I am getting divorced.
Divorced from unreasonable expectations.
Divorced from yokes and chains.
Divorced from societal demands.
Divorced from past failures.
Divorced from false thoughts.
Divorced from shoulds.
Why?
Because I want to live.
I thought this morning about all the time in my life I wasted trying to live up to expectations put on me by others.
Then I wondered how many expectations, shoulds, oughts, and musts I am putting on my children and would they one day sit at a high powered device to write about it.
In this society we think married people should stay married to honor the institution, even if the institution is damaging the soul, or keeps women in chains, or does not allow same sex unions, or is abusive.
Images are placed on us, particularly Americans, to hold up to some false ideal of a perfect life. I live in the suburbs and know that many of the carpool line moms are closeted prescription drug addicts, alcoholics trying to self-medicate from the pain of bricks on their chest.
We say that we must worship in a house made by man and while my father would turn over in his grave that I am not at church today, now I feel closer to the Creator than ever in a church pew. Why? Because over the years I've learned that man is flawed and we can love one another as gifts if we put aside the unreasonable demands.
Life is a precious whisper. What gives one man authority over another man to dictate how he spends his dash. I'm not talking about so-called illegal activity, but let's face it, not too long ago, the State Lottery was the domain of suit-wearing organized crime and that liquor sales were once the things of talkeasy prohibition. Rules and chains and yokes to control from the stronger to the weaker to control.
I divorce it, all.
And breath the breath of life given to me by my creator who sculpted me in his image and told me to love my neighbor as my self and love my savior with all my life.
He did not tell me to buy into the prosperity gospel or domination gospel or sexual abuse gospel or women in long dresses gospel or men as ruler gospel. My savior went to the people and there brought the gift of grace.
That is what I embrace.
I am almost forty-six years old.
Divorced from religious dogma.
Divorced from commanded audience.
Divorced from guilt messages.
Divorced from man above all.
And now that I have my emancipation papers, I don the cloak of life and step out into the wind to see what the rose colored glasses kept hidden.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Preaching To The Mommy Choir
Today I ran into one of my Mocha Moms sisters while we were both in the middle of our mommy duties - shuttling kids to doctors. She was taking her little one for a routine checkup, I was taking mine to her twice-weekly allergy shots. We had a moment in the lobby of this professional building to preach to the choir.
It must be a full moon or something because both of us recognized that look of sheer exhaustion and a "discussion" with our mutual husbands about the worth of what we do at home. We both got the "you don't do anything all day but drive kids around." Both of us understood the time consuming chore of taking kids from one thing to the next in traffic. Then there was the "you aren't doing anything with your degree, that little (fill in the blank) is just a hobby and not a real job." We understood.
As our moment of sharing ended and our mutual crew of daughters hugged good-bye, we gave each other that look of, "girl, if no one else understands, I do, and if you ever decide to run away and spend some time on that remote island, give me a call."
I shuttled my girls back in the van to race the twenty-five minutes home to throw in a load of laundry, finish the cleaning up I like to have finish by Friday, freshen up, field a phone call from the 23 year old who was on the MegaBus to come visit, and then shuttle the 15 year old to his call for the second night of his play.
I could feel the exhaustion rising up in my bones the same way the fire rose up in my belly this morning when my husband went on a tirade about how I never cook dinner, never wash the clothes, and basically sit around eating bon bons all day. Where has this man been? Perhaps watching another episode of Leave It To Beaver where June Cleaver made dinner in a fully dress and pearls.
Then I remembered the words of someone much wiser than I. Life is short, a gift to be cherished and a time to flourish. Sometime we, women, are living in a bubble created by a patriarchal system, sometimes in heavy religious doctrine, that says our dreams, hopes, desires, and aspirations do not matter, that we are only on earth to take care of the children, the man, the elderly, and then sit down and die.
Sometime inside me is rising up and jumping up and down, NO! I am not finished with my purpose yet.
I told my daughters I loved them and no matter what, I would always love them.
Change feels like it is seeping into my soul, softly illuminating the tomorrow of possibility, much like the moonlight is gently glowing through the balcony windows.
It feels uncertain, the thought of giving up this life I have know for so long. This existence that rolled from one day to another to a month to another to a year to another to now I am almost 46 and wonder if my degree, my experience, my background still has a place in the world I once knew.
My musings about motherhood and changes are filling my mind. The youngest child will be in first grade next year. Will she still need me? My son will be a junior.
I looked in the mirror and perhaps the stages of change began two weeks ago when I dusted off the cobwebs of my resume and updated my life, there was so much I've done in the seven years I've been outside corporate america. Running an educational summer program never would have happened in my former life.
The change kept me thinking, even as I cut three inches off my dread locs. I looked in the mirror at this woman and at these hands and thought, I've just about fulfilled the assignment for this moment, it is time to take on a new challenge.
My children will always know my heart and my love for them. They will one day remember the gift they had in me, even as I cherish being a part of their development, their advanced reading skills and ability to express themselves, their confidence and courage and character.
The mom and I understood the place we were in life and recognized the moment of opportunity and longing.
I have my leaping shoes ready. And my voice. And I won't stop singing.
It must be a full moon or something because both of us recognized that look of sheer exhaustion and a "discussion" with our mutual husbands about the worth of what we do at home. We both got the "you don't do anything all day but drive kids around." Both of us understood the time consuming chore of taking kids from one thing to the next in traffic. Then there was the "you aren't doing anything with your degree, that little (fill in the blank) is just a hobby and not a real job." We understood.
As our moment of sharing ended and our mutual crew of daughters hugged good-bye, we gave each other that look of, "girl, if no one else understands, I do, and if you ever decide to run away and spend some time on that remote island, give me a call."
I shuttled my girls back in the van to race the twenty-five minutes home to throw in a load of laundry, finish the cleaning up I like to have finish by Friday, freshen up, field a phone call from the 23 year old who was on the MegaBus to come visit, and then shuttle the 15 year old to his call for the second night of his play.
I could feel the exhaustion rising up in my bones the same way the fire rose up in my belly this morning when my husband went on a tirade about how I never cook dinner, never wash the clothes, and basically sit around eating bon bons all day. Where has this man been? Perhaps watching another episode of Leave It To Beaver where June Cleaver made dinner in a fully dress and pearls.
Then I remembered the words of someone much wiser than I. Life is short, a gift to be cherished and a time to flourish. Sometime we, women, are living in a bubble created by a patriarchal system, sometimes in heavy religious doctrine, that says our dreams, hopes, desires, and aspirations do not matter, that we are only on earth to take care of the children, the man, the elderly, and then sit down and die.
Sometime inside me is rising up and jumping up and down, NO! I am not finished with my purpose yet.
I told my daughters I loved them and no matter what, I would always love them.
Change feels like it is seeping into my soul, softly illuminating the tomorrow of possibility, much like the moonlight is gently glowing through the balcony windows.
It feels uncertain, the thought of giving up this life I have know for so long. This existence that rolled from one day to another to a month to another to a year to another to now I am almost 46 and wonder if my degree, my experience, my background still has a place in the world I once knew.
My musings about motherhood and changes are filling my mind. The youngest child will be in first grade next year. Will she still need me? My son will be a junior.
I looked in the mirror and perhaps the stages of change began two weeks ago when I dusted off the cobwebs of my resume and updated my life, there was so much I've done in the seven years I've been outside corporate america. Running an educational summer program never would have happened in my former life.
The change kept me thinking, even as I cut three inches off my dread locs. I looked in the mirror at this woman and at these hands and thought, I've just about fulfilled the assignment for this moment, it is time to take on a new challenge.
My children will always know my heart and my love for them. They will one day remember the gift they had in me, even as I cherish being a part of their development, their advanced reading skills and ability to express themselves, their confidence and courage and character.
The mom and I understood the place we were in life and recognized the moment of opportunity and longing.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
On A Lighter Note
Today my cousin told me my keyboard was still smoldering so I'm ending the night by stepping off my soapbox and taking a walk.
First, I sat in the lovely sunshine and watched my daughter play. Then I read a few chapters of The Hemingses of Monticello and since I am still in the early part, feel good about the book. I received a photo of my deceased son and while it is grainy, it is enough to show his younger siblings. And finally, I connected with some childhood friends that made me smile at the memory.
My night ended with me doing the happy dance because I FINALLY made something my six year old daughter likes.
She rages more battles in her body than even the most ardent tea partier could rage against our government.
Food is almost poison to her. She is allergic to everything and even the allergist, nutritionist, and kids GI doctor all looked at me and said, they didn't know what to tell me. They were the experts! What do I feed this kid? It is new territory and they have never seen someone as allergic as she is.
Yet today, in the midst of her dwindling "safe" food list, I made her smile.
This kid loves, loves, loves waffles and anything backed. Ian's makes great chicken nuggets and Enjoy Life lets her get her chocolate yummy smile. But one thing was missing - waffles. I found Ian's French Toast sticks (made with rice bread) did not satisfy her, ironically, of all the major food allergies (and she has all of them) wheat is not a challenge. So. after a long day of waiting for her brother to finish rehearsals and running errands, this mama was too tired to make a traditional dinner.
Solution? Breakfast!
But I didn't want to make two meals. So waffles!
I whipped up a batch of allergy friendly (not gluten free) waffles that they ALL loved and asked me to save some for breakfast tomorrow. I did the happy dance! My daughter said, "Mama, I just LOOOOVVEE you!" and the eight year old said, "these are so good you don't need syrup!" That made me feel all oooyyy gooooie inside.
The recipe:
2 cups Bisquik (alter if there are wheat allergies and find an alternative)
1 1/3 cup Hemp Valley Vanilla Milk (you can use rice or almond but my daughter has nut allergies and hates rice milk)
1/4 cup sugar (you can skip this if you want, but I like to make it a little sweet)
2 tbs canola oil (my daughter is allergic to corn and soy, canola has a light taste)
2 tbs EnerG Egg Replacr mixed with 2 tbs water - whisk well and pour immediately (this is off direction from the box)
I warmed a mini waffle pan and brushed it with canola oil
Spoon out the mixture into the waffle iron and let it rise, then flip
I spread a little Earth Balance Soy Free Spread - there are others, but my daughter is allergic to soy
Yummy goodness!
This can be served plain, with organic maple syrup, blueberry syrup, or even sprinked with powdered sugar for dessert. Dress it up with fresh fruit and Enjoy Life Mini Chocolate Chips for something fun.
I am going to make it again with Lemon Sorbet on top for her to enjoy during our birthday dinners next month.
So, my dear cousin should know, my keyboard is not smoldering, I am saving my political and social commentary for another day. For tonight, this mama is happy and smiling that she brought a smile to the face of a courageous little girl!
First, I sat in the lovely sunshine and watched my daughter play. Then I read a few chapters of The Hemingses of Monticello and since I am still in the early part, feel good about the book. I received a photo of my deceased son and while it is grainy, it is enough to show his younger siblings. And finally, I connected with some childhood friends that made me smile at the memory.
My night ended with me doing the happy dance because I FINALLY made something my six year old daughter likes.
She rages more battles in her body than even the most ardent tea partier could rage against our government.
Food is almost poison to her. She is allergic to everything and even the allergist, nutritionist, and kids GI doctor all looked at me and said, they didn't know what to tell me. They were the experts! What do I feed this kid? It is new territory and they have never seen someone as allergic as she is.
Yet today, in the midst of her dwindling "safe" food list, I made her smile.
This kid loves, loves, loves waffles and anything backed. Ian's makes great chicken nuggets and Enjoy Life lets her get her chocolate yummy smile. But one thing was missing - waffles. I found Ian's French Toast sticks (made with rice bread) did not satisfy her, ironically, of all the major food allergies (and she has all of them) wheat is not a challenge. So. after a long day of waiting for her brother to finish rehearsals and running errands, this mama was too tired to make a traditional dinner.
Solution? Breakfast!
But I didn't want to make two meals. So waffles!
I whipped up a batch of allergy friendly (not gluten free) waffles that they ALL loved and asked me to save some for breakfast tomorrow. I did the happy dance! My daughter said, "Mama, I just LOOOOVVEE you!" and the eight year old said, "these are so good you don't need syrup!" That made me feel all oooyyy gooooie inside.
The recipe:
2 cups Bisquik (alter if there are wheat allergies and find an alternative)1 1/3 cup Hemp Valley Vanilla Milk (you can use rice or almond but my daughter has nut allergies and hates rice milk)
1/4 cup sugar (you can skip this if you want, but I like to make it a little sweet)
2 tbs canola oil (my daughter is allergic to corn and soy, canola has a light taste)
2 tbs EnerG Egg Replacr mixed with 2 tbs water - whisk well and pour immediately (this is off direction from the box)
I warmed a mini waffle pan and brushed it with canola oil
Spoon out the mixture into the waffle iron and let it rise, then flip
I spread a little Earth Balance Soy Free Spread - there are others, but my daughter is allergic to soy
Yummy goodness!
This can be served plain, with organic maple syrup, blueberry syrup, or even sprinked with powdered sugar for dessert. Dress it up with fresh fruit and Enjoy Life Mini Chocolate Chips for something fun.
I am going to make it again with Lemon Sorbet on top for her to enjoy during our birthday dinners next month.
So, my dear cousin should know, my keyboard is not smoldering, I am saving my political and social commentary for another day. For tonight, this mama is happy and smiling that she brought a smile to the face of a courageous little girl!
Commentary: The Flaming Keyboard
The other day my cousin asked me if my keyboard was on fire.
I told him, no, the flames are out.
But the fire in my soul to speak up is not.
I looked at some things that are happening in our nation, in our schools, and in my city, and just got angry. It is not okay to bully anyone. Relentless tormenting of another is wrong. The young girl who killed herself saw no way out. The wife who stays sees no way out. The kid on the corner with a gun sees no way out.
Then I went to my favorite coffeeshop to bask in the sunshine, sip a latte, and read my LARGE print Bible. I let the wisdom of the Provers was over me like a much needed shower. And just as I was filling up, an acquaintance walked up and asked to join me for coffee.
She and I shared our spiritual connection, hunger, rebellion, and thirst for doing. It had to be 'God' moment because this mother and I both have children at the same school and never talked matters of faith. I think we both were tired of the hypocrisy that has been rearing its ugly head all round us like the spring weeds that are popping up with the budding grass.
The summer is going to be hot, in a lot of ways.
One of my friends in my Bridges Group said it is because there are a lot of scared white people out there worried about the sins of the fathers creeping up for payment, retribution. We talked about the atmosphere. And I said we needed them to speak out, to not let this fear be legislated, otherwise we would be back in a dark place as a country.
There are no isolated incidents. It is all tied together. Little bursts here and there. And it all boils down to mans inhumanity to man, ignoring the golden rule, forgetting that throwing stones can hurt, and that we are not without sin.
We are also not without hope. That was the ending of my coffeeshop conversation. And my Bridges meeting. There is hope. There are enough people around to stand up, stand with, and stand down.
Today, the keyboard is just simmering.
I told him, no, the flames are out.
But the fire in my soul to speak up is not.
I looked at some things that are happening in our nation, in our schools, and in my city, and just got angry. It is not okay to bully anyone. Relentless tormenting of another is wrong. The young girl who killed herself saw no way out. The wife who stays sees no way out. The kid on the corner with a gun sees no way out.
Then I went to my favorite coffeeshop to bask in the sunshine, sip a latte, and read my LARGE print Bible. I let the wisdom of the Provers was over me like a much needed shower. And just as I was filling up, an acquaintance walked up and asked to join me for coffee.
She and I shared our spiritual connection, hunger, rebellion, and thirst for doing. It had to be 'God' moment because this mother and I both have children at the same school and never talked matters of faith. I think we both were tired of the hypocrisy that has been rearing its ugly head all round us like the spring weeds that are popping up with the budding grass.
The summer is going to be hot, in a lot of ways.
One of my friends in my Bridges Group said it is because there are a lot of scared white people out there worried about the sins of the fathers creeping up for payment, retribution. We talked about the atmosphere. And I said we needed them to speak out, to not let this fear be legislated, otherwise we would be back in a dark place as a country.
There are no isolated incidents. It is all tied together. Little bursts here and there. And it all boils down to mans inhumanity to man, ignoring the golden rule, forgetting that throwing stones can hurt, and that we are not without sin.
We are also not without hope. That was the ending of my coffeeshop conversation. And my Bridges meeting. There is hope. There are enough people around to stand up, stand with, and stand down.
Today, the keyboard is just simmering.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Commentary: What Angers Me - Why They Stay
Something really angers me.
When people know a woman is in a challenging relationship - could be abusive, maybe psychologically, addictive spouse, financial constraints, physical abuse, sexual abusive, homosexual spouse, mental abuse, you name it - and they reach out to people for guidance and help,and those people want to just tell the woman to "leave" without assisting, that ANGERS me!
It is so easy to spout off about what a person should do when their very livelihood is threatened by an insecure person and you have the means to help but do nothing.
A lot of people know someone who is in a marital relationship that is not healthy, but instead of concrete things - the woman does not need your psychological two-bits - they just talk about her. She is damned if she leaves (how could she leave that "good" man) and damned if she stays (I wouldn't do that if I were her) but not assisted to a healthier life.
It takes a lot to get out. Money, job, house, car, doctors, papers, schools, lawyers. The controlling spouse knows that, too, and tries everything to keep that from happening. Whether it is constant travel (usually these situations involve more affluent couples) or public appearances or simply keeping the couple in debt so the woman's credit is messed up, the controlling spouse always puts up roadblocks. It is even more complicated if the couple is in the church.
Churches favor the man. Period. The woman is just collateral and the children are just jewels in the man's crown. That is basically the bottom line. Women can forget getting help from the church (regardless of denomination).
So, note to self and others, the next time a woman is seeking help trying to find a job or affordable and SAFE housing or financial help, just give it. And also note, a lot of single mothers are divorced from controlling men and working two or three jobs to stay safe, do not judge her or her kids for having a house full without a husband, maybe that husband is not all he was cracked up to be.
I'm just saying, some things just make me mad and that was one of them.
When people know a woman is in a challenging relationship - could be abusive, maybe psychologically, addictive spouse, financial constraints, physical abuse, sexual abusive, homosexual spouse, mental abuse, you name it - and they reach out to people for guidance and help,and those people want to just tell the woman to "leave" without assisting, that ANGERS me!
It is so easy to spout off about what a person should do when their very livelihood is threatened by an insecure person and you have the means to help but do nothing.
A lot of people know someone who is in a marital relationship that is not healthy, but instead of concrete things - the woman does not need your psychological two-bits - they just talk about her. She is damned if she leaves (how could she leave that "good" man) and damned if she stays (I wouldn't do that if I were her) but not assisted to a healthier life.
It takes a lot to get out. Money, job, house, car, doctors, papers, schools, lawyers. The controlling spouse knows that, too, and tries everything to keep that from happening. Whether it is constant travel (usually these situations involve more affluent couples) or public appearances or simply keeping the couple in debt so the woman's credit is messed up, the controlling spouse always puts up roadblocks. It is even more complicated if the couple is in the church.
Churches favor the man. Period. The woman is just collateral and the children are just jewels in the man's crown. That is basically the bottom line. Women can forget getting help from the church (regardless of denomination).
So, note to self and others, the next time a woman is seeking help trying to find a job or affordable and SAFE housing or financial help, just give it. And also note, a lot of single mothers are divorced from controlling men and working two or three jobs to stay safe, do not judge her or her kids for having a house full without a husband, maybe that husband is not all he was cracked up to be.
I'm just saying, some things just make me mad and that was one of them.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Inadequate
The other day was disturbing for me.
For a brief moment, I allowed myself to feel inadequate, diminished, less-than-worthy because I do not "work at a real job." I let myself absorb the stress that someone who does answer the corporate grind feels and found myself very uncomfortable and defensive, yep, said it, defensive. It was like an escalated version of the mommy wars and I had to put it to a stop.
I did the corporate grind of driving through traffic, sitting through meetings where real work didn't get accomplished, working lunch hours, long evenings, taking work home, and answering to a rigid corporate culture. That world for me ended in May 2003 when I was one of many laid others during the early years of the now infamous Great Recession.
My work-at-home status has opened up doors of opportunity that would otherwise have been closed. Not all the doors were financial and all of them have been rewarding and part of my purpose.
Had I continued in my write-my-own-ticket M.B.A. salary that I obtained in 2000 when I started with my last company, I would have missed out on teaching M.B.A. candidates as an Adjunct Professor, I would have surely been visiting my daughter at a gravesite instead of her kindergarten classroom because I would not have been able to drive her to doctor-after-doctor for days until one finally listened and she was scheduled for major surgery the following week. This same girl who battles not one but four chronic, life-altering, heavily-medicated, illnesses that leave both of us exhausted when the sun rises in the morning. I would have missed out on homeschooling my children, being at all my son's musical performances, assisting in his classroom, sitting with dying relatives, tutoring kids, mentoring kids, writing a children's book, writing book reviews for my blog and a local independent bookstore, writing over 300 Internet articles, performing my poetry, campaigning for the first Black President of the United States, starting a summer reading program, and directing an educational summer program as well as leading a community educational group, participating in the racial healing of a community, book clubs, serving as chapter president of a national moms group, and did consulting with a girl scouting organization. Whew, where have the seven years (come May 8th) gone.
My worth and value is more than a paycheck. But to those who like to value people only by dollar signs, Salary.com said that the amount of work, long hours, and contributions of Mom-in-Chiefs rivals that M.B.A. salary that was part of my life almost a decade ago. Some of my corporate moms tell me they would not trade being at home for anything and it wasn't about the lunches or the salary, it was because they knew the work of a full-time mom is self-sacrificing and never-ending. There is no lunch hour, guaranteed two breaks, two weeks vacation, sick pay, or corporate travel. No adult conversations to stimulate the mind, no validation of your work by a rapt audience of colleagues listening to your presentation on a new model line.
Then I realized something, I am exactly where I am supposed to me. Lucky? No, very, very fortunate and blessed that my husband is in a position to allow me to focus on our most valuable treasures - our home and our children. As the mother of six children, ranging from one who would've been 28 down to one who is 6, I know that the time is fleeting and adulthood comes faster than morning. They are only small for a moment.
I am a recycling, bohemian, vegetarian, latte-loving at home mom who has come to find the greatest things about myself and my family. The treasures that I often missed by my late evenings outside the home and restaurant dinners, hour of "quality" time with three sons who all very much tried to get our attention.
My life is not perfect and there are times I wish I could put on a designer power suit and strut my stuff in stiletto heels just one more time. Then I stop myself, the grass is not greener on the other side. Just as my daughter looks up at me with her apple dumpling cheeks, sparkling eyes, and kilowatt smile and says, "mama, I love you!"
That is the stuff that makes my day and for that, I will be an inadequate corporate maven anytime just to be their mom all the time.
For a brief moment, I allowed myself to feel inadequate, diminished, less-than-worthy because I do not "work at a real job." I let myself absorb the stress that someone who does answer the corporate grind feels and found myself very uncomfortable and defensive, yep, said it, defensive. It was like an escalated version of the mommy wars and I had to put it to a stop.
I did the corporate grind of driving through traffic, sitting through meetings where real work didn't get accomplished, working lunch hours, long evenings, taking work home, and answering to a rigid corporate culture. That world for me ended in May 2003 when I was one of many laid others during the early years of the now infamous Great Recession.
My work-at-home status has opened up doors of opportunity that would otherwise have been closed. Not all the doors were financial and all of them have been rewarding and part of my purpose.
Had I continued in my write-my-own-ticket M.B.A. salary that I obtained in 2000 when I started with my last company, I would have missed out on teaching M.B.A. candidates as an Adjunct Professor, I would have surely been visiting my daughter at a gravesite instead of her kindergarten classroom because I would not have been able to drive her to doctor-after-doctor for days until one finally listened and she was scheduled for major surgery the following week. This same girl who battles not one but four chronic, life-altering, heavily-medicated, illnesses that leave both of us exhausted when the sun rises in the morning. I would have missed out on homeschooling my children, being at all my son's musical performances, assisting in his classroom, sitting with dying relatives, tutoring kids, mentoring kids, writing a children's book, writing book reviews for my blog and a local independent bookstore, writing over 300 Internet articles, performing my poetry, campaigning for the first Black President of the United States, starting a summer reading program, and directing an educational summer program as well as leading a community educational group, participating in the racial healing of a community, book clubs, serving as chapter president of a national moms group, and did consulting with a girl scouting organization. Whew, where have the seven years (come May 8th) gone.
My worth and value is more than a paycheck. But to those who like to value people only by dollar signs, Salary.com said that the amount of work, long hours, and contributions of Mom-in-Chiefs rivals that M.B.A. salary that was part of my life almost a decade ago. Some of my corporate moms tell me they would not trade being at home for anything and it wasn't about the lunches or the salary, it was because they knew the work of a full-time mom is self-sacrificing and never-ending. There is no lunch hour, guaranteed two breaks, two weeks vacation, sick pay, or corporate travel. No adult conversations to stimulate the mind, no validation of your work by a rapt audience of colleagues listening to your presentation on a new model line.
Then I realized something, I am exactly where I am supposed to me. Lucky? No, very, very fortunate and blessed that my husband is in a position to allow me to focus on our most valuable treasures - our home and our children. As the mother of six children, ranging from one who would've been 28 down to one who is 6, I know that the time is fleeting and adulthood comes faster than morning. They are only small for a moment.
I am a recycling, bohemian, vegetarian, latte-loving at home mom who has come to find the greatest things about myself and my family. The treasures that I often missed by my late evenings outside the home and restaurant dinners, hour of "quality" time with three sons who all very much tried to get our attention.
My life is not perfect and there are times I wish I could put on a designer power suit and strut my stuff in stiletto heels just one more time. Then I stop myself, the grass is not greener on the other side. Just as my daughter looks up at me with her apple dumpling cheeks, sparkling eyes, and kilowatt smile and says, "mama, I love you!"
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Now You Get Mad...and Other Thoughts
Someone sent this to me in my email and it is just so on point that I am reposting it here. It sums up a lot of the "anger" over the last year. Come on people, now, really now is when you want to get mad?
Subject: NOW YOU GET MAD
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Sunday, April 4, 2010
Faith and Easter
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/shane-claiborne/death-be-not-proud_b_524340.html
The sun rose this morning and many who share my faith, of any denomination or no denomination, found themselves at a Sunrise Service to remember one of the most sacred events that marks our faith as the hope we cherish.
Christmas is about the baby boy being born to a virgin mother, a blessed King who answered the long awaited hope of a nation, even if they did not all receive him as such. Christmas celebrated the baby, Easter or Resurrection is about that, the ending of the earthly life of a very young man for a crime that was not his, but our's, mine, if you believe in universal sin and ultimate forgiveness in Him alone.
Easter is about the man wrestling with the demands of his being. He meditated, he cried, he spent time with his friends, he walked outside and I'm sure had moments of crisis of faith about what he knew was coming. Then it came and for my faith, the period from Thursday-Sunday is more sacred than December.
It is not about the new clothes or the spring dinner or the egg hunts or anything that has become ritualistic. It is about remembering why this faith is important, why we hold onto the promise of resurrection even in the midst of the hell many of us face daily. Wars, famine, hurricanes, earthquakes, protests, hunger, death, corruption, greed - these have been the things that filled the air from last year to this and some of it happened in the "church" causing even more of a vacuum than the Earth felt on Good Friday so long ago, when He willingly gave up the ghost and the earth was silent.
I am a preacher's kid. I was born to a Catholic raised mother and a Baptist minister father. I spent my early years going to Mass with my very devout grandmother who was born and raised Methodist but married a very, very Catholic Creole man. The family church sits like a beacon on Grand Avenue across from what is sacred ground, the land that was my grandmother's home. Multiple generations of us hold onto the spirit of her faith and the faith of her mother-in-law, that French-speaking great-grandmother of mine who met her husband while teaching Catechism class. The faith runs deep into the sinew of my bones.
My memories of Easter where of shopping for new clothes, from head-to-toe, memorizing Easter speeches or scriptures, watching my step-mother bake the succulent ham and whip up the best pound cakes on Earth. Of my father telling us about the importance of the season and of us watching The Ten Commandments while sitting under a hair dryer with rollers in our freshly prepared hair. I remember it was going to bed early because we were to be at the Sunrise Service, even at 9 or 10, I felt the hushed toned of sacred prayers that were in appreciation of the sacrifice made on our behalf.
As the stirrings of the day will prepare my own children for a ritual similar to mine, except at our mega-church, there is no Sunrise Service, just four services since Saturday to accommodate the masses, I had to stop for a moment and think about the crisis of faith I've experienced.
Christ is my Savior, I believe in HIM with all my heart and soul. I've prayed the "sinner's prayer" many, many years ago. I've ministered, preached, taught, and studied this faith. I sat under the leadership of churches that later disappointed me in their judgment or lack of grace. I've been in denominations that believed that the "other" had no hope of salvation or eternal life - other cultures, other religions, other sexual orientation - even to the point of not showing love to family members. It has brought me hurt and shame to see the things happening to my grandmother's beloved Catholic church - even with ties so close to the Pope.
Then I stopped and was reminded that in the days leading up to Jesus' crucifixion, he stepped away from the organization called the church to meet with the people who would be the church. Give me Christ, keep the dogma the separates or preaches division or hatred or injustice or selection. Give me grace, HIS amazing Grace that saved a sinner like me, I once was lost but now I'm found, that is the hope of His resurrection, that we would be found in love, doing, acting, and giving.
The sun rose this morning and many who share my faith, of any denomination or no denomination, found themselves at a Sunrise Service to remember one of the most sacred events that marks our faith as the hope we cherish.
Christmas is about the baby boy being born to a virgin mother, a blessed King who answered the long awaited hope of a nation, even if they did not all receive him as such. Christmas celebrated the baby, Easter or Resurrection is about that, the ending of the earthly life of a very young man for a crime that was not his, but our's, mine, if you believe in universal sin and ultimate forgiveness in Him alone.
Easter is about the man wrestling with the demands of his being. He meditated, he cried, he spent time with his friends, he walked outside and I'm sure had moments of crisis of faith about what he knew was coming. Then it came and for my faith, the period from Thursday-Sunday is more sacred than December.
It is not about the new clothes or the spring dinner or the egg hunts or anything that has become ritualistic. It is about remembering why this faith is important, why we hold onto the promise of resurrection even in the midst of the hell many of us face daily. Wars, famine, hurricanes, earthquakes, protests, hunger, death, corruption, greed - these have been the things that filled the air from last year to this and some of it happened in the "church" causing even more of a vacuum than the Earth felt on Good Friday so long ago, when He willingly gave up the ghost and the earth was silent.
I am a preacher's kid. I was born to a Catholic raised mother and a Baptist minister father. I spent my early years going to Mass with my very devout grandmother who was born and raised Methodist but married a very, very Catholic Creole man. The family church sits like a beacon on Grand Avenue across from what is sacred ground, the land that was my grandmother's home. Multiple generations of us hold onto the spirit of her faith and the faith of her mother-in-law, that French-speaking great-grandmother of mine who met her husband while teaching Catechism class. The faith runs deep into the sinew of my bones.
My memories of Easter where of shopping for new clothes, from head-to-toe, memorizing Easter speeches or scriptures, watching my step-mother bake the succulent ham and whip up the best pound cakes on Earth. Of my father telling us about the importance of the season and of us watching The Ten Commandments while sitting under a hair dryer with rollers in our freshly prepared hair. I remember it was going to bed early because we were to be at the Sunrise Service, even at 9 or 10, I felt the hushed toned of sacred prayers that were in appreciation of the sacrifice made on our behalf.
As the stirrings of the day will prepare my own children for a ritual similar to mine, except at our mega-church, there is no Sunrise Service, just four services since Saturday to accommodate the masses, I had to stop for a moment and think about the crisis of faith I've experienced.
Christ is my Savior, I believe in HIM with all my heart and soul. I've prayed the "sinner's prayer" many, many years ago. I've ministered, preached, taught, and studied this faith. I sat under the leadership of churches that later disappointed me in their judgment or lack of grace. I've been in denominations that believed that the "other" had no hope of salvation or eternal life - other cultures, other religions, other sexual orientation - even to the point of not showing love to family members. It has brought me hurt and shame to see the things happening to my grandmother's beloved Catholic church - even with ties so close to the Pope.
Then I stopped and was reminded that in the days leading up to Jesus' crucifixion, he stepped away from the organization called the church to meet with the people who would be the church. Give me Christ, keep the dogma the separates or preaches division or hatred or injustice or selection. Give me grace, HIS amazing Grace that saved a sinner like me, I once was lost but now I'm found, that is the hope of His resurrection, that we would be found in love, doing, acting, and giving.
Friday, April 2, 2010
The Day After
This morning I woke up dreaming of ships. Then I thought about water and how refreshing I feel whenever I see the Lake.
Perhaps it was the newness or just the fact that yesterday was not a sad day. I celebrated my son with my own private birthday party at Benton Park Cafe' after I spent a little time shopping at Paste Crafts in Soulard. I then went to the Central West End to Something Special by Lillian and ended up having a wonderful conversation at the Starbucks on Maryland Plaza and Euclid.
When I came home from my day of reflection, I hugged my kids and smiled at the blessings before me. I let the shower water cascade down my freshly maintained (and trimmed) locs and just smiled at the day. Sunshine has kissed my face and Ms. Ann reminded me that my son was always with me in spirit and I would see him again.
Then today came and we walked in Forest Park. He gave me a flower from a magnolia tree and as we kept feeling the warm air of God's gift of spring, we stumbled upon a cascade tucked into the hills and rocks.
I climbed up to the top of the cascade and with each climb up the giant rocks, I could feel myself reaching more and more serenity. I stopped and looked at the waters, finally shed a tear and declared my never-ending love for my firstborn. The flower was a perfect thing to nestle between the rocks, a memorial for him here.
The hours make the clock tick as this Good Friday winds into the evening. I have had times to reflect on the newness of life, promise of life, and reflection of life. It is a good thing to live, in the day after.
Perhaps it was the newness or just the fact that yesterday was not a sad day. I celebrated my son with my own private birthday party at Benton Park Cafe' after I spent a little time shopping at Paste Crafts in Soulard. I then went to the Central West End to Something Special by Lillian and ended up having a wonderful conversation at the Starbucks on Maryland Plaza and Euclid.
When I came home from my day of reflection, I hugged my kids and smiled at the blessings before me. I let the shower water cascade down my freshly maintained (and trimmed) locs and just smiled at the day. Sunshine has kissed my face and Ms. Ann reminded me that my son was always with me in spirit and I would see him again.
Then today came and we walked in Forest Park. He gave me a flower from a magnolia tree and as we kept feeling the warm air of God's gift of spring, we stumbled upon a cascade tucked into the hills and rocks.
I climbed up to the top of the cascade and with each climb up the giant rocks, I could feel myself reaching more and more serenity. I stopped and looked at the waters, finally shed a tear and declared my never-ending love for my firstborn. The flower was a perfect thing to nestle between the rocks, a memorial for him here.
The hours make the clock tick as this Good Friday winds into the evening. I have had times to reflect on the newness of life, promise of life, and reflection of life. It is a good thing to live, in the day after.
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