Mac and Andy, Andy and Mac

If you are not new to this blog you will already know that my wife Tracy and I made our son Mac with the help of his dad Andy. If you ARE new here then you can check out a bit of our story here or here or here. 

Making a child in this queer context brings up some contradictory thoughts on biology. On the one hand, biology matters. My wife and I spent countless hours debating on how we should best grow our family. And we chose Andy to be a part of our child's life (and ours) very carefully. We wanted our child to know that part of himself. And we wanted him to have access to the extended family created by virtue of his biology. 

But, at the same time, biology doesn't matter at all. Legally, Mac is as much my wife's son as he is mine (his biological mother). And in the ways that matter more than legal paperwork, he is entirely hers. She is the one he wants first when he is hurt. She is the one who comforts him in the middle of the night. When we play Go Fish it is always them (the "cool guys") against me. 

And so we marvel at how much our son looks like his dad because it's fun to see those similarities. But we know that while the biological connection between them matters, the love they share matters so much more. 

I see so much of Andy in Mac. And I think Andy sees it too. When Mac looks up at his dad and comments on how he's "missing some hair up there" Andy laughs and warns Mac that he will be next. 

They have the same ears. And they share that smile that is so big that their eyes need to close to make room on their faces. But we chose Andy not for his charming smile or bright eyes. We chose him because he was kind and funny and generally just a really good guy. And as Mac grows I can see those qualities in him too. And that's why biology matters. And doesn't at all. 

Want to see more photos from Mac and Andy's shoot? You are in luck! They are below. What do you think? Does Mac look like his Dad? 

All photos are from Mondays with Mac Photography. We happily serve Ottawa, The Ottawa Valley, and Sudbury.

The banner behind them is from GenWoo. 

First Day of School

For years I've seen the photos of smiling (and crying) small children heading off on their first day of school. My reaction was a pretty standard "aw that's cute." But I never fully grasped the enormity of that moment for the kids and for their parents.

Over here we are all mostly ready for this transition. Mac is an only child and he is lonely. My ability to stay in character while playing dinosaurs or having a magical pony tea party is not note-worthy. He is craving more child interaction than the park and playdates can provide. And I think I will enjoy playing dinosaurs and having tea parties much more when they happen for a few hours in the evening rather than ALL.DAMN.DAY. Also, my business is really busy. Which is a really fantastic problem to have but it's also really hard to find balance. Most days you can find me editing photos until the very wee hours of the morning and then I'm woken-up by Mac, full of energy and ready to start his day, just a few hours later. With him in school all day I can hopefully get more work done during daylight hours and actually spend more quality time with my family.

So, for all of these reasons, we are very much looking forward to the first day of school tomorrow. But then, there's the reality that I'm sending my whole heart off into some kind of unknown wilderness. My sweet kid who has been somewhat sheltered in his 4 years on this earth. Who hasn't yet learned that "pink is for girls" and "blue is for boys." Who is as likely to ask for fairy wings as a toy truck. Who still says "did you notice that?" instead of "did you know that?" which makes me smile every.single.time. What changes are in store for all of us in the months ahead? Will the teachers be kind to him? Will the kids be kind to him? Will he be kind to the other kids? Will he be able to hold onto his goofy and sweet personality? There's a lot of questions.

Recently, in a parenting group I'm in, someone really smart offered the following words of wisdom:

"Sending our kids out into the parts of the world we can't carefully curate is the greatest act of faith imaginable. Faith in our kids that they have the resilience and self-confidence to be themselves. Faith in humanity to recognize and celebrate their beauty. Faith in ourselves that we've prepared them for whatever is ahead."

And she is so very right. So that is what I'm trying to do - have faith. And my gosh it is hard!

So this one is for all the first time school parents out there this week. May we all keep the faith.

P.S. Thanks for reading! I know it's been a long time since I've written. There's a few reasons for that - one being that I've struggled to find the balance between public and private. And that gets more complicated as Mac ages and has his own personality. It's sometimes hard to differentiate between my stories and his stories. But the biggest reason is that Mondays with Mac Photography has just been so very very busy and I'm rarely ahead of schedule when it comes to editing. I'm hoping that Mac being in school will allow me a bit more time to write (both about my family and to share the images from the beautiful wedding and families I photograph). So it seemed like the first day of school was as good a day as any to jump back in.

Have you met my Dad? A guest post from Mac.

I have a Ma, a Mo, and an Auntie Tata. They all have their strengths and weaknesses when it comes to caring for me. My Ma is the best at scaring the bad dreams away and my Mo is the best at washing my hair without getting soap in my eyes. I don't know what is wrong with my Ma but she really sucks at that. And my Auntie Tata is the best at never saying no. She'll even lift me up to the magic cupboard and let me pick my own treat.

It takes a lot of work to tire these three out. But, hey, I'm up for the challenge. Sometimes other grown-ups, like my Gramma and Grampa, come to visit and Ma, Mo, and Auntie Tata sit on the couch depressed that they aren't getting all of my attention. Sometimes they can't even open their eyes because they are so sad. 

I also have a Dad but he lives in New York City. I visited him there last year. It's a cool place with lots of bagels. Dad comes to visit us in Canada too. He complains about the cold but not about the donuts. 

The first few times he visited I was just a baby and still a bit shy. My Ma hadn't yet earned my trust and I could never be really sure that she would come back when she left the room. So I kept her in arm's reach just in case. But she's left me 1023 times now and has come back every time so I'm starting to believe her when she says she'll be "right back." 

This visit with Dad was the best one yet. I'm not a baby anymore so I got to do big boy stuff with him. 

Like watch videos of cats on the button machine that my moms never let me touch. 

And staying up really late to watch even more videos of cats.

We had a pretty epic game of hide and seek in our cool no-moms-allowed blanket fort. 

He even showed me all of his cool big boy products - like soap that doesn't smell like flowers and bottles of dark liquid that make you smell rugged when you spray them. Once he forget to let me come in the bathroom with him. But I waited outside the door. 

And he felt so bad that he let me keep his toothbrush. That doesn't even have any cartoon characters on it. 

And when Ma brought us donuts he let me eat the cool one with the little coloured balls over it. 

He was really cool. And I guess he liked me too because he was constantly taking my picture. 

Ma says I'm starting to look just like him. 

Hopefully one day I can be just as cool as he is too. 

Marriage (Things I Hope for my Son)

I wrote recently about wanting my son to believe in a higher power. To be honest, I struggled with admitting that because I didn’t want to be that mom who maps out her child’s life before he says his first word. I want him to know that he can do anything and be anything he wants without disappointing me. And yet there is this list of wants that pulls at my heart.

I have come to accept that it is OK for me to have hopes for my son as long as he also knows that he is the captain on his ship of life. His mom and I will be his first mates, while he will have us, until such a time that he finds a new first mate and then we will happily let ourselves be demoted to a less laborious task. We will mop the floors and repair the hull (I don’t even really know what a hull is. Perhaps I should quit this ship metaphor before this gets embarrassing). My point is that he is in charge of his own life and we will be there in whatever supporting roles are appropriate. He will be at the helm (OK, that’s my last shipping term. Promise) but hopefully he will allow us to point out some routes on the map.

And with that, welcome to post two in my unplanned series entitled Things I Hope for my Son. On my mind this week is marriage. If you are in Canada you have probably noticed that same-sex marriage has been in the news recently. The short version is that an American couple came to Canada to get married (something they were prohibited from doing in their home country) and when the marriage failed they returned to Canada to get divorced. Once here the Department of Justice argued that since their marriage had no practical validity in their home country it also wasn’t legal here.  Outrage filled the twitterverse and facebook newsfeeds everywhere.  It turns out that the situation was slightly more complicated (you can look all that up if you are so inclined but this isn’t the point of my post so I am going to move on now).

Whenever same-sex marriage gets brought into the media it makes me narcissistically reflect on my own marriage. The truth is that I LOVE being married. I love that we have promised to be spend our lives together and promised to do the (sometimes hard) work of nourishing and protecting our relationship so that it will last a lifetime. I love that we made those promises in front of our friends and family so that they would know just how deep our commitment to one another truly is. I love that I know, in the deepest part of me, that there could not possibly be another person in this world who could ever know my heart from the inside out the way she does. And, more importantly (so much more importantly) I am immeasurably grateful that she feels the same way. Because, as some of us (painfully) learn, loving someone and being loved by that person are often mutually exclusive. But when they come together, when you love the same person who loves you wholly and completely, that THAT is where the magic is. And I have it.

Photo thanks to Jeff Green

Photo thanks to Jeff Green

But I didn’t always feel that way. I was in my early twenties when same-sex marriage became a federal right in Canada. I was not in love and I had no interest in marriage. It wasn’t my fight. In fact, I fought (ideologically at least) against it. I wrote a substantial master’s level paper critiquing the fight for same-sex marriage. I argued that queer activists were ignoring more important issues in our community like the bullying of gay youth and fight for trans rights (I am still critical of a singular focus on same-sex marriage as the litmus test for equality but I have come to realize that there is room at the table for all of our fights and that forming a hierarchy of oppressions is not particularly productive). And as someone with a deep commitment to feminism I felt that participating in an institution that had historically oppressed and devalued women would stand against my very understanding of myself.  I was also critical of the need to afford certain government sponsored benefits to people participating in monogamous romantic relationships while denying those same benefits to single people, polyamorous folks, and those choosing to form primary relationships not based on romantic love (for the record I’m still critical of this aspect and am supportive of projects that work to overhaul the government’s relationship to marriage both gay and straight). I did not think I was the marrying kind and, besides all that, I was much more concerned with perfecting a haircut that would let other lesbians know I was on their team than I was with lending my hand to any form of queer activism.

But with time, and love, that all changed. I fell in love with someone who made me feel like the world really was made of sunshine and pride parades. I sunk deeply into a never-ending sea of late night giggles, serious conversations that nourish a soul and the kind of love that makes you feel like your heart could literally explode. The kind of love through which you come to understand not just your partner but yourself. And when that woman, the one who had my heart as her very own, asked me if she could share her life (the rest of her whole entire life) with me I said, unequivocally, YES.

And then we got down to the business of planning a wedding. Which was fun, and exciting and frustrating and scary. We poured our hearts (and our bank accounts) into one magical day and made all of the promises we had made a thousand times before. But this time we did it in front of our family and friends and when we were done we signed a piece of paper that probably said a bunch of really important legal things that, summarized, meant that she had no intention of ever not being my partner and that from now on I could call her my wife. And I did. I called her my wife every day, one hundred times a day, for weeks. And, if I’m being completely honest, there is still a small part of me that gets a little thrill when I say things like “let me introduce you to my wife.” Because it means that she chose me and that I get to spend my life with her. And that is amazing.

So, while I can understand the critiques of the institution of marriage I am nonetheless grateful that I can choose to be a part of it in my own way. The world is full of cynicism and hate and criticism.  But in my marriage I find magic and love and peace. And if I can make a wish for my child it would be that.