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

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 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.  

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

 
 

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

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.

  

Arguing with Myself: Rape Prevention

Lately rape has been in the news quite a bit . . . 

Congress voted down the Violence Against Women Act.

 

Jyoti Singh Pandey, the 23 year old med student was brutally gang raped and beaten, days later dying from the event.

Notre Dame University chose not to bench 2 football players after separate allegations of sexual assault and rape, leading to the suicide of one victim.

Two members of Steubenville, Ohio’s high school football team were videoed bragging about taking a girl who had passed out at a party, stripping her, digitally penetrating her (fingering her), and taking her, unconscious,  to three other parties where they exposed her body to others, urinated on her and humiliated her.

 The boys still got to play . . . . 

I think the underlying reason that so many people are willing to use this as an excuse to ‘slut shame’ (she was drinking, out at night, wearing X style of clothing, was dancing, wasn’t a virgin and had it coming) or ‘victim blame’ (she fought back, didn’t fight back, should have done X to avoid the situation) is because rape isn’t generally understood.

 

Most people believe the fallacy that rape is an issue of impulse control.

That rapists can’t control their sexual urges.

That rape is about sex . . .

Rape is about power and control, not sex.

Rape is about taking the power to consent away from the victim, about proving the rapist has more power because they can make you submit to them.

That the rapist is entitled to the victim’s body, to sex,

even to the victim’s life.

I have been lucky. I am 31 years old and have not been the victim of sexual assault or rape. But there is a very real chance that at some point in my life I will be, simply because I’m a woman. My sister and three other friends over the course of my life have been. My daughters, my sons (men are as vulnerable to rape as women but very, very few report it), my wife (she’s at higher risk because she’s transgender), everyone I love has the potential to be a headline.

Or, far more likely, not make the headline.  

Prevention isn’t about the victim avoiding being victimized. That hasn’t worked in the past, and isn’t working now.

Rape prevention is about people, men as well as women, working to change the conversation. Parents teaching their sons and daughters that only yes means yes. That being drunk doesn’t equal consent. That no does not mean try harder.

Custador, a fellow blogger who writes at Unreasonable Faith ), has made this pledge in order to help do just that . . .

 

I will never condone rape or support rape culture in any way. I will object, loudly, when a rape joke is told. I will not tolerate objectification of women, amongst my male friends or amongst anybody else. I will do my best to be aware of my male (and white, and straight, and middle class) privilege, and to not take advantage of it. If and when I have children, I will try to educate them to critically appraise the media to which they are exposed and be aware of the gender messages within it. I will not spend money on any product, company or media which I am aware of having promoted rape culture or gender disparity, regardless of whether they have done so deliberately.

 

I think most of us, men and women, can get on board with that.