My Dad

It used to bother me that my Dad wasn't like other Dads. When I would meet my friends fathers, there Dads were playful, fun and charasmatic, but my Dad (the preacher) was stoic and walked around with a bible, even at work his coworkers called him "Rev".  He refused to let us date, have company, listen to music, go to parties or anything "secular" and oft times I hated the way he treated us.  I would pray and ask God to change him, make him like other fathers and to make me proud to talk about him. As I began to get older, my inquisitive side began to take over and I started asking him direct questions I knew he couldn't back out of.  Surely there had to be a reason he was like this and I wanted to know, I needed to know. The more I probed, the more I found out things about him that shaped my opinion. 
My Father and his two siblings were given up to foster care as children. My dad was the oldest and aged out of foster homes much earlier than he had hoped for.  He had to find his way, often times in what felt like a constant state of darkness. He met my mother at a young age and became a father much sooner than he wanted.  He screwed up.  A lot and often. And most of the time, those screw ups involved US.  Most of those mistakes haunt him and all of his children to this very day.
Recently I spoke to my dad about raising seven (7) children with an iron fist and the choices he and my mother made and what changes (if any) he would make if he could.  He took a deep breath before he replied and said...
"At times I feel like I failed every one of you, including your mother.  I didn't always make the best decisions.  Sometimes I let my anger, my baggage, lead me and I never felt you, as my children, deserved an explanation for my actions and reactions. I didn't begin to let God lead my relationship with you all until you were grown and by that time it was too late for explanations and excuses. I should have eased up a little, I should have made better choices but I was young and I was lost at times myself.  It became the blind leading the blind and I should have let God lead me, so I could better lead my family. I wasn't the father I could have been to you when you were a child but now I am a better man and can be a better father now."
His words sat with me.  Everything he said filtered through me and I interpreted what he was saying and have begun to apply it to my relationships with my children, my siblings, my family and people I meet. You have ONE life.  You will most definitely make mistakes in your life and you won't always make the best decisions for your children but if you step away from the guilt of your past and design your present and future to be inclusive of your own personal struggles, you can learn to be apologetic and work on a better relationship with the people you love today. 
I am proud of my Dad today.  His story is a lesson of hope for me.  I govern my home and my relationship with my children very differently and I am not afraid to admit when I am wrong and sometimes when I open my mouth, my parents come out.  Through his mistakes he taught me things and although I don't say it much, I am thankful for him. 

Death has not won...

Recently I lost a college friend who was the 3 Cs, caring, charasmatic and constant.  I wrote the following poem at her funeral.  There is no dying, only living!  Even in her death, she lives.  We will miss her.

Death has not won.

There will come a day when the ease of losing her won’t be as difficult to take. 

There will come a moment when we will hold an image of her and our hands won’t shake,

but for now...I am here to say, Death has not won.

Today our hearts are heavy, our spirits are wounded and it feels like people are constantly slipping through our fingers.  And as the emptiness lingers and we remember Sonya,

I am here to say, that Death has not won.

There will be pain before there is complete peace and the feelings of what if and what now won’t cease and we will often ask God why, why her, why now and HOW could you let this happen, but in our anger we must remember that death has not had a victory here.  God’s complete love has wrapped around Sonya and she has transitioned into a place where death dare not celebrate.  I want to set the record straight, Death….you have not won.

Even in our suffering we rejoice in having have known her, having loved her, having worshipped or worked with her and eventually the phones will stop ringing, and it will sound like the birds have stopped singing and the tears won’t stop streaming, but remember that when Sonya left this place, that death did not, will not, won’t ever, win.

We Love You Sonya.

That Baby is all grown up...

I was 21 when I had my first child.  I didn’t like to admit I was young, single and a statistic back when she was a baby and I was ashamed for most of my 20s of what people thought about me.  I never wanted to be that girl, raising that baby, that way, so I walked with my head hung low very fast until life taught me a valuable lesson, walk proud and purposefully.  The only thing I was guilty of back then, was loving the wrong guy. Even though I was pregnant young and raising a baby on my own, I knew I had to continue my dreams so that she could have dynamic dreams of her own.  I raised her with the assistance of some really GREAT girlfriends that took turns watching her while I went to class and worked a full time job.  I couldn’t have done such a great job or completed my degrees without them, but I knew I didn’t want her to have the same difficult task as I did.

It dawned on me today that baby, my baby is 18 and in several months is headed to a University very soon.  For the majority of her life, I have prepared her for this phase of her life, but it frightens me immensely.  After all, it still feels like yesterday that someone let my hand go to let me walk on my own., even if sometimes the walk was brisk, cold and relentless.  I recognize she is about to walk out into the world, but I don’t feel like letting her hands go just yet.  I would rather hold her by her fingertips, so I still have a little grip in case she falls (or fails). What dawned on me is that some statistics are not all bad.  There are good statistics.  There are statistics that people shake their heads in disgust at in the beginning and by the end, they are applauding.  What I know for sure is that it takes a village to raise a child and as my baby leaves her village, I hope that she is among nobility. After all, I think I (with the assistance of the people in my village) did a great job so far.  I love you baby girl!  Make us proud.

Look how much she has grown….

My friend- Amyr!

What I learned over the past few days is that no one and nothing can change what is deeply rooted inside of a person, but it is life and experiences that either support or contradict a person’s testimony.  As my friend stands in the gap today for her ailing mother that is in critical condition, she is reflecting on her mother’s life testimony.   It is only with deep remorse of losing my own mother that I understand every challenge and every obstacle and although the pain is deep at times, there are memories of happier times that will hold her.   Life sometimes has a way of making you come into your own understanding in ways that some might find unimaginable, but what I learn every day is we are all significant.  We are all remarkable and key contributors to an amazing existence. 

To my friend Amyr, be great!  Your mother is proud of you.

When I die.

This is dedicated to everyone that has lost someone.

When I die, I want to die with the whisper of God in my ear calling me home, not surrounded by chaos or commotion.  I want to be surrounded by my loved ones holding my hands, making me giggle, fixing my hair and reminding me that they are not sure how bright their tomorrow will be if they lose me today.   When I die, I want to leave a testimony so grand and a legacy so significant that endowments will be started in my name.  I want books to be written from my words and plagiarism to happen based on my poems. 

When I die, I don’t want to die at the hands of another person or even my own; I want to drift off to sleep as my last breath carries me into the afterlife. I don’t want to die tragically.  I don’t want to die anonymously.  I don’t want to die without saying my fond farewells, giving my children my plans for their futures or my sweet potato pie recipe.  When I die, I want to go with a smile on my face and a thank you on my lips to the people who helped shape my life.  I don’t want to die without one last prayer and one last communion.  

When I die, I want to be remembered for who I have always been…Me.  When I die, I want my eulogy to be filled with funny anecdotes about how much I loved coffee or the impacts I have made, not the horror of the facts surrounding my death.   When I die, I want you all to know that we must continue to be kind to each other and be what God has intended us to be.  I don’t want you to spend your forever closing the gap between the current you and the intended you, but speak out against the people that are doing you harm, standup for those that can’t stand on their own, love the people that God purposely gave you and make your mark on this world TODAY.  You may not die today, so it is your vow to live without hesitation and with motivations of complete freedom. Don’t allow the “shoulds,” and” musts,” and “oughts” to hinder you.  When I die, I WILL be remembered.  Will you?

What a difference 60 years makes.

Growing up a Northerner, I heard horror stories about living in the South.  In history classes, we heard about slavery, lynchings, segregation and Jim Crow laws; so upon moving to Atlanta, I had a very negative depiction of how I would positively raise my family in a city known for its discrimination.   The desegregation of Atlanta happened in recent stages:  buses and trolley cars in 1959, the first restaurant in 1961, theaters in 1962 and public schools not until 1961-1973 (I was born in 1972 and in New Jersey, we had been desegregated for ages).   When I moved here, much to my surprise, I fell in love with the cities, eclectic people, Queen Anne architecture near Inman Park, the large buildings downtown and bustling nightlife.  We quickly settled for the suburbs North of Atlanta. 

Then something unexpected started happening.  My children began to grow up, not experiencing racism like I read about or experienced.  What Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke about in his 17-minute I Have A Dream speech began to unfold in front of my eyes and in the lives of my children.  They became part of a whole and I began to breathe a little easier in our Southern middle class suburb.  Recently, we took a trip to Auburn Avenue and I watched as my children were awe-inspired by the sights of Ebenezer Baptist Church, the eternal flame, the final resting place of Dr. and Mrs. Martin Luther King Jr. and the like.  My children smiled as they recalled that history once stood right where they were standing.  There was a bustling existence that once took in the same sky only 50 years prior and they were proud.  I am not sure what the future holds for them, but I can only hope that "…one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I watched the face of my youngest as she read what Dr. King said and she was impacted positively.  We have a long way to go, but in some of our communities, we are making a difference.  I know we are making a difference in mine.

Ouch...my heart hurts.

Recently I tried to explain to my youngest child what it feels like to have your heart broken.  She asked, “Does it bleed?”, “Can the Doctor make it feel better?”, “Does it hurt when it breaks?” and I hesitantly replied with “No. No. Hopefully not too bad.” And then I realized as much as I want to, I will not be able to shield my kids from hurt.  I can kiss boo-boo’s, get rid of the boogie man in the closet and place band-aids on non-existent cuts, but what I can’t do is protect them from when someone or something breaks their hearts. 

It dawned on me that on their journey through this life, there will be love and love lost.  There will be ups and subsequent downs and all I can do is talk them through how to deal with the hurt.  When I was hurting, my journal became my best friend and I spent many nights eating my way through a carton of Blue Bell Vanilla Bean ice cream.  The ice cream worked its delivish magic on my waistline, but the journal helped me heal past all the ex-boyfriends, lost jobs, gained pounds and missteps.  I gave my baby a hug and reassured her, that although her heart would never physically break (although it might feel like it has), I would always be there to hold her close, share her favorite ice cream and remind her how beautiful she is.

The "Transform my children" project...

I am the second to the youngest of seven children. I grew up with "handmedowns", small dinner portions, recycled bath water (because I got in the water last..YUCK), summers at Grandmas, a whole lot of church (every day of the week and twice on Sunday), early bedtimes (prior to 7PM) and plenty of scary stories from my siblings that still scare me today. 
I just had a conversation with my kids and they don't know any of the above.  Instead they know clothes of their own, large dinner portions (one meat, two vegetables, warm dinner rolls, sun-made tea, and dessert), sleep away summer camp, way too much television and small chores.  I have decided that over the next 60 days, I am going to transform my children from "faux silver spoon" to children with stronger morals than appetites.  We'll see how this goes.

You'll never be as beautiful as you are right now...

I heard someone say, you’ll never be as beautiful as you are right now and I began to think, it’s time for me to start being my most beautiful self, TODAY.  I drafted a list of things that I have not yet had the chance to do in my life and today I have begun doing the items on my list (I urge you to draft one of your own). It’s a relatively short list, but I’ve lived almost 40 years and haven’t done these things.  I know life is gracious, but I’m not sure that I will be able to do many of them when I’m 90.

v  Complete a half-marathon

v  Learn how to ride a skateboard

v  Go fishing

v  Go to a gun range

v  Bowl a perfect game

v  Go to an Opera

v  Go snowboarding

v  Try fencing

v  Learn to say “I Love You” in 50 different languages

v  Perform one day as a street performer

v  Have a song on iTunes (I HAVE RECENTLY COMPLETED THIS TASK)

v  Ballroom Dance

v  Learn to make a French dish

v  See the 7 wonders of the world

v  Have my palm read

v  Ride a camel

v  Dance in the Rio Carnival parade

v  Be kissed under the mistletoe

v  Skydive

v  Have a calendar made of myself

v  Sell my house for profit

v  Attend Coachella Music Festival

Me, the Libra.

I am not a believer in astrology, but every now and then, I get asked what sign I am.  When I mention, Libra, the response is generally a positive one, but I get a little side eye, so I did a little homework on what the Libra represents.  I must say, I was a little amazed at what I found out about my astrological self.

The Libra is a positive sign representing the Goddess of Justice.  I am pretty JUST! The traits of the Libra are dominant, active, yang (meaning masculine) and are focused on others and how they relate to them. I agree so far, except for the masculine part. Next, the Libra is a partnership sign, with a capital P, because Libras do not want be alone. For the Libra, everything is done right, if its done as a pair. Libras are good when paired up, too, since they epitomize balance, harmony and a sense of fair play. While they are true team players at work, their favorite partnership is at home: marriage and relationships. Libras feel most complete when they are coupled up with their lover, forever. Right again!  The Libra is cultured, refined and love beautiful things. Check! 

Libras like to put their mind to good use, and enjoy communicating their thoughts to others. They like to use their smarts (and talk) to get to know others better -- yes, knowledge about people is where it's at for Libras. You can expect the Scales to make a fair argument, too, since they live by the principles of diplomacy and compromise. When this approach doesn't work, however, Libras are not above using their persuasive charms to get their way.  Manipulative?  Nah, Libras really are too nice for that. WOW! So, right!  Especially right about the charming part…

Then I became more curious and needed to know what astrology says is the negative side of the Libra and it was pretty accurate too.  One trait that many people may not find very appealing is the Libra’s distaste for dirty work and manual labor. Some may perceive this as laziness, and in some ways it may be just that. They prefer the type of job that will confine them to a desk, but they also have problems taking ideas they develop and putting them into play. While they are very creative and could be very ambitious, they really don’t know how to put new-found ideas into play. Part of this may be due to their insecurity about their own abilities. Sad, but true!  And then I read this….

Male and female Libras have materialistic natures but at the same time, they will fight to the end for a cause in which they believe. However, they crave attention and constantly need to hear praise. Indeed, they don’t take criticism well, but many people are in the same situation. It is not necessary a negative thing to wish to hear praise; it is however, something that the Libra must learn will not occur as often as he or she would like. Those who are in contact with these people on a regular basis will learn quickly how much they crave to be accepted and to know they are appreciated.  

So if what I read is accurate. The Libra, ME, is prone to jealousy, is sensitive, fair, harmonious, and vain. The Libra is nice people and cares very deeply about their friends and loved ones. If you bring them into a room full of tension, they will quickly make everyone feel at ease. The key is to work with the positive traits and downplay the negative ones.   So for those of you who know me, watch out, it sounds like I have an identity crisis!  J

Someone I loved...died.

I googled her name today and only one search for her appeared.  Only a simple archived obituary with only 18 entries of comments from our family and friends was left of her for the world to see.  I searched through almost 6 pages of content searching feverishly for a glimpse of her past. Surely there was information on her dreams, a paragraph on her wishes, footnotes on beliefs or things she touched, aromas she smelled throughout her life, something, anything, but there was nothing.  Only a simple, short obituary.  Had her life been reduced to a simple name, age, city, 5 lines of family and where her final resting place would be? 

Then I began to recollect that she wanted to be a dancer in her youth, she was working on a book, she loved old western movies, she drove her car with 2 feet (one on the gas and the other on the brake), she loved to sing (even though she couldn't), she kept a journal, she loved coffee (two sugars and one cream), she kept a prayer in her wallet for God to protect her money, she had a green thumb and her plants flourished under her care, she collected antique blue and white china tea sets and she lived her life vicariously through every one of her seven children.  

A few years before she passed away, we discussed what she wanted for her life and she didn't selfishly ask for anything for herself, but she wanted me to live my life to its fullest, not build on empty promises and leave a legacy I could be proud of.  She wanted me to be ready for the day I take my last breath and then take the next breath in eternity.  Suddenly as I combed through the Internet looking for pieces of my mother, she was in the fiber of my memories.  My mother planted seeds of morals and self-worth, things that I could take with me as I aged and raised my own family.   I never thanked her for that.  I never told her that she was my hero and my definition of Mothers Day, fighting off the boogieman in my closet in my youth and my feelings of inadequacy as an adult.  I can only hope she knows how proud I was of her as she fought cancer all while fighting back the tears so we wouldn't see her cry.  Someone I loved, died.  And although there is no google search that defines who she was to me and my family, we miss her. Terribly.

PHYLLIS RIDDICK
AGE: 61 LAKEWOOD
Phyllis Riddick, 61, of Lakewood, passed Saturday, Sept. 13. She was born to the late Kathleen and George Hall.
Phyllis is survived by her husband, the Rev. Gerald R. Riddick; seven children, Todd, Gerald and his wife Gaynelle, Veronica and her husband Mustafa, Lisa and her husband Eric, Denice and her husband Ron Sr., Catherine and Keith; 15 grandchildren, Marquette, Sequoia, Christina, Charmell, Crystin, Courtney, Atiya, Sydney, Aliya, Michael Jr., Ronald Jr., Akiya, Eric II, Keith Jr., and Kelsey; a great-grandchild, Kyionna; her mother-in-law, Ardieth; a sister-in-law, Hope and her husband Bobby; and friends.
The viewing will be from 6 to 8 p.m. Thursday at Bagwell Funeral Home, 131 S. Broad St., Penns Grove. Another viewing will be from 9 a.m. Friday until the funeral service at 10 a.m. at Sixth Street Baptist Church, Lakewood. Interment will be in Evergreen Cemetery, Salem.

I packed too much.

So much has happened since my last post (February)and I wasn't sure what would come out in the wash if I wrote in here while I was in my meantime, so I decided to wait, breathe and relax.  I must say, my children, my career, my home and my thoughts have kept my life truly eventful (for lack of a better word) over the past few weeks and all I could do was be still.  Very still.  Still like a garden gnome watching over the lawn.  Sometimes that's all you can do to get from one experience to the next.  I have on my seat belt, I have a breathing apparatus (in case I need one) and I have my feet firmly planted on the ground and my arms are on my lap.  I think I may have packed way too much equipment to deal with the everyday challenges that being a mother can bring, but I heard the ride gets bumpy along the way and I thought it best to pack too much, than not enough.  Bring it on!

A smile cures everything, right?

She might seem like an alien, but...

My teenage daughter (17) has a friend (same age) that has been hanging around the house for a few months. Sometimes she would stay late and I would send her on her way home.  Sometimes I would notice her in front of the house driving (with no license) and she always mentioned she worked two jobs and is a full time high school student.  I often wondered what kind of parents she had and took the time to go an introduce myself.  While there, I noticed a house full (about 6 or so) of teenagers living at her parents house and they all were home ALL THE TIME (even in the afternoon).
Two weeks ago my daughters friend asked if she could come live at my house.  The story? Her and her mother had gotten into an argument, she was kicked out and she had been living on her own for about three months and was tired of moving from house to house.  WHAT?  I was floored.  I decided a phone call was in order, so I phoned her mother.  She answered in a cheerful tone, so I commenced to letting her know that her daughter was at my home and what did she intend to do.  Her response?  (be prepared to pick yourself off the floor)
"You keep her! She can't come back here!" I was speechless and I needed to understand why. None of the reasons she gave had merit. None of the reasons she gave warranted kicking your 17 year old daughter out in the streets to fin for herself.  She went on to say.."If you call Department of Children Services, they will call a foster home (probably in another district) and she is a Senior, so it is likely she won't graduate". My mouth was still open.  She completed our call with.."I hope she does well!" REALLY? 
Was she kidding?  When I heard the call drop, I realized that just like our call, she had disconnected herself from her daughter.
This was difficult for me to understand because my daughter is the same age and at times I feel like disconnecting.  Sometimes I think she is from another planet, but my job is to ensure she is raised, completely and lovingly (on this planet)!  I can't imagine things being so horrible between my kids and I that I would allow a stranger to raise them. 

She Let Go

Someone shared a poem with me.  I think it really moved me to look at what holds me back from making decisions and just let it all go .  I re-packed and re-purposed it, but here is what I have.  Enjoy.

She Let Go

She let go without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of fear. She let go of pre and post-judgments.

She let go of the influences and opinions swarming around in her head.

She let go of the committee of indecision that lived within her.

She let go of all the right reasons and the wrong behaviors.

She let go of the prejudices, discriminations and biases.

Wholly and completely. Without hesitation or worry, she just let go. 

She didn’t ask for advice.  She didn’t read a How To book, she just let go.

She let go of all the memories that held her back. She let go of all the anxiety that kept her from moving forward. 

She let go of all the planning and calculations to ensure she did it just right.

She didn’t promise to let go.  She didn’t write it in her journal or on her blog.  She made no public announcement.  She didn’t Tweet or Facebook about it, she just let go.

She didn’t check with her daily horoscope or check the weather report.  She just let go.

She didn’t analyze or call her friends to discuss the matter.  She didnt call her parents for advice, she just let go.

No was around when it happened.  There was no applause or congratulations.  No one thanked or praised her.  No one noticed a thing. 

Like a leaf falling from a tree, she let go.  Without effort or struggle.  She let go.

It wasn’t good.  It wasn’t bad.  But it was what it was, because she let go.

A smile came over her face and a light breeze blew through her.  And for the first time in a very long time, she felt complete and simply because she let go.

My favs...

My daughter asked me what my favorite things in life are (besides the kids).  I thought it would be nice to list them out and go on record as to what I would rather NOT live without.  I love my children AND JESUS and they are at the top of my list, but these are the things that are next in line.  So here they go...

• Water (with lemon)- I (heart) H2O, aqua, voda, 물.  Whatever language you speak, add some lemon and it's my favorite.
• Poetry- In college I was an English major, but long before college, I was in love with poetry.  So much so in fact, I started studying the history of it.  I am obsessed with everything about it.  There is something romantic, entertaining, sacred and educational about poetry.  The first Poet Laureate was appointed by Henry VII of England and since then, we have been privileged enough to read the thoughts and feelings from people who loved and lived long before our existence.
• Baking- I sat on the counter at a very young age while my Grandmother was baking our favorites (Sweet Potato Pie, Upside Down Pineapple Cake, Ho-Cake bread, Carrot Cake, etc...).  I guess watching her taught me how many pinches of this and cap fulls of that to put in to perfect the recipes I grew up with.  On top of loving to bake, it soothes my soul.
• Riesling- Who knew that fermented fruit juice would taste this good?! Not me...But I LOVE IT!  If/When I win the lottery, my full-time job will be a oenophile (a wine connoisseur).
• Marketing/Advertising- Now here comes the UBER-NERD in me.  My career allows me the opportunity to learn and experience things that not too many people get to (or at least get excited about).  Everyday, I get to alter the way people view a brand by the words, images and colors we use.  Technology is amazing and I get to watch it evolve daily.  Don't judge me yet though,because I have a secret...I am using an antiquated mobile phone (the second version of a flip phone). 
• Target- There are people on planet Earth that are addicted to food, addicted to drugs, addicted to boys who wear skinny jeans...well...My name is Catherine and I am a Target addict!  The "every thing's a dollar" section in the front of the store gets me every time.  Target is the only place where top designers, jumbo packs of toilet tissue, garden tools and televisions on sale, go to live! 
• Coffee (This does NOT need an explanation).  Go into Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts, Einstein's, where-ever and you too will be adding this to your list. 

So that sums it up.  I am sure that this list doesn't make Oprah Winfrey's "favorite things" list, but I love it!

She has reached her mountain...

For those of you that know me, you know I have a semi twin sister.  Although we are a year apart and born on different months and dates, we resemble each other so much so, people always ask if we are twins.   Although we live miles apart, I ensure that she is appropriately stalked by me every now and then.  Truth be told, I think she likes it.  Recently, she took a family vacation with her husbands family to the West Coast.  The significance in this is that for most of her adult life, she was scared to fly, but her career has placed her on planes often and she had to fight through her fears.  I am sure flying across the country was a treacherous time for her, but she made it there.  While on her vacation, she climbed the canyon and sat atop and peaked out among the elements.

Here is what I learned from my sister.  Life may take you on a long, difficult scary journey, but once you get to your destination and look out, there will be a beautiful sight. 

The names have been removed to protect the innocent...

"BOURGEOIS!"  That's how the night started.  An older woman decides it would be nice to hang out with my girlfriends and I, has way too much cognac and coke, proceeds to damn my girlfriends and I to hell and calls us bourgeois.  
I'm not sure why, but the word "bourgeois" stung.  By all definition if someone calls you bourgeois that means you are putting on airs. Means you are laying claim to a degree of intellectual, financial, political sophistication.  In my mind, bourgeois is the opposite of progressive and there's where the bee sting came into place.  So I began to analyze the group of ladies I was with that night and access why Dr. Evil's mistress would think we were putting on airs. 
From her view, she could have only been using her eyes to define us as bourgeois. I can't lie, my girlfriends are successful middle class women.  All of them have secondary and/or post-graduate degrees, a societal definition of a "nice" car, attend Zumba classes regularly, belong to book clubs and have vision boards, but bourgeois? I can't see it.  These women are progressive.  We are all striving to be better than the generation before us and I won't apologize for that.  Call me bourgeois, but call me relentless, classy and educated.  Now how's that for bourgeois?!

Seriously?

Walking in the mall, minding my own business when out of the blue, I ran into someone I knew.  This someone asked me what happened to me. I looked down at myself and tried to figure it out too. Was it that obvious? I had gained some weight since college (but who hadn't). After all, I gave birth THREE times!  My hair has started turning gray, but I managed to hide it under the hair that is still brown.  I didn't know what they meant by "What happened to you?", so I started rambling off excuses.  One after the other, the excuses spewed out. I started with the fact that I have three children that are very active in sports and activities and my car is a local taxi and I am tired (which is why the bags under my eyes have become the size of Hefty trash bags).  Then I explained how my career had taken a turn and things have picked up over the past couple of years and I was taking work home with me (which is why I carry around two phones, a tablet and a laptop). As I made excuses for what I thought were my shortcomings, they listened intently.

After a few minutes, I asked.."What do you mean what happened to me?" I thought I had it all figured out or at least I thought I appeared to have it pulled together, but maybe it was all in my head.

The person looked at me, smiled awkwardly and uttered.."In high school, you were going to be a journalist or a writer.  I thought by now you would have made something of yourself, but you are just like the rest of us and you look burnt out!"  I changed the subject and over the past couple of days, I have been thinking about their comment and I was beating myself up over it.  I had made something of myself and I am very happy with the woman I have become.  

I am a mother.  I have been granted the opportunity to teach three children what the world has taught me (even if sometimes I feel like life is punking me).  This is by far the biggest and best career I could have been given.  These three are insanely cute and are like sponges and I get to be the person that teaches them to learn how to forgive and be forgiving.  To use your God given talents to make a perfect universe for yourself and even though you might not think so, your mother is always right!

I am a writer (and a constant reader).  I have taken the words from writers like Aesop, Jane Austen, Amiri Baraka, William Shakespeare, Paul Laurence Dunbar and Sonia Sanchez and applied them to my daily living.  Not everyone has the oppprtunity to give a friend hope with the words of greats like Dr. Cornel West.

I am a friend.  Very simple. I ALWAYS consider what someone else might be going through before I run into them and try to delete their confidence with my words.  I would never tell someone that I thought they were going to be someone, but they aren't.  We are all relevant!  I KNOW I am.

I wish I had thought of all these things when that person approached me, but I was thrown off, but next time, I will be armed with a quick mind and a slick tongue.

I have tried to be a man of letters in love with ideas in order to be a wiser and more loving person, hoping to leave the world just a little better than I found it.” ~Cornel West

My sister, the terror.

When I was about six years old, my sister cut my Barbie's hair.  I am not talking about a cute bob or razor bangs, she butchered their heads.  When I began crying, she promised the hair would grow back just like mine did.  It never did!  When I was about nine years old, I ran home from school one afternoon, the door was locked, so I rang the bell and that same sister told me that in order to get in, I needed to taste the chili she had on a gigantic spoon.  I should have known something was "fishy" when I saw my brother holding a glass of water and smiling, but I ate the 5-alarm chili anyway and as I the heat set in and I jumped for the water to rinse down the fire in my mouth, my sister laughed hysterically, refused to let me in and dared me to tell our parents.  She even promised me she would make me the best baked goods in her home economics class  in exchange for my allowance, needless to say, the goodies never showed and she spent my allowance on fortunes of her own.  As we became teens, she began to steal my favorite clothes and told me that the dryer ate my favorite jeans or she accidentally left my cutest sweater at her friends house, only for me to see her a day or two later wearing the same ensemble.  Growing up, my sister was down right terrible.
She left for college and I was releaved.  When it was time for me to go off to college, she convinced me to attend where she attended and I obliged.  I knew I was in for some hazing from my sister, but like when we were kids, she was convincing.   I am happy to report, her antics stopped.
Over the years, the two of us formed a friendship.  She became my confidante and my tour guide when I lost my way.  I have been on plenty of literal "ledges" and she has always talked me down. There are still times when I notice my favorite shirts or purses are missing and when I see her again, she will be wearing them, but there is no way I can repay her for the valuables she has placed in my life.
My awful sister came for a quiet visit this week.  Over mimosas and movies, we laughed and remained around each other for a couple of days and although we didn't discuss much, her presence spoke volumes.  I once told my sister, we have to be sisters, but we make the choice to be friends.  I am so glad she is my friend and not as awful as I once thought!

Who is the Surgeon General anyway?

I read a report from the Surgeon General that says to help achieve and maintain a healthy lifestyle, Americans of all ages should reduce the consumption of sodas and juices with added sugars; eat more fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and lean proteins; drink more water and choose low-fat or non-fat dairy products; limit television time to no more than 2 hours per day; and be more physically active.  Does the Surgeon General even have a name?  I may want to drop him/her a letter if the report helps my family become healthier, but who do I address it to?  (Dear Mr./Mrs. Suregon General Sir/Ma'am). 
Anyway...based on this report, I decide that my entire family is going to follow this vision. What better place to start then at my local grocery store? 
Let the shopping begin...
I had not eaten that morning and rushed out hungry. BIG MISTAKE!  When I walked through the sliding doors the aromas from the bakery hit me like a foul ball while not looking. I could smell cookies, cupcakes, baklava, croissants, sourdough, you name it..they were baking it.  I strolled by and they were giving out free samples of cookies. The clerk offered and I accepted!  The cookies were so good (White Chocolate Macadamia), I asked her to box up a dozen fresh baked treats for me and the clan.  This leads me to my second mistake.
I brought the kids with me. GIGANTIC MISTAKE! Since the kids were with me, they could help me get all the items on my list.  COLOSSAL MISTAKE!  
My list was simple (please refer to the actual list below...)

• Reduced Fat milk (just like the Surgeon General said)
• Eggs
• Bananas
• Apples
• Oranges
• Pears (for diversity)
• Cherries (By the Way-These little things are SO expensive!)
• Whole Grain Bread
• Lean turkey (from the deli)
• Asparagus
• Brocoli
• Green Beans
• Light Popcorn

A small list and if done correctly, I could get in the 20 items or less line and be out of the store in no time! As I strolled the aisles, with kids in tow.  Every two minutes I heard the rationale from my kids. "Look Mom!  Buy One, Get One!" Can we get these?  I thought Blueberry Muffins, Pop Tarts, Fruit Roll Ups, etc... couldn't be that bad.  "Go ahead, grab two packs!"  Down every single aisle there was a BOGO offer and they rationalized with me.  Every few minutes I even heard "AND its good for us".  As my twelve year old steered the cart to the check out line, I looked into the cart and it was filled to the brim with 900 million calories!
The shock of a full cart, the words of the Mr./Mrs. Surgeon General Sir/Ma'am, no vegetables or fruits in sight and a pushy check-out clerk caused me to turn red (if you knew me, you would see how this is possible) and sharply give my children the parent stare. 
I began to only take the healthy choices out of the cart and place them on the belt.  My children began to question this behavior. The little one even had a minor temper tantrum as she held onto a large bag of Cheetos Puffs. I heard them whispering to each other "I can't believe she won't let us have the Strawberry Pop-Tarts!"  I gave a cut of my eyes, swiped my card, abandoned the half full cart, bid the clerk adieu and vowed to NEVER take the kids shopping again. 
I am convinced, the Surgeon General must be a person with no kids and must send someone else to do the grocery shopping.