Please forgive the lack of blog posts from me. This whole… Getting pregnant… Giving birth… Caring for a little one and a toddler these past few months… Well, my creative drive just was, and continues to be, nonexistent. I’d like to blame the hormone roller coaster, but I honestly think my creativity went into hibernation because my body needed to focus purely on me and my family.  

I am beginning to get small bursts of ideas that I think I should write a blog on, but those bursts are simply just bursts. Perhaps I can equate them to a male tween’s first ejaculation. I think. I honestly don’t know, nor do I want to know. They are simply fleeting, and by the time I grab a pen and paper...they’re just gone.

Another wonderful gift with pregnancy and childbirth is the inability to TALK. I can barely focus long enough to hold a conversation with somebody. It’s quite sad actually. I know it’s just my brain still in pregnancy mode. Except for surviving daily and making sure I leave every location with an infant in my arms, I am apparently not supposed to heed anything else. 

I am actually ok with this. I know things will come back in due time. I don’t feel guilty, nor sad, and I have never been one to suffer FOMO. I don’t care that I am missing out on events because I truly just want to either be home, or running on a trail.

So this is just simply a short explanation, not even an apology. I guess I shouldn’t be asking you to forgive me then. Which means you should scratch out the first sentence in this post.

Until my creativity returns...


White Gold


I would like to introduce you to the newest member of our family, and our second-born son, who within 6 weeks has perfected the art of light sleeping (Seriously—half the time he sleeps with one eye open!). It’s quite an amazing accomplishment. He’s already surpassed my abilities at light sleeping, and I’ve had 39 years of stress to aide me. Perhaps it was the brief stint on the pediatric floor of the hospital days 14-16 of his life due to RSV that aided his leap into 24-7 wakefulness except for bouts of 20 minute snoozing. Those alarms on the machines that tracked his vitals went off constantly, jerking me out of any sort of snooze, and I’m sure it fucked up any sort of sleep pattern he might have begun.

Or perhaps his wakeful state is fueled by his stomach constantly alerting his brain to alert his vocal cords to scream, thereby alerting my breasts to produce white gold to start flowing and soak the fourth shirt I’ve put on for the day because he demands to be fed every two hours. (Yes, you people might refer to aioli as white gold, but to those of us with a newborn, breast milk or formula is white gold.) His feeding frenzy has him in the 3-month weight class for crib MMA, and he’s only 6 weeks old!! Egads…we need to buy life insurance.

I went on Amazon to purchase a goat for the backyard the other night at 1:22AM and found out that Amazon does NOT sell goats. Perhaps that’s a good thing. I purchased $300 worth of formula instead to supplement the white gold in order to help stave off this kid’s hunger cries because I absolutely can not produce enough to keep up. (If you have an opinion here, please keep it to yourself. Lack of sleep has whittled away at my ability to hold my tongue even more then I typically would try.) The next night my wife rented the SNOO to help with lengthening his sleep. That was at 11:33PM. WE ARE DESPERATE.

He can’t keep this every two-hour feeding schedule up forever, right? I mean, at some point his teeth will come in and we can feed him a whole pizza, thereby perhaps getting three or four hours of uninterrupted sleep. It’s important to maintain hope. Until then…I need black gold…COFFEE.

Our Promise to You

I have been sitting on this blog post for weeks now. It has taken me a while to figure out how to write what I have so easily been able to recount in conversations with others as I recap the day we had the ultrasound that revealed the sex of our baby. It’s easy to share not just because I enjoy telling the story, but because typically this conversation is with someone who feels the same way we do on a lot of life’s topics.

After being pregnant for a certain number of weeks, at the start of each appointment, every nurse, medical assistant, janitor, coffee barista, and doctor would ask if we already knew the sex of our baby, and if we didn’t know, whether or not we would like to know. These questions are asked with such clarity and eye contact you immediately understand that each of them has fucked up at one time or another and let slip the sex of the baby to a mother-to-be when she obviously, for some weird reason or another, wanted to be surprised. (For those of you who want to be surprised, please stop. It drives the medical staff crazy trying to not let slip the news for fear that a crazy pregnant woman will attack them in their sleep. So just give everyone a break and find out the sex early. If you want to keep a secret, don’t tell anyone the name you’ve picked out for the baby.)

Okay…moving on. During that “reveal” ultrasound, when the tech finally got the ultrasound head on the right spot of my growing belly, and the baby just happened to turn the right way for us to see everything, she told us (although we could clearly see) that we were having a baby boy (the blood test results confirmed this two weeks later). We were thrilled, slapped each other a high-five, and after I exhaled a sigh of relief exclaimed, “Yea! Less chance of our child being raped.” The ultrasound tech was at first a bit shocked, but within seconds she nodded her head and sadly agreed, claiming she is also a bit relieved that she has two sons herself and that’s one worry off the table.

Here’s the sad thing—my exclamation rings true not just because of the #MeToo Movement, but because women have been, and continue to be, sexually harassed and assaulted by men. Here’s the next thing. It’s horrible, but due to the current white male supremacist-nationalist group claiming that it’s a scary time to be a white man, we promise you that as parents—MOTHERS!!—we will not raise rapists. In fact, when my wife was pregnant with our oldest son she promised him that she was going to teach him how to respect women and that she would make sure he knows to not rape anybody. (Why she didn’t include me in this in-utero promise, I have no idea, but I am definitely making sure I’m included in the same promise to our second-born who is currently in-utero as well.) 


Our sons will be raised only knowing respect for women (especially), men, non-gendered people, animals, and the Earth. They will be role models for other humans. You would think that this would be an easy task—just raise your kid(s) according to the Golden Rule: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” However, given that 1 in 3 women are sexually assaulted, there are MILLIONS of parents who failed to raise their sons well. And no, if your son was academically, athletically, and vocationally successful, that does not make him a good human if he treats other humans, especially women, like shit. Lives mean nothing to your son if he fails to treat all humans (except Nazis) with the same respect he feels he deserves. Or even the same respect he’d want people to give his own mother.  

Our sons will be far from perfect, as each of us are, but they will definitely NOT sexually harass or assault women, men, nor non-gendered people. They will stand and provide solidarity to those they witness being harassed/assaulted. They will not laugh and jump on the bed like some jackasses have. Their actions will be a shining example for all humanity. I only hope that other parents accept this onus as well. 


Differences in the Womb

It’s October, and I’m currently 19 weeks pregnant. The ultrasound on Friday went well, and our baby boy looked healthy and good...until the 3D ultrasound imaging. That’s when we asked if we could trade him in for a Bulldog puppy. Luckily they switched back to the 2D imaging pics and we felt more comfortable keeping him. 

We keep trying to explain to our 2 year-old son that he has a baby brother on the way; that he’s growing in my belly; and that he needs to stop kicking my belly and practicing his wrestling moves on my belly. It’s not clicking yet. I get that he is only two years old, and granted, minus his Mama getting fatter, he really has no visible signs. It’s not like we’re going to the shelter and looking at different babies to choose which one we want to take home. And when he was with us at the fertility doctor’s office we pointed to the room where his siblings are stored as frozen embryos and we said to wave “bye bye” to them, which he did, but we know he doesn’t get it. Hell...half the time we don’t get it! I’m sure that when he visits the baby and I in the hospital it still isn’t going to click that the baby is going to be living with us. It won’t be until we come home from the hospital, we’ve all finished getting ready for bed and have clicked the lights off when he’ll realize that his life has changed and he’s a big brother. That might possibly be the time that he and Lincoln agree on something, and loudly state together, “Fuck!!” 

We noticed an obvious difference in how our second-born behaves in the womb and how our first-born behaved. Our oldest looked like we had given him cocaine whenever he was having an ultrasound. This baby, except for some shifting of limbs to increase his comfort, stays in the fetal position with his bodily expression screaming, “Don’t look at me!” It’s fascinating the difference in the two, even this early on. We look forward to seeing other differences and similarities in the future. For now, we’ll give our firstborn full attention for his remaining time as an only child. 😁


Just a Few Thoughts


First of all, I am not writing this to piss people off and burn bridges with loved ones. I am just asking you to read this thoroughly so you may perhaps consider something you haven’t thought of yet.

Alrighty, now let’s get on with it.

If you do not support LGBTQ people, this is not for you. This has been written for those of you who privately, maybe even publicly, are OK with us Queers, but you continue to attend and support a religious institution that would gladly burn us at the stake if not for the cold jail cell (or coffin) that would hold them from their cushioned lives.

My challenging words in this post have nothing to do with your faith in God. I believe you are at liberty to believe in God, Pokémon, Santa Claus, etcetera. My beef with you is this: you are a passive, quiet hypocrite if you hang with us, tell us you’re OK with who we are and who we love, you tell us repeatedly that you love us, and yet you choose to attend and support the religious organizations that publicly damn us. It doesn’t have to be that way. You have other options to practice your religious and spiritual beliefs in a group setting without continuing to give those unaccepting organizations your body heat and money. Let’s face it, religious organizations are also businesses…that are tax-free. At the end of the day, if they can’t pay their bills, the electricity is turned off, the building is taken over by the bank, and 99% of the time, the pastor/minister/rabbi/priest leaves his/her post for one that pays.

Again, I’m not asking you to stop believing in God. I need to be clear about that. I truly believe in religious freedom. I’m also not asking you to choose between God and Queers. A lot of Queers believe in God. I’m asking you to love both, and to attend a religious organization that is publicly and privately in support of us Queers because let’s face it: so often we forget the strength of love—it’s automatic acceptance, which is a necessary feeling for every human to live, and to want to live.

Let’s then take this a step further and vote in political elections for the candidates who are more accepting of diversity than those who believe in  white male power. What a boring, hateful future those individuals have—friends all from a group whose acronym is the 11th letter of the alphabet repeated three times. No creativity, not even in their outfits. Their mouths spew hate, the males shove their penises into whatever hole they wish, and their fingers are on triggers of death. WHY?! WHY?! WHY support them?! Because your pastor/minister/priest said to from the wooden pulpit at church on Sunday? The pastor/minister/priest is just a man who sins just as much as you and I. There is no glory in any of that when it’s shrouded in hate and commands. They’re just another golden calf in disguise.

So, I plead with you. If you are actually OK with us, look to moving your religious, spiritual and political support elsewhere. You might not know this, but unlike us with our sexuality, you have a choice as to where you practice your faith and spirituality. Support love in every walk of life, and stand tall against the haters, regardless of the religious institution. Either that, or let us know you refuse to stop being a hypocrite so we can move on from treating you so kindly. You don’t deserve us.

Oh, and for you Catholics. Us Queers aside...for the love of God and all that is holy! How can you continue to support an institution that has hidden/buried the number of sexual assaults caused by a great number of their priests that are sexual pedophile predators? Seriously! GET THE FUCK OUT!! If not for you, then for your children’s sake. Start a separate Catholic branch not beholden to the Vatican. Hold your own Vatican III to establish LOVING and ACCEPTING guidelines that include all, yet exclude sexual predators. Please move on.


Shopping for maternity clothes as an athlete is a frustrating expedition. Shopping for maternity clothes as a trainer, when you are stuck in the clothes 5 days a week for 12+ hours, just fuckin’ pisses me off. I’m at the point in my pregnancy where the waistline of my shorts is no longer a loose, comfortable fit, but a rolling, gouging noose around my hips. The baby growing in me probably feels the squeeze as well, so I’m starting to feeling guilty...already...and he’s not even born yet! I shouldn’t feel guilty though. His growth is causing me to have to shop outside of my Patagonia comfort zone. And let me vent for just a few lines on how disappointed I was to learn that Patagonia, my favorite clothing line for work, mountain running, lounging-at-home-wear, and daily-wear does NOT carry a maternity line. I actually cried. And if you say that is just the hormones talking, come a little closer so I can kick you. 

I know a lot of women resort to wearing the maternity tights, however I am not really a tights person. I do my absolute best to not be an uptight person, so squeezing me into tights only occurs when I’m going for a mountain run in the snow and ice, and there’s a slim chance I won’t make it back quickly and need a bit more warmth until I crawl my way out. Otherwise, if you see me in a pair of those tights not in the snow, it’s because we failed to do laundry due to our schedule in the evenings with a 2 year-old, and therefore we’re out of underwear. (This exact situation happened last Saturday.)

I went onto today to look at maternity clothes and I immediately diverted my attention to the toddler section. I almost ordered $200 worth of clothes for our son (that is out of the womb already), but checked our account balance and staved off that purchase until payday. Whew! That was a close one. They at least offered a work-out shorts option, so come next payday, I’ll order a pair of those and see how they do as I continue to expand my waistline...not the horizon.

My goal WAS to work as long as our doctor let’s me before the birth, but the lack of clothes might force me to stop working sometime over the next two weeks...weeks 17 & 18. We’re living on a tight budget already, but it’s going to get a lot smaller! Just like my clothes. 

OKAY! Rant over. 




I'm suffering from toddlethargy. If you're a childless wordsmith, you will admonish this word. That's fine. If you are a wordsmith with children, you will commend me for it describes perfectly what it feels like to be a parent to a toddler. You might even be a bit envious that I created this word from pure exhaustion before you did. No worries. I will share it with you and all the other parents in the world. Let us share our suffering of toddlethargy together. Perhaps in song form? Nah...we'll leave that up to Disney. 

I've been so tired from work life and being a mother of a 2 year old that I haven't even been able to pull enough words from my ass to string together sentences that will express a thought and perhaps even become a blog. Until this blog post. Today I mustered enough energy to write about why I've been...well...unable to write. Just forgive me for any redundancy. If there's anything you do as a parent to a young child, it's that you're often repeating yourself...repeatedly. 

My day job has me up early, often before 5:30AM, and once work is over, MAYBE a quick trail run, a walk for our dog, the grocery store, and then I pick our son up from daycare. We get home, I make dinner, we all eat, a family walk, a bit of playtime, reading, bath some nights, and then bed. 


It's a bit frustrating, yet I love my time with our son so much that I'm truthfully only fretting a little bit. Besides, when you have toddlethargy, what little energy you have left goes into brushing your teeth, know, the personal hygiene stuff so you can venture out into the world tomorrow somewhat feeling normal with a large-ass cup of coffee in one hand, and your other hand holding your child's. 

So please forgive absences when they occur. Family and sleep are important, and I promise that when the words start flowing, I'll start typing.  

He doesn't stop moving! And I love it. :)

He doesn't stop moving! And I love it. :)

Sick Mommies

It finally happened. We are both sick and barely functioning, yet we have a toddler. Luckily our son's break from our germs is daycare. Kinda ironic, isn't it? He's taking a break from germs at home to go to school where he is surrounded by more germs (and a lot of love, playtime, learning, SET NAP TIMES, food, and more). 

Since we are sick and do not want to infect his daycare with the plague, we decided to instruct him on how to walk to school. I hope you enjoy his response. He seemed positive he would make it...

My Woebegone Entry


My equanimity is waning.

We lost another good person last week.  I fear that only the good people in the world are dying, and every time another dies, the good within that person is sucked from the earth, and delivered elsewhere. I can’t say for sure it’s delivered to another place whose inhabitants deserve it, or if it’s held aside by some higher being to dispense when seen fit back to us to use wisely and live peacefully.

I don’t have all the answers, and neither do you. I’m just sharing a fear I have.

Those filled with hate and greed imprecate against the good, loving people. I worry our love is a lit candle slowly being snuffed out by the xenophobes. Though they are not our nemeses, our fight has been long, and for some fucking reason, it seems the evil fuckers aren’t dying. They seem to be thriving as of late. Their massive hate and greed sludge is oozing from their orifices and squelching the love that remains.

Maybe I’m just tired, and so this dysphoria is weighing on me.

Perhaps the good lost by those who die does not leave, but is absorbed by Gaia herself to enable the win in her favor, and therefore in our favor as well, for we are encased in her shell.

I only hope our son will witness this uplifting triumph and feel peace.


2018 Shut-Down

Happy New Year everyone! I woke up early this morning to our son handing me my glasses, and then grabbing my right hand to pull me out of bed. He's an ambitious early-riser.

After wishing him a happy New Year, I decided to inform him of something very important:

Me: Sawyer, happy New Year!

Sawyer: Oh wow wow.

Me: Just so you know, 2018 is the year that Mommies are in charge. Ok?

Sawyer: No. No.


I got shut-down by a toddler. He's a bit defiant early in the morning...on the first day of the year...which landed on a Monday...also one of the worst days of the week. Sheesh. I can understand now why he refuses to relinquish control.


Lincoln's 2017 Holiday Letter

December 2017


Dear Hoomans,

Psst! I’ve got 28 seconds to write this letter before Sawyer finds me.

I just wanted to wish you a Happy Holidays!



P.S. Oh wait! He just got distracted by the toilet paper roll and is running toward the back door with a streamer behind him. Moms haven’t noticed yet. I wonder how far he’ll get…

Quick update before he starts looking for me again. We are all doing well, just fuckin’ exhausted from chasing a toddler around! My brother has quite the imagination as to the various shenanigans he can use me for! To him I’m a stepping stool, my tail is a rope that will pull him across the house, and my jowls are a way to strengthen his pinch. Of course, he loves me, and I him. We’re just to the point in our sibling relationship where we push each other’s buttons now and then. 



Though there is a 101-month age difference between us, I’ve learned that we do have quite a bit in common. We love suckies (AKA stuffed animals); we both love to eat steak, pizza, shrimp, Brussel sprouts, and much more; he likes to dig in the garden, and I love to bury bones in the garden (quickly before Mom catches me!); we both hate baths; and if I had the time and the brain energy, I know I could list more. Weirdly though, he doesn’t like to sleep much, whereas I will gladly sleep 20 hours each day, give-or-take 4 hours. It’s like the kid has this never ending natural sugar, or cocaine high…or both…that keeps him running, jumping, climbing, rolling, dancing, crawling, and falling nonstop. Moms have us on a strict budget so we can afford to send him to daycare, so I’m going to guess he’s running on sugar, because the price of cocaine is INSANE. It’s like Bitcoin insane!


We’ve had a few rough patches this year that do not include the current political shit storm. Earlier this month we lost Milo, and each day the loss and pain we feel has yet to lighten. He is greatly missed, and can never be replaced. The wild fires did not take our home, but they did wreak havoc on thousands of peoples’ lives, and they put us on edge. We are grateful that we were lucky to survive, are able to help others that desperately need it, and that 2017 is coming to a close.

                Please don't let him drive!!

                Please don't let him drive!!

Moms introduced Sawyer to camping this year, and according to him, he loved it! They went twice—once to the coast, and once to gold country. I was lucky enough to stay with Grandpa and Grandma in their nice house with comfy beds. I do not regret my decision to sleep inside while they slept under the stars. However, Moms did let Sawyer drive at the campgrounds, which now has him thinking that he can drive ALL THE TIME. This worries me. If I’m not allowed to drive, he shouldn’t be allowed! 

My brother has made a lot of friends at daycare, and I have had the joy of meeting them, and watching them play at the park on the weekends sometimes. Toddlers are hilariously unpredictable, but I’m always the center of attention when I’m there, unless the ice cream guy rolls around. But that’s ok, because I love the ice cream guy as well!

We hope all is well with you, and that you enjoy the holidays. Please keep in touch, and if you ever want to borrow a toddler, just let me know! He’s available for rent ONLY (according to Moms).

Love You!

P.P.S. Moms and Sawyer say hi! They also wanted me to let you know that I am available for rent (ONLY) as well…damnit.


He’s Still Alive and Kicking!

My wife was out of town this past weekend, and even though our son, dog, and I had a lot of fun (to the point that I spent half of Sunday trying to clean up all of our messes), we definitely missed her and were quite happy to see her when she returned home Monday. We each missed her in our own ways. I missed her smile that is often lit via the iPhone’s blue light as she reads The Onion or some other online news article. Her absence was especially felt during the evening hours whenever our son would wake up, or the night that our dog had to go outside four times because of diarrhea. Our toddler kept asking for her, and bringing me her running shoes. Perhaps he wanted me to click those Altra heels together and wish her home at that instant? He was in a happy mood all weekend, but did have bits of crankiness that were a little unusual—a sign he knew that life at home was not normal this weekend.  

While she was gone, I was extra diligent with keeping him alive. I always am, but I was nanny careful this weekend. I never have a desire for anything to go wrong and him experience harm. I just was not as lenient as I am with him exploring, using new tools (like the garden shears), and climbing parts of playground equipment that would probably have a “Warning” sign attached if the Parks Director really wanted to. I also checked on him multiple times while he was sleeping to make sure he was still breathing, and I did not fool around with choking-hazardous food this weekend. I refused to let our son die on my watch. I even told him that. 

Me: “Hey Crazy. You’re not allowed to die on my watch this weekend.” 

Son: Silence...a cock of the head with a cute smile, “No! No!” 180 degree turn...fart...and he took off running across the yard toward the garden shears I left on the table . 🤦🏽‍♀️

He’s such a good listener and heeder of parental requests.  



The definition of toddler is one that toddlesToddles means, to walk with short tottering steps in the manner of a young child. Toddlerdom is the period when one is a toddler, apparently 12 months up to five years. 

Our son as a toddler, ignored the toddles part of the definition, and went straight to sprints, escapes, and teenage rebellion. 

For us, toddlerdom is Chaos Theory coming to life before our eyes. I have invested highly in bandaids and Home Depot (gonna have to buy a lot of tools to fix everything), and I am setting aside large sums of cash for the future therapy that WE will need.  Like most humans, we strive for some sense amongst the chaos of toddlerdom. The random frustrated tears and fits that have us wondering if he stepped on a tack, was bit by a snake, or lost a limb right under our noses have us scrambling to find out the cause. Within minutes the thought that we suck as mothers for not discovering what led to his tears runs through our heads, and so we succumb to his emotions and do our best to calm him. 

Our son is striving to set new heights as a toddler. He has escaped out of his room at daycare more than once through the backdoor, forcing them to get a gate for that door. He has also attempted to escape through a window at daycare IN FRONT OF THE DIRECTOR. He's generous with his escapades, and invites his classmates to join him. His influence over other kids is quite impressive as well. Just last week I saw a 7 year old regress behaviorally and join our son in a game of "let's see if our Moms can prevent us from running into the middle of downtown Main Street." I now have three gray hairs. 

His obsession with driving started at a young age. 

His obsession with driving started at a young age. 

We helped him with his obsession as well. 

We helped him with his obsession as well. 

There is one way to guarantee our son will get upset and throw a fit--being in and near our cars. He loves "driving" our cars. I know, you're thinking, Cute! He has an imagination! I agree, it is cute...until he throws a fit because we won't let him "drive" the car all the time. I will NOT admit that we MAY have let him sit on my lap and "steer" while we drove around the campsite at 10MPH this past Summer. I won't admit that. Let's just say he's got an excellent imagination, and leave it at that. So his imagination of actually driving is why he loves it so much, and therefore he gets very upset when we don't let him "drive" and we ask him to exit the vehicle (like a Park Ranger would ask him IF we ever let him drive at a campsite and get caught). Unfortunately he throws a fit, which involves tears, and him doing an excellent impersonation of a quadriplegic. 

He does look good in the driver’s seat! 

He does look good in the driver’s seat! 

A friend of his grandparents had the joy of witnessing Sawyer upset because we wouldn't let him "drive" this past Sunday. His tears and sadness pulled on his heartstrings, so that friend helped us coax him to the crosswalk so we could make it to the restaurant only six minutes late. As we said good bye to him, he said that it was great to see us, and that he was now going to go home and immediately make a donation to Planned Parenthood. No joke. Our son inspired someone to donate to Planned Parenthood. We laughed, because it was the perfect comment for what we had just gone through, but I'm hoping that our son doesn't inspire others to donate to Planned Parenthood for too much longer. Toddlerdom is hilarious, but also quite exhausting!!

Crap. He found a tractor. We’ll never be able to get him down.

Crap. He found a tractor. We’ll never be able to get him down.

P.S. Just to clarify, we still want people to donate to Planned Parenthood--they need it! We just hope that our son doesn't continue to inspire people to donate because of his...well, for lack of a better word, "toddles." (My wife wanted me to type, "assholery," but I refrained.)


Today is our four year anniversary, and true to our promise on our ten year anniversary for our first date earlier this month, we high-fived. (Just read the Ten Year Anniversary blog posted on 9/19/17.) The first high-five was via text. She was asleep when I left for work this morning, so I gave her a kiss goodbye, but didn't want to wake her with a high-five. That requires hand-eye coordination and effort, which would have awakened her...maybe.

At 7:25AM she text me the high-five emoji, and I responded with one myself, along with telling her, "I love you."  

Proof of our emoji high-five 4-year wedding anniversary gift to each other. 

Proof of our emoji high-five 4-year wedding anniversary gift to each other. 

When she arrived home from work, we immediately high-fived and hugged each other. I think this is the best gift I've ever given her, because it cost us no money! For us, this is a great start to another year of marriage.  

Ten Year Anniversary

Dana and I celebrated our 10 year anniversary earlier this month. We started dating in early September 2007, and since our first date was on 9/11/07, we chose to get married on 9/28/13, so we could still celebrate our anniversary in September. I know, it's crazy that we would choose 9/11 as the date for our first date, but when you ask a woman if she'd like to go out, and she says "yes", you just immediately freak out and say, "How about tomorrow night?" Well, she said "sure," and "tomorrow night" was 9/11. 

It can also be confusing when I tell people we just celebrated our 10 year anniversary, and then when I see the look of amazement on their faces because they think we've been married for that long, I quickly inform them that we have only been married for 4 years. We would have gotten married beforehand, but it wasn't legal for the first 5 years of our relationship. Not all lesbians do the whole U-haul first date, and some of us actually do take our time jumping into marriage. Dana turned down 13 of my proposals before she finally asked me if I'd marry her so we could get the tax break. What can I say? When you know, you know. 

We went out for dinner just the two of us to Cala in SF ( I have been wanting to eat there since they opened two years ago, and the meal and experience was everything I had hoped, and more. Sawyer's Aunt Laura, Aunt Jaclyn, and Uncle Ryan came over to babysit him. Yes. It took THREE adults, take-out food, 1 bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, two books, Lincoln and Oakley (a boxer), and whiskey to babysit our son. Weirdly, there were four jelly jars that smelled like whiskey at the end of the night, which makes me wonder whether or not Sawyer also enjoyed some whiskey. No wonder he slept well that night! 


We exchanged gifts, and here is where I fucked up. I'm usually an excellent gift-giver. It's something I enjoy doing, and I really love the look on someone's face when they receive something they like. Part of my gift to Dana was not spending a lot of money on a gift for her since we're on a very tight budget. I decided to get her a book that I thought she'd enjoy since she loves history, reads a lot of current events, and given the political shit-storm we're in with this administration, a book that might warn us about not repeating the past. I bought her: The Origins of Totalitarianism, by Hannah Arendt. I just explained to you why I bought her the book, but did not feel the need to explain why to the gentleman behind the register at Napa Bookmine ( when I went to pay. I just asked if he'd please wrap it and indicated that it was for my wife as an anniversary gift (so he wouldn't wrap it in birthday wrap). He read the title, looked at me plainly, and said, "She's gonna leave you." I laughed, and of course my stupidity on the purchase of this book, and not heeding this gentleman's advice, is what prompted this blog. I should also mention that I know a lot of the people that work in the store because I'm a book worm, so I'm always looking for more reading material, and I love to buy journals from there. He felt comfortable sharing this advice with me. I just didn't listen. 

I should have listened.

I also gave Dana a gift certificate to Sportago ( because unfortunately both of our puffy Patagonia jackets were stolen earlier this year, and we need to replace them before we head up to the mountains this Winter. I thought that this was a thoughtful and practical gift, but now that I think about it, I should have just bought her a jacket any other time but our 10 year anniversary. 

I suck. 

Dana's gift to me? Fuckin' amazeballs!!! She gave me a sweet card, and in the card she informed me that she is taking me to Yosemite in April. I HAVE BEEN WANTING TO GO TO YOSEMITE SINCE WE MOVED TO CALIFORNIA IN 2008!!!!!! I practically give Dana, her Mom, and sister shit weekly for going without me in 2009. And not only do we get to go, but her family is watching Sawyer and Lincoln. We are finally having our honeymoon!!! I practically cried. This is absolutely the sweetest gift she could have given me, besides our son. And all I did was give her a book and a gift certificate. I have no idea how I will ever redeem myself, but we do have our 5 year wedding anniversary next year, so I will definitely give her a much better gift then. 

On our way home from our anniversary dinner, Dana asked if we needed to celebrate our 4 year wedding anniversary that is coming up in a few weeks. Because we're on a tight budget, and we just spent a lot of money for dinner and the excellent gift she gave me, I knew that she didn't want to spend any more money. I just smiled and said, "Nope. We'll just give each other high-5s."  She smiled. I think I'll tack my response onto my gift to her. At least she liked one of my gifts then!

Photo by Kevin Weinstein

Photo by Kevin Weinstein


The Kickstarter campaign for Lincoln's first children's book, I, Lincoln, Did Not Ask For This, has 40 days to go! So far we are at $2,340, with our goal being $7,000. One of our friends was having difficulty donating on the website, so I offered to have Dana go through the link to see what the steps were. (I am unable to go through the link because apparently I am not allowed to donate to my own project. I am okay with this.) I told Dana she was going to donate $10.

Me: "Go get your credit card Honey."

Dana: "What? I'm not donating $10."

Me: "I can't believe you're not going to donate $10 to your own wife's fundraiser."

Dana: "If we're $10 away from getting $7000, then I'll donate."




Illustration by Annie Ruygt

Illustration by Annie Ruygt




The Kickstarter campaign for my first children’s book, I, Lincoln, Did Not Ask For This, was launched today! I am ecstatic that we already have pledges, and I hope the news will continue to travel and bring in more support. Please check out the link: 

While driving up and down the valley these past couple of weeks, I’ve been listening to the audio book, This is the Story of a Happy Marriage, by Anne Patchett. A friend loaned it to me, and I am very grateful for this loan! So grateful, I’ll be purchasing the book to re-read whenever I need her insightful guidance into personal essays, memoir writing, and just life. I feel so much like she is talking directly to me, which is definitely key for writing personal essays. While listening to her read, the congestion, lack of turn signals, and tourists disappears. We are sitting in a pub, enjoying our drinks, and I’m sponging every word she shares with me until we pause to order another round before the words continue flowing...damn, another red light.

My connection with Anne is one-sided, for we've never met. It’s just all in my head and heart, both necessary organs to live fully. When the Kickstarter campaign was launched this afternoon, I first sent the link to my wife, and then to Andrea Ruygt (, the kick-ass Illustrator of the book. Shortly thereafter, as all life-changing announcements seem to go, I posted the link to Facebook (@ILincolnBooks). I really wanted to send the link directly to Anne via text, but then reminded myself that I do not have her cell because we do not actually know each other. (Hopefully this is not a foretelling of my mental well-being.) Again, a one-sided relationship. Until that changes, I will keep my fingers crossed that MAYBE she and Karen Hayes will sell I, Lincoln, Did Not Ask For This in their bookstore, Parnassus Books (



I realized this morning that in order to pitch the sale of I, Lincoln, Did Not Ask For This to Anne & Karen at Parnassus Books, I should actually research their bookstore. My love for Anne’s books will get my foot in the door to shop, but definitely not promise to get our book on her shelves to sell. Serendipity took the moment I clicked on the link to their bookshop website. THEY HAVE DOGS THAT WORK IN THEIR STORE AND SNUGGLE WITH YOU WHILE YOU SHOP!!! They also have a blog, and some of those posts are about the dogs! Brilliant. I immediately read the post, “Let Us Tell You ‘bout Our Friend Leonard” ( LOVED IT. If Leonard didn’t have a home and a job in Nashville, Lincoln and Sawyer would have a new brother. I now must pitch our book in-person in order to meet all of the dogs, especially Leonard! In fact, Lincoln might want to personally pitch his book to the dogs of Parnassus Bookstore! We should schedule a FaceTime meeting.  

Illustration by Annie Ruygt

Illustration by Annie Ruygt

Hopefully I'll be purchasing plane tickets to Nashville, TN in 2018 to read Lincoln's book at Parnassus Bookstore. Keep your fingers crossed! Actually, mine are crossed constantly, so you should keep yours uncrossed In order to help me accomplish other tasks that require the use of hands.

Yep. I just recruited you. 


Sometimes you can skate through life with just an apple. 


And when it's a shit day, you don a helmet, get a hug from your Mom... 


and then dump all the water out of the dog bowl.