Interracial Marriage on the Rise

By: Amy Wise

A report just came out from the PEW Research Center on Interracial Marriage. Much of the media reported on the study. Our family was part of the story in USA Today and the L.A. Times.

After being together for 20 years and married for 19, we don’t think of each other as an interracial couple…we are a couple.

In the end, we are not made up of colors, we are just us.♥ I’m thankful and honored that our family is part of the story bringing about awareness and change. It is imperative to open minds so one day this will no longer need to be a story.

Check out some of the articles about the rise of interracial marriage with our family featured:

USA Today~
Our family picture representing the USA Today article about the PEW report. (2/16/2012)

L.A. Times~
Article in L.A. Times about the PEW report with a brief interview from me. (2/16/2012)

USA Today~
Our family featured in USA Today article about the rise of interracial marriage. (11/8/2011)

Traveling and Muffins

By: Wendy Rhein

I am traveling for my day job this week, which means my life job suffers. Maybe “suffers” is the wrong word – my life job, raising two boys and living with an aging parent who needs some help, gets the hiccups. I am more comfortable with that: gets the hiccups.

I have found the equation that works: Days out of town = days of preparation for going out of town.

As a single mother, I’m grateful that I don’t have to travel weekly, as many people do, for their jobs. When I was lucky enough to have more than one job offer a couple of years ago, the infrequency of travel was one of my key decision points. And, I’m incredibly grateful that my mother is able to stay with my boys while I’m away. I honestly don’t know what I’d do otherwise. She does the best she can with them and they have the consistency of having her there, like they do every day. And as long as I plan everything out and deal with the details, there are few, if any, tears.

It is all about the math. Away for three days/two nights? That’s three dinners that need to be prepared and frozen, or at least all the elements placed together in the fridge and labeled in the cabinet. Don’t forget to get the colander off the high shelf because my mother can’t reach above her head any more to get things down. Miss that step and expect to hear that dinner for three nights was scrambled eggs and toast. If I am only gone one overnight, I can pack two lunches in the pre-dawn hours for that day and the next without guaranteeing it will go stale. How many snack packs of carrots can I pack in advance? Six seems to be the limit before my son wrinkles his nose at them. Are there enough chicken apple sausages for Sam because that’s all he wants for lunch on the days he’s not in daycare. Don’t mess with the sausages. If I make 2 dozen morning glory muffins before I go, that’s enough for breakfasts and after school snacks for 3-4 days for all involved.

Are there enough clean clothes for everyone? Diapers? Is there an extra gallon of milk just in case? I find myself mentally scanning the calendar a week before I leave for field trips, apartment maintenance schedules, Mom’s doctor’s visits and half days at school. I’ve been known to make a midnight run to the store before a 4:00 AM alarm for extra toilet paper and sandwich bread. My mom struggles in the cold and wet weather that this time of year brings so I need to be sure that as many outside trips as possible can be avoided. This time, because I have a Friday night red-eye home with a very early Saturday arrival, I also booked our favorite babysitter to meet the bus on Friday and take the boys to the park, order in pizza and give my mother a break. Two days and two nights of child care are pretty much the limit without outside reinforcements.

I can sleep on planes very easily, generally out of sheer exhaustion and adrenaline let-down. By the time I’ve navigated getting dressed in the dark without waking anyone, left love notes for everyone including the cat (because it was loudly noted last trip that the cat was sad I did not leave him a love note so I better come home right away and kiss the cat) and lugged my pre-packed luggage out the door, fought traffic, and navigated the airport, my day is half done. Just getting to the departure gate is a trip in itself.

Some say I should relish this time away. The chance to sleep a full night or eat in a restaurant without a kids’ menu. I admit that I do like the chance to drink a cup of coffee in the morning before it grows cold. But mainly I miss my family. I feel like less than who I am without their hugs and small faces inches from mine. By the end of a day away, I itch to go back where I belong.

Here is the recipe for the Morning Glory muffins that my family inhales. Based on a recipe from King Arthur flour, I’ve made some changes. They are sweet and moist and full of mother-approved nutritional goodness. I may not be there, but the muffins are, and for a day or so, that works.

Morning Glory Muffins
Makes 24-30 depending on your desired muffin top (the muffin’s, not yours, though I suppose there is a cause-effect relationship here)

1/2 cup yellow raisins
2 cups whole wheat flour
1 cup packed brown sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon cloves
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups grated carrots
1 large apple, grated (I leave the skin on and pick a tart apple like a Granny Smith)
2/3 cup sweetened shredded coconut
1/2 cup chopped walnuts or pecans
1/3 cup wheat germ (shhhh… don’t tell them. Or omit it, it’s optional)
3 large eggs
2/3 cup vegetable oil
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 375°F. Line a 12-cup muffin pan with liners.

Cover the raisins with hot water in a small bowl and set them aside to soak. In a mixing bowl combine the dry ingredients (flour, spices, sugar, baking soda and salt) and set aside. In a separate bowl, combine all the wet ingredients and the nuts. Whisk those together to thoroughly combine and break up the eggs. Add to the flour mixture, and stir until evenly moistened. Drain the raisins and stir them in. Divide the batter among the muffin cups, almost to the top.

Bake for 25 to 28 minutes, until nicely domed and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Remove from the oven, let cool for 5 minutes in their pan on a rack, then turn out of pans to finish cooling.

Is it Really a Racial Thing?

By: Wendy Rhein

Because of a blog I wrote a few weeks ago about talking to my 6 ½-year-old son about racism, I had a great conversation this week with his best buddy’s mom. Here are two little boys (they would both puff out their chests and tell me they are NOT little!), both biracial, who intend to become the President of the United States and the head of the Secret Service so they can work together when they are old. Old, like when they are their parents’ ages.

So, I had the good fortune this week to talk to this great kid’s mother about this very fine line we tread as mothers of biracial kids: wanting them to be aware of racism and other people’s bigotries, while also not planting the seed that any bad behavior or injustice is racially motivated.

I want my kids to be aware that racism exists and is often displayed in the most back-handed, cruel, and mean-spirited of ways. It is this kind of racism that eats away at the soul and passion of people. It could be any ism I suppose. It is belittling, causes you to question and feel judged, for being different, or other. I want them to know so that as they grow they can point it out, literally point, at the person or situation and say “ah, I see that. I see that that really isn’t about ME as a person but about that person’s narrow-mindedness,” and then not take it personally. On the other hand, I also want them to be aware of it so they can fight against those injustices and again, point them out and bring them into the light so that they become shameful and unacceptable instead of quietly endured and tolerated.

Not that I have high expectations or anything…

But on the other hand, I want to balance it with the very real idea that mean-spirited actions, cruel and back-handed comments are not always about race. Someone ignoring you in a store? An older woman crosses the street when she sees a couple of teenagers coming her way? A teacher says she didn’t expect you to do well on that math test? Not necessarily a black thing. I don’t want to put a chip on his shoulder, that’s not my goal as his mother, and I want to be sure to knock it off if he develops one of his own. Be responsible for your own actions, your own choices. Recognize that while yes, there are racist people out there and he will certainly come upon them, as we do now, there are also people who are just having a bad day. Or are generally unhappy and mean. It isn’t all about you, baby. You’re the center of my world, but not the world of the cashier at Safeway.

So as a mother, how do I impress these very heady ideas on a young child, giving him the space and support to stand up for himself and what he believes while simultaneously allowing him to be a kid, see good in other people, and not think that other people’s crap is about him personally? I keep talking. I keep making mistakes. I ask him what he thinks. It is a daily balance for me.  I probably think about it more often than I need to.  And I know for a fact I talk about it more often than makes some of my friends comfortable.   That mama bear thing comes out in a way that can make others uneasy but hey, these are my kids and for me this is a very real parenting issue. I am incredibly thankful for the friends and a forum to share stories and concerns.   Maybe we need a club.  One that serves wine.

The Luckiest Girl in the World

By: Amy Wise

She came home, all wrapped in pink, to a house that was filled with love.

Her childhood had many faces and many places, and friends from all around.

She kept old friends and made new friends, and was always ready for more.

There were times when change wasn’t so easy for her, and she gave you lots of grief.

You never stopped loving her, you never stopped believing in her

and even when you wanted to, you never gave up on her.

She finally grew out of it, and became more mature, and thankfully lessons were learned.

She went off to college, and traveled the world, because you gave her wings to fly.

She loved and she lost, you stood by her side, while she picked up the pieces of her life.

She became her own woman, she loved again, this time it was for keeps.

There were smiles all around as she started a family, a new little girl of her own.

Her family grew up, right before her eyes, and then she continued to grow.

She went on, to follow her dreams of making it on her own.

Then her dream was destroyed, and once again, you were there to help her through the storm.

The storm is still raging, but she is not, for a new dream has now been born.

She is stronger than ever, no matter the hurdles, because she knows she’s never alone.

Who was that baby wrapped in a blanket so many years ago?

That baby was me, and all I can say is I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

On the Day You Were Born ….

By: Wendy Rhein

I was sitting at my desk, talking to a colleague about what a big week it was going to be – Sam was due to be born later in the week – when I got the call from his birth mother. She was at a routine appointment and was advised to go to the hospital for an immediate c-section. She needed a ride. Could I pick her up?

I leapt out of the chair, grabbed my keys, hugged my colleague and ran out the door. I can’t even remember if I told my supervisor. Not that it would have mattered. Everyone knew I was adopting, everyone in our small community knew that there was a little boy on the way.

We got to the hospital and went through all the check-in procedures. I was familiar with the layout because she and I had done pre-registration the week before. I was vibrating with nerves and excitement, again not sure what my role was, since she was there alone. Her mother would arrive later after arranging care for her 2-year-old daughter. Several hours later, after her mother and sister arrived, she was wheeled away for the c-section. I went to the family room to wait. I prayed, a lot, that she wouldn’t change her mind when she saw his little face. That she wouldn’t change her mind with her mother’s voice in her ear. That he would be ok and healthy. That she hadn’t been lying about drugs and alcohol during the pregnancy. I prayed that I would find the strength and resources to raise two little boys on my own. I prayed. A lot.

Two hours later her mother came out and told me that Sam was born, a healthy baby boy. I made a tearful promise to her that I would take good care of him, that I knew she wasn’t in favor of the adoption, but I was so grateful to her and their family for giving me the privilege of being in his life. She just glared at me, and asked for a ride home.

Never one to miss an opportunity for efficiencies, I willingly drove her home so we would have a few minutes to talk. She asked me about my family, were they ok with raising a black child. (Of course they are, they’re elated.) She asked about my elder son, was he ok with sharing his mother. (Of course he is, he’s elated.) How was I going to work full time with a newborn? (I’m consulting, I can take him with me and also work from home. It’s all been arranged.) By the time she left the car, I felt her defenses drop a little, maybe she was accepting the idea; maybe she was just tired.

I ran home, changed out of the suit I had worn to work earlier in the day, a day that seemed now like a universe ago. I didn’t know what the night was going to hold, but I knew I was going to hold my new son. Time was now being divided into Before-Sam and With-Sam.

When I got back to the hospital, M (Sam’s birth mother) was very upset. They wanted her to breastfeed and she didn’t want to. She did not want the baby rooming-in and the nurses kept trying to bring him to her. They weren’t nice, she said.  They didn’t get it.  I became her advocate – calling the lawyer, calling the hospital social worker. Reminding her that there was an adoption plan in place and they needed to respect her wishes. Once that was understood and they backed off, she went back to texting her boyfriend and I went off to find my son. Once at the nursery, they dug through her chart to find the adoption plan, verified my identity, and finally, buzzed the security door open.   No one knew what to do with me. They promoted rooming-in; they didn’t have rockers or chairs. So they wheeled his little incubator over to the nurses’ station, gave me a swivel office chair, and there I sat, holding Sam, for the next 20 hours.

We got to know each other in that first day of his life – he had his mother’s nose, he didn’t like to be put down, he did not like to be swaddled but rather wanted to keep one hand over his eyes (a trick he still does today when he’s grouchy).

I managed to read a whole book in a day, nodding off a few times between feedings and changings, all while sitting in that uncomfortable swivel chair. I held him, turning the pages with one hand, texting family and friends with one hand, sending pictures of his beautiful face with one hand.  I was not allowed to take him out of the nursery and no one was allowed in.  It was just us.

The next day preceded much the same. M came down to the nursery to see him once, and sat in my chair to hold him briefly. I have a picture of the two of them. My heart contracted at the sight, my prayers continuing. Please, don’t change your mind. Please.

The evening of the second day in the hospital, it was sleeting and cold outside. The lawyer arrived to do the final consents and get all the documents signed. We were going home. I was exhausted and overwhelmed and incredibly hopeful that we had gotten this far. I waited in the nursery, Sam next to me in his little “leave the hospital” outfit and huge bag of baby stuff from the nurses who had, it turned out, been very kind to me in the 48 hours since his birth. I could not wait to get him home to meet his brother and grandmother, to start our newly expanded family life.

After about 30 minutes of waiting, my attorney knocked on the glass door to the nursery and I came bounding out, expecting to be sent on our way.  She brought me to M’s room. M was sobbing. I sat down and the attorney explained to me that M had been lying about the birth father. Not only did she know who it most likely was, but she had told him months before that she was pregnant and wanted to have an adoption plan for the baby. He had told her then that if the baby was his, and there was still some doubt, that he would oppose the adoption. He couldn’t care for the child, but maybe his mother could. M didn’t want that, so she lied. She had told us and signed an affidavit that said that she didn’t know how to find him, didn’t know his last name, and had met him casually. In reality, they had had a relationship, her mother and his mother were friends.  Her mother had called the man’s mother that afternoon to try and stop the adoption.  Didn’t they want the baby?   M’s mother had burst into the hospital room just as the documents were being signed, brought all of the lies to light, and then tried to go to the nursery and take Sam from me. She was stopped by hospital security.

I sat, my head falling into my hands at the foot of M’s bed. I cried. She cried. She told me she wasn’t taking him home, that if I didn’t then he would go to Children’s Services. Her mother had also told her earlier in the day that they were being evicted so she didn’t have a place to go home to herself, let alone with a baby.  She wouldn’t.  She couldn’t.

This can’t be what is supposed to happen. This can’t be the life he is supposed to have.

My attorney and I went into the hall and she quietly advised me to walk away. If this man was in fact Sam’s father, and his family could make him follow through and sign all the appropriate papers (the family having no legal standing on their own), then no judge would separate father and son, regardless of this guy’s criminal background or his other children or his lack of employment or education. Walk away, she said. If he doesn’t follow through, and it is unlikely, you can get Sam back from Children Services in a month or so. Go home, she said.

My mind was reeling. Go home? Without him? How? How would I explain this to Nathan, who knew that his little brother had been born? I quickly called my mother and my sister. I sobbed to my sister, how can I possibly leave him, alone? I’m the only person he’s seen, the only one who has held him for more than a brief touch. Leave him?

From the outset of this process, many years before, the goal had always been to be a parent, to provide a child with a family and a life. In that moment, I had to decide if those were just words or if I meant it. If I was willing to risk losing him in order to provide him with the best care I could. If I was willing to put myself and Nathan through the real possibility of losing him in a day, a week, or worse, a month. It was too late for me, I was already in love with him, but Nathan hadn’t met him yet. Would it be better to bring him home, let us love him and care for him, and then let him go? or walk away because it was “better” for me?

In my core, there wasn’t a choice. He was my son. I would love him forever and care for him for as long as time and circumstances allowed.

I was taking him home.

Velcro Mom

By: Wendy Rhein

If I were a superhero, I would be Velcro Mom. Who can leap over piles of laundry in a single bound (with a child hanging off her arm)? And debone a turkey with one hand (while the other is filling a sippy cup)? And who can type 60 words a minute – with one hand while blowing bubbles with the other?

It’s Velcro Mom!

I can’t remember when I last was able to spend a whole day of mundane tasks with both hands. I’m sure it happened, maybe four years ago, but I haven’t slept more than 6 hours in a row in two years so I can’t remember. I’d like to think I have but who the hell really knows.

My boys both want a lot of me right now, and they’re not willing to settle for my intellectual banter or pithy definitions to newly acquired words like “hot” or “disintegrate.” As a single mom, I don’t share this need for contact and hugs with another parent so I’m outnumbered. A zone defense instead of man to man. The younger one is in a mini-me stage with his big brother so if Nathan sits on my lap, Sam wants to sit on my lap. And not just on my lap but exactly where his brother is currently sitting. If Nathan is holding my hand, Sam wants to hold that same hand. You can see where this is going. And it doesn’t end well. I am mastering the art of “sharing Mama” which allows for both kids to be touching me at the same time. After a little while Nathan gets bored and will peel off but Sam wants to stick to me like, well, Velcro.

Literally as I type this, Sam is on my lap and I’m typing around him, struggling to read the screen over and around his head as he bobs and weaves, giggling, thinking we are playing a game. Nathan is at my feet, or actually ON my feet, under the desk.

I admit that there are days, normally late on Sunday afternoons during a long weekend, when I actually look forward to going to work where no one will tug on me. I love my kids, but I think my arms are two different lengths now, one to reach a 6-year-old, one longer to reach a 2-year-old. I wonder if I can put singlehanded multitasking on a resume.

I know the day is coming when I will get my two hands back to work together on the simple things – like cooking dinner or buttoning a shirt. I will be grateful for the physical independence and freedom. And I know that there will come a day when I will make the same face Sam does when I tell him no, he can’t sit in the shower with me, when I want to hug or kiss my boys in the carpool lane and they jump from the car before I can touch them. I will want to remind them of the days when they couldn’t get enough of me and they’ll roll their eyes and snicker. I will keep sharing my hands and arms and lap with them for as long as they will have me, and remind myself of these days when they walk away on their own.

An Unlikely Pair and the Ruby Ring….

By: Amy Wise

15 years ago Jamie and I made a decision that would change our lives forever. We moved from the city of San Diego to the burbs of San Diego. It was time for us to go from home renters to homeowners. We did our research, looked for nice neighborhoods with good schools and lots of parks and outdoor areas. We found a brand new community in the Southbay and decided to check it out. Once we rounded the corner into this beautiful new neighborhood, I immediately felt this was going to be our home. Jamie however wasn’t so sure. After looking at many houses on various streets we came across the house. The minute we walked through the front door I just knew this was the house where Tatiana would grow up. We looked from room to room and then went to the backyard to check out the possibilities of what was then a blank slate.

Suddenly a head popped up over the fence and said, “Are you two buying this house?” I swear it was a scene out of the old TV show, Home Improvement. It was as if Mr. Wilson lived next door! Shortly thereafter we found out it wasn’t Mr. Wilson after all, it was Mr. Jim. Mr. Jim and his wife Miss Corinne (as we affectionately call them) would soon become our new neighbors because we ended up buying the house! It was 1997 and Tatiana was 2 years old.

Mr. Jim and Jamie became fast friends. At the time Jim was in his 70′s and Jamie was in his 30′s. They were quite the pair. They gave each other grief like father and son and very quickly considered each other just that. It was an unlikely pairing of two of the most opposite people on the planet…but it worked. Kind of like us!

One of the things the two of them always joked about was Jim’s ruby ring. Jamie always called it his pimp ring. Jim always said he was going to give it to Jamie when he died. It was in jest but it always freaked me out when they talked about it. I could go on and on about the bantering back and forth that Mr. Jim and Jamie did over the years. It was a strange love, but it was theirs.

Sadly, we lost Mr. Jim quite a few years ago and that was truly one of the saddest days we can remember. We were all devastated but Jamie was heartbroken. It was as if he had lost his own dad.

Jim’s relatives flew in from New Orleans for the memorial service and as we were all sitting in Miss Corinne’s dining room she came downstairs with a box. She handed it to Jamie and told him that Jim thought of him as a son and always wanted him to have his ring. There was not a dry eye in the house. Jamie now wears Mr. Jim’s ring every single day. If it’s not on his finger because of work, it’s around his neck on a chain…always close to his heart.

Little did we know, 15 long years ago, that not only would we raise Tatiana in our wonderful home, but we would also have a built-in California family right next door. Mr. Jim is now our angel in heaven and Miss Corinne is our angel on earth, otherwise known as our Cali Mom. How lucky are we?!

Teach Your Children Well

By: Wendy Rhein

I’ve been struggling with writing this all day. I have drafted more first, second, and seventh paragraphs than I care to admit and trashed them all. The truth is, my kid and many other kids I know were hurting last week and it infuriates me.

Last week I heard and endured several painful stories about how children interact and label each other. In my own life, and in the lives of no less than three friends in just seven days, I find myself thinking much too much about how kids treat those they consider different.

In one case, an older child, along for a playdate with a little one, felt the need to tell my friend’s child that not only was she adopted, but that her birth parents couldn’t take care of her and she was ‘given up’ so she would have a better life.

And then again, a young girl adopted by a single mom who sometimes joins her precocious daughter for lunch at school.  Last week the mom was dismayed that children at a shared lunch room repeatedly asked her daughter why she doesn’t have a daddy, why she looks different from her mom, and told her that her “real” mom didn’t want her so she came to live here.  Those are some pretty heady ideas for five-year-olds to come up with on their own.

Then there is the young teenage daughter of two wonderful dads who came home from the bus stop when she should have been on the bus heading to school. Through the tears and blood smudges, she told her stay-at-home dad about the teasing she endures daily about her “queer dads” and how on that particular day she had had enough. She said she knew better than to go to school having beaten the crap out of another girl in their neighborhood. She knew that she, not the offensive and mean-spirited girl, would be the one suspended.

And finally in my own family. This past week my first grader was studying Martin Luther King, Jr. and one of the boys in his class said that all King did was make white people and black people fight. He went on to say that King was just a troublemaker.

As a child of an African American father and Caucasian mother, Nathan sometimes questions his racial identity and I have left the label, if one is necessary, to come from him and not me. I tell him he is the best of both of us, that naming his color is not as important as remembering that he is more than white, more than black. He’s his own person.

I was so angry that this little 6 or 7-year-old child in my son’s public school classroom had that kind of power to cast doubt and darkness over the meaning of Dr. King’s work that I launched into an intensely personal and political conversation with Nathan. He learned what “racist” means, that even now people who will judge him, his brother, and many others by the color of their skin and not the content of their character; and we talked about the power of words to change the way people think. I was exhausted. We drifted in and out of different elements of the conversation for hours. I tried to balance his maturity and his age, what he was capable of absorbing and not wanting to scare him or worry him. He’s a thinker, a dweller, and he likes to have a lot of information once he latches on to a topic. But he is six. Just six!

After the lights were out for the night and the last tuck in and good night kisses were shared, he asked me if I knew people who thought that white people should stay with white people and black people with black people. I told him the truth, that yes, I have known those people. He was quiet for a little while. Then he said that if they had their way, we wouldn’t be a family. Not him, not Sam, not me. And that would be awful. Thank God they don’t, I told him.

I imagine that my friends whose stories I mentioned had similar, exhausting, and draining conversations with their kids this week. And I imagine that they all kissed their children goodnight, closed the bedroom doors, and then cried quietly for a while, trying to not wake our dearly loved children in rooms nearby. Hoping and praying that we said or did the right thing. And wondering how much therapy was going to cost us a few years down the road.

What amazes me is that we nontraditional families outnumber the traditional families with 2 parents of 2 genders and biological children. The tradition is no longer the norm. And yet these old ideas about what makes a family and the need to justify how we became a family and why our family is made up of a variety of colors and genders are playground and lunch room conversations among the under 10 set.

These ideas come from somewhere closer to home than a television show or movie. Some kids seem to need to separate “like me” and “others” into separate circles, and the like me circle is increasingly shrinking for those kids. I implore their parents and grandparents to open their own minds and circles so as to not close their children’s.

An Interview with Amy Wise

Interview with Amy Wise by The Next Family

The Next Family continues its series on writer interviews with the always positive, full of love, Amy Wise. Please visit the comments section to ask Amy more.

TNF: How has it been blogging for TNF?

I truly enjoy writing for The Next Family. I LOVE the diversity! From the writers to the topics…it is a wonderful blend of today’s world. Everyone that writes for them and is involved with the site are just wonderful, talented people. I’m honored to be a writer for such an important modern family web site.

TNF: How is your family like every other family and how is it different?

It’s funny you ask this question because the very first blog I wrote for TNF was about just that. I asked the question, “Are we an interracial family or just a family?” The answer is: we are a family just like everyone else. The ONLY difference happens to be our skin colors. We play, work, laugh, cry, learn, grow, live, and love. We are a normal family that is looked at differently because of our outer appearances, when all that really matters is what’s on the inside. Our “insides” are filled with huge hearts. People just need to take the time to get to know us so they can “see” those hearts.

TNF: Did your family accept you and your lifestyle? If yes, explain and if not explain what you have done to help them to accept your decisions and your lifestyle.

My husband’s family did not accept me at all. Even after we were married and had our daughter I was still an “issue.” It took years of getting to know each other before all the negative feelings went away. They finally saw beyond my skin color and into my heart and realized there was nothing to dislike. We now love each other completely. My family, on the other hand, accepted Jamie right away. They said, “As long as he makes you happy and treats you right, that is all that matters to us.” They did have concerns with how society would treat their interracial grandchildren. They said it would break their hearts if someone had racist attitudes towards their grandchildren. Racism is something that we have dealt with as circumstances arise because unfortunately society has a long way to go. Thankfully we no longer have family conflict…society is next.

TNF: How do you juggle the work at home with your jobs?

I work full time as a writer and my “office” is my home. I am currently working on multiple books and projects that require a lot of thought and a clear mind. I have to be very disciplined when it comes to my time. It’s so easy to get distracted. I have an old fashioned organizer where I list my writing deadlines, projects, chores, errands, appointments, etc. I make sure that each day is a balance of the “to do’s”. I’m realistic about my time and split it between writing, family, house, friends, and me. It has taken years to prioritize but I finally have a balance that gives me peace and allows me time to get it ALL done!

TNF: What lessons do you feel are the most important to teach children in this day and age? Are there any lessons they, or perhaps we as parents should unlearn?

Believe in yourself. Be your own champion. When it comes to YOUR dreams and your life choices, don’t follow society, don’t follow your friends, don’t follow your parents, don’t follow the media, don’t follow the money…DO follow YOUR heart! The path you choose is the life you lead. Choose wisely. There are some parents that need to “unlearn” the teaching of hateful beliefs. I’ve said this a million times: Nobody is born a bigot. Racism is taught. Let’s stop teaching it. If every child born today were taught to treat everyone equal, there would be no racism, no hate, no homophobia, no bullying, only love. Wouldn’t that be amazing?!

TNF: Any words of wisdom to pass on to our readers?

The one thing that I tell everyone is, no matter what life throws at you, always follow your dreams. Work patiently towards them and suddenly, one day, you’ll wake up and find they aren’t dreams anymore…they’ve actually come true!If you fall, don’t try and get up by yourself, reach for someone’s hand. Then do the same for someone else when you’re standing tall. Lead by example. Live your best life. Love your spouse. Hug your child. Help your neighbor. Inspire the next generation.

TNF: Anything you want our readers to know about you or your family?

Our family has been through trials and tribulations that would make your head spin. However, through it all we continue to be there for each other and have become even stronger because of it. We listen to each other, we respect each other, and we love each other. Tatiana graduated a year early from high school so we are now enjoying the time with her before she heads off to college next summer to major in dance. She is working part time and continuing with her dance classes. Our family is shifting as we watch her get ready to transition to campus. It’s an exciting time for all of us. I’m thrilled to be working from home so I can enjoy every last minute she is here. Jamie works five minutes from home so he is always close by even when he is at work. The three of us have learned so much about each other during this time. I’m so thankful. I look forward to what lies ahead for Tatiana in college and for us as a couple. What an adventure it continues to be for all of us. My family means the world to me…I treasure them!

Thank you Amy. Your love for your family and for the world in general is an inspiration! And your family is gorgeous!

Pirate Play

By: Amy Wise

Us in Sunriver, Oregon

Tatiana and Me in Sunriver, OR

Happy New Year everyone! As you can see I took a little break from writing over the holidays. The fam and I took a vacation and spent some much needed time away in Sunriver, Oregon with 27 of my relatives. Every four years we ALL meet in Sunriver for a fun-filled Christmas celebration. Our group included my parents, aunts, uncles, brother, sister, nieces, nephews, cousins, children, girlfriends, and boyfriends! We had four lovely cabins on the same street which enabled us to go back and forth for meals, movies, games, and fun! My parents’ cabin even had a Christmas tree, so of course we had Christmas dinner there for the full holiday effect.

I have been going to Sunriver with my family since I was in 4th grade. Without doing the math, let’s just say that’s a VERY long time! I love that I’m now sharing a piece of my childhood with Jamie and Tatiana. Besides going every four years with everyone for Christmas, we try and go off and on with my parents and siblings in the summer or fall just for fun.

This particular visit had an unusual twist to the activities. “Unusual” is an understatement. My Uncle Joey, who I just love, brought his girlfriend with him this year. They make a perfect couple, as they are both a bit eccentric. I LOVE that about them because I can totally relate! They met in the theater in their small town in Washington. Joey was performing and Carol was part of the “crew”. Being the creative people that they are you never know what you are going to get. This time what we got was…drum roll please….a pirate play! Yes, that’s right: a pirate play.

Carol wrote a play five years ago and thought it would be fun if the family could actually act it out together with costumes and all! She brought two suitcases full of amazing costumes and accessories, along with scripts for everyone. She went around to each of us and asked who wanted to participate in the play and who wanted to be audience members. I had EVERY intention of being an audience member until she looked at me and said, “I’m counting on you to participate.” Well, for some reason I just couldn’t say no! I think it was the look in her eyes. Jamie, on the other hand, had no problem saying no! He thought it was HILARIOUS that we were actually doing a pirate play! His exact words: “white people” (followed by lots of laughter)!

Me…as Bella the Fortune Teller in the Pirate Play

Uncle Joey and Girlfriend Carol

Needless to say we ALL got a kick out of the play and had a blast doing it. The audience members couldn’t believe what they were seeing, and all of us will probably talk about this particular Christmas festivity for years to come! Jamie is still cracking up to this day.

Jamie as an audience member; Me as a play participant.

Next year we are spending the holidays with Jamie’s family and I can guarantee there will not be any pirate plays! Hmmm…maybe I should suggest it?

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