Have you ever been gobsmacked by gratitude? You know, one of those moments when the lightbulb appears over your head and some kind of smoke screen clears and you suddenly take stock of everything wonderful that exists in your life? The kind of realization that brings you to your unreligious knees, practically shedding tears of happiness for all the things in your life that bring you joy?

I’ve had one of those weeks. Maybe it’s been all the heartache, loss, and anger that have been in the media lately. It is the visual and heart-wrenching reminder for all that I have to be thankful:  my healthy and wonderfully unique kids, a husband who stops at nothing to demonstrate his love for us, a community that supports our individuality and embraces the differences between us, and not to mention the wonderful educators with whom my boys are so blessed to be spending the majority of their days.

Tonight as I watched my little BoyBoy drift off to sleep while clutching his favorite teddy bear, I was overcome with gratitude and peace. Although tired and cranky from spending an entire day kicking around a soccer ball and playing and doing as any gender-normal boy would, he happily snuggled into bed with his oversized SpongeBob as his pillow.

In spite of his raptor screeching and defiance at the dinner table, his newest “adorable” habit of picking and eating his boogers, his insistence on hanging on me and his whining demands to be tickled while I attempt to prepare dinner, his tattle-tailing, and a million other behaviors that drive me crazy and could be labeled “out of control,” with every exhale of his sweet little breath, I drank in the gratitude for him as though it were a drug. Many a junkie would be wrest from the stronghold of their addictions if you could somehow bottle up that feeling and distribute it.

I often linger much longer than is necessary at bedtime knowing that with each passing day, my little BoyBoy just keeps getting bigger. I savor those peaceful moments, understanding that they are fleeting. The tattered and matted teddy bear he takes with him to bed every night shares the same sweet smile as BoyBoy. I adore that teddy bear almost as much as he does for that very reason. I hope there never comes a day when teddy bear has to go. I plan on keeping it as a placeholder for BoyBoy’s youth.

I haven’t blogged much lately. There are a few reasons, but the main one has been because I haven’t felt like I needed to. My life feels so good now. It feels like we’ve got traction, and we are on our way to creating substantial, positive family interactions and memories.

At the beginning of the year, we started taking GirlyBoy to a new therapist. Her practice uses what’s known in the industry as “sand tray therapy” and subscribes to a Jungian philosophy. GirlyBoyPapa had long ago observed the calming effect that playing in the sandbox had on GirlyBoy, but it wasn’t until we switched to the new practice that we were able to truly appreciate its therapeutic value.

A few weeks ago, someone asked me about my kids. I don’t remember the details of the conversation, but I found myself referring to GirlyBoy in a very casual, off-hand way as my “angel child.” This even surprised me. He’s my angel child. MY ANGEL CHILD?! I had been waiting six years, five months, and eight days to call him that. I love to say it over and over again: “GirlyBoy is my angel child.” The words feel like a grand accomplishment as they swirl around my head doing everything in their power to stamp out the memories of an out-of-control child full of venom, anger, and fear.

It’s unfathomable for me to even be writing this, but I can’t really remember the last time he had a tantrum. We did it. He did it. I’m so proud of the progress he has made. Like a flower unfolding, each day he reveals to us a new leaf, a new layer, that is vibrant, colorful, and a snapshot of the very center of his creative soul. With every thoughtful gesture, empathetic question, and generous act he does, I resist the urge to share my pride with the world. Pride not so much in the act itself, but pride in him that he has found the momentum and freedom to truly express and become the person he was born to be.

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For the first time in my life, I visited a chiropractor today. After the initial intake and evaluation, I found myself face-planted on the padded table and exchanging small talk with her.

“You mentioned you have kids on the intake form. How old are they?”

This simple question began an avenue of conversation that was sure to lead to a familiar dilemma for me. Once the details of age were out of the way, the next question lead inevitably to the gender of my children. Yes. I have two boys. Ish. In a way… is what my mind was saying.

“I have two boys.”

“That must be a lot of testosterone in your house!”

“Well, yes and no. You see….”

And so the inner dialogue begins. The subject of my son’s gender non-conformity is a hotspot for me. I find it difficult to skirt peripheral discussions on gender, simply for the fact that the way GirlyBoy expresses himself is one of the things that makes him so special and unique. I am so proud of who he is and how he expresses himself, and yet, I recognize that the subject is misunderstood and creates some anxiety in some people.

I could shut my mouth and not even broach the topic that might make someone uneasy or result in my disclosing more personal information than is necessary. Or I could seize upon the opportunity to express my pride for my children in all their wonderful and unique ways and, if appropriate, offer some education about gender non-conformity.

Call it a filtering problem, a personality flaw, or overt righteousness, but I typically elect to go the “pride and education” route.

“…I have two boys: one who embodies all things ‘boy’ like cars, superheros, and sports, and well, another who enjoys all things ‘girl’—Polly Pockets, fashion, ballet…”

Before continuing, I assess the direction of the conversation and the relative openness for dialogue of this nature. I let the other person guide me into how much more they are comfortable knowing. In no way do I wish to propel an innocent bystander into a discussion which could incite uncomfortable feelings. At the same time, I cannot deny my inner calling to help inform those who want to understand.

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Today, I am grateful that my boys are allowed to grow and thrive in whatever gender he may choose to represent in public. I am grateful to be married to a man whose values embody love, tolerance, and acceptance. I am grateful to my friends and family who offer their unconditional support and encouragement. I am grateful that we live in an area that is mostly tolerant of these differences. I am grateful for the hair stylist, the cashier, the waitress, and all the others we come into contact with and look upon my gender non-conforming boy with endearment in their eyes, and whose kind words and positive, warm interactions encourage him. And I am so grateful that I have yet to meet anyone who has outwardly, face-to-face, expressed any dismay, shock, or concern about GirlyBoy directly to him.

Life is not entirely all rainbows and unicorns. We don't live in a bubble, and I anticipate that our challenges will always be a moving target. We still have mood swings and sibling rivalry to deal with, but considering where we were a year ago, and what misfortunes so many others are suffering in the world today… Yeah, we have it good.