🐝Formation & Liberation 🐝

Outside Lincoln Financial Field; prepared to get in Formation Beyonce changed my outlook on life. Before the groans and eye rolls begin let me explain. This past weekend I flew to see the Queen herself in all her glory. No big deal, right? For me, it was. I sometimes envy women I see with so much freedom. Women who can at the drop of a dime go to the store at 1:30am. Or hit up the club on a last minute whim. As a married mother of 2, I don't get that.  Last minute store runs turn into a fiasco of a field trip because one kid cant find his shoe and the other wants to bring a hideous shrek doll for the ride. Sometimes is not even worth the fight. When I saw Beyonce's Super Bowl performance I was hooked. "Formation" gave me life and when "Lemonade" dropped a fire I didn't even know needed to be lit was sparked. When I told my husband I was going to see Beyonce he simply said, "Okay." Not really believing me. Anyone who knows me, knows that I'm a homebody. I would rather sit at home, glass of wine in hand, watching "Snapped." That's just me. Cincinnati clubs don't do much for me or maybe I'm still grappling with an internal battle I'm having within myself about whether married women belong in the club or not. Nonetheless I would rather be at home. It also doesn't help that I work weekends. While most people are tolling away Monday-Friday, and living for the weekend, I'm grinding it out Wednesday-Sunday. Yes that means I'm at work EVERY weekend. It's apparently a hard concept to grasp for some people.  I've been working weekends 5+ years now and I am pretty much used to it. I don't love it but it is what it is. So for me there are no such things as a weekend trip with the girls. Or a quick romantic getaway with the Mister. Even trying to get in the club for a quick drink and dab on the dance floor is work in itself. Did I mention getting time off is pretty difficult? Sure I have benefits and vacation time but getting it approved doesn't always happen and there are only certain times of the year when we are even allowed to request time off. As a mother I am constantly in "mommy mode" or family mode. My pure existence is now forever connected to two little people. Any decision I make is made with my children and husband in mind. I went on a business trip last summer and that was the first time I had truly ever spent time away from them. But going out of town for work is not the same as going out of town for fun. And this weekend proved to be so much more. Just the opportunity of going to bed without making sure the kitchen is clean and the kids have their pajamas on and are tucked in was a delight in itself. Being around ADULTS outside of a workplace setting was a pure joy. I went on this trip with two equally enthusiastic Beyhive members. They've seen 'Yonce in action multiple times. This would be my first. My Beyonce buddies are also two equally successful black women. And being with them, we met a group of other successful black women. All different backgrounds. It was one of the most beautiful experiences. To just sit and watch as we had champagne on the rooftop of one of the women's newly purchased row houses, I sat quietly taking it all in. A whole 'lotta black girl magic. Hearing random chatter that didn't include "get out my room!" or "she just hit me!" was so soothing. The concert itself was as amazing as I thought it would be. Seeing a stadium full of people to witness a black woman's magic was enough to put me on cloud 9. Each pop and lock had the crowd encouraging Bey as if we were her best friends cheering her on in a dance battle. A lot of "you better work" and "get it" phrases being thrown out there. I'm pretty sure tears welled up in my eyes as she so genuinely thanked us for being fans before going into her finale, ending the concert with "Halo." I didn't want it to end. In the days leading up to the trip it was still as if my husband didn't believe I was really going. He's so used to me being at home the thought of me actually traveling out of state for a concert was just wild to him. No shade to him, he just knows his wife really well. But from the moment I packed and had my suitcase at the door ready to go I felt liberated. My aunt came to pick me up and saw me with luggage. "Where you going? What you doing running away from your family?" I laughed. But now that I think about it -- hell yeah I was!  Sometimes I think as mothers some of us get so caught up in mothering, we forget about ourselves. This has to be selfie #3,279 in my phone of me and these crazy kids We forget to live. I know I have. My days are usually pretty similar. Wake up. Wake kids. Eat Breakfast. Take them to school. Go to work. Get off work. Get kids. Cook dinner. Do baths. Go to bed. Repeat. This trip gave me the confirmation I needed; there is nothing wrong with mommy having a break. There is nothing wrong with having fun away from your family. And the fact that everyone was so surprised about my trip lets me know I need to get out and start living more. And in the words of Beyonce: Sometimes you gotta go in the back of that closet and pull out ya freakum dress.    It's not a dress, but you get the point.

Treasured

2010 – pain shot through my breasts. It was a feeling I had never witnessed. And all of this was while I was out of town for a journalism seminar. Was I having multiple heart attacks? What was going on?

Turns out I was pregnant. My due date was January 18, 2011.

As the days inched closer to my daughter’s impending birth I continued to wonder about the little wonder growing inside of me. I have to admit, when I found out I was having a girl I was somewhat disappointed. Not disappointed in the sense of anger, I just had it in my head my first kid would be a boy – who in turn would look out for his little sister.

But as it turns out I couldn’t be more happy that I had my daughter first. She is such a natural at nurturing and caring for others. The moment I found out my grandmother died it was just me and the kids. At just two years old, Kura immediately sensed something was wrong and it was Kura who wiped my tears.

If her little brother cries – Kura is there – sometimes faster than me. The moment she opens her eyes in the morning, she goes over to her brother's bed to check on him.

 

 In just her three years on this Earth she has taught me so much about life and myself. I should have known what joy she would bring to my life. While most people complain about pregnancy – carrying Kura was easier than I ever imagined.

Morning sickness didn’t last long and I cannot remember a single complication. Labor was easy, too.  (Yes, I still had an epidural, my mama ain’t raise no fool)

I was admitted in the hospital at about 8 a.m. and by 5:30 p.m., just a day after my projected due date -- one of my greatest treasures was in this world.  In fact, the name Kura means treasure house in Japanese. (I bet you thought her name was made up)

And as I think back over these last three years -- my life has changed so much. My life now revolves around my kids. Friday is usually “hair day” – which consists of me fighting Kura to sit still and her telling me “that hurts!” or “stop ma-ma!” I don’t remember what I did on the regular before I met my baby girl.

And as we prepare to celebrate her birthday – I think of the many more birthdays to come. Soon she won’t think I’m the best thing ever. Soon she won't watch me in the mirror as I get ready and try to imitate every move I make. One day when I come home from work she won’t run to the door to the door to greet me. But until that happens I will treasure every moment with her.

Happy Birthday mommy’s baby!

 

 

Excuse me while I publicly mourn...

Me & My Grandma circa mid 90s

It’s only been a week since we laid my grandma to rest… and it still seems unreal. I keep imagining that she’s still at the nursing home – just unable to call me up like she would do on the regular.

But the funeral was very real – the crowd who came out to celebrate her was very real. You know how you go to a funeral and there are all these nice, flowery epithets to describe that person and deep down inside you’re saying to yourself “yeah right.”

This was not the case for my grandma. Every kind word and thoughtful memory shared of her was true. She was the classic grandmother figure. Sweet, thoughtful and caring.

 And I honestly miss her. When I saw the two missed calls from my Mama in the middle of the day – I knew what it was but I wanted to believe it was something else. I still wish it was for something else. Maybe Ma was calling because she had forgot her lunch for the day and really needed me to bring her something – or maybe she couldn’t remember if she had locked her door and wanted me to check. I wish her calls had been simple things like that.

But my heart broke when she told me Grandma was gone. And even in the midst of her own heartbreak, my Mama’s first words to me were “Are you okay?” I had to lie and get off the phone. I didn’t want her to hear me crying when I should have been asking her if she was okay.

But she wasn’t. In my short time on this earth, I’ve seen my Mama cry all of two times in my life – when I went off to college and at the funeral. In the days leading up to the funeral, I didn’t see her cry. Her voice would quiver from time to time, but she didn’t shed a tear.

When we first went into my Grandma house after she had died, my Mama still did not cry but yet when I hit the threshold I wanted to bawl but kept it in. I cried in the driveway though.

But at the funeral I somehow managed to hold my composure. A part of me saw how normal Grandma looked and felt everything was okay or at least would be. For the last nine months of her life, she was at a nursing home she clearly did not like. Grandma wanted to go home and whether that meant her Bond Hill home or a heavenly residence I’m still not sure.

What I do know is that she’s is definitely not somewhere she no longer wants to be.

 And that’s the only way I’m able to get by. Maybe I’m being dramatic but the relationship I had with my Grandma was like no other. In her healthier days, I literally saw or spoke to her nearly everyday.

A note of condolence from a friend made it real simple for me – cherish the moments I did have with my Grandma because not everyone is as blessed as I am to have had such moments.

 

My Grandma lived long and saw a lot.

 

I can still distinctly hear her voice and remember what she sounds like – her thick southern accent never faded after years of Ohio living. I remember random conversations we had. I remember calling her Election night when President Obama won, and her saying she thought she never would have seen a black president in her lifetime. I remember telling her I was pregnant -- both times and her giving me "that look."

 

I remember so many random moments and for that I am forever grateful.

I am also forever thankful to all those who came out to celebrate my grandmother's life. Thank you. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For My Firstborn

I'm sure every parent thinks their kids is super cool, sweet and the cutest thing walking.

But I have the proof to back up my beliefs.   : )

Today marks a miraculous milestone for me; the birth of my baby girl two years ago.

If most people actually sat down and thought about the miracle that is pregnancy, they'd see why children are such gifts.

My daughter is one of the best things that could ever happen to me.

From the first kicks to the first kiss, I loved her. When she was in the womb, genderless and nameless, I knew I loved her and would protect her until the death of me.

I can finally relate to my own mother and the many things I've heard her say. All the things I wasn't allowed to do were forbidden out of pure love for me.

Now I'm the one saying it's bedtime or "no" to candy.

I simply want the best for mine. I was determined not to have a baby at a young age (though some may argue 20s is too young) because I knew I wouldn't be able to meet all her needs.

Armed with a college degree and my first job out of college, I was prepared to give this little girl all the world has to offer.

And now two years later, I still feel the same way. I'm amazed at this love I have. It's a love like no other.

I didn't cry at any of my graduations.

But I did cry when I first held my baby girl in my arms.

After 9 hours of labor and a half hour of pushing, this gift was finally mine.

I vowed to give my baby the best which is why I strive to be the best.

My daughter will reap the benefits of my hard work.

That's my gift to her.

Happy Birthday, baby girl.

Black Woman, You Can Cry...

When we think of black women, one word often comes to mind. Strong.

From day one, we’re taught to be proud. We’re taught to be determined. We’re taught to be strong.

But no one taught us how to cry and laughing was also skipped over.

My grandmother used to have a saying when we were too loud or being too silly.

“Girls are to be seen, not heard.”

(Then she changed the “girls” to “kids” so this may really been her way to get kids to shut the hell up.)

But growing up how many of us have been scorned for acting too silly? What goes for black kids definitely did not go for white kids. They could play in the stores. It was deemed “cute.” Black kids playing in the store are terrors.

Historically, black women couldn’t cry nor laugh. Our families were being ripped from us and we had to be strong—strong for the family we still had left.

And now that hardness is still prevalent in black women of today.

We don’t believe love is for us. We don’t need a man because majority of the men we’ve dealt with have done us wrong.

Plus thugs don’t cry. Right?

Bullshit.

Every girl has cried over her first crush. You know the story. You like the cutest boy in the class but for some reason he never notices you or if he did it wasn’t the happily ever after fairytale you thought it would be.

Nonetheless, most black women seem to forget those tears in their adult years.

Look at the Facebook statuses…

“Fuck niggas. I’m getting money.”

“Never do I need a man for anything. I’m solo for life.”

“All I need in this world is me and my kids.”

This should be a serious wake-up call for not only black men but black women, too. There’s a culture of disdain among black women of today. Hate. Non-love.

This isn’t about the stereotypical “mad, neck-rolling black woman.” We’ve already attacked and destroyed that image.

This is the “I’m too hard to cry—too hard to love black woman.”

Black women, if you’re in love, it’s OK. Why is love not for us? Why is every other woman in the world worthy of love but we’re not?

Because of the undying strength and dedication we show, we deserve love and should crave it.

How sad is it to know there really are people in the world who do not know what it feels like to be loved.

Don’t let a false image get in the way of happiness.

You’re a woman. You like flowers. You like nice things. You like to be held. You like soft kisses on your forehead.

It’s OK.

You want to be loved.

Love really does conquer all.

What I Really Think of Kim & Kanye

It’s the classic tell-tale sign that white is still seen as right in the black community’s eyes. We hate to admit it but we do have a complexion bias.

Long hair is better. Lighter skin is better.

Which is why a woman who seems to have NO morals is sought after like the freshest pick from a fall harvest.

Kim Kardashian was only made famous when something that’s private and intimate for most people without three Xs as a last name was made public. The infamous sex tape with Ray J.

As a Kanye West fan I’m disappointed. When he hit the music scene he had a gorgeous black girl but somewhere along the journey she was dropped.

Then he made a no name stripper into a celebrity. Would Amber Rose have been chosen if she had a darker tint?

Now Kim Kardashian is Kanye West’s newest girl. But there’s nothing new about her.

We’ve seen Kimmy’s cakes and all her goods. Most men not looking for a serious relationship would drop a woman once he gets those goods.

Thanks to Ray J, pretty much every man in America has at least somewhat an idea of what Kim is like in the bedroom.

But yet she’s still a hot commodity.

Are we going to ignore the fact that she is essentially the whore of the entertainment industry?

Nevermind the sex tape.

Nevermind the multiple failed relationships.

Nevermind the two failed marriages—one that didn’t even last a full year.

While she’s not a white woman, she’s not black and it’s unnerving that our black men are gawking over this woman.

Don’t take it as hate. She’s a beautiful woman that in my opinion has made bad choices-- all which were done under the public’s watchful eye.

But this is more about black men.

Why is she more worthy of your love than a black woman?

Why is she more likely to turn your head than a black woman?

There are black women who are built just the same if not better, but those women are treated as nothing more than sexual objects.

Kim Kardashian is a renowned goddess.

A black woman with the same track record as Kimmy wouldn’t get the time of day when it comes to being respected. Hell, a woman can be with one man and automatically considered a hoe.

It’s hard to say what has our men so blind to the beautiful, unique, curvaceous women already in their backyards.

Why is it they will break their necks for a non-black woman but won’t even lift a finger for the women that look like their mothers, grandmothers and aunts?

Maybe the men can enlighten me.

Any takers?

Every Man Needs an Heir. Or Heiress?

Just like I suspected it’s a GIRL.
I guess you can say my motherly instincts have already started kicking in. (just joking)
Nontheless there it was clear as day on the ultrasound screen that my boyfriend would not be getting the little male cub he had envisioned he’d have. He’d instead have to settle for Nala. And then I sadly thought of how there would be no football games or catch outside or wrestling in the living room. Daddy would have to opt for princess pageants, tea parties and ballet class.
That made me worry.
Doesn’t every man want a little man of their own? Since the beginning of time, a male heir has been important. History shows that. King Henry VIII of England had his wife Anne Boleyn executed after she failed to give him a male heir to take over the thrown. There’s always an abundance of chinese girls availalbe for adoption since the country have a one child per family policy, and boys of course are desired more. Now there’s also the option of babies by design, and I’m quite sure boys are number one on the couple’s list. But I could be wrong.
It still made me think and after thinking about it, it all came back to “everything happens for a reason,” which I do strongly believe in.
Taking proper care of one woman is hard enough. We see that on the regular. Men not being faithful to the women in their lives, trying to take on more women, when all along he can’t maintain the one he has. There’s also the man that has one woman but doesn’t respect her or love her. So if one woman is difficult, two women must be a monstrosity of a task. And yet God has entrusted him to take on this task. God has trusted him to not only take proper care of me, but more importantly take proper care of his daughter, who will need him more than I ever will.
So maybe an heir isn’t all that important. Besides he’s been blessed with an heiress to raise.

A New Me

It's been months since I've updated my blog and that's because life sort of got in the way. Working 40 hours a week as a reporter, can be tiring. (I can't imagine working more hours like most reporters normally do) My weekends are usually spent, laying around the house, doing absolutely nothing constructive.

But come very soon even that will change. I'm embarking on a journey many women before me, and many women after me will embark on.... The journey to motherhood. That's right. I'm pregnant. Surprised? Yeah, so was I when two pink lines showed up on the home pregnancy test I'd taken.

I thought the test was wrong; wasn't sure if I wanted it to be or not. And now 22 weeks later, here I am with a very pregnant belly occasionally feeling little thumps from a very busy baby.

A million thoughts, questions, scenarios run through my mind on a regular basis. Before ever really feeling any movement I often wondered if something really was inside of me or was every tests in that box defective. Now that I feel him/her moving, I try to imagine what he/she is doing, how he/she is moving and why. Not knowing the gender of my baby isn't the only big question racing through my mind. Like most parents-to-be, I wonder if my baby will look like me and act like me or more like his/her daddy. I imagine conservations we'll have when my baby is all grown up. I probably imagine and think about everything possible!

But there is probably one thing that baffles me the most, how is it possible to love someone so much despite ever meeting them?

Love Don't Live Here Anymore...

People walk in your life & back out again... Everything happens for a reason though. But why? Why can't I live my life full of the bliss portrayed everywhere else but in my sad little world? Love is a strange thing. It can build you up & tear you back down in seconds. 4 tiny little letters made into a powerful word, a word paired with 2 others that can be a dramatic sentence when heard. But how real is this so called concept of loving another and giving them your all. Taking the good, the bad, and ugly regardless of anything because you love this person. I've loved. I've been loved. I've lost love. So is love really worth all the tears, heart aches, pain? YES. Love is pain and through all the rain & pain there is joy. Joy with having someone love you for you, all your flaws & mishaps. Joy knowing that when you wake up in the morning, somebody is waking up somewhere thinking of you, too. Love is the joy felt when you're with your significant other. The joy of love gives you a sense of purpose. Though we will never fully know our purpose on this earth, being in love gets us one step closer to realizing this destiny. Once in love, we live our lives for one another. We laugh harder & cry harder with our significant other in mind. Nothing but our significant other comes to mind. Love is an instinct of humans. We live for love, we die for love.

Hate

My heart burns black
From
Loneliness.
Isolation
Runs through my
Blood
As I stare at your
Broke picture frame.
The frame that told
Broken
Lies.
I look at the smile
That was once
My
Sunshine.
It's
Now
My
Cold
My Hate
But worst of all
My
Defeat.

Temptation

Temptation came to visit me last night.
Fine & young--a real black man that knew how to treat a black woman right.

First, he kissed me long & hard. Then he kissed me short & sweet.
Totally submissive, I simply laid there entangled in the black satin sheets

All while knowing he was too much for me to handle.
But I loved him with a passion, I was in love with my midnight vandal.

I tried to not let him overtake me, I tried my best.
But the sexy twinkle in eyes had gotten me undressed.

His distinct voice whispered sweet nothings in my ear,
Telling me of all the things a woman would want to hear.

Once our lovemaking session was over,
The love in my eyes was gone and I became sober.

Temptation left as quick as he came,
Leaving me alone, naked and ashamed.