Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Reflections

New Year's Eve, 2013.  Another year coming to an end.  A moment to pause and reflect upon the past year and reach forward to the new one.

Like a blank piece of paper set before the writer's pen, waiting for the scribe to etch the first word, first line.  What will it be?

Sipping my morning coffee with the sun from trees streaming through my balcony, my children getting in a few more hours of holiday break sleep, my husband on his annual closet clean up, I'm taking a moment in the still to just pause.

2013 was quite the year for me.

I ran for office in a contentious race.  While I didn't win (and secretly, didn't want to give up that much of my life for the position), I did (1) make it an election, otherwise, the original two would have just walked onto the board without the public commentary, discourse, and choice; and (2) I raised awareness of important issues and tried to keep it focused on the education of the children and not a football stadium to benefit some local contractor.  In the way I ran the election and the way my campaign was financed, I'm proud.  Would never do it again, but I am proud that I did it.

I raised my voice.  2013 was also a year where conflict seemed to be the word of the year.  I could have kept quiet; but being the legacy of the Civil Rights Movement, being a preacher's daughter, being a writer, being a mother, I just could not compel myself to sit back and see injustice happen without raising the issue, without raising the awareness, especially of my Caucasian friends and allies.  Would I do it the way I did in 2013? Probably not. Would I still lend my voice and my writing to raise issues?  Definitely yes.

I consulted.  I was able to work with some great clients and meet some great individuals.  In turn, I also worked with and met my share of insecure women who used their privilege to sabotage projects and people.  Definitely a learning experience.  There are a lot of wonderful small and local businesses out there that I had the interact with.  I wouldn't change that for the world, it was a discovery.

I went back to school.  In a new and different way for me, I engaged my mind with my broader learning community, a global learning through the MOOCs offered by Coursera.  When time and responsibilities prevented me from going to "class" like I wanted to, I still had the opportunity to engage with material from professors who would have never crossed my paths.  I earned two Certificates of Accomplishments for the liberal arts classes this MBA indulged in, expanding the sake of thinking and thought, learning for the sheer pleasure of it.

I traveled.  The most memorable trip was when my family spent a week down in the Gulf of Mexico.  Point Clear, Alabama and Fair Hope, Alabama are among favorite destinations for my daughters and I.  We spent Mardi Gras in that part of the country that understands, I didn't have to explain what being Creole is all about.  We drove over to Florida and wanted to go to Louisiana, but the ages of my young daughters prevented me from taking them to the city of my family's American history.  The girls did get to walk along the beach, pick up sea shells, and breathe in the joy and merriment that makes that time of year a true holiday down there.  Definitely going back and hoping to take all the family.

I read.  Oh how much joy I had in the books I read in 2013.  I ended the year with 12 Years A Slave.  And will transition from 2013 to 2014 with The Book Thief.  It is a dream to own my own bookstore/coffeehouse with all my favorite things on display.  It is a dream to have such a place down along the Gulf where time is slower and people pause to engage.  I wrote many book reviews, participated in many book discussions with my book club, and spent hours with my daughters in the library.

I drank lots of coffee.  Everyone who knows me knows how much I love my coffee, especially the locally roasted variety from a locally owned shop.  There is something magical about the warm brown liquid that makes my soul stand up and be happy.  Perhaps it is the fact that sipping a really good latte is not something that is done in a hurry, one must slow down and savor each cup.  One day, I hope to travel the coffee lands and engage in that universal language.

I wrote.  I am and will always write.  Poetry, essays, rhetorical commentary, and a few chapters in a literary piece all flowed through my fingers.  I am satisfied, if a writer is ever satisfied, with my year and know that 2014 has many more discoveries for me.  I studied my craft and forced myself to sit down and make a graphical outline, despite not liking to do that.  I participated in a virtual writing group and engaged with other people who love the word in real books as much as I do.

I lost.  Friends and family made their transition in this year.  Some through death, others through attrition, our time together took a necessary turn and came to an end.  I mourned the loss, cherished the memories, and look forward to another tomorrow.

I love.  I think that is one of the things that most defined the year for me.  I am generous of heart and spirit and love people.  My tent expanded to include people from faiths not like my own and colors not like my own.  I realized the greatest gift the Creator gave us is the eyes to see the beauty in his creation.  I experienced that and am delighted for the pleasure.

2014 holds many promises for me that I eagerly anticipating.  I will be celebrating a milestone along with my youngest son.  I will be gaining a daughter-in-law.  I will travel even more.  I will expand my writing vision and reach in a different way.  I will live, love, lose, and laugh.

As 2013 reaches the final hours of her existence, a moment to reflect is a moment to be thankful.  Happy New Year's Eve.

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Letting Stress Go

Stress is literally a killer.

It builds and builds and without an outlet, will explode.

I figured out today that it is not always the big things that can cause the burning in the heart and the pot boiling of the brain, but the slow simmers built over time that end up showing on your face.

I had no idea it showed.

Until someone told me yesterday to "don't stress, it will be ok."

I was perfectly dressed and coiffed, communicated clearly, my package was totally correct, yet the chips and chips of daily stress was starting to peak through the mask.

Life can be stressful, just in the daily things like getting kids up and to school on time, dealing with traffic, unkind people, the latte machine not working, running out of coffee beans, or more month than money, life has its stressors.

Dealing with them through outlets like exercise, creative arts, meditation, or honestly, sex, are ways of relieving the toxins that can poison the body. The toxins can kill the body if not released.  Little things become big things.

And it starts to show.

So I made up my mind that stress will not kill me.

There is more to life than working 90 hours to advance the cause of a corporation that will never remember my name.  More to life than fussing at my son to get up and clean up his room, who cares, who will it harm if his clothes from college are all over his room?  There are more important things than if my husband ever cleans out the garage.

Letting go of stress is in part giving oneself permission to be what we are, human, and flawed.

Not stressing over missing a phone call because you were busy listening to your daughter practice her violin piece to move up in a chair.  What was more important? The phone call from someone in a distant circle or the confidence of your daughter?  I chose my daughter, the phone call could happen another day.

Letting go also means giving oneself, myself, the right to choose what is best for me, even if eyebrows raise.  No one will die with me but me and going into my jubilee, I am not ready to take my last breath.
Not stressing over eating cereal for dinner because there was too much homework or the mountains of clean laundry that no one put away yet, those things can float away for there is only one life to live.

The heart beating fast and faster over a nonsensical argument about dirty dishes, dirty socks, and dirty towels can add up over time to land one on high blood pressure pills, diabetes medicine, or on stroke watch.

Life is too short, truly, no matter the age when the spirit leaves body.

So today, less than a week before Christmas with not a present purchased or an ornament unwrapped; with my sitting room floor covered in a papermaking project for my tween daughter; with instruments out of cases in the office and homework on the television room floor; I am making a decision to release, to breathe, to know that it can be cleaned in an hour or two.

Life is worth so much more.  Reminding myself, through deep breaths, to let it go, it will be ok.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Power, Politics, Profession, and Place Of The At-Home-Mom

It has been a decade since I hung up my suit and scarf, put on jeans, white blouse, and a scarf, and became the Chief Home Officer of my family's enterprise.

In so doing, I had to journey through the professional questions of why someone with an MBA would not be in the corporate halls of power making the money I used to make.

Sometimes, people close to me would think that I am putting too much pressure on that man, not doing enough to iron his shirts, and should be scrubbing the floors on my hand-and-knees since I'm not bringing home the bacon.

Othertimes, people close to me look at my body of work over the past decade and applaud the time put in tutoring and driving to lessons and sitting through rehearsals and brokering time that resulted in my last three children having the fullness of their childhood.  They had me in their classrooms, running their programs, or driving them to lessons that the work (I have worked outside the home, as a consultant in charge of my own time) I have done helped pay for.  They look at how well spoken and well read they are.  They look at the scholarships my son has because I devoted an entire academic year to marketing his performance abilities in a way that got him accepted to six universities with five of them offering scholarships.

There were times when, while working, I wondered if I was able to leave in time to pick the girls up for their lessons, wondered if I had enough time to make dinner before jetting off to one of their activities.

One organization that was a lifeline for me and other women-of-color was Mocha Moms, Inc.

My home chapter, in Johnson County, was a breathe of fresh air for me, especially when my daughter was a baby with major illnesses that had my residence in the children's hospital.  These women, everyone from marketing and management types like me to pharmacists like one of the women, all shared together our joys and tears in this profession that existed without dollar signs.

Dr. Melissa Harris-Perry, on her show, discussed the topic of the worth of at-home moms and the destitute wages other women are paid to take care of the homes of professional women who work.  She and her panel discussed the devaluing of these things like being an educator, a manager, a chef, a medical assistant, a chauffeur, a fundraiser, a speaker, an event planner, a laundress, a housekeeper, etc. that are part of the the toolbox of the CHO. Discussed were the treatment of women-by-women who do those things for others to work, having their own families to take care of.

It is a topic that continues to intrigue me.

Black women, and increasingly Latino women, were put in domestic service when the doors of other opportunities were closed to them, despite the degrees that lined their walls.  Black women have always worked, always, from slavery, as recounted in 12 Years A Slave, idle time to just think was not granted.  They have always had their hands to the plow and after a long day, still had to come home and take care of the needs of their household.  It was for this reason that Mocha Moms, Inc. was so liberating to so many of us who were working in our homes.

White women, alternatively, had other women who cleaned their homes and took care of their children.  Entering the workplace was liberating to them. The Women's Movement allowed them to have the independence they craved and the accomplishment of earning their own money.  Conservatives in their four year assault on women's rights have wanted to put these women back in their homes, ecking out rights after rights in their backward quest to control their actions.

In this backdrop of the politics of controlling women's bodies and movements, many of us continue to hold strong to our mission, despite the slights, despite the questions, and despite the five-year-old-jeans.  We stand strong to make sure our daughters and sons are able to have the things they have.  Many of us own our own businesses and structure our work around their school hours.  Some of us have gone back to the workforce now that the children are older and in school full-time.

We continue to have dialogue of the place and rights of women to choose what is right for them.  The choice may be for a season and some may be called to it for just infancy.  Others have been vocal in helping the United States realize that there is value to family leave, why are we one of the only industrialized nations that do not guarantee paid maternity and paternity leave.  Why do we devalue the work of nurturing children, whether parents or teachers?

One day, this season will be over, my last two children will be graduating from high school and like my sons, venturing out into the world to make their place.  One day, their mess will not be all over the TV room floor and their clothes will not be falling out of the basket.  One day they will be in college and not being scurried to lesson after lesson.  One day they will be adults.

And in moving on, it makes these brief eighteen years even more precious.  My profession over the last ten  years has expanded my reach and view of the world.  Stepping out of the corporate office has opened my eyes to the things the millennial generation already knows, life is more than work, work is possible around one's life, and life is only something that happens once.

The discussion will continue and there will continue to be those who want to control the lives of women, who believe motherhood is devalued, or that stepping off to raise a family will not land one as the CEO of GM. And that is ok.

Monday, December 16, 2013

Almost Skipping Christmas

I could hardly believe it when I opened my calendar today to realize that next week is Christmas.

We don't have a tree up yet, well, that's not too bad, our tradition has become to get it the day before the day before.

Gray Thursday and Black Friday were met with protest from our family, from me in particular, and we remained at home snuggled up with lattes and books.  We were also racing about to celebrate our youngest daughter's 10th birthday and eek out the last moments with our youngest son before depositing him on a bus back to college.

Never mind that it was only three weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas this year.

Never mind the rhetoric about big boxes, racial profiling in stores, and taking away retail workers' only day off.

Never mind the lackluster offerings and the inflated prices during the holiday season.

We just didn't go, no time, no desire, realizing we have so much we want right here.

Then there were the performances and the decade day celebration that was a week after Thanksgiving, the all important all girl sleepover that sent us to candy stores and popcorn stores.  Who has time for the mall.

One of the girls mentioned that we hadn't shopped yet.

The other kinda shrugged as if she wasn't that interested.

My husband just looked at his wallet smiling that money wasn't flying out the door.

And I thought about what I really wanted for the holidays.

Sure, we will go out, probably this weekend, since Friday is the last day of school.  Sure, they want some things like clothes and boots.  Sure, we will get a tree. We are only almost skipping Christmas, skipping the crowds at the commercial stores, skipping the push and shove, skipping the materialism, and skipping the "savings" we "earned" by "buying" that "must have" item that they are offering for our consumer focused nation.

But in all our missing it, we found something more precious, the time we've had together and the moments we've laughed with friends, the sweet sounds of music, the laughter and the joy.

Perhaps we have been too busy to go shopping to simply enjoy what this time of year is meant to bring.


Wednesday, December 11, 2013

A Mother's Thoughts On Her Sons

My sons are among the bravest and wisest men I know.

Sure, lots of mothers probably think highly of their sons, sharing a bond that lasts beyond the eighteen years of teaching and growth.  They love their mamas and often look for those qualities in a mate, sometimes worrying that the woman they have chosen will not measure up or the mother and daughter-in-law will not get along, each vying for her place in that man's heart.

Of course, I love them, I bore them, journeyed through light and dark places for them, vended off a knife-wielding robber on the streets of Chicago for them, walked through the icy cold for them, ate a can of soup for them, literally put down my hopes and dreams for their security, they are my heart.

Now that the are older, they are also my wise counsel and lens through which I can view myself and decisions I make.  They are my cheerleaders and promoters and buoy me when my middle age threatens to take the tiger out of me.

They are brave and wise and astute and remind me that nothing that happened was hidden from them, that they understood the many nights I sat up studying while they were sleeping.  That they saw the five year old jeans I wore so their ever growing feet would be properly covered against the snow in Iowa.  They reminded me that they understood why I didn't date when I divorced and put my energies on raising strong young men, they even understood why I remarried and watched silently as moves and changes happened in that new life.
Mothers may never understand the struggles of say fathers and sons to get along, let alone step-fathers and step-sons.  I may never grasp their fierce protectiveness of the woman who stood against odds to make sure they would be safe.  They want to cover and protect.

One of my sons promised me a home in the islands after his amazing voice makes it big and another told me my golden years will be of ease since I worked so hard for them early in life, that I will always have a home with them and am not alone.

It was something that made me smile in the midst of a doubting moment in my life as a work-at-home mother still raising children as a I approach my fifth decade. It made me smile as I have revamped my résumé a million times to be turned away because of race, gender, or age - disguised as fit - and left wondering if my education and experience is still worthy.  The support from my sons and their reminding me that if I moved when they were little and they turned out ok, the girls will also, that a new school and a new town are not that scary if the ultimate venture is one on this life journey.

The son covered the mother and made me think of families, how connected we are through the generations.  How one son, despite his mother's distance and lack of affection to them growing up, never ceases to visit his aging mother every week in her nursing home.  How he gently brushes her hair and feeds her, a son's love for his mother is endless.

We come in all sizes and shapes, we have fears and doubts, some of us got the fairy tale of the husband who loved and provided for his home, never abused his position, and honored his wife as the queen of the home.  Some of us got the one who was jealous of the children and abused them or the mother and then left.  Some of us got the one who buried himself in his work and was emotionally detached.  Some of us got the one who had a secret family and an entire other set of six kids and destroyed us in his quest to keep control of everything. Mothers and sons, wives, women have a fortitude that has endured much for the sake of family and will keep doing it because once you have borne life and birthed life, you are connected to that life forever.

I thought it was wise and brave for my son to share some thoughts with me, to admonish me, one asked me why I was trying to go back to work, why not just write, and the other reminded me that if I do go back, that my experience is worth the salary I require. They shared their minds with me and I watched our relationship shift yet again, I'm not longer their provider and protector, we are each other's counsel and adviser.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Monday Morning Exhaustion...and Smiles

Mondays are always a respite after a whirlwind weekend of activities for the family.

This weekend was no exception.

Decade girl, the baby-of-the-family, had her epic "girls just wanna have fun, not quite sleepover, not movie not, but lots of giggles" party at the hotel suites a few suburbs away.

Her mama needed lots of coffee and ear plugs to withstand the jiggly, wiggly, giggly girls.

So it was not without regret that midnight came after six hours of non-stop laughter, and the last girl put on her coat against the winter chill and pressed the elevator button to go home.

Sleep remained illusive as the hotel suite needed to be packed up from presents, luggage, and snacks for the party.

Caroling and basketball games and an unexpected playdate with cousins meant mama's weekend was spent traveling from here-to-there, secretly wishing for the college student to be home to take over some of the drive time.

A moment of quiet when the last one went to school this morning, a sip of a rosemary and brown sugar latte, and a smile across the face reminded one mama that turning ten is a major deal. That there is only one baby-of-the-family. That childhood is irreplaceable. And that pined for corporate escape life will still be there when the last one leaves the nest.

Counting up the blessings on a cold Monday morning.  A few yawns makes it all worth it.

Friday, December 6, 2013

Reflecting on Nelson Mandela

I was so busy yesterday, racing from one end of St. Louis to the other end of Kirkwood to get things ready for my last child's decade day birthday party celebration. The car was literally my dwelling from the moment I dropped them off at school to the moment I picked them up.

Wanting to hear my heart as I use drive time to work on developing the characters for my book, I shut out all outside media, the radio was not on the usual NPR.  Hadn't read the newspapers, hadn't been on social media, just doing errands, planning, and thinking.

Then I came home and sat at my computer and my heart stopped.

Madiba was gone, passed away, no longer a presence on this Earth.

We knew it was coming, just like all of us must one day separate spirit and soul from body, he was 95 after all, yet, it was still numbing, a great loss that words can not capture the fullness.

My dear friend, Rasia, put up the post, she being from South Africa.  I felt the sense of pain and loss in her words.

My dear sister, eDali, immediately moved to South Africa after the end of apartheid, made it her home for four years.  She went through a naming ceremony, becoming officially South African, her new name being Edalizwizwe.  I have precious jewelry she brought back for me.

One of my first internships in international marketing was in preparing the American and Missouri delegation to accompany then U.S. President Bill Clinton on an economic development tour to many African nations, South Africa being one of them.

We have friends from many countries in Africa, we trace our heritage to Madagascar, my husband has adopted Ghana as his homeland, our ancestress hails from the Dominican Republic and our ancestors were from Haiti, we have Africa in our veins.  We know the great impact of Madiba extended far beyond the southern tip of his homeland, but throughout the entire content and the world.

He challenged the collective us to think about what we are doing.  He reminded us that we are not born hating or fearing one of another race or culture, that it is something learned, and if we are willing, can be unlearned.

His character, in the face of unspeakable challenges, exists forever to exort us to face our mountain with the same sense of purpose and destiny.  He was true to his mission and ideal, despite it costing him 27 years of his life, just about the exact amount of time my older son has walked this earth.  Would we, would I, have the same strength of mind, soul, and spirit to endure a physical prison without being imprisoned in my mind as well?  Would you?

Nelson Mandela is also a beacon, in the darkness of the racial hatred and class opposition we have endured in America since the election of President Obama.  A beacon exists to light the way and to expose the darkness, perhaps the timing of his passing is a moment for the American apartheid to come to an end, to see ourselves not that different from the oppressors of the black people in South African at the time of great men like Mandela and Beko.

Much will be written, spoken, and examined of the life that was lived for us.  Even being a Creole black woman in America, his impact was an impact on all people in all lands.  He was not just the first black President of South Africa.  He was not just a black African man standing in the face of white European oppression. He was a servant, as he himself described his existence, on a mission to enlighten us all to the possibility of love being the order of the day.

My errands ended and I sat here, absorbing the news, thinking of all it meant, fell asleep listening to his words played over and over and the pundits speaking of the as yet unexamined future, and wondering, what will be all do now?

May he rest in eternal peace, journey is over, work is complete.  Most Honorable Nelson Mandela. 1918-2013.