The Happy Homemaker

I carry my weight around the house, along with working 45-50 hours outside the home. I'm not afraid of housework. This week, though, my list of chores has increased.

You see, Mrs. Leslie was washing dishes Monday. As she was twisting a sponge inside a coffee mug, the mug broke. She got a nice gash on the base of her thumb that required five stitches. So, the wetter household duties are falling exclusively to me.

On an average day, I leave work around 1am. I frequently stop at the grocery on the way home. At home, I will do some laundry, or pay some bills, along with feeding the dogs. Then I get "me" time till I surrender to fatigue and head for bed. This week, the after work list has doubled, and "me" is taking a back seat. S'alright, I can take it.

I've been wearing a bra to work all week. Jessica Who wrote about starting a 30 day experiment, wearing a bra 24 hours a day. I can't get away with full time wearage, but I'm showing my support (ha!) to the cause, if only for a few days. It's not the most comfortable garment, but the knowledge that I'm wearing it compensates nicely.

Just over two weeks remaining till my first support group meeting since early December. I am ready. These months continue to be a struggle. The inability to be oneself for so long is something I wouldn't wish on anyone. Now I can count days instead of weeks, so that's a positive. The March meeting is going to be a potluck sendoff for Samantha and Keith. Miss Leslie Homemaker will have to decide what she wants to bring.

Score!

As a rule, I hate Valentine's Day. I never have a clue what to give, or how much to spend, or whether to be serious or light. Well, we went ahead and celebrated a day early, as it was Saturday, and she works on Sunday evening.

We had a lovely meal at her favorite Italian place. I reminded her about a Blackstone Merlot that she had loved another time, and she ordered a bottle. I don't drink the stuff, but I make a point to help her remember what she likes. This pleased her. We had bruschetta to start, tasty salads, pasta entrees, and raspberry tiramisu. A fine meal and good conversation.

As usual, she does most of the talking, especially at the beginning. I am accustomed to letting her wind down for awhile, then pick up the ball if any time remains. Tonight's was a long meal, so I got my chance well into the entrees. I decided to talk about our leadership crisis in my support group, a risky ploy, but it went fine. I described the situation, and she had lots of questions and ideas. She exhibited no discomfort as I called my friends by female names and pronouns. We also talked about the DSM-V draft that went online last week. I introduced the concept of autogynephilia to her, and told her how relieved we are that it seems to have been left out of the document. It was a very frank talk, without confrontation or editing. Delightful.

Oh, and gifts were exchanged. We had a good laugh when we discovered that we had chosen cards from the same series for one another, nearly identical! (Have I mentioned how long we've been married?!) She has been bugging me to arrange some dance lessons for over a year, so I quietly acquiesced. I'm actually looking forward to it, except that I'll have to lead, and my attire won't flow the way I would prefer. She gave me a sterling silver rope chain that I adore. It's very shiny and catches the light nicely. Being a bit of a magpie, I like shiny things.

In the same bag was another package. She said that it was a birthday gift to make up for last year! She said that she wants to feel like less of a louse, since she now knows that it was important to me. It was a sterling silver bracelet, just perfect. She told me that both pieces are men's items, but she got the most delicate things they had so that I could use them either way.

I do believe that she is starting to get it. I'm not seeing the flinching when the dread topic is broached, nor any reticence to discuss openly. Talking about TG issues did not put any kind of damper on her mood. I might just have to bump V-Day up past Groundhog Day on my list of preferred holidays.

Wanted: Leader

I missed last Saturday's support group meeting, but bad news shared there has reached me through an email from my pal Sylvia. Our group president, Samantha, announced her immediate resignation. She is moving out of state to be near her mother.

TransKentucky has been around for about seven years, at least by that name. Last October, we made a big leap by becoming a non-profit organization. We can now take in money through dues in order to have a public presence at Lexington Pride and other events. This wouldn't have happened without Samantha, who did the job mostly herself. She has given the group a direction that it sorely lacked when I joined up.

Her replacement is not readily apparent. One factor is our non-profit status. Our president will have to be someone who is out, willing to put their name on documents. This rules out many of us, including me. And I'm not sure I see anyone that would relish taking the reins. We may wind up rudderless just when we've caught a trade wind. I am confident that the group will survive despite the current leadership crisis, but there may be some major morphing taking place. For now, we'll be saying goodbye to our first and former president at the March meeting.

Sundry Items

-- On the 46th day of Christmas, we finally took down our tree. I missed the fun, as I was at work. It is long past the time that the city would come around and pick up said tree. So, my creative wife used a handsaw to cut the tree into several pieces that would fit in the garbage can, much as one would a body that needed discrete disposal (or so I've heard). All this done under cover of darkness. The neighbors will never be any the wiser. Only our garbage man knows for sure.

-- Got my order of intimates from Soma last week. I use my therapist's office for delivery of feminine items, no explaining mysterious packages at home that way, and the kids won't make any accidental discoveries. Soma was having a huge sale. I got two lovely panties, a camisole, and a very nice bra for less than $35. I have been wearing the bra quite a bit, as it is a much better fit than previous acquisitions. I love looking down and seeing mounds there.

-- I have a newfound passion to practice makeup technique. I got the basics down some time ago, and merely do the same simple routine anytime that I dress fully. Now, though, I have acquired some nice brushes, and I'm eager to see what they will do for me. I have mineral foundation and eyeshadows that haven't been touched. No more tiny sponge eyeshadow applicators for this girl. Let the games begin.

-- I don't have any real evidence to back up my inkling, but I suspect that there will be no more intimacy until my leg hair returns. Epilating has been a godsend, making my legs seem freshly shaven for more than a week. I think that Mrs. L probably believes that I am shaving very frequently, based on the way my legs look. She still isn't privy to the existence of the epilator. I'm past the two week mark at the moment, and I'm just starting to notice the hair beneath my pantyhose. I have some hope that my hair has been permanently thinned, that my summer look will not be so hirsute this year. Growth is much slower and sparser. Love it!

Anyway, Mrs. L has not been at all nasty about any of this, but several opportunities for intimacy have been quietly bypassed. Nothing said, but also, alas, nothing done. With Valentine's Day this weekend, I have to wonder whether I should go the lingerie route. I did that last year, and it didn't get broken in for a couple months. Not relishing a repetition, or a wasted gift.

Earworms

Three passions have I: Transgender issues, baseball, and music. The first is the only one that gets significant play here. The second is of very limited interest in this region of the internet. Music, though, is universal, and that is where I have been taking refuge recently. This past week, I have listened to far more music than podcasts on my iPod, a reversal for me and one likely to continue.

I dabble in guitar, good with chords, infantile with fingering. I sing like a bird (a goose, btw). So I can make music in a pinch, but I prefer to immerse myself in the work of other, more professional artists. With the time I spend reading and writing blogs, listening is really all I can make time for. It remains the soundest(!) cure for gender dysphoria at my disposal.

With that in mind, and in an effort to have new material on my page daily, I have started a little text sidebar to share the earworm that has been stuck in my head. There's nearly always one present. Sometimes it will shift over the course of the day, sometimes one will play continually for days. Usually this is pleasant. Occasionally, I will have something perfectly awful browbeating me, say, "Copacabana" or Terry Jacks' "Seasons in the Sun." Gag! Those are the exception, thankfully. If I can guide someone toward a worthwhile artist, more's the better.

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Is This All There Is?

My writing has been really mediocre of late. For two years and almost 200 entries, I've trudged along, and at times, the prose sang (she said modestly). Not so much recently. I still feel the need to write, but I've just been going through the motions. I've fallen into a formula, and the formula doesn't work for me anymore. Too much has changed.

This blog was built on two pillars: the struggle with transgender identity and the subsequent struggle with my wife. The first reached a nice plateau a couple months ago. The latter has settled into a pleasant truce. So, what to write about? The answer has eluded me.

Today was a therapy day, and I talked with M about my increasing need to express my inner woman, and the lack of opportunities to do so. I often feel that this need to dress is somewhat superficial, that I should be able to live my inner life without the need for an external manifestation. M disagreed. She said that the visual, the tactile, are validating my inner self. To see the woman that I hold inside confirms her reality. To touch my hemline or glance at my heeled foot or notice my made-up reflection, sends a message of "Hey, I'm a woman."

I brought up my unsatisfactory dressing experience of the other night. The thrill just wasn't there, and after such a long break, it should be present. The answer will be obvious to some of you. Again, validation. In this case, doing the dressing thing alone isn't cutting it. Other people need to be involved. My TG friends, store clerks, a movie audience, even Mrs. L would do in a pinch. I've reached a point where the validation of others is paramount. There is a social animal growing within me, and the late night basement routine is getting stale.

So, my internal landscape is shifting, but my writing has stayed in place. I need a new vocabulary for my new paradigm. Small unassuming words need not apply! The language of marital confrontation will be put in storage for a time. A period of external exploration begins now.

Aborted Attempt

I got a short respite from the drag of being in drab tonight. Silk slip, dress, heels, lipstick, earrings, and my lesser, easier wig. I was dressed for about 30 minutes before I thought I was hearing some movement upstairs. What I really wanted was full makeup and my good wig. That might have improved the experience. Anyway, I actually don't feel the least bit relieved for having done this. Grrr. Four weeks from Saturday, my next support meeting. Therapy Thursday afternoon should be a real kick. I'm gonna need a plan, methinks. I'm starting to contemplate doing stupidly risky things, and I do not want to go there.

Good distractions are in the offing, though. Lost has opened its final season, and baseball's spring training starts in a couple weeks. Anything that will occupy my brain is a positive.

I have an idea for a sidebar on my page, something I can update daily. Gonna have to find the right widget to make it work, but that's the good kind of challenge.