That’s where I found myself… overwhelmed, sad and tired. So much so that I actually went to the doctor. I thought I was sick. I told him that I was just so tired and no matter how much I rested; I never felt like it was enough. Then he asked me about my mental emotional state. At first I was confused. Like, what do my emotions have to do with me being tired? Apparently, everything. My dear friend, restorative justice guru, Dr. Shaniqua Jones says, “Sleep won’t help if it’s your soul that’s tired.”. I don’t know if truer words have ever been spoken. My soul was tired.
I went home that day and reevaluated my… everything. I didn’t even realize how my inability to reconcile my choices against the expectations of other folks was effecting me. This is why it is so important to be dialed into yourself. You need to reflect and question yourself about yourself.
She’s growing and maturing. My selfish girl who is usually, always only thinking of her 13 year old self is thinking of us all. She knows having the elves brings joy to our entire family. She understand that I’m really trying and I want this experience for them, even if it is coming late. She knows her momma is working extra hard to develop a legacy that will help children for generations. She knows I’m burning the candle at both ends. She knows that I have more on my plate than I can handle. She knows that some things will go undone as a result.
Usually the things that go undone are laundry and home cooked meals, but right now the elves seem to be the thing I couldn’t maintain. Somehow, she understands the significance of the elves to our family; even if she doesn’t quite understand what it means to me to have her help me in this way.
As moms, we sometimes beat ourselves up for being distracted and disconnected. We question our impact and influence as mothers when our children are rude, selfish or inconsiderate. We beat ourselves up for not being enough for our children… for not doing enough or giving them enough. This whole situation reminded me that I am enough at all times— even when I am distracted, disconnected and forgetful.
I am so happy to be writing today. Describing the last almost three months as difficult would be a major understatement . I have wanted to write— to tell you what my family and I have been facing. I have wanted to write about the truth of walking my child through a traumatic experience. I have wanted to share the intimate details of a helpless mother… the heartache of watching the best parts of you become the darkest part of you.
But this is my safe space… my joy.
This is a blog read by many people and yet it still feels so intimate to me. I didn’t want to tarnish it by discussing an experience I haven’t healed from. I didn’t want to transfer these negative emotions. I’ve been so angry and sad and angry and enraged.
See, food and cooking is how I say, “I love you.” It’s how I say, “I’m glad you’re here.” Honestly, it’s one of the reasons I have such difficulty managing the goals for my health and fitness, but I digress. We can chat about that another day.
Off I went to the store the day before the party.
On my way to the store I decided the menu would include baked ziti and a tossed salad with yummy add-ins like gorgonzola cheese, green apples, craisins and such. I grabbed ground and linked Italian sausage. I quickly remembered several of my guests don’t eat pork. No worries! I’ll just grab some ground beef and more ingredients. Now, I have to make two sauces, but I got this. I headed to check out.
Oh crap!!! One of my guests can longer eat tomato anything. Side note: I grew up in a house that was always entertaining. My parents taught me that you make people feel welcomed by considering them in your choices. In other words, make sure there’s something for everyone. I decided to grab some chicken breasts and veggies to make chicken alfredo pasta too. I finished shopping. I had about 20lbs of meat, a full cart and a fully overwhelmed heart.
Parenting is hard. I’ve said it in the past. I’m saying it now. And I’m pretty confident I’ll say it many times in the future. Parenting. Is. Hard. Everyone talks about baby showers, beautiful birth stories and funny toddler tales, but no one is discussing, flatly, the difficulty associated with raising children. Why can’t we stop using our children as a measurement of how much better we are than other mothers? Why don’t we all just admit we don’t know what the hell we’re doing and meet at Chili’s for $5 margaritas to discuss strategies and support each other???
Do I ground him for this? How many fruit snacks is too many? Should she be friends with that girl? Why won’t he stop lying? At what age should they date? How many wipes should I use before I give him a bath? How much fast food is too much fast food? Why am I more uncomfortable watching love scenes than violence with them? Is cookie dough really bad for them?
At the present moment I am feeling a little anxious about choices we are making for our children and choices they are making for themselves. This isn’t a positive or negative admission. It’s just me standing in my truth.
Growing up Black is a be seen and not heard kind of existence. In my experience, to find a Black child with the authority to fully BE, in the presence of adults is the exception; not the rule. Control, rules, excellence and respectability are major components of the Black child rearing experience. Black children need to grow up with their shit together. This didn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s a direct result of slavery, Jim Crow, the Civil Rights Era and a post racial America *side eye*. The privilege of speaking about anything at anytime was snatched from us and whipped out of us on slave ships, auction blocks, in the fields and in the big house.
Saying the “wrong” thing or being at the “wrong” place at that time could get an adult or even a child, literally killed— It still can. We have too many examples. Being seen and not heard is not a simplified way to parent; it’s a safety mechanism. Part of the Black experience is simply trying to keep your children alive in a way that it isn’t true for other races. The same is true of how we are steered towards career choices. Careers that are perceived as frivolous, i.e. dancer, artist or musician are not routinely supported.
This isn’t the land of make believe and you don’t have the ability to see through walls or leap over buildings in a single bound no matter what your children, spouse, or other people in your life think. I know. I know. The idea of being able to do anything at any time sounds fascinating and productive. Other people believing you can do anything, at any time, regardless of circumstances makes you feel important and needed. Look at how proud they are of me doing everything under the sun. Look at your chest all puffed up with the “S” stamp. You can’t get enough of the accolades. You feel amped. You feel invincible. Thing is…. You’re not.
You are not invincible.
You cannot do anything at any time regardless of circumstance. You know who can? God. You, my friend, are not God. I can tell you who you will be if you keep this charade up though. Resentful. Yep. Resentful. And who wants to wear resentment as a badge of honor?
I have worked in corporate America. I have worked in inner city classrooms of Chicago. Being a SAHM is still without question the hardest work I have ever done. This is in part because being a parent is more difficult than anyone lets on. My understanding of parenthood was incomplete… at times I think it still is. Being a stay at home mom is a 24/7 endeavor. From the time I wake up until I close my eyes, I am meeting the needs of someone who is not me.
Please don’t consider this a declaration of my unhappiness or complaint. On the contrary, being a stay at home mom is a gift. But it requires compartmentalization and understanding. There have been many days in this social political climate that I was grateful I didn’t have to go to work. Hell, sometimes I don’t even go to the grocery store because I don’t want to see the world. So, I know I would dread going to the office.
This isn’t complaining. This is me, sharing pertinent information. Also… listen carefully, I am not ignoring or minimizing the plight of working mothers. Most of them do what I do while working outside the home full time. For me, what I noticed and miss most was the drive to and from work. You know? Those small periods of time when I was alone to make uninterrupted phone calls or listen to music that is inappropriate for children who can talk. #JudgeYourOwnSelf
Say what now?!?!?!! Is this really happening? I was simultaneously mortified and totally excited at the same time. Rob… since we calling him that now… Rob wants to talk to me on the phone? On the inside I went into total teenage girl mode. Conflicted, shocked, elated, scared, annoyed and gassed up all at the same damn time. To him I said, “Oh, ok.”
I was shocked because his brother had confirmed what the world wanted to know so badly. R.Kelly and Aaliyah were engaged in a kind of relationship that prevented him from approaching me, another girl, directly. I was conflicted because I was a huge fan of Aaliyah. Was I willing to betray her? Also, does he know how old I am? I mean I'm totally mature, but I'm just wondering. I looked down at my plaid uniform skirt from my single-sex high school and resolved that to him age truly ain't nothing but a number.
It is our job to combat misogyny, toxic masculinity, predatory behavior and rape culture by educating and empowering children. Talk to them about predatory behavior and grooming. Tell them, age appropriately, what these creeps say and do… Wait. Obviously, parental discretion should be used, but nothing predators do or say is age appropriate.
Tell your children the truth.
Tell your them what predators say and how they manipulate.
And for God’s sake stop insisting your kids hug and kiss everybody. What if I told you— YOU are grooming your own child for predators. You are the biggest obstacle to your child’s understanding that permission to touch their body can only be given by them.
It is irresponsible to do all the housework in a home full of able bodied individuals. Put your mini-me’s to work. They need to understand what it takes for everything in the house to GO! I don’t know about y’all, but there isn’t a magic fairy that puts away groceries and washes dishes at my house. So... my children do it🤷🏽♀️😂.
I love my lil babies. There are few things that bring me greater joy than their happiness, but their happiness cannot come at the expense of me. The happiness of your children is not more important that you. So, while we work hard to provide them with a particular lifestyle; they need to understand that it is their shared responsibility to help maintain it… all of it.
I was pretty rough and tumble as a child. I played with my brother and his friends all the time and wore my tomboy title like a badge of honor. I even earned a few bumps and bruises along the way. So, the scab didn’t concern me at all. I'm not a free range parent, but I'm also miles away from helicopter parenting. I mostly let children being children. They run, they play, they fall. The end.
My boy was up in his Nana's lap when she noticed the atrocity on his knee."What happened to my baby’s knee!?!” If your children have a Nana like my children; you know she acted like the boy had staples in his knee. She was appalled. So, I quickly told her what happened according to his father who was his caretaker at the time in question *snicker. At the end of my explanation, I gratuitously added, “And he didn’t even cry.” *insert my proud face
Having a calendar for children teaches them responsibility and time management. If you get off the bus at 4 o'clock and dance begins at 5 o'clock, you know you have less than one hour to get a snack and start your homework or decompress. If it's time to go and they didn't get a snack that’s on them. They will quickly learn how to consider the calendar and their available time.
I think mother-son relationships are often framed this way. It is said that mother’s raise our daughters and love our sons. It’s true; right? At least I think it is. We want our daughters to be strong and fortified… we want them to be able to handle themselves to not be taken advantage of… So we spend our time riding their backs, making sure they will be ok in this world. Our sons though??? "Oh, that’s mommas baby. Boys will be boys. What else does he want to eat? Don’t worry about those dishes. He’s tired. Your sister will get those." We have to stop this. I truly believe this is part of the reason so many strong willed women have difficulty finding life partners.
As usual, the problem occurs when we don’t communicate our feelings. Instead, we go dark. You cannot articulate your feelings and you won’t try because you think it actually sounds kinda petty. We don’t make calls and we don’t take them. Too busy either feeling sorry for ourselves or refusing to give people who love us the benefit of the doubt. Although…. If you’re feeling some time of way the onus is on you to communicate those feelings.
Perfection lacks flexibility. It forces us to BE without movement or allowances. What happens when you stretch a rubber band that has no elasticity? It breaks... And so will you. Perfection is also an animal birthed from the expectations of others. Which is a major reason that it is unattainable.
LISTEN…. I was stuck after she said her children were waiting on her to die so they could have her stuff. Like, is this what seniors… what older parents are worried about??? Are children really taxing their beloved parents with worry about only wanting their possessions? Are children really only seeing their parents when they need or want something? Are children teaching their own children the same behavior? Because you know they’re watching you; right? They know your mother and or father live right down the street, but you won’t throw a glass of water when you ride by. You know you will be on the receiving end of this one day; right? Ok then.
We live in an age where even when it’s your fault; you don’t want to be held accountable. The issue is so pervasive that not only don’t you want to be caught— you don’t want perfect strangers to be caught either. That’s the reason I used to flick my lights at people I didn’t know. I was projecting my desire to not be reprimanded or punished by letting other people know how not to get caught.
I have learned that true restoration comes from being mature enough to hold yourself accountable without attempting to buy or overlook the healing process. Healing can’t be bought and overlooking only suppresses the pain. Shout out to my mama for always loving me!
I am fighting with all my might to dodge the grumpy old man in me, but he’s a feisty son of a gun. I tried to use one of my strategies to avoid negative engagement. I cooked dinner for these people. I retired to my room. I didn’t even eat. Guess what my wonderful, loving husband did? He devoured his food at lightening speed and followed me upstairs. I am intently working. I would like to finish writing. Perhaps then I could enjoy a bath and maybe an adult beverage. He entered the room, walked over to the television and turned it on. Then, he started talking to me.
