(and this is how i spent my memorial day. the munchkin & i headed to the beach...he isn't too keen on the waves, but LOVED playing in the sand!)

i knew it had to come to an end, but who knew the weekend would feel so short?

a MILLION thanks to all of you to left bday wishes & shout outs, those that sent up prayers, and my sista-friend, Xtina who sent me WONDERFUL a gift! my bday weekend is officially over, but i thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. i have eaten out more times than. even i. can deal with, i danced the night away to some SOULful music, and i got to wrap it all up at the beach. this weekend has been truly magical & it just makes me look forward to all that the summer will bring. i can't wait!


(Chrisette tearing up the stage!)

the concert was LOVELY y'all. although i was VERY excited to see Raheem Devaughn, the show-stopper was my girl, Chrisette Michele! this girl is FIERCE! she reminds me of a younger Jill Scott. her voice, her stage presence, her thick-girl swag...it was pure story-telling in action. she COMPLETELY outshined Raheem & my friends and I felt like even if he hadn't stepped on the stage, we got out money's worth! if she comes to your city....RUN to see her! it's THAT serious.


(Raheem Devaughn...tryna look all sexual chocolate! lol)

speaking of Raheem, he was pretty good too, but...i felt something lacking. perhaps it was because of the fact that ALL of the songs he performed dealt with love-making and he proceeded to gyrate, grind, and hump the floor (ala Sir Bobby Brown). plus...he's just NOT attractive (to me). brotha better be glad he can croon, cuz had he have been average joe # 2...he'd get NO play from the ladies. the whole time he was singing i was distracted by his shiny ass lips & aviator glasses. i know i sound shallow, but yeah. i was glad he did my songs, "You" & "Guess Who Loves You More."

can you tell i had a good time? beloved called and called and called & sent me two BEAUTIFUL cards! i got some ends, and treated myself to a mani & pedi. i dances, i drank, and i relaxed. the weekend was full and fulfilling, and i am SO thankful for making it another year!

how was your weekend, y'all? was it as good as mine? *smile*

bless

buy me a drink, pin some bday dollars to my shirt, dedicate a song to me...let's have FUN cuz it's my birthday!




(i'm not a fanatical beyonce fan, but i'm LOVING this song lately. it gets me through my workouts and it always makes me shake a little something and dance.)

ahhhh...another year older, and hopefully wiser. i look back on this year as another tough one, but one that has been full of life lessons. the biggest lesson i think God has taught me (and continues to teach me) is the virtue of patience. i have always been a fairly impatient person. i want what i want when i want it (read: now!). however, being a mother to a 2-year old who also has his own brand of impatience has taught me to relax and be patient. my professional life has also taught me to chill. there are days i want to pull my hair out, shake a kid or scream on an unruly student, but that would only lead to the weave shop & unemployment line so i'm forced to remain even tempered and take things in stride. and y'all already know my relationship screams PATIENCE! i want beloved to spend this long, bday weekend with me...but unfortunately it is not so...

here i am, taking in all the lessons, wisdom, and blessings that have been bestowed upon me this year. i am so thankful for making it this far. thankful for my 28 years. i embrace getting older & look forward to all that i will experience in life. i pray i have decades left to go, see, and accomplish EVERYTHING in my heart.

so come...celebrate with me. turn up your speakers, play your favorite songs, do a little dance, light your best smelling candles, have some chocolate and just have a good time with me.



(i can't wait to hear this song tonight. i'm going to try to make my way {*ehem* elbow} to the front of the stage when he sings this. i will imagine that he's singing to ME.)

as i mentioned in the last post, i've been experiencing a bad case of the blahs. i haven't been in a funk, really, but i have just been feeling out of sorts and disconnected from everything and everyone. but all that is starting to change. my birthday is tomorrow & perhaps its coming has given me a new burst of energy. i've never really made a huge deal out of my birthday. i can't even remember ever having a birthday party, and that's alright with me...but approaching 30 (ok, 28) has sorta lit another fire, or at least a spark, in me.

a few things have been pulling me out of the funk.

1. Podfitness: i've been waking up a bit after 5am to workout & it's been great. it's given me the energy BURST i need not to dread going to work. i've felt more purposeful & not so lethargic in the mornings.

2. Homemade Smoothies: i've never been huge on breakfast, but getting/eating healthier means i HAVE to eat breakfast. my smoothie concoctations have been a wonderful (and tasty!) addition to my morning routine.

3. My 'Fro: ok folks, i'm bout to sound a little self-absorbed, but my afro is fuckin FABULOUS! it's huge! my friend cornrowed the front Tuesday night & it looks so regal. i think i've found a new summer style! my hair has always been a bit of a challenge, especially since i went natural. it's SUPER thick, and has so many textures, but i'm finanally getting into a good hair groove & it's wonderful.

4. My Kid is COMEDY!: so my son has quickly made the chage from a silent kid, to a little chatter box. he cracks me up SO much & i'm so happy he's finally letting the words flow.

5. 3-Day Weekend: I am SO looking forward to this weekend. Although I didn't make it out to see beloved, i do plan on enjoying myself. tomorrow night (my bday) i'm going to see Raheem DeVaughn perform & have dinner with some friends. Saturday I am planning to get a mani & pedi and perhaps do dinner with the fam. Sunday is church and______________? and Monday, i will just enjoy relaxing.


so what's up with you guys? i feel as though we haven't connected in SO long. let me know what's going on, what y'all chattin' bout on your blogs, plans for the long weekend.

peace

i'm here, i sware. i have just been in a constant state of blah. don't ask me what's wrong, becasuse i'm not sure if anything IS wrong. i just haven't been in the mood to write...anything. and i've barely been online. i guess such is life.

i have noticed that more people are stopping by, so i guess that means i should force myself to write, because i DO (really, really do) appreciate the reads, and i love sharing words, but i just haven't been feeling like me lately.

i have a birthday coming (the 23rd), so hopefully i'll pull myself out of this funk before then. but all in all...i'm good. i am having a pretty easy work week (thank God for state testing!!), and the weather has turned SUPER hot.

how are you guys? i pray you are well. anything fun planned for the weekend?

Freddie Lee



5 am. Surrounded in silence, he bathes.
thinking of all the things he can do. he
lathers, shaves, and drenches himself
in Obsession. the burgundy Olds
is spotless and it’s time.

seventy-one years have not slowed his pace.
he still speeds like a man of twenty-three
barely stopping at lights and signs, never
failing to honk at those who drive too slow.

He drives everywhere. exhaling Benson & Hedges
going to airports, and banks, and hospitals, praying
with the sick, delivering communion, rummaging
junkyards for new mirrors, and it’s amazing
how much gas he burns each week.

Granddaddy never sits still
unless it is to listen to Chick Hearn call the game
or watch John Wayne ride into the sunset,
victorious, having conquered a world,
my grandfather has never seen.

(c) me. 2003

~~~~

my grandfather passed away the summer i moved to New York, a day after his 74th birthday. my mother and I were actually in NY at the time trying to find me an apartment. he had been struggling with brain cancer for most of that year. his decline was startling. he went from a vibrant 73 year old man who still preached, served communion, and drove all over the city for God knows what, to a man barely able to feed himself. i hated to visit him in the hospital. not because i didn't love my granddaddy, but because i couldn't bare to see him like that.

my granddaddy loved the lakers. love to hear Chick Hearn call the game & wrap their win up in jiggling jello and hardened butter. we would watch together and argue over Eldin & Vlade. we would watch as Robert Horry would will us to win with yet another clutch three pointer. we watched as Kobe & Shaq embraced after they brought the crown back to LA where it should have stayed all along. and we watched as three parades marched through downtown, signaling victory.

it's coming up to the 5th anniversary my granddaddy has been gone. and the lakers have gone through many changes since them. they've lost, Shaq left, they gave us some hope, only to lose again, but now they are back on top. as i watch them today, i am still proud. still a diehard laker fan, but i can't help but feel a bit of emptiness. my granddaddy would love this. he would love the new players & the excitement they bring. he would love how Kobe has finally begun to share the ball. and he would love that they are on top. i hope they go all the way this year...not just for our city, and the fans, but for my granddaddy. it's been far too long.

last night we had open house at our school. typically open house is a time when teachers display all of the creative/excellent projects students have completed throughout the semester. in honor of open house & in honor of National Poetry Month, my students created poetry collages. before open house began i hung them all outside of my classroom under the heading, "Every Child Is A Poet," which is the title of the Piri Thomas documentary.

because I am sharing poems this month, i'm going to share a few of my students' work. i hope you enjoy them as much as i did.

ps--for all images, click on them for a lager view.


"looking for love"


"king of love"



"my los angeles"


"anywhere but home"


"school"

dear student
(an apology)

and it's not your fault
fucked up and thirteen
i mistook your pain
as attitude misread you
and flashed righteous like
you should know better

we did not get it
raised voices spit
pain and accusations
in mixed-up directions

but it's not your fault
you didn't know
i expected so much
wanted you to carry us
deep into the future
wanted you to live
for all those that could not

instead of telling you
about your genius      again
i told you to leave
and not come back
until you know how to act

(c) me. 2008

~~~~~

my mind is racing. i just finished watching, "A Live Conversation on Race" on MSNBC and i am feeling so...conflicted. i am trying very hard to unpack all that was discussed: the effects of slavery, the doll test, systemic racism. my heart and my head are heavy. this round table discussion made me feel like i was misreading my students & not quite meeting their needs.

you see, today was one of those days. i'm usually a patient person, i don't do very much yelling in my classroom, i try to deal with my students reasonably and with respect. but today *sigh* i flashed HARD on one of my students. she constantly annoys me with her actions and her choice to not meet her potential. she is very smart, but acts dumb to fit in. i can't stand that. i wish she were comfortable enough, wise enough to know that BEING SMART is a great thing. i wish she knew deep deep down to her core that dumbing herself down isn't cute. today she worked my nerve to no end & i told her that i didn't want to see her anymore until her momma came to talk to me. i said a few other things (no expletives tho), but i was SO hot. honestly, i wanted to slap some sense in to her, but the munchkin already has one parent locked up, so i'm cool. but as i think back, and as i think-through all of the conversations the panelists engaged this evening, i am a bit ashamed of myself.

my students struggle with a myriad of issues. i am a big advocate of personal responsibility, so i try to get them to take responsibility for their actions. but how can i expect my students to know right from wrong, to see the value and importance in education, and to see the absolute genius within themselves if no one ever tells them it is so? how can i try to convince them that they can accomplish the impossible if they live in a world that does not value black/brown genius? my kids are scared. they come from homes with absentee parents, and i suppose, they will take any ounce of attention they can get even if it's from a tired, worn-out teacher yelling at them. at least they know somehow hears them. someone cares?

i am still dealing with the conversations of tonight, but i felt i needed to apologize, even if only in poem form, to my student. on monday i will try to smooth it out, tell her why i was frustrated. it's not because i don't care, but rather it's precisely because i do. i'm human. we all fall short. i pray she is able to really hear & understand what i'm saying and that i'm coming from a place of love.

i went into teaching not really expecting to get emotionally involved. i'm pretty even tempered and nothing really stresses me out. but these kids, lawd, are a whole 'nother animal. each of them has become my own. i worry. i shake my head. i pray. i love. and hopefully, a few years from now they will be in a better place. hopefully they will be responsible adults. hopefully they will walk away from my class knowing that they are valuable, and someone cares.

The Healing Improvisation of Hair
by Jay Wright

If you undo your do you wóuld
be strange. Hair has been on my mind.
I used to lean in the doorway
and watch my stony woman wind
the copper through the black, and play
with my understanding, show me she cóuld
take a cup of river water,
and watch it shimmy, watch it change,
turn around and become ash bone.
Wind in the cottonwoods wakes me
to a day so thin its breastbone
shows, so paid out it shakes me free
of its blue dust. I will arrange
that river water, bottom juice.
I conjure my head in the stream
and ride with the silk feel of it
as my woman bathes me, and shaves
away the scorn, sponges the grit
of solitude from my skin, laves
the salt water of self-esteem
over my feathering body.
How like joy to come upon me
in remembering a head of hair
and the way water would caress
it, and stress beauty in the flair
and cut of the only witness
to my dance under sorrow's tree.
This swift darkness is spring's first hour.

I carried my life, like a stone,
in a ragged pocket, but I
had a true weaving song, a sly
way with rhythm, a healing tone.

~~~

(me, on the way to work.)


black women & hair is as complex as astrophysics, as deep as the atlantic ocean, and as contentious as discussing affirmative action. our hair, just as our bodies, have been agonized over, objectified, and gentrified to suit the needs of society.

even with all that surrounds us, we manage to do our 'do in countless ways & look FABULOUS in the process. my hair has been natural (sans relaxer) for some years now. i decided to stop relaxing my hair back in college, just to see how my natural texture felt. i'm not one of the militant ones that argue that ALL black women should just let their hair be. i feel like we are intelligent/complicated women. we should have the right to choose our hairstyle based on our personal tastes. i DO have a problem with those that ask, "why don't you get your hair pressed? it would be so cute!" as if my natural kinks ain't cute.

honey, i'm FLY. so i let it be.


anyway, i love this poem & i wanted to share it. bless!

untitled

our discourse ended
cut short by a synthesized voice
signaling the end. time never seems
to meander when we speak. it sprints.
running away from all the things we need
to say, as if it can only handle so much.

yesterday, the sun rose orange
and early and i pretended to wake you
kissing fingers to lips, whispering hello.
your early morning grunts overwhelm
my memory, filling me with a sense of longing

today is not starting out right.
you are not here. and you will not be
curled up inside me anytime soon.


(c) me. 2008
~~
i spoke to beloved yesterday for the first time in a week. he is...ok, all things considered. still having issues with the COs, so it looks as though i will have to move further into advocate mode. i am learning so much about what it truly means to be committed. i never thought this would be my life. even joked with him that i'd totally NOT stick by his side had he ever found himself on the wrong side of a prison, but life changes. five years, and a son later, this is our life....FOR NOW. *sigh*

last night i went to a party for the first time in YEARS. when i say party, i don't mean a gathering of boho types listening to jazz & reciting love jones quotes (oh, you know what i'm talkin bout!), i mean a Divine 9, KAPsi frat party. back in the day, my sands and i were ALWAYS at the center of attention at these parties. we strolled deep, (innocently) flirting with frat and just having a good time. last night officially sealed it: i'm old LOL. i didn't even know HALF of the new sorors who were there, and the Nupes...they were way more energetic than i remembered. i had a good time though. i was still able to keep up with the Neos, learned a few new strolls, and enjoyed seeing people i haven't seen in years.

how was your weekend?

& don't forget to share your poems in the comments section. shout out to LoveBabz & Stephen Bess for posting poems for National Poetry month!

5
____________________________________________________

by Wanda Coleman


there is no one here but me. from behind this glass
i see the guard's station. prisoners are watched
on TV monitors, a camera in each cell. if i move,
i see the wisp of my movement on the monitor.

i am here through no fault of my own as a result
of doing more for others than for myself. all the guards
are men. they can watch me undress and make my toilet.
they can watch me caress myself in my nightmares.

there is a pay phone in the prisoners' rec room
that does not take coins. communication is futile at worst,
faulty as best. i have learned that i am friendless.
no one has sympathy for me. i have learned
that misplaced trust can dismantle a life

as a result of this punishment, i have learned
it pays to be more selfish with desire.

memory divides me against the light

~~~~

i was browsing some of the books i own when i stumbled across this poem. it speaks to my life, beloved's life. i haven't heard from beloved in nearly a week. the last time we spoke was Saturday morning. he's been having some trouble. he's been depressed. he's being sort of harassed by the COs.

last we spoke, he told me they cut off his electricity and water. i suppose this is "normal" when they are trying to "make a point." you see, even in prison, beloved refuses to be treated as less than a man. i can understand. his situation is precarious. he doesn't want to jeopardize coming home, but he doesn't like being talked to any which way. he will speak up. he's filed complaints about his treatment, and that's just not something that's looked upon favorably.

the power dynamics within a prison are astonishing. it's amazing how people feel superior to you, simply because they have some authority. you can feel it in the visitor's room. you can feel it in the way they speak to us (visitors), the way they look at us suspiciously, as if we are guilty by association.

i hate visiting. i hate prison. i hate that this is our life. i want beloved home, like yesterday. i want our son to have his father. i want to cook dinner and go to movies and walk in the park like everyone else. i want so many things and it seems as if everything is put on pause...indefinitely.

Few times in my life have I been completely mesmerized.

In 1999 while channel surfing, I came across this man and his poem on the PBS documentary, “I’ll Make Me a World*”. Saul Stacey Williams completely blew me away. I had never HEARD a poem sound like that before. Never heard a man beat-box in the middle of a stanza. Never heard words strung so dangerously together. Never felt any energy like this from any poem, I’d ever read or studied. I was awestruck.

In an instant, my entire view of poetry changed. Until then, I thought emcees had all the fun. I thought they were the only ones aloud to ride beats with words, but Saul Williams switched up my whole thinking. Soon I began seeking more. Back then, we didn’t have you tube, but the Internet was just starting to be BIG (for me at least), so I searched and searched and found everything I could find that he wrote. Time after time I was blown away, and was sonned by his immense ability to pair word and emotion and my inability to mimic it.

Fueled by this newly discovered muse, I practiced. I wrote. I recited poems, and I found the courage to actually perform in front of groups of people. Until then, poetry was something I did privately. I did not share my words. I did not declare myself a poet. Until then I was stuck, conversing only with myself and my psyche, afraid to share my voice because I thought people wouldn’t get it.

But they did.

And here I am. A degreed writer. A blogger. A poet. I used to be afraid to call myself a writer. I never thought I was worthy of the title, as if writers were only those famous ones we’ve read in English class.

But I am
indeed a writer
living in papyrus
with pen and paper
always within reach

peace.



**If anyone knows how to get a copy of this series (I'll Make Me a World), PLEASE email me. theprisonerswife at gmail dot com. thanks

what is poetry? (when enough is too much)

breaking windows
with words, grinding
rough diamonds into amethyst rocks
trying too hard
to reach inside        thoughts
sweating themselves about how deep
they pretend to be       poets
trying to bottle them as butterflies.
when enough is too much,
who can be the judge?
what is and is not       art
pretending to be God
pretending to be man
where the divine
and the blasphemous
do lunch at Sylvia’s, arguing
who is more
in touch with the people.

(c) me. circa 2003. harlem, ny.
~~
poetry is something that many attempt to define, but rarely come close to doing. what is a poem, exactly? by definition it defies such confinements. even its strictest forms allow the poet room to play and push the envelope.

this year has been my first year teaching creative writing, and as a poet, it's been an interesting experience. teaching writing, of any kind, is a bit trying. i am a natural writer (did i just type that OUT LOUD?). i can hear things others do not. i know when a line, a sentence, an essay is right because it SOUNDS right, and that fine-tuned ear is not really easy to explain to others less familiar with the rhythm of words. this semester i've been teaching my kids about poems. all kinds of poems. yesterday, we explored limericks (they had a good time trying to write those). prior to that it was the sonnet, the tanka, and the villanelle. in working with the kids, the thing that i consistently notice is that they either LOVE writing poems, or they are completely frustrated because they "are not good at writing poems," whatever that really means. when my students hit roadblocks and start to psyche themselves out, i try to tell them to relax and not think so much. over-thinking it has been the death of many a poem for me, so i know it must be killer to them. they come to class with their preconceived notions of poetry: it MUST rhyme, it has to have short (or long) lines, it's really, really hard to write. it is my job to help set them free.

writing for me is like...breathing (or fighting, or fucking, or living, or_________). it is a means to express all the things i wished i had the courage to say to people's faces. it gives me a voice, power, agency. it affords me room to live outside of the world i see everyday. for my students, i want them to see the power they have within to create. at 13, many of them are dealing with SO many issues i never thought of back then. they need an outlet, other than older boys or their neighborhood corners. they needs this (words) more than they actually know.

as readers, what do words, and specifically poems mean to you?

April is National Poetry Month, and as a poet, i'd be remiss if i did not acknowledge & celebrate it. over the course of the next month i will share some of my favorite poems by my favorite poets, dig into my own poetry crates, and maybe write a little something new.

i encourage you
to do the same.
   c'mon
share with me.

a.
it's a lazy day. for once, i don't have a sorority meeting to attend, or any other real plans for the day. my little brother borrowed my car, so we are also without wheels and the munchkin's stroller has been in the trunk of my mom's car ever since she picked us up from the airport last week, so walking is out (i ain't carrying no 34lb child to the park!). so we're stuck. bound to the house until further notice. it isn't so bad. i've been surfing the web looking up random things: music, real estate, the news, researching for a project i'm working on, reading a friend's manuscript & lots of other very random things. exciting, eh?

b.
i came across this song "Walk in My Shoes" by Emily King, & wanted to share it with y'all. i dig it. i love new artists. i'm sick of the same boring, preprogrammed songs we get on radio. i haven't really listened to the radio (except NPR) since i got my ipod, which has been great, but it has limited my exposure to new music. i like her voice. i miss listening to "real" music, whatever that really means. i'm sort of tired of listening to the songs i already love. i need fresh inspiration. new sounds and voices i can fall in love with.



c.
on some saturdays & sundays, either on the way to a hair appointment, or coming home from the early morning service at church, i tune into "This American Life" on NPR. the first episode i heard, "Harold" profiled Chicago's first black mayor, Harold Washington. i was totally enthralled by the adept storytelling of the show. until recently (old age?) i wasn't really into talk/news radio. but the older i get, the more impatient i become with the immaturity of urban radio. this show is a breath of fresh air. i am entertained and educated all at once. it has become a staple in my weekend routine. check it out.

what are you plans for the weekend? anything special?

so, i've never shared any of my fiction with y'all, but i do write. i'm certainly no james baldwin, but i do a little something. this piece happens to be old & was born out of a writing workshop exercise. the first line had to be used either at the beginning or ending of the piece. i have progressed somewhat as a fiction writer, but i do like this little vignette. let me know what you think.

~~~~

There is always murder at the heart of love. He wanted to choke her. He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze until his fingers etched plum-colored marks into her amber skin; the same color as the hickeys he once planted from her nipples to her navel. He wanted to squeeze until every bit of life God ever breathed into her body had been rebuked. He wanted her dead. Wanted to stuff her in a box, or a closet, or something, anything so she couldn’t taunt him any longer with her happiness. How dare she? How dare she smile as if nothing has happened? As if she didn’t spit on his deepest emotions and stomp on his heart. Bitch. Yes, she is a bitch. A vile whore who tricked men into loving her, trusting her, only to leave when they are most vulnerable and need her most. Such cruelty deserves death, he thought. Yes, he said to himself, yes, she deserves to die.

The phone rang, snapping Derrick out his murderous thoughts. Who the hell? he asked himself. It was nearly 4am; no sane person would call at this hour. This could be one of two things, bad news or bullshit. Not wanting to hear either, Derrick decided his machine would answer the call. After three rings, his black cordless went silent, and his cell phone began ringing. Damn, he thought. This has got to be some shit.

“Hello”

“Hey…it’s me”

“I can’t believe this. Wha—“

“Please don’t hang up. I know it’s late but—“

“Damn right! What the fuck do you want?”

She swallowed. He sounded different, angry. He never cursed at her, never raised his voice even in the middle of their biggest arguments. Hang up. Hang up the phone Mina. She wanted to hang up, but couldn’t. She was in shock. She knew she hurt him, but she never imagined how devastated he was. His face was still burned into her memory. His eyes still searched her for answers. Why? Why didn’t you tell me, Mina?, his words sliced into her. She never meant to love him. Never wanted anything more than a great fuck, but he made her laugh. He was too silly, too nice, too smart, too much of everything her husband wasn’t. No, she never meant to love him, but she couldn’t help it.

“I…” she stuttered, “called to tell you that—"

“The fuck you call to tell me at 4 in the morning? What? You wanted to tell me you’re sorry that you’re married? Save it. I don’t want to hear any bullshit apologies, Mina. I want to know how could you…how could you? You never answered that. You never told me how you could make love to me, pretend you love me, then—"

“Pretend? I’ve never pretended with you, Derrick”

“What the fuck you call it then? We were fucking playing house for a year. A year!” He screamed into the phone.

“I know, but it’s…complicated”

“Complicated?” He began laughing—harsh and throaty. His tone lingered somewhere between agony and amusement.

“Is that the best you can do? Complicated? That’s some bullshit. Was fucking me supposed to uncomplicate things, Mina? What was that supposed to solve?”
She winced, rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. She did not want to have this conversation, but she couldn’t sleep. She struggled with this for the last week. Should I tell him? No. Will he understand? Will he be happy? Will he believe me? Will he even care? She began crying, softly—barely audible. It was dark. Mina sat—lights out—trapped by the words that wouldn’t leave her tongue. How could she be so stupid, she thought? She loved a man she did not deserve. He was not her husband; he was her lover, her friend—her soul mate?

“Well?,” Derrick exhaled, angry yet weary. “What was so important that you had to call at 4 in the morning?”

“I…I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

baked macaroni
ambled through the living room
making us hungry

you rang, bringing sun
and sadness with a taut smile
wishing you could share

everything with us
is somehow lacking in ways
hard to explain over

again I want you
to meet me places you can’t
imagine exists

somewhere beyond this
time parceled out in tidbits
love sustains us all

~~



so, we are home and back into the routine of our everyday life. yesterday was Easter and like a mad woman, I decided to take over the cooking duties. you see, usually my mother and/or grandmother slaves over the hot stove, but I decided to give them a break. thanks to my sista*friend/super-chef-on-call, i pulled it off (and it was good). i whipped up fried chicken (which was a bad idea because it was about 90 degres yesterday!), potato salad, baked macaroni, and mixed veggies. needless to say, everybody enjoyed my cooking which made me feel all grown up! (even my grandma wanted the recipe! LOL). so my ego got a bit of a boost, even as my press was sweated OUT.

although i wasn't ready to go back to work today, i told myself that i would think positive. instead of dreading the morning, i said that today would be a GREAT day, and it was, had it not been for the headache. but it's over now (thank the LAWD!) and tomorrow is a short day for the kids (handclap). i think i'm still experiencing a bit of time-zone confusion because i'm pretty tired and it's only 6.

i find myself wanting to write poems again, which is a good sign. i haven't been writing as much as i should. so many times i feel like i'm squandering the opportunities i've been presented with. i watch others put their dreams together and turn them into reality, and then i secretly wish to do the same, but just...don't...quite...do...it.

what's the holdup? what am i really afraid of?

i guess, i'm the only one that can answer that. and it needs to happen. soon.

(going to meet my man)

on visiting

smalltown u.s.a.
a blur of cows and branches
and prisons emerge

out of nowhere we
rush to hold memories in
tangled fingers and

polaroids. you ask
for a soda, burger, and
what's new in the world

everything has changed
and stayed the same all at once
your face tightening

remembering each
curve of my lips. we smile but
watch the clock tensely
~~


(in the sticks...literally)

tomorrow is our last day of visiting. i can't believe how quickly these four days have seemed to zoom by. i am tired. i will not return to work on monday rested, but rather still feeling like i need a vacation. my son has been acting out a bit. beloved and i have been having a wondering spin on the dance floor. i am dreading tomorrow. i wish i could stay longer, but work and bank accounts do not permit it. tomorrow will be a bit sad, but i will be brave. when 3:05 hits, and the COs call out that visiting is done, my heart will drop. his heart will drop. we will hug and kiss for minutes on end, but it still won't be enough. he will go back, be strip searched and lock in to a lonely cell with nothing but his memories of our conversation and kisses. i will go back to an empty hotel room to pack, and get ready for a long and lonely flight. in a few months we will do it all over again. the joy. the heartache. coming together and leaving again. this is the cycle of our life. for now.

I'm leaving, on the next plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me, like you know I'll never go
Even though you know I will
I'm a travelling man
moving through places
space and time
got a lot of things I got to do
but God willing I'm coming back to you
~ Mos Def "Traveling Man" Remix

i'm leaving on a jet plane tonight to see beloved.

while i LOVE that i get to spend a few days with him, the hassle of traveling with a 2 year old tries my nerves. i have to pack so many things to keep him busy, clean, and fed. i have to make sure he keeps his feet off of the seat in front of him, and hope that he doesn't throw a tantrum and scream at the top of his lungs. basically, i have to make sure he's not THAT kid that everybody rolls their eyes at. not to mention my family constantly looks at me sideways when i say, "i'm going to my 2nd home." although they are supportive of our relationship, they still don't understand why i need to visit so much ("didn't you just go last month?" they ask). i look at my little one, and i ask them, how can i not?

beloved & the munchkin barely know each other. no matter how many trips we make, it doesn't make up for the months or weeks that they don't get to see each other. you know how kids are: they don't know what they don't see, and the last thing i want our son to do is look at beloved like a stranger. i know it probably won't really CLICK until he's a little older that 1)he has a REAL daddy that doesn't just live in pictures and 2) daddy is just away & will be home...soon(?). but i'm trying to do all that i can to reinforce their relationship now.

our visit is coming at the perfect time. not only am i off for spring break, but beloved is having some issues. since his sentencing in Nov. 2006, he's been in two mental health hospitals, and for the last few days (or a week, i'm not sure), he's been on "observation." i don't really know what that means considering they won't tell me anything over the phone (ugh!), but i know that something isn't right. he's been increasingly depressed and a little distant as of late. when we talk all he really says is that he misses me & really misses our son, but not much else. seeing him face-to-face and being able to hold his hand and show him that we are HERE, will (hopefully) go a long way to ease his nerves. i can't even begin to imagine what he goes through. the physical situation is enough to break most people, not to mention the psychological turmoil he puts himself through (feeling increasingly upset with himself for putting us through this). i can't imagine having so much alone time just to sit and think about what i should have done & how my life could have been different. that is a mind killer.

whenever you see articles or studies on the prison population, they deal mostly with the numbers, not the families behind those numbers. i wish someone would come along and put a face, a voice, a story with the facts. perhaps then we would not just say, "wow, that sucks" when we hear of the alarming numbers of people being locked up. maybe then we'll try to come up with solutions.

The political world has been upended by news of Eliot Spitzer’s connection to a prostitution ring. Apparently, the scandal was flushed out when bank officials noticed several suspicious cash transfers and filed reports with the IRS. Many thought that it was a possible corruption scandal, but were shocked when Spitzer, the “Sherif of Wall Street,” was linked to a high-end call-girl service.

Sex and politics are not strange bedfellows. Several prominent politicians have found themselves on the wrong side of a sex-scandal, but news of Spitzer’s improprieties have many calling this once moral crusader, a hypocrite. Honestly, I could care less who Gov. Spitzer was sleeping with. That is between him and his wife, but this scandal brings up a myriad of other questions, namely, when does one move from being a human being, wrought with contradictions and complexities, to a hypocrite, devoid of any moral leg to stand on?

Thinking about the contradictions involved in Spitzer’s debacle brought to mind the complexities and contradictions that have shaped my father’s life. My father, a 30+ year veteran teacher and coach, has worked hard to teach, mentor and mold some of our most troubled youth, but he is also a functioning drug addict.

I have never said those words aloud. Never admitted to anyone that my father is addicted to drugs, nor allowed myself to think about it in any meaningful way. Likewise, he has never admitted it to me, but the signs are clear. My father, once vibrant, has deteriorated into a paranoid, heartbroken, functioning junkie. That stings, but cleaning it up doesn’t make it better.



I often wonder how broken you have to be to get hooked on drugs. How much pain do you have to live with until you say, “enough,” and fall into the comforting nod of cocaine? My dad has seen a lot. He lost his father at 7, saw his dreams of a NBA career wither away, and lost the love of his life, my mother. Apparently, my father’s drug use was constant throughout my parent’s 14-year marriage, but then, it was only weed. I distinctly remember a box my father kept which contained his “homemade cigarettes.” He never smoked in front of us, but he’d purchase Zig Zags and close himself off in his room for a while, then a strange smell wafting through the house. Like a teenager looking for an escape hatch, my father fell right in.

Soon his drug use turned to abuse and his paranoia led him to question every move my mother made and become violent. Mentally exhausted and tired of the drama, my mom moved us out to my grandparent’s house and my father’s downward spiral began.

I believe he sold all of our stuff. Everything we didn’t move out of the house is now gone: my mother’s piano, my flute, our TVs, bikes, our dog. I don’t have anything from my childhood that was left in that house. During those first few months and years of their separation, my father was vehemently angry. Everything was my mother’s fault. She kept us away. She was evil. She was a bitch. He threatened and threatened, and I realized I didn’t even know him anymore.

It has been 13 years since my parent’s divorce was final, and I’m still looking for the father I once knew. I catch glimpses of him from time to time, but the moments spent talking about and enjoying life have faded away to mere memories. My father still uses drugs. At 56 he has nothing. No car, no house, no place to call his own. He lives with my uncle and aunt, and hitches rides to work with friends. It doesn’t help that he makes quite a bit of money, but is broke a few days after pay day, always making excuses and blaming his lack of money on others. When he starts acting weird and asking questions that make little sense, I try hard to remember that he IS my father and not some strange man on the street. But it’s hard. We have little to talk about, and he still feels very foreign to me.

Watching HOB’s “The Wire” has made me a bit hopeful for my dad. Watching Bubbles, a drug addicted homeless man, fight his way back from addiction to some semblance of a normal life gives me hope. My dad isn’t that far-gone (right?). He still goes to work, he still mentors kids, still plays grandpa on holidays, but he also still uses drugs. Although the show a work of fiction, it is still grounded in truth. If Bubbles can fight his way back from the brink, I feel my father can piece himself back together again.

My father is not a bad man, he is in pain. And pain causes you to do things you may have never imagined. The dad I once knew is still there, waiting to come out again. I just hope it happens before it’s too late, and I don’t even have the memories of him to hold onto anymore.

just something quick to lift my spirits. a lot has been going on lately & i've been feeling tired, spent, and a bit hopeful. i just want to take some time to give a little thanks. i need a boost & remembering the good things always helps to put a little swag back in your step. here goes...

i'm thankful for:

1. air, fresh and smoggy pumping through these lungs. life is a beautiful struggle.

2. phone calls from beloved, just in the nick of time.

3. spring break being only a few days away.

4. my big-headed bwoi. my munchkin finds so many ways to make mommy laugh, even when i'm tryna be tough.

5. my fresh new ipod (i will probably be deaf soon. i'm blasting this shit EVERYWHERE!)

6. Nicolay & Kay. TIGHT EYES. they make me wanna write again (soon come).

7. acting upon old ideas...y'all aint ready.

8. Mos Def meeting Talib Kweli. Brown Skin Lady is still my theme song (can we get another album, fellas?).

9. Summer!

10. the All Mighty from wince cometh all things, wonderful.

i am also thankful for being able to share my life, my struggle, and my words with y'all. the writer in me feels so much gratitude to y'all for taking the time to read whatever i have to say. this site has given me an outlet & voice when i felt most alone. so thank you, and you, and you for coming & sharing with me.

what are you thankful for today?

bless up.

so, being high off my new ipod i set on a quest to find something new. i've been stuck on the same loop of the roots, mos def, common, illy jilly, and badu for like EVER, so i needed something fresh to add to the collection. don't get me wrong, i still love the classics, but i need some new blood.

saturday night i stumbled across Estelle, an Afro-Carribean Brit, with voice and swagger for days. so far i've downloaded a few of her songs, but i'm diggin what i've heard thus far. her style is a cross between 90s basement-funk/soulful house, brand new heavies, and moni love (huh?). i know, i know, my description is a bit convoluted (and perhaps all wrong), so i'll just let her introduce herself.

"Wait A Minute" ft. John Legend


American Boy Ft. Kanye West


what NEW music/artists have you discovered recently that you're LOVING?

i finally did it.

i finally shelled out the $150 for a new ipod. i've been putting it off for over a year now, since my last one mysteriously came up broken. you see, although i freely spend (way too much) money on my son, my husband, and on random trips to Target, when it comes time to buy something for myself, i freeze. i quickly begin thinking of all the upcoming bills, and how we will be traveling soon, and how high gas is...and i end up not buying anything. i rarely buy myself new pairs of shoes, i don't buy a lot of clothes, and this ipod...i've been eying it for some time now. but last night, on a trip to *ehem* Target, i bit the bullet and bought one.

and guess what?
i'm SO glad i did!

i'm still a little shaky on the fact that i spent $150 on it, especially considering we'll be making another trip to see beloved soon, but i'm glad i got it. music motivates me so much, and now i have no excuse to skip a workout or neglect writing or whatever...because my muse is back.

what's on your ipod or in your stereo these days? (i need suggestions. i have a lot of space to fill!)

My classroom is a battleground.

Everyday I fight with my students, trying to get them to remember bits of grammar, vocabulary words, and find importance in the works of literature that have changed my life. Everyday I threaten, and sometimes, I bribe them into learning (I hope) what it is they need to know to be just a little bit successful in this world. And everyday, after a day of threatening, and bribing, and yelling, and calling people’s parents, and shaking my head, I come home tired and spent, barely able to stay up longer than my 2-year old, only to return in the morning to do it all over again.

Teaching is a venerable profession.

Many have tried to tame a classroom, but have failed miserably, only to quit, disgruntled and complaining about the kids after a year or two. I won’t front, the idea of quitting and abandoning the headache (and heartache) of the classroom has crossed my mind plenty of times. But where will that leave my kids?

My students are a special group. Many of them are functioning three and four grade-levels below where they should be. They are facing a myriad of issues that no one their age should face. Several have no parents, are in foster care or live with distant relatives who do little but collect their check. And most of them come from single-parent households, where mom or grandma is working so hard she can barely pay attention. My students are both too grown for their 13 years, and too immature to handle all that has been placed on their shoulders.

Dangerous minds are wasting away.

I admit, I wanted to be the next Joe Clark or Erin Gruwell, the next inspirational teacher leading my group of disenfranchised students to the Promised Land (and maybe a movie), but that is proving to be harder than I imagined. You see, I thought that if I was real with the kids, showed I cared about them, and demonstrated that anything was possible, that education was the ticket out of any messed up situation, that they’d hunker down and study until As and Bs blossomed like wildflowers. But that isn’t happening.

Several of my students are apathetic, at best, toward their education. They don’t see the value in math or science or learning how to write an essay. They can’t see how it will help them further down the line. They know college is out there, but to my dismay, many have expressed interest in NOT going. My kids are bored, and only seem to be turned on by Soulja Boy and Sidekicks, by MySpace and name-brand clothing. Getting them interested in school is harder than cracking the Matrix, and I’m still searching for the code.

I am afraid for my students.

I am afraid for our future. Without an education, my students—Black and Latino—are almost certainly doomed to struggle for the rest of their lives. A 2006 article in the NY Times writes,

...in the country's inner cities, the studies show, finishing high school is the exception, legal work is scarcer than ever and prison is almost routine, with incarceration rates climbing for blacks even as urban crime rates have declined.
Although the problems afflicting poor black men have been known for decades, the new data paint a more extensive and sobering picture of the challenges they face.

"There's something very different happening with young black men, and it's something we can no longer ignore," said Ronald B. Mincy, professor of social work at Columbia University and editor of "Black Males Left Behind" (Urban Institute Press, 2006) (more).

My Black male students seem especially disinterested in excelling in school, choosing instead, to hide behind an air of coolness and hyper masculinity. Instead of emulating positive examples of blackness, they choose to model their stance and pose and language after many of the (worst) rappers in the business. And it’s very frustrating.

As someone who was where they are, growing up in the same neighborhood and experiencing many of the same things, it’s frustrating to see so many falling into habits that can trap them into a life that they are not ready for. To see them falling into this life that is so totally avoidable and unnecessary is painful. But even more painful is not having the answers. There is no magic pill or bullet to turn this thing around. There have been studies upon studies conducted, but still, our kids are underachieving.

How do we fix this?

How can we save our kids?

i have been just staring at this site for some time now. i've been meaning to post. i've been wanting to post. some have asked where the hell i've been (some may not care? lol).

i've been here. staring. looking. watching. wanting to post, but not making myself come to this computer to write.

i need to write. i long to write, but i just can't. don't ask me why. i am on some extended writer's block that i can't seem to shake. the desire is there, some rough ideas are there, but not much else.

i need some inspiration.
i need some new scenery.
i need some new music.

how have y'all been?

i.
we love hard enough
but sometimes it hurts like this
when you are away

ii.
two years hitched at hip
trying to make sense of this
thing called loyalty

iii.
a peculiar thing
to go at it alone but
still we rise above

~~~~
saturday made two years and we had the opportunity to share our day live and in color (!). despite the cold (freezing, freezing cold) our hearts, and spirits, and resolve were warmed tremendously. black love is still alive and kickin, even when stretched between two coasts.

peace

beloved and i are currently reading Mable Iam's book, Sex and the Perfect Lover. i know what you're thinking. why are we reading a book about sex, seeing as we are separated by 3212 miles? well, it's simple really. this book not only discusses ways to improve your sex life, but it also deals with connecting with your partner, so that you can share a deep, fulfilling love.

beloved and i have been on a rocky road for a few months now. we osculate between GREAT days and GREAT arguments. we have been in sort of an uneven place, not really connecting fully, but not willing to call it all off. so here we are, reading this book, and it has been good for us.

since beginning the book, we've had so much to talk about. we have so much more to say than just what our day consisted of, or what the baby did. we actually have grown folks stuff to discuss. after we finish this book, we will probably be reading her follow-up, I Love You, Now What? and hopefully, that will give us even further insight into this mystical, magical thing we call love.

have you read this book? what are your favorite love/relationship books?

teaching does not come easy to me. i'm not a natural teacher. sometimes i struggle to explain difficult and abstract concepts to my students. sometimes i struggle with my (lack of) patience & sarcasm. and sometimes, i just struggle.

today wasn't one of those days. today, my kids "got it," and for the first time, i felt like i was really doing my job.

this year, i am teaching two double-block periods of intervention English. it is a "designed" program (*ehem* scripted) and can be EXTREMELY boring. i am not quite convinced that this program helps my students, but i'm forced to teach it with "fidelity" (the district's most favorite buzz word). today, as we were progressing through the lesson, we were asked to pull the main idea and supporting details from a short, informative paragraph. typically, my students struggle with this and have looked to me to hold their hands. however, with state writing assessments approaching, i have begun to let go and let them solider through these tasks on their own.

during the lesson, i helped them to outline the first bit of information they'd use to write their paragraph, but asked (told! lol) them to do the rest on their own. i was PLEASANTLY surprised when many of my students not only outlined the article correctly, BUT also (and this is the kicker) wrote VERY solid paragraphs!

it sounds extremely unimpressive, but to see my students complete this task CORRECTLY was so exciting. for once i felt like all of our hard work wasn't in vain, and we were really getting somewhere.

days like today renew my spirit. i am hopeful about the coming semester and all of the ah-ha moments that are sure to follow.

0.76 inches
3 pounds
wireless, everything.
out of the box sexy.

i.want.one.now.

so, i've finanally been tagged. it's sort of the blog equivalent of a chain letter that gets passed on and on in attempt to learn about others. this little gem, courtesy of Faboo (thanks? lol), asks that i share 7 things about myself that you do not know. seeing as i blog anonymously, finding 7 things you don't know about me shouldn't be so hard, but i'm struggling anyway....

here are the rules...


1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random and/or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.



1. i always wanted to be a DJ. i LOVE music. i am an avid (classic) hip hop head and a b-girl at heart. i've always wanted my own set of 1s and 2s (techniques, of course!), and have even composed (several) mixed tapes in my head.

2. all of my laundry supplies MUST have coordinating scents, and i only use Tide and Downey. if i buy april fresh Tide, i MUST use april fresh Downey fabric softener. mismatching scents is a no-no.

3. i have a thing for A&E biographies and documentaries on mobsters and serial killers. i can watch them for days on end. don't ask me why.

4. i'm addicted to HGTV, specifically the real estate and home improvement shows (house hunters, property virgins, my first home, freestyle, you get the picture). while i watch, i take mental note of the things i want in my house (when i buy one).

5. i heart Celia Cruz. my AIM name comes from a popular Celia Cruz song. her energy, her fire, and her voice inspire me. i have written poems with her music as my muse. la reina will always live on.

6. i hate shoes. i'd much rather walk around barefoot, allowing my feet to be free. as soon as i can, i kick off my shoes and even drive with them off. but don't get it twisted, i'm no britney spears. you won't see me entering into any public bathrooms (or public spaces for that matter) without my shoes.

7. sometimes, i'm still amazed i have a child. sometimes, i wonder when his parents are going to come and pick him up. it's been two years, and i'm not quite fully adjusted to this new role of mama, but i'm getting there. i'm learning that not being perfect, and not having all the answers is ok.

so, let's see...who shall i pass this onto?

Xtina, Bless, Mdot, Torrance, Cap, Ced, and Xay, you're up!

writing is fighting
a barrage of words    banging
paper    ears     your heart

    struggling
to conect beyond the noise
beyond what makes us

     wondering
if anyone can hear
our inside voice, really

or if
it even matters
at all.


~~~~~~~

i'm in a rush, posting between periods. but i'm struggling to teach my students how to write...clearly. they are so stuck in a world of txt messages and IMs, that it seems as though basic, standard English is like Chinese to them.

as someone who writes well, i'm having a hard time conveying the nuances of the language to my kids. so much of what i write and how i write is caught up in my ears, i'm wondering how i can help them tune into that melody.

any advice? bell rang. peace.

i'm here, i'm here...i sware.

i have been sort of MIA since before school started again, sort of living in a state of uneventfulness. not much is happening on this end. i'm not writing, not reading (like i said i would). but i've been doing a lot of hanging with the little one, which has been good.

i am just sort of getting back in stride.

once i get my head right, i'll be back with some posts, some poems, some random words of....whatever.

peace.

Kujichagulia: To define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves and speak for ourselves.


(no images, just audio ~ black star "K.O.S." ~enjoy)

day 2 of Kwanzaa is dedicated to self-determination, or defining one's self in spite of what others may say or think of you. self-determination and defining one's self is, arguably, the purpose of life. once we are able to create our own authentic identities for ourselves and by ourselves, i argue that we, as individuals and a people, will have achieved true freedom. it's like being able to be your own boss, and basking in how freeing that can be. but with that freedom comes immense responsibility. let's not take it, or ourselves, for granted.

"The fire's in my eyes and the flames need fanning
With that what? Knowledge Of Self, Determination"

peace.

Umoja: To strive for and maintain unity in the family, community, nation and race.


today marks the first day of Kwanzaa, the seven days after Christmas that aims reinforce the seven collective principles of African culture. today's focus is Umoja, or Unity.



i have always LOVED this song. for a time, it operated as my theme song, my anthem. i played it daily, sometimes several time a day basking in the strength and beauty of the horns and Latifah's words. even today, i am still moved whenever i hear it, and my swagger becomes that much more fierce.

at first listen, the song may seem not to speak much to "Unity" as it does to female empowerment, but when you think about it, a community cannot rise and achieve FULL unity until all of its members are valued and respected. as audre lorde so aptly stated, "It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences."

in this Kwanzaa season and beyond, let us focus on trying to celebrate and accept that which makes us beautifully unique.

peace

from my family to yours...

be blessed.

i have struggled to define myself for so long.

for years i allowed others' definitions of me become who i was, as least temporarily. as a mother & wife, i'm having a hard time really figuring out who i am. like...who would i really be without all of these titles (mommy/wife/teacher/sister/daughter/visitor of inmate #06XXXXX)?

when i'm still, when there is no one around who needs anything, then who am i really?

& who are you?

On a recent trip to the park, I was reminded of the staggering gaps in race and class when it comes to mothering. The park was full of moms—mostly white—with coolers chock full of snacks, toys, screaming, barefoot kids, and Benz SUVs. This world felt foreign to me and about as inviting as a new, awkward kid’s first day of school.

Of the many moms out that day, I was the only Black mother, or parent, for that matter. As I listened to a group of moms discuss plans for their next playgroup and Mom’s Night Out activity, I wondered, where are all the black moms and playgroups for people that look like me?

I hit the net searching for information. First I did searches for African-American moms, mothering, and working moms and playgroups. After punching in a myriad of search terms dealing with mothering, I came up empty handed. Most resources for African-American moms either dealt with stay at home moms, or poverty and African-American moms, none of which answered the questions I had in my head.

Despite the lack of internet resources, I know I’m not alone. My situation is hardly unique. I’m an educated, working mother, who is solo parenting a rambunctious two-year-old son. There are millions of women like me, yet no one seems give a damn. An article on the National Organization of Women website discussed the media’s virtual ousting of mothers of color. It states,

If you read major newspapers and news magazines or watch network news broadcasts, you may have the impression that all mothers are white, married, college-educated and have (or have abandoned) careers in high-profile professions such as law, medicine, broadcast news or finance.

And although they are poorly represented in media reporting on working mothers, African-American mothers have a higher rate of working outside the home than any other demographic. Married African-American mothers with children under 18 have higher rates of workforce participation than other married mothers (82 percent compared to 71 percent of white moms, 66 percent of Asian moms and 62 percent of Latina moms, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.

So where are the real representations of moms that live outside of what society deems as the norm? Are we left to fend for ourselves, and continue to feel like outsiders on playgrounds across America? Something has got to change.

We need a place, a resource where both working and stay at home moms (married or single) can come together and share, commune, and find answers together. I have to yet to find that place, so maybe I should stop looking, and create one.

1. not having to wake up at 5:45am: i am SO not a morning person, but have been forced to become one in order to earn a living. when i was in NYC i had to be at work at 7am, and would have to be up, out, and on the train before the sun even got up. it sucked getting up so early, but watching the sun break over the river almost made it worth it.

2. being able to watch the today show in its entirety: normally when i hear the Today Show theme music, i know i'm running late. everyday i need to be out of the house before 7am in order to drop the little man off at the sitter & get to work in time to make copies, write the agenda on the whiteboard, and listen to a little music before my students start pounding on my door. being on break allows me time to catch up on all the fashion mistakes, complicated recipes, and the weather reports in my neck of the woods.

3. spending time with my son: you are probably wondering why this is number 3 on the list. i could have easily made it #1, however, at some point, i want my son to take a nap because i can only watch so many episodes of Thomas & Friends, or read Hop on Pop, or play with the trains. i absolutely LOVE my son, but now i realize that i don't have to have him tied to my hip to be considered a good mom.

4. not having to change out of my PJs: i confess, i'm lazy...sometimes. i don't like to get dressed up to go into the world everyday. i like the softness and ease of my cotton basketball shorts, or ultra-soft capris. i'd rather be barefoot, in shorts, and a tank-top & lounging around my house than stuffed into a pair of slacks and uncomfortable shoes.

5. unlimited options: this is probably THE BEST thing about being a part-time stay at home mom. if i want to stay home all day & let the munchkin run around the house like a madman, cool. if i want to get us dressed and go to a museum, cool. if i want to walk to Borders and browse for books & let him run around in the kid's section, cool. every decision, every idea, every day trip is possible because i don't have to answer to anyone but myself (and bank of america). whatever we want to do, we can do because i'm the boss. the freedom of being able to plan, or not plan, your day according to YOUR needs is priceless.

when i'm working and my students are driving me crazy and it's march or april or november, i always try to keep my eye on the prize: break! although i can't afford to stay home full time, being able to have a few weeks or months off allows me to experience life on the other side of the mommy coin.

each time i'm off i cherish these days, love the freedom they offer, and long to have them again. hopefully one day my passion will allow me to sustain us financially, and i can officially make the switch from part-time to full-time stay at home mom. until then, i will enjoy my time off while it lasts.

(some of the books i have yet to read, but have owned for quite some time. i will try to get through these over break.)

it's finally here: a break, an extended siesta from the day to day work and struggles of teaching. i've been looking forward to this time since september (lol), and it's FINALLY here!

for the first time since i've ever had a break from anything, i don't have a ticket in hand to go visit beloved. i'm broke & the weather sucks. hopefully we will conjure up a visit before i have to return back to work (crossing fingers). but the lack of travel plans feels very weird and foreign to me. i halfway don't know what to do with myself right now.


(veggie lasagna with spiniach, mushrooms, red, yellow, and orange bell peppers, onions, and lots of cheese!)

yesterday, as i do lots of Sundays, i cooked. the stay at home mom in me likes to go on allrecipies.com to see what tasty things people are cooking up. yesterday i made a veggie lasagna & tricked my uber-picky two year old into eating more veggies than he's had in a long while. in an attempt to return to the healthy eating that i exhibited this past summer, i wanted to make something meatless, and although it had lots of cheese (yum!) it was all made of skim milk, and i used whole wheat pasta. it came out quite tasty. the little one ate ALL his and kept trying to dip his fork in my plate. mission accomplished.

one thing i will do with myself over the break is read & write. all the hype surrounding my one page a day goal evaporated. my child got sick, i got sick, and my ideas stopped flowing. i will pick up my story again and hopefully make up for the week i lost. i also picked up the new issue of Poets & Writers, and FINALLY was able to get my hands on Bodega Dreams. i'm excited to read it. will give you my review, not that it matters, when i'm done.

so, what are your plans for your winter break--no matter how long or short?
& what are you reading right now?
give a sista some recommendations.

bless.

right now beloved & i need your prayers, well-wishes, positive thoughts, whispers to the ears of God, lit candles, and any anything else you can muster.

we are not in a good place right now.

i'm not going to hash out all of our intimate details, because some things are private, but we have been arguing more than talking, and we haven't done either in almost a week. this life is extremely difficult. having to have arguments, as all couples do, via the phone, is completely exhausting and frustrating. having to trust and love across thousands of miles is a test that many fail. the separation, and financial burden, and just the lack of our freedom is taking its toll, BUT i know we are SO much stronger than this & one day will look back on these days and know that because we made it through this, we can make it through anything.

ashe.