Last week, Saturday made himself welcome in my bedroom. Blood orange suit clinging to the corners of my eyes. I rose, energized and welcomed the sun to my private party. Born day # 29 began slow-like you always want Saturday to be.

Savored it. Went for a walk, just because there’s no better way to kick off a birthday than to get the blood pumping. When I got home, my little son sang his birthday wishes.

“Happy birthday to mommeeeeee, happy birthday to yooooooou, happy birthday to mommeeeee! Now, let’s eat cake!”

He was so pleased with himself. He’d been practicing the song for weeks, usually singing it to himself in preparation for his birthday, 6 months away. His infectious smile made me laugh, and he gave me my present: lots and lots of juicy birthday kisses.

I didn’t have any special plans for my birthday. Choosing, instead, to celebrate it with my family enjoying the breezy, bright Saturday afternoon. We had lunch, strolled around the Grove looking in store windows, watched the koi swim in the pond, and tried to keep my little one from going in after them. Relaxing.

Birthdays demand reflection. I spent Saturday, and the ensuing long Memorial day weekend, being thankful for all that I have been blessed with. Yes, my life isn’t perfect. My beloved is locked up and will be gone for 9 more summers and I might be unemployed by the end of June, but I have my health, my life, and my beautiful son who is somehow able to put a smile on my face even when I’m in the midst of the deepest funks.

Lincoln once wrote, “In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years.” I’m trying to live every single day to its fullest and appreciate all that I’ve been blessed with because for some, their years have run out.

Tomorrow, I will attend a funeral for a woman I’ve known for over 10 years. She’s been a mentor to me, especially during my teaching years. For over 40 years she dedicated her life to educating little brown girls and boys before it was cut short Monday night. When someone so loving, supporting, and down right fun passes unexpectedly, it forces me to be thankful. I am more thankful for everything, especially every woman in my life that has molded me into the mommy, teacher and woman I am today.

Listening to President's Obama's speech today, made we instantly think of Slim Charles' reaction to Stringer Bell's death in the Wire. In this episode, Bell is cut down in a hail of bullets because of his shady business dealings amid a drug war between the Barksdale and Marlow crews. Although Bells death has nothing to do with Marlow, and everyting to do with his compadre Barksdale, Slim Charles recognizes that the war, however misguided, will wage on.

Litening to President Obama chastise the Bush administration's blatant disregard for the rule of law and practice of torture of detainees at Guantanamo Bay, while asserting that he too will, in essence, sidestep the law through "continued prolonged detention" of detainees that pose a threat even though the evidence does not warrant prosecution, was sort of mind-blowing. Yes, I understand some of the detaines pose a threat, but to assert that you're going to uphold the law & our moral standing in the world, while holding people indefinitely seems like some slick double-talk.

I like President Obama. I feel more hopeful with him in office, but I do expect more. I know he's in a tough spot. I know closing Gitmo and finidng a safe and sensible soulutin to this issue of dealing with terror suspects will not be easy, but I'm a bit disheartened. I know that this situation is extremely complexand probably can't simply be solved by "doing the right thing," but I wish that someone would just step up and make those tough choices.

What do you think?

hysterical....

(but so true)



peace.

The first time my son met his father was in jail.

Blistering cold out, I wrapped my almost two-month-old son in a baby-blue snowsuit, and a hand knitted blanket and walked to the train station. We took the E train in Queens, then transferred to a bus that would take us to Rikers Island.

When the bus crossed the bridge onto Rikers Island, I didn't know what to expect. Even though I was somewhat of an around-the-way girl and had cousins who had been in an out of the prison, I had never set foot in a jail. My experience with jail was only what I'd seen on Law & Order, and from the looks of the show, Rikers was like the ninth circle of hell.

When I got off the bus gripping my newborn son, I didn't know I'd have to go through three sets of metal detectors, leave everything I carried for the baby—except for a blanket—in a locker, remove my shoes, shake out my bra, and take off my socks just to spend an hour with my beloved and introduce him to his son. It was a humbling experience, and I never wanted to do it again, but it's been three years, and this is our life…for now.

Raising a child is an arduous task. Raising a child alone is even more daunting. Because his father is away, I am in the precarious situation of being a not-so-single, single mother. Although his father tries to father our son through visits, phone calls, and letters, he is not able to be with us on a day-to-day basis, which means it's up to me.

I never planned on being a single mother. When my beloved was locked up, we were a week away from ushering our son into the world. We had bought all of the necessities, celebrated with two baby showers, and were happily awaiting his arrival. One night, our lives changed in an instant, and I was thrust into the difficult role of being another single, black girl with a baby.

When my son was first born, I vowed that even though he was being raised in the absence of his father, he wouldn't want for anything. I have made it my mission to give my son every advantage, every opportunity, and every indulgence that is feasibly possible. And even though we now live 3000 miles away from his father, I have made a conscious effort to keep our family intact and make sure we see him as much as humanly (and financially) possible. Even at three, my son knows both his mommy and daddy love him fiercely, and he is happy.

Solo-parenting my son has been both rewarding and very lonely. When we venture out to the park or to the movies or anywhere and see complete families, a hint of sadness curls around my heart because I am reminded of what is lacking in our life. Although beloved and I are together, I am still the one parenting our son alone, making sure he doesn't feel as though he has missed out on anything just because mommy's raising him by herself.

Since becoming a parent, I've become acutely aware of how I'm viewed, and have gone out of the way to make it known I'm not the stereotypical single mom. Even though single parents are raising more children, there is still a huge stigma that looms above our heads. And for black women, it's even worse.

I am not your stereotypical single mom. I have both a Bachelor's and Masters degree, I'm a professional, and I make a decent living. I am not on welfare, I'm not out having multiple babies by multiple fathers. I am young, black, and gifted and a mom.

As my son grows older and becomes more aware of his father's absence, I know I will have to explain the situation and reiterate that he is loved truly, deeply, and completely by both of us. He will have questions, and I pray we will have the answers. But for now, I am enjoying having my son all to myself. I am blessed to experience all his funny faces, silly dance moves, and I loves yous and not feel selfish one bit.

First Lady Michelle Obama was recently honored by People Magazine as one of 2009's the most beautiful people. We all should have seen this one coming. The media has been in an absolute frenzy since the Obamas got to Washington, and the first lady has been mentioned by nearly every magazine and tabloid on the planet. What I enjoyed about her nod in this year's list, however, were her words. She states,

"I had a father and a brother who thought I was beautiful, and they made me feel that way every single day...I grew up with very strong male role models who thought I was smart and fast and funny, so I heard that a lot. I know that there are many young girls who don’t hear it."

I echo Mrs. Obama's sentiments. Although my family wasn't perfect, my parents made me feel as though I was smart enough and beautiful enough to conquer the world. Without Mrs. Obama's parents and my own, who knows what sorts of pressures we could have fallen victim to. Many of my peers did not make it to college. A few had babies before we even walked across the high school stage humming "Pomp and Circumstance," and even more still are just out there "hustling." Having someone in your corner that has your back is amazing. It's empowering, and it makes you think you can accomplish anything you want.

Unfortunately, many kids do not have someone they can count on. I run a support group for kids at my school and today we were discussing resources (people) we could count on in a crisis situation. The kids in my group have a myriad of things going on in their lives. One girl feels completely alone, says her parents are "bad parents" and opts to keep to herself because she's depressed. Another just lost his grandfather, is angry at his own father because he hasn't seen him since he was two years old, gets into fights a lot, and cuts himself to deal with his pain/anger. Yet another is VERY angry with his father for leaving him for his stepmother and cries and lashes out in anger to compensate for his pain. Heavy. Although they deal with very different issues, the tie that binds each of their stories is that they do not have an advocate they feel comfortable with. Despite their problems and imperfections, I have learned that they are great kids, yet they don't have someone that has their back and tells them it's ok to dream and work to reach those dreams. It's sad, but if they are going to make it, they will need some help.

I've struggled all year not to get too attached to my students. This year, it has been easier to not let their issues become my issues, but this support group is another animal. I wasn't expecting the kids to come with issues so raw and deep, nor was I expecting them to be so willing to open themselves up and share their wounds. If we are going to raise more Shashas, Malias, and Michelles--we are going to have to step in the gaps for our kids.

What can we do to help? Mentor OUR children. Even if parents can't be there, if families are dysfunctional, even if you don't feel like it's your responsibility...it is. Who else can help our kids but us?



For more information on how you can get involved, check out The National CARES Mentoring Movement.

this is not my life anymore
by Wanda Coleman

it belongs to the two moreno tots with starcrossed eyes
feet like mine and wavy brown hair

it belongs to the widow who lives alone behind bars black
enough to resist crack addicts and petty larcenists

it belongs to the woman in Chicago whose cacography reveals
fear of white doctors and whiter walls

it belongs to the mulatto guitarist who dreams of being
knighted by the queen in his next sleep

it belongs to the manchild who wears my frown

~~~

Wanda Coleman's poem always makes me ask myself, "Am I really living? Or just getting by?"

It's easy to get caught into a cycle of just putting one foot in front of the other. Familial responsibilities, financial concerns, life...all manage to get in the way of striving to do what you REALLY want to do in life. As women we tend to mother everyone before we stop to take care of ourselves. Until recently, I've been too tired to do many of the things I really enjoy. For one, I haven't been writing as much as I'd like. I've just been too tired to allow the ideas to flow. Soon the tiredness numbs my want to write, and nothing gets written. Sad.

Lately, I've sort of snapped out of it. Perhaps it's because the end of the school year is in sight (8 weeks!), and I'm not AS tired at the end of each day. My classes are sort of on autopilot, working on projects and presentations, and much of my energy is not spent on directly teaching, but rather facilitating the process. It's a nice switch and it's presented me with more energy and more time to think about other things beside work. And I don't plan on squandering it.

This weekend, instead of falling into the comforting lull of procrastination, I actually worked on a few creative project I've been neglecting. It felt good to actually be in motion on something that relates to ME and what I want to do, not just tending to others. Of course, life will not allow me to be completely selfish, I am somebody's mommy after all. But I've definitely gotten my second wind.


Blog fam,
Are you living your life or just getting by?

I was late to the game, but I have become aware of the power of Twitter and other social networking sites. I am very fickle when it comes to the internet (can't you tell?). Sometimes I blog like a maniac, and others, I disappear for a while. Lately I've been on twitter hardcore (sorta), and it's produced some promising benefits.

Many of you know that I received a pink slip from my school district. From time to time I bring it up on twitter. Friday, I received a message from a woman asking if I was looking for a teaching position. Innocent enough, right? Well, she's a principal at a local charter school and we began talking, and she's agreed to forward my resume to several of her colleagues. Score.

Another opportunity has presented itself through one of my blog friends. I've been toying with the idea of starting another project (a website) that would highlight the works of people I dig. In my heart of hearts, I want to write. I love to write, but I'm lazy. But I've come to realize that being lazy doesn't yield any sort of results I'm cool with, so I must move. Anyway, the fabulous LoveBabz, connected me to one of her sista-friends, author & Yale history Professor, Jennifer Baszile. Hopefully I will be able to catch up with her at the LA Times Festival of Books and ask her a few questions about her new book, writing, compare notes on growing up in Southern California (stay tuned).

We all know that networking is one of the keys to accomplishing your goals, but until recently, I wasn't making the most of the entirety of my network. In these uncertain economical times, it's gonna take the largest network possible to stay afloat. And I'm just happy I've got some great people in mine.

Newt is angry,                     so
what else is new? Obama
plays nice with others
                                    thankfully

~~
just a quick note.

you can catch me blogging today over at MyBrownBaby. i am discussing the GOP "outrage" over the niceties President Obama extended to Hugo Chavez, and how my 3 year old son can teach the GOP a few things about manners.

check it out & please comment.
thanks!

i am tired and oh so hot. the temp was nearly 100 degrees today and my classroom doesn't have A/C. yes, it was torture. but we made it. by 6th period all the kids were tired and cranky, and i really couldn't blame them.

i have been slacking on putting up some of the poems for National Poetry Month. Forgive me. I am posting a new poem (just wrote it lol) as well as a poem from LoveBabz. please stop by her blog, listen to her radio show, and show her some love. she's a great woman.

peace

~~~~~~

i need a glass of shiraz
merlot and a margarita
i need a massage
an ice cream cone
a glass of ice
water washing over my skin

i need a beach
secluded and gleaming sand
free of hurt
or reminders of

today
i need a hug
or cool hand
brushing against smooth skin
and lips

i need to feel
bliss and reckless abandon
to do
whatever
i choose


(c) 2009, me.
~~~~

HE LIKES FAST WOMEN
by LoveBabz


A Porsche…

Easy to handle he says…
And yet they are constantly:
        Sleek...high maintenance…shallow…unreliable….

He longs for substance…

Something that can handle his driving style:

      Size matters…

Rolls Royce is never the obvious choice….

Classic lines… understated elegance….stability... a real pleasure to handle…
      Sure 0-60 in 5 sec is fast…

But when you slip behind the wheel of real luxury…hand crafted…butter soft interior
You no longer remember why fast was ever any good….


Grown women do not convince men that fast cars are …well, just fast…

Grown men have to want:
        Built for comfort…not for speed.



* want to submit your poem to be featured on this blog? email me. theprisonerswife at gmail dot com. peace.

the break-up muse



        matched
mis
words strewn
lying heavily on your tongue

i don’t understand
your needs
       unmet
mine

       alone
we
love in the trenches

(c) me, 2003

~~~
last week i spent three days with beloved. we hadn't seen each other since we rang in the new year and he was itching to see me. truth be told, i was ok with not making the trip, but i knew that our visitings are already few and far between.

before our trip i was feeling kinda uninspired by our relationship. we slipped into the dangerous lull of taking each other for granted. afterall, we live totally separate, but connected, lives. he is constantly on alert, dealing with the harsh realities of being locked up, unable to really be free. and i am just dealing with the day-to-day mundaneness of raising a child, working, and trying to keep my head above water. it has been so easy for me to detach myself from OUR life together. not that my love for him had been diminished, but it has certainly been forced to take a back seat to other parts of life.

but last week...good lord, the air was still damp with new snow, the sun somehow broke through, and once again i was greeted by love, my love. we talked, we shared meals, and we breathed in the solace of each other. it was like a reunion that helped to put our relationship into perspective again, to light the fire again.

and now i miss him.

i haven't really ached in a while. i haven't really, really missed him in a while. i've learned to control the missing. learned to put my feelings on the back burner just to make it through each day. but after seeing him, breathing him, i'm once again left feeling...everything.

blessing the boats
by Lucille Clifton

(at St. Mary's)

may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that

~*~

Happy Easter y'all.
peace.



*Want your poetry featured on this blog for National Poetry Month? Email me. Theprisonerswife at gmail dot com.

Hands
by Susan

We are lovely shades of raisins and hazelnut
and coffee-milk brown. We belong
to different decades but we share the same span-
same hands and the same fingers connect us.
Sometimes we clench our fists and boil inside.
Other times flushed palms reach out,
enfolding us one to the other.

~*~
last week i asked you to send me your poems so that we can share them for National Poetry Month. Susan, of the blog Black-Eyed Susan, was kind enough to share some of her words with me. the poem, "Hands" was inspired by her daughter who just celebrated her birthday.

if you'd like to participate, please email me your poem(s) with a link back to your site (or short bio if you don't have a blog). peace & enjoy.

Homage to My Hips
by Lucille Clifton

these hips are big hips.
they need space to
move around in.
they don't fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don't like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top
~~~

Michelle Obama has forced America (and the world) to openly pay tribute to the beauty and style of a (dark-skinned) Black woman. Yes, there have been several black women held up as "sexy" or beautiful, but typically those women are entertainers or professional athletes, and have not garnered half as much admiration as the new first lady. Mrs. Obama is neither entertainer nor athlete. She is a mom, wife, ivy-league educated attorney, and fierce.

As the world celebrates a new view of of American beauty, the rest of us are left to grapple with what Mrs. O means in relation to the historical view of Black women. For years we were seen as mere chattel, commodities, or as exotics. Will the adoration Michelle Obama is receiving change the way Black women are portrayed in the American media? Will we finally be seen as more than just a "big butt and smile"?

I was invited to take part in an interesting podcast hosted by my girl, M.Dot and tomorrow we will be discussing the dynamics of Michelle Obama and the Black Female Body . Please listen & call in to share your thoughts.

i.can't.wait.

Listen Live on BlogTalkRadio tomorrow at 6pm Est (3pm PST)
Call in (347) 843-4723

last year i did a series of posts about National Poetry Month & had fun waxing poetic about words. it's that time of year again, and this year i'm looking forward to not only sharing more of my poems, but also highlighting the works of others.

i have always wanted to run my own literary mag/press, but have continuously slacked off on this goal. i've had a few shots, been involved with a few defunct literary projects and collectives, but never quite got my own ideas off the ground. well, this month, i will be making my dreams come true (sorta). for this year's National Poetry Month i'm asking you, yes YOU (the reader) to share some of your poems with me, so that i can share them on this blog. my goal is to post a few poems (either my own, yours, or more notable poets) each week, lending this blog over to one of my loves...words.

so get your pens & PCs ready and email your words along with a short bio & link to your site (if you have one) to theprisonerswife at gmail dot com.

i look forward to reading your words.


note: check out the homie Stephen Bess' blog. he's just released his first collection of poetry, Liquid Lunch. check it out.

today, a student called me a bitch.

this isn't unusual in an urban classroom, but this time, instead of whispering it to my back, she said it LOUDLY, where EVERYONE could hear. it was as if all the kids were shocked and starred at us to see what i'd do. would i jump across the room, snatch her up and shake some sense into her? (thought about it). would i curse her out and tell her where to go ? (thought about that, too). but i did neither. i calmly asked her to step into the hall, then proceeded to give her a good tongue-lashing before i sent her to the dean's office. but honestly, i was stunned. not by her calling me a bitch, but at how easily (and loudly) the words flowed from her twelve-year-old lips. bitch.

i rarely use that word. i'm not comfortable with calling other women/girls bitches, even if they are mean/evil/insert whatever word here. i just don't. i wasn't raised hearing cursing in my house, even if it was going on outside my front door. i was raised with respect for ALL adults. so much so that even if i HATED that person, i would wait until i was alone to utter my muffled curses. my students...apparently aren't learning the same lessons at home.

i am so completely frustrated, and at the same time, sad for my students. they are growing up in a culture of failure. they are taught, either at home or by the media, that being cool or hard or pretty will be enough to get them through. when in all actuality, being smart and knowing how to treat people is key. many of my students curse like sailors. curse like they learned it in a book. some curse better than they speak "standard" English. it's so easy for me to write them off. easy for me to say, "see, their parents aren't raising them right," but even some of the "good" kids are falling victim to this false sense of what's important. but it's deeper than that.

as my job teeters on the brink of uncertainty, my state is spending billions more on prison funding, while dropping to 47th in the country on per pupil spending. so while the state claims it is broke and must cut the education budget and are laying off teachers, which will increase the sizes of classes and make each student get even less attention, we are increasing funding for those youths who will, because they aren't engaged/able to get the attention they need, drop out and end up in prison.

say what?

the fight for our kids isn't fair. while we work HARD, it always seems like the game is rigged. i know that i can only control what happens within the four walls of my classroom. i know that no matter what attitudes, problems, issues, or deficiencies my students come with, it is up to me to put all of that aside and prepare them for what will come.

it's hard. and i'm tired, but tomorrow i will get up and do it all over again.

so i received a pink slip.

well, it wasn't exactly pink, but it stung nonetheless. myself, along with 11 of my co-workers and nearly 8900 teachers, received layoff notices from our school district last week. apparently, we're broke. we're about $720 million in the rears and they are looking for ways to balance the budget. the notices have been deemed precautionary, but it's still very disheartening. I’m not sure how they expect us to come to work everyday, motivated, when we don't know if we'll even have a job come summer.

i am writing this as i wait for parent conferences to begin. i am once again, here, putting in lots of work on my students' behalf, but with even less certainty, and i admit, motivation. it's hard to stay motivated, to struggle with some students, to care SO much about them, when your employer doesn't seem to care about you.

are any of you feeling the economic pinch? i wasn't really phased by it until now. now i'm wondering if i'll have to go back to corporate america, and if so, will a job even exist?

Obama's in my hood & i wish i could have gone. i wonder if he has any REAL answers for teachers...cuz right now, we can't cling to "hope."

everyone has a story to tell...

and i have several, but have been holding them hostage. this is the first of many episodes of me sharing some of my fictional experiments with you. enjoy. and please, leave me your thoughts. my first real episode.

Listen to this episode (<~~click to listen)



peace

("why you wanna go and do that?"
remember that joint? Q-Tip. LOVED it!)

so tomorrow is thursday, and i spent the better part of today (who am i kidding?), i spent the WHOLE day at home...loving it. my voice, or lack there of, gave me an excuse to play hooky from work. i mean, it's hard to work an urban classroom with no voice, so i fell back. being home ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS makes me miss not being here full time.

when i first had the munchkin and was on maternity leave i absolutely dreaded going back to work. i searched high and low for something i could do from home, but who was i kidding, i needed the stability of my job. beloved had just gotten locked up, and we didn't know what we were looking at. so i did the grown-woman thing, and put my needs/wants last.

i can't really say that i LOVE teaching. there are things that i love about it, things that i hate, and things that frustrate the hell out of me, but overall? do i feel like it's my "calling", my "true passion"? not so much. i mean, i totally see myself teaching is SOME capacity, but not middle school. at the end of this year i am going to start searching for a gig at a high school. perhaps slightly older students will bring a welcomed change and give me some new perspective. i shouldn't dread going to work. not that i DREAD it, but i should be looking forward to it.

don't get me wrong, i'm thankful i have a job and i don't treat my students as if they are just a pay check. even though i'm not happy every single day, i still realize the weight of my job. there are things they need to know before stepping out of my classroom, and i break my neck to make sure they learn them.

but am i happy?

beloved's appeal was denied.

my life has been somewhat on hold for the better part of 3 years, waiting to find out what will come of this situation. now we know. we now know that we have 9 summers to prepare for his homecoming. and i now know that i can push play while we continue to wait.

i have been putting off a lot of things in beloved's absence. i have been so available to him, so willing to put my needs on hold to make sure we are able to see him regularly. flying out to see him is very expensive, but necessary. our son, now aware that beloved IS his dad, asks about him more and more. every time the phone rings he asks "is that daddy?" and he's even told me he wants to go to the airport, so we can see daddy. it causes me to smile, and at the same time feel a bit of sadness. but it's up to us, beloved and i, to make sure this little boy has everything, feels loved, and knows that, no matter what, we will be here for him.

these words are starting to feel a bit...defiant? no, i am not leaving beloved. quite the opposite. i am stepping out and becoming the woman that i need to be to carry this weight. to be the mother, the wife, that experiences and appreciates life, so that i can love even more fully.

i went to see a Realtor last week. this was another thing i have been putting it off in the hopes the appeal would come through. but i went to see her, and despite my doubts, it is possible for me to buy a home (i've even talked to the loan guy). so that is my focus right now. for now, we will stay put on the West coast. it's just easier. my family is here, i have a network of people i know i can call on to watch the munchkin, and my job is here. perhaps in a few years, as the munchkin grows older and needs to see his dad more often, we will head east. but for now, i am focusing on buying a home.

i am no longer putting our lives on pause. i am going to live for today, and plan for tomorrow. i will experience all that i can & love harder and more deeply.
~*~

today i am taking the munchkin to his gymnastics class, then i'm meeting up with my co-worker to see Danny Hoch's one-man show, Taking Over. i'm excited.

i hope y'all have a great day & weekend!

i have been trying
to leave you for years. alone
now shoulders heavy

weight like sunrise. far
to go. we opposite. love
harder. in spite of all       things

stay pushing ahead
daily struggling to keep
above hopelessness

we fight for this life
this right to touch fingertips
anew. we grow, old.


(c) me. 2009.