The Yellow Razor

When my wife first came out to me (literally the next day) I decided to show her that I supported her and her transition by getting her a ‘starter pack’ of girl stuff. 

I got her women’s socks, some cute panties, a hair brush, some women’s deodorant, and a new razor. 

It was the same brand and model as the one I had been happily using for the prior year, only in a feminine pink instead of the metallic blue one I was using.

Months later, when the initial ‘jersey girl/ preteen’ phase of her transition settled into something more mature, and she realized that purple was her favorite color; 

I picked up a pretty purple razor for her. 

I chose not to buy myself the shimmery yellow one that I really liked, rationalizing that because I couldn’t use the blades that came with it (do to an allergy to the moisturizer strip) that the old one I had was still good enough 

and I didn’t actually need the new one I wanted. 

When my old one did need to be replaced, I got myself the pink one that came in the cheaper set, 

adding ‘mommy guilt’ to my earlier rationalizations.

But . . . my reaction to the feminine razor had 

nothing to do with Hunny’s transition. 

She wasn’t forcing me to keep the old one. 

She didn’t pick out the pink one for me. 

Had she been at the store with me, 

she likely would have just rolled her eyes, 

grabbed the set with the yellow one and gotten it for me. 

She would have seen that my reasons for not getting something nice for myself had to do with feeling like I don’t deserve it, not the brand of moisturizing strips or the price, 

and would have simply reminded me that 

I deserve nice things too.

There’s the desire for something nice that’s your own 

(which primary caregivers tend to sublimate into ‘mommy guilt’), that you don’t have to share, 

where you can put your own needs ahead of the children and spouses who you devote yourself to.

And then comes the guilt. That voice that is every single cruel stereotype and vicious piece of condescending ‘advice’ and shred of self-doubt you’ve ever heard or thought or felt.

How dare you not put your 

family/ children/ spouse’s needs before your own!

How dare you take food from your children’s mouths 

to get that thing you want!

You don’t really need it. 

And you’re selfish if you want it.

You’re taking advantage of your spouse by wasting money 

on (for me any purchase for myself over $30).

You don’t deserve the thing you want because 

you are selfish enough to want it.

And it’s ridiculous.

My own insecurities made me choose to treat myself as less deserving and continue to talk me out of getting myself the razor I want every time I could get it at the store.

I’m still working on my own application of self-care. 

But after I wrote this I was at Target . . . 

and I got myself the yellow razor.

Unicorn

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.

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.



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.) 

“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 18^th 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.



Summertime

The kids are out of school; yesterday was the boys’ last day. We kicked off summer by spending the afternoon hanging with my two best friends (Adoree & Alani) and their kids (between us there are a dozen children).  Our children have known each other from well before birth, and have grown up more like cousins than not. Bam-Bam has been head over heels in love with Adoree’s daughter, Princess (a year older than he is) since he was three. Her son, Daredevil, and Elroy are both Whovians, so there is much talk of sonic screwdrivers and TARDISs when we all get together.

. . .

We are less than a month away from the wedding (and so close to done with the preparations). All the jewelry is finished (made by me, of course. I’ll put up some pictures of the different pieces after the big day). We’ve managed to save a huge amount of money by DIY-ing many of the accessories (so far that list includes: two ring pillows, two flower girl baskets, bridesmaid jewelry for six, flower girl jewelry for three, bridal jewelry for me, an entirely different style of bridal jewelry for Hunny, invitations – I love Vista Print, the handfasting cord, the decorations for my shoes, the flowers for the ceremony – Hunny’s mom volunteered to put the arrangements together for us).  The details are coming together really nicely and the upgrades by the venue are turning this into a much higher end event than we had thought we’d be able to have.

For comparison, the entire cost of our very small wedding a decade ago was close to what we spent on just our dresses this time around. A friend made my dress for just the cost of materials. We had our first ceremony at the park we had taken prom pictures at; the rental on the park was a whopping $4. The potluck reception was at my grandmother’s house. It was perfect for where we were then but this time is going to be an event!

. . .

My camera has returned from walk-about (it disappeared almost a year ago and has only recently resurfaced), so I can actually share pictures again. So, yay for new tutorials! Any suggestions on what you guys want to see made?

I’m hoping that without as much of the school year craziness I’ll be able to actually spend a little more time writing, so thank you all who haven’t forgotten me while the real world has demanded my attention.

-          Vixi

(PS- anyone have a good laundry system to share? I am swamped and I feel like I’m not making any progress. I swear I am just washing the same three loads over and over and not making a dent in the rest . . .)

Where I’ve Been, Part2

Hunny has been on hormones for over a year and a half. She has changed so much, not only physically, but emotionally. She is so feminine that the constant comments about her height drive her crazy. From my own experience, I can say that the ‘you’re so tall’s and the ‘do you play basketball’s get old quickly and she’s still a few inches taller than I am.  She loves her shoes, boots especially. Happily, her feet are only about a half size larger than mine (her feet have gotten significantly smaller, and mine are decidedly not tiny) so we share.  She gets mis-gendered (called sir or him instead of miss /ma’am or her) far less often than she used to (at least when I’m with her), and more often, by people who know her but don’t understand or support her transition rather than strangers.

Physically, the changes are both subtle and startling. Her lips continue to become fuller, her cheeks less angular. Her eyes aren’t as deep set, and even her nose has become more refined. Her body becomes curvier (in all the right places) and her stance has changed as her hips and pelvis widen (I believe the amount of estrogen and progesterone she is taking is causing her body to loosen her ligaments as though pregnant). As her hair has grown out it has become a tumble of curls (since my hair won’t hold a curl at all, I am incredibly envious). I find myself smitten all over again.

The emotional changes are harder. Hunny is breaking decades of societal conditioning and going through puberty at the same time. We argue more than we used to, and more spectacularly, but we also spend more time curled up together, holding and supporting each other. We are closer than ever before, much to the annoyance of the kids. I love her so much. It is physically painful to be apart for very long.  

. . .

Our tenth anniversary is only six months away. We decided to have a wedding, not just a vow renewal, but a wedding to celebrate. We want to have the opportunity to say our vows, Hunny as her true self without hiding and me to the woman I love. We found a beautiful venue that includes nearly everything, and is in our price range. It even included a cake through our choice of outside bakery. We even found our dresses on the same day, at the same store. The sales girls had tears in their eyes when we kissed after finding our dresses. Hunny looks beautiful in her dress, and I love how I feel in mine.

. . .

I turned 32. My parents took the kids overnight. Hunny and I went to dinner, and after a failed attempt to go dancing (the club we went to doesn’t open the dance floor until after the entertainers finish) we went to a movie. Not having the kids underfoot, Hunny and I spent the morning cuddling in bed before going out to breakfast and picking up the monsters. All in all, it was a good day.

. . .

While I hope to be able to write more often, life is hectic and the triplets don’t nap anymore . . .

 I have many things I want to write about. Here’s hoping that I get a little more opportunity to do so.

-  Vixi

Where I’ve Been, Part 1

It has been a long time since I’ve had a moment to sit and type, to get my thoughts out of my head and share them. Having triplets deep in the threes will do that. The boys are back in school, the holidays are over (they’re still taking over the house, but the pressure of making them happen has lifted). The laundry has become its own entity and I battle daily with little sign of results.

. . .

Strong, out of season winds blew down a large section of the fence separating our back yard from our reclusive neighbor’s. When it happened we could have fixed it, but due to said neighbor’s reluctance, it will have to wait until after taxes. 

. . .

The triplets’ adventures have become both more amusing, and more harrowing. They are rapidly approaching their 4^th birthday (and I hope an end to the terrible threes).  Strawberry and Peach look less alike due to Strawberry’s adventures in hair styling. The first incident left Peach with a cute chin length bob (Strawberry has very steady scissors for being three) and Strawberry with a short asymmetrical cut (like Kate Gosling had). Raspberry was able to get away without her sisters giving her more than some layers and trimming her bangs (to her scalp on one side). The second incident was only about a month later and left Strawberry with a very short pixie cut. I was finally able to convince Hunny to get Raspberry’s hair cut after Strawberry tried to give her layers yet again and Raspberry told Hunny that she wanted shorter hair; she had been telling me since the first incident.

. . .

Raspberry got her ears pierced. Although I was hesitant, and still am honestly, (here’s why ) it was Raspberry herself who convinced me. The girls rediscovered the clip on earrings I had made them for their pirate costumes for Halloween of 2011 and their third birthday pictures. For those who haven’t had the experience (or don’t remember), clip on earrings are painful to wear. They are torturous after even a few minutes, and these were the larger flat clips, not the screw down, point of fire implements of torture that were popular a few decades ago. Raspberry wore those pirate hoops for 3 days. As in, asked me to put them on and wore them for 4 to 6 hours at a time. For comparison, Strawberry would wear them for only 10 to 15 minutes and stopped asking to wear them after a couple of times, Peach wore them for less than 5 minutes and refused to try them again after the first time.

On the third day, I told Hunny that it looked like Raspberry wanted earrings. She jumped on my moment of weakness, and that evening Raspberry had cute butterfly studs for us to take care of. Unfortunately, the backs didn’t hold like they needed to, and within the first week Hunny and I ended up reinserting her earrings at least 3 times (not easy when the holes are still that new and not at all healed). So far she hasn’t shown any sign of my metal allergy but we did switch her to sterling studs after she told me her earrings felt ‘pinchy’. Neither of her sisters seem interested in getting their own earrings, although Bam-Bam has shown an interest (if he’s still interested by his 7^th birthday we’ll get his done, he tends to go through fads and we want to make sure he really wants them).

To be continued . . . .

Nine Years

I wore a medieval gown a generous and talented friend custom made for me. The fabric was (and still is) a soft ivory, but it looks white in every picture. My long, dark hair falls down my back, the front braided (less than symmetrically) by my soon to be sister - in - law, who realized half way through that we should have taken time to practice before the big day. I chose not to wear a veil. The red roses in my hand were a last minute bouquet my soon to be mother - in - law assembled from flowers purchased from Costco just hours before.

The embellished sneakers I wore caught in the aisle runner; the park wouldn’t allow us to anchor it to the grass. My dad was reluctant to let go of my hand.

 But at the end of the aisle stood the only person I had ever loved, had ever wanted, had ever needed.   

We got married in front of the same fountain we had taken prom pictures under.  The Officiate had married most of my family, and although we had talked with her about our beliefs, during the ceremony all of our revisions were forgotten, but the I Do’s were heartfelt. And if we both had happy tears threatening to fall, they only served to make our eyes brighter as we walked back down the aisle together, fingers intertwined.

In the nine years that have come and gone since that joyous afternoon, we have lived with family, had our boys, lived on our own as a family, bought a house, had triplet girls, lived through darkness, had moments of shining happiness. 

The groom I walked to on that day is now my wife.

And we are stronger for it. Our marriage, our partnership, our love is stronger, and deeper for every step we’ve taken together. She is still the only person

 I have ever loved, have ever wanted, have ever needed.

 I now understand why her face is hidden in most of our wedding photos, why so many of her happy smiles were tempered with a trace of sadness. And why she doesn’t look at our old photos anymore. But her smile today is radiant. 

The joy of being who she really is burns so bright she almost glows.

Here’s to walking this path together, fingers and hearts still intertwined;

 to holding onto each other through both the smooth and the rocky.

Happy Anniversary, Beautiful Girl.

I love you.

  

Well Hello!

I guess I should start with an introduction . . . .

I'm Vixi. I married my high school sweetheart, and we have 5 kids.

Our oldest (boy) was born in 2004. Our next (boy number 2) was born in 2007, and this year (2010) we had triplets (all girls).

So, that's 5 kids under 6 . . . and I'm not even 30 yet!

Before you ask . . . no, we didn't have help (no infertility treatments, of any kind). Yes, multiples run in my family (boy/girl twins a couple generations back), no we don't plan on having any more, and no we aren't looking for a reality tv show.

I'm very into fantasy and medieval things (art, books, movies, you get the idea).

So much so that I am a card carrying member of the Society for Creative Anachronism (S.C.A. for short). I even converted my hubby and he periodically dresses in armor and hits his friends with a rattan (think solid bamboo) sword.

So, with all the craziness in my life I've decided to add blogging ('cause I like a challange). Here goes . . . .