My First Mother’s Day…

This is going to take me a while to write.  It’ll be posted by Sunday though, so I can be on time.

This one is surreal.  I think that it won’t really MEAN anything to me until it means something to Athena.  The real joy in celebrating mother’s day is people who recognize that you’re their mother.  And while I think she thinks I’m a very nice lady that mostly helps her go to sleep, kisses her incessantly, plays with and feeds her – I don’t know if she KNOWS that “Mother” is who I am.

Plus I always had it in my mind that I would somehow be celebrating along side Mom… and maybe even Grandma.  After mom died, Mother’s Day in 2009… i basically went into hiding for the day.  I didn’t want to see any advertisements or specials on TV.  I didn’t want to walk the street to be amongst the throngs of families going to church or brunch with mothers and grandmothers.  I replayed various mother’s days in my head that I’d spent with my two mother figures all my life.  I remembered pinning red carnations on my dad’s lapel for mother’s day all my life, until that one mother’s day that I pinned a white one for him.  And he lamented the loss of his mom…  After that day, I just wrote mother’s day off.  I’d send Tante Sisi some flowers to say Happy Mother’s Day so that she didn’t feel alone.  But personally – i wouldn’t do much else.   The futility behind trekking to the cemetery and staring up at the box with my mom and grandma’s names… is empty to me.  The are NOT there. And that isn’t where I can go to visit them.  But I have no where else.  All the times we celebrated.  All the cards and balloons and gifts we’d given to celebrate who they were in our lives.  Marred with the remembrance of unearthing the HUGE envelope full of cards  — every card – we’d ever given them – after they died.  They kept every one.  And when we wrote them… we NEVER imagined EVER getting them back one day.

So although the first one… it’s bittersweet.  Just in time for mother’s day though, the cherub is practicing how to SAY “Ma”.  And for the haters / rainers on my parade.  No – she isn’t saying “Mama” and maybe it sounds more like “muuuh” than “ma”…  but it is MUSIC to me.  So. Take that.

All for the Cause… but what about my ego?

It’s been about 4 years since I decided to do the big chop (june 21st 2008). Unlike for most, it wasn’t a “life changing” decision for me. It’s not something I mulled over for months while carefully transitioned. I was in the midst of a bad few years stress wise. Planning my wedding. Daddy dying. Mommy sick (and ultimately dying). Between teh stresses of what I was doing to my hair for the wedding (putting in weaves and what not) and the sheer intensity of everything going on in my life, my hair was falling out. It was thinning. I was pretty miserable. After the wedding and daddy’s passing, I took to wearing wigs to cover the gaping bald spots in my hairline. They were right at the front and on the crown of my head. I tried to keep the hair underneath permed, but the shedding that was taking place made it impossible for me to actually showcase my own hair and feel proud. One saturday morning I woke up with my laundry list of items to do and turned to that wig. It was summertime. I’ve ALWAYS hated things living on my head for the entirety of a day (wigs, weaves, hats… you name it). I turned to Earl and stared at him while the thoughts went through my head – I’ve always wondered what my natural texture would be like. Even when I was natural before my first perm in the second grade, Mom and Granny took to hot combing my hair. So all I knew was the coarse “straight” that they’d managed to tame my tresses into. But I had mused with my fingers on my needing-a-touch-up scalp and felt bouclettes of pretty, strong hair. I would always want to twist them around my fingers and play with them but they were deep at my scalp hidden by the lye treated ends of my hair. What would be so bad about finding out what it’d look like if I cut it? If I didn’t like it, I could just perm it again – it’ll be like a fresh start, I said. And with that thought I opened my mouth and said, “Earl, I’m going to go cut my hair off… I’m done with this wig and can’t take it anymore.” He looked back at me squarely and said, “Are you sure?” and I said… Yes. “Yes, I need to do it now before I lose my nerve.”  He shrugged and said, “I’m all for it.   Just don’t come back here with a haircut shorter than mine.”  I laughed and made a b-line for the door.

I’d found a natural hair salon in the general vicinity that was willing to a) take walkins b) not rape my wallet for what I wanted to do and c) was open on that Saturday.  I sat down in the chair in front of what I would learn later was the owner of the establishment and said, “Please cut off all the permed portions.”  She fingered through my hair and examined the strands section by section and then said, “Are you sure?  It’s going to be really short.”  ”I’m fine with that, ” I replied.  She verified my absolute certainty with this decision about 3 more times before she put a scissor to my hair.  2 hours of deep steam heat conditioning, washing, cutting and styling with Kinky Curly… I emerged.  Natural.  Curly.  Short.  and Pretty.  I was pleased.   I had always held on to my long hair because it hid / disguised my waddle and imperfections on my face that I was positive greeted everyone more than my smile and my eyes.  But I exited the salon extremely happy with my decision.  I got looks and winks in the street from my new found swagger.  My coworkers at the time gave me a standing ovation in the morning meeting that following Monday when I walked in.   (Although I think that was moreso because of the braveness to cut my hair so short.  Not the fight-the-power-black-power-struggle represented in my T.W.A. (teenie weenie afro, for the uninitiated).  I felt great about my decision.

The winks and looks in the street died down as I went through “the awkward stage” where I was fro-like… but he length was… well… in between Angela Davis fro and short cropped pretty.  I learned my natural texture was what I’d always wanted.  Tight curls of strong hair that cascaded around my scalp.  I took great glee in spending hours touching and twirling them.  Once past the awkward stage, my hair “fell”  - in a good way – it had weight enough to “hang” so this made my umgawa black powah acceptable for my sisters in the struggle because it was napptural and for the 2520′s because it was “long”.  I was happy.  I could be myself.   Not be a part of the collective race that alters themselves for acceptance.  That totally didn’t sit well with me ever.

When I was pregnant with Athena… between the hormones and a few experimentations with heat to straighten out my follicles my texture just wasn’t what I loved anymore. So right before I gave birth to her – on June 21st 2011, did my 2nd big chop.  This time it wasn’t quite as short because I could actually control how much I wanted to cut this time.  It was all natural – I just wanted rid of the damaged portions.  Holleration in the street had died down significantly but I thought it was due to the weight I’d put on from the baby (even though some cats would holler when I was full on visible preggers).  But I just chalked it up to being fat (but happy) that I didn’t really get noticed.

Then this weekend came.  I needed to travel to Las Vegas for a big radio convention and thought that it was best for my networking purposes to straighten out my tresses.  This time I knew better than to go to the mamis that had administered 14 kinds of heat to my head that time that permanently damaged by texture.  I went to Fatmiot and she hooked me up.  My hair was longer than I thought  it would be and it was thicker than it had been before.  That was the texture change brought on by the pregnancy.  I was happy.  Didn’t care for the burnt hair smell that followed me around, but knew it was temporary.

I walked out into the street and it was like the doors for holleration flew open.  ”Hey mami lookin good!”  ”What you need to day baby what can I do for YOU?”  ”Oooh… I see you girl… them AKAs always FINE”… and I thought to myself… so……. it’s not the weight???? Cause I’m still fat, tho.

So I wonder… I’m here advocating for us to just be ourselves.  Enjoy what grows out of us, JUST the way it grows and not feel beholden to having to alter it in order to be accepted.  And I’m for sending that message by being an example.  But do I have to forsake being admired like a woman so long as I do that?  The rest of the world is so colonialized that they can’t see the beauty in my natural hair?  I’m only pretty permed / straight?    I’m truly confused now.  Even the hubby referred to my hair as “chic” and reached up for a handful of it.  He claims that he touches my natural hair  too, but mostly when I’m asleep (huh?)… but this formation of my hair got that tangible attention  while I was wide awake.

My biggest concern is  how to I tell the most beautiful human being I’ve ever laid eyes on that what is growing out of her head is perfect and beautiful and divinely engineered by God to protect her head and crown her and frame her face – if I go back to straightening it for my own selfish ego?

*

Regret.

It’s not an emotion I admit to having. Mostly because in life, I have not really needed to feel it. Every decision I have made, right or wrong has brought me to this very point. I am the woman I am today because if every mistake, triumph and silly idiosyncrasy. I don’t rebuke that. I am, lately, dealing with an unusual feeling that has me missing my younger days…. Finding that I wish I had mor if the knowledge of myself then as I do now. How much more powerful and respectful I would be of what I was capable of… Instead of wasting it away on people and times that didn’t deserve it.

I came up with a theory this past week that in the future we did indeed learn to finally time travel. And you know how in all the sci fi movies they say that you should t change anything when you go back? Leave it as is or you’ll change the future. Well, folks didn’t listen and for every change they made, a new alternate reality was born. Massive amounts of us going back and changing the seemingly pivotal one thing that would have made us….. Different? Better? More successful? More sure? Less fearful…. Peeling onion skins off of time…. Making new strains of reality. Not a complete overhaul of my previous theory that for every choice tree there is a version of us that made the other decisions. The ones our present selves didn’t chose and there spawned a new reality.

But even the one horrid blemish on my past gave me a truth and foundation that is UNSHAKEABLE. God

spoke

to me. Just as plain as day. I needed no middle men or soothsayers. Just HE and I. If I had not had the most challenging dilemma of my life…. would there have been the opportunity for that?

I can’t regret anything. And if I see regret coming in my action (or non action) in the near future, I must act accordingly. No more sitting back and letting life wash past. I can’t feel like I am living my live through a glovebox anymore.

I have to FEEL again.

*

Don’t belong

So I am back to feeling this way about the world.

I used to feel it a lot in elementary school. That I wasn’t from this planet. Couldn’t be. The things people did to each other and found acceptable were BEYOND me. I didn’t think I was being idealistic or seeing the world through rose colored glasses. There were some seriously fundamentally backwards things that were passing for normal behavior that I couldn’t bring myself to be down with the group-think on.  But underneath all of that was the longing to find a friend.   Admittedly, I was looking for a particular kind of friend.  The inseparable type.  The ones that you’re always on the phone with or always texting.  The one you automatically think of when you have an opportunity to experience something with a +1.  The one who you’d never miss any big event of theirs to be with them.  The ones who know your family well enough that your parents asked how they were doing because they knew you were joined at the hip.  The one that you didn’t have to catch up on anything because they were 100% “up” on everything going on with you and vice versa.  When given the opportunity, I (think – I have to qualify that all this may be in my mind) that I always try to be that friend in the hopes of some reciprocal action.  But throughout life, I’ve found that the ability to remain consistent really eludes a lot of people that I’ve crossed paths with.  And I can submit that I may have made mountains out of molehills – dubbing “friendships” where there weren’t really any, just to satisfy my need to feel like I did find something along the lines of what I was seeking.  Alas at 37, I still don’t have THAT kind of friend I was looking for.  I have great friends though.  People who really care and I really love and I know they love me.   But weeks can go by in between communique.  Sometimes months.  There’s always catching up to do.  I’m positive I don’t know their favorite artists so when they come by the station or we have access to tickets I know to call on them first as I’m sure they don’t know my favorite color or the name of the town I grew up in.

So of course, in analyzing all of this I realized that the issue HAS to be me.  I have to be the piece that doesn’t fit if I’ve not fit for so long with so many.  Tonight on the drive home after being hurt… again… by more people I let believe were friends (and actually, I blur the line between co-worker and friend way too often and it has ALWAYS gotten me in to trouble like this) I realized that it is because I hurt too deeply.   I invest so much emotion into people who come in to my life in the hopes that maybe they’re “the one” that I leave myself completely wide open to whatever hurt they may purposefully or inadvertently inflict.  And from past experience… I don’t LIKE hurt.  I don’t really appreciate it when it happens… and I close myself off to it.  So if you’ve hurt me… your opportunities to hurt me again will become very few and extremely far between.  But maybe everything hurts me that isn’t what I expect.  Maybe that’s unfair.  There are some things that I can’t look past.   You ALWAYS help your friend… no matter what.  That’s what  friend is.  You NEVER betray your friends and tell their business to people who are strangers to them.  You don’t impose that your friend does more for you than you’d do for them unless you’re willing to step up and meet them at their actions.  If you go so far as to accept an apology from a friend – then you HAVE to actually forgive – don’t keep treating them like a felon in your life boxed off in a corner for you to choose when to and when not to deal with them.  That isn’t real forgiveness.  You DO extend common courtesies to friends the same way you would appreciate them in similar situations.  It just takes a second to think “hmm… I wonder if ______ would want ________ to happen” or “I think I’ll give ______ a call and let them know about ________.  They may want to know.”  Your friends who have passed on from this world should NOT hold more importance than the ones that are right here with you still.  It sends the message that they need to be dead to be appreciated.  But more and more, I see folks kind of caught up in their own thing.  Not really thinking about anyone but themselves and the things that directly affect them.  This society is allowing for that more and more.  And I’m still of the mindset that the person on the train with me may have had an excruciating day so maybe I don’t need to play my video games with sfx blaring or shouting at my friend in the next seat.  I’ll let this person cut in front of me because they have to drive somewhere just like I do.  I will move out of the path of the escalator when I get off because I’m cognizant that there are people behind me that need the path to be clear.

Maybe I just need to be more selfish.  But I would have to train up to that point.  I am truly NOT there…  But it seems to be required for emotional survival here.  The more I think about turning inward… the more I see images of my mom… alone.  Letting the TV watch her.  Never going anywhere, while dad went everywhere.  No friends.  No confidants (besides my godmother … well… maybe that was her inseparable friend).  And again the path I chose in order to avoid a destiny is the one leading me to it…

I should probably just accept it and stop crying already.

*

All in my air…

it’s not a typical Friday for me.

I usually ride down Park Avenue, blasting the Breakfast Club because they’re playing all the celebrate Friday songs.  I’m usually done up something fierce waiting to take over the world or at least make folks think that I already own it all when I strut myself down the street.  I get to work and there’s an air of excitement for the weekend… a little “fuck it” in everyone’s system… a little more cash in everyone’s wallet… It’s usually good.

But….

For no reason I can really point… I am truly sad today.  About everything.  I’ve had tears welled up in my eyes all morning.  I’ve been staring off into nothingness if I’m allowed to do so for minutes at a time.  I am so displeased with this life right now.  The “how did I get here” and “what happened to my youth” and “I’m so lonely” are ganging up in my head to torture me to death today.  It’s a death I’d welcome – if it would just mean the end of feeling like THIS.  This lack of fervor.  This absent feeling.  This passionless void.  Once you’ve had a life full of passion… it’s extremely hard to adjust to one without.  I dare say impossible because I haven’t found a way to make it fit yet.  I need to find some.  This is my addiction.  A project to consume my every thought.  Someone to kiss me on my neck.  A cause I would die for.

My daughter? While I love and would do anything for her that she needs… can’t be that.  I’ve seen what that does to mothers and then in turn to the baby.  There needs to be something to diversify it all.  Plus, it’s different.  I wish I could explain.

I just hope to stop crying soon.   A word or two from mom would have done it.   Because I knew she felt like me and it gave me hope that she lasted as long.   Makes me wonder about growing old, then…. are they all just numb?

I just want to feel something.

It’ll pass.

*

Bare

So… I’ve never had a Brazilian.

I have many friends that have… I have friends that have trusted salons where they KNOW them like a regular a la “Norm” from Cheers that have repeatedly recommended where they frequent in order to get me to take the plunge.   But when I get my eyebrows waxed… and thusly tweased for the hairs that were missed… I cannot FATHOM what kind of tear jerking pain would emerge from a) a total stranger (most likely a woman) at close proximity to my lady parts b) HOT sticky wax being applied to said lady biology c) vigorous rubbing of a cloth strip against the hot sticky wax that is now slathered on to lady business by the hands of previously mentioned total stranger and d) la pièce de résistance – the quick, aggressive YANK of the cloth strip, with the hot sticky wax adhered thusly dispatching HUNDREDS of hairs in unison out of what is pretty much THE most sensitive part of me ever.  For years this scenario played out in my mind and ultimately I said -ummmmm no thanks.   But everyone raves about the results.  Smoothness, no snagginess, ease of … many functions… and of course the most powerful reason – the menfolk LOVE it.  Normally the last reason would have sufficed but with the regard I hold THAT part of me… i’d need more justification.

And then I didn’t.  I was tired of waiting for the right time (because I was told there was a specific time of month that you’re less susceptible to pain than others) or to find the right salon (I’d heard about a salon that used cold wax and instead of stripping it away they cracked it and it would miraculously and painlessly take away all your hairs  – yeah right).  So as I was sitting at my desk on Monday I said… you know what?  fuck it.  I stood up, put on my coat, grabbed my phone and announced to my girls that I had an appointment to attend.  All the while in my head there’s a grand debate going on “wait… is she really going to do it?”  “Um…  yeah… it looks like… it… has she lost her mind?”  “Have you really considered the consequences?  the repercussions?  the PAIN?”  I shook my head and cleared the thoughts like an etch-a-sketch and marched to the salon where I normally get my manicures and pedicures.   It’s as good a place as any.  They advertise Brazilians…  they make you pay for it…. they MUST know what they’re doing.  Plus… like… how many surgeries have I had?  And managed all of them w/o the use of morphine, Vicodin or Percoset?  And also too?  I pledged.   I can do this.

I walked into the boutique and they all greeted me and started out saying “spa pedicure”?  I looked the woman dead in the eye and said, “No… I? am here today for a Brazilian.”  *cue the tumbleweed and “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly” Theme song.*  “A Brazilian?”, they echoed.  And I straightened up and said “yes.”  (all the while re thinking it like…. maybe this is my chance to say – noooooo… no really?  a spa pedicure is fine…”)  A shorter Latina woman emerged and said, “come with me” and I walked boldly to the back of the salon where the waxing rooms were.  I expected it to be this huge room (to allow for the spreading of longer legs and stirrups and well… I guess I was expecting a hospital operating room.  I mean… they’d need that much light and space and time and attention for something so critical…. right?  Nope.  It was a closet with a cot and a few accoutrements that they’d need to get the waxing done.  The same room they’d put me in to do the eyebrow waxing.  “Get undressed from the waist down,” she instructed me and left the room.  I figured… there is no going back now…

Naked from the waist down, she knocked on the door and asked if I was ready.  I said yes.  She reemerged and I immediately told her, “This is my first time….”  she smiled and said, “Okay, lay down…let’s see.”  I laid back and she propped my right leg to the side to spread the way and said… “Oh… this is your first time….?”  Um…  I thought I just said that.  I seem to have this problem with everyone.  For someone who HATES repeating her self and in this instance least of all.   “Yep… Never waxed before… shaved… but no wax.”   She nodded and smiled at me and said, “It’s only really painful here and here” as she touched the top portion where the “landing strip” would go and the sides where the meeting between my thighs and that area crease.  I thought to myself… you mean… like… the LIPS aren’t the most sensitive portion?  Yeah right.  You gotta be kidding me…

Laying there spread eagle after she shook a generous amount of baby powder all over the area her next interaction was with the hot wax on the little tongue depressor…  WHOA – I didn’t even see it coming.  It didn’t hurt but I was shocked by the warmth.  Then she laid the cloth strip down, rubbed her fingers hard against it and then reached for the loose end.  I knew what was next… the rip.  I tensed up a little bracing for what I knew would be the worst pain I’d ever felt. ZIP!…….  oh…  that wasn’t so bad.  I mean.  It hurt.  But it wasn’t white hot lingering pain.  More like… scraped my arm initial pain gone, now just the warmth of all the blood rushing there is present.   And according to her, she started with the more painful portion she pointed out so the rest might be cakewalky in comparison.  I mean… it was all sting inducing but nothing that made me think that I might bleed or suffer beyond the initial rip.  She chatted with me about Theeny – it was obvious that I’d had a child – but she thought the lateral incision was why – but I had to point out the bikini cut (which must have healed wonderfully because she didn’t even SEE it).  Then the question about why the lateral cut…  And we chatted through the rest.  It was relatively easy.  I did feel like she went over a few parts WAY m ore than she needed to.  But the end result… was one with which I was pleased.    Aside from being told not to use soap on the area for the next two days (that’s a big hell no – she doesn’t know me at all)  the only other little hangup was the sensation that all the wax wasn’t gone.  But that happens when I get my eyebrows done.  There’s something that stops them from getting it ALL off for some reason.

So there.  I did it.  Now if I find one of these other mythical places that do Brazilians, it might be a step up in experience… or not.  But I’ve done it at all.  Checking it off on my list of things to do in life!

*

Pack Rat

I have this habit of keeping old notes and emails.

They’re great for nostalgia’s sake.  But they serve a few purposes for me.  One is in the same vein as what this blog does.  My memory fades.  I want to keep close the memoires that mean something.  So I write them down and I go back one day and read through and USUALLY say to myself “OH MAN!! I’d forgotten about that day!  Or hey… I’m not a half bad writer when I want to be.”

The second purpose is to help me corroborate what I DO remember.  And to qualify that I’m not all the way crazy.  That sometimes… it IS how I remember it… and I have notes from YOU to prove it.  That once upon a time you did fill my mind with thoughts that I have not been able to let go of since.  Thoughts of our friendship.  Thoughts of our dedication.  Thoughts of the fun we had.  Thoughts of the love we shared.  Thoughts that you considered me the tops and you thought I felt the same.   Thoughts of the family moments we shared.  Thoughts that we shared a LOT of the same principles.  Thoughts of us being drastically different but enhancing each other.   Not just loves and lovers, but friends, acquaintances, family…  Because it all changes so quickly.  At the drop of a hat it becomes something altogether different and I never can explain THAT part.  There really isn’t  a documentation of the change, necessarily.  Just only when it’s good.  And then again when it’s terrible and all the damage is done…

I just keep them to remind myself that I’m NOT crazy about it having been a good thing once no matter where it stands today.

*

Vengeance is Mine

I didn’t have an easy time as a kid. I was one of 3 or 4 black kids in a school full of latino and italian kids, and then I had the nerve to be smart on top of it all. I was a nerd and I was different and there was an awful lot of ostracization taking place in my adolescent world. I’ve reflected on it a few times in my blog and stated how it helped. Being so young and being unable to really find a clique of good friends that I could be myself around gave me a thick skin. I learned early on not to care about what other people thought really and to just take my own assessment of things, ideas and constructs the first and foremost. It was extremely lonely. I carry around memories of days that I wish didn’t take place because of how they made me feel. But the retribution of High School stays with me. All that build up and thick skinned-ness made me “the man” at Prep and I had a glorious experience then.

There were some people i could pin point as having been the ringleaders of my embarrassing days and moments of my youth. I remember wishing HORRID things upon them for the pain they were inflicting. My imagination would run wild with the mean things that I would carry out on them in this make-believe world. Not death ever – but just vices to them. It never occurred to me that I could or should enact any of that stuff on them. It was a release enough to use my imagination. Fast forward to adulthood – most of the people from elementary school who were these antagonists that I hated have friended me on FB and have met up with me for reunions and have gone on and on about how beautiful and successful they observe me to be. And that is enough for me. To have ascended above and beyond where they limited me in their limited minds as kids and fueled me to get to the highest heights I could reach. This was the ultimate pay back to me. And it is lasting. And comforting.

The lack of backbone / self love / vision / insight / imagination that has permeated this generation that makes them regularly plot and devise to pack up a gun, bring it to school and shoot into the crowd of their peers because they feel ostracized then potentially kill themselves or suffer imprisonment for the rest of their days is something I am really struggling to wrap my mind around. It is limited revenge. It is wrought with consequence. It is not actually satisfying because the punishment would take the sweetness away from it all (unless these kids are sociopaths – which I cant imagine that they are because if they were, kids razzing them wouldn’t make a difference at all). The skin these kids are being raised up in is so painfully thin….it is truly frightening.

I remarked to the hubby this morning that for a generation of kids raised in this whole “oh.. don’t hit your kids to discipline them” “corporal punishment is wrong” “put them in time out” frame of mind – two things have taken place in the fiber of these kids’ personalities: 1) they have this crazy thin skin 2) they only respect violence. So if you come at them with reason and rationalization they blow you off. They don’t have any real respect for authority or structure. But threaten to beat their asses or yoke them up and suddenly there is a glimmer of deference that surges up in their eyes. It is a total contradiction. I consistently think on the verse from the bible…. “Spare the rod and spoil the child”. Of course I don’t believe that they mean to brain the kid or lock them up in damp cellars for weeks at a time… which makes this the issue. It is all up to interpretation. And some people based on their experiences are horribly skewed to the extremes. But treating babies and kids like adults and trying to reason with them for everything removes the instillation of humility and respect for authority that used to be a backbone of society.

As I take this painstaking care to raise my daughter in such a way that would make my elders proud, news of kids whose parents didn’t care enough to do the same for running into an place of education and shoot just anyone makes me want to home school my baby. I think sometimes that I did a very terrible thing to her by bringing her into such a backwards place and hope that she makes it. We will give the foundation to her. But… regardless of foundation – how did that protect the innocents that were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

We are all entwined in this. My thoughts and prayers go out to the families of the children affected, hurt and murdered in the Chardon High School massacre.

*

Sad tonight….

So yeah – I finished the 40 days of fasting.  Did really good with it.  lost 30lbs (not that it makes a dent in ALLLLLLL of this) but I feel better.

Going to do it again for lent.  40 more days… in tandem with exercise… who knows what it could mean.

Night before daddy’s birthday.  Feeling a certain kind of way about he and mom and grandma being extremely distant memories that I only have flashes of.  half eaten memories to share with my cherub who will only think I’m telling stories about how  wonderous they really were in my mind.

I won’t say much….

Happy Birthday, Papy.  I miss you.  Kiss Mommy for me.  And hug Granny.  I know y’all get along now….

*

Day 19: thought I quit, huh?

Nope.

Seems like the only thing I quit was blogging for a second.  But here I am.  Done with the initial Clean Start Program (14 days of raw fruits and veggies and supplements)  Now I’m on day 5 of the Paracleanse (parasite cleanse) which is pretty brutal.  I’ve been reading on Curezone how folks on parasite cleanses really examine their stool.  I’m not about that life.  Sorry.  I’ll just need to trust that something is coming out because regular is just not the right word to describe how thorough everything has been.  I feel great though.  I’m down by 20lbs, so it’s like a pound a day which is alright by me.  Like I said, I know a LOT of it was water weight, but I’m glad it’s off of me.  I feel amazing internally and I think it’s starting to show on the outside.

Food cravings have scaled back a bit.  As I’ve gotten more adept to putting the right things in my salads and seasoning them just so, I want a deep batter fried cheesy burger less and less.  I had a salad yesterday that made me wanna slap myself.  It was GOOD.  Not an ounce of animal protein.  Just veggies and a ROCKIN’ dressing.  More and more I’m thinking about what I’ll do when the program is over.  How I don’t WANT to go back to my old friends Wendy and the Colonel and the like.  So I’ve decided that during the weekdays I’ll keep everything as I’ve been doing it.  More fruits and veggies than anything.  Maybe the occasional lean meat (preferrably fish, chicken and turkey; no reds) and I’ll leave Saturdays and Sundays to be my “cheat” days with one allowable cheat meal per day.  So that can allow for a brunch to be in there or a diner burger with some fries.  I think if I continue on that path, it can be a healthier life in general.

Went to the doctor and all my labs came back fine which made me feel great.  Of course my iron was on the low side of normal so I gotta get more iron into the supplements somehow.  But it’s refreshing to hear that despite how bad I felt and worried I am to make sure I extend this life, this amazing machine is chugging along.  I just am trying to get myself to a more attractive looking machine so Theeny has a mommy she’s proud to walk down the street with.

More change to come… more progress… I’m proud of me.  A lot of times I thought I might fold, but Earl helped me hold steady.  Bless him.  Cause I sure nuff chewed him out on some bs sometimes on GP that I was REALLY hungry and wanted BADNESS.  But he helped to see me this far.  Hopefully I can make it all the way out.   I had to stop by the Trini women at Greenleaf today to show that I’m still alive.  I used to get my “regular” breakfast from them every morning – 2 eggs, bacon & cheese on a toasted roll with butter and a large hazelnut coffee with milk.  So since fasting I had to cut them cold turkey.  They asked one of my co-workers yesterday if I’d been fired.  LOL  I felt so bad that I stopped by this morning to show them I was still around and not dead or unemployed.  They were genuinely happy to see me.  It made me feel so good.

Lots of good feelings!

*

Day 5: Add an all liquid day to that…

So I’m having a colonoscopy tomorrow so today to push the all fruit and veggie fast I’ve been doing through the damned envelope, I’ve had an all liquid diet all day.  I did really well I think.  Had countless glasses of water and for lunch I had the broth from some wonton soup.  Now I’m on this bowel prep and I’ve never felt so EMPTY.  All I can think about is how hungry I am.

The interesting / insightful thing to all of this is that the KINDS of food I’m thinking about eating aren’t the ones that I would normally sit and have for my meals.  I didn’t eat HORRIBLY… I stopped being as active ore eating as regularly.  I admit the last 4 months after the baby, I’ve gotten in chummy with the fast foods.   But aside from that, I try to pick healthy stuff.  Lean things.  But those aren’t the things I’m craving now in the fast.   Now? I want all the fatty amazingness that probably got me to the size I am.   It’s really just got me thinking about what I eat… how I eat… when I eat it and if I really want to keep going down that path.

I cheated a little yesterday, admittedly.  I had some wilted spinach and a baked potato with butter.   I know… I rationalized that I was going to do the bowel prep today and it would clean me out anyways  but… i gotta tell you… that little bit of something carried me right through today when I was drinking nothing but water.

Okay… on to day 6 and the colonoscopy *shudder*

*

Day 2 – Cleansing Fast…

Well… Day 2.

I didn’t find myself to be as hungry as I imagined. But I’m not doing a dry fast.  I’m still ingesting fruits and veggies.  I saw a video series of a woman who did a 60 day water fast *faints*.  That’s seems like doing the MOST.  The results were pretty impressive.  In 60 days she lost about 50 lbs.    No word on whether she kept it off.  But you can see for yourself:

yeah… she smacks her ass a lot… dunno…

I drank lots of water.  Took all my supplements.  Suppressed the wishing it was day 14 already (not for any one particular reason – because I’ll still be fasting.

Tomorrow, I will join the gym downstairs from my job and get this POPPIN’ for REAL.

Okay.  Sleep time.

*

Day 1: 2012 = It’s a New Dawn

Happy New Year!!!

Well, last year definitely was one for the books.  So much goodness came out of that year.  So many realizations.  So much growing into my own skin.  Of course the highlight is the birth of my sweet baby daughter.  My first born.  The miracle I’d almost given up on.  She has come to life and transformed me.  This entire post … nay the entire blog can be about the ways she’s saved me.  And it will be.  But today’s blog will be about this new year right here.  There’s much to be accomplished and so little time (well… that’s not fair – we get a whole extra day this year LEAP!)

I want to focus on some keys here:

1)  LOSE AT LEAST 60 LBS – yeah.  60.  it’s gotten that bad.  They weighed me at the doctor and I was mortified.  I really let it all go after the baby.  I actually looked GREAT after I had her – for those first 2 months… i was moreso slender than I’d been prior to the pregnancy.  Then I went back to work… and it all went down hill.   Wendy, Ronald, Popeye, Papa John and the Colonel to name a few became regular household visitors… and the weight just piled and piled and piled.  That’s enough now.  With folks around me dying at 42… at 32…  at 27….   I have more reason than ever to try to extend this life for this little girl.  A 65 yr old endpoint isn’t an option AT. ALL.

2)  SET DOWN THE CAREER PATH – there’s some stuff taking place that lets me know that this is the last (or may be the 2nd to last) place I ever work “for”.  The path needs to be laid out that i will work for myself and benefit MY family.  I’ve been saying it for a while, but I’m moreso ready than ever.  I gotta make it happen for me.

3) WORK ON THE SON – while there are many smaller steps to this one, I need to get my mind and body ready to birth my 2nd child.  I am putting it into the universe to give me a son.  Because if I can have my boy and my girl, I will quietly go to Dr. Kofinas and tell him to pull the whole system OUT.   I’ll be done for real.

4) HOME – there will be somewhere I can call “HOME” … a house of our own… no one living above or below.   Us as owners and to follow our own thoughts and rules. PERIOD.  This is a ONE YEAR PLAN… and needs to be.

Those are the pivotals.  And I’ll figure out the sub to-dos in the coming weeks, while I’m pining away for some meat or fish LOL  But if I can make it through this 30 day fast…. I believe that this year will be all I can make it and more.  I just have to show myself that I have the will, courage and steadfast ability to get it done.

Day one of the fast … well… yeah.  This morning, I “cheated” – not really a cheat cause I hadn’t started the fast yet.  Wanted to end it with a good remembrance.  So we went to the diner and had one last hurrah.  That was holding me over pretty good.  So the thoughts of the fast didn’t phase me.  “I can do this.”  “All I have to do is have alternatives to the crap I’d eat ready to go and I won’t stray.”  This evening around 9PM with a fridge full of bananas, pears, apples, V8 and water i craved HARD for some buttered popcorn.  Doesn’t seem so bad.  But this fast calls for raw veggies and fruits for 14 days at least.  The thought of just one kernel of popcorn melting in my mouth overtook me.  I used all of my innate lawyer skills to lobby FOR the idea of making the bag of popcorn to my husband who stood firm against the crashing waves of my desire.  (Thank GOD for him)  I resigned myself to drinking the whey protein drink that goes with this fast and that held me over.  And then I had a pear and made it my bitch and ate the hell out of it.  Now I sit here assessing how I feel and wonder if I’ll ever stop being hungry.   I didn’t realize it was this bad.  But I can’t go back to the way I was eating before.   I literally FELT my system being gummed up.  As I was telling my Icy this morning – I feel stuffed like a doll.  That has to change… post haste.  So… I’ll have to get used to this hunger feeling.  And maybe as a result… also get used to the feeling of really LIKING what and who I see in the mirror.  My mother-in-law did everything short of raising her hands up in a hallelujah when I announced that my fasting started today.  Man.  *smh*

So Day 1… more like day .75 down.  29.25 days to go.

*

Used To

“Just a trace of your existence to grasp” – Mariah Carey Vanishing

I’m making this list so that I can be fully reminded how I got here and why.

You used to BRING me flowers.  You thought sending them was so impersonal.
You used to invite me to events to be with you / to be seen with you.
You used to see me several times a week because you wanted to.
You used to invite me to stay the night.
You used to marvel at the new things that you’d learn about me after knowing me so long.
You used to LOVE when I laid my head on your shoulder when we would drive – you decided to marry me one day while I did that.
You used to get goosebumps from my touch / kiss because it was special.  Now it happens because it’s rare.
You used to wear that rare cologne for me because you knew it would drive me crazy.
You used to ask me to dance in our living room.
You used to make a huge deal out of my birthday because you knew that my birthday was a huge deal for me.
You used to have stars in your eyes when you’d see me.
You used to wrap your hands around my waist and pull me close and kiss me and make me feel like a little girl in love
You used to light candles and put on music before we made love.
You used to make love to me.
You used to ask me what I liked and disliked.
You used to share decisions with me instead of making coming to a consensus so hard that I would just acquiesce.
You used to hold my hand walking down the street.
You used to hold my hand driving in the car.
You used to sneak peeks at my blog and my facebook to know what I was thinking and call me on it cause you cared.
You used to encourage my poetry and my singing.
You used to care profoundly when I cried.
You used to offer to pick me up / drop me off from or to anywhere.
You used to want to impress me.
You used to wake me with kisses.
You used to wake me with music.
You used to fear losing me.
You used to fight for us.
I used to have your name in a separate folder on my IM list called “My Love”
I used to melt when you’d say my name.
I used to feel extra giddy coming down Midwood to your house, knowing I’d be in your arms.
I used to get all turned on from the sight of those arms and chest and neck and back and legs…
I used to feel so good about how smooth your skin is and how privileged I was to touch it.
I used to feel that extra grace was shared with me to find a love this strong because I’d messed up so many other times that I’d be forsaken.
I used to be able to talk to you about anything.
I used to be amazed at your math skill.  I told you it was what turned me on about you from the beginning.
I used to feel that I was really a catch for you.
I used to think of you first for all the things I wanted to go out and do and see and experience.
I used to consider you before we even dated… just regarded you from afar and wondered if we could work.
I used to stare at you and it made you uncomfortable.  But you were just that beautiful to me… and I couldn’t believe you were mine.
We used to be the couple that everyone envied and I didn’t question their judgement.
We used to make plans together of the fun things we would do
We used to explore the world together and discover new things.
We used to have genuine fun together.
We used to make each other laugh hearty belly laughs.
We used to like being together and looking forward to it.
We used to fall asleep together on the couch and enjoy cuddling.
We used to dream about the family we’d make.
We used to want to grow old together.
*

The Need for My Care

<RANT>

Sometimes… it is all about me.

In my own head, it used to be.  I used to know that if I didn’t think of me, that no one else really would.  So I had to MAKE SURE that at the very least?  I thought about me.  It’s the libra in me.  I’m constantly caring about other… sometimes I’d love for someone else to know how I’m feeling.  How life is treating me.  What I want out of this life.  What are the things that make me happy.  What are the things that make me sad… you know… stuff like that.

But what I find is happening increasingly is this… general lack of concern about how I feel.  About where I fit in.  About my general place in the world.

I am very  much feeling myself disappear a la Back to the Future.   I am feeling myself really being defined as an ancillary character in someone else’s main plot when I most CERTAINLY was the main character in my own life.

I make it a habit to ask the people around me if they are happy…. and if there is anything I can do to be making them happier.  What shocks me most is the lack of reciprocation in said question.  On some “thanks for asking” and keep it moving.  Well… what ABOUT me??  who besides me will ever care about ME and what I’d like?

Me, I guess.

So I’ll list a few things here that I feel, care about, wish for, miss, hate, like very much and that pertain to me wholly.  Whether anyone else gives a shit or not at this point is beyond me.  I give a shit.

I adore my daughter.
No, it does NOT bring me joy to see thousands of pictures of her playing with other people while I work extremely hard to make sure that she wants for nothing.
Yes, I want DESPERATELY to be “brought home” so that I can be her MOTHER and everyone else a bit part player.  I AM NOT LOVING being a supporting role in her life.  A walk on.  An extra.
I hate the confusion at my job right now. It is upsetting me.  I don’t like uncertainty and I’m tired of going through these processes at the places I work.  I would like some stability please.  For at LEAST 3 years before boats go a-rocking
I don’t like the family car.  Having my own car gave me a sense of individuality. I was able to tailor it to what I wanted it to be.  With me being solely responsible for it, it felt like there was something in this world that was truly mine.  This family car sucks… the horn works intermittently and it’s always dusty.  I haven’t melded with it the way I did with Deez.  I miss her.  I miss the “road trip” feeling I got when I got into that car.  I fear it’ll never come back.
I miss being desired.  I miss feeling like the most wanted and beautiful person in SOMEONE’s life.  I miss being chased after.  I miss being caught.  I miss making LOVE.  I miss being fucked.  I miss feeling like a WOMAN.
I hate thinking I have to hate the way I look.  I like my body.  I understand that this world is built for skinny people.  But I love my fullness.  I don’t like that it means that I may potentially die before everyone else.  But I think I’m fierce when I see myself in the mirror in the mornings.  I wish other people felt that way instead of looking at me like they want to offer me some advice.
I miss my mom.  I miss my grandma.  I miss my dad. I miss that undeniable sense of family that I used to have all the time.  The knowing that there were some folks in this world that UNCONDITIONALLY were loving me back.  I miss there feeling like there is a forcefield of protection around me fostered by my family.  I hate that the family is so segmented.  I hate that they all want to blame me for why we don’t speak anymore.  Phones work two ways.  I can’t ALWAYS be the one reaching out.   I hate that in my mind I have to kill those people off so the thought of how they’re treating me without ever interacting with me won’t keep hurting me.
I miss the fun that used to be associated with my sorority.  I miss the TRUE fellowship.  I miss that deep sisterhood.  I hate that I pay them to stress me out yearly.  I hate that they act like they give me a paycheck for the things I do.  I hate that they’ve taken away the little silly stuff that meant a LOT.  I’m really glad that I milked my experience for all that I could while I could and have great memories because I don’t believe I’ll make anymore like that to keep me going for much longer.
I hate feeling like I am disappearing.  It is the feeling that makes me feel MOST like my mom.  I know she hated her life if it weren’t for a few things.  I LOVE LIFE… I have to get back to that everyday.
I miss discovering new music that made me wonder what else there was out in the world beyond what I know.  That made me want to travel and meet new people and explore new experiences.  Everything sounds the same these days
I hate feeling put upon.  Everyone WANTS something.  No one cares what I want.
I hate that I need to drink to feel high these days.  I used to get that feeling just by living my life. (and drinking LOL)
I never felt more beautiful than when I was pregnant with Athena.  It was the very first time in my life I didn’t have to worry about my tummy poking out of my clothes.  It was actually welcome.  It was a serious denoument after her birth to go back to being criticized instead of celebrated.
I hate that I think my baby doesn’t know me.  She takes time to recognize me still sometimes.  (mostly when she’s tired).  But still… I want to feel like… her MOTHER… no higher title. the word for God on the her lips until she can learn other wise.  Not because i want to control her or dominate her… but because I remember the comfort of having someone like that on earth with me.

Well… that’s it for now.  I think I’ve made space in my head for some new thoughts.  I would normally insert the promise here to blog more.  But I just don’t care right now.

And that’s real.

</RANT>

*

So Natural

Everything about this feels … easy.
Loving her.  Caring for her. Being with her.

That’s life.
That’s the life I’ve been waiting for.
Praying for.
And I’ve just eased right in… Like I’ve always been doing this.
And it feels so right and so natural that anything but this?

feels foreign.

Laying there to nap with her and we breathe;
Sitting and cooing with her is instinctual.
Feeding her and feeling her caress my hand
Even the silly grin on her face when it’s time to change her.
All feels like this is where I’ve always belonged.
She knows me better than anyone ever has.
Inside and out.

This is the life.

The one I was waiting for.
I want for nothing more…

Well…

Maybe….

to do it all again next year….