My daddy is a Storm Trooper: making sense of the donor thing

Mama C and the Boys/ Don't forget your hat

Marcel was playing with his Legos, while I was working on yesterday’s Letter to LePage. I missed the first part of this conversation. I tuned in loud and clear when I heard; OK Daddy you can have my light saber. Then I watched a masterfully orchestrated dance between a Storm Trooper guy, a little Lego guy and a big Playmobil guy.  Sometimes they are “guys” and sometimes they are “friends”. The conversation continued:

Is that everything you need Daddy? OK. Don’t forget your hat. I have it, and I am wearing it. But you need it too. I will hold it, until the other Storm Trooper guy goes home. You can have it then. OK Daddy. Now we have to go in the firetruck. You can come too. Here is your hat. OK? Continue reading “My daddy is a Storm Trooper: making sense of the donor thing”

Donor reveal?

Marcel at two weeks

Marcel has seen a picture of his donor.

I could write about 10,000 words here, but I’m not ready to. I just want my readers to know that this book just got better. His donor is a real person. His donor has a face. Marcel named him too. He named him: Tree.

His most important question? Does he like ice cream and cheese too?

And, Do baby whales have donors or daddies? Of course that was followed by-Is my donor a daddy? How did you handle that Mama C? It went something like this; “Just like Sammy has a birth father who helped bring him into the world, you have a donor who helped create you. A donor is not a daddy. A donor is like a birth father…

That night he came running into a family gathering asking if they wanted to see a picture of his donor?

His grandfather thought he said donut.

Of course this prompted a very important discussion with my family later that night. As soon as the boys were in bed, I joined my family in the other room, and told them that I had some very important information to share with them about Marcel. Information that I needed them to hear at this very instant.  I knew that Marcel’s joy in his new discovery depended on everyone’s ability to share and celebrate with him.

A discussion that for four years has been just underneath my skin at all times.  A story that I have not known how to tell my family, to share here on the blog, or to my most trusted friends. When Marcel was a baby, I could keep the story inside, or so I thought. It seemed so simple at first…

Then Marcel needed more and more information, and I knew the time had come to look inside my heart, my understanding of our agreement, and to decide how and when and how much to reveal.  I can tell you that the word “known” is now formally attached to the word “donor” in our lexicon. I can tell you that Marcel understands that bringing him into the world was a decision that two people made with intention and love. I can tell you that he grew two inches the moment he held that picture in his hand, and I became about five tons lighter.

In the interest of transparency in the new year, and the absence of secrets it feels so empowering to share that Marcel has some new information which allowa him to land more firmly in his own story of who he is. More to come…

In the fall I love

In the fall I love.

Crisp round orange and red.

Lingering on that cool edge

pre knit hats, thick sweaters, and heavy blankets on the bed.

In the fall I love.

Apples picked crisp from orchard trees

white and blue herons in the marsh yellow reads

and the memory of Marcel’s birth.

Joining me, Sam, (and parenthetical Dixie D) into a robust

choice blended multi everything family.

And in the fall I love

to be reminded of the missing father men

who chose then knowing or not to father boys

mine now. Crowning me queen

in brown yellow and red

leaves of a disparate

but thriving and falling

and falling and falling

in love with you tribe.

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Significant Males in our Lives Day

Last night we celebrated; “Day of Meaningful Adult Males in Our Lives-Day.” Not the name that was agreed upon 100 years ago, when Father’s Day was first celebrated in this country. But then again, donors and adoptive families were not likely whom  our forefather’s had in mind when designing the scope of the day.

This was marked by a handsome freshly caught piece of salmon, local corn, a salad and peas from our own container garden-and a bakery blueberry pie. This was the  menu requested by the one and only Uncle Buncle, the most present and meaningful adult male in our life today.  Having been apart from each other for a few days (insert golden lake water, loons, bullfrogs, kayaks, canoes, the great friends who hosted us and Sam at the helm of a Boston Whaler here), the reunion energy around here last night was something akin to popcorn on a sugar buzz.

The presentation of the #1 Uncle gifts after dinner was a sweet reminder of what an amazing job of normalizing the holiday our preschool does.  I basked in what a great thing we have going here, and how damn near perfect a meal I can cook if I want to.

Then I tripped over the elephants asleep on the kitchen floor this morning.  The birth father and the donor take up a lot of room in the kitchen, and in my heart. I meant to address you last night, I wanted to tell them but they were not listening as they rolled over, and knocked over the sink. I wanted to thank you for the wonderful men you helped to create, and all of the ways in which I have fallen in love with the traits that you have clearly bestowed on them including charm, musical ability, athletic genius and must figure out how to take it apart and put it back together-ness. Those snoring elephants, wanted no part of my-next-day-if-I-had-only-thought-to-mention thinking.

After making a cup of coffee, I tried another approach: honesty. Last night, I just wanted it to be about what they have in their lives. By have I mean-who they can reach out and high five, and kiss, and hug, and climb all over-and not who they can’t. The elephants began to stir.  You are both here all the time, I whispered, as I scratched them behind the ears, in pictures, and stories, and the ways I tell them how you must have gotten that move from your donor, or that smile from your birth father, because it sure is suave and will level a room in about five years… The more I explained all the ways that we do honor them here, and can honor them more the smaller my elephants seemed to become. Now one is the soft plush elephant under Marcel’s arm, and the other has crawled back into the picture of Sam’s birth father on the shelf.

For me another close call, a reminder that what I don’t have (a relationship with my son’s biological fathers) is not the same as what they don’t have (a relationship with their biological fathers).  My work is to honor what they do have- deep and meaningful relationship with many men in their lives (several of whom are pictured below), and the certain grief and confusion of not knowing the two amazing men without whom I wouldn’t be Mama C.

To all the significant males in our lives we love and cherish you. A slideshow to honor those of you unlucky enough to come in contact with my camera in the last few years:

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