Man, I feel like a Woman

I still remember that day first day. It was cool winter morning few months before I turned 12 and I woke up to go to school. I went to the bathroom only to find out that my time as a child was over. The next few minutes went like this:

Me - (angry whisper) Damn!. (yelling) Mommy!
Mommy - Oh...(looking concerned) I'll be right back.
Me - (waiting)
Mommy - When did this start?
Me - I woke up and it was there.
Mommy - You know what this means/is?
Me - Yeah.
Mommy - How much do you know about sex?
Me - Enough. (Talking to my mother about sex still makes my eyes burn. I have 2 kids and I would still pretend to be virgin if I thought I could get away with it.)
Mommy - Well, welcome to womanhood. (Tosses the pink package and closes the door.)

That was how "the talk" went down at my house. That was how we shared that mother-daughter milestone. I wish she had been there for me this morning when after almost 2 years (including being pregnant) I woke up much the same way I did that morning. I wish she could have helped me process my feelings of sadness and anger. I don't understand why a person who can't have babies should have a cycle. It is cruel and unfair. All the manure and none of the flowers.

To make my morning more interesting I had the pleasure of taking my LoLo to school twice this morning. I went to pay his enrollment, but did not intend for him to stay. He had a small meltdown when I told him we were leaving and the principal told him he could stay if he wore a costume because his mother did not have a uniform. (How was I supposed to know the store wasn't open on Sunday. I mean really it is a uniform store, not Chick-Fil-A. Even church is open on Sunday.) So, I drive home and return with to school with my cowboy. I did not get a picture of him at school because I was too scared to take one considering class starts at 8 and I interrupted the reading circle by showing up with "Sheriff Woody" at almost 9.

I think the cramping must have had me making faces because his teacher was very accommodating and nobody at work said anything to me about being over an hour late. Everyone has been all smiles and calm voices. You know what they say about wolves smelling fear, well, I think people here can sense when I am about to blow and they pull back just enough to prevent collateral damage.

Today was a day of FIRSTS. It is LoLo's first day at school (not a daycare, but an actual school). It is my first day back on the red wagon and it is the first time in a long time that I have not wanted to run screaming from my desk. Not bad for a Monday.

Will Work For Guilt

That is what my mother has figured out. She can get me to do almost anything by saying something like, "I just wish someone would help me," or "You are the only one I can count on." Sadly it works virtually every time. Most recently she got me to put up a glass tile backsplash in her kitchen. It looks really good and I am proud to say that I pretty much did it all by myself. (She did wipe off the excess grout and clean up the counters at the end.)

When my father came and told me I did a good job I poked my chest out a little with pride. I joked that the only reason I keep doing things for them is so that I can stay the favorite. (Not like the competition is so stiff.) I honestly just want my parents to enjoy retirement and the home that they live in. They have worked really long and hard to give my siblings and I better life and if I can install a new backsplash that she bought I will. (They brainwashed me so well. I encourage all parents to start it early. I already tell my son, "Nobody loves you like Mommy!")

My mother was so excited about not having to pay for a professional to come do the work, but I had to tell her that I cost way more than a professional if she thought about it. She paid for my elementary and junior high private school education. Clothes for me to wear when I went to public high school and a private Catholic college education complete with  out of state fees because I was not going to give up the chance to live on my own at age 17. She and Daddy bought my first car and put the down payment and final 2 payments on my current car. They paid for my wedding, helped with closing costs on our current home, bought both baby cribs and convertible bed pieces and have given me access to her Amex Platinum Card. I had to let her know that she may have by far the most expensive "glass" backsplash in the history of home renovations.

This is not to say that I don't work hard for my privileges. I put up with her meddling and make myself available despite the inconvenience it sometimes causes. The backsplash is just the beginning. No sooner than the last bit of grout was wiped off did she decide that I should resurface her counters this Sunday. She also dropped some hints about puttying the holes in wall where a shelf used to be. It is only a matter of time before she begins to question whether the cabinets would look better in a lighter stain.

I may have created a monster. You would think I am trying to get a show on HGTV! What would my show be called - "Sucker For Hire", "Mommy Dearest Renovations", "Guilt Trip". The possibilities are pretty endless, but, seriously, I am going to have to draw the line at jobs involving power tools.

1,500 Or Less

That is my daily calorie intake goal. Every day I check to see if my back fat is getting any smaller and I am proud to say that due to my new exercise regimen it is. WOO HOO! Now that I have my exercise thing going I need to focus on all the random calories that I ingest. I took one of those “Tailor Your Diet” surveys and was embarrassed to answer some of the questions even though I was the only person who could see my answers. The simple truth is that I eat too much.

I eat when I am hungry and when I am not. I eat when I am happy or sad. I eat when I am bored. I eat to stay awake at my desk. I eat because I don’t want to go to bed hungry. I eat because my son is eating. I eat because I don’t want his food to go to waste. I eat all the time. Looking back, I realize that I have always been that kind of eater, but the things that I eat now are totally different.

I used to eat and snack on fruit, veggies, yogurt, and other stuff like that, but after being diagnosed with UC and being put on a restrictive low fiber diet for almost a year I developed some terrible habits. There were days I used to long for a salad. I would have killed for some broccoli or spinach, but every time I tried I would get sick. So, after a while, I quit trying. My diet consisted of pasta, rice, bread and canned fruit. It was terrible. Now, I have been given the green light to eat all the fruit and veggies I once craved. I just don’t know how to go let go of the bad foods. They are my fall back. They are the foods that were there when I felt my crappiest and even though I still don’t want to eat them every day and begged the doctor more than once for to approve more vegetables I am scarred to let them go. But I am psyched to at the same time and I am honestly more excited than nervous.

So now, I am one a mission to replace my bad foods with good ones. I am going to get all those foods that I have been craving. I just made some asparagus which I can’t wait to snack on this afternoon.  I was all set to go and then Crazy Quinn shows up at my desk and says, “Someone told me that you will be available more to help us out at the front desk on Thursdays and Fridays.” WHAT? She cannot be serious. I must have given her the two-headed monster stink face because she then said. “You know, since your guys aren’t here…whamp…whamp…whamp”. To which I replied, “I will be in the office, but I still have things to do.” What kind of nerve does it take to ask me to go up there just because she and her little crew think they are too good? And why does everyone assume that I am not busy just because I don’t run around the office telling everyone how swamped I am and what I am doing? I don’t tell you I am too busy to talk because I actually am too busy to talk.

As if this was not bad enough, one of my bosses called me into his office to complain that I don’t give him enough notice regarding my vacation. He implied that it would be “common sense” to check with he and the rest of the group. I declined to remind him that when I started this job and asked about vacation everyone gave me the same answer, “Oh, just get it approved by Matlock” and that is what I have been doing ever since. What I did say was this, “I understand that you are pausing so that I can give you a response and that this supposed to be some kind of exchange, but it really does not matter what I say to you because I will never be right. So I am just going to respond with ‘Ok’, ‘I will work on that’ and ‘I understand’”. He did not seem to understand and then began to exaggerate about how I am not helpful despite being overqualified and probably bored. Then he tried to get me to say that I am bored. I might look stupid, but I am not and until the day I quit and deliver my “This is what I really think of you” speech will never admit to being anything other than enamored with my job.

After it was determined that his only request regarding vacation in the past was that I postpone celebrating my wedding anniversary, which I did, (Yes, I waited to celebrate my anniversary for this kind of treatment.) he went on about how they were depending on me and someone else had to set up and get it done. Mind you, the only thing he mentioned that this person did in my absence was make photocopies and mail envelopes. He paused. I asked if there was anything else. He said that was all. I immediately went to my coat and took my 2 best dollar bills out and headed for the vending machine.

“I can get at least 3 things with this” was my only thought. It was either the calories or my job because I could not risk what might come out of my mouth if I didn’t keep it busy. 1,500 will have to begin tomorrow.

Video Childhood

It may sound strange, but I remember my childhood being a lot like the New Edition video for “Cool It Now”. I remember the bright colors, hanging out at and around the park and just having a good time. I also remember some Slick Rick “Children’s Story” aspects, but overall it was great. One of the best visuals I can think of is LL Cool J’s “Around the Way Girl”. That is probably because he is unapologetically from Queens and brings that attitude to this song.

It is crazy the way that music can bring to life so many memories. Here are some of mine. I would love to hear some of your music memories.

1.       “I’ll Fly Away” – This song reminds me of high school because it is the song that our choir sang for everything. I remember we put on a concert at a church across the street from my house and we had to wear cream dresses with a gold lace top. It was itchy, but one of the best times I remember having in high school.

2.       “Real Love” – Mary J. Blidge basically bust on the scene as the Queen of Hip Hop Soul and even though nobody had a clue what that meant I knew she was singing everything that I had ever thought or felt and that I wanted to be fly like her. Not much has changed since junior high.

3.       “Slam”- All the boys in my junior high wanted be Onyx and I can still say the Sticky Fingaz verse by heart. “I’m a b-boy. Standing in my b-boy stance. Hurry up and give me the microphone before I bust in my pants…” The lyrics are deep, I know, don’t fight it. Just…just…SLAM!

4.       “Sweet Thing” The first time I heard this song was right before seeing the movie Malcolm X and it reminds me of that night and the anticipation I felt. It also reminds me of singing with Chyna in the salon while we waited to get our hair done.

5.       “Was it a Morning Like This” – This reminds me of riding in the car with my mom. I wanted to grow up and be Sandi Patti, until I realized she was white. Then, I decided I wanted to sing like her. (The same thing happened to me when I realized I could not be Doc Gooden or Daryl Strawberry because they were men. I should be grateful because changing that dream saved me a nasty drug habit.)

6.       “Let’s Get It On”/”Sexual Healing” – Unlike most people these songs remind me of my parents. The former is their wedding song and my dad would sometimes sing it when she was mad at him. The former is another song that reminds me of when we would all dance together to records in the living room. Even as I think about it now I visualize it in that weird sepia color.

7.       “Mama Said Knock You Out” – It reminds me of my brother and me walking to the park with music blasting from a boom box. That is right I said boom box.

8.       “Cars that Go Boom” – I remember singing this in elementary school and having no idea what was going on, but loving every minute of it. Thanks Lady Tigra and Bunny of L’Trimm.

9.       “Mr. Wendal” reminds me of roller-skating at Laces and those glow stick necklaces. Remember COUPLES SKATE and when they would break to have a race or teach a trick. It is amazing how much fun you can have just going in a circle.

10.   “Candy Girl” – I had already decided that if things did not work out between me and Prince I would marry one of the guys from New Edition. This song reminds me of playing hand games (like Numbers and Ms. Mary Mack) One of the games we played was Candy Girl and used some of the lyrics to the song. I also remember singing while walking through Rochdale in the summer while running errands with my brother and when I am pretty sure we were supposed to be going to the library.

Honorable Mention – That song “What A Feeling” reminds me of getting kicked out of ballet class and ultimately dance school. I still remember the look of confusion on my sister’s face when I came out of class early. She had been waiting for me in the lobby. She didn’t yell or anything. Instead she took me to hang out on the Ave. I almost feel like I am back there every time I hear it. I see the big mirrors and warming up and then being led out into the dim foyer.

What about you? What songs take you right back?

Something New

I, like many women of color, have spent my entire adult life at war with my hair. I have used chemicals to relax it and hot metal plates to straighten it. I have stripped it with bleach and had it pulled so tight that I could hardly see. My hair has been slathered with product and chopped off on a whim. My hair has never complained. I have never had any real damage beyond split ends. I joke that you could probably set my hair of fire and when it was over it would still just be sitting there. It’s tough. I guess it had to be. While it was clear that my hair could very well continue to take all the abuse, I realized that my head and my heart could not.

I was born with a full head of hair. It was so bad that my mother had to sleep in a completely upright position. (Hairy fetus = Heartburn…and yes, payback does suck.) I grew up around girls with “perms”, but my mother would not let me straighten my hair. No cycle, no perm. So I waited. I was not really sure why I wanted straight hair other than I wanted to wear my hair in a ponytail and not cry when I saw my mother coming with the barrette box. I just believed that straight hair would be easier.

I was so wrong. That became crystal clear to me last year when the off and on soreness in the top of my head that I had been ignoring for the past 2 years was not going and getting progressively worse. It hurt to even touch my hair. I mean, it hurt for me to put my index finger on top of my hair or to even lift up a piece of my hair. Some of you may be familiar with this phenomenon. It can sometimes happen to people who part their hair a certain way for a long time and then change it. It happens to a lot of my friends when they need a “touch-up”. The soreness is an indicator that you need to get your hair done. Well, I was tired of my head hurting every other week. My hair had previously been nothing, but nice to me and it was time I did something nice to return the favor. I decided that week to ditch the relaxer all together.

This was not my best thought out plan. I, in fact, did not think about it at all before making the decision because my head hurt too badly to think. After about 2 months of not getting a relaxer the pain stopped and has not been back. That was almost a year ago and has just occurred to me last week that I still have no idea what I am going to do with my hair. I have been washing, blow drying and flat ironing my hair straight, but that is getting old and it hurts. All the yanking and pulling and arm strength is just more than I want to do. I now stare at my hair dryer the way I used to look at that barrette box – with utter disdain. So I decided to quit straightening it all together.

I, of course, have some concerns. I haven’t really seen my natural curls in almost 20 years. I work in an office job. Most importantly, I have no idea what I am doing. I don’t know what most of the products in the natural hair aisle do or how to use them. I feel like a little kid who keeps asking, “What does this button do?” I just keep asking, “What is that for?” “Do I need that?” “What am I supposed to do with that?” It is like information overload. “Is my hair curly, kinky, nappy, mixed…wait NAPPY?!?” They can’t be serious!

My mother is my biggest concern. She is fairly conservative and has no problem telling me she doesn’t like something. She reminds me of the mother in the movie “Something New” with Sanaa Lathan. She wants me to be a certain way and while I know she will always come around to support me, it is never easy. The thing about this is that I don’t care. I feel like Sanaa in that movie. I am just starting to feel the freedom that comes with accepting oneself as is. Maybe this was the revelation moment I was hoping to feel on my big 30^TH birthday. It is a little late, but well worth it. I am excited to try SOMETHING NEW!

Crazy Woman

One of the best things about being a woman is that you can live with two totally contradictory ideas about life and feel justified in both. This was reinforced for me this weekend much to Husband’s dismay because no matter which me he agrees with the other me is going to be ticked off.

Each generation of women is unique. We each have our own ideals about life, love, and career. I had the unique pleasure of growing up in a generation full of fairytale princesses and Barbie’s of every career imaginable. Women were just as likely to work in an office as they were at home and somehow expected to still come home and be the keepers of the home. My mother worked to her own money, buy her own cars and still came home and made my father dinner every night because he did not like to eat leftovers. If that wasn’t enough she would then put me in the car and we would drive to his job and take him this dinner because he worked at night. I am sure part of the reason she did this was because most days that was the only way I got to see him, but even in retrospect it seems like a little much. I mean this woman worked all day, cooked and cleaned all evening while taking care of the 4 of us, and then drove and brought her husband food. It is no wonder I think she has super powers.

I still remember being the only girl on my Little League baseball team and how my daddy would brag about his daughter being the pitcher. He taught me to fight and wanted me to excel at everything that the boys did. I sometimes wonder if he really wanted another son, but there were other times when he would tell me to act like a lady. One of the best lines was when he told me as a girl, “No man wants a woman who can’t cook, so get in the kitchen and watch your mother.” I thought it was funny then and it still makes me laugh. I let him know then and there that cooking for a boy was not my life’s ambition. It was and still is the truth.

The problem is that like most women, I try to do all the things that mother did. Whether I mean to or not. She is my template and despite some of my best efforts to deny it, she is my measure for what a wife and mother should be. She may need to learn to relax a little, but she is otherwise my idea of perfection. This means that I think that I should be able to work 2 jobs, cook well every night, keep a clean home, and take care of my kids without a hair out of place. This, as anyone who has been to my house can attest, is not the case. I am barely holding it together. The contradiction is that if my dear sweet supportive liberal husband were to ever say that he expected these things from me “there would be smoke in the city, ya heard!” No woman my age wants a man that can’t take care of himself. If he wants to keep living with his mama then he can stay in her basement.

I must have looked more overwhelmed than I thought because husband started doing his own laundry. This is a problem for several reasons – the least of which being that he neglected to discuss it with me at all. Secondly, why is he only doing his laundry? If he really wanted to be helpful, why would he not do “OUR” laundry? I’ll tell you why. It is because I will fuss that he is not doing it the way that I want it done. However, that is not the point. Now I am going to be upset about him “only thinking of himself” and dub this “help” as a slight. Third, my next thing is to conclude that he is really doing this because he does not think that I am capable enough to take care of him and the kids. Him doing his laundry is a way of saying that his needs were not being met and he had to take matters into his own hands. Why would he do something so hurtful? It is because in his male logic, he is being helpful. The thing is I don’t want his help. If he had just talked to me about this I would have gladly done his laundry more often. Right? WRONG. I would have called my friends to complain about his chauvinistic attitude.

Why? Because I am a woman and you can’t win with us. That is right. I will admit it. We are crazy and we know it, but you better not say it! So I sulked and I told him that it hurt my feelings and that I did not like it, but I never asked him to stop because I know deep down that he really was trying to help. This does not mean that I am not going to go into his closet and take over his little make shift laundry area (it really does look sad). It just means that I am aware that my anger bends toward the irrational. He does, too. He weathered the storm like a champ. I started to tirade about being hurt and he responded with a simple, “I can see that.” I huffed and puffed. He gave me a hug and told me he thought my workouts were paying off (It is a cheap shot, but it is effective.)

It is like I said, all women are crazy, we are constantly in battle with ourselves and polar opposite ideas (from media, family, friends, religion, etc), but the key to a successful relationship with a woman is to know that and find the crazy you can live with. Otherwise, we will smell your fear and eat you alive. J

Embracing Old

I don’t understand why so many people are against getting old. Especially, since none of these people are jumping to the front of the line to die. I understand the desire to remain healthy and active even as you age, but that has nothing to do with most of the age refusal that I see.

We spend most of our adolescence and our early 20’s trying to get people to accept us as adults, but the minute we hit 25 and a teenager makes a comment about things from “back in the day” we go into a panic and begin declaring that we are “not that old.” I am not even sure what that really means. The truth is that if your childhood is more than a decade (or two) away then a current teenager will think of it as a long time ago. What is the big deal? That just means that you survived puberty- which if you remember is a big deal. This kid could benefit from your experience. Why deny them that opportunity by devaluing your age earned wisdom with assertions of your state of youth. What you are really saying is that you are still virtually in the same place they are. Then you wonder why they don’t come to you for advice. The truth is they can get dumb teenage advice from their dumb teenage friends. You have just rendered yourself useless because you refuse to accept the maturity and value that comes from being “old”.

I will admit that the first time you realize that you are not the youngest person in the staff meeting or someone calls you mam or sir, it is a little disconcerting, but it is not cause for a meltdown. I worked hard to live this long and I have gone through a lot for this gray hair and I am glad that someone recognizes that I deserve a moniker denoting respect. That is right, call me “Mam” and address me as a person of authority. We are not on the same level and I should not be on first name basis with a 10 year old or that 10 year-old’s 18 year-old sibling.

I understand that everyone wants to look good and that it is hard to take in some of the changes that the human body makes as it ages. It is weird to see things start to sag. I am a firm (pun intended) believer in trying to keep it tight. I encourage working out and wearing appropriate support garments. I don’t judge people who dye their gray. I am not even against people who want to get a nip and tuck. I will admit that I like the look of getting older. I think my mother looks fabulous with her natural face and my daddy is still quite handsome without getting any work done and from the looks of my older sister I should be okay with the way I age, but a person is entitled to look the way they want to look. My major gripe is that we fight aging as though it is a disease. I embrace getting old because I understand that it only adds to my value.

What I disagree with is the refusal to "grow up" and mature. Remember when you and your friends used to make fun of the "old" guy in the club or that mother who thought was the "cool" mom because she wore all the same styles you did. Well, a little botox doesn't change the fact that it is still not cool to be that person. If you want to feel young or look good for your age then great, but don't try to act like we all don't know how old you are. We might not know that you are 70, but we know that you aren't 30 or 40 no matter what kind of work you have had done or how good your natural bone structure is. When in doubt, just remember that guy with the toupee drinking alone at the end of the bar or the grandma in the too tight leopard dress. If what you are doing seems even remotely similar or if you get those looks from people who really are 25 then stop pretend to be joking and exit immediately.

If you don’t want to get old then you should die. I know it sounds harsh, but those are the choices that we have in life. No matter what kind of work you have done you will never look the way you did in your 20’s as a 60 year old. You just look like a very shiny, pulled back version of your 60 year old self. If that is what you want then I say go for it, but don’t think that you can go back and start acting like a 20 year old and get the respect your 60 years should have earned you.

We wonder why kids today don’t have respect for their elders, but the truth is most of us don’t want to step and acknowledge that we are elders and demand the respect that comes with the title. I am 30 and I refuse to be treated as though I am my 20 year old niece’s peer. I expect her to respect me as older and the older I get the more respect I demand. When I am 80 I want people holding my door, offering me a seat and offering to carry my groceries. I will do like my father and go to the store on Seniors Discount Day and proudly whip out my ID for 10% off. If I decide to go skydiving or run a marathon, I want to be treated better than the other runners and jumpers. I want to be pampered and given special privileges. If I want to arrive at the bank at 7 AM and wait for it to open so that I can talk to the teller for an extra 5 minutes then that is what I will do and I don’t expect to hear you tapping your foot or sucking your teeth. It is not my fault you are late for work. You should have gone to the ATM or used your smart phone for your transaction. If I want to discuss my coupons at checkout that is my right and if you don’t like it you can use the self-checkout.

I deserve that for choosing not to die.

Friends

I have already admitted to being a High-Maintenance friend. For some people those behaviors are overwhelming and much like the bowtie for a man is for me. For those that can put up with my psycho-calling and other quirks I am a really good friend. I will take your secrets to the grave and make a complete fool of myself on your behalf or really just to help you smile on a crappy day. For me friendship is a commitment. I don’t take it lightly and treat my friends like family. Since, I have a pretty big family friends are not a necessity, so for me to take on more family means that I really care.

I say all this because few things get my blood boiling like a crappy friend. My mother asked me about a former friend this morning and even though I am not one to hold a grudge the mention of this person’s name still leaves me cold. One of the things that I find irritating is that my mother knows this person and I ended on bad terms and yet she continues to bring her up or ask me questions about her current life about which I happily know nothing despite having mutual friends. She is like the Voldermont in my Harry Potter life. She is “the one who cannot be named”. I don’t know if my mother really understands how serious our breakup – yes, I said breakup because it was that dramatic- really was. It is like I said yesterday; mothers know how to push a girl’s buttons.

I am sure that if you ask Shady, she will have a different version of our friendship history, but this is my blog not a democratic commune, so I will tell the story the way I remember it. We became friends in high school. I am not really sure she ever really wanted to be my friend and sometimes I wonder if she ever really liked me at all, but I think more than anything she did not know how to be the “through thick and thin” kind of friend. The first major strike was when we were 16 and she lied and told my mother she did not know where I was while we were all out of town on an away trip and Chyna and I fell asleep in a friend’s room. I also had money stolen from me while on that trip and while I don’t think she did it, I get the feeling she knew about it. She always wanted to compete with me and we would fight about the smallest things. She loved to get me riled up or to point out my flaws. She told me that she was not having sex, but then later told me she was pregnant and when I responded by saying, “Ok” to her announcement, she accused me of being judgmental.

She almost ruined my bridal shower and eventually we decided that she should not be in my wedding because a friendship should not be about her having to “tolerate” me. That was our dramatic breakup scene that took place over the phone. Mind you my only request was that she wear her hair out of her face and buy a dress the same color as the other bridesmaids. This excerpt from our bridesmaid dress shopping experience was typical exchange.

Shady: What did everyone else pick?

Me: Well, only two people got their dresses, but they both picked this one.

Shady: I don’t like that one.

Me: Fine, pick something else. I just want it to be this color.

Shady: I don’t want to be different.

Me: Then get the same dress.

Shady: What is Chyna wearing?

Me: I don’t know she hasn’t picked it out yet, but my sister got this other dress.

Shady: Whamp whamp whamp. Blah blah blah. I don’t like…I don’t want…I…me…I…me.

Me: Just do whatever you want, then. I don’t care.

I could not win for losing with this girl. This is supposed to be my wedding and all about what I want and I can’t even enjoy picking out dresses. Earlier she complained that I was not letting her help me plan and that she felt excluded. She also complained that I did not make it clear that I was serious with Husband before he proposed despite going out for over a year and that she was upset that my announcement caught her by surprise.

The killer was when she waited so long to get the dress for Chyna’s wedding that Chyna had to change her original wedding color plans. That made me want to go ballistic. That is when I realized that a person who constantly ruins important events in my life could not be considered a friend.  I have been living a Shady free life since 2005 and while I thank her for teaching me that some friendships are not worth the stress I have no plans to tell her because that would violate my Mary J inspired “No More Drama” lifestyle policy.

Other friendship deal breakers: (These quotes have been condensed and abbreviated.)

Husband – “Lying. I mean take Lee for instance. From the time that dude got off the plane he lied about everything. I’m not even sure that’s his real name.”

JJ Santana – “Sleeping with my man. That is grounds for me to cut a chick.”

Lotus – “Being crazy.”

Jigga – “Crazy, yeah. I mean like the ones that stalker call and act like your boyfriend and all you can think is, but WE’RE NOT DATING!”

Q Diva – “Talking about me behind my back to others, someone who is really negative, not supportive of me or my interests, someone who shows signs of jealousy or a lack of respect for me and my family. Shall I go on? It’s a lot of things that makes me leave certain folks alone...LOL!”

Sugar – “Ill will towards me or emotional abuse. Sometimes toxic people must be purged. Sometimes relationships and people change but one thing must always be there to keep the friendship alive and that is love for one another.”

Mallow - (This is really what she said) "There is the obvious like sleeping with someone I’m in a relationship with… but for me:

-          Calling me selfish (and meaning it, not joking)– I give a lot when I can so I expect my friends to understand that if I say no, that it’s not because I don’t want to do it (in my heart) but that I can’t

-          Stealing from me – because I generally will give my friends whatever I have

-          Being crazy – I don’t like drama, I don’t do drama and I don’t keep up with dramatic people

-          Being selfish – I don’t know why but no matter how hard I might try, I don’t get along with selfish people.

I think that’s it – there may be some others that I remember later"

A friendship is like any other relationship and it will have rough patches, but just like with a romantic relationship you have got to have some boundaries. Don’t be afraid to set some for yourself. You will know who your REAL friends are shortly after because a snake can’t help, but to slither. Besides after you dump the dead weight you will have room for someone who doesn’t require a 30 min advance Advil prep just to hang out with them.

Mothers and Daughters

My mother makes me CRAZY in a way that nobody else can. I love my mother and I think she is the best mother in the world, but I cannot deny that she makes me want to scream at least 50% of the time. I don’t scream because she is big on respect and I am pretty sure that she could still beat me in a physical fight, if only because I would never be crazy enough to raise my hand to my mother. I know that I am not alone because my friends and I have commiserated about the mother/daughter relationship and the delicate thread on which it hangs.

For those that could not tell, my Suga Booga is a girl. There are times that I look into her big brown eyes and think to myself, “Oh God, I really don’t want to do this.” I really don’t want her to grow up because I REALLY don’t want to do the mother/daughter tug-of-war, train wreck style argument with her. I know that we are not always going to agree and like my son she will need discipline that she is not always going to like, but one thing I have learned from having brothers, having friends with brothers and seeing the difference between husbands relationship with his mother compared to his sister’s is that a mother/daughter relationship is totally different.

Like I said before, I love my mother. She is one of the first people I call when I have good news or bad. She is my rock when I am feeling unstable. She is a great problem solver, despite not being the best listener. She is the one person that I know will love and support me no matter what I do. Everyone else in my life has a limit (cheating, stealing, lying, murder…), but not my mom. She is determined to love me no matter what. That is the best thing about having a good mother. They only want to love and help you. At least that what they tell you right before they make a comment about something you could be doing better.

IT is usually at this point in the conversation that a smart daughter braces herself for impact because she and her mother are about to collide. My friend DC asked if I was excited about Suga Booga’s upcoming Christening and when I said, “No.” She laughed and asked why I would not be looking forward to such a momentous occasion. My reply was, “I already know how this is going to end. My mother and I are going to fight.” I know this because despite her best efforts to raise me “right” we continually have differing views about almost everything. The thing you learn as a girl is that you can’t win an argument with your mother because even when you win, you lose.

You lose because if she is like my mother you now feel bad for upsetting her, “yelling” at her, disappointing her, or disrespecting her. If you have a mother like Chyna she has totally gotten under your skin and you cannot fully enjoy the victory no matter how big it was. The funniest part about these blow-ups is that most daughters see them coming and despite her best efforts it is like a runaway train. (Did you see the Denzel movie unstoppable?) It is a lot like that. You know that there is bound to be some fall out and damage, but you can’t stop it.

If you say you don’t want to talk about it, she will become offended. If you agree, she will say that you are patronizing her or keep asking you about it until you want to pull your hair out.  If she gives you advice and you don’t take it, she will accuse you of not listening and valuing her opinion. There is no right answer. It does not matter if you just called to say hello because all daughters know that all she has to do is ask or be asked the wrong question and all that sweetness will jump right out of the window, only to be followed by lines like “Fine. I won’t say anything else” (Even though you know she will) or “I don’t know why I can’t ask you a question without you getting so upset” or “I am your mother and I just want what’s best for you” or “I was only trying to help (…and this is the thanks I get)”. It is enough to make any girl paranoid and on edge. That is why we all hate to call even though we so desperately want to call. Let’s face it; there are times when a girl just needs her mommy.

My mother will ask a question, talk over me as I try to respond and then become upset and ask me why I did not answer her. If I interrupt to answer her question, she accuses me of being rude and not letting her finish a thought. This is not something that happens in conversation with my father and I never hear of this going on between her and my brothers. The same is true for my friends. This seems to be a strictly mother/daughter phenomenon.

 It would seem as though mothers are never truly satisfied with their little girls, but that is not really true. For mothers, daughters are like a never ending artistic masterwork that they are constantly trying to improve upon. They are constantly trying to refine, reshape, and polish us up. We are a direct reflection of them. We are like an unfinished concerto that will be perfect as soon as they add one more note. I am starting to understand that better since becoming a mother. You feel like your children arrive as perfect little people and you want to keep them perfect or at least have other people see the perfection that you see. The problem is that most of us reach a point where we stop wanting to be improved upon and just want to be accepted. Nobody will accept you and your flaws like your mother. She may even secretly love them. She might think the gap in your teeth is sweet, but that won’t stop her from giving you a brochure on braces.

Yoga Master

I must begin by apologizing to Lotus. I promised that I would post yesterday and did not follow through. Sorry!!!! This is the post from yesterday.

I hate yoga! I am the only person that I know that wants to have an all-out bar fight style brawl after an hour of meditation. Apparently, I have some unresolved rage/anger issues because right after I “clear my mind” I become anxious, then agitated, followed by upset/fidgety, which ultimately leads to full blown frustration and anger. I almost always end tenser than I was when I started. I guess my inner self and my outer self do not want to get in touch with each other.

My ideal workout is going for a run and then doing some weights and ending with a walk and a really good stretch. The problem is that since my UC diagnosis I have not been able to do that. When I first went into remission, I tried to go back to working out like before and after 3 days I went into a flare. After that round of steroids I thought I would try something easier and bought a 10 min dance workout video to do before work. After 1 week I went into a flare. I decided to give it a break for a while and after my 3^rd steroid taper and a month of no issues I started P90x. I will admit that in retrospect I can see how doing something that intense was not my best idea. I did it and loved it, but after 2 weeks my colon went into overdrive again. I then joined a gym and got a personal trainer, thinking that maybe I would do better with professional help. That was working out ok for my colon, but after about a month I realized he had me on a muscle building program that instead of making me smaller was making my thighs and arms bigger. What average woman wants that? I quit that after what I thought was a flare. It was actually my body notifying me that Suga Booga was using my body for free room and board.

So here I am. I am overweight and feeling as though I am out of options. I have talked to my doctors (Yes, I have more than one.) after each flare. I have been put on restriction more than once. I have now been given permission to walk and do light exercise like…YOGA. Argh! Just the thought of yoga makes me want to say words that Jesus promised to cleanse from my vocabulary. I started walking and going to the YMCA. (I go with my mother because she is one of the few people who can keep me in line and stop me from overexerting by running and using all the weight machines. Plus it is one of the few places we don’t argue.) I try to go at least 2 times a week and I love it so far. My goal is to take it a slowly as possible because I refuse to do another steroid taper.

The thing is I am 40 lbs. away from my normal/goal weight. That is good because I have had at least 6 rounds of steroids and a baby since diagnosis. A 10 day steroid taper can easily result in an extra 10 lbs. and we all know that babies good for at least 30 unwanted pounds. All and all 40 pounds is not bad, but it is not good either.  So I thought maybe I should figure out a way to give yoga another shot. I have heard from many a devotee that I must not be doing it right if I don’t leave feeling relaxed and more connected. My typical response it to tell them to shove it and letting them know about my desire to punch yoga devotees in the face, but after I read in the Blood Type diet that people like me respond better to cardio that became my go to response. It gets a better reaction, at least.

I have tried yoga in many different forms. I tried it in a high school gym class. I tried videos. I tried it in a class with some friends. It is not just yoga I don’t like. I’ve even tried Tai Chi and left because I could not take the silence and all the slow movements. I am just not well suited to that kind of environment. It does not relax me. It makes my mind race and in turn makes me more anxious. Then I had an epiphany. It came to me like angels singing in a field of wildflowers or some other corny movie scene. P90x has a yoga DVD. “I could totally do that”, I thought. It will be intense enough for me to have something to focus on and low impact enough to keep my colon from jumping ship.

I have done it for a few days and I love it. I can only do about 40 minutes of the 90 minute workout, but at the end of those 40 minutes I am sweating and happy, instead of annoyed. He tells you to clear your mind and focus on the present, but I don’t feel like I have to. I let my mind wander as I try to keep up with his pace. I think I may have found my niche. I still plan to go the Y on Tuesday and Thursday for cardio because I have upgraded to the elliptical and some light weights, but this is a great 3 day a week filler.

I am so into it right now that I am trying to convince Chyna and Mallow to do it, too. Who knew I would be one of those annoying yoga people. I just hope I don’t end up having to punch myself in the face.

Missed You

I’m back! I don’t know if you all missed me, but I missed you. I took the week off from my desk job and I find it to be very difficult to blog from home.

I have had a series of random thoughts this week. I hope to discuss some of them in depth, but here is a brief overview of last week.

1.       Eddie Murphy has pulled a reverse Michael Jackson. The richer he got the bigger his nose got. How does that happen? It almost looks like a different face now. I think it started happening right around “The Distinguished Gentleman” days.

2.       When did I become an emotional eater? It is like a vicious cycle. I am upset and depressed because of I haven’t lost the baby weight. I eat because I am upset and don’t really want to deal with it, which makes it even harder to lose the weight.

3.       I have started watching way too much television. My DVR was at 88% this Friday. I got it down to 72%, but One Life to Live is 3% per episode.

4.       Remember when all you had to do was buy a television, bring it home, pull it in and turn it on. I wish someone would have tried to charge my grandparents $200 a month to watch television.

5.       I still remember the first time that I realized television went off at night. I was so disappointed.

6.       I don’t trust married people who only hang out with married people and/or who seriously consider their spouse to be their best friend. I love Husband and he is always my first choice to share things with, but the reason he is not my best friend is because he is my best trouble and I vent to him about him. Yes, I understand you have to be careful who you share with because if you tell your mom she will never forgive and forget, but a friend will understand when you fight and support when you make up. If you don’t have a friend like this and your spouse is your only outlet, get help NOW!

7.       Is it a vacation if you have spent the entire day cleaning your house?

8.       I saw part of the Hip Hop Awards and let me just say that LL made me proud to be from Queens. Lecrae made me proud to be a Christian. Busta Rhymes made me proud to proud to be full of anti-establishment righteous indignation, but the rest of what I saw made me want to give in my “Black Card”. I am so tired of ignorant, butt-out, monkey see monkey do nonsense. It just makes me furious. So I left the room. I just hope it got better than what was going on when I left. (Do it. Do it. Boy. Boy. Boy) I mean, REALLY?

9.       Why was Chris Brown better in the cypher than the 3 rap “stars” that went before him? I don’t care if he wrote his 6 months in advance. The others did not sound spontaneous either. Next time step your game up and practice before the R&B singer embarrasses you.

10.   It is never ok to bring a pre-written rhyme into a cypher. Never!!!

One of Those Days

I am having one of those days. This morning my tire was flat, my icing was runny, the sock monster that lives in my dryer ate one of LoLo's soccer socks, I forgot Suga Booga's paci in the crib and I left my purse and all my id at home. The reason I know that I have no purse is because when I went to look for some change to feed the meter and avoid a ticket as a meter person pulled up with her white light flashing I remembered leaving it in the kitchen.

On the bright side, I delivered my cookies in good condition. I made a little money and I missed 2 hours of work. My girl, Jigga, was kind enough to buy me lunch and I think the Advil is finally starting to take effect. I am all kinds of excited about the progress I am making with my dessert business. I am working really hard these days. Someone asked when I would have time to spend with my children. I wonder if people ask Husband that question. I make sure to spend time with them. I usually wait until they are sleep or play with them while I do the prep work. I just thought it was interesting that my desire to work was so off-putting to this person.

I am a wife, mother, full-time assistant, part-time counselor, blogger, and entrepreneur. I cook, I clean, and when the kids go to bed I bring the house down (wink, wink). My plan is to have it all and to enjoy it in the process. Right now though, I am going to enjoy this moment of peace while my copier/scanner is broken and my belly is full. I have already called my mother and my sister so these few minutes are for me.

Southern Hospitality

I am back on the fitness train to lose the 50 pounds of baby weight and get back into my old clothes. Part of my sense of urgency is based on my desire to be healthy and like all women I want to look/feel good in my clothes, but in all practical truth it is recession and I can’t afford new clothes.

I clearly need to get back on my game because I have not only gone back up a pant size after all my hard work, but on my way into LoLo’s soccer game an old man who was walking out as I was walking in said something crazy to me about needing to work out. He had one of those terrible indiscernible southern accents that make other southerners embarrassed, but from what I gathered he said something along the lines of, “You pulled that door.  Mumble mumble. (Looks me up and down)Yeah, you need to come in here and lift some weights or something.” Two things prevented this from getting out of hand. First it took me at least a minute and a half to figure out what he said and the second being my mother’s insistence on being nice to old people.

Since moving here to the southern United States, I have heard a lot of talk about how people from up North are rude and more than I can stand about southern hospitality. Let me just say for the record and I hope you are listening closely, southern hospitality is a CROCK. That is right! You heard me! I have never in my life been around people who are so rude. Northerners are not rude. Although, I will admit that we tend to be disinterested. I can honestly say that I have never been insulted by a stranger when I lived at home. Even the drug addicted homeless people who talk to people that I can’t see have better manners than people here.

Talking to strangers does not make you polite or hospitable. It makes you nosy or an easy target. I will try to keep my list of grievances short.

1.       It is not ok to stare at people and not speak. That is something that I learned by the time I was in kindergarten. It leaves your feelings up to interpretation and where I come from nobody assumes that you have good intentions. Staring leads you to get punched in the face – especially if the person you have been staring at addresses you. Like when I catch people here looking at me and I say hello or nod and they continue to stare as though they can’t hear me. I know they can read my lips because they are all in my mouth.

2.       Listening to other people’s conversations. My boss is good for this one, but it also happens in the grocery store, elevator, bathrooms, and restaurants. I am clearly having a conversation with one person and another person who is not at all involved in the conversation and in the case of my boss not even in the area decides to come and put in their two cents without being asked.

3.       Giving unsolicited advice. I was buying coffee for one of my bosses while I was pregnant when a woman walked up to me and chastised me for drinking caffeine while pregnant. I have had people come and give me hair tips; tell me to drink more water; and my personal favorite (I hope you understand sarcasm) given my childrearing/marital advice. Like the woman at church who told me that I should get up every time the baby cries because he works and needs his rest despite the fact that I was working 2 jobs, going to school and we already had a son. I waited for her to laugh, but then she went into this tirade about “young girls” and how we don’t know how to take care of our families or some crap. When she asked me the next week if I took her advice, I cut my eyes at her and said, “NO!” with the best smile. The only thing preventing a HELL NO was that she was old and we were in the church nursery. I may have superwoman complex, but I have no plans on becoming a Stepford Wife.

4.       Condescension. I am not stupid and would appreciate it if people did not talk me as though I were. This means don’t try to “honey” “sweetie” me out of trouble. If you mark an item in your store as 50% off then that is what you owe me and I will not be persuaded into negotiating with someone who begins the conversation by insinuating that there is something wrong with my reading comprehension skills. That is why I have had to call the corporate office of more companies in the last 2 years than I have in the 25 years prior to moving here.

I am going to stop here because I don’t want to get started on the bad driving and refusal to correctly use the turning signal. It is that switch that turns on the flashing light so that other people know that you are planning to swerve across 4 lanes of traffic during rush hour. It does not mean for you to speed up so that I can’t get into the lane in front of you. The extra 10 seconds added to your commute is nothing compared to the damage that my crappy car will have on your new BMW when I, the rude Northerner, decides to come over anyway because I have already reached my breaking point.

Random Thoughts

I like everyone have so many random thoughts throughout the day. Sometimes it is like getting a song stuck in your head. You just have to sing it all the way through or it will just keep playing over and over again. Here are some of the thoughts that are currently floating around in my headspace.

1.       I am so excited about the show Pan Am. I love Christina Ricci and am really interested to see what she is like in a movie that doesn’t involve dead people or some other form of weird creepiness. I love her. She is like Helena Bonham Carter, but better. All the crazy talent without the fear that birds and rodents are nesting somewhere on her person.

2.       I know that God make children cute for a reason. There is no other way that you would let someone so bossy get away with vomiting, pooping and throwing crap all over your house if they did not inspire “oohs” and “ahhs”.

3.       There are some things that I never thought I would have to say until I had children. Things like, “Take your foot out of your mouth” or “No cookies until after you make the poo poo.”

4.       My niece thinks that my sister has always been crazy, but I remember when she was just my cool older sister that my guy friends thought was hot and hoped I would grow up to look like. Cut to 4 kids and one divorce later and it is a wonder that she manages to still tie her shoes.

5.       Why does the “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book start at explaining conception. If I am expecting, I have clearly already passed that point.

6.       Why do we keep making people apologize for things they are not and shouldn’t really be sorry for? PETA wants an apology from a newspaper for showing an uncooked chicken in a sexy pose and have likened it to necrophilia. That is ridiculous. We want people to apologize for jokes that we don’t like and comparisons that irritate. Yes, Hank Williams, Jr. sounds like an idiot for his comment, but why should he apologize for making a bad analogy? Why should Tiger Woods apologize to me for being a bad husband? Why should Rihanna and Miley apologize for being bad role models? Madonna never said sorry for “acting” like a tramp and I would not respect her if she did.

7.       Don’t you long for the days when bullying stopped when the bell rang at 3 o’clock. I don’t think any of us should be surprised. Just think about it for a minute. Bullying used to stop at 3 because that was when they no longer had access to a victim or an audience. Now it is a 24/7 operation. They can find you online, call your cell and if you don’t answer then they send you a text. Bullies used to be scared to call your house because a good bully never wants your parents or theirs to know what they are up to, but now they have the comfort of doing it through anonymous posts and ghost calls. It is important to tell kids that “It Gets Better”, but we need to stop it before it gets worse.

Parental Honesty

I think I may be too self-aware. I know when I look hot and for better or worse, I know when I am NOT. This awareness does not stop at me, but extends to everyone in my circle. I don’t care how much I love my son and regardless of the fact that I think he is the most handsome little person in the entire world I know that he has an underbite (inherited from me, but the dentist says he will likely grow out of it. Thankfully, he is already starting to do just that) and that his butt is kind of flat (inherited from his dad and not likely to change). I know that my daughter may very well never outgrow her bow legs and that she may have gotten an interesting combination of my fat foot and her father’s thumb toe. I know that despite the fact that my husband is a total hottie and that the 2 hairs that grow on the back side of his shoulder blade are gross, even though we have had numerous conversations about how it could be worse and that I should pick my battles better.

I grew up in a house where you knew that even if nobody else would tell you the truth about yourself your family was honest with you – sometimes with disastrous self-esteem busting, yet hilariously grounding reality-checking results. Things are a little different now. It seems like most parents are too busy on themselves or too scared that they might say the wrong thing that they don’t say anything. Then they get upset if you say something. As a result we are raising a generation of classless, mannerless, self-centered, spineless idiots.

I grew up at the peak of the “me-ness” with Reaganomics in full effect. All those hippies had either burnout or gone into hiding while their establishment loving anti-counterculture peers who had somehow managed to stay sober were now in charge. It was all about survival of the fittest. Why else would women want to wear shoulder pads that made them look like linebackers and makeup that made them look like Grace Jones if not to intimidate and destroy? My parents were born and raised in the 1940’s. They did not care about stroking my ego. They loving, but definitely graduated from the Bill Cosby “I brought you in this world and I’ll take you out,” school of parenting.

I always used to ask my friends what they would say if they had an ugly child and that child came to them to complain about not having a date or the person they like not liking them back. What would they say? I know what my parents would say and it is not, “Anyone who doesn’t see how beautiful you are is a fool.” I know this because my mother once told me, “Just because I think you’re beautiful doesn’t mean everyone else will.”

They were always there to tell you that they loved you, but it was usually after they had said something like:

“I have to daughters. One dresses like a floozy and the other like a bum.” (I, for the record, am the bum.)

“Do you want me to put you through this wall?” (What kind of idiot would say yes to that?)

“Just do your best and no matter what happens don’t cry ‘cause that is not going to fix anything.” (Father to me after he already made me cry on the way to my driver’s license exam.)

“What is she? Fungus?” (Father to my brother #2 when he told him that his girlfriend our parents did not like would “grow on them”)

“You look a mess!” (Mother to all of us at some point.)

“You can fish it out or don’t eat it, but don’t keep asking me what I put in it.” (Mother to brother #1 after he decided he did not eat pork.)

“No, I will not babysit so that you can have quality time. You had your quality time. That is why you have a baby.” (Mother to sister.)

That is why my parents should never give the pep talk before the big game and the reason why I always work so hard. I know the value of a compliment. They aren’t just given. They are earned at my house. We did not die from criticism. We learned from it because it was always given with the best intentions. My parents have no problem telling you that you suck at something because “You are not going to go out there and embarrass me,” but they also gave you praise when it was warranted and let us know that we would be loved even if we failed.

The provided me with a healthy level of self-awareness. I hope to provide the same for my kids and when all their little wussy molly-coddled friends are crying because reality has given them the big middle finger they will thank me because all of their “greatness” would have been real.

My Biggest Fear

Regret is by far my biggest fear. I have gotten myself into a lot of trouble and subjected myself to more than my share of embarrassing moments because I don’t want to end up bitter and full of regret when I get old. I like most people have done some stupid things in the past and some of them are not things that I am proud of, but so far I have very few regrets.

This issue with regret started when I was young. My mother would say that I was not afraid to ask for anything. That is true, but mostly because I hated to hear, “Oh, you should have told me…” or “If only you had asked, we could have…” That drives me crazy. I can handle no, but there is something so frustrating about the almost. It’s like Brandy said, “Everybody knows, ALMOST doesn’t count!”

Think about it. “I was almost a crackhead.” That doesn’t even sound right. “I was almost fat.” That just sounds like something people say to make you feel better (like they can relate), but just makes you want to punch them in the face. “I almost bought you a present,” but you didn’t you cheap jerk and now you want me to pretend like it doesn’t matter. Maybe you should reply with, “I almost liked you” or “I almost decided not to kick you out.”

My college track coach used to make us watch the movie about Steve Prefontaine. Besides having one of the most awesome 70’s mustaches Steve Prefontaine was a great middle and long distance runner. He had a chance to win in the 1972 Olympics, but kicked it out too soon and finished 4^th. He then died in a tragic car accident before getting another chance at winning. I understood that we were watching it so that we would be inspired to give our best, but when the movie ended and the coach went into a groupie worthy Prefontaine speech out of nowhere I heard one of my friends yell, “Who cares? He didn’t even win.” That is the truth of it folks. People don’t want to hear about the almost. Although, he is probably the most famous 4^th place finisher in the history of the Olympics. There are gold medalists, who don’t have a movie, but he had to die to be a 4^th place legend and I am just not willing to go that far.

Almost is only good for storytelling. The time you almost got into an accident, almost got arrested, almost lost it are all good for a laugh. That time you almost took a drink, but decided to stay on the wagon is good for encouragement. Almost has its place, but the truth is you can’t be an almost alcoholic, shopaholic, liar, nymphomaniac or friend. Either you are or you aren’t. Either you go for your dreams or you don’t. You will either build a life or regrets or you will stand in your own way.

 You know that feeling after you have gotten into a verbal dispute and time has passed and you think of the perfect comeback and all you can think is, “Why didn’t I say that” or “I should have said…” I don’t want that to be me anymore than it has too. So here is to a life with as few regrets as possible. Who’s with me?