When  my partner Linda and I had been together for nine years, we decided the time had come for us to have kids; we wanted our family to grow.  Easier said than done, really, on so many levels.  And after many talks — including our extended family and friends,– we met and talked with our friend John (who had always wanted to be a father).

With glasses of wine and gulps (but hopefulness!), we opened our hearts to what was next for all of us.  Two years after that talk our first son, Brogan, was born.  Soon afterward John himself (the wonderful Dad) partnered and our parenting became a set of four parents, now including Rande.

After three years of our learning this co-parenting thing together (day-in and day-out), we welcomed second-son Sam.  (And the sleepless nights started all over again.)

Parenting is risky. And that truth holds the essential truth of all of this for me. When the kids were born, we started a fund for college or therapy — whichever came first for them.  Parenting is exhilarating and exhausting — usually at the same time.  It’s a privilege and a miracle and it’s the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my life.  It’s a daily promise with no escape clause.  I was 42 when Brogan was born and he started sleeping through the night on a regular basis right about the time Sam arrived.  So my own advanced “maturity level” contributes to some of the challenges I face.

But I know that when someone at work asks me, “Do you have kids?” I am about to tell them a significant thing about me –perhaps more than their seemingly simple question asked.  There is always a “coming out” and with that task, there is always a risk.  My family has brought me out bolder than I ever imagined when I first fell in love.

Being a child of lesbian and gay parents is risky too. Being in this particular clan has been “the norm” for the boys; this is what they’ve always known.  We live in a pretty eclectic community and have a great school system.  But/and it’s interesting how the “two moms and two dads” come into conversations for the boys.  Brogan is in 5th grade, so I know with adolescence there will be another chapter (confusion? gratefulness? disappointment?).  For now their friends seem to be OK, or adjust (“one of Sam’s moms . . .”).  For now the parents and teachers seem to be OK, or adjust (“could one of you serve on the committee?” – like there are so many choices).  Driving home from school is a good way of paying attention.  For a couple years now girls have been chasing after 11-year old Brogan.  Recently in the car he said, “Lelley, the first time you kissed a boy, or a girl, that doesn’t matter, this is about me . . .”

And is there a greater, more encompassing risk – a “for the greater good” kind of hope?  Our family pays taxes and goes to church, we are members of the Y and the boys play Community Rec Sports.  We participate in this place.  Perhaps my hope is that our family (like those “risky ones” who have gone before us) may be yet one more reminder of the greater possibilities of “yes.”  If we are, each one, created in God’s image, perhaps parenting our children will open all our hearts a little more. Like I said, parenting is risky.

Lesley Brogan is tethered to her village. The middle daughter of a middle daughter, she and her partner co-parent two boys (11 and 8) with their two dads. Life rarely seems easy, but in it, there is energy and wisdom -- and, it seems -- just enough humor to get the village through their days.
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