We are in unchartered territory in Izzy’s life right now. Isn’t it always, you may ask…touché. Our 13, autistic, anxious, depressive, trichotillamania child continues to keep me on my toes. Life would be boring otherwise, right?

Izzy has a boyfriend. He’s online, they’ve never met in person, but I would venture a guess that he may know her better than most of her in-person friends over the years have. Her boyfriend’s name is Ollie…which I (in my vanilla mind) assumed was short for Oliver, which it is. But Oliver was previously known as Olivia. Ok. Whatever. If Ollie makes Izzy happy, and laugh, and feel good…then Ollie is a-okay in my book. And Izzy is working through some gender identity and exploring pronouns that would make her feel most comfortable in her skin. And ya know what…..that’s fine too.

I grew up literally in the middle of a cornfield in the 80’s and 90’s. I went to a small school where I don’t think we had a black, hispanic or asian student at least until I was in high school. My parents were married…to each other (and still are!), they both worked, no one drank or smoked, my sister and I were pretty good kids, we weren’t rich but we didn’t want for anything legitimate (I guess nightly Dairy Queen trips or those cool Guess Jeans weren’t legitimate needs)…life was simple and vanilla. I went to Purdue for college and Miami for grad school and found some variety in my classmates there, but everyone in my life was still pretty much like me. I’m going to venture a guess that I didn’t really know someone who was gay (lesbian, trans, binary…all the words) until I was out working in my profession. Vanilla life.

I remember when Jackson was a Sophomore or Junior at NHS, one of the other members of Marching Band decided she was more comfortable identifying as a he, and changed his look and name accordingly. I was floored – Jackson was not. I asked questions, Jackson listened and answered to the best of his ability.

Several months ago, Izzy said “I could be gay, mom.”

“OK. As long as you’re happy, I don’t care.”

“Really? You’d be fine with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know….I expected you to say “Oh Izzy, you’re too young and dumb to decide that.”

I hate that this was her expectation. And I’m working hard to change that for her. I’m planning to talk to Brad. I’ve talked to Jackson. I’ve talked to a member of my staff who is gay. I’ve researched and read and explored. I’ve looked up definitions to words I don’t know. I’ve broadened my vanilla horizons. I’ve dug deep into my emotions as Brad has taught me and found my basement emotions that I need to validate and listen to. I’ve done it all…because do you know what the most important thing is to me? To not screw this up! To make sure that my Izzy knows I’m here for her no matter what. Gay, Straight, Bald, Autistic….I don’t care. Please just be safe and happy and kind and loved. Those are the toppings on my vanilla sundae…that my kids are safe and happy and kind and loved.

We went through every piece of clothing the kid owns this past weekend. Keep it or send it off. Is it “the you of today” the “you of yesterday” or “the you mom thought you were” Her wardrobe is a lot less frilly and pink, but it’s comfortable and true to Izzy in the moment.

I don’t want to be my children’s friend. I see fellow mom’s I know being their kid’s friends…and it never works out the way they want it to. But I do want to be my children’s safe harbor. That’s what my parents are to me…they are my harbor in the storms of my life. I want my kids to know that I will not judge them, I will not cast them out and say I can not/will not support you. I want my kids to know that from the day they were born until the day I die, I’m their cheerleader, comforter, #1 fan. I am proud of the people they are becoming and I will stand by them through the storms of their lives.