Karma's a beee-atch!

Do NOT have children if you need sleep.

That little sonuva... Levi woke up at 3am this morning doing what he does best – screaming. He wasn’t in pain or ill or frightened. He wanted a tissue. He wanted a tissue because he couldn’t think of anything better to demand. This wasn’t the first time he had woken up during the night, but he usually finds his way back to sleep. Last night we were not so fortunate.

You’ve seen the kid scream. Now imagine that very scream, same pitch, same decibel, from 3am until 6am.

MAAAAAAMMMMMAAAAAAA!!!!! MOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYY!!!!! Over and over and over again.

We refused to get up. Any minute now, that kid would go back to sleep. He must be tired. It’s 3 o’clock in the fucking morning. How can he NOT be tired? We waited.

MAAAAAAMMMMMAAAAAAA!!!!! MOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYY!!!!! Over and over again.

We can just wait it out. He’ll go back to sleep. He’s a light sleeper, but he’ll get there like he always does. But he didn’t. We listened to him scream on and off for 3 hours. There were those false moments of silence. A few minutes of quiet when we were convinced he must have finally fallen asleep. The ringing in our ears would fade, and we allowed ourselves to exhale and unclench our fists and relax. And just as we felt that first floating drift of sleep, you guessed it.

MAAAAAAMMMMMAAAAAAA!!!!! MOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYY!!!!! Over and over again.

Asher never stirred once all night. How I envied him. Our sound, little sleeper, Asher, who never woke up before 8:30 in the morning, napped for 3 sometimes 4 hours and always went to bed by 7pm. Oh, how the other mothers hated me. Karma’s a beee-atch! And Levi is a, well, I can’t say because I’m so very tired, and I’m sure that I’m not thinking clearly enough to use appropriate filters. Suffice it say, I’m not very happy with him at present.

At 6AM, Gabriella took him out of bed and plopped him in front of the tv. I did my best to sleep for an hour before officially waking up to shower. I was seeing double and my body hurt and I could recall those early days of infancy when sleep was not an option, but somehow it was easier to take because I was in the mode. This morning, I was out of practice. I dropped the 32oz bottle of bath gel on my foot because I’m clumsy when I’m over tired. This was Levi’s doing, and I cursed him.

While I was getting dressed, that little .... darling came scampering into the bathroom to make sure that I wouldn’t have a moment to myself. “HI MAMMA!” he said with a huge smile on his face. “How are you even standing? Aren’t you tired?” “Nooooo,” he answered laughing as if I had just told him a joke. It was no joke. He put his Mimi Blanket over his head. “Where’s Levi?” he asked. “I wish he were in bed!” “Nooooo. Where’s Levi?” “Why does God hate me, Levi? No, wait. Don’t answer that.” “Here I am!!” He pulled Mimi Blanket off his head, laughed some more and went trotting off to watch a bit more tv.

I braced myself for what was going to be a long and torturous day. And it was. I was impatient and crabby and occasionally mean. Not one of my finer mom-moments. I’m hoping I haven’t scarred anyone for life on this particular day. And I’m hoping and praying that my little .... angel sleeps through the night.

I snuck into his room and took a picture of him sleeping. It was a risky move. He might have woken up, and then Gabriella would be rightfully furious. “What were you thinking?!?” And I would have nothing to say for myself. But, he didn’t wake up.



I made it, and I lived to write about it. Now I’m going to sleep – hopefully for more than 3 hours in a row.

The non-post

Apologies for the fact that I have nothing to say other than I've got a new banner. I'm looking a little less newbie and a bit more blogger thanks to the artistic talents of Mike Werner. Not an easy task to bring a coconut and peach to life, but he did just that. Thanks, Mike!

Do it yourself videos

Thanks to Vikki at Up Popped A Fox for this diversion. I've neglected my lady friend for a large portion of the evening so that I could present you with my very own animated short.

I know that my friends and readers are supremely talented, so I'm encouraging - nay, begging you to create your own and add your link in the comments once your masterpiece is ready for viewing.

Here's my stab. Yes, I went there yet again. So?

Group tweak on the Autobahn

A year ago or so. One was in pre-school for 3 hours each morning, and the other was just a year old. We had lived here for under 2 years and still didn’t feel settled.

A year ago or so, we were renovating. Our house is a diamond in the rough-very rough. We saw the potential, but it’s a potential that doesn’t come cheap. After using all possible sources of saved and borrowed income, we fixed the screaming issues leaving the many whining ones to torment my daily life in this house until we win the lottery or move. A year ago or so, my house depressed me.

I’ve had no problem meeting lots of wonderful people, but a year ago or so, I took stock and admitted to myself that I was lonely. It wasn’t that I hadn’t made friends, but I missed the people who knew me when-before I had children. When socializing had nothing to do with play dates or booking babysitters, and there was such a thing as expendable income, spontaneous late nights out and travel. I was a different person then. Lighter. Freer. Well rested.

When Gabriella and I relocated to the UK, we went through a rocky period. It was a difficult adjustment moving to a country where we knew no one and where our jobs were challenging for all the wrong reasons. We were in a funk but dealing with our stress very differently. We were not there for each other at a time when we needed each other most. After moving back to the U.S., the same relocation frustrations crept into our lives-divided and conquered. A year ago or so, after having lived here for almost 2 years, we were still stuck transition and feeling defeated.

A year ago or so, I stood in the entry way of Asher’s pre-school waiting for his dismissal, Levi hiked up on my hip. He was late to walk like Asher. I was early for pick-up as is usually the case. My father was always early for any given occasion. I either inherited or learned to be obsessively punctual from him. I was deep in thought-managing my own expectations. “Only 7 more hours until I can put them to bed. Only 2 more years until Asher is in full-day kindergarten. 5 more years until they are both in school all day. Dear God, what if we have another one? Let me see that makes ...a long time. Could I possibly make it to the other side? Is there an ‘other side’?”

Another mom appeared to collect a child who was also in Asher’s class. She may have been there all along, but I was too busy counting down the years that I didn’t notice her until she smiled at me and said, “Hi, Deborah! I wanted to ask you if you’d be interested in joining a group that I’m starting. I had launched it originally in Vancouver, and I think there’s a need for it here. It’s a group for ...”

(Lactose intolerant pastry chefs? Spelunkers with night blindness? Great! Sign me up! I need to get out of this space!)

“...for women who are also mothers, but the group is not strictly about motherhood, and our meetings are child-free.”

(What? Did you say child-free?!? Are you coming on to me? Keep talking lady.)

“It’s a group that helps women...”

(Helps prevent us from packing up and running off to a distant land to escape our children? Wait, I didn’t say that out loud, right? I mean, just because I feel like motherhood has sucked the living soul out of my body with a twisty straw leaving behind a depleted, slumped mess of a shell doesn’t mean that anyone else feels that way.)

“...helps mothers help themselves and each other to achieve personal or professional goals. It’s like peer life-coaching women in the career of motherhood.”

(Is it written all over my face? “SOMEBODY HELP THIS GIRL”)

“We’ll meet once a month for 3 hours during a week day. I know that’s a challenge for some of us with small children at home, but it’s important to value ourselves enough to take that time out of the day. Don’t you think?”

(Leave the kids at home once a month? Challenge, shmallenge! I’ll leave them with someone on a park bench somewhere if need be.)

“Um, sure. I’m in.”

It was a struggle to find child care, but I knew that it would be worth it. This chick meant business because she recognized motherhood as a business; as work but without the benefits of pay or the support of teamwork. She knew that whether we’re at home full-time or at work full or part-time, the game changes once we have kids. We may lose our way during the early years of motherhood, or we may struggle with next steps as our children get older and more independent.

I don’t mean to imply that you’ve got to be lost to appreciate a group like this. Everyone can benefit from a little support and encouragement. Look at all the business networking groups and career coaches who bring out the best in our working force. Why not the same opportunity for mothers?

Lucila McElroy brought MOMentum to New Jersey, and I was at the right place and the right time when she did. Just taking that block of time to sit with peers and have meaningful conversation was worth the nightmare to find a babysitter. Beyond that, I found a bit of my old self, and I’m making some adjustments. I’m tweaking myself, if you will. And, I’m having a great time with an inspiring selection of women who are participating in the group tweak. This blog, for example, is a direct result of some self-tweaking.



Is it worth the fuss? Is it worth an entire blog entry? Who knows if I can attribute where I am today or where I’m going because of MOMentum. Maybe I would have gotten here, anyway. Maybe it would have taken me longer to find my way without it. All I know is I’ve taken the last exit off this one-lane country road on to the Autobahn of Self-Fulfilment. And a happy me makes for a happy mom.

The good news for those of you who are not located in the international metropolis of Essex County, New Jersey is that you can start your own MOMentum chapter wherever you are. It takes a village to raise a child, but who’s taking care of you?

Gossip boys

We did not baby-proof our house for Asher. It’s not that we were negligent parents, but the kid never moved. He did not walk until he was 19 months old. Prior to walking, he did nothing. He didn’t crawl or do the boot scoot or roll anywhere. Occasionally, I would place a favourite toy just out of reach. Perhaps that obnoxious orange, plastic bear he loved so much would motivate him to make an effort. No such luck. Asher would look at the toy, suck both of his thumbs and remain in place. Not a twitch or even a whimper to indicate that he might be frustrated. He preferred to stay put.

Even when he did start moving about the flat, he was very cautious. Asher never poked an outlet or opened a kitchen drawer in search of knives or ran around banging into walls or furniture-all things Levi does daily. It wasn’t until other children came over to play that I realized how dangerous our home was. The stair gates, the outlet covers, the finger guards for the doors, the table corner covers-all put in place for the sake of other kids.

It would probably not surprise you that Asher has not been a particularly curious child. Or if he has been, has hasn’t been very forthcoming with inquiries. In entries past, I’ve made mention of the fact that he doesn’t seem to be very interested in the difference in boys’ and girls’ anatomies, for example, and aside from one question about whose tummy he was in, he really hasn’t seemed very interested in the details of his origins or family make up. Once again, I find myself in the position of “child-proofing” because of other people’s children.

I was substituting at Asher’s pre-school last week while her indoors focused on finding gainful employment. My presence at school sparked some interesting conversations amongst Asher’s schoolmates, and I was as unprepared for them as I was for those precious rugrats who found their way into my unlocked kitchen cabinets during play dates and discovered blenders and various other weapons of destruction.

On Thursday, I was in the other 4 year old class-meaning not Asher’s. That wouldn’t be kosher. We were all in a queue to take the children outside. I was at the back to make sure no one got lost along the way or tripped over their own feet, and I overheard one boy tell his friend, “Did you know that Asher has 2 moms?” He was laughing while he said it but more in a goofy 4 year old way than a mean-spirited way. I was not upset but felt obliged to participate. “That’s right, Kid. Who’s in your family?” Kid responded with “I have a mom and a dad.” I then turned to Kid’s friend and asked him the same question. His reply was the same. “Huh. How ‘bout that?” I said with a big smile on my face hoping to prove that there was nothing else worth saying. That was that, but I started to wonder if other kids had talked about Asher’s moms and if they had posed any questions to Asher directly. Asher certainly hadn’t mentioned anything.

The next day, Friday, I helped out in the 3 year old class. Friday is a special day at Asher’s Jewish pre-school. All the kids from all the classes gather in the chapel to sing songs and listen to stories in preparation for Shabbat. Asher and I are always excited about seeing each other during school, and we look forward to that moment of acknowledgement during chapel time on Fridays. I guided the 3 year olds into our row and waited for the other classes. Asher’s class arrived and sat opposite our class in the same row but on the other side of the aisle. I was across from one of Asher’s classmates who couldn’t wait to strike up a conversation with me while we waited for the Rabbi to start the show. “Look!” he said. “I’m in the same row as you are but we’re not in the same row because you’re over there, and I’m over here!” “Funny!” I said. “It’s like we’re in the same place but we’re not because there’s this space right here, see?” “Yes, I see!” “Asher’s sitting on the other side way over there. Do you see him?” “Yes, thanks for telling me. We like to wave to each other.” “Yeah. But I’m really close to you over here.” “Uh huh.” And just as the Rabbi started speaking, Asher’s classmate leaned across the aisle and asked, “Why didn’t you marry a boy?”

I had no time to respond. We were called to attention before I could lean over and answer, but what would I have said? I felt pressure to come up with something really simple yet profound, but I was just not prepared. I wasn’t about to say, “Been there, done that.” I thought perhaps he wouldn’t understand the expression. I certainly didn’t want to say anything disparaging about boys. I wasn’t about to mention that I was happy I didn’t have to watch ESPN or complain about upright toilet seats.

Perhaps I could focus on the positive. Anyone who knows me knows I can’t get away with “girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice.” And anyone who knows Gabriella and me knows I can’t honestly say, “I didn’t marry a boy because girls are more in tune to each other’s feelings,” because the success of our relationship is based on Gabriella’s ability to ignore me. How about, “I don’t know either. Girls are hard work, and tampons are expensive.” That wouldn’t do. Though I felt like breaking out into song, somehow I didn’t think this one would go over very well:

The lyrics are outdated, but the chorus is catchy, and I love Harry.


Of course, the right answer, for me anyway, would have been to simply say “I met a girl I love.” But for whatever reason, because I was caught off guard or because I was reaching for something more complicated, I missed an opportunity.

I don’t want Asher to ever feel caught off-guard, and I want to arm him with information and simple responses that will keep him a step ahead of the game. But I also want to avoid calling attention to things unnecessarily. I never really come out about my relationship with Gabriella. I refer to her in conversation and correct people who refer to my husband. I find that the more I treat it like a non-issue, the more others do, too.

Perhaps a few words of warning? Perhaps an outlet cover or two? To be determined.

Our friends the DRAMA BOTTOMS

It’s been a subject of conversation on a number of occasions. Are some people born unlucky? Of course not, right? That would be to say that black clouds follow designated people and rain on them constantly. I can’t subscribe to that notion. That’s not to say that people don’t seek out those clouds and run towards them just as they are about to explode with storm-without umbrellas no less. Distinctions must be made. There are those who face challenge after challenge that have nothing to do with anything they have said or done. They experience more than their share of bad luck but it is not of the pre-determined variety. Then there are the others-the DRAMA BOTTOMS. The what?!?

It may not be a familiar term, but you most likely have a few DRAMA BOTTOMS in your life. Let us deconstruct the phrase for a comprehensive understanding.

DRAMA. According to The Free Dictionary, a prose or verse composition, especially one telling a serious story, that is intended for representation by actors impersonating the characters and performing the dialogue and action. OR A real life event that unfolds like theatre. Death, betrayal, passion, tragedy, deception-all real life events worthy of theatre.

BOTTOM. Go ahead. Get your sillies out, and think of all the synonyms for bottom. Ass, tushy, bum, butt, derrière, backside, trunk, rear-end, rump, booty, hiney. Finished? In this particular instance, I’m talking about the gay homosexual kind of BOTTOM. Because there are P&C readers who are not familiar with gay homosexual terminology, I must take a moment to explain. Most often, this label refers to sexual preferences. One guy is Flap A (the TOP) and the other is Slot B (the BOTTOM), if you will. Occasionally, relationship roles follow suit; the TOP being more butch and/or domineering and the BOTTOM more passive.

But wait, there’s more! The world of TOPS and BOTTOMS is much more colourful than that-literally. You may be familiar with the hanky codes. They are a very simple way to advertise your sexual preference and your status as either TOP or BOTTOM. If a handkerchief is placed in the left back pocket, you’re looking at a TOP. If a handkerchief is in the right, back pocket-a BOTTOM. But the fun doesn’t end there. The colour of the handkerchief advertises preferred sexual activities-what you’re into.

Mostly unrelated except that it’s hilarious and is all about what you're into.
Flight of the Conchords (Thank you LM for sending me the link!)


Hankies are a bit out of fashion these days, but you’ll still find the occasional old-school gay sporting one. Keep your eyes peeled. Maybe you’ll see one of the following:

Grey hankie: Left=Bondage top, Right=Likes to get tied up
Fuschia hankie: Left=spanker, Right=spankee
Coral hankie: Left=Looking for a toe-sucker, Right=toe sucker
Yellow with white stripe hankie: Left=likes Asian bottoms, Right=likes Asian tops

For everything else under the sun and some stuff you just didn’t want to know, be warned and click HERE.

I think we’re ready to reconstruct our phrase. DRAMA BOTTOM. One who (consciously or not) pursues drama or is attracted to drama and always seems to be in a place where drama is bestowed upon him or her. A person who irritates drama as opposed to defusing it. A willing victim of drama. A DRAMA TOP, therefore, is one who creates drama and inflicts it upon others.

As far as I know, there’s no handkerchief color that indicates that you are a DRAMA BOTTOM or DRAMA TOP. I suppose a handkerchief with the comedy and tragedy masks would be most appropriate.

There are a couple of DRAMA BOTTOM friends in our lives. They know who they are. We’ve discussed their lot in life on many occasions as we are often on the other end of the phone when our DRAMA BOTTOMS are calling us in crisis. Their situations are preventable or the solutions obvious but either delayed or ignored entirely.

All’s quiet on the Western front. The principle DRAMA BOTTOMS in our lives have settled down with partners and have been leading peaceful, humdrum lives. I wonder what’s going on? Is it age? Analysis? Meds? Will it last? Far be it from me to ask. Stirring it up would be DRAMA TOP behaviour. I’m going to let sleeping dogs lie, enjoy the quiet and follow sage advice. Leave the drama to your mama!

Chip off the old block

Last night, I parked them in front of the teemee as Levi calls it earlier than usual for evening wind-down with Dora. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I wasn’t in a very crafty, interactive, resourceful, motherly kind of mood. Come to think of it, I’m rarely in a very crafty, interactive, resourceful or motherly kind of mood. But usually, I can get us from dinner to bath to bed with few headaches. Not yesterday.

Part of the issue is that I’m out of practice. Gabriella has been home full-time since December, and we have attacked childcare with a divide and conquer approach to activities. You do dinner. I’ll do bath. You put this one to bed. I’ll put that one to bed, etc. Today, Gabriella was out all day and beyond bed time. Mostly, I loved every minute of it. I had my house back to do (or not do) as I pleased. I set the schedule, and I even managed to get out of the house and keep us all entertained. The hours flew. But, by the end of the day, the three of us were tired-especially Asher. And when Asher is tired, the clock stops, and we suffer every minute until bed together. A perfectly good day ruined by incessant whining and complaining that grates my every nerve to shreds. Pure torture.

I love Asher more than I could ever anticipate loving anyone. He is a part of me and carries my heart with him wherever he goes. I needed to provide that disclaimer before also mentioning that if Gabriella and I were ever to break up, instead of messing around with complicated visitation schedules, I'm splitting up the boys. I’m taking Levi and calling it a day. WHAT?

Are you mortified? Oh relax. It’s not true. Besides, Gabriella and I are in this for the long haul. We both come from homes where the word “divorce” was a dirty word. Divorce was as inconceivable in our families as a happy-go-lucky French film or a good hair day in Miami. Gabriella and I both believe that even though we may grow to loathe each other over the years, our union is forever. What can I say? We’re romantics that way.

The thing is, I see so much of myself in Asher, and there are some uncomfortable truths I’m forced to face whenever we’re together. No, not that I suck both of my thumbs at the same time though I am orally inclined... The things that frustrate me most about him are the things that I h-word about myself. Note: I’m forever in awe of my sister Rachel’s ability to keep the words “hate” and “stupid” out of her house. If she ever wants to use those words when we’re on the phone, it’s “h-word” or “s-word” which I have since adopted...sometimes.

Things I h-word about myself that I see in Asher. I’m risk averse. I shut down and obsess when I’m embarrassed. I get distracted by minutia. Crowds make me anxious. It takes me a long time to learn new things. I could watch television all day long. I pick at my cuticles...a lot. Routine makes me feel in control and safe. I always follow the rules. My mother never tired of telling me how mercilessly I whined as a child. It clearly affected her in the same way Asher’s whining affects me. I h-word the whining!

Levi is our little monster. He loves to scream as long and loudly as possible just for the sake of screaming.

He throws his toys and kicks his brother-and sometimes small dogs. He likes to cover himself in dirt. He would rather eat food on the floor than from his plate. Lately, his favourite thing to do is run at us – or any other grown up – at full throttle only to be stopped by the collision of his hard, little head and someone’s pubic bone. “SAH-WEE!” He squeals as soon as he’s made impact knowing that he will be forgiven upon delivering an immediate apology. He is stereotypically toddler male, yet I have endless patience for his antics. He’s as charming and hilarious as he is naughty, and he makes me laugh.

Levi ripping up Gabriella's Vanity Fair


Asher is playing a video game while I write. “Mom?” “Yes, Asher?” “I love you.” “I love you, too, sweetheart.” Neither one of us looks up from our respective monitors. We often declare our love for each other during random moments of the day. He’s a good boy. Levi is now screaming from his bedroom awake from his nap. “MAAAAAMAAAAA!!!!! GET DOWN!! GET DOWN!!” I kiss Asher on the forehead and run up the steps to get my obscenely loud toddler.

Enlightening news

If you’ve read entries past, then you know of our connection to the ladies behind Enlightenment Productions, The World Unseen and I Can’t Think Straight: Hanan Kattan and Shamim Sarif. I have tracked their successes with you over the past few months, and an update is long overdue. Allow me to take this opportunity to bring you up to speed as you may want to know what our heroines have been doing since last we saw them sweeping the SAFTAs.

From the day we met Hanan Kattan, she has shared with us the most incredible personal, true stories of passion, betrayal and, in her words, “DRAMA, DRAMA, DRAMA!” I guess that’s to be expected in the life of a Jordanian, Palestinian lesbian. The good news is that Hanan is a fighter and never lets evil-doers and naysayers get in the way of her dreams. The bad news is for every hurdled obstacle, another waits just around the corner. I bring you: Hanan & Shamim vs. Top Billing.

Around the time of the release of The World Unseen in South Africa, Shamim was scheduled to appear on the prime time television magazine show Top Billing. Top Billing canceled the interview at the 11th hour, “because they were worried about the love story between two women”. Top Billing’s position was “that the show is a ‘family show’ about ‘family values’ and The World Unseen, while a great story, would be better suited to an ‘adult-only’ programme.” An opportunity to share their success at the SAFTAs with over 6 million viewers-foiled by a media evil-doer.

Hanan was doing her usual mixing and mingling at the SAFTA awards when she shared their Top Billing experience with one of the guests who, unbeknownst to Hanan, was a gay, television producer. It didn’t take long for their story to find its way to The Lesbian & Gay Equality Project and ultimately to the Joint Working Group in South Africa, a national network of LGBTI-focused organizations in South Africa. Game on!

Print, radio and online journalists contacted Shamim and asked her to speak to Top Billing’s misguided assumption that gay does not equal family-friendly. While she was not looking for a fight, Shamim couldn’t possibly let it go. Clearly sporting the bronze colored, rubber do-good bracelet with the letters WWAD (What Would Amina Do), she provided the following comment:

I was disappointed that the slot on The World Unseen was canceled by Top Billing. While I am aware that any TV show is a business that has to cater to its audience, I would ask all companies with influence on the media in South Africa to keep in mind that they hold a powerful position and have the opportunity to encourage openness and dialogue by perhaps pushing the envelope a little now and then. The World Unseen is very much about challenging convention, about daring to think a little differently, about optimism and the capacity for change.

It would be wonderful to feel that my characters are judged according to their core human values and their actions, rather than innate characteristics such as colour or sexuality. The character of Amina in The World Unseen is a dynamic, charismatic, intelligent woman who happens to be gay. Her values are in no way in conflict with ‘family values’ in the sense that she has great integrity, honour and kindness.

After all the interviews, articles and viewer feedback, Top Billing reevaluated their stance. Shamim was invited to come in for an interview on the condition that they would cover the SAFTA awards only- nothing more. OH NO YOU DI-IN'T! Of course, Shamim refused. Shamim is a class act and rather than spit out hate, she respectfully declined the interview unless she was able to speak without restriction about the themes in The World Unseen. She probably wasn’t even thinking, “You can take your interview and shove it where the sun don’t shine! If I want to talk about carpet-crunching South Africans, I’ll do it, beee-Atch!” No, she’s not that kind of girl. She leaves the muff talk to me. Thanks, Shamim!

“What happened next, Deborah? Please tell us! Pleeeeaase!” My friends, no need to beg. The next bit is the stuff of movies, books and the real lives of Shamim & Hanan. Top Billing caved, and they agreed to Shamim’s terms! Go gays!!

We could run naked in the streets and celebrate victory, but it might be unseasonably cold where you live. Perhaps you could just undress in the privacy of your own home and send me photos which I'll post in a virtual naked celebration slide-show. On second thought, don't. It's not that I don't want you to send me your nudie shots, but we must recognize the sobering fact that this showdown took place in a country where everyone is actually equal. Huh. What's that like? Yet, in a country where The Employment Equity Act protects South Africans from unfair labour discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation and where same-sex marriage is legal, there is still ignorance and fear. Just goes to show you that we will always be fighting battles - even in places where we've won the war.

“Ok, good story, Deborah, but the fact is, I’ve yet to see either film. I want to see the movies! I want to celebrate lesbian love! I want to know what love is. I want you to show me!” Sadly, I’m no longer free to show anyone what love is, but I can tell you how to catch the films.

DVDs
You can now pre-order the DVDs of I Can’t Think Straight and The World Unseen in PAL format. This means that if you’re in the U.S. but you do not have a multi-regional DVD player, you’ll have to wait for further notice on the NTSC version, but it looks like they’re aiming for May or June.

The films can be ordered through the The World Unseen website or the I Can't Think Straight website.

You can buy the DVDs individually, and there’s also an option to purchase The World Unseen DVD, I Can’t Think Straight DVD & the I Can’t Think Straight soundtrack for £25 plus shipping & handling. Enlightenment Productions will ship from April (a month ahead of the retailers and Amazon etc) as a pre-release special offer.

UPCOMING SCREENINGS
For those in the UK, note that both films will open theatrically on April 3rd at the Apollo on Lower Regent St in London (West End) for a week.

There are also 2 charity screenings of The World Unseen, one in Manchester on March 21st and one in London on May 5th at BAFTA, both followed by Q&As with Shamim.

I Can't Think Straight will play at the London Gay & Lesbian film festival on March 27th at 6:30pm, followed by a Q&A.

MUSIC
Shamim directed, Hanan produced, Leonie Casanova wrote and sang the songs. Here they are for your viewing pleasure. The singles will be released on i tunes on 31st March 2009.

“LITTLE FEELING” FOR I CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT


“BROKEN” FOR THE WORLD UNSEEN

Lick ya later!

I’ve been writing this blog for a good while now and have never mentioned the L Word. Why? Do I really need to tell you that Gabriella and I watch the L Word? So cliché! I don’t have to tell you about driving the mini-van either, but you know I’m tearing down the roads of suburbia in my Odyssey. I have a love-hate relationship with both the L Word and my mini-van which is probably why I don’t refer to either that often. I try to avoid anything that further pigeon holes me as a suburban housewife, and I leave the recaps and reviews of lesbian programming to the lesbian entertainment bloggers. You’re spoiled for choice, so you don’t need me telling you what’s what on the L Word. I’m making this one exception because last night was the last episode ever of the L Word – a show we watched because it was about lesbians, by lesbians and for lesbians...and straight people who tuned in purely out of an anthropological interest, of course. The hooters had nothing to do with it.

While it was no Sopranos or Six Feet Under, we always tuned in because we were not under the delusion that we would ever see ourselves reflected in any of the characters or their cringe-worthy situations. We watched because there were no other programs entirely about lovely ladies loving ladies. And because we love our trash tv.

After the first season-the novelty wore off, and we mistakenly tuned in every week in search of character development, continuity and some girl on girl action. Well 1 out of 3 ain’t bad when the 1 thing is the girl on girl action. Having said that, the soft-porn scenes were hit or miss. Still, we watched hopefully, occasionally finding a bit of magic.

R RATING (like the rest of my blog for f-sake!)


Part of the appeal was having lesbian water-cooler talk in which everyone could participate. It was the great common denominator for any and all lesbians except for the few who either don’t own a television or are too high brow to watch. Guess when you don’t know what you’re missing...like those straight girls who haven’t ever had a brush with bush. So sad, but then they’ll never know. Oh, c’mon, ladies. I’m just ribbing you a little. "That’s why there are 31 flavours of ice cream," my dear mother always said.

For the past 7 years, we’ve all had the same conversations at some point. Who are you on the L Word? Who’s your free spin? Do hate anyone more than Jenny? Which of the many characters axed after only a few shows would you bring back? Cybill Shepherd’s daughter is really a lesbian? Kate Moenning is Gwyneth Paltrow’s cousin? It’s been a fun show to ridicule and a fun show to watch with friends especially with a cocktail in hand. I don’t mean to hate. We wouldn’t have watched it had it been purely awful ... like Exes and Ohs. Ouch, Deborah!

Last night, we toasted our many gatherings with Mindy’s Frozen White Grape Martinis and Gabriella’s Spring Rolls with soy, ginger dipping sauce followed by hot n spicy chicken wings. The perfect finger food. And who doesn’t like eating with your fingers? Steady!

And at last, Jenny is gone for good. But so, my friends are all the ladies who grew on us like a fungus requiring medicated ointment.

Farewell to Bette who started out cold and self-absorbed and became pussy-whipped and vulnerable, or was that Shane? Shane followed in Arthur Fonzerelli’s footsteps and became increasingly uncool with every season culminating in the disastrous co-dependent hook up with Jenny. Eesh!

Good-bye to Tina who was always sliding up and down the irritating-scale. So long to Kit who was never given a decent story line after her relationship with Ivan. And to Max whose bearded face and pregnant body was a car crash from which we could not avert our eyes. Toodle pip to Helena’s slow and painful journey from cruel villain to caring and uninteresting friend.

Alice in a prison spin-off? Really? If you got Cybill and Jane together again, I’m in for the long haul. They never disappointed.

We’ll have to see what happens with Alice in Pokeyland. No expectations.

It’s a rainy, gray day in Northern New Jersey. It’s as if Mother Nature herself is mourning the loss of lesbian trash television. Who will fill the void? Not sure - perhaps because my thoughts are a wee bit muddled this morning. After one too many Mindy Martinis and numerous hot wings, I’m happiest positioned close to a loo. I may be older, but I’m clearly not wiser when it comes to drinking....late on a Sunday night...when our children wake up at the crack of ass. And I’d do it all over again. Here’s to you, L Word and to all the lesbian programs to come now that you’ve popped the cherry. Lick hymen! I mean, l’chaim!

In honor of the L Word and rainy days, I give you Gabriella's Fish Soup.

Ingredients:
3 Tbsp Olive oil
1 tsp Crushed pepper flakes
2 Onions
3 cloves Garlic
2 pieces Orange peel
2 pieces ground Ginger
2 Carrots
2 Celery
Box of small cherry Tomatoes
10 Shitake mushrooms
2 tsps salt
1 cup Dry White wine
2 cups water
1 large bunch of Parsley (finely chopped)
1 large bunch of Basil (finely chopped)
2 -3 pieces Cod
2 -3 pieces Tilapia
Or any kind of dense white fish or you can add some shell fish

Saute onions through celery in olive oil until soft. Add tomatoes, mushrooms and parsley cook for 2 - 3 mins. Add wine. Let liquid evaporate, add fish, water and basil and let simmer for 15 mins. Taste for seasoning – add salt if required. Serve in bowls with warm crusty Italian bread rubbed with garlic.

Out of the tunnel

A warm day without coats. A long day without naps. A fun day in the city with the boys. Success. Days out are usually more stressful than not – for me. I’m one who gets bogged down in the preparation. Do we have change of clothes? Enough snacks for the day? Diapers? Wipes? Toys should they become bored? Levi’s security blanket, Mimi Blanket? The list goes on from there and to publish it all for you now is to confess just how pathetic my obsession with minutia.

Usually, by the time we actually get the kids in the car, it’s later than we had anticipated, and I’m angry with myself and annoyed with Gabriella for letting us get behind. If we leave early enough in the morning, we can get back for a later nap for Levi. If we leave too late, we’re stuck outside where giant sandworms threaten our existence in another dimension. Well, it feels like a scene out of Beetlejuice when Levi hits overdrive, anyway, but there’s no Handbook for the Recently Stupid for Taking Their 2 Year Old Out Right Before Nap Time. Levi doesn’t sleep in the car and doesn’t sleep in his stroller. Asher never did, either. We’re playing with fire.



The clocks sprung ahead last night. On top of that, we woke up late. Maybe we shouldn’t do this. But it was a warm day, and we had no other plans. Right. No nap for Levi. We’re going to go into the city and have fun, dammit! By the time we hit the road, it was late. Armed with snacks and videos, we were as prepared as we were going to be. Levi was very excited that we were going to be on the highway because we have one of those mini vans whose DVD player only works on the highway for some odd reason. Even more peculiar is the fact that this defect exists in so many of our friends’ mini-vans, as well. How queer.

I’m surprisingly relaxed. Knowing that we’re not fighting the clock, I settle into my leather seat listening only occasionally to Toy Story because it’s actually a really funny movie. The boys are quiet, happy, and I vow to appreciate every peaceful moment because the shoe may drop at any second. I don’t even go ballistic when Gabriella insists on driving around the Upper West Side for literally half an hour looking for parking to avoid the exorbitant price of parking in a lot – a huge challenge when you’re trying to park a mini-van. I tell myself I’ll give her 1 more spin around the block before I insist that we pay for parking. A spot appears-another grateful moment.

We are right outside Central Park. One stroller. A bag of snacks. A lady’s bag I carry with wallet, camera and other essentials that I refuse to dump into the snack bag. We’re off on the first stress-free day in 5 years void of naps, stops or stress. It drizzled a little, but for me the clouds had parted. We hit a milestone today. We are now capable of enjoying ourselves for an entire day out. Not even a little rain will deter us from a day of adventure.

I’ll admit I was just a wee bit micro. Before we left, I insisted we map out certain destinations like the Central Park Zoo and the carousel. Gabriella still believes that we would have had no trouble finding either on our own. I know better.

Here is proof to all parents that infancy does not last forever which for some is a sad realization but for me is the light at the end of the tunnel-the Lincoln Tunnel. And here is a peek into our day in the city because you actually don't need a passport to get to New Jersey.

Cool is in the eye of the beholder

As we were rounding up our things for a night out, keys, wallet, cell phones, our babysitter confessed that her friends think we are so cool because we’re always going out to do cool things even though we’ve got kids. “They’re local tonight,” she tells her friends who like to keep tabs on the cool things we do and the cool people we see. As a kid, my obsession with cool was long and deep because as you may have already established, I have never been cool. Tough to be in with the in-crowd in the 80s with a head of Flashdance permed hair, glasses and braces on top of a pre-pubescent, skinny body - a walking caricature.

This isn’t about my painful journey as an awkward child overcoming adversity to become the fabulous connoisseseuse of cool that I am - mostly because I’m still pretty, well, queer. I just don’t think in terms of cool anymore, and I can’t remember the last time that I did. I don’t even know what it means to be cool. When you’re a kid, it’s easy. There are rules regarding fashion, music, sports and how much freedom your parents give you to act like a complete git. As far as I can tell, there are no such rules in the suburbs of New Jersey or if there are, my Guide to Cool obviously was lost in the mail.

I can look at other people in my little community and marvel at their sense of style or envy their finished basements or imagine the daily lives of people with super interesting careers. But, does any of that spell COOL? Apparently, according to the friends of our sitter at Seton Hall – HEY PIRATES! – we are mo-fo cool (ok, the mo-fo is mine) because we go out and do fun things. We go into Manhattan. We stay out late. We even go out during the week. I guess that’s cool. It certainly doesn’t suck.

Take last night, for example. We went to a reading at our local library to see Marian Fontana read from her book A Widow’s Walk and her new book The Middle of the Bed. New York Times reporter, Tina Kelly moderated a discussion with Marian, and Marian answered questions from the audience. A Widow’s Walk is the memoir Marian wrote after her fire fighter husband, David, was killed during the 9/11 attacks. It’s a fantastic book because Marian has the ability to make you laugh through your tears and feel uplifted and inspired in the face of tragedy-no easy feat, I say. I’m not just saying that because she’s my friend either. Honest!



Marian's new book, The Middle of the Bed, is out in September and from the few pages she read, I know it’s going be fantastic. What isn’t tragically funny about dating again after 20 years of being off the market and having to introduce yourself as a widow and single mother? Good times.

Deborah! Enough with the plugging!! That’s NOT the kind of plugging we like to hear you talk about!” I know, I know. I just can’t help promoting the amazing talents of my friends. There are those who can and there are those who can’t. And those who can’t, promote, right? “But Deborah! You’re not one of those who can’t. You’re enormously talented, and we love reading everything you write. Why, a day without your blog is like a day without sunshine.” Wait, did you just say that or did that come from those voices in my head again? Note to self: if they sound like they’re about to start singing Follow the Yellow Brick Road, they are not real people, and you have probably forgotten to take your meds.

Congratulations to Marian on a wonderful night at the library where you entertained and inspired and gave good book. Congratulations to Lucila McElroy, founder of MOMentum, who had the good sense to invite our friend Marian to do a reading for the MOMentum members and its community. Well done to Tina Kelly for thought provoking questions and conversation. And thanks to the Maplewood Library for co-sponsoring the reading and continuing to provide quality events like the Local Blogging Panel, for example.

What is cool? Well, my friends are cool, that’s for sure. Some of them do interesting things and some of them make me laugh and all of them are incredibly hot (because they'd kill me if I didn't say so), but mostly they make me feel good about myself, and I hope I do the same for them. Now that’s cool. And so is Leather Tuscadero.

Mommies dearest

Perhaps Gabriella is NOT the Mary Poppins stay-at-home mother I’d thought she’d be. There have been a few happy lessons that have come from Gabriella’s unemployment. This is one of them. Not that I want her to do a bad job. She’s actually pretty amazing. But, she’s not perfect. Who knew?

When I came home from drop-off this morning, Gabriella was having words with Levi while Levi was bawling and screaming.

“Alright, Levi! I’ve had it!! Oh, quit your boo-hooing!” I couldn’t help laughing at that one. What you need to understand is that Gabriella is Italian through and through. Her mother was the quintessential Italian mother who thought her children could do no wrong. I don’t know that she ever raised her voice or spoke a harsh word to her precious piccirida (Sicilian for daughters).

Gabriella inherited quite a bit of that mothering instinct. No one of sound mind enjoys hearing babies cry. The sad whaling of babies can be irritating or heart-wrenching, and we all go to great lengths to turn them off. When Asher was a baby and cried and cried, Gabriella suffered a pain I can only equate to a slow, bubbling hot bikini wax of the soul. It was difficult to know which one of them to comfort first. But as sleep deprivation compounded over months, I had no sense of humour and no patience for anything or anybody-including my dear, beloved Gabriella.

I was the nursing mom-the walking milk machine; a constant reminder that the Italian mother could not feed her baby-a super hero stripped of her powers. Every time that little baby of ours cried, Gabriella assumed that eating would solve everything, and she would ask, “Did you feed him?” “Is he hungry?” “When was the last time he ate?” She would stop just shy of chasing me around our house with Asher and latching him on to me herself to get some food in him. “Gabriella, genug already! He just ate. He might be tired or he might have wind or he might be bored or he might hate you as much as I do right now!”

Finally, I presented a plan which I thought was well-received. “Gabriella, I’ve read the books. I’ve consulted with friends and physicians. You need to let me try to sooth Asher in my own way. How about this? When I am holding Asher, I’ll ask you for your advice. If I don’t, you are not to give me any unless you feel I am harming him. The same will hold true for you.” “That’s fair.” This was progress. Shortly thereafter, we turned in for the night.

Asher slept in our bed the first few months of his life-not because we were committed to attachment parenting or co-sleeping but because I was too tired to schlep in and out of bed every few hours. That night after having instituted the new rules, Asher started to cry. It was late. Gabriella was sound asleep but not for long. I knew that he wasn’t hungry because he had just eaten, but the best way to keep him quiet so Gabriella could sleep was to give him the boob. I was evaluating the situation when she stirred and slowly turned to look up at me from half-closed eyes and started to utter “Should you fee...”

My blood started to boil as soon as she opened her mouth. With Asher cradled in my right arm, I used my left hand to seize hold of the collar of Gabriella’s t-shirt and pulled her towards me so that she could not/would not move. The voice that snuck out from behind my clenched teeth was unrecognizable to both of us. I was tired and fed up and that partner of mine was about to give me advice at 3:30 in the morning. I sounded like a possessed Brenda Vaccaro when I growled slowly and forcefully in her face,

“SHUUUUT! UUUUUP!”

I opened my fist, and released her t-shirt. She rolled over and said absolutely nothing-stunned and afraid of the inner beast that had just been released. Sleep deprivation is an ugly thing. That was the beginning of the desensitisation of Gabriella.

We’ve come a long way! Asher is 5. Levi is 2. Gabriella is still far more nurturing and patient than I am, but she isn’t the softy she used to be. And since she’s been at home? Fuggetaboudit! She’s downright mean sometimes. Makes an unfeeling girl like me feel all happy inside that I’m not the Mommy Dearest to her June Cleaver.

After this morning’s altercation with Levi, Gabriella decided to take him to the grocery store. She grabs my grocery list off the fridge. I make the list. She shops. It works for us. What works even better for me is that she often takes one of the boys with her. Hey, it’s tough to find free things to do in the winter time. And in this case, a trip in the car might improve Levi’s mood. Grocery shopping can also be a learning opportunity. Gabriella teaches the boys about produce and tries to get him to sniff the fresh herbs (where the H is NOT silent because we lived in the UK, and we’re affected that way. At least we don’t say lef-tenant for lieutenant. That’s just dumb!)

She reviews my list to see if I have added my occasional special items for her shopping pleasure:

• Bread
• Clit mix
• Eggs
• Soy milk
• Carrots
• Bananas
• Inner thigh flank
• Butter
• Whipped crème de vagine
• Mango juice

A smirk and out the door. She made it to the store only to call me to tell me that they were on their way home without a single item. Levi was mid-tantrum and was lying on the floor screaming. "I'm bringing him home...but not before taking a picture with my cell phone!" That’s my girl! Mommies Dearest unite!!

I wore white...SO?

March 3 - our anniversary. Which anniversary is that, Deborah? You can’t legally get married, so what in tarnation are you on about? Hey. It’s fun to say taaar-nation. Try it. I can’t help but say it with my bastardized, southern accent. It really doesn’t work any other way. Where was I? Oh, how do the gays measure relationship time? First date? First kiss?

That’s right up there with “What does it mean when you lesbians say you had sex?” I actually don’t mind answering this question after a few glasses of wine with my mummy friends. My only condition is that all the ladies share. I’ve learned quite a bit about what the straight girls are doing – and NOT doing with their husbands. I was amazed that so few of my friends had never owned or used a vibrator. I always thought it was one of those things every girl has tried at least once. I was not surprised, however, by the lack of bum-fun participation. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I get it. .....as often as I can. Badum bum! Just joshin’. I’m not talking booty with you people. You’ll have to join my book club if you want to know details. Hey ladies!!

And so what is sex? I propose that that question is applicable to all couples (or threesomes) regardless of gender. Do you have to be naked? Does Flap A have to be inserted in Slot B? If there is A & B action but no one makes it to heaven, does that count? What if Flap A is a finger or a tongue? If Slot B is a mouth or a bum, is that sex? If the end result is the Big O, does it matter what the means? What if only one person ... gets there? The answer is who cares?!? If I tell you I had sex last night, then all that matters is that I finally got some-whatever “some” is, and you should be very happy for me.

As far as measuring the time we have been together, we have numerous anniversaries to remember. There’s the first night we officially declared ourselves to be a couple, almost 15 years ago. There’s our wedding night, 8 years ago. There’s our Domestic Partnership anniversary and our Civil Union anniversary 2 years ago. And one day, hopefully before senility sets in, we’ll be celebrating our legal marriage in the U.S. So again, if I say we’re celebrating our anniversary, you don’t say, “Which one?” Who cares? You say, “Congratulations!" or "Mazel Tov!" or "Auguri!”

But if you must know, I will tell you that it is our wedding on the 3rd of March in 2001 in London we celebrate above all other anniversaries, and it was the most magical day of my life (and I'm pretty sure Gabriella's life, too), and I don’t think there will ever be a day that comes close. Ah, to be young and fit and in love. Ok, and it is pretty amazing to be surrounded by people you love all celebrating your relationship...by an open bar.

We used to celebrate anniversaries with expensive gifts and luxurious vacations. Life with children brings different joys and many limitations. But we always take time out to remember our wedding and celebrate our relationship. I start to get all silly and sappy inside when I think about how we are still going strong-bringing out the best in each other and cherishing our lives together-until Gabriella comes downstairs and interrupts my creative flow. “Are you going to do the dishes?” she asks. I am still typing so I don’t look up. “Eventually. Are you going to put out?” I ask. “Eventually.”

Happy Anniversary, Gabriella. I love you.

The ick of sick

Yesterday, Asher woke up moaning at 4:30AM. I waited knowing in my heart that bad things were about to happen. A few moments later, the toilet flushed and he came into our room with the announcement that he had thrown up on the rug. It was important to him that he tell me exactly where the regurgitation occurred so that I could get rid of any evidence. After all chunkage was removed to his satisfaction, he joined us in our bed with the caveat that if he needed to throw up again, he had to go to the bathroom. I’m sure somewhere in the back of my head, I knew that my words evaporated as soon as they were spoken and that Asher’s brain was not receiving any form of instruction. Sure enough, 6:30AM, more. On the pillows. On the sheets. Luckily narrowly missing my hair.

I recall cleaning up after our dogs when I was a kid. I remember coming very close to losing it every time the chore fell to me to do. Few things are more disgusting to me than someone else’s (or some dog’s) vomit-especially if I’m the one who has to clean up. I’m gagging just thinking about it.

Poor Asher was miserable. I tried to contain my selfish, evil thoughts that expose the anti-mom within who will never be nominated for Mother of the Year (and I'm ok with that).

- I JUST washed these sheets!

- Do we have to cancel our plans tonight??

- We’ve got enough medication to knock him out, don’t we? He can be sick and asleep for us or sick and asleep for a sitter. What’s the diff?

- How many times is he going to get sick this winter? It’s enough already!

- Next time he refuses to make his way to the bathroom, he’s cleaning it up himself.

The upside to illness is that I can park him in front of the television and not feel guilty about it. What? And the dulcet tones of children's programming lulled him into a wee nap. It was a sad day for Asher and a sad day for our laundress (that would be yours truly). But, we did end up giving him a splash of medicine before bed, and we did end up going out. I prayed between dinner courses that the gods would not descend upon us and punish us for leaving him. But they were kind this time, and he slept all night.

Today, Asher was right as rain. Hooray! He ate all of his meals with gusto, and I had to tell him that it made me hungry just watching him eat.

D: Asher! I’m so hungry. I don’t think I had enough at dinner. I’m going to have to eat you up because you look so delicious!

A: NO!

D: Aw, c’mon! How about if I only eat your toes? They’re only little.

A: NOOOOO!!!

D: Ok, I’ll just eat your knees. They look pretty yummy.

A: NOOOOO!!!

D: Tell you what. I’ll eat your elbows. You don’t really use them for anything, do you?

A: EAT MOMMY INSTEAD!

D: That’s an excellent idea, Asher. I’ll be sure to tell her you said so.

He's a good kid, that Asher.