life certainly DOES change...

So, I found myself back on Blogger for a spell...reading my old posts, wondering why I ever stopped writing. I want to blame it on the boy...or Myspace...or school...or the new job that doesn't let me look at the computer. But I have to say that I think I got tired of writing about the kid that runs my life...the center of my world...and I think I thought I was boring anyone who accidentally landed on my page through computerized algorithms that give us random pages...anyway, I am back, for how long, I don't know...and I already know that I've said that several times already...
Just so you know, I am not taking classes this summer (that's my fault), but I am working my butt off at summer camp for a small group of kids (24)...I am also concentrating on
1. finishing the curriculum I am writing,
2. cleaning out all the old, unused THINGS from all of the closets of my house,
3. organizing EVERYTHING so that it doesn't feel so cramped in here (since we've signed away our lives for yet another year),
4. getting fit--I've lost 20 pounds since I started this blog (blogs CAN lead to weight loss, hadn't you heard?!?) and I'd like to lose another 30...its not crazy, just HARD...but I plan on doing it from the COUCH to 5K (a running method I am learning)...
and
5. getting back into volunteering in the community--homeless shelters, food bank, all of that... I AM IN...
oh, wait..there's one more...
6. getting the boy ready for a. kindergarten, b. any Taekwondo tests that might arise, c. standing up while peeing...
That's probably the crux of what my posts will be for awhile...and I've left Myspace for Facebook (and don't know how to BLOG on facebook, so...)...any posting I do will be HERE...for YOU...
(that made me laugh, because YOU might only be ME, really)
HA!
good night and god bless
ama

He may be a mohawk guy OR return of the 'hawk

The boy never fails to amaze. nearly two years later, he has decided (on his own, yet again) to let the mohawk return to his head. We have spent the last 7 or 8 months arguing about combing, and not combing or washing and not washing his hair. I took almost 3 hours and twisted ALL of his hair to have him tell me he didn't like it (and I had to wash it out). I don't think it had ever been that long before. And even though he'd been telling the barber (loving called "Barber" by the boy) "only the edges, please" for the last couple of visits, he decided on his way (with his father, of course) that he wanted a mohawk again. I got a very thoughtful text message from his dad-- "Boy wants mohawk. Thoughts?" I responded "His head, his choice" (very nice of me, wouldn't you say?). I also stopped by the shop to check and make sure it was his decision and he hadn't been coerced. (I did mention that his father was taking him, right?!)
My almost 4.5 year old told me "Mommy, don't worry, its just hair" and with that, I went to my meeting. The first trial that night didn't work. Something about Barber appearing as if he has something else to do that night, but just as promised, Daddy took the boy (who's name is king) to the shop and got it all fixed. And he was happy.

Until the owner of his school apparently (and only by his accounts right now) said something unfavorable about his self-expression. We've both been trying to instill much more than manners and basic education, we've been trying to give him a sense of self that makes him okay with being different. I don't always think "old school" teachers get that. Like he said, "its just hair" and a wonderful way for him to express himself.
So, I found myself a little bothered, and had I been the one dropping off and picking up, I might've found some time to talk to someone about it. I kept asking the Dad, but he apparently thought it best not to say anything to anyone.
And, so, today...in the midst of the craziness of the winter holy days (for some) and my family trip out of the country (I'll explain that LATER), my child starts doubting whether his hair is okay and good...and I am all worked up again.
I need to go meditate for a few minutes to get some clarity before I get upset again.
And its funny that I haven't blogged in forever HERE, but decided to today...I'll be back.
be still and know I
ama

the myspace blog...sitting...running...watching...doing

sitting...running...watching...doing
Current mood: full
Category: of what, you ask... Life

I just remembered that my very first blog was a stance in which I utterly refused to find something to blog about...but I often feel the push (very similar to vomitting, if you're looking for THAT feeling) to say what's really going on in my world, if only to say it to myself...without worry of judgement or argument...sometimes I simply don't write what I've thought out in my head in order to save those who might read what I've written without any sort of perspective....
not today...
I'd like to proclaim today that...
1. My life is ALWAYS going to be hectic, and I know that my strength is being able to continue living in the craziness without going crazy...There are some people who become their lives, their jobs, or their situations and cannot live while dealing with it all... I can...might be a little special because of that...(also, I simply refuse to be "stressed", even when I could be classified as such...I am too aware of every breath to be stressed...and a little blessed, I am sure)
2. I have a really WONDERFUL and LOVING husband and the little piddles that cause ruffles in our relationship are really NOTHING...he takes his vow to love and honor very seriously...as well as his own urge to love and care for me, no matter what kind of crazy, maniacal bitch I may seem to be...I say seem because we all know its the appearance, not the reality. Even though we were married in what seemed like a whirlwind, there were years of thinking that he was one of the two men I could see myself with forever and since he was the smarter of the two and grabbed me up first (HA HA HA HA--that's funny!)-well, he BOUGHT the cow, ya know...I know we were blessed to return to each other when we did and I blame Ellegua for it COMPLETELY...maybe one day, I will tell you THAT story...but it was all Ellegua, even when I thought I didn't believe. Bottom line: our luck is pretty damn good, I wouldn't trade him for a winning lottery ticket (unless I knew I would see him again and could do all this over again, because I know for sure he'd love me and the money would help out).
3. my life is a work of fiction, written by the ancestors and spirits and I am an active participant in the editing of that novella. Even if I don't light a candle every day, I know where I come from (even when I didn't really know, I knew) and who is watching over me...Every bless-ed word from my mouth (or hands) has been filtered through those ancestors and spirits to be the blessing they become to those who are listening (reading)...I am a vessel of the love and adoration those ancestors and spirits have for everyone, and often surprise myself with the revelations that I spew...there is nothing better than having a spiritual connection that fulfills you...I get the evangelical christians now more than ever (WHO WOULDA THUNK IT?)
3b. I could go on and on about how happy my spirit is, even when I am still working on it.
4. If I hadn't already said it, I am so VERY HAPPY to be finally working where I am and should be right now...I know that I am hard-headed and it takes me a minute to get where I need to be (on a "universal story of Ama's life" level, not "being late to work" or "getting sidetracked and not making it somewhere important")...Its taken almost 32 years, but I realize that I am just that person and when its time for me to go where I really SHOULD BE, I am in there and often not amazed that things work out like they shoulda in the first place...Although I don't wake up spritely every day (I LOVE SLEEP!!!), I am truly excited to go into my job and greet my students and get on with the day's work, even if its just playing connect four for hours or painting or swimming...I just love my job and can't believe that my day is over when it is...
5. I keep forgetting things...CONSTANTLY...and it might just be because I spend 9 hours a day away from everything, unable to answer my cell phone or read emails or check MYSPACE ( I probably wouldn't as much these days anyways) and when I get home, I am B-Z...but I'd forget the boy if there weren't pictures of him everywhere...okay, just JOKING...there's not THAT many pictures...ha! Silly papa 'legba!
6. Even school is great--- Iam getting all A's (REALLY, A's...that NEVER happened before)...and I seem to be actually learning stuff...go figure...for those of you that don't know, I really didn't like high school or college until I was about to graduate from both...I didn't start learning things until my 4th year in college (and I was a 5 yr student), and then it was over...my grades sucked and I had no plans...That's something I never want to pass on to my kid...everyone needs a plan, even if you end up scrapping it at some point, at least you have a plan...
7. I love everyone in my extended family, but don't mind that I hardly talk to them...I find that I (not them, mostly) end up fitting me back into ALL the drama and who needs that? Listen, I've got two mom's, a step-mother, a step-birth father, two brothers from two different families, a mother-in-law, a father-in-law who is out of the country, a step-father-in-law who is IN the country(although not right now), brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, two fathers (well, one that I actually know), and HUNDREDS (literally) of cousins from mid-50's to newborn...and that doesn't count all the friends that are really extensions of THAT family...I mean, we'll catch up when I visit..

so, now, I don't even remember why I started this blog, but I got a little of that stuff out of me...hope you enjoy the random musings...kudo on, my friend, kudo on.
bless-ed love, light, and excellence
Ama

Currently listening : Ilu Orisha By Iroko Release date: 17 September, 1996

the boy...no surprise there.

so, he's damn near 4 years old already...going on 15, of course...we have made a pact--the kind mothers and sons should never make--that I won't "pop" him if he is "nice". Who do you think broke the promise first....go ahead...guess...
I'll give you a second to make some moral judgment against me, because you think I am weaker than a 3.75 yr old...go ahead...
See, YOU ARE WRONG...he yelled at me after almost 3 minutes. We sat down and talked about how he doesn't like to get popped (its bad, he says) and how I don't like to deal with an irate and crazy little boy (excuse me, BIG boy) when he doesn't get his way (its bad, I say and no, he didn't agree). Three minutes later--that's 180 seconds, folks--he was screaming that he didn't want to do something (ahh, I've forgotten already it was so trivial) and he's not going to and Mommy is mean...
and no, I didn't pop him...I walked around his little tirade and decided I may never hit him again.
Let me get all educated Educator on you for a second---
children learn aggressive behavior by modeling--they see how adults (and other children, too) behave and what the reactions around the room are and decide if the possibility of negative reaction is worth them trying it. So, if Daddy doesn't say anything after I pop him, it must be okay to hit other people. They don't think about WHO they are hitting and why...they just know they are mad and hitting.
And, so...I realized that I was doing the same thing, but I was supposed to be able to control myself and at least give him a second to control himself (they apparently need a little more than we do, go figure).
For now, we're happier...send up good thoughts of continued non-violence in my home, and ask if he can stop stomping on ants, too, please.
bless
ama

Blog about what?

Apparently, since I've decided not to apologize about not blogging much HERE (because I do at myspace...), I've also made the decision not to post anything that doesn't get labeled as interesting for the majority of people that I already know aren't reading the blog...I only really started because I thought I was okay with sharing the details of my used to be cool and fun and excited life with folks. Now, I don't know...I want to...Its kinda like emailing cute stories to old friends once in awhile....but for the fact that I don't know who is reading the blog and who isn't...And I seem to have reverted to my old shy ways...well, kinda...I mean, I probably wouldn't mind passing on the same basic info if I were to meet anyone reading this (assuming you are) at a party, introduced by a mutual friend...its the randomness of it all, I suppose. I just wonder how many times I can say how smart my kid is and divulge not-so-important details about my marriage (well, actually, I haven't done that yet). I think I have an idea for getting ideas...I'll have to ponder it and get back to you (uh, myself, I guess).
Check back, I suppose, if you're interested in my idea.
?
I guess
Ama

NO apologies

No apologies, I haven't been on the blog for a LONG time. And I know it, and I am not apologetic, I swear.
Since the last post, I have struggled with the nature of my work and my wish to work in the interest of and with children. I quit my job, and I am sure my husband isn't happy about it....and I started school and classes and found two part-time jobs. And I feel blessed..
And I re-started myself back on a spiritual path I found so very long ago...my spirit found me and reminded me of the importance of my own spiritual work. I found my old teacher on myspace of all places, and everything flooded back.
Hopefully, I'll be able to share more as I continue to re-mind myself of what my spirit is saying....its not the average spiritual path (i.e. Christianity, Judaism, or Islam), and would often be considered pagan by the strictest of followers of those previously mentioned paths....sadly.
I'll expand on that once I feel more comfortable doing so...
So, I AM back...lurking and hanging around....checking everyone out again...
Making no promise of my next visit and refusing to apologize for not being around....isn't the mystery of it all kind of romantic?
blessed love
Ama

Get to know me...

I got this thing from my biological mother, I have never not completed one and thought it would be nice to catalog the various ones I've completed when I come across them...I wish we'd stop asking about favorite sports and colors as well as ice cream flavors, but those are the rules of the game, I guess...Enjoy.

1. FIRST NAME? Depends on where we are…right now, I am Ama
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? A neighbor who passed away

3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? When Ohene hit me in my eye last week

4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Only when I use the best of pens

5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT? Veggie pattie from Subway

6. KIDS? I have one for sale to the first to bid (I’ll take him back in 6 years)

7. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? I would be IN LOVE with me!!!

8. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? No…I blog sometimes
9. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? NO WAY!!! I would never do that, its so deceiving
10. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? I shouldn’t, but I do

11. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? NEVER
12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Crunchy Raisin Bran

13. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Don’t like shoes with ties

14. YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Compared to what? An elephant, no…Ohene, yes

15. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Chocolate laced with chocolatey chocolate, hot fudge and chocolate crunchies
16. SHOE Sizes? A lady never tells

17. RED OR PINK? EWWWWWWW!!!! RED is the only color of the rainbow

18. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? My infatuation with my gut.
19. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My college years…

20. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? It’d be nice, but hey, I can’t MAKE anyone do it

21. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Brown stripey pants, no shoes (don’t tell my boss)

22. LAST THING YOU ATE? Crunchy raisin bran and an apple (yes, I AM regular, thank you)

23. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The people in my office
24. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? RED!!!
25. FAVORITE SMELL? I am pretty picky about smells and it varies day to day…I like a clean man…

26. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? Another employee here at my wonderful job...(see #9)

27. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? shoes

8. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? I guess (see #9)

29. FAVORITE ADULT DRINK and KID DRINK? Adult: sweet iced tea kid: root beer/crème soda

30. SPORTS: I am gonna go with Soccer, although anything rodeo has always captured my attention
31.HAIR COLOR? Reddish-brown with about 10 greys in the front…

32. EYE COLOR? hazel
33. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Don’t I wish it somedays

34. FAVORITE FOOD? Sweet potato ravioli with a cream sauce…haven’t had it in years

35. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDING? Happy—funny is best

36. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? In the theater? Monster House

37. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? brown
38. SUMMER OR WINTER? I like spring and fall…not too cold, not too hot..

40. FAVORITE DESSERT? Cookies (chocolate chip, of course)

41. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Well, I am only sending it to a select number of really good friends, so I would think that they would all take some time to sit back and ponder how important it would be to me to get more info on them…
42. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? I am going to hope that everyone does
43. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? How to survive the first 20 years of your child’s life (not a real book, btw)

44. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Don’t need a mouse pad, I am technological with mine--I’ve got a laser mouse….

45. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV? 48 hours mystery, Marilyn Monroe’s death…intriguing.
46. FAVORITE SOUNDS? My husband and my son snoring in unison….

47. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? How about HENDRIX???

48. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Hawaii

49. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? I am a jack of all trades and master of none…
50. WHEN AND WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Routt County Hospital, Steamboat Springs, CO 8/23/1975 (note that I mean nothing by that..)

A Mother's Work...

Yesterday, after I picked my son up, I was trying to keep him busy inside the house, so he wouldn’t want to go outside, where it was god awfully hot…well, we somehow got on the subject of farm animals people eat (I’ll say he started it, and I chimed in once I knew what he was babbling about)…He asked me if people ate ‘Lemongoats”….I had no idea what a lemongoat was…I asked what he meant and he said “Lem AND goats, mommy, Lem AND goats do people eat em?” I kindly said, “If I knew what a lem was, I’d be able to tell you…and I think most people only drink milk from goats…”

Later on, he was asking his father about goats and brought out the lem’s again…he was getting frustrated with us because we had no idea what a lem was (I suppose we’re not the most intelligent parents, sometimes). Since its normally my job to de-code threeyearoldese, I sat up for several hours, trying to figure out what the lem’s might be…

3 hours into it, I realized, LAMB…LAMB AND GOATS….

So, when he woke up this morning, I revealed to him as he awoke that, yes, some people eat LAMBs, but not vegetarians (which he claims to be). He looked as if he could care less. A mother’s work is never done.

Recovery

So, okay..it wasn't avian flu or AIDS (thank all that is holy--my past is a little splotchy), but I did have a sinus infection, mild bronchitis, a tonsil infection, and an infection in my throat--I could've died. (Ok, that was a BIT much). I was sick for almost five days and came to several revelations about life:
1. Kids can play when you're sleep, and they'll wake you when its important.
2. Food really IS overrated, and IS NOT our friend. I was eating oranges for all but one day.
3. When I am mean, I am really NAKED (or so says my son)
4. Sleep is NOT overrated, and really IS our friend.

Okay, so they won't change the world, but I have forged a new relationship with my son (a nicer one), gotten a lot of sleep, and I can fit into my new favorite jeans (I knew it wouldn't take much).
Hoorah for my doctor, who can look at me and make me cry while I am forcing myself to talk to him through the pain and hoorah for my son who yelled and screamed and cried and finally fell asleep too.

Sick..and TIRED

Summer colds are the worst. It started with my son and has moved on to me and soon to come, his father (who doesn't do sick very well). My son tends to play through his illness, I've been thinking the whole time I thought I was going to die that there was no way he felt as badly as I do. There's a huge fever---or chills and sweats, as well as aches and pains. Do you think it could be the avian flu? I just read another blog that was talking about the symptoms of AIDS...It could be...who knows...
Along with my current illness, I am at a loss for child care. We're in a break between a family day care home my son was attending and the preschool he is kinda signed up for. I wanted to rush right into it, but the director of the center seems a bit hesitant about that. We had a dr's appointment today and I mentioned a spot on my beautiful, perfect (the doctor's words, not mine) child's head---turns out he thinks its ringworm like I do. Very early stages, it just looks like a patch of dandruff, but very dinstinctly circular....RINGWORM?!?
I wish I could be so surprised--my niece had it two weeks ago and I am sure my son was sleeping next to her and hugging her every chance he got (She's his favorite--actually his only girl cousin). So, he's on cough medicine as the cold moves out and this ringworm medicine that takes 4 weeks to complete. AND I am still feeling pretty icky...and the B.O.S.S. will be sick soon, too,I think.
we're all so sick...and I am tired.
bless
ama

The Mohawk is gone!

For all of those who have come to love the mohawk atop my son's head, I am sorry to report that it is gone. Its been replaced with a "haircut like daddy's". It is leaving behind pretty short hair follicles and an attitude that I don't think ever really had anything to do with the style. We may re-visit the mohawk at a later time, when we can find a barber who can manage the style.
Thank you to everyone that has passed on your love and support through various media.
Blessings
Ama and the Boy.

YOU'RE NAKED

Just about every night, after eating dinner, my son removes every thread of his clothes while standing in the center of our kitchen. He neatly puts them in laundry room and runs to go upstairs for his bath and to prepare for bed. When he father is home during these times, he runs to him (naked) for the ritual "night, night" kiss and hug. Several times in the last couple of weeks, my husband will exclaim, "Dude, You're NAkED!!!" ( As if he is so VERY shocked that this boy had skin under his clothes--dont' know why, he just DOES)
Neither my husband nor myself thought twice about whether he understood what naked meant (the actual word) until last week when, in a fit of rage he yelled at me: "Mommy, you're naked!!!". He said it as if it explained wholly why he was upset, and that my "naked-ness" was an evil thing like not sharing or spilling chocolate milk on the car seat or the carpet. I couldn't help but fall over laughing. This only made him madder, and apparently me, naked-er. I asked him to tell me what being naked meant. He could only repeat that "Mommy, YOU"RE Naked!!!" as he ran out of the room.
My husband, ever the rational one, has been trying to help our son realize what being naked really is...he thought he'd made some headway until today...he made the kid mad and was told "YOU'RE NAKED, DADDY!!!!" several times.
I guess we really DO speak different languages...
bless
Ama

Brain Diarrhea

The more I read the blogs of other folks, I've started to think that I am losing my smarts. I am morphing into that person that can tell you about all of the good pre-schools in the area, the best tasting soymilks, all of the newest Disney-type films, and which style of boy's underwear fit the best.
I used to be a pretty active individual--I watched the news instead of Nickelodeon or Disney channel and I could stay awake, breaking down the science of any new political or social phenomenon. I marched whenever I could, I made positive movements in my community, and I worked for the welfare of those people who are oppressed throughout the world. I was definitely broke, but felt my spirit blossom in the service of other humans.
Don't get me wrong, I still have those thoughts and feelings, I still donate my time and money to organizations that do good in my community and my world and I try very hard to express the need for doing so to my son.
If I don't reflect too much on it (like I feel myself doing right now), I can get through my daily routine (wake, dress, school, work, LUNCH, school, grocery, home, food, bath, exercise, shower, bed), I can still sleep knowing that I am making my child's life better, but how important is his single life in the scope of the entire world--or our small community?
I've found a way to shrink out of the world and focus on my very small (in relation to the world I once lived in) existence, but at what cost?
What I am hoping will happen (I am a planner, by the way) is that as my son grows older, we'll be able to grow back into the community and world and be the responsible humans we need to be together (with his father, OF COURSE--I didn't forget, sweetie). I have told myself that if I can grow this sweet loving, vivacious little boy (excuse me, BIG BOY) into a responsible man, I've done more for the world than I can every imagine. My legacy should live through him, his actions will one day continue the work I started as a teen and that may be bigger than doing it myself.
SO, instead of feeling guilty that I am not serving the world directly everyday like my heart aches to do, I am re-inforcing my belief that everything I do to grow this boy into a man is the payoff...and maybe my global community can love me for it later....a shrine would be nice.
:)
be blessed--Ama

Charles Barkley vs. the boy (dated 8/29/06)

So our family decided to go to the Jimmy V Celebrity Classic Golf Tournament yesterday. There were only a few people my husband, myself and the other grown up, Dan could decide on walking the course to see playing. One of them was Charles Barkley. Since I was the veteran Jimmy V’er(meaning I'd come at least one more time than the other two), I explained how Sir Charles sat at one of his holes and talked for like ten minutes the last time I saw him and he wasn’t much different than the person we see on TV. So, we joked about what might happen if our rising star, my son, and Mr. Barkley met. We decided that the possibility was well worth the walk to find him.
After we'd walked a bozillion miles to catch up with him, we decided to go one hole ahead of him and wait, in order to beat the rush of people in his gallery. When he arrived at our hole, there were nice pictures taken, and even a lesson in who Charles Barkley is from me to my son (basically, “that big guy there used to play basketball, and he is not a role model”—it would’ve probably included stats and number had it been my husband teaching, I think) I DIGRESS..

Mr. Barkley finally made his shot and moved on to the next hole. Nothing out of the ordinary, and I'd planned on keeping it that way--I am not into public embarrassment at the hand of Mr. Barkley. As everyone was moving and my loving husband was getting my son's hat signed, I was struggling to get my son back into his stroller—he wanted to get out and play golf and thus, started yelling and screaming and crying (he’d had no nap)…I got him in the stroller and proceeded to the next hole (trying to look like his yelling, screaming, and crying wasn't bothering me) when we heard “NO CRYING…HEY! HEY! NO CRYING! You can do anything but NO CRYING!!!”

OOPS!

I looked up and Charles Barkley was looking in our direction…uh oh...Was the boy really screaming that loud? I looked down and told my son that the ‘big man’ was telling him to stop crying, and he replied “NOOOO!” People were spreading apart like that sea Moses parted and I needed to pick a side..
I thought that a life lesson from Charles Barkley might help him understand how you need to be quiet on a golf course (even if its full of celebrities who really can’t play THAT well), so I walked the stroller a little closer to Mr. Barkley, you know, so the lesson would really be taught.

All you really need to know is that my son could’ve care less. He scrunched up his face and pouted the whole time Mr. Barkley, Sir, was talking/yelling. My child refused to smile or laugh at his joking around. Charles took his ‘golf stick’ and the kid yelled, “THAT’S MY GOLF STICK!!” as if the man wasn’t five feet taller than him and he could take him.

I think the pictures say more…and as you can see, I am only watching to make sure my kid doesn’t HIT Charles Barkley with his ‘golf stick’(something he is very well known for)...(let's never mind my belly fat or Mr. Barkley, sir's sweat stains)

Only this little boy could face off with Charles Barkley and still play golf after…Please do not interrupt this child when he wants to play golf.

A Mother's Waffle House dreams

First of all, I want to declare that I haven’t had cheese all week (such a feat for me), so when my son said that he wants a “big waffle” this morning, I spazz-ed out. We ended up going to the waffle house this morning and I got scrambled cheese eggs with hashbrowns (scattered, smothered, and covered—by cheese, thank you very kindly)…I am SO very weak.

A little more importantly than that, I was eyed by three guys at the waffle house. Now, normally I wouldn't be so easily honored, but my husband has been a little busy this week, and not paying me much attention (when I want if, of course)…These guys were driving this gaudy blue jag (the new kind) with 40’s on it (I don’t know, they were BIG)…the first two guys were dressed in general NC ghetto attire—baggy jeans, too big ball cap, and the illustrious XXXXXXXL white tee (not really my thing). They sat down and eyed my mohawk-headed son, and then smiled at me…one got on the phone with one of his “hunnies” and the other ordered. Apparently the third guy called and found out where they were and came,too. He was a little more preppy looking and gave me the once over (please let me also say that I was not on my cutie-pie tip…my hair is in disrepair and I need my eyebrows to be waxed very badly). I tried to play nonchalant, but noticed that they were having a small conversation about me. “Don’t do it, son, she’s got someone- look at her finger”. Nothing irks me more than a man of 30-something years still talking like he’s 19. Anyway, as I said, the conversation about me was SHORT. They started talking about what I figured out was court. Somebody got arrested for possession (one of them) and someone else got arrested for intent to sell (some dude, some Ni*%a) …are WE really still doing this (selling drugs and getting arrested and arresting black men in high numbers for drug possession, I mean)? I thought the war on drugs ended when Whitney said that crack was wack!! So the first two were asking the preppy one how in the world they could be getting charged as co-defendants with the dude that was getting intent to sell. I zoned out because I started to not even understand what they heck they were talking about (thanks to the brain re-vamping I got my first year in college, I can’t remember things related to the ghetto, I am now an educated “negro”). Maybe somethings are bigger than being eyed by some guys in Waffle House.

I started to look at my mohawk-headed son and wondered for a few minutes (yes, I went into what I like to call a meditation) what he was going to be like as a man—would he be the kind that at 30, still played video games more than they did anything else. Would he be they guy that loves his woman, makes her his wife, has children, and loves them all like he should? Am I asking too much and will I still treat him the same if he isn’t that person? Is he going to understand that he doesn’t have to be cool or down to be a real man? Will I coddle him too much and weaken his want to be a man and do what he should? WAKE UP, AMA!!!! WAKE UP!!!

I looked over at my precious little, syrup-covered son and realized that just as all of my dreams are possible, so are my nightmares, but that it isn’t my job to make it so—its his and I have to point him in the right direction, support him in his growth (spiritual, physical, and emotional), and push him when he needs it. That, my friends, is a bigger job than any person can imagine.

As we were leaving, and I followed him out of the Waffle House, he spoke to one of the men I’d seen, “What’s up, man?” in his biggest big boy voice and the guy replied, “what’s up little man?”

And I quietly said, “Ain’t nothing”.

A child was born

I was pretty nervous when I realized I was pregnant. I knew that my husband would initially be VERY upset, but would turn around. We were pretty broke, waiting for him to get through some residency issues before he could work and I had one part-time job. Things were tight. I can honestly say that I had a strong feeling we'd conceived almost as soon as it happened. I remember regressing back to college with feelings of guilt-forgetting for a second or two that I was married. I didn't say anything to my husband because I didn't want him to freak out, but we had to make a trip to NY to move the rest of his stuff and re-paint his room from blue back to normal. I can't remember how I put it out there, but I suppose he got the picture when it was time to paint and I was missing in action.
Since we were so broke, I went ahead and applied for Medicaid, to make sure I got the health care I needed. After my first appointment at the clinic, I was told that my due date would be moved back at least one week, because my child didn't look big enough to have been concieved when I thought it happened. I never stopped believing my motherwit, but let's not forget, I had other important things to do, I WAS PREGNANT for goodness sake.
I simply adored being pregnant like I thought most women did, but as I progressed and started telling people, I realized that no one in the world was as happy to be pregnant as I was. We had no money, but I was pregnant. We couldn't afford the down payment on our gas heat, and used space heaters in every room, but I WAS PREGNANT. I would lay on our couch with two or three blankets and put all kinds of jazz on for my *son* (yes, I always knew,too) to listen to.
I'd been offended when I was told that classical was the best music because it gives a sense of rhythm that most modern music can't. I rebuffed all of that so-called knowledge and played Thelonius Monk and John Coltrane(talk about rhythm), lots of reggae, old school rock and r&b, and african drumming. I knew what he liked by how or if he kicked.
That year, there was a major ice storm in our part of NC, electricity was out for almost a week, and I stayed at my friends house for just about all of that time. Nothing seemed to matter, but that I was happy and pregnant.
I didn't start gaining weight until my 7th month, but no one seemed to be too worried, as my baby was growing relatively normal. I tested and passed for all of the diseases that would make my pregnancy high-risk. We were on a roll with getting ready for the baby.
In my head, I'd always planned for my child to be born by June 13th (a Friday, by the way), but the doctors who didn't trust my newly acquired motherwit pushed my due date back almost two weeks, to June 26th.
The last month of pregnancy was a little uncomfortable, I'd started a job with a local university and was sitting a lot more than I had the other 9 months. I was starting to swell and it was starting to get hot.

Editors cut to June 23rd--first day of soccer camp (I volunteered to help with the school's soccer camp registration and was expected back at work around 12pm). I thought nothing of the day--went to work, had some pains and cramps and was uncomfortable again. Later that evening, around 6pm, I started to have what I thought were Braxton Hick's contractions. Strong enough to stop my senseless cleaning and make me go lay down.
The contractions/cramps I was feeling continued on and I started to get worried around 9pm and finally mentioned my worry to my husband. He inquired with our trusty handbook: What to Expect When You're Expecting and even though it didn't mention much about Braxton Hicks, it did say that any contractions that lasted that long and were that close together (I wish I could remember how long and how far apart) should be taken to the hospital. Remember, we were still broke, so we had to schedule two seperate rides to the hospital with friends that lived closest and a little further away. One of us called ride #1 (I think my husband, I vaguely remember packing a bag because the first one didn't have anything I wanted at that moment in it) and let him know we were going. Our ride rushed us over to the hospital I'd registered with--on the way, I called my mother (it must've been about 1030 or 11pm by then) to tell her we were going, but I thought I might need to just come back. Please note that I was very upset that I might have to come back home after visiting the hospital and still have to go to work in the morning.
We checked in and were sent directly to the women's center for all the stuff they do. While they were getting an explanation as to what happened, someone announced that they couldn't find the baby's heartbeat. I tried to explain that I'd been laying down and so, he might be in a strange position (I was still under my own impression that this was a false labor--they had other ideas). The doctor in charge tried three different ways and still couldn't find the heartbeat, the look in his eyes told me everything--NO HEARTBEAT, NO BABY. He rushed into action, ordering nurses to take my jewelry off and prep me for surgery. There was no discussion, only commands. After he'd gone and requested an Emergency operating room across the hall, he stopped to tell us what he could.
All I heard was NO HEARTBEAT, get the baby out, c-section, getting prepped NOW. A nurse, who's name was the same as mine, struggled with my wedding bands and ended up nearly tearing my finger off but used K-Y jelly instead. In what felt like the next three minutes, I was wisked across the hall and recieved an epidural and oxygen. They didn't have time to put me under full anesthesia, so I was awake and completely panicking. I think I might have been hyperventilating or the epi was numbing my chest, I am not sure, either way, they sent my husband in to calm me down.
Once I saw him, I was a little more comfortable, but very nervous (I'd never been admitted into a hospital for anything in my life--except maybe my own birth). I tried to concentrate on what they were doing to me, but could only hear blurred words and feel pressure on my back.
Before I knew it, someone (again with the someone) announced that it was a boy! They showed him to me quickly and as everyone became silent, he appeared to be looking at me and he let out what sounded like wheeze or a sigh before he was taken away to the Neonatal ICU. I was taken into a recovery room and could finally try to figure out what was going on.
They hadn't told me much, but my husband found out that our son, Ohene Adari Samello, had what looked like a muconium infection, and was kind of small (he was 5lbs 6oz), so they wanted to watch him. I cried, but upon reflection most likely just from relief. Kids get over meconium infections all the time, just means they were in too long, right?
After several hours, my mother arrived (She says that it took her almost 5 hours to drive what normally takes me 2 1/2 hours) and we found out more. My husband and mother went to see "the boy" and said that he was already breathing on his own, but his blood sugar levels were poor. No one had answers about what happened. Was he late? Most likely.
Was it something I did or ate or was it my body? No one knows
What can we do to help him? We're not sure right now, but we will monitor him
Thank all that is good for morphine, or I would've been even more hysterical. I started pumping immediately and they started giving him whatever would come out. I still couldn't see him though, and was advised to get myself all healed up from the c-section, so that I could get up and finally go see him. My husband took pictures and went to work and emailed everyone I knew and came back everyday for a week and even washed me when it was time to start doing that. Thinking about it all now, I even cry a bit.
I think I fell in love twice during that time; for the first time with my son and again with my husband who became my pillar of strength during a time I couldn't imagine going through alone. As we approach the 3 year anniversary of that life-changing day, I still cry a little, and I can still hear the little noise that little boy made in the near silence of an emergency operating room. I still can't believe that on June 24th at 1:00 a.m., a child was born, and he's with me now.
(the rest of the story is coming, keep posted)

My son has a Mohawk Mentality

I have a nearly three-year old. Anyone that has witnessed the phenomenon of an almost three-year old, has to sympathize with me, at least a little. He's a tyrant, nothing is shared properly; he's tempermental and emotional--one moment we are laughing about something he did or said and the very next breath, he is crying because he didn't want to take a nap three hours ago. Anyone that's seen an almost three-year old MUST sympathize.
Anyone that's seen MY almost three-year old is at first shocked that he can talk the way he does, in clear and plain English, stating facts about his surrounding concisely. He speaks to EVERY single person we pass in the grocery store or Target, and will often ask their names before telling them his and asking when their birthday is. He wears his pride on his sleeve. And he wears his attitude on his head.
Both my husband and I were sporting locs before it was popular and still were when I got pregnant and for at least a full year after my son was born. We were used to the attention our hair would sometimes bring us. We weren't ready for HIS hair. My son's hair grew in naturally as stylish as they can, in a fashionable and thin mohawk-type way...it stuck straight up as my hair seems to, but was thick and curly at the roots like his father's. He seemed to grow into this fashionable hair, refusing to wear hats, bullying other children (if necessary) and doing whatever he wanted (that includes vomitting in my hair if the mood passed him). We'd hear comments about Mr. T and "what hair!" constantly.

I've never met a child so open to the world, so fearless and observant. He's got this bad boy look, with this wonderful person attitude. He doesn't care if he "rocks and rolls" and he wants to be a drummer.

People of all sorts stare at him, some pity him for the terrible parents he's somehow inherited. They shake their heads at me, as if I was just seen driving down the street with him in the driver's seat or as if I just dropped him (almost). What I've come to understand is that its not normal for an almost three year old to know that he likes something that means something different to so many people, but if they take a moment to talk to him, they get it...he's got a mohwak mentality...and I think he knows it.

Can't help but look back

Getting grown is one of the things I couldn't wait to do as a child. I wasn't "fresh" or "fast", but I could only think of myself as being myself once I got out of parents' home and finished school. Ah, the follies of youth. Who would've guessed that now, at nearly 31, I look back on my youth as the time I missed. I may have been too busy worrying about silly things like boys and homecoming dates to realize how precious that time should've been for me.
Now, at nearly 31, I wish I'd thought more about the world and my place in it. I just heard someone (who knows, I am not so old that I listen to ALL the details) talking about a new book coming about where women in their 50s and 60s reflect for the them of their teens and early 20s.

OH! It was some actress, because she only said that she would tell herself not to stress about sticking to her art. I've started to really ponder what I would tell myself at 16, knowing the things I think I know at nearly 31.
I know I'd tell myself that there would be plenty of men in the world to love and to love me, I would never have to settle OR rush. Patience truly is a virtue, and something best left to those of us that don't move as fast anymore.
I'm sure that now, at nearly 31, I'd find a way to get it through my thick 16 year old skull that even though I had to worry about classes, college would be the best opportunity--don't fear the unknown, appreciate it for its life-changing splendor...(I really didn't think I'd be going to college when I was 16)...

I can say with great certainty, that after the last nearly 15 years, I would tell myself that marriage and family aren't like on T.V., its hard because the person you fell in love with changes and becomes someone else you sometimes have to find a way to love, no matter what (that is to say that I have become another form of myself and I am sure, harder to love)....I always did find a way to judge my parents for not just giving up, when I should've cherished my mother's great ability to try to keep her relationship together at any cost (even that of her own heart).

And children are not the end-all to be-all, my mother made it look easy. Children are trying and challenging, and often VERY selfish--its the only way they can establish who they really are. They are also the only reason I could thoughtlessly give my own life. I have never felt a love as strong, undying, and fearless as the one I have for my son.

And just to seal the deal, I would make sure I told myself at 16 how much I love me, how much I always did and would, even with the funny-looking hair, cheap shoes, and akward feelings. And yes, everyone will remember me, even if I can't remember their names, as soon as they see me and I will be loved. And I do get to have the nose ring I always wanted.

A Love Poem for My Soul

I Love her in a gelee'
The way it ever so slightly pulls every thread of
hair away from her wide face.
Accentuating the calmness and serenity
that is only her,
as she quickly glances away from my stare.
I love her in the morning
sleep in her eyes,
locs all over,
muscles tense
because I know that's as bad as it will ever be;
she's beautiful even then.
I love her when she talks
the words come out like lyrics
her breath is the melody
I love her even as she cursing me
for whatever spiritual rule I've broken
she only yells because she's hurt
and scared
Her angry stare only reflects the pain of her heart
There are those that say
they don't understand, for there isn't one like her for them
She encompasses all that I am not, so without her, I am
an empty souless being,
a shell, simply put.
Without me, her undefined self might float away, unable to be caged by others
I keep her down, and she, she keeps me up.
I love her because she is my other part, my definition, my soul.
So, I love her in that headwrap, fighting for others, just barely awake from sleep, as she discerns reality from dreams
And I love her for fighting me when I am not who I should be.
A LOVE POEM FOR MY soul.
(C) 1999