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.

CODENAME: DEVIATION

Ok, so Elroy had a science paper on genetic heredity 

and for the project had to 'breed' Sesame Street Muppets and 

use Punnet squares to predict what traits the offspring would inherit. 

He decided that this felt like forced breeding and so the only ethical solution was for him to send in a team to rescue said muppets from their captivity. His science teacher was quite impressed by his backstory, and he was able to expand his story into a creative writing assignment as well. 

I told him that if he continued the original story, I would post it on my blog 

(as well as the fan site Archive of Our Own, or AO3).

So, here it is (after I did some editing for him). 

*Trigger Warning for implied non-con/ forced breeding, 

non-graphic violence, and major character death*  

CODENAME: DEVIATION

In the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, a government ‘dark-ops’ facility stood hidden from the public eye. The facility was built for the sole purpose of capturing, containing, and investigating possible threats. This included two Muppets from Sesame Street who had recently quit due to the outrageously low pay and were waiting to be released back into society. The successful mission captured Zoe and Grover in order to discover why the Muppets became sentient.

One year later

The Sesame Street Squad, or SSS for short, is comprised of former Sesame Street Muppets. Cookie Monster, Abby Cadabby, Aloysius Snuffleupagus (CODENAME: Snuffy), and Count von Count (CODENAME: The Count) made up this elite team. While on the run from the agency that had taken Grover and Zoe, these fugitives had spent the last few years looking for their friends. It had taken them an entire year of undercover recon, but they finally found the facility. After being dropped from 3000 feet above the facility, they parachuted onto the helicopter pad.

The team cautiously entered the stark white building only to be met with bodies wearing guard uniforms on the floor and blood on the walls.

“Cookie you are on lookout; Snuffy and Count find some intel on what happened here” Abby ordered.

“Yes boss” the team responded simultaneously.

“Boss! Abby, we found something . . .’ the Count and Snuffy exclaimed. 

Their ominous tone and fearful expressions drew Abby and Cookie over to see what that they had found. Snuffy and the Count were in a surveillance room with a row of screens to one side.

With a yellow folder in hand, the Count said, “I found six files. One, two, three, four, five, six. Six! Ha ha ha!” He opened them up and let the team read them silently.

CASE FILES: Sesame Breeding Facility

Experiment (CODENAME: DEVIATION) involves Subject 4H8B2 (aka: GROVER) and Subject 4H8B1 (aka: ZOE).

Subject ZOE expresses phenotype traits: exo (bulging) eyes, pink nose, red lips, orange furred body, and excessive mane-like hair growth on head.

Subject GROVER expresses phenotype traits: endo (flush) eyes, pink nose, red lips, blue furred body, and only short body hair.

Subjects have been confined for breeding.

Project DEVIATION: 

Breeding has successfully created  Subject 4H8B3 (ABIGAIL) and Subject 4H8B4 (ZIBO). Unlike the parents, both Subjects have magenta body color.

Subject ZIBO expresses phenotype traits: exo (flush) eyes, magenta furred body, pink nose, magenta lips, and excessive mane-like hair growth on head. Subject Zibo most closely resembles Subject ZOE’s body type.

Subject ABIGAIL expresses phenotype traits: endo (bulging) eyes, magenta furred body, pink nose, purple lips, and only short body hair. Subject ABIGAIL most closely resembles Subject GROVER’s body type.

Researchers were unfamiliar with many things that were discovered. A more advanced knowledge of Subjects GROVER and ZOE was gained, however further study of all Subjects is required. Additionally, some researchers found the collection and experimentation on Subjects GROVER and ZOE to be emotionally challenging. Those researchers have since been replaced.

Subjects 4H8B1(ZOE) and 4H8B2(GROVER)  are to be removed to yield more conclusive results from Subject 4H8B3( ABIGAIL) and Subject 4H8B4 (ZIBO).

Removal to be implemented at 21:35 by security staff.

“Abby . . .” Snuffy drawls and gestures to the row of screens with his trunk. 

The rest of the team crowds in.

On the first screen, Grover and Zoe are huddled together in a stark white room when the door opens and a guard in dark military fatigues points his gun at the pair. Grover slowly stands, revealing two magenta muppets. A small scared boy who looks like Zoe and a smaller, angry girl who looks like Grover are hiding in Zoe’s embrace. The guard points impatiently. Zoe, with a horrified look from the kids to Grover, shakes her head “no” and pushes the children behind her.

A second guard grabs Zoe, pulling her away. Grover shouts while reaching out, only to convulse and fall to the floor, grabbing at the shock collar around his neck. The girl stands and shouts as the first guard hits Zoe on the back of the head with the butt of his rifle and she falls to the floor, unnatutally still.

Snuffy stops the feed, gesturing to another screen.

The team moves in time to watch a guard fly and impact the wall at high speed. On the next screen, a guard drops to the ground from the ceiling. It seems like every screen is a terrifying repetition of the same violent events.

Until, on the final screen, the two magenta figures Zoe had fallen defending looked directly at the camera.

Snuffy stopped the feed.

Suddenly, the team hears giggling outside the door followed by a loud “thump”. The door opens to show two small furry figures, giggling with glee, while Cookie Monster lays un-moving in the background.

Abby draws a horrified breath, whispering “they’re supers like him.” When her vision goes black, all she can hear are the cries of her team and the same soulless giggling, this time coming from within the surveillance room.

None of the SSS team is ever seen again.

I needed this today . . .

Yesterday, this whole election really, was brutal.

My candidate did not win.

The winners have made walking back protections on families like mine

part of their campaign promises,

and given the VP Elect's record in Indiana I have to believe that

they will work to accomplish those promises.

So today, I needed a reminder that those communities

(Women, LGBT+, People of Color, Muslims,

Latinos, the Disabled, the Media, etc.)

that the President Elect has spent the last 18 months

ridiculing and denigrating have pulled together before.

And we will do it again.

The movement is hurting and tired,

but our momentum to make the world kinder, more inclusive

and less fearful has not been lost.

My daughters were watching this today,

and I realized just how much I needed to see a diverse group

(even one as nonsensical as multi color anthro ponies)

support one another, lift each other up and rally together to make things better.

We are stronger together.

We will make it through this.

We will protect each other.

We will not let our momentum falter.

And until then . . .

We have singing anthro ponies.

Arguing with Myself: Won’t Someone Think of the Children?

I saw something today that made the little voice in my head

(the one that doesn’t stop until I’ve written down what it has to say)

start gnashing its teeth.

As I left the parking lot where I was waiting for my wife to text me back, a pick-up truck with a confederate flag license plate pulled in.

Now, let’s be clear . . . I’m white.

Not quite blind you with reflected sunlight,

but my heritage just doesn’t get called into question.

My parents were staunch Republicans

(my dad is now an Independent and my mom is a Libertarian, *headdesk*).

In fact one of my dad’s favorite denigrating phrases, for years, was to call anyone who was at all socially progressive a

“Jane Fonda Pinko Commy Faggot.”

It was his favorite insult up until about a decade and a half ago.

My mom (who now denies this conversation ever took place) told me point blank that gay couples shouldn’t be able to get married because the law to legalize same sex marriage (this was probably around 2000, not sure which specific bill) included wording allowing same sex parents to touch the genitals of their children (for things like diaper changes, and medical need) and she didn’t agree with letting pedophiles have that kind of legal loophole.

They are both lifetime members of the NRA,

and vocal Blue Lives/ All Lives Matter proponents.

Now don’t get me wrong, my parents are loving, caring people who have evolved on their views on a number of civil issues

(same sex marriage, interracial marriage,

religious discrimination, and some women’s issues).

And I don’t want to paint them as bigoted or hateful or less than the loving parents and decent human beings they are.

But this is where I came from.

And where I am desperately trying to keep from going back to.

The reason that flag got to me this morning

has to do with the world my kids are growing up in.

Another unarmed black man was shot and killed

on video, with his hands in the air on Friday.

My sister and her husband just had a beautiful little boy, and

I don’t want him growing up in a world where he needs to be afraid of the police

because his skin has more melanin than my kids’.

I don’t want Alani’s beautiful children portrayed as thugs, criminals or sluts

because of the color of their skin.

I don’t want my cousin’s children

demonized for the religion they were raised with, that their mother chose.

For their brown complexions and dark hair and manner of dress.

All of those children deserve to be as unafraid of the police

as my white children are.

Full stop.

My children should not have to worry that their parents’ marriage

is not seen as valid, that someone’s political agenda could see our

legal marriage unmade and

Hunny forced back into a role that would have killed her.

That there are people who would use their lack of understanding, lack of compassion to destroy our family because they aren’t ok with rainbow flags.  

Our children are watching. What message are we teaching them?

What kind of a world are we leaving them? 

#I don't really do hashtags #but this is important #bigotry kills #our kids deserve better

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.

-Vixi

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.) 

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

Bring Vernon Cody Matthews Home Facebook Page  and website.

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 10^th 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.