Writing Joy

I have a tendency to write sadness. It isn't that I am always feeling sadness, but it seems that is when I feel the urgent need to express my emotion, above and beyond its vocalization. And so it comes out on paper or via this intangible intergallactic network we are all hooked into, in a stream of woes. It is usually depressing and angry, and I often never want to read it again.

Now, this has become a problem because I love to both read and write. And to reread what I have written. There has been so little writing in the baby years, that I find most of it has been out of frustration or a moment here and there in awe of my little ones. To be one who loves writing so much, and who needs that form of expression to really evolve (seriously, I think my spiritual, mental and emotional growth might be stunted without it), no writing is really just out of the question.

So, I have decided to write joy. Not to escape sadness altogether (could you imagine?), but to allow myself to focus on the joy. Not to miss it. Not to deprive myself of it. And to share it with others.

Akeem and the Monsters

The year Akeem turned three, he began dreaming of monsters.



He woke up one morning and ran into the bathroom looking for his mama.

"I'm here, Mom!" he said. "I'm here!"

"I see!" said Mama. "Good morning, baby. Where did you go?"

"The monster came and took me away and I woke up and I was looking for you, Mama."

"Ohhhhhhhh," said Mama, nodding. "That was just a dream."

"Yes," he said. "That was my dream."

"You know," said Mama, leaning in real close, "anytime you have a bad dream about a monster, you can just wake up and come in my room. I will always be there."

Akeem snuggled her. "Can I have a popsicle?"



Sometimes, Akeem woke up at night because of the monsters. He went to see his mama, just like she said he should. She snuggled him until he fell asleep again. The monsters stayed away when his mama was around. Mostly.

When the monsters didn't stay away, Akeem's mama said, "You can tell me about the monsters if you want. What happened in your dream? What did those monsters do?"

Akeem told his mama that the monsters tried to take him away from her.

He didn't want to go. but they made him go.

He would run and hide, but they found him.

One night at bedtime, Akeem had enough. "Mom," he said, "I am gonna dream and see that monster and if that monster tries to get me I am gonna find you and I am gonna KILL that monster!!!"

Akeem's mama was not pleased by this.

"No, Akeem. We don't want to kill the monster, honey," she began.

"Yes! We are gonna beat him up!" he insisted.

Well! Mama thought for a minute.

"You know what, Keem?" she said. "You don't have to worry about those monsters. Do you know why? Because you are strong and tough!"

"Now if you see a monster," said Mama, "you just say, 'I'm not afraid of you because I am tough!' And that monster will say. "Uh-oh, you are tough? Then I had better run away!' And off he'll go."

Akeem did not have to think twice about his mama's words. He knew she was right.

"That's right," said Akeem. "I am gonna see that monster and say 'I am tough!' And that monster will run away!"

"Mmm hmm!" said Mama. "And if you see another monster, you say, 'I am tough and my mama is tough!' And that monster will say, 'Uh-oh! You are tough AND your mama is tough?! I better run away!' And off he will go."

Akeem giggled. "And if I see another monster, I will say, 'I am tough and my mama is tough and my sister is tough!' And that monster will say, 'Uh-oh! I better run away!'"

"That's right!" said Mama.

"And Mama," said Akeem excitedly, "if my friend sees a monster in his dream, if my friend from school sees a monster, I will tell him, he he will tell the monster....!"

"Ok, Akeem, no more monsters," said Mama.

Akeem flopped around for a minute in his covers.

"But, Mama," he said, "If a monster comes in my dream, can I come in your room?"

"Mmm hmm," said Mama. "Because we are tough and strong."

For Ali and Our Rolls

Last night I asked Courtney to take pictures of me. I have been looking in the mirror lately, actually taking to time to look at myself before I hustle the kids out of the door in the morning, and I began realizing that the image I see is different every day. It so often depends on my mood or my self-esteem on that particular morning. Just as frequently, my reflection seems to determine my mood. You know what I am talking about. It is impossible for you to gain 15 pounds in one day, but you and I both had days last week when we swore that was the case. Or, we looked in the mirror and admired that same body, those same curves that we cursed the day before.

The more I noticed these drastic changes from one day to the next, I wanted to see a "real" image of my body. One that was removed. That didn't turn with my own movements as in a mirror, but one that I could post up on the wall like a cover girl. Hence, the pictures.

What I saw when I looked at my body from different angles was the same self image I saw reflected in the mirror. Changing with each shift in perspective, my body seemed to project the self that I felt most connected to at the moment the picture was taken. Now, what does that really mean? What do we see when we look at ourselves in the mirror? In photographs?

Now, let's be real: I have had three babies. I am about 20 pounds heavier than my before-baby weight. I need a hair cut. I AM A PARENT!!! And a wife, and a student, and a latte addict. Self-professed, all the way. That all being said, I don't expect to see Sophia Loren or Iman when I look in the mirror. But looking at those photos, I didn't focus in on my physical imperfections, but rather on the disappointing and inhibited attitude that my face and body displayed.

My sister recently told me that she remembers seeing an art exhibit, painting or sculpture I think, when she was just moving into adolescence, in which the renderings of beautiful women focused on their ample waists and hips. I don't mean curvy like a perfectly smooth curve, I mean curvy like love handles, creases in the skin of their waists, little ripples of fat that accentuated the shape and appeal of their bodies. It was at this moment, when viewing these women who she saw as both beautiful and real, that my sister decided she loved "rolls."

Do you love your rolls? I don't, not every day. Courtney does, every day. More importantly, my body is a part of who I am. By expressing it with confidence, I change the way that I feel about it. I change the way that I am perceived.

Look in the mirror tomorrow and make a conscious decision to LOVE what you see. For yourself and for those around you. We love to see you smile.

One soy turtle latte, a baby sling, a soccer ball and three dog bones

"Hold my juice, Mom. I need to get some doggie treats."

This is my three-year-old, Akeem. We had just dropped off big sister at school and managed to drive ten blocks, park the car, a get all three of us, my two boys and myself, into the coffee shop. Baby in sling, soccer ball tucked under Keem's right arm, I am in pursuit of the morning latte.

"Akeem, wait for mama," says Mary. "She needs her soy."

Mary, bless her, is the lovely owner of Audubon Coffee, a just-the-right-size, kid-friendly, wireless, art-infused coffee oasis on Johnson Stree NE and 28th Avenue in Northeast Minneapolis. And of course, she is accomodating not only of moms and babies and wireless internet scavengers, but she is also equipped with a stash of treats for the dogs in the 'hood. More importantly, the stash sits on a table just high enough to keep the dogs out of it, and just low enough to allow curious three-year-olds to rummage the contents.

"We don't need any doggie treats, Keem," I say to my son. "There are no dogs here today."
"But, Mom, I'm just gonna hold it." He looks up at me as I get ready to go out the door.
"Okay, just one," I say, heading out, a large soy turtle latte in hand. I prop the door open for him and notice he has three, stacked neatly in his tight fist. I smile.
"How are you going to carry your soccer ball, with the dog treats in your hand?" I ask. I can see him working through this, looking first at the treats, and then at the soccer ball that I am holding.
He replies, "Here, Mom. You can hold them."
I start to phrase my rebuttal, and then I decide to cut him a break. What's the harm in a couple of dog snacks, right?
"Okay, guess what? I have a pocket in the sling, and we can put the doggie treats in there."
"A pocket in the sling?" he says. I don't think he quite believes me. He watches as I flip over the end of the wrap to reveal a small zipper pocket. I slip the treats in and zip it up. Magic.
"There," I say. "All done."
Keem smiles, clearly satisfied.


I have been enjoying my boys lately. Leila too. But the particular stress I was feeling from managing the needs of the three-year-old and the ten-month-old has seemed to dissipate. I think I all of a sudden realized that there really was no need to rush through the day. I mean, what are we rushing for? If we don't enjoy the process, there really isn't a point. And whatever huge accomplishment we are seeking, in the end, doesn't seem so grand if we haven't enjoyed the path that lead to it. I have spent less time lately trying to be present, and just being present. I am finding that the path is the accomplishment. That how I navigate through life is what matters.

Baggage

Bag lady you gon' hurt your back,
Draggin all them bags like that.
I guess nobody ever told you
All you must hold onto
is you. - Erykah Badu

Why do we hold onto baggage and let it hold us down?

I have spent the past year it seems, upacking all of my baggage. All of the mess that has really weighed me down since I was fourteen years old. Ten years of mess. Foolishness. Man, oh man. And I am tired, real tired, of carrying it on my back, on my mind, and in my heart.

Let it go, let it go, let it go, let it go. Thank you, Erykah.

My husband and I just spent the weekend dredging up history, laying it out on the table, and pulling it apart. You know, we have known each other ten years. That adds up to a lot of history. Bags. We have our childhoods. Bags. And our adolescence. Bags. And college. What I'm gon' say? Bags! You know it! Don't get me wrong. I loooovvvvvee that man. Together we have endured tests and trials, and have experienced more joys and blessings than I can count. But when we lay it all out on the table, we have taken alot of those experiences and carried them for those years. Truth be told, and let it please be told now or never, I tend to hoard most of the drama. Is it a female thing? Ladies? I don't know. I don't. But what I know is that I have had E-N-O-U-G-H! Carrying this mess around with me is hurting me. And my husband. And my children. And anyone who comes into contact with me, really. Because they cannot see me through the mess that I have covering me up.

Now, let me speak some truth to you all. And please tell me if I am on point or not, okay? We hold onto our baggage to hide. To cover up our fears of actually being someone, doing something in the world. We hold onto it for self-pity. We carry it so that we don't have to make someone else shoulder the burden. But let me tell you something (as my mother-in-law would say), other people, the people in your life, are there to shoulder that burden for you. That is why they are in your life. And if they are not willing to be there for you when you need them to hold your hand, then let them go.

We are not here to waste time holding secrets, holding hurt and fear and shame in our hearts. We are on this earth to love and to show others how to love by giving them love. We don't always receive the love we need. True. We don't always know how to be the best lovers, friends, parents or neighbors. But to use our baggage as an excuse for being in the place that we are in our lives? I am here to tell you that is unacceptable. We are better than that. I am and you are too.

Be truthful.
Show love.
Take a chance on those you love; let them love you.

"Sometimes we forget what we've got,
Who we are, and who we are not.
I think we got a chance
to make this right.
Keep it loose, keep it tight."

Amen!

Dear Baby

The following is a letter to a friend's fetus. Tomorrow she is having an abortion. You might view this post as an editorial about my views on abortion. This is not my goal. This post is my reaction, my personal process of dealing with the death of a child and the ramifications of that action on the life of my friend.

Dear Baby,

Tomorrow you will die.

You know nothing but warmth and water. You are floating in a small, insulated home. Inside a woman who is probably awake when she should be resting. She is tired and anxious because she has made a decision that will impact your life and hers forever. I don't think that she knows yet the extent of this decision, how far or long it will affect her as a human being, as a woman, and perhaps, one day, as a mother. She is a mother because of you, yes. But she is giving that up, I think, because she believes that it will allow her to live. She is giving your life for her own.

Your mother, the woman who now holds you in her womb, believes that she cannot deal with this situation. She is young, younger than I was when I gave birth to my first child, and I too was young. She is alone in a place where she sees many relationships going on all around her. She is trying to make relationships of her own. She is trying to get somewhere in life, somewhere that many people around her have not gone. She is struggling, and you have made her tired. You take what you need, because that is what growing children do. Your little body soaks up her nutrients and her energy, and she feels less motivated and sick.

She knows that she could bear you. She could physically bear the pain of the labor, and the annoyance of the whining, and the years of working to support you. You would be hard work. And she has not even begun to get at a place called "stability." She is trying, I think. At least with as much heart as she knows how. She has been told that she is lazy, and in the same breath that she is talented. She has not experienced unconditional love from the people that she needed it from. At least I don't think so. And I don't know, I don't know if you came into being because she consented to sex, or because she was forced into it. I just don't know.

I don't pass judgment on her. I will not. People say that they don't, that God is the only judge. But they don't mean it. In their minds they are thinking, passing judgment. But I will not. She has made a decision. It is her choice.

Here is the rub, as we say. In my view, a choice is not only a right, but a responsibility. A choice implies that one is making a conscious decision between one thing and another. And if we defend our right to choose whether or not to terminate our pregnancies, than we also need to be making choices that will help protect us and our humanity. I don't think there is one pro-choice advocate in the world who does not view abortion as the termination of the early stages of life. There are different views about the spiritual significance of this action, the moral implication, the physical impact. But we can agree that the act of aborting a fetus ends a life that was beginning to develop. So, I don't think anyone enjoys it. It is not a process that we would volunteer for, it is rather our way of dealing with the development of unexpected, unwanted life.

That is you, my dear little one. Though I am saddened by this, by the fact that you mother has to make this decision, and by the fact that you will not live through this stage in your physical life, I do not view this as your end. I think, I hope, that the only pain you will ever feel is that of tomorrow. That beyond those few moments you will feel nothing but pure joy, in a stage of life that many of us will not see for many years. For this reason, I must make a request of you on behalf of your mother. You must guide her through this life. She is trying in the best ways that she knows, to become someone in this world. More than anyone else, she needs you. She does not realize that you would be a joy in her life. Or, if she does, it is not enough to outweigh the difficulties she believes you would bring. She is trying to better herself, to give herself the opportunity to grow in this world, by deleting you from it. I ask that you not abandon her in her time of need, when she needs you the most. It is my belief that in the world that lies beyond death, your work will be much greater that any we are doing here on earth. Like all of the good we can muster multiplied by a million. You will have power and love beyond measure, and I ask, in your mother's name, that you embrace her with your true self at all times.

Back to Life, Back to Reality

Yesterday I was on a high. All day. I found out that I received an amazing fellowship from the University of Minnesota Graduate School. I was excited, understandably. I have worked hard as a student, and as a mom, and have been fighting to figure out my path in life. I am also a self-professed research nerd. So, you know, a chance to go back to graduate school is wonderful. And the fellowship allows me to excel in my program by paying me to go to school. I will be able to afford day care, I will get to watch my daughter as she experiences a "real" school for the first time, and I will be able to do it all without stress. At least not financial stress, not the stress of knowing I am borrowing ridiculous sums of money from the government.

Today, today. Today. Today, is not so sunny. I am still excited, and ready for the year to begin already. But I remember that the world doesn't stop for me. That doing the program is going to mean getting up, getting myself and everyone dressed, getting Leila to school, Akeem to daycare, and Malik to grandma's. Getting reading, writing and studying done. Completing two field placements. I know it's going to be tough. But, this time is different. I feel prepared. I feel like people are behind me, are excited for me to be going into this field, to begin connecting myself to the world through a different venue.

I am ready.