Sister pillow, Berkeley, CA.

I know, I know! Another bare-bones (post-skimpy) week last week. It’s killin’ me. I tell you, though. Peace, quiet, and adequate time to hunker down and do justice to all the stories and ideas floating around in the head are right there on the horizon. I can see ‘em from here, I swear! Meanwhile, as ever, thanks for stopping by.

Carnegie Hall, NYC.

No, I didn’t ask anyone how to get there. But I was tempted. [See also: "How do you get to Carnegie Hall?" which actually leads not to the storied performance venue, but into a barnyard.]

The author at brunch, Hell’s Kitchen, NYC. Photo: DeBORah.

If I told you how many really incredible people I spent time with Sunday, you would never believe me. Really. I didn’t need a guidebook to New York, I needed a guide book to my own day.

Every single one is doing major work either for lesbians in particular, or for women in general, via the internet and the blogosphere: Liza (brunch #1); Deb, DeBORah, Graces Yip & Chu, Vikki, Reise, and Jess (brunch #2); Elisa (theater!); and the most generous hosts I could hope to finish a trip with, Sinclair and Kristen (dinner + comprehensive, personalized Brooklyn tour).

See? What’d I tell you? And that was just Sunday.

Monday: travel home to my children’s and my beloved’s arms, and recovery. Soon thereafter I hope at least to share pictures. Words to follow.

Sibling revelry, Berkeley, CA.

[Ed note: we're off for an ultra-brief and ultra-necessary family getaway, at which I expect no internet access. Thereafter, I'm off to the BlogHer conference in NYC.  I expect much Twittering (brace yerself/apologies in advance), much photograph-taking, and maybe, if I can rig up the laptop in the late-night bathtub, some posting.  Depends on what kind of a night owl my BlogHer bunk-mate and ole chum Vikki is. If you're BlogHer bound, drop me a line via the contact form here, or easier yet shout out at me via an @LesbianDad Tweet on Twitter (if you have a virtual line of communication there). I'd love to cross paths and give you a bear hug for reading this thing.

As I've intimated discretely from time to time, it's been a bumpy last year here at Casa LD, so much so that I up and let the five year blogoversary of this thing just slip on by, un-noted. When I'm back in the saddle good and solid, stirrups firm around me boots, I'll get back to noting when that would have been (months ago) and what my thoughts are on the occasion. Meanwhile, again, my continued thanks for checking in. Post-BlogHer and come fall, I expect much around the house, both figuratively and literally, to be more stable.  I value this dialog with you, gentle reader(s), more than most things in my very full, very fortunate life, and find that its quality  and frequency is a measure of a lot in my life. A canary in the gold mine, let's call it, since no matter what's afoot, I cannot call the travails I encounter anything other than gifts. Be grateful to everyone (and for everything) say the wise folks whose shirt tails I'm forever grasping at.

My Pops likes to remind us that "the future lies ahead." As I have throughout this bumpy time, I anticipate that a widening of this porthole also lies ahead, this passageway through which so much love and thought and camaraderie has travelled, back and forth. Meanwhile, again, I thank you for keeping peeping.]

The young kid at Pride image. I.e., asleep in the stroller. A far more photogenic version of this image was being pulled nearby us much of the way: kid in red wagon, shaded by a green froggie umbrella, and accessorized with a dozen or so stuffed animals. Big hit.  Also, kid asleep the whole time.

Snoozing kids. Pride just wouldn’t be Pride without ‘em.

Our lil’ monkey’s sign: her first. Thought it up and created it utterly independently. Then, after showing it to me, said: “I have to take this to Pride.” Times they are a growin’ up.  The sign reads: “Peac + love will end oll suffrig.” Or, for the rest of us, “Peace + love will end all suffering.”

Now who’s gonna say these kids don’t have a helluva lot of good stuff they’re fixin’ on giving the world as they grow up? I direct all skeptics to Dr. Gartrell’s recently released and much-attended to longitudinal study of our kids, whose many results included the perhaps not-so-surprising conclusion that our kids wind up being more well-adjusted than average.  I’d say keeping your eye on justice and your mind on love does good things for your overall adjustment factor. At least anecdotally speaking.

And here we go. Kids leading the family contingent in the parade. Behind them, Our Family Coalition, COLAGE, and our blocks-long, balloon-bedecked brigade, enjoying the toe-tapping sound of the Australian Youth Band in front of us. Pride wouldn’t be Pride without marching band versions of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.”  (Here’s a list of the other 177 some-odd contingents who were marching.)

Wherever yours was, I hope it was the best Pride ever!

School’s out ice cream, Albany, CA.

Last year, when the girlie graduated preschool, we came here for a scoop. The place never loses its allure. Or invests in other than Wal-Mart plastic lawn chairs. Or scrubs behind the counter. Or updates the vintage 1980s arcade video games (two of ‘em, which I suspect draws at least 50% of the customers, who trickle in at a rate of one or two per hour, tops).

Much to say about the transcendent first year of elementary school, hopefully also the heaven-sent Kindergarten teacher who reached out her hand and guided our girl through it. But this is BABA’S DAY in our family! So I must off to being fêted (and, at the end of the day, to fêting me Pops).

Here’s a link to my timeless BABA’S DAY PROCLAMATION to catch up you newcomers.  To one and all: may the love flow in every direction, today as every day.

Bouncing boy, Berkeley, CA.

Baba’s Day’s coming up! For anyone casting around for a last minute gift for the Baba of their children, or what have you, here’s a gratuitous and 11th hour reminder of the poorly organized, haphazardly stocked Lesbian Dad Cafe Press shop.  If I wasn’t already angling for the accordion-playing garden gnome, I’d hint-hint-hint for some Lesbian Dad boxers, myself.

Kiss goodnight, Castro Valley, CA.

Memorial Day BBQ chez DadDad. This brief post shows Pops with a photo of the kind of ship he served on in WWII, along with a little story.  I’m sorry none of the 2oth century wars turned out to be “the war to end all wars,” as some vainly hoped. I’m sorry war continues to haunt the globe into the 21st, with not much in the way of an end in sight. I’m sorry for all those who grieve today and every day. And I’m glad my Dad made it back from “his” war okay.