Good News...Bad Delivery,,,What Does That Make Me?

So, does great news change because you are upset about how you received it?

Does it make the news any less great? Do you still celebrate?

I guess it all depends.

Today I learned I am going to be a grandmother...I think. Still not sure if this is a hoax or real. Do I run out to the boutique baby store in town and pick up all the cute little gifts? Or do I sit patiently, mourning my status as the one of only a few of my cousins without that moniker?

And what do I call myself? I am only 45. I am the Latte Queen for goodness sakes! I wear pink keds and fluffy pink scarves. I do not look my age. What is a grandmother supposed to look like anyway?

I am still not sure if this news is real. I've been rewinding conversations with my son, the renaissance man-writer-spoken word artist-rapper-artist type. He kinda mentioned a long while ago, "mom, I may have gotten a girl pregnant," almost in the same breath he said, "my CD is in another store and I have a performance Friday night." Was I to take that seriously? It never came up again. So, do unmarried 22 1/2 year old sons still freak out about what their mothers would say?

Maybe I should just wait to hear that these little cherubs have actually, really, kicking and screaming, changed my status before I believe my husband's inaudible, toothpaste filled utterance that he spoke to the oldest son and he is expecting two kids! Whew! I was caffeine-deprived this morning because the stove blew out and I couldn't make a latte so maybe I just heard the whole thing wrong.

I have been frantically texting my son and asking him to confirm this news? I need to know how much time I have before I move from being a mom with kids ranging from 22 1/2 to 5 1/2 to being a grandmother. I can.not.be.called.grandma. There has to be time to digest this news, time to figure out how to knit or at least sew a blanket. Or figure out my moniker.

My cousin, a few years my senior, is more adept at this grandparent thing. She is called GG by her grandkids. I can't take that...can I?

Mama Taye'...maybe. Big Momma? No, definitely not that. TT? What? I better get to checking. The last time I called anyone Grandmother was my dear Grandmother Foster. That just won't do for me.

This news is too much to digest on a lack of caffeine. French Pressed Ethiopian coming right up!

Queen Mother...perhaps that is about right. Caramel Latte Queen Mother. Maybe...

Hannah's Song

We came together last night and sang Hannah's song. Family from California was in town, it was the night before Aunt Hannah's Home Going Celebration. We met at my house late in the evening to fellowship, remember, hug, eat, and laugh. Thom felt the love in the room and I'm sure his mom would've appreciated us doing what she did all her life - love. Aunt Hannah was a gracious woman. Her gentle spirit, sparkling eyes, and constant smile will be remembered. She has left us physically, but never spiritually. The laughter was like music in Thom's ear. For the first time in weeks I saw my cousin relax. He has been in a tornado for the past four weeks from his mother's diagnosis to her death. Even in her final stage, Aunt Hannah was granted her desire. She asked to not suffer long when it was her time to go, she had been a caregiver her whole life and I'm sure her prayer was for her son. In the last days of her life, she still greeted well wishers with a wa...

Brothers, Can we Talk?

I'm a Black woman, born of a Black woman and a Black man. When my mother died, it was my father who nurtured me and instilled in me a sense of pride of self, of my race, of my abilities to do whatever I put my mind to do. He never imposed limitations on me as a Black woman. The only caution he ever gave me was to not burn my candle at both ends and to be mindful of my health, I am an asthmatic. He never stopped me from trying anything and always encouraged me. Daddy was a strong Black man who introduced me to Shirley Chisholm when I was a little girl. He reminded me of the fortitude of my late mother's quest for gender equality in the workplace and of the namesake who marched at Selma. He is the one who gave me my pseudonym, Tayé. Daddy was a strong tower of empowerment and fought all the way to his last breath for social, gender, and racial justice. It is in remembering my father this morning that I'm asking the brothers, can we talk? What is it, especially those of my g...

Ashes to Ashes

This is Ash Wednesday. For a lot of Catholics and Anglican Christians, it begins the holy season of Lent. We remember we are but dust and to dust we return, ashes to ashes. It is a somber reminder of our humanity and the finality of life. We are a mere breath. Today, as a Hospital Chaplain Resident, I am imposing ashes on patients, family, and staff. It is a visible marker of a shared faith and belief. We look with anticipation to the finished work of salvation on the cross and in eager hope of the resurrection. As my day progressed, I noticed how much hope was in the eyes of the ones giving and receiving this reminder of our existence. It was both a somber moment and a joyful moment. Two things can exist at the same time. Like the world we find ourselves in. Even as it seems like the darkest, certainly the darkest I’ve known in my six decades on this earth. Completely imperfect as a nation, there was still a glimmer of light until the nightmare became reality. We wonder abo...

The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

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