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Archive for November, 2009

The Shriners Go Legit

November 30th, 2009 The Next Family No comments

By: Jillian Lauren
adoption-order

On Friday morning we went to Tariku’s final adoption hearing at the Children’s Court in Monterey Park (though I’ve learned to be suspect of the word “final” with anything pertaining to adoption). The waiting area on the fourth floor was lined on one side with east-facing windows. The clouds were shades of shifting grey and the pretty, filtered light fell on a conflicted scene where a small percentage of adults carried celebratory balloons and the rest sat with bad posture while kids zoomed back and forth between one family member at one side of the room and another family member at the other. A few kids sat and talked with their attorneys.

Tariku toddled down every hallway, tried to get into every door and hugged every kid there who was even close to his size. I felt proud of him. Not for anything in particular but just for who he is, for his sweet, sweet heart and his adventurous soul. I felt proud of myself and our family for coming this far.

Auntie Jo and Auntie Anne were also in attendance. We all sprung a tear or two when the judge declared T our legal son, with all corresponding rights and privileges.

As we walked out we started to argue about whether T would prefer a brother or a sister. Is it so wrong to want a girl just because I have terrible tutu envy every time I walk by the dance wear shop in South Pas? When I decorated T’s room and shopped for his first clothes I was obsessed with gender neutrality. T’s favorite things- buses, trains and airplanes. Though he also harbors deep affection for gender neutral ceiling fans.

“How do you know we won’t get a boy who wants to wear a tutu?” asked Scott, cheerily. That is why I married my husband.

Afterwards, we went home to celebrate with subs and cookies and water toys. Much joyous splashing ensued.

water-table

JILLIAN LAUREN

The Next Family Releases Our First Children’s CD by Susan Howard

November 29th, 2009 The Next Family No comments

Here’s a sneak peak from our holiday guide

The Next Family will release our first children’s CD in early December for all types of families. This CD includes songs for same sex parents. “Daddy, Papa and Me” and “Hangin Out With My Moms” are just two of the fun, toe-tapping selections from Warm Sun by Susan Howard

warmsun_v2-1

Be the first to listen to Big Girl Bed
Big Girl Bed 1.0

Hey Ma

November 24th, 2009 The Next Family No comments

By: Allison Norris

Baylor colors
Baylor can see. He sees colors and shapes and people… and can no longer be entertained by the freckles above my cleavage. I used to be able to toss him into my front carrier apparatus to hit Nordstrom or the grocery store, but satisfied he is no longer. He wants to check out the action happening all around him.

Grocery shopping has become somewhat of a task. I can’t really bring a stroller into the store because I need to push the cart. Bay hates sitting in his car seat attached to the cart and will scream the entire time – quickly ending our shopping experience. I did this once and made it half way down the first aisle before turning around and leaving the store. I started leaving him with my sister or trying to shop a little while he is with his dad, but I decided that I had to look that temper tantrum square in the face and say, bring it.

I unloaded him from the car and placed him in my Ergo carrier (similar to the baby bjorn) and grabbed a cart. He seemed to be happy and we carelessly cruised the meat section until… oh no… a screech of a sound coming from my neckline. Here it comes… the meltdown.

He arched his back and wailed like someone was sending jolts of pain up through his toes. His crinkled forehead and curled lip revealed his toothless gums, are surrounded by his clenched fists next to his face. He let out a scream followed by a snort and I knew our ergo time had officially ended.

I stopped in the middle of the aisle and managed to unclip myself to get him out of the carrier to bring him to my hip, and he was cured. Each aisle provided an incredible world of shapes and colors that kept him mesmerized as he gripped onto the shoulder of my shirt. I finished my shopping holding my drama king in one hand, while pushing my cart and reaching for items with the other. I can’t believe my biceps aren’t bursting out of my sweaters.

Finally to the counter after what seemed like a journey through a supermarket jungle, the checker grabbed my cart and started scanning my items.

“Cuuuuuute lil guy you have there.”

“Oh, thaaaanks!”

“How old is he?”

“3 months…” now shut up and bag my groceries, I thought.

“3 months!? I remember when my boys were that little. Here, I HAVE to show you a photo of them!”

Great. Now I have to stand here with a dead arm even longer to look at photos of a guy’s children who I don’t even know.

“Oh, they are just cute.”

“Thanks, MA!”

Ma?

“Do you need help out today, ma?”

Why is he calling me “ma”? I’m not his ma.

“Uhh… sure, I guess that would be great.”

“No problem, ma.”

Should I say something about him calling me “ma” because it’s really freaking me out.

“I’m just the silver car over here, but put the groceries in the back seat because I have a million strollers in my trunk…”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, ma, I’m a pro at this stuff. I’ve got your purse and I am putting it in the front seat so you don’t lose it, ma.”

IS HE KIDDING RIGHT NOW?!

“Ok. Great. Thank you.” I got in my car and drove home. Apparently I was everyone’s “ma” that day. Weird.

My Least Favorite Myths About My Interracial Relationship- A Blog Post from Fierce and Nerdy

November 24th, 2009 The Next Family No comments

happylovingdayThis is a blog post taken from the Fabulous blog site Fierce and Nerdy
By: Ernessa Carter

One of the reasons I’ve been avoiding talking about being in an interracial relationship is because to me it’s no big deal, which is maybe the most surprising thing about being in an interracial relationship. Though neither CH nor I are average, our courtship wasn’t outside of the ordinary.

We met at a bar, then talked for a few moments at few different events, he asked me on a date, we fell in love, I moved in with him, and then he asked me to marry him in the privacy of our home after about a year of dating. Millions of people throughout history and across the world have this exact same courtship story.

Only thing is I’m black and he’s white.

However, I’ve noticed that the media and many black bloggers who both support and don’t support interracial relationships want to give my relationship a script that it simply does not have, so I wanted to spend the first day or our series dispelling three of those myths.

1. I don’t hate black men. I think a lot of people assume that if a black woman marries a white man that she must have been terribly hurt by a black man. For the record all of the black men I have dated have been lovely. A couple of them have also been on the marriage track. But none of them have been CH. I like CH better than any man of any color that I have ever dated. Period.

2. I didn’t settle because I was desperate for a husband. Now this is the myth that irritates me the most. Black men aren’t considered desperate for marriage when they marry white women. Asian women aren’t considered desperate for marriage when they marry white men. But somehow the media spins this story that black women who want to get married settle for white men because they can’t find a black man. Please don’t get it twisted; CH is awesome, and I am deeply in love with him. If you ask me who the best man I have ever known is, I will answer, CH. Without blinking. I have a lot in common, we have similar goals, and he is completely supportive of me. My friends have straight-up told me that I’ve become a better and 10x happier woman since meeting CH, and I am so excited to spend the rest of my life with him, it’s scary. I think this myth is insulting to both black women and white men, who if the media and certain bloggers are to be believed, can’t simply fall in love for the usual romantic reasons.

3. I’m not less black because I’m in an IR relationship. I wish people would retire this notion all together. If you really think of black people in terms of “acting black” or “acting white,” then you probably haven’t met very many black people throughout the diaspora. Get a passport, hit a few countries, then come back and tell me I “act white.” Otherwise, I’m not even engaging in conversation with people who insist on thinking that if you marry outside your race, speak English as taught in school, and have white friends, then you “want to be white.” That’s just a frustrating and ignorant viewpoint.

Having spoken on those myths, I am aware that there are two big elephants in the room that I haven’t tackled: We’ll get into “Black Love” on Wednesday. And though I’ve spoken here about how straight forward being in an IR is, I’m not going to lie, it is different from same-race relationships in a lot of ways — we’ll get into that on Thursday.

Until then, please weigh in on these myths that I’ve listed above and feel free to add some of your own if you’re also in an IR.

Fierce and Nerdy

Nobody Asked Me…

November 23rd, 2009 The Next Family No comments

By: Jillian Lauren
J&T swing
but that never stopped me before. Here is the comment I posted as a response to the “Celebrity Adoptions and the Real World” piece in the Times. I tried not to post, I really did. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. People who have no idea what adoption is about or what it entails sure seem to have a lot of opinions, so I thought I’d weigh in with mine…

Anyone who thinks that international adoption is a trendy choice popularized by publicity-hungry celebrities, has clearly never been anywhere near the adoption process. It would take the most dedicated fashionista on earth to brave the monolithic towers of paperwork, the emotional roller coaster, the eternal waiting lists and the social worker who basically moves in with you for six months.

And anyone who thinks a child is better off in an orphanage in the developing country in which they were born than in a loving home somewhere else has never visited such an orphanage.

There are four million orphans in Ethiopia- the country where my beautiful son was born. Four million. There are ethical and legal avenues to both international and domestic adoption and there are, unfortunately, unethical and illegal ways to accomplish the same. But the answer isn’t to deny homes to children in need of them. The answer is to apply the Hague standards with uncompromising rigor.

As another adoptive mother pointed out, there is an erroneous assumption being bandied about in many of these posts regarding the altruistic intentions of adoptive families. Adoption isn’t a humanitarian act; it is simply one of many valid ways to create a family. Adoption is in no way a solution to the problems that have created an orphan crisis, but it is a solution for my husband and myself and it is a solution for our son.

There are pros and cons to both domestic and international adoption, and families make decisions based on a large number of factors that are not the business of anyone else but that particular family. The “why don’t you give some needy American kid a home?” argument is simplistic at best and demonstrates real ignorance of the choices involved.

Celebrities are people with the right to create their families in any lawful way they choose. Why should anyone who is not their social worker or their adoption agency make assumptions about their intentions ?


JILLIAN LAUREN

2 Drink Minimum

November 22nd, 2009 The Next Family 1 comment

By: Brandy Black
2 drink minimum

I am a good mom and things have been going along fine. I spend every possible minute I can with my daughter and I spare very little time for myself. This I consider a worthwhile sacrifice. I have spent many years being selfish and enjoying “my” time. Now it’s her turn and then Susan’s and then my dog’s and my work and my pet project The Next Family and lately my suffering memoir. My life is in a delicate balance- one that dare not hit a speed bump- for fear that my perfectly stacked family would fall to pieces. I sustain and maintain.
My best friend came to town- my reality check. She has known me since college and has coined me the “girl that can have fun in a box”. We were always finding ways to adore life. I was fly-by-night and incredibly social with the ones I love.
She observed me in my natural LA mom habitat and deemed me broken. She was right. I have set myself up with such high expectations I have nowhere to go from here. I have inadvertently become a martyr to my own self. I have decided that I am not worthy of me time because I should be the “perfect” mom, the “perfect employee” and the “perfect wife”- of which I fail the most. I rush through life at such a rapid pace with my checklist in hand that a 4-hour dinner is an indulgence.
My methodical verve came to a screeching halt this weekend. Caren, my guest- took me by the hand and led me to the promise land of wine, long dinners, cocktails and facials. She had me “step away from the child” and learn about me again. My amazing wife let us go out every night and play while she was “babysitter”.
Now my BFF is gone and today I went for a run outside, not a planned workout, just a run around the neighborhood. My life isn’t any less busy and I haven’t taken anything off my plate but I have hit reset. I have now become the girl who deserves to have some joy of her own- the girl who can have fun in a box.

Curly Mama

November 19th, 2009 The Next Family 3 comments

By: Cyndi Whitmore
curlymama

SOOO… I’m a thirty-something Unitarian Universalist/urban/professional/hippie/ghetto/trailer park/country/antiracist/pro-choice/standing on the side of love/1983 station wagon driving/single/ADHD/volleyball/boxing mom of three multiracial children and three bad-ass dogs.

I live in the 7-11 Fight Back Neighborhood in South Phoenix, also known as SoMo or South Mountain Village. Prior to the 1970’s, it was the only part of the city where houses were sold to Blacks, due to restrictive covenants throughout the rest of the city. It is the only Majority Black neighborhood in Arizona, a state in which, according to the 2007 Census, only 6% of the population is Black. South Phoenix is also home to a large Hispanic community, and recent development has brought an increasing number of White families to the area.

Development is not what brought me to South Phoenix. Three of the most beautiful kids on the face of this planet led me here, first as an occasional visitor and eventually as a proud resident. That choice confounds White folks, and perplexes many Black folks too. One friend pressed me,

But what did you think before you moved here? Did you think it was a nice neighborhood?

No, I never thought that. Like just about any transplant, I had been indoctrinated long ago that South Phoenix was a part of town to be avoided completely. Years ago, when I was a mentor with Big Brothers & Big Sisters of Arizona, I took my Little Sister horseback riding at South Mountain. Unfortunately, we got lost in the maze of one way streets downtown and I hadn’t had the foresight to have a) written directions, b) a map, or c) a full tank of gas, before venturing into that part of town. If I hadn’t been I was afraid I was going to run out of gas and be stranded in the hood in the days before everybody and their dog had a cell phone, there’s no way I would have gotten out of my car. I was convinced I was going to be shot in the time it would take me to get five bucks in gas (this being back in the days where five dollars in gas was enough to get you OUT of South Phoenix).

In 1996 I gave birth to my son, and began to realize how limited my own social circle was. Even though my early childhood was spent in diverse environments where I’d had friends of all races, by the time I got pregnant, I was like most White adults –in a social circle nearly devoid of diversity. The only Black people in my life were my boyfriend and his friends. Three years later, Tyler’s dad moved to the east coast, taking not only himself, but also Tyler’s social network. Tyler’s sitter was Black, but that didn’t exactly feel like a point in my favor between the social implications and her being the only Black person with whom I had any kind of friendship. I found myself, time and time again, frustrated with the bulletin board resources for parents of multiracial children. When questions came up about raising multiracial children with a healthy identity, particularly for single parents, White woman after White woman would comment, “Well, his father doesn’t really identify as African American so I just don’t worry about it.” I wasn’t buying that… but clearly, if I wanted my child to have a healthy sense of self, I was going to have to broaden my own white-washed world. Talk about a conundrum: how exactly does one go out and make non-white friends? I mean, you can’t just walk up to an acquaintance and say, “Hey, I’d like to invite you over for dinner because I think it would be good exposure for my child.” How self-serving and entitled is that? When a fellow parent from a bulletin board I frequented during my second pregnancy realized how close our offices were and suggested lunch together, I wouldn’t even let myself be hopeful that our commonalities (she also had a multiracial child born in 1999) would be enough to bond us. I was sure I would somehow alienate her with my silent desperation. But some things, however “too good to be true,” are meant to be. A sisterhood was born between two of the most unlikely candidates: a 25 year-old White Unitarian Universalist liberal who spent the second half of her childhood in a rural town where almost all of the Black families lived on the same block (referred to as “Nigger Alley” on a not-so-infrequent basis), and a 38 year-old Black Christian woman who grew up in the inner city and later confided that she once had a low opinion of interracial dating.

Less than a month after we met in person, Arria invited me to Thanksgiving dinner with her family after I cancelled plans with my own because my mother’s husband made a racist comment about my children. Over the next two years, I spent more holidays in South Phoenix with her family than I did with my own. In 2001, I enrolled my son in kindergarten. I noticed immediately that he was the blackest kid in his class, and possibly in the entire kindergarten. That’s saying something, because Tyler’s complexion isn’t much darker than mine. There didn’t appear to be any Black teachers, and I never saw more than a handful of Black students. Tyler’s dad was living out of state, and I worried again whether summer and winter breaks with his father would be enough to give him a solid sense of his “culture of colour.” I wondered where my children were going to see realistic, much less positive, portrayals of Black people to combat the negative images that are presented in media. I knew that no matter how close we had grown, my “token Black friend” wasn’t going to give my children the community I wanted for them. So, in 2002, halfway through my third pregnancy, we moved to South Phoenix. A lot of folks questioned my sanity (and some of them still do).

Despite all the issues in South Phoenix (and I know we have them), I’ve fallen in love with this community. I had to make a heart-breaking decision to send my children to a school in a neighboring suburb four years ago, but for the three years prior, I loved the many teachers and administrators I met in our home district who had attended Roosevelt schools and had come back to teach or become a principal. I love that I have a favorite checker at the grocery store and we know each other by name and ask after each other’s children! In many ways, South Phoenix is a small town in a sprawling metropolis, where you are more likely than not to run into someone you know at the gas station. Beyond that, living in a community where I am in the minority has forced me to see the reality of white privilege and denial, concepts that were previously theories I acknowledged but understood only in academic terms. People have occasionally applauded my “altruistic” decision to move to a predominantly Black neighborhood, but I see it first as one of the most obvious examples of my white privilege, and second, as much of a blessing to me as it is my children. I believe, or at least desperately hope, that making my home in this community has better prepared me to nurture these children whose flesh is of my flesh but is not the same color as my flesh.

I’ve blogged for almost a decade, and over the last couple of years I’ve become increasingly passionate about the objectification of multiracial youth, white privilege and denial, media portrayal of the community I love, and how racially divided our society is. We may work together, and our children may go to school together, but we are still profoundly divided in so many ways. In the dozen or so years since I started fielding the “What are they” questions, and particularly since moving to South Phoenix, I find myself talking about White people like I’m not one of them. A high school classmate recently made a comment, “Call 9-1-1… somebody stole our White girl again.” Arria shook her head as she laughed, saying, “The White people never HAD you.” I’ve been accused of everything from thinking I’m the great white hope to thinking that all White people are racist. I tend to say things people don’t expect to hear out of someone who looks like me, and every now and again I feel compelled to climb up on a soap box or two… I love to hear from readers, so please feel free to leave comments.

Dude, What Time Is Band Practice?

November 19th, 2009 The Next Family No comments

By: Jillian Lauren
drummer
Tariku at Weezer rehearsal. He jammed on drums with the enigmatic daughter of our fearless leader. I’m convinced she’s the next Karen O.

T-Bone is living up to his middle name (Moon). Puzzles? Nope. Stuffed animals? No way. His small fleet of tiny vehicles? Mama, puhleeze. There is only one worthy toy genre- DRUMS DRUMS DRUMS!

As long as he doesn’t start throwing TVs out of the hotel room window into the pool…

JILLIAN LAUREN

Fortune

November 18th, 2009 The Next Family No comments

By: Rosy Barren
fortune
I went to Chinese food tonight and got this fortune.

“Not all soil bears good things, be practical”.

I’m broken.

photography by Lynn Mutchler

What’s Good For The Kids- An Article From The New York Times

November 18th, 2009 The Next Family No comments

By: Lisa Belkin
nytgoodforkids

It has been apparent for a while now that we live in child-centric times. We approach parenting with a single-mindedness that baffles our own parents, and certainly their parents, who thought children should be seen and not heard. We think it’s just fine to put our kids ahead of our careers, our relationships, our social lives, and even if we aren’t doing so, everyone around us seems to be.

We demand that public policy — on health care, or education, or stimulus money — consider the needs of children as surely as it does the needs of doctors, teachers and businesses. (I am not saying that public policy makers always respond, mind you, but “what about the children?” is certainly a rallying cry.) We devour research on how to build our children’s self-esteem, to keep them from being bullied and to expand their intellects.

It is striking, then, how comparatively rarely children are mentioned as an argument in favor of gay marriage. The issue is framed as a debate over equality and justice, of personal freedom and the relation of church and state, not about what is good for kids.

That’s partly because, until relatively recently, we didn’t know much about the children of same-sex couples. The earliest studies, dating to the 1970s, were based on small samples and could include only families who stepped forward to be counted. But about 20 years ago, the Census Bureau added a category for unwed partners, which included many gay partners, providing more demographic data. Not every gay couple that is married, or aspiring to marry, has children, but an increasing number do: approximately 1 in 5 male same-sex couples and 1 in 3 female same-sex couples are raising children, up from 1 in 20 male couples and 1 in 5 female couples in 1990.

This growth, coupled with the passage of time, means there is a large cohort of children who are now old enough to yield solid data. And the portrait emerging tells us something about the effects of gay parenting. It also contains lessons for all parents.

“These children do just fine,” says Abbie E. Goldberg, an assistant professor in the department of psychology at Clark University, who concedes there are some who will continue to believe that gay parents are a danger to their children, in spite of a growing web of psychological and sociological evidence to the contrary. Her new book, “Lesbian and Gay Parents and Their Children,” is an analysis of more than 100 academic studies, most looking at groups of 30 to 150 subjects, and primarily on lesbian mothers, though of late there is a spike in research about gay fathers.

In most ways, the accumulated research shows, children of same-sex parents are not markedly different from those of heterosexual parents. They show no increased incidence of psychiatric disorders, are just as popular at school and have just as many friends. While girls raised by lesbian mothers seem slightly more likely to have more sexual partners, and boys slightly more likely to have fewer, than those raised by heterosexual mothers, neither sex is more likely to suffer from gender confusion nor to identify themselves as gay.

More enlightening than the similarities, however, are the differences, the most striking of which is that these children tend to be less conventional and more flexible when it comes to gender roles and assumptions than those raised in more traditional families.

There are data that show, for instance, that daughters of lesbian mothers are more likely to aspire to professions that are traditionally considered male, like doctors or lawyers — 52 percent in one study said that was their goal, compared with 21 percent of daughters of heterosexual mothers, who are still more likely to say they want to be nurses or teachers when they grow up. (The same study found that 95 percent of boys from both types of families choose the more masculine jobs.) Girls raised by lesbians are also more likely to engage in “roughhousing” and to play with “male-gendered-type toys” than girls raised by straight mothers. And adult children of gay parents appear more likely than the average adult to work in the fields of social justice and to have more gay friends in their social mix.

Heterosexual couples might want to pay attention to these results. While the gay-marriage debate is playing out on the public stage, a more private debate is taking place in kitchens and bedrooms over who does what in a heterosexual marriage (takes out the trash, spends more time with the kids, feels free to head out with their friends for a beer). The philosophical underpinnings of both conversations — gay marriage and equality in parenting — are similar, in that both focus on equality for adults (in the case of heterosexuals, mostly wives). But even if parents who seek parity do so for their own sanity and in pursuit of their own ideals, might it not also be better for their children?

Yes, if less conventional, more tolerant children are your goal. Because if the children of gays and lesbians are different, it is presumably related to the way they were raised — by parents with a view of domestic roles that differs from most of their heterosexual peers.

Same-sex couples, it seems, are less likely to impose certain gender-based expectations on their children, says M. V. Lee Badgett, director of the Center for Public Policy and Administration at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst and author of “When Gay People Get Married: What Happens When Societies Legalize Same-Sex Marriage.” Studies of lesbian parents have found that they “are more feminist parents,” she says, “more open to girls playing with trucks and boys playing with dolls,” with fewer worries about conforming to perceived norms.

They are also, by definition, less likely to impose gender-based expectations on themselves. “Same-sex parents tend to be more equal in parenting,” Goldberg says, while noting that no generalization can apply to all parents of any sexual orientation. On the whole, though, lesbian mothers (there’s little data here on gay dads) tend not to divide chores and responsibilities according to gender-based roles, Goldberg says, “because you have taken gender out the equation. There’s much more fluidity than in many heterosexual relationships.”

So while we arguably spend too much time focusing on children, when it comes to the topic of nontraditional marriage, maybe we should start focusing on them more. One of the few parenting conversations that is not child-centric might be well served to become so. These are questions of rights and equality for adults, yes, but also questions of what is good for the kids.

Lisa Belkin is a contributing writer and the author of the Motherlode blog.

More on this article- NEW YORK TIMES