Journal of the Motherhood Initiative for Research and Community Involvement (JMI - York University)

Cade
					, Roshaunda D.

English

Mulatta Mama Performing Passing and Mimicking Minstrelsy in Mark Twain’s Pudd’nhead Wilson

190        Volume 9, Number 1
St. Martin’s Manor
Young Parent Resource Centre, Hamilton
Sharon and Emma
Shannon and Tyler
 Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering         191 
St. Martin’s Manor
Sarah and Liam
Nicole and Raine


St. Martin's Manor, Young Parent Resource Centre, Hamilton

Proulx-Turner
					, Sharron

 Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering         47 
birds whose voices open patterns in the trees
their yellows & greens & red-tipped wings
settling like pollen on the ground
filling the pathways through the trees
with echoes of their songs
last night I dream of three birds, each of them a replica of the next. the first 
is a small songbird who flies into the house through the open door. the bird 
is colourful, her feathers a crazy quilt of brilliant yellows & reds, oranges & 
greens, purples & blues.
grandma joan is in the next room, her fear of birds frozen in her arms. so, 
though I long to listen longer to the songbird’s song, I lead her back out through 
the open door. no sooner does that songbird leave than in walks a prairie hen 
looking like she’s quilled & quilted with the same splashes of colour, her wings 
wiggling & her bottom bouncing as she makes her way towards the kitchen 
– her toes click-clicking on the hardwood floor.
then barb walks in the door. barb, who travelled twice the distance to be with 
me, her black hair thick & delicate, her round crown circling her perfect tiny 
head, & her hands the flutter of butterflies, flying through town to announce 
her birth. brother held her first, his little boy wings brushing, touching her 
face, her hair, her hands. the look in his eyes – a knowing from the spirit world 
– reflected into mine as he passed his sister in a breeze so gentle, his scent her 
sweet protection, for life. 
tiny spruce & thunderbird eggs 
Sharron Proulx-Turner
48         Volume , Number 2
Sharron Proulx-Turner
barb’s my baby still, now with children of her own. in the dream she tells me, 
mom, don’t put that bird outside. I saved her from the zoo. but the bird is gone 
& framed in the doorway – the sunshine bright against the deepest reaches of 
a chinook arch – is my little birdy-girl, my granddaughter jessinia, holding a 
small stuffed crazy-quilted bird.
look, nokomis, look, she says. I got her at the zoo. her name is great grandma 
joan & she likes tea biscuits & fresh, hot tea. & up comes a wind only the prairie 
can bring, sand rushing through the open door like fog over water.
sand in my throat 
& songs that coax the ancient ones
to their homeland
& still, after all these years
that moment I looked into barb’s eyes
her looking into mine
I knew she knew me too
& jessinia, born eyes wide open
hers looking into mine
we three are
trees inside the rain
each round drop surrounded by the sound
of mother


tiny spruce & thunderbird eggs

Brushwood Rose
					, reviewed by Chloë

 Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering        277 
Book Reviews
the possibility of donor insemination.
The disadvantage of basing the book so completely on their own experi-
ences is felt, however, in the authors’ discussion of the “known versus unknown 
donor” question. Although at one point in their journey the authors attempted 
insemination using a known donor, they decided to use unknown donors for 
both of their children. As a result, they are strongly biased in favour of unknown 
donors and emphasize the potential complications—to the exclusion of potential 
benefits—associated with known donors. Important topics related to the use 
of known donors are not covered in the book, such as how to find, choose, and 
negotiate with potential known donors. There is also little discussion of the 
potential for creating alternative families beyond the two-parent model. The four 
interviews included in chapter seven, for example, are with committed couples 
who opt for insemination with an unknown donor via a sperm bank. The racial 
identity of neither the authors nor the interview subjects is mentioned, and 
important race-related issues (for example, the difficulties in accessing sperm 
from a donor who shares your heritage) are not addressed here.
Despite these limitations, this is a useful book that I recommend to other 
lesbians who are considering donor insemination, and especially those who intend 
to use an unknown donor. In particular, the introductory chapters on sperm, 
cycle monitoring, and insemination contain practical and accessible information 
that will help queer women successfully navigate the fertility system.
As a recently pregnant and new lesbian mother, I was interested to read the 
revised edition of Rachel Pepper’s The Ultimate Guide to Pregnancy for Les-
bians to see what kind of advice and insight I might have missed along my 
own strange journey toward parenthood. In many ways, this book is geared 
toward women like me—I am a lesbian who was economically privileged 
enough to secure good legal advice, buy sperm, and save $5,000 to cover the 
cost of conception and childbirth that Pepper recommends. While Pepper 
addresses women in a variety of personal situations—single, coupled, mem-
bers of alternative families—the first few chapters of the “ultimate guide” are 
not especially useful to poor or working-class lesbians or for queer women 
and lesbians who find themselves pregnant unexpectedly (more than one 
might think).
The Ultimate Guide to Pregnancy for Lesbians
Rachel Pepper. 
San Francisco: Cleis Press, 2005.
Reviewed by Chloë Brushwood Rose
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278        Volume 9, Number 2
Book Reviews
Having said that, Pepper does offer a thoughtful and practical guide to 
the experience of conception and pregnancy. Her writing is clear, concise, and 
honest. In this way, Pepper’s guide stands in contrast to the kind of hyperbole 
usually reserved for soon-to-be or new mothers—including both the unerr-
ingly rose-coloured accounts of pregnancy and motherhood that make us feel 
like we must be doing something wrong and the dire warnings that make us 
wonder why we would want to have children at all—and the overwhelming 
focus on the fetus’s health and development which can obscure the mother’s 
need for insight into her own rich and challenging experience. 
Of particular note is chapter five, which offers “ten tips to keep you sane” 
while trying to conceive, and chapter six, which tries to address the question 
“why am I not pregnant yet?” While there are the stories we cling to (and later 
resent) about the friend who got pregnant on her first try, for most women 
pregnancy rarely comes that easily. A book that openly discusses this issue and 
offers some wonderfully simple coping strategies is rarer still. As Pepper herself 
writes, “I lived in gay mecca, San Francisco, when I was trying to conceive, and 
I’m a pretty well-connected person. But I still felt as though I was reinventing 
the wheel every menstrual cycle.” Pepper is honest without being confessional 
and her company would have made my own journey toward parenthood much 
less strange and lonely.
The last half of Pepper’s book addresses the experiences of pregnancy and 
birth. In these chapters, Pepper speaks directly to the mother’s experience of 
her changing body and needs. This is what makes Pepper’s the ultimate guide 
to pregnancy for lesbians: her ability to speak frankly to other lesbian moms, 
not as an expert or medical professional concerned primarily with “the baby,” 
but as a peer. This is a book that reduces the stress of pregnancy, keeps you 
company on the journey toward parenthood, and reminds you that your biggest 
challenges are shared by others.
The history of adoption in the United States is an expansive topic that might 
have daunted a less able historian; however, Julie Berebitsky tightly focuses 
Like Our Very Own: 
Adoption and the Changing Culture of Motherhood, 
1851-1950 
Julie Berebitsky. 
Lawrence, Kansas: University Press of Kansas, 2000.
Reviewed by Amy Cuomo


The Ultimate Guide to Pregnancy for Lesbians

Lance, Lee

 Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering         205 
If the sick 18 month old naps at 3:30, eats at 5, 
collapses at 7:40, cries at 1, is sick at 3, sick again at 5, 
awakens fussy at 8 – how much sleep does this mother get. 
Solve for x.
Find the lowest common denominator
of three spiking fevers; the product
of exhausted efforts; the greater sum
of your parts.
Borrow when you need to
carry when you must (integers, medicine, life)
when you multiply,
divide your labours
solve for differences and 
memorize the quotient of survival.
It becomes second nature, calculating constantly
(the estimated time ’til next dosage, nearest bathroom
the variable of tantrums) – and amid the jumble
of numbers and schedules, you’ll find yourself
staring at the midnight ceiling, digits
spinning, mind swirling, thriving
on the universal content of their need.
Functions of Motherhood
Lee Lance


Functions of Motherhood

Alexander
					, Meena

262        Volume 9, Number 2
Amma’s face is up close, she is tying my sash
My dress is pink with tiny white spots
Her eyes open wide as she stares at my thighs
I tilt my face away, light strikes me.
Grandfather is strolling in the mulberry grove
His walking stick, covered in bits of torn grass.
Does amma see marks the color of burnt milk 
Where grandfather hurt me?
Why does she shut her eyes?
I want us to be a mother and daughter 
In someone else’s poem. 
How old was I? 
Seven, at the rim of  turning eight. 
That season when mulberry bushes 
Loosen their sleeves
And silk from grandmother’s trousseau
Starts its slow pucker and float. 
All through her wedding grandmother’s face was veiled
Silk from Varanasi the color of moonlight
—Veiled with a special veil…
Burned up in love and longing…
When grandmother died, she was wrapped
Veil
 Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering         263 
Folio
In her wedding sari so worms the color of milk 
Could bite into her flesh. 
How old was I when they laid grandfather 
Down beside her in the muddy earth?
I cannot tell. 
I tore skins from mulberry stalks using my teeth.
I refused to swallow the wet sour stuff.
Some things you never forget.
Note:
In italics are the words of the Sufi poet Faridudin Attar (c.1230 CE) describing the 
most celebrated of the Sufi women mystics, Rabi’a al Adawiyya (c. 801 CE) also 
known as Rabi’a of Basra.


Veil

Eldariry, Huda

182         Volume 9, Number 1
I’ve been ripped in two; Mind body as one team, soul on her own! 
I’ve been ripped in two! I’ve been ripped in two! 
Hello my name is heart. I’m the emotion from mind, body, and soul. 
I’ve been ripped in two; I bleed from the panic and confusion they brought. 
I’ve been ripped in two! I’ve been ripped in two! 
Mind and body are beautiful women, they show elegance and grace. 
I’ve been ripped in two with soul hurting alone in the corner. 
I’ve been ripped in two! I’ve been ripped in two! 
Soul has reached the door; the key is there, but can’t unlock the door. 
I’ve been ripped in two; mind and body have invited me to elegance and
    grace. 
I’ve been ripped in two! I’ve been ripped in two! 
Soul has given me the opportunity to have a childhood. 
I’ve been ripped in two; both offers are tempting. 
I’ve been ripped in two! I’ve been ripped in two! 
I’ve been ripped in two; Mind body as one team, soul on her own! 
I’ve been ripped in two! I’ve been ripped in two! 
I’ve been ripped in two; I can’t desire both of them! 
I’ve been ripped in two; how do I be fair to both? 
I’ve been ripped in two! I’ve been ripped in two! 
Huda Eldariry
Mind, Body and Soul—Heart
 Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering         183 
Mind, Body, Soul—Heart
Huda Eldariry, “Positive, Negative”


Mind, Body and Soul - Heart

Mullings
					, Delores V.

Mothering White Children: An Africana Canadian Woman’s Experience

Bannatyne, Kristina

 Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering         201 
Love.
I’m in love.
I have many loves.
I love my family so much.
I love my partner so much
I love my daughter so much
I’ve learned to love myself the way god made me.
I love to dream about all the things I can be in the future.
I love to shop.
I love to read.
I love to be creative.
I love being adventurous.
I love to learn new things.
I love to be sweet and cute.
I love to be nice to new people I meet.
I love that I can have a good education.
I love to talk, laugh, and have a good time.
I love that I know what I want for my family and I.
I love spending time with the people I love so much.
But most of all I love the person that I’ve evolved into.
Kristina Bannatyne
About my loves and me
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202        Volume 9, Number 1
Patricia Barnes and daughter, Brianna Acosta


About my loves and me

Arcana, Judith

 Journal of the Association for Research on Mothering      229 
She was fifteen years old. She had
to pay for college. She had to pay
for this. She came to my apartment
on a Saturday afternoon. Her parents
didn’t know. I didn’t know her parents.
Her girlfriends brought her up
the stairs, holding on to her hands.
They wanted to help. I told them,
Go; get orange juice.
She was five months pregnant.
Two days before, we reached
up inside, pushed down outside.
She breathed out like fire,
she gushed out salty water.
She was lucky it came soon:
Saturday, no school, girlfriends
who lied for her. When she called,
contractions starting, I said, Come over.
She sat on the floor. She bent her knees.
She rocked and pushed and rocked
inside contractions: they were close.
We were close. I never saw her again.
Her name was Rachel. She said, I don’t
want to see it. When I took it away,
she cried. I washed her body, fresh
water, holding her like the girlfriends.
She drank her juice. She took her medicine.
I drove her to a corner two blocks
from her house. She walked home
from there Because, she said, you know.
She touched my shoulder: Thank you.
 
Here is what happened
