Symphony of Tears

-Random fact: This pic was taken at Notre Dame Church in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. I didn't know it at the time but I was pregnant with the boys on this trip. Ray and I were planning to start a family but it was still pretty far from my mind during this trip, even though I took the time to pray for guidance on the path my life might take... And I'm still praying. I'm still bending surprised I haven't snapped yet. In previous posts I explained my frustrations at being a first time moom to these unbelievable boys and all of the intrusions on my privacy that came with them. I was pretty harsh on my in-law's and my circumstances. I realized that I'm a bit lonely...I know, I know...duuuuuh...it's to be expected considering the only friends I can talk to are two six month olds who smile even though I'm explaining how frustrated I am at their incessant crying and that I'm going to throw them out the window. It really doesn't help. I could talk to mom-in-law, but she's elderly and I find myself agreeing with whatever she says to be polite. Thankfully most of the things we discuss we agree upon but, sometimes I want to curse and stuff, and tell her how frustrating the kids make me sometimes but she'll take it as a sign of weakness and of course, her grandchildren are angels. They can do no wrong. Yes, in the grand scheme of things my kids are great. They really don't cry unless they are tired, irritable, hungry or if they are left alone. Also, they are beginning to teethe, so I assume they are fussy about that too. ( I must admit, I expected worse) I am pretty good at catching all of these things before it escalates but these days the boys personalities are developing and man, Zachary hates to be left alone for too long. This morning, I was trying to get a little bit of a work out, (another frustration to add to my growing list) his father was getting ready for work so we put him in the crib assuming he'd fall right asleep since he was tired. He barely slept the night before. Not so. As soon as I put him in the crib and left the room the whining started. It crescendoed and didn't stop until about an hour later when I broke down, came back into the room and picked him up and put him in the living room where he could see me. His father tells me to just leave him alone. He thought the boy would fall asleep shortly because he had just been fed. "Leave him," he tells me. "He knows you'll come running the minute he does that. He'll be fine. Go work out." I did...for about five minutes until the crying became unbearable. And this is becoming the routine these days. He just won't fall asleep. Then, he wakes his brother Noah up. Noah is pretty calm. He doesn't get all whiny when mom or dad leaves the room. He's content as long as he has something to do. When I left the room, Zach was wailing and Noah was sleeping. Now, Noah was awake because his brother woke him. I feel bad for my little Noah because I'm always going to Zachary to calm him down, but Noah's a good boy. He always gives me this knowing smile. Like he's giving me permission to do what I have to do. But this is short-lived. At the time of writing, Zach begins wailing again. I look down at him and say a few words and he stops and smiles, for a second. I start writing again...the wailing starts until I pick him up and he starts to giggle with glee. This is a problem. Noah is not so accomodating this time. He starts to object to my holding Zach but then he manages to occupy himself-in fact he has just gave me a reassuring smile, though it was underscored by a brief whine. A warning... Needless to say Zach sits in my lap as i type with one finger-for the moment he is subdued and drooling all over me-gross. but now, Noah has had enough. And so have I. Zach is starting up again and I feel like throwing both of them in the hamper. (Noah has joined his brother in the symphony of tears) Maybe their hungry-it looks about that time. Once again I beg forgiveness for any errors. I have no time to proof read. Only write. Sorrll about you now. Why the hell won't you stay asleep?

Someone

I want somenoe to dance with (besides the kids) Someone to rock out to Ben Harper with on my air guitar Someone who doesn't leave the room because he doesn't dig the songs I keep putting on repeat that mean so damn much to me How is it after all these years you still don't seem to get me Or my fascination with Girls I can tell your judging me You claim I go someplace else when I write-that I'm not there And you need me. Babe please understand I have to go there to get it right I always come back; this is my reality I can't escape it though I may try every once in a while Here I am, with you but alone Sitting in the living room in silence playing with our future-and they love it all giggles and smiles You lay in the bedroom, stuck in your pride We planned this, remember? Maybe you wanted it more than me. But now that I have it, I can't let go. I won't let go Although, sometimes I feel stuck here Like I'm settling, ill at ease, unhappy I've done it my whole life. Fortunately this time there's no running for me. Unless you come. and we can bring the kids.

A Black "Girls" Friend

When Girls premiered, I had already made up my mind I wasn't going to watch. It came right after they cancelled Bored to Death and I didn't think there would be another show based in Brooklyn that could move me that way again. I tried to get into Girls, but something about Shoshanna, Jess and Hannah pissed me off-it looked to me that the show was going to be some sort of hipster Sex in the City and I wasn't interested. And, I'd read countless commentaries about the series lack of ethnic diversity, so I figured I'd do my part for as a representative of said under-represented group and boycott the show. Cut to 5 months later on a Sunday night. My husband and I are getting ready to watch Enlightenment. O.k., I’m getting ready to watch Enlightenment. (He just doesn't get it) but Girls hasn't wrapped yet, so I watched. My husband noticed that "look" I get when I begin to develop a new habit. "Oh God," he starts. "Please don't tell me that you can relate to this shit." Yes. I could. But as a black girl, I know I’ll have to prove how. So, I went back to season one. I was watching the episode where the gynecologist examining Hannah says: "You could never pay me enough to be twenty-four…" and I began to wax nostalgic about that age. It was certainly a tumultuous year for me. I had just moved to New York City and I was going to make it as a writer. I had a job in publishing and I was fierce, fearless and stupid. I remember lying on an exam room table, having the exact same conversation with my doctor, scared to death because the guy I was seeing was a weirdo, like Adam who justified his pretentious, freakish behavior on the fact that he was an artist. In reality, he was a condescending, self-indulged, megalomaniac (who couldn’t write for shit) that I was a slave to. When Marnie confides to Hannah that she’s worried about being barren because she never had a pregnancy scare, even though she’d have enough irresponsible encounters to warrant it, I became hooked on the show because it was like Lena Dunham read my diary and changed all the names and faces to protect the guilty. I remember having the same conversation with my best friend and I was worried that I could never give my husband children right until I became pregnant with my twins. I'm no longer a twenty-something struggling writer trying to make it in New York City-- I'm a thirty-eight year old new mom/wife/struggling writer trying to make it in New York City. I no longer live in trendy, gentrified Clinton Hill; I live in hard knocks Bronx, as a wife and mom with responsibilities. I no longer have the luxury of making those awkward, degrading, and humiliating albeit exhilarating, life experiences/ mistakes, which by the grace of God did not kill me. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss those days. Often I wonder how I ended up in this life-when did I become a grown up? Now I’m married, changing diapers, doing laundry and wiping (two!) drooling mouths instead of becoming intellectually stimulated and simultaneously wasted at SXSW in Texas. I don’t rock out anymore. I live in my husband’s mother’s basement apartment and sometimes it seems that he just doesn’t “get” me the way other’s in my past did-regardless of how reckless they were or bad for me at the time. My husband doesn’t get my fascination with the show and that frightens me. What if I made the biggest mistake of my life? These are the questions I ask every time I watch the show and I feel a twang of envy because as messed up as things are for them at times, it seems that they are going to get it right. They have good-looking futures ahead. In my case, it seems the die has been cast. So, I live vicariously through the show. Clearly, I can’t relate to everything; my parents would never be able to support me for any length of time while I pursued my writing career. I'm not white, no longer in my twenties, and of all the things I have smoked, crack was never one of them. I did spend my twenties living in Brooklyn with a roommate and hanging out all over the borough with girls who were Marnie, Jess and Shoshanna and of course, I was Hannah. Those were the best and worst years of my life. Girls gives me some semblance of the life I yearn for as I find myself laughing (and crying) all the way down memory lane. So who cares if there are no black girls on the show? There is a black boy! Sandy, Hannah's black, Republican boyfriend was a clever addition to the cast. Hannah claimed that color was never an issue for her because she didn't live in a world that made "those kinds of divisions,” this is the essence of Girls and why the show is brilliant. Girls seek to define/find itself on its own terms despite societal conventions based on race, class or gender, where we live, what generation we’re from, how we dress or even how we speak. The ensuing conversation/argument between the two of them was one of the most hilarious and honest discussions about race I’ve ever heard; Hannah quoting Missy Elliot- but not understanding the reference-classic. And, despite criticisms of her affinity for getting naked, Ms. Dunham has no problem baring it all for the camera; she has a healthy body image, which is refreshing in an industry that promotes grotesquely thin, gorgeous models in leading roles as some sort of standard of beauty we are supposed to attain. Speaking of cultural diversity, I’d like to point out that hip hop is practically featured in every scene of the show, (the girls even dance to it) Ray prompted Hannah to talk about the “urban” issues of our day: gentrification, urban sprawl, social injustice…Beyonce’ is imitated, Rhianna’s ass is referenced, and there are countless black, and other extras in the background from every walk of life representing Brooklyn. Unfortunately, not everybody has a black friend, but guess what? Girls just made one.

Different Eyes

Though I've travelled this path many times, I'm seeing it through different eyes Though I've seen you every day, I've never seen you in this way Glorious, majestic and full of life Amidst the drab, amidst the misery, among the strife You are bright white velvet snow covered branches glinting in the sunlight I see God's promise in the trees I finally hear Her speaking to me Perhaps she always did I just wasn't listening.

Redemption

"I'm just a girl who's over it." -Amy Jellicoe, Enlightened I took one of the twins, Noah (5 months old; 16+ pounds) out on the town today. We took the bus to babies r' us to get some teething rings. It was awesome, though he's getting pretty heavy. I hate that I can't bring both of my boys out at the same time, but I'll take what I can get. Noah loved being out; he was all eyes, surveying all that surrounded him. I enjoyed playing tour guide, showing him trees, birds, the beautiful blue sky, the puffy, white clouds. When we got on the bus, his eyes and his head were all over, checking out these new surroundings. His gaze became fixed on someone. I couldn't really see who because it was hard for me to turn around with him being stuffed into the carrier and me with all my winter gear. All I could see were his big, bright eyes just staring out. It was surreal! I couldn't believe I was taking a busride with my son. My son. It still can't believe I'm a mommy. Not to mention I had another one just like him at home with his grandmother, waiting for me. If someone had told me that I would be married to the man I'm married to, with twin boys I would have tried to sell them a bridge in Brooklyn. I just can't believe this is my life now. If you read my last and previous posts, you would know that I have tons of issues to be worked out. Hubby and I had an enlightening conversation last night. Finally, for the first time in my life I was able to express how I feel about everything.-without beating around the bush. And you know what? My husband understood. I feel like a completley different person today. A burden has been lifted. Suddenly my situation doesn't seem so hopeless. For some reason, I thought he would be angry if I told him how I truly felt: will I be forever broke--a housewife and stay at home mother living in her mother-in-law's basement? He explained to me that all my fears, anxieties are warranted, but he put things in perspective for me: would I rather suffer unnecessarily rather than take advantage of the help that's provided. Help that I honest to God need--though I'm loathe to admit it. I will admit this though, it is a relief when grandma takes over so I can take a much needed nap, or more importantly, get some writing done. Usually, I drive myself crazy trying to get writing done, spend time with them and take care of my chores. I become a miserable wreck in the process because inthe end I get nothing done, and I've wasted time being angry and resentful. Not to mention the fact that it does grandma a world of good to see her grandsons excitement when she comes into the apartment to spend a little time with them. The smiles on their faces are priceless. It would be unfair of me to deprive her of that. My husband's mom never knew her own grandparents so to be close to her grandchildren is a special blessing. Well, what about the fact that I feel scrutinzied? I asked him. Can you fix that? Unfortunately, it comes with the territory babe, he says. People will ALWAYS have something to say, advice to give, opinions to offer. However, at the end of the day, people can say what they want, but they aren't raising these children. They aren't here at night in the trenches with us when these kids are screaming bloody murder. We are the ones doing the parenting that counts, when it's not all cute and cuddly hugs and kisses. And for the record, he adds: everyone you think is scrutinizing you is actually quite proud of how you are making out as a first time mommy to twins. They gives you an A+. (I know I shouldn't care about that, but I do, and I'm elated. Once again, insecurity, jealousy and poor self-esteem have distracted me from what's truly important. And my wise husband adds: I know this is not the ideal situation. I live here too. She's my mom and I love her but let's just say sometimes I cringe when that door knocks too. He promises me that this is only temporary, and I believe him. I am definitely a girl who's over it. Like the troubled yet heroic character Amy Jellicoe, I want to be the little girl who brings down some giants in this world-real ones, not imagined ones. Finally, I get it. I've made peace. Enlightenment is a beautiful thing.

Trying to Bend and Not Break

The kids were drifting off to sleep and then... Mom-in-law knocks on the door. Damn! She was just down here...I was looking forward to the solitude, (not having her look at me strangely while I'm breastfeeding the boys) She's on the phone and she asks me--no, she tells me that Auntie is stopping by to bring me orange juice from concentrate. I don't drink orange juice from concentrate, but sure, come on by. I know she's really coming to see the boys, but it's nice of her to bring me stuff. She really doesn't have to. However, I dont' understand why mom-in-law can't tell from the look on my face that I'm not in the freaking mood! My solitude has just been brutally interrupted. Sure as I'm writing this post, Auntie is chatting and chatting while I'm fuming and fuming. She keeps asking me questions and telling me things I don't care about, or saying things to instigate debate, i.e. Obama is right about everything and nobody wants to work with him because he's Black. I'm tempted, but it's gonna piss me off further, so I just keep my mouth shut and keep on typing. I get it, the kids are cute. People want to spend time with them, but guess what? I still live here. I still need my privacy. As if having the twins wasn't enough pressure, now I have to deal with people thinking they can just drop by whenever they want, taking over the kids, advising this, suggesting that. Asking questions that insult my intelligence and my motherhood. I know how this sounds but I'll say it anyway: I'm tired of pretending to be grateful for help I may need but I do not want. I'm tired of smiling when I want to cry. I'm tired of being gracious when I want to curse somebody out because they are just getting in the way. I feel like I'm being scrutinized. Can't mom-in-law understand this? This is the biggest challenge I've ever faced in my life. And I've faced challenges. Normally, I'm an introvert. I'm a very private person. I'm tired of having to hide the way I feel from my husband because this is his mom, this is his home and to make matters worse, she is a sweet lady-it's just not my ideal situation. I want my husband and my children and myself to be get through mommy and daddyhood like most parents do-I feel like he has an unfair advantage having his mom upstairs. When he gets frustrated by one of the twins, he doesn't have to deal-grandma does. We need to be able to mess up and learn from our mistakes-that's what parenting is about. His mom had to figure it out, and so do we. I'm not saying that I'm not happy for advice, but do not tell me when I can take my own children out, or what I should and shouldn't be giving them. I want peace and quiet. I want to be left alone-especially when I'm not in the mood for company-like today. Since I've been home with time to think, I've realized that I am a victim of my own circumstances. I have never spoken up for myself. I love my husband, but it is my fault that I am here...I complained about my previous living situation (look out for my book-the details will be in it) and when he suggested living with mom, I didn't speak up for myself because I was in a rush to get out. We had our kids before we found a home of our own, and well, here we are. All my life I have been afraid to speak my mind and I have suffered for it. (Again, details in the book.) The one thing I truly regret is that I have never lived completely alone and now, I will never have that opportunity. I believe every woman should live on her own at some point in her life. It's empowering to depend on nobody but yourself. Even though I'm speaking up now, I've realized that when you have kids who are somebody's grandson, nephews etc., you don't really have a voice. So my every thought, action, desire these days is for autonomy. I guess my anger could be considered misguided, but my friends all say they'd go crazy if they were in my shoes, and it hurts me because I know where I went wrong but I can't undo my past. I'm always behind the curve- damn near 40 with a husband and two kids and we still live with mom. I feel like I'm 12 years old. I don't ask for permission to take the kids out or to do anything but I may as well, because that's what it feels like when I'm debating with mom about why I'm taking the kids out in cold weather (mind you, if I had to work and had nobody to watch them, I'd have no choice but to take the kids out) I've tried to address it with my husband but he just won't understand. I guess I can't blame him. Perhaps if the situation were reversed, he'd be writing this post. But that's just it. The situation is NEVER reversed where I'm concerned. Am I overreacting...nope! Auntie just changed the channel-without my permission-and I was watching MSNBC!!!!!! Last thing I can't quite understand: when its time for Auntie to go, I'm always relieved, but it always goes like this: "I'm sorry I can't stay,"(Really? Does it look like I'm heartbroken?) "I will probably come back on Sunday..."(WHY???) Doesn't it occur to you that Sunday is hubby and my down time? We need/want alone time. I need all the help I can get these days-that means divine intervention. I've been subscribing to YouVersion- a Bible app on my iphone. Joyce Meyer's Promises for your Everyday Life is a daily devotional for 365 days of the years. I haven't read it for days. When I say days, I mean months. Anyway, as God should have it, today's message was "Live at Peace with Everyone..." (Are you kidding me????) Joyce Meyer claimed that before she found God she wasn't adaptable...Shoot! I know God and I'm still not adaptable. Change is hard for me and I hate not being in control. I can admit that. I've been praying every day for help with this. There's this very lengthy prayer I posted on my bathroom mirror, which essentially tells me not to do everything I've done in this blog. I read it every morning, along with the Daily Bread and any scripture that might help me. Every day I pray for patience. I pray that God will open some doors that will lead us out of this one. I pray for peace of mind. You see, I have these beautiful boys and this amazing husband that I won't allow myself to completely enjoy because I just can't "suck it up". I know this won't be forever, but as the days drag on with no movement in sight it damn sure feels like it. Things could be worse and I'm sure I'm not the only new wife and mother who has had to face these particular challenges. I'm quite fortunate that despite all I've said, I'm blessed to have a mother-in-law who goes out of her way to make me happy. I am truly grateful for that. I might have already fled to Canada with the children if it were not so. Back to Joyce Meyer's prayer, which was apropos: Holy Spirit, help me to bend so that I will not break. I want Your peace in my relationships, so I choose to be flexible today." I was as flexible as I could be. I ignored them. What can I say I'm a work in progress. I need to get through this any way I can.

Attention All Writers! You Must Read "Word Up!"

I appreciate Marcia Johnston's book, Word Up!-not just as a lover of words and language or as a writer, but also as a new mother. There are some poignant lessons learned through the author's interaction with her own children that I found rather touching and useful. I learned fascinating facts about the history of words, and how powerful they can be when used correctly. It is easy to take this fact for granted as a writer, but this book deals with grammar and usage in a way that I was never taught in school or any workshop I ever attended. Word Up is informative, educational and entertaining, containing useful information for any and every kind of writer. As Ms. Johnston's book implies, it's important to ask each word: why are you here? Essentially that's every reader's question and as a writer, it is our duty to put those words exactly where they belong in order to reach our readers and have them truly get what it is we are trying to say. I expect my writing will become more powerful as a result of reading this book. Simply put, Word Up! gets both thumbs up! For more information on How to Write, please visit

Almost 5 Months!

I know I said that my next post would be about immigration, but it's been weeks since my last post and so many things have gotten in the way since then: i.e. Zach and Noah, my infamous, beautiful twin boys. TThey'll be 5 months on Thursday, getting bigger by the day. They have become so demanding lately-not to mention their personalities are beginning to come through. Noah is pensive and somewhat suspicious, while Zach is laid back and happy-go-lucky (except when he's hungry). He is always laughing. Noah smiles and laughs too, but he's selective about what he finds funny and he has a big mouth. They are sleeping a little bit better through the nights,though we still have some rough ones: last night Zach refused to sleep and practically wailed the entire night. I didn't know what was wrong with him. The only thing that soothed him was my boob, which he was sucking on the whole night. And to make matters worse, he's become quite the fighter. His legs and feet flail wildly (reminds me of when they both used to kick and punch inside my tummy) through the night, and he's taken to wopping me pretty good, which he did all last night. I got very little sleep, which makes mommy quite cranky in the morning. So, mom stumbles out of bed at 5:00 am, kisses daddy goodbye as he goes off to work, and then runs around the house hoping to get the baby food together, do some writing, say my prayers, do some chores, and exercise before they wake up. Oops-forgot breakfast has to make it's way in there as well. Usually, this never happens, and what's worse is that the boys are always awake and hungry at the same time,usually interrupting one of the activities I just mentioned. This means I better have their food ready for them as soon as they wake. If they wait too long when they are hungry, you would swear that somebody was beating them to death they wail so loud. This morning, I was almost finished my workout when I heard a faint whine. This pissed cranky mommy off. "Just a couple minutes," I call out, "mommy's coming..." The whine gets louder until it sounds like they are screaming, "HEY! FEED ME NOW!" I have to cut the work out short and tend to my children. I burst into the room in cranky mommy mood, and see little legs, and arms pumping in the air. I'm all set to give them the "mommy needs a break," lecture, but they both start jumping about with excitement at seeing me. They have the most radiant smiles (for lack of a better word)-what else can I say-the room lights up, I light up and all is well in my world. So, we've been giving the twins solids now, which is quite fun and very messy. The doctor advised us to introduce one new food every day (only about a tablespoon's worth)to check for allergies. I'm glad that we are able to give them something other than formula because the solids seem to stick to their ribs a lot longer. They are experimenting with new tastes and textures,and since they have no teeth and they are all hands, the food ends up everywhere but their mouths. So far, they love peanut butter, bannanas, squash, and they aren't so fond of pears, peas or apples. Anyway, mommy is having fun pureeing all different kinds of food. The kids are having fun too-they grab the spoon when they are enjoying their meals, and they just won't open up when they don't. Today, I gave them avocado, I mixed a little formula in it so it would go down smoother but it seems they enjoyed it. Tomorrow it's sweet potato. That should be fun. I must admit it's been a bit frustrating, having to work around their schedule. My time is so limited. I want to read the newspaper so I can feel like I'm still connected to the world outside of the twins. Usually I can only get through a paragraph before they need my attention. As they get older, they need to be read to and exercised. It's skill developing time. It does take a lot of time and energy. I had no idea how exhausting it would be. It's funny-I knew having twins would be a challenge, but this is the biggest challenge I've ever faced in my life. It's not only having kids, but learning to be a wife, having to give up my privacy-not getting jealous or angry at grandma, who only wants to offer suggestions but I take it as my mommy skills being scrutinized. And, I am experiencing a bit of cabin fever. I try to get out as much as I can but it's a chore getting the kids dressed and my Gracco double stroller, though it glides, still feels like I'm pushing a bus. My husband and I have recently discussed me staying home another year: childcare is expensive x2! Not to mention that I'm uncomfortable leaving my boys with a stranger so soon. I know I will have to eventually but I'd prefer they be a little older and able to talk so they can let me know if something's amiss. However, I don't know if I can stay home another year-I need a life. I miss working-maybe not the work I was doing, but I miss getting up, getting dressed and feeling pretty. I miss being out. I miss the autonomy and independence that came with my paycheck. My husband has seen to it that I don't have to worry about money. He has taken care of my every need. I want for nothing. All he asks is a bit of sacrifice for the kids so that we can save a bit of money(we have to move, their is not enough room in our one bedroom to raise two growing boys.) I can get with that, but I fear that the longer I stay home, I may lose my drive and ambition. I get so tired during the days that I don't even want to write, and that is dangerous because it is the only thing I want to do with my life. Lately though, I find myself discouraged and unmotivated. I had to force myself to write this post today. When I became pregnant with the boys I looked at it as an opportunity to finish my book since I'd be home. I figured I'd have all the time in the world to write. I thought I would have finished my book by now. Thus far, I've only written the Prologue. All I want to do is watch MSNBC, and The Jeffersons marathon on TVOne when the kids finally go off to sleep. My brain is just tired, and I know I'll get interrupted when/if I start to write, so I tell myself, why bother? I know...excuses...excuses. I hate myself for making them, but isn't that what blogs are for? Besides, I finished this post didn't I? Anyway I must go-Noah is up, and here comes Zach: Neither of them are smiling.

Guns and Black History Month

Fellow mommy writers I'm sure you can relate and I apologize in advance for any poor grammar that occurs-the twins are screaming in my ears as I struggle to get this down. My time is limited. I can only write in increments, which makes it difficult when I have a bunch of things I need to say. I had written what I considered to be a beautiful post about gun control, and how the debate should really be focusing on the illegal sales of hand guns flooding poor neighborhoods,destroying black communities. Considering this is Black History Month, I thought it would be the perfect time to discuss the issues still plaguing our community-despite the progress we have made. I wrote all of this and more, only to have it deleted. I don't know how and I don't know why but I think it has something to do with the fact that I saved a draft to take care of the screaming twins...so I'm trying again. Again, I apologize for any mistakes. I posted a quote from Harry Belafonte's acceptance speech at the NAACP Image Awards, which eloquently speaks to my point: "THE GROUP MOST DEVASTATED BY AMERICA’S OBSESSION WITH THE GUN IS AFRICAN AMERICANS. ALTHOUGH MAKING COMPARISONS CAN BE DANGEROUS, THERE ARE TIMES WHEN THEY MUST BE NOTED. AMERICA HAS THE LARGEST PRISON POPULATION IN THE WORLD AND OF THE OVER 2 MILLION MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN WHO MAKE UP THE INCARCERATED… THE OVERWHELMING MAJORITY IS BLACK. THEY ARE THE MOST UNEMPLOYED… THE MOST CAUGHT IN UNJUST SYSTEMS OF JUSTICE… AND IN THE GUN GAME… THE MOST HUNTED. THE RIVER OF BLOOD THAT WASHES THE STREETS OF OUR NATION… FLOWS MOSTLY FROM THE BODIES OF OUR BLACK CHILDREN. YET AS THE GREAT DEBATE EMERGES ON THE QUESTION OF THE GUN, WHITE AMERICA DISCUSSES THE CONSTITUTIONAL ISSUE OF OWNERSHIP WHILE NO ONE SPEAKS TO THE CONSEQUENCES OF OUR RACIAL CARNAGE." I would go one step further. Not only are we hunted, but we are doing the hunting. This is unacceptable. I also talked about this in a controversial article I wrote some time ago about my support of the New York City Police Department's Stop and Frisk Policy called Blame perps, not cops: Politicians who endlessly protest stop and frisk are giving short shrift to the disease of youth violence Read more: http://www.nydailynews.com/opinion/blame-perps-cops-politicians-endlessly-protest-stop-frisk-giving-short-shrift-disease-youth-violence-article-1.991687#ixzz2K8CIDZYwhttp://www.nydailynews.com/opinion Forget the assault weapons ban, which is the center of the debate: it's not that I'm not sympathetic to the Sandy Hook massacre. It was a horrific tragedy, which brings tears to my eyes every time I think of those innocent children. I can understand the need for a ban on assault weapons however, the whole thing has become political theater and it's quite sickening and is not addressing the real issue: illegal handguns that make their way into states like New York and Chicago, which do have strict gun laws and end up killing innocents. We, can have all the legislation in the world banning weapons but it means nothing if those laws can be circumvented, simplly by adding or deleting a feature of the gun, which is what happens when new legislation is introduced. (Also gun sales always peak whenever there is talk of gun control) We can't leave it up to gun control advocates, or President Obama to address this issue-it's all politics to them. And, let's face it, the issue of gun control has been around forever. No politician ever deals with the threat of gun violence the way somebody living in the ghetto does. Politicians, the gun lobby, and even gun control advocates can wait years for bills to pass; young Black men and women living in high crime areas can not. So I would urge all of our leaders, singers, actors, entertainers, writers: to speak the truth about how gun violence portrayed in movies and music really does influence impressionable minds, not only mentally ill, but those who are poor, or lack respect in every day life and see guns as a means of attaining power. I agree with the talking heads who blame movies, video games and entertainment for the increase in violence we are seeing. Since being on maternity leave, I've been watching a lot of t.v. I happened to be watching Good Times the other day and the episode dealt with gun control. The irony that Good Times takes place in a Chicago ghetto was certainly not lost on me. The fact that the gun issue featured on the episode was a cause of concern during the 1970's just proves that the more things change the more they stay the same. Chicago has a homocide rate of 506 deaths per year, as of 2012. Also, you are more likely to get shot and killed in Chicago, than in Afghanistan! (Since 2001 more than 5,000 people have been killed by gunfire in Chicago) The murder rate in Chicago is twice that of Los Angeles and four times higher than New York’s rate. Read more at http://www.inquisitr.com/257478/more-americans-killed-in-chicago-than-in-afghanistan/#DxMf34zSkGiWuMYl.99 It is no surprise of course that Chicago, the most segregated city in America, produces such grim statistics. Is no value placed on Black life? The death of 15 year old Hadiyah Pendleton, the young woman from, you guessed it-Chicago-who played at the President's inauguration only to be shot down days later while standing under a canopy with her friends is symbolic in that she lived about a mile from where the President is from. Talk about bringing the argument home. Since I live in New York City, I have to bring the argument here: Commissioner Ray Kelly made an important point when speaking on Face the Nation. The problem plaguing us where guns are concerned, is the handgun. Kelly said "The problem is the handgun. 60% of the murders in New York City are caused by handguns, and we simply have too many of them," Yes. Simply put, there are. I have two young black boys I am trying to raise and I hate to know that I have to worry about their lives every time they walk out the door. As a patriotic American, I support the second ammendment, however, I'm not sure this is what our founding fathers envisioned when they gave us the right to bear arms...but then again-if they could see how many Black folks were dying as a result of all the guns flooding the streets, I wonder what they would have thought ...hmmm...perhaps this is the whole point of the gun lobby. An ingenious new form of genocide... Uggh oh, the whimpering has begun-and has become full blown wailing. I've got to go. To be continued...next topic: immigration...

Putting Away Childish Things

"But God was angry that Balaam was going, so he sent the angel of the Lord to stand in the road to block his way... -Numbers 22:22 I'm certainly no bible thumper, but I've got several thumpers in my family and their thumping has rubbed off on me. It's not that I don't believe in God, I was raised in the church and like all good girls who go to church, I try to live my life based on the golden rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Of course, as I've had some time to think about my life, I realize I haven't been the best doer unto others... You know, back when I was younger, and I thought I knew it all, I would balk at my grandmother's proselytizing and her claim that "if she didn't have God in her life, she just didn't know how she'd manage. Back when I was out of work and living with her she would tell me not to worry because God would provide. I remember waiting a hell of a long time for that provision. And I couldnt' understand why it was that all of these horrible things were happening, seemingly all at once: getting fired, having to move back in with my grandmother because I couldn't afford the rent on my apartment as a result, my dad(her son)passing away unexpectedly, my mother out of work again, and the world just seemed a shitty place to live in. I kept praying, but I heard nothing. It probably didn't help that I had always seen religion as a way of controlling vulnerable people, or a means of justifying injustice. As I've grown older and wiser, I've learned to dismiss the ignorance of those who believe everything they read or hear, just because it comes from the mouth of someone who is supposedly ordained to give them the "truth." I've always believed the truth is what you make it. I believe I am intelligent enough to come to my own decisions about the context of biblical prose; most of it quite beautiful for example: "If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal...and If I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs..." (Corinthians 1:13) Some biblical language is poignant in a way that satisfies my most carnal yearning for revenge against those who have wronged me: "The Lord will grant that the enemies will rise up against you will be defeated before you. They will come at you from one direction but flee from you in seven." (Deuteronomy 28:7) The vindictive Scorpio and the writer in me rejoice in such poetic justice! However, my point today is that as a new mother I've been feeling challenged in all sorts of ways that I've mentioned in these pages, and some I haven't mentioned. This morning I found myself bawling because all Iv'e been doing since maternity leave is watching MSNBC all day and night, reflecting on my past and wondering why the hell I can't be Mika Brezinski on Morning Joe, basking in the limelight, enjoying Starbucks coffee while magnificently coiffed. Every so often she comes up with these angry woman quips that make me feel good about myself. Funny enough, I always imagined myself in that kind of a high profile career. Perhaps I cuold have had it. I just wasted so much time. My priorities were messed up when I was in school. ( Why couldn't my father have been Secretary of State?). In any event, I did have a great education, even though I was shy and cared more about being popular than speaking up in class. For some reasion, it was more important for me to practice faux humility, rather than be considered pretentious, like those assholes in my class who had an opinion about everything and just loved to hear themselves talk. Not only are those pretentious assholes in positions of prominence now, but they love what they do and I'm sitting on my couch watching them on t.v. whining that it "should have been me.' I've learned that I mistook humility for lack of confidence and some hubris. I was afraid of being wrong. Also, I didn't believe in myself, or trust that I was exactly where I needed to be at the time. I've learned to be patient, but I have learned it the hard way. Now, I know the true meaning of humility. It doesn't mean shying away from your natural (God-given) talents and abilities for fear of what others may think of you. It means knowing that you are fearfully and wonderfully made: God made you an individual, perfect in your imperfections, a fearless human being capable of doing anything you desire to accomplish. Whatever your concept of God, you have to know that he/she has your best interest in mind, knows the road you are on and where it will lead you. You don't have to be a bible thumper or religious zealot to understand this. Most of the world's religions are rooted in this fact of life: ask and ye shall receive. Knock and the door shall be opened to you. I asked but unconvincingly, and I also didn't believe I was worthy enough to receive, so I didn't get, and then I would get mad because I didn't get. I was inspired to open this post with the passage of Balaam from the Old Testament book of numbers because I see a lot of myself in him. For all intents and purposes Balaam is faithful. God speaks to him-they have a relationship. Just like me; I went to church and "believed in God." But did I really? We both suffered from the very human condition known as self-importance, which despite our faithfulness caused us to do our own thing-forcing God to use his angels (in this case those angels are my sons)to block our path-so we take time to stop, and pay attention to where we are headed and let Him guide us there. I also think it's important to God that we understand the journey He has placed us on and to enjoy it. To trust in it. To believe that we are exactly where we need to be and to be grateful for the lessons we have learned along the way. God works in mysterious ways when it comes to teaching us life lessons. Ironically, though this time is challenging, I feel strongesr than I ever have in my entire life, even without the things that are supposed to make me feel secure, like a great career, or even an income. It's because I know now that God has always given me what I've asked for. I just wasn't specific enough. Now, I know what to ask for, and my faith will guarantee I get it. "Without wavering, let us hold tightly to the hope we say we have, for God can be trusted to keep his promise. -Hebrews 10:23

Working Through Limitations

Talk about working through limmitations: this is the third time I'm writing this post. What I wanted to talk about today was this google+ post that inspired me this morning. It was a photo of this tree with its roots enmeshed in cement and grids, yet the tree was thriving. The tree was not supposed to grow, but it did, despite its limitations. So here I am now feeling so inspired, that I got busy on my iphone: typing while breast feeding Zach while Noah (God bless his beautiful soul) slept soundly for just as long as I needed to write. It was a beautiful post talking about not wasting time, or giving up because of challenges we face, which I related too, being a mom with twins. And wouldn't you know, that as soon as I got ready to post the damn thing, it was lost. So I tried again, writing an entirely new post and that too was lost. Now, to add insult to injury the boys were both screaming for my attention. Zach was still hungry after being breast fed, so I was preparing to feed him some more. When Noah caught a glimpse of his brother in my arms his eyes widened with confusion and betrayal and then of course, the waterworks. Well, thank God for grandma, she came down at the right time and here I am two hours and several diaper changes later creating yet another post. Noah's still awake and he's sqauwking at me but I'm still here, getting it done. I have used my limitations as a crutch,using them as the reasons I can't write. I blamed the twins; it was if they were deliberately thwarting my plans. everytime I wanted to write was when they become most demanding. Truth is: I'm lazy and I'm afraid. What if I suck as a writer? Now I know why God blessed me with twins. Talk about a rude awakening. Zachary Carlton (named after my father, who's unexpected death is another reason I realize that time is the most precious commodity we have-you can't get back what you've wasted)and Noah Austin Chalmers are the reasons I get up in the morning and work even when I don't want to. I know that I have to be an example to my boys. You see, as hard as it is to raise twins, be on maternity leave without an income, fulfill my wifely duties taking care of the home, and dealing with unwanted, irritating and unexpected intrusions, it will be even harder to live an unfulfilled life. I don't want to be an old, bitter mom with regrets taking my failures out on my innocent boys. I owe it to them to fulfill my purpose in life. I have to be an example to them and of course, I want them to be proud of me. They must learn something early on that I wish I took more seriously when I was younger. I could have been or done anything I wanted if I just put in the work. Back when I had opportunities to pursue my dreams my priorities were screwed up; I expected instant gratification and as my grandma would say, I put the cart before the horse. I didn't want to put in the time it takes to hone one's craft. As the mom of two African American boys it's important that they understand the importance, no-necessity of hard work early on since they will have to work twice as hard to achieve their goals. Funny, even with my time limited, I've written more now than I ever have in my entire life even though it was my dream to be a writer. It means so much to me now. I have been making excuses my entire life and I am too old to make them anymore. So I thank God for the newest challenges in my life for they have motivated me in a way that nothing or anyone ever could. I am a writer, and I will write. Period. I have a bunch more I could say but I don't want to risk losing this post again. So I just want to end with a shout out to google+ and the author who posted the tree that grew in spite of its limitations. Speaking of limitations-has anyone ever tried to type holding a drooling 4-month old? It's actually pretty gross.

Inaugural Reflection

It's the day after the Presidential Inauguration and my post inaugural blues are kicking in. This year is especially brutual because I'm on maternity leave and I've been pretty much housebound for the better part of the winter. So you can imagine that the pageantry, pomp and circumstance of the event (though less stately than inaugurals past) meant a lot to this stay at home mom/wanna-be-first-lady. What a vision Michelle was, with her new bangs and faux lashes. I have to admit, I was a bit envious. What woman wouldn't be? All eyes on her, a model for the entire world. What it must be like knowing that whatever you (or your children) wear influences women's fashion across the country, and that the dress she wears to a ball will be immortalized in a museum. Not to mention her regular clothes increase in value as soon as she takes them off. Not to mention that as the first Black First Lady she has already made her mark in the world and secured a prominent place for herself and her family in history for posterity. As I sit home caring for my newborn twins and watching the Obama family basking in their famous glory, I wish my father were still alive. Not only to witness the first African American president sworn in for his second term-but to share the sentiment with his grandsons. I know he would tell Zachary and Noah that they were on the road to glory as well he would point to the president and his family as an example of what a strong Black family looks like. Obama reminds me of my dad; stern and doting father, his girls remind me of myself and my sister. They are well behaved and disciplined. I can tell that the girls are probably whipped into shape with just one look from president dad. My dad could have been president, he sure was the smartest armchair politician I know. Even though I do believe that most inaugural speeches as rhetoric, they are nice to hear and the event is a beautiful sight to behold. Democracy is an incredible thing. It is quite inspiriting to see thousands of Obama's supporters and Americans who celebrate democracy and the hope and promise that is America. Awww well, after the inaugural events it's back to politics as usual and, if we can garner anything from Obama's speech besides it's progressive agenda, it is that he is older,(with the gray hair to prove it) wiser, and much more agressive. For the past four years it did seem as though compromise was a dirty word when it came to President Obama's approach to working with republicans in Congress. When Obama came to office, it was his goal to change the toxic partisan political culture in Washington. He wanted to "reach across the aisle" to grasp hands and get the job done! His first inaugural address was (much longer) and conciliatory; this time he has his fists up and he was ready to fight, much to the chagrin of Republicans like John McCain who claim he is no longer trying to reach across the aisle-but why should he when his hand keeps getting slapped? Yes, President Obama came out swinging with his not-so subtle-digs at the right. He insisted that Medicare, Medicaid and Social Security allow "Americans to take the risks that make this country great," it does not make them a nation of "takers." He also defended the the middle class, who bear the brunt of this nation's prosperity, and spoke about the fact that we still have a way to go on civil rights. We haven't achieved equality until all our "gay brothers and sisters" share the rights of every American to marry. In addition to infuriating Republicans, he set an historical precedent as the first American president to use the word "gay" in an inaugural speech. I'm sure he won even more Republicans over with his idea that we can achieve peace without perpetual war. He spoke confidently as a man who seeks to move the country center left politically the way that President Ronald Reagan moved it center right in the eighties with Reaganomics. Ironically, Obama's presidency and style are comparable to Reagan, although the outcomes of their plans are antithetical, with Reaganites claiming that Reagan's recovery created jobs and a strong economy, while Obama's recovery has been abysmal. What can we expect in the next four years? according to Obama's Senior Advisor Valerie Jarrett, he is planning to spend more time touring the country in an attempt to connect with the American people and make himself more accountable to those who put him in office. Republicans disapprove of course; they think he spends too much time campaigning and not enough time governing,as was their complaint when he was on every talk-show from Letterman to Meet the Press selling the Affordable Care Act during his first four years. As one who enjoys the bloodsport that is American politics, I will be looking forward to the next four years, with the first two issues being particularly bloody: the confirmation of Chuck Hagel as Secretary of Defense and bloodier still, Gun Control. T expect Obama to triumph this time and create his legacy this term. After all, he has nothing to lose and everything to gain. Let the games begin!

Good Mornin'?!?

It did start out pretty good-grandma has to go out this morning, which gives me some private time with my boys, which as much as I hate to admit it, I love. It gives me some time to myself, which I desperately crave and need. Alone time is a rare luxury these days.

As is the norm these days, as soon as I sit down to write, (I have never been more serious about my writing then after the birth of the twins, I guess all that stuff abouat motherhood being the greatest motivator is no joke)the  boys want my attention. It's incredible. They could be sleeping and as soon as I tip toe off to the computer, their eyes burst wide open and they are ready to play.

 Look, I knew having kids would be challenging; adding twins to the mix,  double! But trust me when I tell you I had NO IDEA that it would be this challenging. Not only is it exhausting trying to be a good mother to two kids at the same time, but in my case, I worry about the fact that I have a mom-in-law right above my head that I have to worry about. I worry that I don't have autonomy over my mothering if that makes any sense. I miss my privacy. At the same time, I am challenged by the fact that despite all my efforts to appear independent, I have no choice but to ask for help at times. And of all the issues that come with parenting, this dependency thing seems to bug me the most. Not to mention the fact that I hate to be told what to do, and now that I am a mother, I certainly don't want to be told how to mother my own children. I know that mom-in-law tries her best but when she is here I feel her watching me, judging me, but trying her best to hold her tongue. I appreciate that. I know I have to take it in stride, and things won't be like this forever: everyone is fascinated by babies and these are some fascinating babies. They never cease to amaze me...

Like  right now, both of them are screaming to be fed. When I say screaming, I mean SCREAMING. In stereo! (Do people use that expression anymore? It sounds so...eighties), and of course, grandma is not around so I will be feeding them both myself. Actually, it's proof positive that it can be done, which I suppose isn't the point. I know that mom-in-law-wants to help and I shouldn't deprive her. My husband and I always get into it over this because he says I have a problem accepting help, which I do but that's mostly because I feel like if we had no help, if his mom (or my mom, who came up from Toronto for a month after the kids were born to help me out, which caused grandma issues of another sort that I will reserve for later entries) weren't around, we'd have no choice but to deal with things by ourselves.  I find myself feeling resentful and I hate myself for that because it is nice to have the help...to a point, it just seems that sometimes people don't know when they have overstayed their welcome.  And how in the hell can you tell grandma that she overstayed her welcome? You don't.

Hungry Zach and Noah have been fed and are sleeping soundly at the moment. Although I can see that  Zach is stirring, so I'm on borrowed time right now and I have a few other tasks I must  complete before the boys wake or grandma comes home, which seems to be now. I hear her tinkering upstairs. Man, I've really come to hate that noise, almost as much as I hate to hear the doorbell ring because I know it's another unwelcome intrusion that  reminds me that my life is just not mine anymore...I don't mind sharing it with the boys and my husband. It's what I planned on.  It just seems that I'm sharing it with everyone... God, will I ever get used to this? 

Reprieve

Ok, so I don't know how long this will last, so  forgive my rushing this morning. Both kids are down, and they were pretty good last night, except that Zachary, as usual, likes to test his lungs on us before he actually settles down for the night, which tends to take anywhere from 10 minutes to a half an hour.  My husband doesn't mind letting the boys "cry it out," which much to my mother-in-law's chagrin (will deal with her at another time) actually tires them out that they just fall asleep.

Anyway, my husband said his mother claimed to have heard the boys crying last night, which according to her leaves her with an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach,  causing her to come in and take over as only grandmas can and will, and of course, this leaves me feeling incompetent and irritated. So, before she comes down and interrupts the little privacy I have this morning I have to bang out these morning pages.

Not to mention I hear little (well, I can't really call him little-at 3 months the boy already ways 12 pounds and I' m positive he ways more now, since it's been a month and a few weeks since his and his brother Zach's last well visit. The boys will not stop eating, and if they are hungry-mon Dieu! I worry that our neighbors may call the cops on us because they think we are beating them to death! I feel like a cow trying to produce enough milk for these two guzzlers. 

In other news, my boys are smiling and cooing on the regular, which makes me feel good, especially since I swear I'm in a kind of competition with my mother-in-law and other relatives who I feel keep judging me. I know how crazy this sounds and yes, i know that the hormones are making me paranoid,  but I just can't stand anybody thinking that they are smiling and cooing for anybody else but their mama!

Awwww damn! .Zach's awake and full of gas, which means Noah is next, that's the lovely thing about twins: they do everything together! so folks, this morning's reprieve is officially over.

To be continued...

For Grandma!

I wrote this story for my Considering Caribbean Women's Literature class during my undergrad at York University. I want to thank my professor, Althea Prince for believing in me and giving my words life. She was the first professional to take my writing seriously.

I dedicated this story then,as I do now to my grandmother Ros, and her kitchen, which along with the best cornmeal porridge I have ever tasted,  has provided much love, comfort, security and grounding. 

I was born November 8, 1974 about 11:30 in the morning at Brooklyn Jewish (now Interfaith) Hospital, in, you guessed it-Brooklyn, New York. The details of my birth and following years on the planet are somewhat hazy. Nobody can give me a complete account of why my mother and father decided to leave me with my grandmother in Brooklyn while they started a life for themselves in Canada, where I would join them about five years later but I have my suspicions. (That's another story for another day).

However, the answer for the purposes of this tale is so that my parents could get their lives in order before taking on the responsibility of  raising a young scorpio child who would have undoubtedly been acclimated to the ways of New York and possibly hard to tame. I have to admit, at 5 years old, I was pretty set in my ways. I'll never forget that dark cloud which followed (which stayed with me until I moved back to the city) as soon as I crossed the border.

You may be wondering how I could remember such vivid details of my life from such an early age.

The answer is simple: Grandma. Grandma and I had a magical  relationship then as we do now and she has told me this story so many times that it has more or less become burned into my memory, like a tatoo on the brain.

One twin down, the other one with grandma so I have a few minutes to kill...these days it seems as though the boys don't sleep longer than 10 minutes at a time, which kinda hampers my style. To tell you the truth, I wasn't even expecting this mid-day gift. Both the boys are occupied so I have time to write. I am in artist recovery right now so I do morning pages every day: 3 pages of stream of conscious writing. The whole thing is supposed to get me back into my creative mode. I'm proud of myself. I've truly been sticking with it. The only thing is I said that the morning pages would be more or less for the frivolous bullshit I worry about or need to get off my chest and the blog would be for more serious writing. Well, looks like that hasn't been able to happen yet. Not that I haven't been thinking of all the serious shit that's going on: fissaray in Washington over Fiscal Cliff and the fact that New York got stiffed by Congress over Sandy funds-Boehner's getting stiffed by his party, I'm no Boehner fan but I feel really sorry for him. His party has been hijacked and he's been held hostage. Other news: I want to add my voice to the controversy surrounding my man Quentin Tarantino's film Django but I cannot because I haven't seen the movie and I don't know when I will. Awwwww hell, that's never stopped me before...but I suppose I won't be sticking to my principals if I go ahead and wax socio-political on a mnovie I haven't seen. I'm trying to change my ways.The only thing I can say, based on my friends reaction to the movie-most everyone thought it was tasteless. I supposes dealing with slavery in Hollywood is a difficult task to undertake and of course, leave it to Tarantino to tackle it. Anyway, from what I understand he wanted to give Black folks a hero-he said we deserve one and I guess that was his intent. Of course, with this type of film you have to allow for dramatic license and I applaud Tarantino for wanting his hero to take on the most deplorable institution known to man. That's really all I can say since I haven't seen it. I've heard the controversy over the use of the word nigger. If our own people and everybody else has bastardized the word (with nary the outrage or even the threat of a boycott i.e: pulling the money: a la other racial groups who refuse to endorse or embrace anything that degrades or humiliates them) why should the entertainment industry care? Especially when they profit from the use of the word? N!@#$ please! Until some real accountability is taken, and by real accountability it doesn't begin or end with the use of the word nigger, but with the ridiculous stereotypes too many of us embrace which degrade and criminalize us. At least Tarantino's nigger is a hero to his people. He is right? Damn-just when things are getting interesting...I must go because twin B aka Nimble Noah is trying to wedge himself between myself and the computer. I'm typing with one finger now because I/m trying to hold his still wobbly three-month old head up with my other hand. (Blame HIM for any mistakes or inconsistencies. Until the next time we meet-I bid you adieu!