indulge in a meltdown.
We just have to manage to get through one more week . . . somehow.  

Tuesday, June 10

Lost. Please Help!

My youngest brother went hiking alone on Friday and hasn't returned.
Search and Rescue is canvasing the area but any information anyone may have will be a huge help.
Please pass this on.

Friday, May 30

“They’re called Boobs, Ed.”

For all that this will likely be a tongue in cheek piece with snarky asides and some amusing visual aides; this is not an easy post to write. Most of the time I am at peace with my body. I can see it through the loving, lustful eyes of my wife. I remember the feats it preformed growing and feeding our children. I am confident in my ability to take care of business physically. I am the opener of stuck jars, the one who gets the tire iron moving, the primary mover for children, furniture and groceries.  My body is strong; it is powerful and capable of amazing things. And then I put on a bathing suit . . .
Let me start by saying: I am busty. Well Endowed. I have large tracts of land. (The last time I tried to get fitted at a department store, the poor ‘fitter’ ran out of letters well before she ran out of measure tape. I have to go to specialty stores and even there my selection is very . . . industrial.) My tummy has changed from my pre-children days, and the little pooch I’ve had since puberty has extra skin thanks to the triplets and Bam-Bam, the ten pound wonder. At six feet tall, I tend to balance out my middle, but my chest has been my largest measurement since high school.
Don’t get me wrong, the boobs can be quite fun. I never need to worry about filling out my bodice at Renn Faires or SCA events. I always have cleavage, even in a sports bra. My wife’s safe place is in my arms with her head on my chest. I was able to nurse and pump for my triplets for their entire first year and still have enough production to bag close to a gallon of milk (I wanted to donate it, as I had it in deep freeze, but couldn’t because I had been drinking tea with fenugreek and the milk bank wouldn’t accept it due to liver issues in sensitive babies).
They also suck. The back pain; the pain of underwire that is not wire, but cut sheet metal. The indents in my shoulders that I’ve had since before my 18th birthday. Not ever having a shirt that really fits unless I tailor it myself. Having the choice between swimwear that my grandmothers would find too matronly or getting something custom made and hoping I didn’t just waste an enormous amount of money on something that I end up hating because it never fits.
 Case in point, we plan on going to a waterpark without the kids as part of our honeymoon and so Hunny and I decided to get new swimsuits. We have a custom swimwear place near us, and even though they took my measurements there, made a list of detailed changes to the basic pattern to make it fit me, when I tried it on yesterday . . . I almost cried. My tankini top looked like a maternity prom dress. And the top was nowhere close to fitting. They have to remake the entire thing. I am crossing my fingers that what they come up with will be better than what they made the last time.
Ok, onto the visual aides.
Here are some examples of what I’m assuming people around me see based on their behavior when I go into a store in a low cut top or (heaven forbid) a bathing suit top (in the event I have to grab some forgotten supply on the way to play in the water).
From most Men:
From many Women (generally of the less busty variety):  
From the older generation (of any gender):

What this makes me feel I look like:
What I actually look like:

I just love body issues . . . don't you?
- Vixi
A quick reminder about comments:
I screen comments before they are posted. I try to answer respectful questions to the best of my ability. I don’t mind spirited discussion, and I understand that there will be people who disagree with the choices I (and my family) have made. Personal attacks and hateful or discriminatory remarks will not be allowed.

Wednesday, May 28

Arguing with Myself: Sticks and Stones

A Case for Compassionate Speech
*trigger warning – discussion of homophobic / transphobic slurs*
I want to say first that I am only going to talk about a small handful of terms used in regards to the LGBT community. I know that there are so many more that need discussion (both within this community and in our broader culture), but those are not my stories to tell, or iniquities to contend with. For some well stated arguments about some other terms that need addressing in our broader culture please check out Tanis Miller’s post on able-ism and AAfterwit’s post regarding the discussion of racist terminology. 
. . .
‘The first amendment gives me freedom of speech. If that dyke doesn’t like it, she can f@#%ing blow me . . .’  
‘I didn’t know tranny was considered offensive . . .’
‘I’m gay and I don’t have a problem with it. Why can’t that faggot take a joke?’
In the past few months there have been a number of incidents involving people in the public eye 
(or at least on public social media) making statements including terms that offended others. The public response to this tends to be outrage, sometimes at the person who made the statement, and often at anyone who takes that person to task for saying it.
Don’t get me wrong, I believe that each of us has the right to voice our own opinions as we see fit. And the government agrees, since the First Amendment only protects from government action on grounds of speech.
This post is not about them.
I do believe that those who do not know (their reaction to being informed is usually to apologize when informed of an overstep) should be taken at their apology and allowed he chance to do better.
This post isn’t about this group either.
One of my wife’s friends (from before transition) commented on an anti-bullying article I had posted to face book about how “as a Mormon” he liked to open with a ‘mormon joke’ as a way of starting a discussion about the church. The problem being, most of those kind of jokes don’t have the same type of cultural stigma attached to them that slurs do. Someone is far less likely to be victimized, often violently by another for being openly Mormon. Religion has an element of choice that being part of the QUILTBAG spectrum doesn’t.
The line at where humor becomes derogatory speech is easier to define when the person using it is from outside that community.
It becomes much more difficult when it is a member of that group who has chosen to ‘reclaim’ that term as a source of empowerment. 
Here’s the thing, if you fit into this last group please understand that not everyone is in the same place in their journey that you are. That word may have lost its power for you, but others have not gotten to that place yet.  For them, every syllable is an act of violence against their soul, a way that people have tried to shame them into living someone else’s beliefs.
Words can re-open scars and propel people back into the darkness they are only just winning free of.
People don’t want your voice silenced, your truth stifled.
We all need to speak with more compassion, lest we cause more pain to those already hurting and scarred. For some, a small, unthinking comment can be incredibly destructive. So many have had wounds inflicted by those who should have treated them with love and kindness.  
Please don’t use your victory over the hurtful terms in your life blind you to how much potential they have to hurt others.
- Vixi



Sunday, May 25

They totally asked for it

So, here’s the Facebook conversation that transpired after I asked my friends (who I talked about in said post) to approve my most recent post (Summertime) before I put it online. I like to give people an out . . .  Please excuse the horrible shorthand (what can I say, it’s FB). At this point Alani hadn’t picked a name yet, so she was referred to as X.
Adoree: good to me!

Alani: No complaints here
I was gonna make a joke about how u could use the x for my psuedonym but i am afraid u will use them...Hahaha !

Adoree: hahaha
madame X

 Me: Do you have a preference for an online name . . . careful, don't tempt me.

 Adoree: (cept I think thats a porn star or something)

 Alani: Alani

 Me: she was forever known as Mrs. X, and had to sit with her face in the shadows
Alani is a good one.

 Adoree: lol

 Alani: Lol! First i was gonna say professor ....then came triple into my omg

 Me: and here I was thinking about those confession pieces (like on 60 minutes) where the person has decided to remain annonymous
how is it I'm the one that didn't go to the dirty place with it? that never happens

 Alani: Totally slipping

 Adoree: tsk tsk!

 Me: i know, i know. i promise to do better next time

 Hunny: Lol

 Me: careful now, I may have to pull a Bloggess and stick all this up as a post . . . .

 Adoree: It's ok, its still early

 me: that sounded like a dare . . . .

 Adoree: I double dog dare you?
I would say chili dog dear, but I learned what a chili dog is, and eww

 Alani: Standing here not knowing what to say....hmmm ...

 Me: i always heard it as triple dog dare . . . do i need to google chili dog? now I'm scared

 Alani: Yes triple lol!! Tho your youngest would say chilli dog adoree