Category Archives: family

On Mom and fishing

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mom and son fishing

I saw this and it reminded me of the story of Mike, my mom, and the man we call “the Troll.”

We were on vacation after my senior year of high school (I think it was after senior year?), and Mike really wanted to go fishing in the Potomac river. So, he found a brochure, called the guide, and scheduled it.

Mike and Mom took the train from Philadelphia to Doylestown (pronounced: Dulls-ton). Then they met the Troll and he put them in his truck and took them on a drive. My mom later admitted that she was terrified and though they were going to die.

The Troll kept looking over his shoulder at stuff along the road, while taking his eyes off the road, explaining that he lives with his mom during the winter months. He would eventually take them to a spot along the river – the same spot where he camped/lived during the summer months.

Mom wouldn’t let Mike out of her sight, and got worried when the Troll took Mike around a bend in the river and back to his camp (turns out he’s just a weird dude and not some crazy psycho-killer). She said that sitting in the hot sun on a log all day without a book was one of the most miserable experiences of her life, but she was glad to go because it meant that Mike got to go fishing. It’s a way funnier story when we re-tell it, so have Mom and Mike do that for you someday.

It’s that maternal love that you never let go of. (I had a maternal love moment the other day and then cried – because the love was too much and it had to spill out of me via tear ducts – because of how perfect Carlos’s feet are. That’s how I know I’m a mother – even if it is just to a cat – and how I know that love like that is way stronger than you can comprehend.)

And this picture, for me, reminds us that sometimes we have to do terrible things for the people we love.

For me, this means cleaning out my room at my mom’s house. It’s been my room since I was three, and now she wants it. Selfishly, I do not want to let her have it. I also don’t want more stuff at my house, since I have never been able to master the adult habit of organization. Instead, I know that all of the stuff will languish in piles or boxes in my closet or around my room.

I wish there was a picture of that I could post.

I also wish I could accurately describe the face that I’m making right now. It’s an equal mix of disgust (for cleaning), sadness (for clearing out my childhood room), disdain (for my mother’s demands), and shame (because I should have done this years ago). Mostly, it’s just a lot of nose wrinkling mixed with whatever procrastination looks like.

Procrastinating. I’m still doing it. I keep telling Mom that I’m not going to budge on my room until she sews my favorite pencil skirt. Maybe I’ll just stick to that. It’s a little bit like nuclear disarmament, but not. We just avoid the subject during diplomatic missions (or visits, whichever you choose to call them) and carry on.

But I did promise her that I’d make some headway tomorrow. Which means….she’d better break out the sewing kit and get that gorgeous black skirt back in my rotation.

On Women, truthfully.

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Since I have a janky internet connection reminiscent of early aughts dial-up (was it really that recently?), I can’t stream too many things at once and therefore can’t check the link above. But my intention was to google “verizon commercial mom and daughter” and I think I’ve arrived at the right one.

Maybe you’ve seen it already: A mom and daughter are crying at a Verizon store. The daughter is moving away (4.2 miles away, to be exact, weeps the mother), and they’re getting phones equipped with GPS so they’ll still be close to each other.

Mike and I were watching that commercial, and I launched into a short-lived diatribe* about how women are portrayed in the media today and how it’s unfair to classify us all as weak, emotional beings.

“But it’s true!” Mike interrupted, before proceeding to do a sadly accurate impression of me sobbing my eyes out when I left for college. (that moment – or rather those hours – will haunt me forever.)

And he’s not wrong.

*diatribe – You know how Jacob and I play that game where you get points if you use words incorrectly? Well here’s the facebook thread that makes it impossible for me to hear the word diatribe and not laugh:

Jacob Wood posted to  Katie Barry
Last night in a bar, I heard a woman say, “you’ll have a diatribe of women come after you”. Is it possible to die of points?·

On what I love most

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Oh yeah, cat post! Why? Because I can.

I was reading an article about the ethics of ear tipping (the process by which they mark neutered feral cats before they release them back into the “wild”) and it got me thinking about Carlos. and moths.

Moths. I’m not big on moths. But Carlos is. He’s so quick and agile as he does his predator stuff. I’m not big on killing either, but watching him hunt is fascinating. He’s so focused, so intent. And deadly.

The other night, Mike and I got so wrapped up in trying to chase down a moth for Carlos that he first got scared and then lost interest. So the two of us wasted about ten minutes of our night only to turn around and realize that the cat had walked out of the room and we’d lost the moth. Excellent work, team. I think I’ll leave bug catching to the professional from now on.

 

On my little brother, who will always be fruitypants to me

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Mike's tent

When I got home from my quick weekend in Chicago, I was a bit surprised to see an orange tent set up in our living room. Mike was so excited to tell me all about it: how lightweight it is (3 pounds!), how it’s great for backpacking, how it’s got a rain fly and he’s excited to make oatmeal under it in the mornings if it’s raining. Lots of conversation about the possibilities of rain with this tent – apparently the rain fly can be put up before you build the body of the tent so that in case of inclement weather you don’t risk getting your tent soaked while you mess with the poles and rain fly. I think that’s marvelous.

We had to take the tent down because someone with sharp claws was just as excited as Mike about the new tent. Carlos kept sneaking around the tent, trying to get in through the flap. I’d see a swish of black tail as he got in, only to run out moments later when Mike caught him. Then I’d see the little black face sniffing around the bottom of the tent. Not wanting to have to buy a new tent due to slash-holes caused by my cat son and his nasty habit of relentless investigation, the tent was packed away. However, I did enjoy sitting inside a tent inside my living room. It brought back childhood memories of Mike and I camping in the backyard.

(This is one of my favorite pictures of us ever.)

I so love the fact that I came home to a tent. I so love that my roommate is my brother. I love that we are nearly exact opposites. Mike’s idea of fun is a week spent fishing and hiking and backpacking. That’s my idea of perfect hell. My idea of fun is dancing, or the library, or four hours in a bathtub with books, or drinking wine. I do believe that those may constitute Mike’s perfect hell.

However, give that kid some sports, and you’re all set. I really like going to games with Mike. I always learn something and I always have fun. Above, my first Cubs game ever after I graduated from college.

He’s the athletic one. I mean, he’s 6’4″ and I’m barely 5’8″. He does the heavy lifting; he opens jars; he reaches things on the top shelf. He’s the one that’s good at math (damn good). He does the detail work. He’s focused, calm, patient, way too laid-back for his own good, kindhearted, organized, neat. He’s analytical and observant. He loves his outdoor activities, but my idea of outdoor activities involves drinking in a park. He cooks, too. He’s going to be a great dad and make some lady who can’t cook very happy one day.

I’m the impulsive, energetic one. I’m loud and quite outspoken. I’m the one who thinks about the big picture, who takes care of administrative detail like paying the bills, and who is wound up 99.99% of the time. I am in no way patient or detail oriented, and I’ll never be accused of being organized or neat. And I can’t cook to save my life. (Baby steps, I keep telling myself. Noodles and sauce from a jar is totally food.)

Even though we’re not biological siblings, we’re a matched set. We make a really good team. We balance each other out. I’m impressed by his dedication to his schoolwork, fascinated by his love of strange things like his panini maker, and excited about our mutual enjoyment of tea. He knows how to calm me down when I’m stressed; he’s wise beyond his years.

We get each other. We used to climb the apple tree in the backyard together. We used to throw tennis balls at the house. When we were little, we thought it’d be the best idea ever to take out the hall closet that separated our rooms and create one giant room that was full of everything fun. Or if we couldn’t have one giant room, we wanted a secret tunnel.

During nap time (which sucks when you’re 7 years old), we’d grab Mom’s exercise mat and use it to sled down the stairs. In the summer, we’d have cannonball contests – which I never won. We dug mud holes in the garden, took our bikes and scooters all over the neighborhood, stayed out late and played hide and seek….

When I went off to college, I had a rough time the first night. I’ve never been that good at hiding my emotions, and I’m prone to bouts of hysterical crying. And so, I cried. I cried, and I cried, and I cried. (It was pretty bad.) My mom and brother and uncle and cousin left me all alone in Chicago (which would turn out to be one of the best adventures of my life, so in hindsight, no complaints). No one would have ever known about this if my uncle hadn’t told us – I’m glad he did – but apparently, Mike cried through Illinois on the way back to Denver.

My brother is one of the most amazing people I know. I’m so lucky that he’s mine. (Don’t tell him that – I don’t want it to go to his head.) I am so grateful.



On Chicago, more than happily

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I’ve left so many times, for so many reasons, and every single time, I end up back in Chicago, staring longingly at the lake. It was the lake that brought me there, after all. This weekend was a lot like the weekend that I spent out there in July, but this weekend was so much better.

Chicago-style hot dog

Last week, when I told my boss that I was headed to Chicago for the weekend, he looked at me and said, “Your flight’s on Sunday night, right?” I paused. “Um….no….Monday morning, actually.” He looked at me and laughed. “I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he said.

(Remember the July trip? Waking up at 6:03 when my flight had taken off at 6:00….the long day spent laying on the couch while I killed time until my Monday night flight, a day of work lost, a terribly abrupt goodbye, the uncertainty of it all.)

Leaving Denver after work on Friday is not the best way to go. But then again, weekends are short – you’ve got to make the best of them. I was almost too tired to be excited, but simultaneously terrified that I wouldn’t make my flight. Of course, i had to stop for gas and ended up giving my dinner to a homeless man.

Sitting in my car, filling Jell-O shot containers full of shampoo and soap, I reminded myself why I do things like this. The work-life balance, but more than that. Life, mostly. The most beautiful life is the one that will never make me wonder what could have been.

The TSA was puzzled by my Jell-O shot shampoo containers. They took the bag out and marveled (my words, not theirs) at it before finally letting it go. This was immediately after I had to take cash out of my bra to get through the body scanner. I believe Charlie Sheen put it best when he said, “Winning.”

I’m a Taurus. I’m a very stubborn woman. He picked me up and I was first-date nervous. (Honestly, we’ve only ever been on about 4 dates, give or take, so it’s not like my nerves are entirely unfounded.) He made me dinner while I wandered to find beer. I interrupted him giving me directions with, “I’ll figure it out,” and ended up walking an extra 4 blocks each way to 7-11 (Chicago 7-11’s are the best – no 3.2% beer there!).

I didn’t mind the walk. I love the city.

Lights at the Congress Theater

Saturday day was him working for a bit and me going to see my friend Anne. Then it was double-date concert night. I’m not a huge fan of dubstep – it sounds like robots dancing to me – but we went and saw Bassnectar at the Congress Theater. It was loud, crowded, and fun. Some girl stepped all over the side of my heel though (until this happened, I wasn’t aware that it was possible to step on the side of a heel, all the way up to the ankle), which has left me bruised and grumpy. His brother and his girlfriend are great! We made brunch on Sunday morning, and I watched Back to the Future for the first time, curled up on the couch under a Cubs blanket.

Bassnectar

Not our best picture, but the only one I have!

Lights at Concert
I felt old for the first time. I know I was not the oldest person at the concert (by far), but I felt somehow removed from the crowd. My dress and sweater made me look like a librarian (no offense, Maddie, just making generalizations) compared to the neon halter tops and short shorts all around me. I don’t do this sort of dancing and I was entirely out of my element. By the end of the concert, I was tired of getting danced into. I was tired of dancing (that so very rarely happens) and I was tired of hearing sounds. I had so much fun, and I adore his brother and his brother’s girlfriend, but I don’t know that I’d be so willing to attend a repeat of that event. I’m glad that he understood.
Chocolate Chip Cookies
On Sunday, after a quick visit to his grandparents, we had dinner at his mom’s house. Last July, one too many “princess party drinks” (White Russians) had me doing some pathetic-late-night-love-drunk crying on his porch once we got home. His impression of that incident is nearly accurate and is hilarious – ask him to do it some time. (It’s just like the “I’ll go to DU, I swear” freshman year of college pleading, except two notches less hysterical. Maybe.) This time, I was (quite willingly) banned from drinking any. I would like to insert the fact that I’m also a lot more confident about his communication skills and where we stand, which is conducive to a no-tears environment.
His mom pulled him outside to tell him that I was too skinny before she made me eat second helpings on pasta and finish my giant hamburger. Then she walked me through making cookies from scratch.  “Beat the shit out of the butter,” she told me, after I’d failed to beat it quite fluffy enough. “Just set it on high, and walk away. Don’t watch it. Come back in five minutes.” It was terrifying, but so rewarding. I made something!!
I love his family. They’re so much like mine, sort of. Except his is definitely a little bit louder. Imagine four kids instead of me and Mike – it’s like that. It’s loud and chaotic and I feel right at home. His dad’s roommate, who I adore, came to dinner, too. We played Catchphrase, girls against boys, after dinner. The girls won quite soundly. It was the perfect ending to the trip.
DIA This time there were no tears. There was only the promise of “next time” – we’ll spend more time with his grandparents, we’ll cook again with his mom, we’ll get to see each other sooner rather than later.
This time felt good. I don’t know if it will be good forever, but for right now, it’s good, and I’m learning to accept those good things and stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because in time, it will.
This time, we woke up at an ungodly hour and crept through the sleeping city toward the airport. I was too tired to think about crying. He stopped the car in the second lane, using a giant, hulking van as a reason to do it (it is Chicago after all, most things go) and came around and wrapped me in his arms. There were whispers, quick conversation as he got back into the driver’s seat and I grabbed my bags. I shut the door and turned away. I didn’t look back, not even for one last glimpse as he drove away. I never look back. My smooth exit was marred only by the automatic door not working. I walked up to, so close I could have rubbed my nose against it, only to curse quite loudly when it failed to open. The automatic door marked exit was much more accommodating, and soon enough, I was standing in the long line to get through security.
Home sweet home and early for work! It was a very successful Monday morning.

On Easter Weekend, hectically

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Thursday:

Thursday night, Kevin and I went to see the band FUN. at the Ogden.

It was, well, fun. After, we went to the Satire and had a few beers. I love the conversations that you can have with random strangers in bars. I really do. We met a nice guy and chatted about everything and life for the better part of the night.

Since I’m dumping out phone photos, here’s one of my favorite of Carlos last week.

Friday:

Friday night, Mike and I went to the Nuggets game for his birthday. We sat club level, ordered food and beer, and had a great time! I need to go to more basketball games with Mike. I like how he knows so much about each of the players and is more than willing to educate me.

Jacob is working at my work now! He’s temporary and semi-part time. He likes that it’s such a fluid job and I like having some help. Here’s hoping that it continues to work out well for both of us!

Saturday:

Saturday also brought Easter brunch with another of my favorite families. This is one of the best pictures of Aunt Sally, with our small friends. G made us all be quiet at the table and then say “Happy Easter!” all at once. The kids were so happy with the Easter egg hunt that we went to at the local park. All of the kids were excited; it was adorable.

This little guy was the best. He couldn’t have been more than 20 months, and he was so excited to pick up that one egg that he’d selected. He didn’t want to go with the 1-3 year olds, but instead, stopped right there and waited very patiently (if not also very stubbornly) for the 3-6 year old egg hunt to begin.


I had sushi with Heidi on Saturday. It was absolutely delicious. I need to learn how to make my own, I think. (Put it on my bucket list, please.) To think, just a year and a half ago, I wouldn’t eat sushi if you paid me. Now I can’t get enough. But I still won’t eat cooked fish (unless it’s shrimp). It’s all too seafood-y for me.

Since I didn’t end up having to babysit on Saturday night, I spent the better part of the day making some cheesecake-filled Easter eggs from a recipe that I found online. (Last week, I was excited because I had successfully boiled noodles and added sauce to form a pasta dish, so consider this quite an accomplishment. I even made my own whipped cream! Stiff peaks!)

Heidi and I were in the grocery store, googling things like, “what is confectioners sugar?” and “is jam the same as preserves?”. I’m just very glad I have a personality to make up for my lack of housewife-skills (cooking, cleaning, keeping one’s opinions to oneself, etc.)

The housewife comment is more in jest than anything else. (I mean, I really don’t have any housewife skills at all…so that’s still true.) I went to church with my brother, grandmother, and grandfather on Sunday and my grandma expressed shock at some of my requirements for a mate, including intelligence. “Don’t worry too much about that,” she said. “You’re going to get married and have babies and it won’t matter. Find someone who will be a good father.” While I do think that she’s correct about finding someone who will be a good father, and while I would like to get married and have babies, I’m not so sure that I’m going to just abandon my own intellectual and career pursuits. (By the way, there is the possibility of semi-exciting life news coming soon, but not just ready yet. And it’s not another crack at grad school, but it is academia-related. And I swear to you that I will blog about how much I love my job SOON. Because I need to.)

A very messy (and time consuming!) process for making my cheesecake eggs!

My white chocolate-cheesecake-fruit filled Easter eggs.

Sunday: 

Easter lilies – they’ve been brightening up my room for the past couple of weeks and I absolutely love them. Too bad we can’t have them all year-round.

My neighbor and I being Easter bunnies! I love her.

My dad gave me back a CD that he found. It was mine back in 2000. We put it in while we were driving back home. Even though the music isn’t exactly art, it brings back memories of awkward junior high dances and TRL (Total Request Live, that show on MTV that was hosted by Carson Daly that everyone loved). Even better, my 12-year old self still knew all the words!

Mostly, I just love the dress. and Carlos, who was none too happy to be posing for pictures.

On Cute Stuff Because It’s Friday

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The bosses are both back today, which means that everything that’s been going crazy this week is even crazier now as we settle down, recap, and regroup for next week.

Whew.

But in the meantime, I saw this article and thought of my mom, who’s a special education teacher. She works with deaf kids (who should consider themselves lucky because they can’t hear her scary “teacher voice”), and she’s pretty awesome at sign language.

Wait, she’s probably mastered “teacher voice” in ASL, too.

(She denies that she has a teacher voice. It’s just like the sock fight that we’ve been having for about 23 years. We’re never going to see eye to eye on either of them. Just so we’re clear, I’m not the one stealing socks. I don’t wear socks. Notice that Mike is usually pretty silent during these debates…)

Click here for the link to the story. It’s adorable. A kid signs “I’m proud of you” at Obama and he signs back “Thank you.” Awwww, our President is awesome!

[side note: when I sent mom the links to the “Dirty Sign Language” videos on YouTube, she was not nearly as amused as I was.] [P.S. to the side note: Grandma, don’t click on that link. Thanks.]

On Cookie Monster and Cringing

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Cookie Monster Birthday Cake

I think this was Mike’s birthday cake?  If you don’t mind my saying so, we were just adorable.

I love that in most pictures, I’m either moving or talking. Apparently my inability to sit still isn’t new (and neither is my love of cake).

I love finding old pictures. This one was pinned to my wall in my room at my mom’s house.

I love that my room at her house is a frozen snapshot of my adolescence. Not quite frozen anymore, as it would later become the repository for all of my collegiate possessions and thus everything has commingled into a massive reminder of everything that is my past. Schoolbooks, shoes, pictures, artwork, dresses (oh, my dresses – they are all so amazing.)

There are posters on the wall. There are pictures of me and my friends, doing whatever it was that we thought worth photographing at those ages. I’ll pick one up and cringe at how silly I look, but they’re a nice reminder of how much I’ve grown and changed. They also remind me how grateful I am that I was so invested in my adolescence. We were so engaged in shedding our youth and so determined to don our adult selves, but we never lost sight of our enjoyment of everything “teenage.” We were silly and serious, immature while maturing. Honestly, it was rough, but it was beautiful.

I was talking to mom the other night about those rough years. She told me that her mantra during that time was This too shall pass, which makes me wince with regret and a touch of shame. She was quick to reassure me that it wasn’t all bad. (Great, just what everyone wants to hear. “It wasn’t ALL bad.”)

I was telling her about the mother and daughter that I saw checking into the hotel in New York. The daughter had the matronly look of a teenager who developed young but hasn’t yet grown into her body and the mother just looked frazzled. They were at the counter, asking the concierge a question, and I heard the daughter say, “I told you so!” to her mother in front of the concierge.

I cringed for both the mother and the daughter. That daughter will one day realize that being right isn’t always the most important thing (not always, but most of the time, right?). Also, the daughter will learn that double-checking is something all adults do, although I was recently informed by a co-worker that I’ll grow out of my habit of obsessively double-checking everything. That came as a relief. Double-checking is so necessary but so annoying.

I apologized to my mom for basically all of my youth. In retrospect, I was a holy terror at certain moments and perfectly angelic at others, but I’m comforted by the knowledge that all of that is normal in the progression from infant to adult – the progression that is never easy and comes with no instruction manuals.

My relationship with my mother is a strong and honest one. I don’t lie to her (I try not to lie in general, but I’m particularly frank with her), and she doesn’t lie to me. I know that anything I do, she’ll support, and she’s always been available to listen. She doesn’t always like it, but she’ll listen. And I appreciate that. It’s the sort of unconditional love that makes me proud to be part of the family. They’re all very good at the unconditional love thing.

She admitted to me that she understands a lot of what was going on back then was caused by my dad, which I don’t deny. His approach to parenting a teenager may not have the best. (By “may not have been the best,” I mean “definitely wasn’t the best.”) It caused a lot of anguish for me and created a terrible emotional firestorm that, when combined with teenage hormones, was bound to create a series of terribly unfortunate and chaotic events. You’ll do well to note that since I was able to remove myself from the situation and embrace my independence, there has been a drastic increase in all things positive.

Growing up involves a lot of growing pains. Those precious babies do grow into perfect monsters and then pass into tentative adulthood. It’s never peaceful. Even after they leave the nest, there’s a lot of growing left to do. By that point, you can only hope that they have the tools necessary to deal with the hellish nature of adulthood and the grace to accept responsibility for all that they are and do. A sense of humor never hurts, either.

katie and katie

(see? I told you 17 was rough.)

On Virginia and Adoption

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So Virginia wants to let state-funded (but private) adoption agencies discriminate based on the belief system of the agency? Doesn’t the government protect against that sort of discrimination?

Obviously, adoption is important. It so often gets overlooked. About a third of the kids currently sitting in Virginia foster care hope to eventually be adopted. Granted, those adoptions aren’t going to be arranged through these private agencies, but we’re talking about allocation of government funds. I say take funding away from any organization that wants to practice discrimination (in violation of federal law) and put that funding back into the badly broken foster system so that those kids can have a chance at a family.

You can’t guarantee that a set of potential parents that fits the “ideal” picture of a family is going to end up as an”ideal” set of parents. I mean, my family – heterosexual, white, Catholics – ended up divorced and really grumpy. What was once a rosy image of the perfect family was eventually shattered – just like half of the other rosy pictures of hetero families in the US. But G-d forbid we let the gays adopt! They’ll turn this country into a hub of immorality and sin! It’s like one commenter wrote sarcastically: “But what if the kids catch the gay?” What if, indeed.

Virnia adding ‘conscience clause’ to adoption laws

By ,

RICHMOND — Virginia will likely become the second state in the nation — after North Dakota — to allow private adoption agencies to turn away parents based on sexual orientation or religious and moral beliefs.

The General Assembly is considering a measure that would add a “conscience clause’’ to Virginia law that would allow state-funded, faith-based agencies to choose which parents are suitable for adoption based on the agencies’ beliefs.

Daniel Gri and James Abbott, who adopted two sons in California, say that through the proposed guidelines their adopted home of Virginia is further hampering gay people from adopting.

“It makes it seem like it’s not about sexual orientation,” said Gri, who lives in Oakton. “That’s a technique anti-gay organizations use.’’

But supporters of the legislation say it would protect religious freedom by ­allowing birth parents to choose an agency — and as a result, adoptive parents — who adhere to their religious beliefs.

“This measure will chisel into law the principle that people of faith can adhere to their convictions without fear of reprisal from those who would discriminate against their religious beliefs regarding how we should raise our children,” said House Deputy Majority Leader C. Todd Gilbert(R-Shenandoah).

The legislation’s fate became clear after Republicans took control of the state Senate and gained an even heftier majority in the House. The House voted overwhelmingly to pass the measure last week, largely along party lines, while the Senate is expected to vote this week.

Gov. Robert F. McDonnell (R) is expected to sign the legislation. He has repeatedly said that faith-based organizations should be able to make their own policies.

Virginia has 77 private agencies, 16 of them faith-based. They placed 557 of the state’s 2,503 adoptions last year, according to state figures. In total, the agencies and 120 local social services departments received $144 million in state and federal funds for child placement last year.

Who can adopt, and who can’t

The bill does not change who can adopt. State law does not allow unmarried couples — homosexual or heterosexual — to adopt. But it is possible for single people, including gays, to adopt.

For gay-rights group Equality Virginia, the ACLU and others, the legislation merely perpetuates discrimination.

“Let’s just speak the truth and tell it like it is,’’ Del. David L. Englin (D-Alexandria) said. “This legislation is about ensuring that foster placement agencies that do not want to place children . . . with same-sex couples are able to do that.’’

Democrats, outgunned in the newly Republican-controlled legislature, have unsuccessfully tried to amend the legislation and pass their own bill, which would have banned discrimination by agencies that receive state funds. Nine states prohibit discrimination in adoption.

“Any bill that sanctions discrimination is unfortunate and misguided,’’ said Sen. A. Donald McEachin (D-Henrico), who attempted to amend the bill last week.

The bill would prohibit the state from rejecting or revoking agencies’ licenses because they turn away prospective parents. Currently, about 4,407 children are in foster care in Virginia. About 1,300 of them have a goal of adoption.

Supporters of the measure say it merely puts into law a standing practice that has been in place in Virginia for decades.

“A majority of Virginians recognize that these agencies are critical to providing the best possible outcomes for children,’’ said Victoria Cobb, president of the Family Foundation. “This legislation . . . allows these important agencies to continue doing the vital work they’ve been doing for decades.’’

But opponents say the bill goes far beyond just faith-based agencies to all private agencies, far beyond just adoption to foster care and far beyond religious reasons to moral reasons.

“This is establishing a whole lot of new precedent that we have not had before or seen before,’’ said Claire Guthrie Gastanaga, general counsel to Equality Virginia and a former chief deputy attorney general.

The bill codifies a decision by the State Board of Social Services last year to allow faith-based organizations to reject prospective parents based on gender, age, religion, disability, sexual orientation and family status. The federal government protects against discrimination based on race, color or national origin.

The proposed regulations, part of a massive overhaul of adoption rules, are to take effect May 1.

‘Focus’ on the child

“Our focus is really on the best placement of the child,’’ Virginia Social Services Commissioner Martin Brown said.

About 2,279 same-sex couples are raising about 4,558 children in Virginia, according to the Family Equality Council, a gay-rights organization. Most were adopted in Virginia, allowing only one parent to have custody.

Fifty-five percent of Virginians say that gay couples should be able to legally adopt children, according to a Washington Post poll released last year.

Fifty-nine percent of Virginians say that state-run agencies should not ban prospective parents based on sexual orientation, while 35 percent say they should, according to aQuinnipiac University poll, also released last year. But that same poll indicates that Virginians are split on whether church agencies should be able to do that — 48 percent to 45 percent.

“Virginians expect any public agency or agency licensed by Virginia to treat all the state’s citizens fairly and justly and serve their best interests,’’ the Family Equality Council said in a statement.

But Del. Robert G. Marshall (R-Prince William), who does not think single or gay people should be allowed to adopt, said the law is needed so that faith-based organizations do not close down, as they have in other states, including Massachusetts.

“These agencies should be able to practice the ethical views of their organizations,’’ said Marshall, who adopted three children with his wife through Catholic Charities.

Gri and Abbott, legally married in California, adopted their children — Caleb, 14, and Alfred, 11, — through government foster care, not a private agency. They grew up with religion and are active in a church in the District.

But while they both say they are more than likely to vote for conservative candidates because of their pro-business, low-regulation approach, they believe legislators may be wrong on this issue.

“I think definitely this law is not in the best interest of the children,’’ Gri said.

source: The Washington Post

On Ranting, as usual

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oh there’s some hardcore liberal bias here, so don’t think I’m trying to represent any position but my own and don’t be too upset if we disagree – it’s bound to happen:

I’m getting myself super worked up about this whole Komen-defunding-Planned-Parenthood deal. It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t directly affect me. But seriously? I’m never going to participate in, donate to, or eat another Komen-labeled anything. Not that I actively chose their products in the past (I am not the best eater of yogurt nor the biggest fan of pink), but now I’m consciously going to avoid. And perhaps I can flex my nasty letter writing muscles and do some direct complaining. They also spend a ridiculously low amount of their actual funds on research. 20%-ish?

I’m probably going to get breast cancer some day (from what I know about my medical history – which isn’t much – my birth mom, biological grandmother, and several of her sisters have all had it/died of it/have it right now). Of course I want a cure, but we’re silly to think that cures come from organizations.
The backlash against the Komen foundation has been insane. Donations to Planned Parenthood are way up. If I wasn’t broke as shit, I’d be all over that. I decided many years ago that when I finally get enough money to be generous with it, it’s not going to my alma maters, it’s going to Planned Parenthood, because they are absolute rock stars at what they do. I’m so sick of hearing about how horrible they are.

I hope that young women everywhere are able to continue to access care that their primary care providers may have denied them; I hope that young women of all colors and religions and income levels can continue to access healthcare including cancer screenings, STI-testing and treatment, and birth control, especially when they don’t have access to a primary care provider like I do.

Why? Because it’s important. The work that Planned Parenthood does isn’t just abortions (do I actually need to repeat myself again? Only 3% of their services go to abortions. That’s roughly 300,000 abortions per year. But guess what? That’s only about a third of the total number of abortions provided in the US. Where is everyone else having those?).

The reason I bring this up is because I was reading a Catholic website (trying to get all sides’ opinions) and they had huge charts about how 96.3% of services provided to pregnant women were abortion-related. Okay, I’ll take that. Yes, there is a disparity between abortion numbers and adoption numbers. I’d argue that that’s pretty consistent with the rest of the US as well. But does this Catholic website take into account the other forms of adoption such as from government agencies (41% of adoptions in 2008), kinship adoptions, foreign adoptions, etc? Probably not.

And how many un-pregnant women and men and people are using Planned Parenthood to access other resources? 3 million people go to Planned Parenthood every year. 3 million is a lot more than 300,000. By providing resources to the community including contraception, Planned Parenthood is helping to ensure that there will be fewer unintended pregnancies and thus fewer abortions as a result.

Here’s why I support Planned Parenthood 100% – and this has absolutely nothing to do with the Komen debacle. It’ll all blow over. Komen will continue to be the shining pink face of breast cancer walks everywhere and Planned Parenthood will continue to be the source of so much distress for  conservatives the uninformed everywhere:

[I’m sort of uncomfortable about posting this story online – to be honest, I think I’ve posted this before but can’t find it in the archives, and at the same time, I’m even more uncomfortable knowing that people perceive Planned Parenthood to be this horrible, evil organization that exists solely to kill babies. So this is why I’m putting this out there.]

I wasn’t quite 18 yet, which means I was somewhere between 16 and 17. I wanted birth control. When I asked my pediatrician’s nurse practitioner for a prescription (without telling her why I wanted it – Was it heavy periods? Was it hormonal reasons? Did I just want to take hormonal birth control because everyone else was doing it? Was I having sex?), she told me that doing so would put her “between a rock and a hard place.”

What she was referring to was my father, who has always been overbearing and inappropriate at the most inconvenient times. As soon as I started high school, he became convinced that I was having all sorts of sex (I wasn’t. I didn’t kiss a boy until I was almost fifteen) and consequently, had been squawking about it to anyone who would listen and making it nearly impossible for me to date (this, of course, backfired horribly and led to me putting myself in dangerous-ish situations on more than one occasion: sneaking out, hanging out with undesirables, etc).

I was well aware that Colorado law allows minors to consent to a prescription for birth control without obtaining parental consent or having to even notify a parent or guardian about it. When she told me that no matter what I said, she wouldn’t write me a prescription for birth control, I was furious. I still am. I never went back to that doctor’s office, even though I’d been going since birth.

That’s why, even to this day, I do not stand for doctors of any sort denying women information or care based on their own personal beliefs or fears. I also do not believe that doctors and providers (including nurses, etc) should be anything but professional. I had a friend go to her gynecologist and ask for routine STI testing only to be asked, “Why? Have you been exposed?” I told her to immediately find a new doctor. Call it overreacting but I call it ridiculous that you should have to answer any sort of seemingly-accusatory questions. I have doctors who I absolutely adore. They respect me; they don’t question me when I say, “Hey, throw an HIV test onto my blood work!” They respect that I’m active about my own health – regardless of whether it’s ADHD, STI-testing, the sniffles, the cut on my finger that should have had stitches 16 hours ago….(the last one was a joke…that was me not being proactive and facing the consequences).

I went to Planned Parenthood. I did it after school one day when Mike had practice so I knew I had some time. I was terrified. I was not getting the prescription so that I could have reckless, unprotected sex. I was not pregnant. I was just looking for something that my own doctor was unwilling to give me, but something that I knew I had a legal right to obtain and use.

My experience there was absolutely amazing. The staff was so nice to me. I think they absolutely understood how scared I was (I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions) and I think they went the extra mile to make sure that I had the most positive experience possible. I got my prescription. I got birth control. And it was in a no-stress, no-judgement, no-pressure situation.

My mom eventually found out that I was on birth control. She was furious. But she wasn’t mad that I was on it; she was mad that I had gone alone. She was mad that I was paying for it all by myself. She was just as mad at my doctor’s office as I was and she helped me to become a part of the practice that I currently attend (do you attend a doctor’s office? visit? reluctantly stop by sometimes?). I think that a lot about that experience helped solidify our relationship. It was a little bit rocky during high school – think ages 15-17. She was open and willing to talk about issues that I’d never realized I could talk to her about. She never judged me or criticized my opinions or decisions. She supported me so much then and continues to do so today. I honestly think that without those frank discussions, we wouldn’t have the relationship we do now. It’s stronger than it’s ever been and I’m so grateful to know that I can call her and tell her anything. She may not agree with it (she’ll definitely tell me when she doesn’t) but she’ll listen. And knowing that she respected me enough back then to know that I was making informed decisions about my own health is something that still makes me incredibly happy.

That’s why I love Planned Parenthood. I have only been there maybe twice in my life, but those two times were the most positive experiences I could have had. I’m grateful that they were there for me, and even though I hope my children will never have to go behind my back to get access to care, I hope they’re still there, just in case.