Wait...We're Going to Share a Straw?

Yesterday, my husband and I celebrated eleven years of marriage. I’d like to say that they have been the best years of my life. Unfortunately though, they have been some of the toughest and unlike anything I have ever experienced. I have had to dig deep and have learned quite a few things about myself, many of which I don’t like. Looking yourself in the mirror and wondering, “I wonder if I would have married me” is pretty crazy, isn’t it?

Anyone who knows me, and knows me well, is well aware of the fact that I have many self-imposed rules.

* I don’t drink or eat after others, regardless of who they are.

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* I can’t go to sleep at night without brushing my teeth and taking a shower. If I happen to fall asleep, I will wake up, regardless of the time, and do whichever I did not get around to before then.

* I can’t sleep without (my fuzzy) socks on my feet.

* I cannot speak, or eat, in the morning without brushing my teeth.

* If I leave our house and go to a public place, I cannot sit on my furniture at home unless I change first.

* I cannot go anywhere outside my home and come back and sit on my bed without changing my bottoms: pants/dress/skirt/shorts.

* I cannot leave the kitchen if there are dishes in the sink.

* I choose to eat at least half of my food before drinking any liquids.

* If I am in a vehicle and eating finger food with unwashed hands, I eat up to where  my fingertips touch and throw out the rest.

* I must do everything today that I can before tomorrow. I have a why do tomorrow what can be done today philosophy.

So, imagine my husband, from a totally different background, who is pretty laid back and lives a much more easy going life, meeting and marrying someone like me with all my idiosyncrasies. Imagine me, with all my self-imposed rules, marrying someone whose life’s motto is pretty much “live and let live” and “let tomorrow worry about itself”. Of course we butt heads, almost daily, but we’ve impacted each other for the better, to a certain extent, I would like to believe.

Our days are not always full of wonder and love, but we do our best to attempt to understand one another, knowing where our individual strengths lie and attempt to respect them. We love each other whole-heartedly. Even though I’m not the lovey-dovey type, he still kinda gets me. I’m not one willing to be vulnerable, but even when he sees a glimmer of my vulnerability, he treads lightly and does not take advantage of it. He understands I like my space when I’m in one of my moods or if he catches me in an emotional state. I tend to be the wounded pit bull that does not like to be comforted and just allowed  to have my ‘man up’ moment, and he is very aware of that.

I know when to leave him be in his creative moments and to allow him to let those juices flow when he’s in his element. Love in general is hard, so in our case in particular, it feels even harder. Our love requires a lot of mutual respect and communication from both sides. We were raised very differently and have very different life experiences that make our union difficult, challenging, but very interesting.  

Year eleven was the absolute hardest, with several hurtful words and actions, but we made it. Everything isn’t perfect and probably never will be, but we’ve gotta keep trying, right? Our pastor, and many others who love us, remind us often how important it is to keep our marriage Christ-centered. If not for that constant reminder and purposeful living, we never would have made it this far.

So, with all my kookiness, imagine us at dinner last night celebrating our eleven years together. As I was examining the silverware for dirt and water stains, my husband asked if I’d like a sip of his drink. As he reached over the table to get me an untouched straw, imagine his disbelief when I said, “Nah, I’ll use yours.” His eyes bulged and he smiled, “Wait…we’re going to share a straw?” (Yep, I have a whole backwash thing as well.)

I said I’m still learning (and growing), right? So, the process continues…year eleven, here we go…

It's Not over Yet

 If only I had been more vocal and shared my concerns with my husband sooner. If only I had been more assertive. If only I had been more confident in myself as a mother and not second-guessed myself. If only I had been more firm from the start. If only I had worked less and focused on helping to make sure he had all he needed to ensure he progressed much sooner and had a better transition.

Well, it’s been six and a half years and I still have these what ifs. It’s really a tough place to be. You see your child struggling in school and don’t know how best to support or encourage him/her without being too lenient or tough, or enabling. You feel like you’re the reason for the way things are going. You take the blame and hide it in your pocket, taking it out when no one’s looking and that child is having difficulty. “It’s my fault,” you say to yourself, then shove it back in your pocket when others around. You walk around feeling heavy-laden with a burden that no one else can seem to relieve you of. Well, maybe that’s just me.

Once my son was given the label ‘special needs’ due to the delays resulting from a hearing impairment he had for about two and a half years as a toddler, I was done. I was certain I had failed him. I had voiced my concerns with the doctor at his 18-month appointment, but I was assured he was fine and had simply regressed as a result of his younger brother’s birth. After a year and almost going on two, it was evident that my son’s speech was not improving, neither had he returned to where he had been prior, speaking clear complete sentences. I was worried.

By his three-year-old wellness check, I was so done with being told I didn’t know what I was talking about, so I requested another doctor. Thank God the doctor was able to identify an issue with his ear and referred us to an ENT. The day we visited the ENT, I was in total disbelief. My son had not been hearing us well. His eardrum had not been moving. Without the movement of his eardrums, he couldn’t differentiate between sounds, so he was mispronouncing words he had known how to say prior with no issues. I was stunned, helpless, and angry. How had I been ignored for almost two years because I did not hold a medical degree? Why did I not seek a second opinion sooner?

Well, fast forward a few years. As usual, since he began kindergarten, I attend his bi-annual IEP meetings, where his classroom teacher, speech therapist, etc. tell me how he’s doing academically. Each time, I hear about one or two improvements and find that he’s still not meeting the standards for his grade. By third grade, I had been told not to be disheartened if he never quite met the standards and always lagged behind in school. His continued use of manipulatives in math was annoying to me as I felt that at some point he should be taught to do math like everyone else. I always left the meetings saddened and discouraged.

About a month ago, during his first IEP meeting at his new school,  I heard great things about his character, how happy he always is, how much his classmates enjoy helping him, etc. The more I heard, the more uneasy I became. “Yes, but how is he doing academically?” I asked.  Then one of the special education teachers began to speak of his deficiencies and how he was making progress with some assistance. At a point, I asked when he would be weaned off manipulatives and assistance, being that he will attend high school and college one day and those won’t be accessible to him.

The same teacher then replied, “Well, who’s to say he will attend college? Not everyone is cut out for college. Just take it one day at a time.”

I whipped my head around so fast in her direction that it hurt. My head was hot with anger, and I tried to compose myself and calmly respond. It took me a few seconds, but I was very firm in my response. I let her know that not everyone goes to college but that I do not believe that certain people aren’t cut out for college. I let her know that often, it’s how we as adults and the world around certain people treat an individual or perceive them that limits them and what they think they can or cannot do. I let her know that my hope and dream for each of my children is to have them dream big and be educated. I told her I understand that many successful people do not go to college but that I refuse to count my son out of the running for college just because of where he is today. If he chooses not to college, that will be his decision, but I’m not going to shoot that decision down for him before he even understands what college is.

I am determined to celebrate his achievements, no matter how big or small. He is very bright and talented in so many areas that the education system doesn’t extend to, which is fine. However, when his teacher sent me an e-mail, telling me that she appreciated his pleasant spirit, attitude, and great character and wanted to honor him with an award at one of the school assemblies as a surprise, I had mixed feelings. I didn’t want him to be satisfied with by-the-way awards, but I had to realize that to him, it would be very special moment, so I had to stop being overly Nigerian for a moment and just go with it. After all, he had never been recognized for anything in front of a big group of his peers before, so I made sure not say a word to him about it and to be in attendance.

Being that he was not told ahead of time that he would be a recipient, he sat still and clapped for others who received awards for academic progress, cheering them on with his classmates. Then, when it came to the R.O.A.R. (Respect, Ownership, Attitude, Responsibility) awards, I prepared my phone to video tape him. As my son’s name and photo appeared on the screen for all to see, I saw his eyes light up. He jumped up and ran around the gym as his other peers had. I couldn’t help it...someone next to me must have cut an onion, because I had to push back the water coming from my eyes. His smile was wider than I had ever seen, and at that moment, every doubt I had about that moment faded away.

As I sit here now recalling it, tears fill my eyes. That was my little boy, the one some may consider an underdog. Right now, he has a big heart, great character, and an inventor’s mind. He’s exactly who he is meant to be. No part of his life, even the setbacks, is a mistake. It’s molding him into who he is supposed to be. I am at peace knowing that he’ll catch up, and he’s going to be an amazing young man. His story is unfolding before our eyes, and it’s not over yet. 

Let's Get It Together

My brother’s black, and his life matters. My friend’s husband is a police officer, and his life matters.  #blacklivesmatter #policelivesmatter

I get it. We get it. Groups of people are being marginalized. Individuals and certain groups feel like they are under attack and are not being treated with respect, and they are calling our attention to it. I totally understand it. The issue is when we sit in our different corners, in our huddles, devising methods in which to make our voices heard, we miss the entire point.

Rather than look outward and determine it’s them against us and vice versa, maybe we should look inward. Many of us, seeking to show the world that our groups matter, ignore the fact that we hold our own prejudices yet justify them. We don’t realize that our issues between one another are causing a rift. Rather than bridge the gap between us, we perpetuate hate in the name of raising awareness.

Each of us, to a certain extent, is discriminated against. Women are paid much less than men in the workforce, and some of them are more qualified. There are people who don’t respect you, or what you stand for, and therefore, they will never treat you as an equal.

The interesting thing is that this week, I have heard the most hateful statements, read the most vile posts, and seen how people who consider themselves as targeted have no mercy when it comes to others. The displaced Syrians who have sought refuge in the United States have caused quite a frenzy among us. There are those wanting the United States government to turn its back on these individuals, certain that being Muslim, among them are terrorists.

I’m black and female, so I’m disadvantaged, I suppose. However, I would hope that if I and my brother were in need of help, on the verge of dying, someone would look past our exteriors and acknowledge that first and foremost, we are human. They wouldn’t worry that maybe my brother, who is tall, dark, and tends to carry a backpack at all times is a potential threat to them. Rather than wonder if my brother has a gun in his backpack, they would proceed with caution but provide us all the help we need. Am I saying there isn’t a possibility that another brother and sister team could be feigning being in need of help as a scam, or in order to hurt others? Absolutely not…but does that mean we walk on egg shells around one another or in fear for our lives?

In the case of terrorists though, when dealing with individuals willing to die for a cause, things aren’t quite as black and white. What if we reject tomorrow’s future leaders because we’re afraid that among them is a potential killer? Why is it that we fail to realize that there are already so many terrorists in our midst? They are already within our borders, and those yet to come will find creative ways to enter.

Not all black people pose a threat to police. Not all police officers are out to get blacks.  Not all Muslims want to kill non-Muslims. When will we open our eyes, get the chips off our shoulders, and realize that rather than oppose one another, we ought to figure out how to wisely attack the real problems facing us?

Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you. – Luke 6:30, 31

Are You That Somebody?

When I was 10 and a half, I met Jessica. From 5^th grade to 7^th grade, she and I were friends. However, halfway through 6^th grade, we became secret friends. She had joined a gang, and when I asked why, she said, “I know what you’re thinking, but they’re my family.” So, we mainly saved our conversations for recess, at which time she attempted to teach me the gang’s sign.

By 7^th grade, I’d take the long way to school, so she and I could meet up near her house and we would walk up to a certain point together to school. One morning though, about October, I noticed she was unusually quiet during our walk. I asked what was wrong, and she didn’t respond, so I stopped walking and looked at her. Tears were streaming down her face.

I asked her what was wrong, and she told me she was pregnant. My eyes grew big, because I new that was “grown up stuff”. I did my best not to show my surprise and confusion. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stood there. She then blurted out, “they’re coming for me and Jessie today; they’re taking us away.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The foster care people…they said that since I’m so young and pregnant, my mom’s not a good mom, and she needs some time to…” then she burst into tears.

We didn’t do hugs in our home, but I knew she needed something, and since I had no words, I pulled her in and let her cry on my shoulders. For once, I didn’t care that my blouse would be ruined….ruined by her mascara. This was my friend, and they were taking her away. Who “they” really were, I was unsure.

“So, where are they taking you?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but my mom says we can’t go to school today. It doesn’t look like we’ll be back anytime soon. Esther, I don’t think I’ll be back before high school.” Then, she started heaving and coughing. She started vomiting, and I just stood there.  When she was done, she cleaned her face with the bottom of her shirt and stood up. Not knowing what else to do, I said, “Jess, look…” and I signed her gang’s symbol, made up of a mix of letters and Roman numerals.

She smiled and said, “Hey, you finally got it. That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you do it.” She signed it back to me, much faster of course, and I smiled. We stood apart, both trying to be strong. She said, “You’re about to be late for school,” but I just stood there.

 “Thanks for being my friend, Esther,” she said.

“Thanks for being my friend, Jess,” I replied. I smiled; she waved, and we started walking in opposite directions. That was the last time I ever saw Jessica.

I never mentioned her, or what happened to her, to anyone in my circle of friends. I was shaken. Who would take a child away from her parents? Why would they do that?  Why would they uproot two children like that?

For years, I wondered; for years, it’s bothered me. At the age of 16, I vowed to do something to help children like my friend.

Part 2 

Too many children are uprooted from their homes without an explanation, in some cases, or with no idea where they are going. Often times, these children blame themselves.Too many children are left hopeless and sleeping in houses they will never be able to call home. They are shuffled around, sometimes abused, and often become more and more hardened, unable to trust. Black trash bags are how they transport their life possessions from home to home. There has to be something we can do to intervene, in order to help give them some kind of constant in their lives. That's where CASAs come in. You can be that person for one child. Just think about it...

Quit Trying to Play Catch Up; Leave the Joneses Alone!

I remember our first five years of marriage. My husband and I, we hustled hard. I was fresh out of college and wasn’t making much but drove over 80 miles a day across town to get to the office where I worked.  My husband always had this dream of being married, owning a home with a huge loft, and having children run up and down the stairs. I, however, having lived in big houses most of my life, thought we should take some time and figure things out. Being cautious, I figured we should determine what we both liked before making any major decisions.

Despite all my concerns and objections though, we went ahead with the house purchase, and I learned to love it. The location…not so much… While we lived there, I got in over my head. I threw caution to the wind.  I wanted us to get newer vehicles once I found out we were having our first child. I wanted us to make everything perfect for our baby and our growing family, so we took out a second mortgage and used it to get our backyard done, entire upstairs painted, and other upgrades.  After all, these would help make the house more marketable in the future, so it was a win-win.

We saw how other parents did all they could to ensure they had all they needed for their children. Where we came up short, we used our credit card. This child deserved the best, and we didn’t want him to do without. Most new parents had all the latest gadgets and gizmos, and we would, too.

Well, all those around us were the Joneses, and we were living by their standards. We paid off our cars within a year of purchasing each, but everything else just didn’t work out the same. I mean, we were doing just fine…you know, keeping our heads above water…that is, until I got laid off.

You know what they say: when it rains, it pours. Well, our glass house took a hit, and like Humpty Dumpty, we and our wall came falling down. We learned the hard way that the Joneses may or may not be able to maintain their lifestyle. We learned that there are various kinds of Joneses: those who fake the funk but are hardly making it, yet have the newest everything; those who have everything but aren’t happy, and the ones who have nothing yet have everything.

It’s several years later, and we’re still trying to recover from  the mess we made. We only have one life to live, and if we live it trying to catch up with others and what they have, we aren’t really living. We don’t know the misery they live in in order to maintain their lifestyles. We can only do what we can. Enjoy the moments you have in life, because you can’t get them back. Be faithful in the little, or much, that you have. That little beater car may not be much to the masses, but it gets you from A to B, doesn’t it? I know my spaceship van does.

There’s a proverb our dad always shared when he was basically throwing his hands up after having offered us advice.

When the tortoise is going on a senseless journey and he is asked when he will be back, he says, “Not until I have been disgraced…not until I have been disgraced.”

A word is enough for the wise. Quit trying to play catch up! Leave the Joneses alone and get on with your life! 

I Don't Want It That Way

Growing up, I always said I was going to try to be more affectionate toward my children when I became a mother. Well, I never realized how much easier said that was than done. If you’re not used to daily hugs and ‘I love you’s, it takes a conscious effort to incorporate those into your daily life. Becoming a parent makes it a bit easier to adjust, but it can sometimes require more effort than others would think.

It wasn’t until recently that I found that my efforts to show love toward one of my children fell short. If anyone knows my oldest son, he is a very happy young man who has a big smile on his face about 96% of the time. He is light-hearted and loves people. He tends to be quiet, either in his own world creating something or watching people, awaiting their reactions to things in order to relate to them accordingly.

In my eyes, he’s not really macho, but he doesn’t typically like to be touched, so when receiving hugs, he usually opts for side hugs. His preference for the location of kisses he’s receiving tends to be his forehead. I always just shrugged it off and complied. Any other acts of affection seemed to make him uncomfortable, so when his siblings come around and give random hugs and kisses to us, he remains a spectator. That’s always been fine with me, being that his siblings tend to lay their love on pretty thick.

About three weeks ago, our driving situation had to be readjusted for a day. I ended up in the back seat of our van with him. It was pretty tight quarters, being that we were transporting quite a few big items. So, in my mommy-like manner, I decided to do something different from the usual. I leaned over and pulled my little man close and was met with a confused look and, “Hey! What are you doing, Mommy?”

I replied, “Oh, I just wanted to love on you.” He stared at me blankly then shrugged his shoulders and said, “Oh, okay.”

I pulled him closer, leaned him back and massaged his scalp and face. He smiled. I asked if he liked that, and he told me he did. I then gave him a kiss next to his lips and he reciprocated. The smile on his face was priceless. I didn’t want to ruin the moment, but I just had to ask him one question.

“I thought you didn’t like hugs and kisses, but it seems you’re liking them now.”

“Oh, I like hugs and stuff. I just thought you don’t really like hugs and kisses, so you only like to hug me like that and kiss my forehead. That’s how you always hug and kiss me.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you didn’t like to be touched.”

“I do, just not all the time, but I like your hugs and kisses.”

“Would you like me to give you more hugs and kisses?”

“Yes,” he replied as his eyes lit up. “You can give me more hugs and kisses if you want. I would like that.”

Right then and there, my heart sank. I didn’t realize I, his mom, the one person that should know him very well, had missed that. How could I not know he was taking cues from me?

Growing up, I was the awkward hugger. I’d rather give you a shoulder or a pat on the back, because I just didn’t see the purpose of a full on chest-to-chest hug. Honestly, I considered it an invasion of my personal space. Growing up, we weren’t a family of huggers, neither did we say or hear, “I love you” much. I’m pretty certain I can count the number of times my dad told me he loved me. Our parents’ actions were more than enough to show us that they loved us, and we never had any reason to question that. We were not deprived of love in any way, shape, or form.

However, my hope as a parent was and is to show my children that hugs and other acts of love are okay to share when appropriate. They don’t make a person appear weak, and they should not feel uncomfortable. I’ll be honest though: I’m still a bit uneasy and awkward with hugs at times. I sometimes give them even when every fiber of my being feels that it’s just weird or unnecessary. I’m still growing and learning, but I don’t want my children growing up with a fear of or an aversion to moments in which individuals need comforting or encouragement without words.

Touch is very important for us as humans. Hugs speak volumes when we lack words to truly express ourselves or when a moment does not require words at all. When we miss that key element, along with a genuine smile, we miss out on a lot, and I don’t want it that way for my children.  

Because Things Fall Apart

How easily we unravel. Things we used to do, we do no longer. Time and experiences have taught us to continue, stop, or try new ways. As we grow up, we delve into our careers, start families, and carry on with our lives. Our perspectives change. We change. Our friends change. We go from stage to stage, until we emerge as butterflies. We spread our wings and start to fly.

As we travel through time and space, we find that the world is a much rougher place than we thought. We find that as we, and those around us, mature, we become less forgiving. Some like the brightness of our wings, and some don’t. The latter find other butterflies just like them, with whom they feel some kind of oneness, camaraderie. Although, as we often find, even times we feel we’ve found a fit, time and circumstances change things. So, from monarch to monarch, we flit and float, and we continue to seek out those just like us and a place in which we fit.

As humans, we seek people with interests similar to ours. We want people to spend our time with, call up when we’re down, celebrate life’s blessings with, and to whom we can be accountable. The interesting thing about friendships is that there is seldom any one person we share every interest with, which is fine. So, we have those we watch sappy movies with, others who like the great outdoors with whom we camp, those who call us out when we aren’t being true to ourselves, etc. We can’t possibly be all things to any one person, and that’s okay.

Not all friends are meant to stay in our lives forever. In our attempts to find those just like us, we find that those we once thought were just like us really aren’t, and sometimes that’s just fine. They transition; they change. They morph into different people, or we find they were like that all along but simply went along with the crowd and are now their own person, which may not jive with us, and that is life. Maybe it’s not them, it’s us. Maybe as we watched them, we didn’t realize that we ourselves were changing. That can be a good thing, because change can be good. Sometimes we change for the better…other times, not so much. There are some “butterflies” though, different as they may be, that remain steady, bonds growing stronger with time, despite them going their separate ways. Through time, transitions, and troubles, they bear it all together. When their paths cross again, they pick up where they left off, and it’s like they never even skip a beat.

Birds of a feather, they sure do flock together. What we once were, we may be no longer, but that doesn’t mean we’ve changed on the inside. We grow up. We mature; that’s what life is about. Things change; we change. That’s okay. True friendships grow. They don’t become stagnant or have a stench. Issues may arise, but true friends hash them out. True friends will have their ups and downs, but truth, love, and understanding keep their relationship strong.

Because things fall apart, we need people in our lives who will be there for us and for whom we can also serve as a shoulder on which to lean.  

And Who Made Me God? A Public Apology

When we were younger, we had so many ideas about who we were and who we were going to be. We dreamt big, and in many cases, there was no one who could tell us otherwise. Whether those plans or dreams became reality is relative. Some manifested a bit different than we had anticipated, but we can’t really complain, because after all, “Ehn…close enough”.

Then, there were those things we projected on others. You know, the way we make comments about others and don’t really take into consideration the fact that they actually believe in that one thing with a faith that could move mountains. Sometimes we laughed, or even scoffed, when some told us their plans. Who we were to think we knew better still amazes me...I mean, really…my dream is mine; yours is yours, right?

Well, today, here’s to my public confession, almost 11 years too late. So, in my single, young days, I belonged to an amazing young adult group called Fusion. We were a mesh of cultures and interesting backgrounds. We were passionate, real, and had a great time together. At that point in time, the world was our canvas to draw on it whatever we wanted. Our leaders, an amazing couple, encouraged us to reach for the stars and never give up. We were pumped; we were ready to take on the world. No one could hold us back…well, except for one another, I guess.

And that is where I stepped in. As one of the older members of Fusion, I was the first to be engaged (if I recall correctly). I was excited and wanted everyone to be part of my big day. Well, almost everyone… There was a young lady who was amazing, always had a smile on her face and lit up every room into which she walked. She had shared about her background with family members who were deaf and how being hearing didn’t make her feel any better but helped her appreciate the gift of hearing the more. She was one bubbly young woman who knew how to get anyone from a funk to laughing uncontrollably. She had something special about her, and I knew she was going to make some man very proud one day.

Indirectly, I watched and waited to see who would approach her as a potential suitor, after all, she was nothing short of a great catch. Then he came along. He had been in the youth group I had been a leader in for a short while. He was tall, goofy, and I could hardly take him serious, but he was pretty cool.

Now, when he stepped to my girl though, I took on a role no one put on me. In fact, to show how much I didn’t think this budding relationship would work, when she was invited to our wedding, she was not given a plus one, even though I knew they were getting serious. She requested an additional invite, so that he could join us to celebrate our day, but I was certain what they had was a passing thing, and with our tight budget and ridiculously growing list, I wasn’t budging.

Interestingly, she helped with our wedding prep, giving ideas and the like, because of who she is. She never asked again, and I never brought it up. Apparently, I was a relationship guru and she would soon realize I was right. In the long run, she made the decision not attend our wedding, out of respect for her boyfriend, and to prove how serious they really were, I think (I’ve never asked).

This young woman never held a grudge or said a single negative word to me. She and that young man did eventually get married shortly after us and are happy with two children now. As I stalk her Facebook page from time-to-time, I laugh at myself and think, “Man, if she had listened to my foolishness, she would have missed out on the love of her life. Isn’t it awesome that I’m not God?”

Interestingly enough, shortly before my husband and I got married, I received word that someone I truly respected and had taken the time to introduce my fiancé to privately and who had expressed excitement and joy had told someone else later that it was unfortunate that we probably wouldn’t make it to year five.  That was like a dagger to my heart, but it simply goes to show that we aren’t the best judges of what our future holds, much less that of others.

For that reason and others, I’ll admit that never an apology have I uttered to that young woman, and for that I am embarrassed, which is why I believe she deserves a public apology. Mrs. Smith, you are an amazing woman. I’m happy to see that you are doing well and still very much happy and in love with the young man I didn’t take a moment to get to know, so I could catch a glimpse of the wonder you found in him. Mr. Smith, I apologize for never giving you a chance and for misjudging what you two had/have. I wish you both many more fruitful and joyous years in Christ, whose opinion alone matters anyway.

He's Listening

He’s listening, even when we don’t think He is. Even when we think it’s only something that matters to us and matters to no one else. When you speak it out and no one else is around, or when you speak it in the depths of your heart, He’s listening.

It’s funny, because about three months ago, while jogging one morning, I got to a point that I was super tired. I had just started being more purposeful about at least getting myself up and moving, and since running has always been something I enjoyed, I figured, why not? Well, that was probably week two or three, and I had just increased my distance from a mile to a mile and a half and was feeling like that was a comfortable distance to maintain. However, on this particular morning, as I headed home, about half a mile before reaching the house, exhausted and in need of water, I felt something within me say, “Just go a little bit further.” I was not having it. I was nearing the end of my jog, sweat was beading down my face, and the sun was starting to put its britches on. It was my first day attempting to push to two miles, and I was already feeling it. However, with about a quarter mile to go, I felt like calling it quits, but that same feeling said, “Come on; you can do it.”  I fought it and was certain there was no way I was going to make it that last ¼ mile, but as clear as one of my children whispering in my ear about needing to go to the restroom at a movie theater, I heard, “When you can’t, I can. I will. I am.” I looked around, wondering if anyone else was within sight, because as audible as it was, surely I was not the only one who had heard it, but nothing…no one.

Funnily enough, not only did I complete the ¼ mile, but somehow, my legs got to moving and I ran, not jogged, an additional ¼ mile. Granted, I ended up huffing and puffing like I had barely escaped being attacked by a pack of javelinas. As I bent over to catch my breath, I felt this overall sense of accomplishment, like “Oh, I just did that.” In that moment though, I knew I had not done it on my own. It’s just something I’ve been realizing more and more though: most of my achievements in life have not been of my own doing at all.

What’s interesting is that about three years ago, when I was an insurance agent, I was on my way to meet with a client at his home when I took a minute to look at the neighborhood I was in. I absolutely loved it, and under my breath, I remember saying, “I’m sure it costs a lot to live here. Who knows…maybe someday we can, even if all we can do is get a small place to rent. I just love it.” In my heart of hearts, that day, I decide that some day, I was going to live there. It was funny, because fast forward three years and our family was looking for a house to rent. Needless to say, I had totally forgotten about the car ride and that whole experience as a whole.

We looked at various zip codes and found a lot of nice homes. As we looked, I remember passing by the area with my husband and saying, “I’ve always liked that neighborhood”. He was preoccupied, so I don’t recall him responding. I just smiled to myself and thought, “Well…someday.” After all, we had a house that we were pretty set on and just waiting for the lease. Unfortunately, a week later, we were informed that they realized there was actually another application before ours, so we went back to searching, and I found a house that I wanted to check out within our price range, which was odd, because no house in that zip code was ever available in our price range before.

Well, I drove to it and couldn’t help but laugh uncontrollably upon arrival. The house truly was not as beautiful as any of the other houses on the street (I should have been more specific), but it was in the exact community that I had passed by and wanted to live in three years prior. It was the only house within our price range in that entire subdivision.

Long story short, everything fell into place. There were delays that made us want to look elsewhere, but at the end of the day, here we are. The house suits our family needs just fine, and I’ve been jogging two miles 2 to 4 times a week since we moved here.

Since I realized that what was nearly impossible in my mind, He materialized, it hit me that the statement, “When you can’t, I can. I will. I am” was so evident even in that situation. I still have some areas of doubt, but I’m certain of the fact that He’s looking out for me, cares for me, and truly wants the best for me. On my down days, when I’m about to give up and lose faith, I realize all I have to do is speak to Him, in my heart even, when I don’t have the words to speak.                     

Remember: He hears us, you and me. Even the little things, those that may seem far-fetched or minute in the grand scheme of things matter. If it matters to you, it matters to Him. Nothing escapes Him, because He’s intentional, and He’s listening. 

What Do You Miss about Us?

This week was certainly another one of reflection. There were several moments of chaos and noise, but when I got away, in those rare moments, when it required me getting up early, changing into my shorts and tennis shoes and stealing away while the family slept, I got what I wanted – silence. It was during one of those moments I wondered where the last several years had gone.

I knew time had passed by, but I didn’t realize it had passed me as well. I tried to account for the last four, then eight years. It just all seemed to be a blur. Yet, I could remember the day my then-courter, asked me to marry him. I remember the place, the smells, the atmosphere that very day. Time stood still that day. My heart pounded just a little faster. At that moment, I realized my life would be changed forever.

Fast forward 125 months and here we are: three children, all in school and so many responsibilities. It’s no longer just us. It’s no longer just our love. There are no longer late night walks in the park or Saturdays in South Phoenix feeding the homeless. Times have changed greatly, and with it, so have we. In some ways, we have remained the same; yet, being that we are humans, we have grown…we have found new interests and discovered more things we dislike. Our goals have changed quite a bit. What seemed within grasp earlier in the story of us now sometimes seems somewhat lofty.

Two nights ago, on a rare night that my husband happened to be awake long enough after a long day, I asked him a question I’d been asking myself for quite a while: “Babe, what do you miss about us?” Truth be told, that’s something I think about quite a bit. At 25, the world was my canvas, and what I couldn’t draw on it, I wrote on the pages of my heart. I shared them with my new husband, and we dreamt together. Now, thinking clearly, using yesterday’s eyes, I see that so few of those dreams have materialized, and not because they were that far-fetched either.

As is usually the case, I answered my question first. I told him I missed dreaming. I missed sharing our visions and goals and working toward them together. We now have differing passions and interests, some which kind of meet at a point, but for the most part, they kind of collide.

He simply stated that he missed when things were calm, when there was little to no stress. He missed the more satisfied, happier, lighthearted version of me. At that moment, I interrupted him and reminded him that I asked about what he missed about US, not me. He clarified, stating that when I began to feel unfulfilled, I changed. He stated that that change changed us, because he then became more snappy and irritable, which then irritated me, and our changes in attitude affected our relationship.

We both just looked at each other and sat in silence for a little while. It was an honest question, and the answers were candid. It’s crazy how much we miss in life when we lose focus of what brought us together and instead focus on the here and now alone. We highlight our current issues, analyze them, assess and reassess them, then try to fix them. In trying to fix them, we tend to make a mess of things, which further stresses us out, and in turn, we lash out at those closest to us.

Well, that was that. We’ve decided to dream again, folks. We’ve decided to enjoy the moments we have together. When will we start? Well, we started today! We went to the circus; we were spontaneous. We found out about it this morning and decided right then and there that we were going. That’s totally different from who I am, being a planner and all, but we enjoyed ourselves. I enjoyed myself. I turned off the concerns about tomorrow and genuinely had fun.

We miss us, but we can get back to where we were. Baby steps...

                                                                                                                                                                        

I Already Pick Myself Apart

So, a few ladies and I were discussing a couple days ago about how we as women dress. One friend stated that she was tired of how women walk around with their flab hanging out and not wearing the proper undergarments to hold things up and right. She was of the opinion that if leaving one’s home, all precautions must be taken: Spanx must be worn, girdles, or even slips ought to be utilized. She expressed her dislike of exposed bra straps and fat spilling over one’s gut. She mentioned how such exposure is okay in one’s household alone.

Having been one who had body issues after having my daughter, I didn’t know what to make of this. I personally don’t care for excess spillage or women who wear three sizes too small, expose their flabby bellies wearing a medium shirt or mid-rift when they know good and well their behinds should be in an extra large. I also don’t care for the extra tight pants that give the illusion of a crotch.

However, I do have dear friends who find it difficult to feel beautiful in what is available for plus sized women, so I kinda understand the struggle. Not all women can afford or even pull off Spanx. Even those who can afford them find them uncomfortable or feel awful that they have to hide who they really are, or how they look, in order not to make others feel comfortable.

So, I’ll be honest…when I take a look at my undressed body, there are days I just stare and analyze every flaw and actually get grossed out. Those days became the better part of my week at one point in time, and I had to realize that I couldn’t go around feeling unpretty and think my daughter would grow up with a healthy understanding of what beauty really was.

What did I do to get where I am now, you may ask? Well, I started talking to a dear friend who informed me that although I enjoyed working out, if I did not watch what I ate, I could exercise forever and see no results. Let me tell you though…I like food. I’m no foodie or anything, as I’m one who could go a whole day on a spinach-banana-almond milk-oats diet, but when there’s nothing stopping me…a good ol’ piece of Popeye’s chicken, some mashed potatoes, red beans and rice, and a large Chick-fil-A lemonade does my body good.

We’ve just got to make an effort. We can’t get mad that people get disgusted by our spillovers when we purposely choose to expose them. Now, that’s on you/me/us. If you have the right sized shirt and when laughing with your friends, your stretch marked tummy peeks out from under it briefly, don’t feel embarrassed or get unnecessarily self-conscious. We’re women…even on our best days, most of us still struggle with stretch marks from yo-yoing weight, extra skin from childbirth, or sagging behinds from weight gain, muscle loss, or whatever. As long as we’re doing what we can to get ourselves to a healthier us, we need to embrace the bodies we have.

My take on it: if you need it and it makes you feel good about yourself, pad them. If you don’t mind the false illusion it gives, I guess you should go for it. I can’t and won’t, because it’s an additional cost and more time and work for me. Yep, call me lazy…I’ll own it. I’ve come to a place where I’m still evolving as a human being, a woman. I still have my good and bad days, and I can’t fault anyone for them but myself. I have days that I just don’t get around to working out like I’m supposed to or that I eat like I don’t have sense at a Nigerian party spread out with my favorite foods. Will I kick myself and starve myself the next day? Nope, I just ensure I don’t make it a habit.

We have but one life. Our bodies are our temples. We need to treat them as sanctuaries, as they have been given to us, and we can’t afford not to care for them properly. However, will I go overboard in order to keep other people from judging me? In the words of Bishop Bullwinkle, “Hell to thenaw naw naw”. I’ve done that in the past, and the more I tried to please others or put up a front that I had what I didn’t, the longer the self-loathing lingered.

Ladies, let’s be our greatest cheerleaders. Men out there are judging us. The media is telling us what we should look like and how ideal it is for us to look a certain way. Get those images out of your mind. I’m not stepping out for you. When I decide to leave my house, putting one foot in front of the other, you don’t know how I woke up feeling about myself that morning, so please put your bugged eyes back in their sockets, move aside and let me through. I already pick myself apart; I don’t need your help in that department. 

The Hardest Part Is the Transition

This week, I’ve really hated my life. Yes, I said it. I got to a point, where I really sat down and wondered what in the world I’m doing here. What is my purpose? Is there something I’m missing? How can my life seem to have so little meaning at this point in time?

What brought this on? Well, my children returning to school, of course. For the past four years, I’ve always had a sense of purpose: someone to mold, teach, or at least have with me at all times. I got used to having two children going to school while prepping my daughter for kindergarten and having her as my errand sidekick. Although I complained about it from time-to-time, nothing prepared me for the emptiness I feel now.

Ideally, once one’s children go off to school, the plan is typically to have sought employment during the months prior to school resuming, so soon after, one can transition back into the workforce, right? Well, what about when life throws you one curve ball after another? Three children in two different schools, and the youngest only goes to school from 8 am – 10:45 am, and there really is no budget for the additional cost for all day school?

What if every attempt made toward a decent paying job results in a similar e-mail with the spiel of having found someone better-suited for the job? Or, when you do make it to an interview and you are asked to choose the position over time with your family, “as this job is going to require a great deal of your time both in the office and at home”? Then you look at the salary being offered ($28,000) and search the room, certain that the interview is being recorded as part of some reality show prank.

I mean, really…how does a woman who obtains skills in the form of degrees or certificates prior to making the decision to care for her children full-time have any chance of success afterward? The “gap in employment” nulls and voids all the unpaid work that’s actually been done for the family over the years that would be difficult to insert in a professional resume, even when some skills are applicable, to an extent.

It’s us against the world. Having proven to the world that we’re great mothers by balancing the tasks of keeping our households in order, taking care of the budget, taking on the night shift so our spouses can rest well for work the following day, setting appointments, attending all extra-curricular activities, ensuring that the maintenance man comes in and fixes that leaky faucet, ensuring dinner is served by 5:30/6 pm, etc., we still aren’t taken seriously. Yet again, we have to prove to the world that once accepted us and the skills and resources we brought to the table years prior, that we’re still that amazing genius who owned the room during a corporate meeting, capable facilitator, great negotiator, or highly effective communicator.

Application after application, I submit. With each one, I proceed with less confidence. I doubt myself, my skills. Maybe I’m laden with dust that I can’t see. Maybe what I once knew no longer applies. Maybe there are others who are younger, more skilled, and simply just much better than me.

As of yesterday, I found that kind of thinking gets us nowhere fast. All we can do is push. They push one way, we push back even harder. We aren’t worthless to society; we’re just what it needs. We’ve cradled, nurtured, and helped prepare the next generation for the future. We are valuable. We add value wherever we go. As difficult as the transition may be, we can’t lose faith or give up the fight. We have to show them who we are and what we’re worth. We deserve more than the coins that drop off the human resources’ table. Hold yourself in high regard, because baby, you’re worth it!

I Want My Babies Back!

This week has been another super busy one. The children went back to school, and I was so excited for them to return, until the hustle and bustle of the week began. Oh, how I longed to have a driver who would drop them off at their different schools and pick them up at their three varying pick-up times and wait in the blazing sun in three-digit weather with all the other irritable parents. Oh how I wish I had someone who would wash the laundry, sweep and mop the floors, and clean the restrooms in their absence, so I could take a much-needed nap or run errands without having a little person in tow to ask me, “Where are we going?” five times in 30 seconds and “Can you buy me…?” upon our arrival.  

Do I really though? Or does my busyness really help fulfill my deep need to be needed? After all, I see newborns and ask to hold them and love how the tiny beings need their mommies so much: to feed, bathe, clothe, and cuddle them in their arms. Oh how I miss the sweet smell of a newborn, the coos of a baby, the various first year milestones…sigh…

I watch first-time moms struggle with the transition from the bliss of a life of just them and their husbands to the confusion and difficulties of figuring out why that little being is crying. I see mommies frazzled, sleep-deprived, and almost walking in a daze, and I smile, remembering when I too walked around, mean-mugging, because nobody told me that pregnancy wasn’t just a glow and hearty eating. I remember the days and nights I consumed and digested “…Baby-wise…” as if the weeks leading up to motherhood would make or break me if I didn’t get the schedule thing down.

I remember enjoying my first, second, and third time around as a new mom. My babies slept peacefully through the night by 5 weeks, 8 weeks, and 3 months consecutively. I didn’t have too many complaints about sleepless nights or difficulty transitioning our babies from our room to their own at six months. I loved being needed…shoot…wanted! I knew what boundaries were and chose to maintain them, in order to ensure that our children were used to our structure and adapted well due to our consistency.

Funny thing is with that consistency, the scheduling and knowing what comes next, as they’re growing up, as I try to remind them, I get, “I know, Mom.” I seldom get “Mommy/Mama, can you help me with…?” They seem to have it all down. They know the routine and are able to pretty much stick to it and maneuver through activities fairly well without me.

So there I am…the lonely Monarch butterfly from the distance watching my caterpillars become Chrysalis and slowly emerge as Monarchs themselves. I feel like my heart is slowly leaving me. A part of me is slowly disappearing and morphing into a separate being that functions on its own. I see little people, each with characteristics just like mine that are obvious to anyone who knows me well. They aren’t all good, but even then, I can’t but shake my head and smile at how amazing genetics are and how the amazing Creator formed each of these little beings who serve as reminders of our relationship with Him. They are extensions of us, as we are to be extensions of Him.

As a mom, I’ve heard people say it so many times, from the time my oldest was born to even now, “Enjoy every moment you have with them; they grow up so fast.” I’ll be honest, I didn’t think the time would go by THAT fast! I watch each of them as they do their individual homework, dress themselves, put their laundry away and wonder how the years are scurrying along and I don’t get to hit rewind on any of our special moments.

Cherish them. Give them hugs. Be silly with them. Love them. The days of their youth escape too quickly, and before we know it, they’ll be off to high school, college, and then bringing by someone else’s baby and wanting to start a life of their own with him/her.

I guess the way I see it now is that although some days I want my babies back in newborn form, life goes on. As much as I hated the idea growing up, just as I am to my mom, they will ALWAYS be my babies, and I’m okay with that.

I Kinda Like My Dust

So, folks, I got to thinking again this week. When I think too much, if any of you have noticed, I tend to swing from one extreme to the other:  cynical or wacky.

Well, I, like most people, care how I look. I want to be beautiful. I don’t want to be too skinny or gain too much weight. If my forehead or face is greasy, I care enough to blot it and not look like I splashed the grease off of fried chicken on it and then rubbed it in like some kind of facial routine. If I have a ‘bat in the cave,’ I care enough to want a friend or the person staring right at me to give me a sign. If I have food stuck in my teeth and give out a hearty laugh, rather than staring at me and squinting to figure out what I ate, I’d like you to let me know. If the extra garlic I put in my pasta sauce is wafting from my mouth and I decline a stick of gum or a mint, pull me aside and let me know, not quite like this, but you know.

Let’s say my four-week-old Bohemian hairstyle is falling apart in the back and I look a hot mess. Let’s say that despite it, I continue to strut my stuff like I look good. Of course, being that I have no eyes behind my head, I don’t realize that weeds are taking over back there. Well, let me strut (unless it’s really that bad), then pull me over and tell me know how the back of my head looks like a nest with eggs waiting to hatch.

I am a lot of things, but I don’t mind being alerted about my flaws. I have great friends from college who take the time, often, to put me in my place by pointing out those things that help keep me humble. We often go back and forth at each other, but it helps us laugh at ourselves, so that when someone says something to me just hating, it really doesn’t faze me.

Over the last week, a friend and I have been discussing about how our bodies are just a shell. We don’t leave with them. They house the being that makes up who we are, but at the end of the day, all of it fades and wastes away. That’s pretty sad and kind of depressing that the faces we spend hundreds of dollars purchasing beauty products for are only temporary. The bodies we get implants for are not here forever.

Hmmm…the thing is… I didn’t use to wear make-up, but my husband says that small, colored solid stick I use on my lips make my lips even more beautiful than they already are. We both like my eyes and love the look of the powder I apply to my eyelids to accentuate them. I’m not into rosy tint cheekbone stuff, but I’m not mad at the ladies who fancy it. Bi-weekly trips to get a manicure or pedicure? I would if I could.

In all seriousness though, what happens to our bodies when we’re gone? It all decomposes and returns to dust, right? In the meantime, is it okay to take care of it and adorn it? Is it okay for me to like getting pedicures and occasional manicures? Is it cool that I like my sundresses in the Summer and a good pair of black boots in the winter? I supposed it’s all good unless you become a slave to it, right? In the meantime, I have a confession... I kinda like my dust. That doesn’t mean I won’t respect the body the Lord has given me. I will simply enjoy it while I can and do my best not to make it a stumbling block for anyone. After all, what the good Lord gave, I don’t have to let just sag and drag, right? Can someone please hand me some petroleum jelly? I hear it keeps the skin tight. 

What Do You Believe?

There are so many things I’m still learning in this life that fades as quickly as the morning sun each day. Each day, I grow wiser, thinking, “At some point, we have to get to a place where we know enough to just be, right?” Each and every day though, I find that the answer is a resounding, “NO!” Here are a mish-mosh of thoughts, not necessarily strung together (as my brain seldom works that way)…

How do some people exist not believing in a higher power? How do they able to live without acknowledging that something beyond themselves keeps this crazy world going? Who really thinks that we are the result of a huge BANG!? Who really thinks that given another 1,000 years we may morph into some higher or more intelligent being, as homo sapiens can’t be the evolutionary process, can it? Idiots walking around creating their own truths despite the obvious signs that there’s more to this life than we can ever fathom? If this is it, all we have to live for - ourselves, pleasure, and things, then this whole experiment, or whatever it is, is a sham.

I choose to believe we each have a purpose. Yes, you water delivery men, housekeepers, freeway trash pickers, you all have a purpose. What you think you’re doing just to get by serves a much greater purpose. The attitude with which you provide your service or do your work speaks volumes about who you are and where you’re capable of going in this life. Where you are today is not indicative of where you will be tomorrow, unless that’s where you want to remain.

Of recent, I’ve realized just how much I limit myself. In talking to others, I say one thing about my current situation and how dire things often seem to get, but there are those who seem to swoop in right in the nick of time to remind me of where I am capable of going. If I just believe in the gifts and talents I’ve been given and how I can amount to much more than I so simply strive toward, I’d be alright. However, we allow our present circumstances direct our actions and speak for us.

For beings who just got here randomly, as a result of vapors or whatever else, we sure have some great insight, intuition, and wisdom. However, we believe in coincidences and run with all kinds of strange theories. We put one and three together and get five every time. We tend to miss the big picture before us. Life is more than just things and what we can obtain. Our relationships, hope, and faith play a big factor in the people we are capable of becoming. Nothing comes from nothing. We all have a mission on this earth and need to seek it out.

Coincidences? I don’t believe in them. I believe everything occurs for a reason; nothing happens by chance. Before you take the time to throw yourself a pity party to which others decline attendance, think about your life and those in it. How can YOU make a difference in someone else’s life? When we take the focus off ourselves, we tend to see life a little differently, and we often find that our issues are rather non-existent in comparison to what others around you are going through.

There was no funny-looking ape who eventually became me. There was no cataclysmic birth of the universe. If we search deeper, the heart of creation is relationship. Once we neglect to realize that, our focus becomes skewed. We take our focus off our fellow man and place it on the mundane and things we were supposed to have dominion over. At the heart of it all, there’s more to this life than we can ever imagine. So our hatred for others and fight for the irrelevant has to end. Our purpose is to love, serve, and give our all. No big bang or evolutionary process could teach us that or encourage to get up and dust ourselves off after a fall. I need you. You need me. We need Him. 

Don't Bury Me; Keep Me Alive

Last week was a rather busy week for my family and I. Amidst packing, looking for new schools, etc., I was very apprehensive. It was the week of remembrance for two close friends. It was two years since one friend’s brother passed and five years since the other’s father passed. When I say apprehensive, I mean it. I’m one of those diarrhea of the mouth type of people, so in such instances, I either put my foot in my mouth or become a ghost.

I know I asked one of them how best to approach it the week before. Do I call? Is texting better? Should I just let the day come and go? I mean, I was a mess. I didn’t want my friends to think I didn’t care, but I also didn’t want to be “that” person who only brings up the family member once a year, as if it’s the least I can do. Personally, I would want to talk about the person all the time, to keep their memory alive, but because not everyone is me, I walk on egg shells and tend to make big messes. I want to get things right when it comes to such touchy subjects or situations, but most of the time, I just end up overthinking it then doing absolutely nothing, and hope my friend doesn’t notice.

So this week, I’ve been thinking a lot about how we often don’t get to say what people mean to us until they’re gone. Why do we wait until the person can no longer give us a hug or say, “Thank you; that meant a lot” to say how we really feel? Is it because we’re concerned that it’s never the right time (birthday/anniversary)? I don’t know. I think it sucks though.

I’ve met a lot of people in my lifetime and made a lot of good friends along the way. From time-to-time, I try to send cards expressing how I feel about the individual and how they’ve impacted my life. I don’t know about you, but realizing how much has been left unsaid after a person passes saddens me more than their actual passing. Weird? Maybe, but that’s just how I’m wired. I hate funerals for that very reason. As the person lays there, or in their absence, beautiful memories are brought to life. They are so vivid and often bring a smile across our faces before we return to bawling. I’m not quite sure why, but I absolutely dread those moments.

 I’m always mad at funerals, especially if I knew the person, or he/she meant something to me. I end up mentally kicking myself. For instance,  I would like to have told my uncle (maternal) that  he was my favorite and that I always looked forward to his smile. I would have liked to tell my cousin (maternal) that despite being so young, she was like my best friend, and her words always touched me deeply.

As much as I’m not into mush, I like to let people I care about know it. Whether it’s an occasional text here and there (since I’m not one for phone calls), or a random PM, e-mail, or card, I think it’s important. I don’t think anyone should go too long without knowing someone cares for or is at least thinking about them. I think everyone is entitled to a little YOUlogy. Let them know what you think of them, or their presence in your life. Talk them up a little; make them feel good about themselves. No flattery! Don’t blow breeze up their behinds or anything; be genuine. Share your favorite memory with them. Remind them of the first day you noticed them or how you met. Indulge the person with their favorite treat, to show them that you listen or pay attention.

I may have a strange way about me, but I have some pretty strong beliefs. While I’m alive, let me know how I’ve pissed you off, so we can talk it over and make up. While I’m alive, let’s grab some lunch or dinner and laugh at how lame we used to be and still are. While I’m alive, forget the movies, let’s talk. While I’m alive, take jabs at me, and I’ll take some at you. (I do that with those I love; that’s how they know I love them.) Then, if it’s God’s will and I go before you, at least I know where you and I stood: no words unspoken, no moments unlived. Talk about me…every day, if you can. Don’t bury me in the crevice of your memory; keep me alive. 

Call Your Parents

What is going on? I’m not sure, but I’m kind of sad. Two friends have lost loved ones in less than two weeks. One lost her only child, her 24-year-old son, in the middle of the night.  She was his sole caretaker, being that he was born with Cornelia de Lange Syndrome (CdLS), a congenital syndrome. How she loved her little treasure. She loved him with all she had and still does.  She fought for laws to be changed in order for special children like him to enjoy and experience things that we often take for granted. She took him bowling. He graduated high school and won several awards. While some saw a cute young man with beautiful lashes who didn’t speak and had different physical characteristics than we are accustomed to, she treated him with the respect and love he deserved and didn’t limit him or underestimate his abilities.

A few days after attending his Celebration of Life, I just found that a friend lost her dad, just weeks before her wedding. I don’t know what she must be going through, and I’m not even the best person to say that I do. My heart hurts for her though. How do you move on from that? Apparently, it was unexpected; a heart attack took him away from her family much too soon.  

I’m not sure how people go through life once they lose a sibling, parent, or child, but they must have a strength that helps them get through it. Whether expected or unexpected, the loss of a life can’t be easy.

I become a clam at times like this, because I tend to be at a loss for words. I don’t know what to say that will sufficiently express how I feel. I feel if I say too much, I may put my foot in my mouth and come off as insensitive, but I’m always concerned that my silence may be interpreted as me not caring.

To those who still have the chance, we need to hold our loved ones tighter. We need to tell them we love them more often. While they are still around, we need to make the time to spend with them. We take so much for granted, and we assume we’ll always have one another, but it’s not guaranteed.  J.K. Simmons said it so well, in terms of appreciating our parents. Call them.

I'm Not Scared

Okay, so this week, I faced two discomforts of mine head on. I wouldn’t call them fears because I think they were really just due to concerns and others’ comments.

So, anyone who knows me and knows me well is well aware of my great dislike for animals. I don’t enjoy zoos or like any type of pet. I cannot eat in the same room with an animal of any kind. If I am aware that a person owns one, I have difficulty eating in their home. The thought that an animal’s lingering hair could await me in the bite of my burger or that I may go home with animal hair on me just freaks me out. I’m not talking, “Oh, with a good shower, I’m good” or “I’ll just sit there and leave after a little bit”. I really truly try not to go anywhere with pets.

My husband has seen me leap over a friend’s furniture, leap on top of someone’s truck in a parking lot, topple over a table, in order to get away from dogs. Having been chased by dogs that supposedly don’t chase people unless they are apprehended, I don’t trust any dogs, not even Chihuahuas. When I’m around, they have one goal in mind, and that is to attack.

Let’s not start with felines. The looks cats give freak me out. I just know they are out to get me, despite how much their owners try to convince me that “he/she’s scared around people”. For some reason, when I come around, these scaredy cats are never scared around me…go figure, right?

I’ll be truthful. I have had a meal in a particular home where I knew there was a pet lurking. However, the dog, as big as he was, preferred a corner and did not roam freely, due to his age. I, unbeknownst to his owners, watched as they washed their hands before preparing meals. I ensured I did not sit by his resting area, and I definitely did not eat within sight of the friendly canine. Something about it all gives me the heebie jeebies.

This week, however, in order to put me at ease as a visitor, a couple put their dog away and ended up getting into some high dosage pills. To see the panic in owners’ eyes, the lengths they were willing to go in order to ensure the dog was okay puzzled me. It’s exactly how I reacted the day I accidentally gave my son too much medicine, measuring in the wrong unit. To see how they loved on that dog they had rescued from the pound, possibly days from euthanization, really got to me. Apparently, that dog was like family to them. I don’t get it, and I never will. The thing is as much as I dislike animals, I felt horrible. If not for my dislike for pets, that dog could have died, and that would have crushed its owners.

When the dog returned, I didn’t recoil, neither did I slide right over toward my husband. I think my daughter, who is very much afraid of dogs noticed. She loosened up quite a bit and even pet the dog. She was curious about the state of the dog’s health. I didn’t realize how much my reaction to dogs had negatively affected her. Although I did not and have no intention to pet a dog or any other animal, I realized I could potentially co-exist with a calm pet. Victory #1.

Well, that occurred in Mexico. Anyone who I have spoken to in the last week or two knows how much I fought my husband on the issue of going to Mexico. I was dead set on staying behind so that I could be safe and not be pulled over or disturbed by members of the cartel. I was sure that Mexico = uncertainty and danger. Why would I go there and endanger myself and my family? All the water is tainted and unsafe to drink. Anyone in their right mind had no reason going there, especially since so many Mexican citizens are risking their lives and going through the desert to get to the United States. It must be pretty bad there, or at least that’s what I thought until I went there myself.

Rocky Point…it was beautiful, so serene. Its tranquility took my breath away.  I have never slept better or felt as rested as when I was there. Although there wasn’t much to do, other than gaze at the ocean and watch it do its thing, I enjoyed every moment. How could a place that people consider so dangerous contain such a peaceful, hidden sanctuary? Oh, I’d so go back…Victory#2

These two personal victories have made me realize that there are other issues I have not fully faced, and I am determined to challenge myself in order to stretch myself. There’s always room to grow, be better, learn new things. None of us is here on Earth as a finished product. Dig deep…what is something you find challenging, that you’re afraid of, or simply have not been able to overcome?  Look it straight in the face and work your way towards a victory. Even the smallest step makes a difference. Every step in the right direction is a step toward success.