being mama daily

The Mama is a FastGirl

2009-04-15T21:47:00.001-07:00

Being Mama Daily Curator, Jasai Madden, has written her first book about how to find peace of mind, body and spirit through the timeless art of fasting.

Get your copy. Fast.

Get Involved. Much is at stake.

2008-09-24T19:52:00.000-07:00

you need to see this

2008-07-25T15:36:00.000-07:00

Does Your Milk's Label Say This...........?

2008-07-15T18:24:00.000-07:00

Below is a quickie Q and A on the Cancer Prevention Coalition Website:

Why is American Milk Banned in Europe?

American dairy milk is genetically-modified unless it’s labeled “NO rBGH”
Genetically-engineered bovine growth hormone (rBGH) in milk increases cancer risks.
American dairy farmers inject rBGH to dairy cows to increase milk production.

European nations and Canada have banned rBGH to protect citizens from IGF-1 hazards.

Monsanto Co., the manufacturer of rBGH, has influenced U. S. product safety laws permitting the sale of unlabeled rBGH milk. (Monsanto would lose billions of dollars if rBGH were banned in America.)

Q. Is there any milk not contaminated with rBGH and IGF-1?
A. Yes. Milk that is clearly labeled “NO rBGH” is free of rBGH and does not contain excess levels of IGF-1.

Q. What about cheeses?
A. American-made cheeses are contaminated with rBGH and excess levels of IGF-1 unless they’re labeled “NO rBGH”. Imported

European cheeses are safe since Europe has banned rBGH.

IGF-1 and Milk:

Q. What is IGF-1?
A. Insulin-like Growth Factor 1 (IGF-1)is a normal growth factor. Excess levels have been increasingly linked by modern research to human cancer development and growth.

Q. How does IGF-1 get into milk?
A. In 1994, the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) approved the use of the recombinant Bovine Growth Hormone (rBGH). According to rBGH manufacturers, injections of rBGH causes cows to produce up to 20 percent more milk. The growth hormone also stimulates the liver to increase IGF-1 levels in the milk of those cows. Recently, Eli Lilly & Co., a manufacturer of rBGH, reported a ten-fold increase in IGF-1 levels in milk of cows receiving the hormone. IGF-1 is the same in humans and cows, and is not destroyed by pasteurization. In fact, the pasteurization process actually increases IGF-1 levels in milk.

Q. How does rBGH milk containing IGF-1, affect, humans?
A. After the rBGH milk is consumed, IGF-1 is not destroyed by human digestion. Instead, IGF-1 is readily absorbed across the intestinal wall. Additional research has shown that it can be absorbed into the bloodstream where it can effect other hormones.

Q. Is IGF-1 likely to increase the risk of specific kinds of cancer?
A. It is highly likely that IGF-1 promotes transformation of normal breast cells to breast cancers. In addition, IGF-1 maintains the malignancy of human breast cancer cells, including their invasiveness and ability to spread to distant organs. (Increased levels of IGF-1 have similarly been associated with colon and prostate cancers.) The prenatal and infant breast is particularly susceptible to hormonal influences. Such imprinting by IGF-1 may increase future breast cancer risks, and may also increase the sensitivity of the breast to subsequent unrelated risks such as mammography and the carcinogenic and estrogen-like effects of pesticide residues in food, particularly in pre-menopausal women.

Q. Are cows adversely affected by elevated IGF-1 levels?
A. Cows injected with rBGH show heavy localization of IGF-1 in breast (udder) epithelial cells. This does not occur in untreated cows. Cows are also affected in other ways by rBGH, through increased rates of mastitis, an udder infection. Industry data show up to an 80 percent incidence of mastitis in hormone-treated cattle, resulting in the contamination of milk with significant levels of pus. Mastitis requires the use of antibiotics to treat, which leaves residues to pass on through the milk for human consumption.

Q. What does the FDA say about IGF-1?
A. The FDA has trivialized evidence for increased levels in rBGH milk and insist that any such increases in IGF-1 are not dangerous, and do not pose a health risk. However, a 1990 study by Monsanto, the leading maker of rBGH, explicitly revealed statistically significant evidence of growth promoting effects. Feeding relatively low doses of IGF-1 to mature rats for only two weeks resulted in statistically significant and biologically highly significant systemic effects: increased body weight; increased liver weight; increased bone length; and decreased epiphyseal width. The FDA has failed to investigate the effects of long-term feeding of IGF-1 and treated milk on growth. Furthermore, the FDA has been hostile to the labeling of rBGH milk. The agency has prohibited dairy producers and retailers from labeling their milk as "hormone-free," The FDA states that such labeling could be "false or misleading" under federal law. Monsanto is suing several milk producers for using the label.

Q. What have other scientists said about IGF-1?
A. Concerns about increased levels of IGF-1 in milk from cows treated with rBGH are not new. In 1990, the National Institutes of Health Consensus panel on rBGH expressed concerns about adverse health effects of IGF-1 in rBGH milk, calling for further study on health impacts, particularly infants. In 1991, the Council on Scientific Affairs of the American Medical Association stated:" Further studies will be required to determine whether the ingestion of higher than normal concentrations of bovine insulin-like growth factor is safe for children, adolescents and adults." Unfortunately, these studies were never done,

HERE ARE THREE THINGS THAT YOU CAN DO:

1. Do not buy milk from cows treated with rBGH. Unless the milk-label states “NO rBGH”, you can assume the milk is contaminated. rBGH has become so widely used by dairy farmers. Most health food stores sell rBGH-free milk.

2. Contact your local supermarket and find out if they have a policy regarding rBGH and milk. Make clear that you would like rBGH-free milk.

3. Write to the FDA and express your concern that they are restricting the labeling of rBGH-free milk.

read more here

BMD Examines: America's Milk

2008-07-08T09:29:00.000-07:00

BMD will spend the next few installments looking at America's milk; why we are so encouraged to include it in our diets, the real health effects of its consumption, who profits and who loses when we do and don't drink it. Here is our first installment. Part 1 of a letter from a California based physician to his patients:

The Milk Letter: A Message To My Patients (Part 1)

By: Robert M. Kradjian, MD
Breast Surgery Chief Division of General Surgery,
Seton Medical Centre #302 - 1800 Sullivan Ave.
Daly City, CA 94015 USA

“MILK”Just the word itself sounds comforting! “How about a nice cup of hot milk?” The last time you heard that question it was from someone who cared for you–and you appreciated their effort.

The entire matter of food and especially that of milk is surrounded with emotional and cultural importance. Milk was our very first food. If we were fortunate it was our mother’s milk. A loving link, given and taken. It was the only path to survival. If not mother’s milk it was cow’s milk or soy milk “formula”–rarely it was goat, camel or water buffalo milk.

Now, we are a nation of milk drinkers. Nearly all of us. Infants, the young, adolescents, adults and even the aged. We drink dozens or even several hundred gallons a year and add to that many pounds of “dairy products” such as cheese, butter, and yogurt.

Can there be anything wrong with this? We see reassuring images of healthy, beautiful people on our television screens and hear messages that assure us that, “Milk is good for your body.” Our dieticians insist that: “You’ve got to have milk, or where will you get your calcium?” School lunches always include milk and nearly every hospital meal will have milk added. And if that isn’t enough, our nutritionists told us for years that dairy products make up an “essential food group.” Industry spokesmen made sure that colourful charts proclaiming the necessity of milk and other essential nutrients were made available at no cost for schools. Cow’s milk became “normal.”

You may be surprised to learn that most of the human beings that live on planet Earth today do not drink or use cow’s milk.

Further, most of them can’t drink milk because it makes them ill. There are students of human nutrition who are not supportive of milk use for adults. Here is a quotation from the March/April 1991 Utne Reader:

If you really want to play it safe, you may decide to join the growing number of Americans who are eliminating dairy products from their diets altogether. Although this sounds radical to those of us weaned on milk and the five basic food groups, it is eminently viable. Indeed, of all the mammals, only humans–and then only a minority, principally Caucasians–continue to drink milk beyond babyhood. “Indeed, of all the mammals, only humans–and then only a minority, principally Caucasians–continue to drink milk beyond babyhood.

Who is right? Why the confusion? Where best to get our answers? Can we trust milk industry spokesmen? Can you trust any industry spokesmen? Are nutritionists up to date or are they simply repeating what their professors learned years ago? What about the new voices urging caution? I believe that there are three reliable sources of information. The first, and probably the best, is a study of nature. The second is to study the history of our own species. Finally we need to look at the world’s scientific literature on the subject of milk.

Let’s look at the scientific literature first. From 1988 to 1993 there were over 2,700 articles dealing with milk recorded in the “Medicine” archives. Fifteen hundred of theses had milk as the main focus of the article. There is no lack of scientific information on this subject. I reviewed over 500 of the 1,500 articles, discarding articles that dealt exclusively with animals, esoteric research and inconclusive studies.

How would I summarize the articles? They were only slightly less than horrifying. First of all, none of the authors spoke of cow’s milk as an excellent food, free of side effects and the “perfect food” as we have been led to believe by the industry. The main focus of the published reports seems to be on intestinal colic, intestinal irritation, intestinal bleeding, anemia, allergic reactions in infants and children as well as infections such as salmonella. More ominous is the fear of viral infection with bovine leukemia virus or an AIDS-like virus as well as concern for childhood diabetes. Contamination of milk by blood and white (pus) cells as well as a variety of chemicals and insecticides was also discussed. Among children the problems were allergy, ear and tonsillar infections, bedwetting, asthma, intestinal bleeding, colic and childhood diabetes. In adults the problems seemed centered more around heart disease and arthritis, allergy, sinusitis, and the more serious questions of leukemia, lymphoma and cancer.

I think that an answer can also be found in a consideration of what occurs in nature – what happens with free living mammals and what happens with human groups living in close to a natural state as “hunter-gatherers”.

Our paleolithic ancestors are another crucial and interesting group to study. Here we are limited to speculation and indirect evidences, but the bony remains available for our study are remarkable. There is no doubt whatever that these skeletal remains reflect great strength, muscularity (the size of the muscular insertions show this), and total absence of advanced osteoporosis. And if you feel that these people are not important for us to study, consider that today our genes are programming our bodies in almost exactly the same way as our ancestors of 50,000 to 100,000 years ago.

WHAT IS MILK?

Milk is a maternal lactating secretion, a short term nutrient for new-borns. Nothing more, nothing less. Invariably, the mother of any mammal will provide her milk for a short period of time immediately after birth. When the time comes for "weaning", the young offspring is introduced to the proper food for that species of mammal. A familiar example is that of a puppy. The mother nurses the pup for just a few weeks and then rejects the young animal and teaches it to eat solid food. Nursing is provided by nature only for the very youngest of mammals. Of course, it is not possible for animals living in a natural state to continue with the drinking of milk after weaning.

IS ALL MILK THE SAME?

Then there is the matter of where we get our milk. We have settled on the cow because of its docile nature, its size, and its abundant milk supply. Somehow this choice seems "normal" and blessed by nature, our culture, and our customs. But is it natural? Is it wise to drink the milk of another species of mammal?

Consider for a moment, if it was possible, to drink the milk of a mammal other than a cow, let's say a rat. Or perhaps the milk of a dog would be more to your liking. Possibly some horse milk or cat milk. Do you get the idea? Well, I'm not serious about this, except to suggest that human milk is for human infants, dogs' milk is for pups, cows' milk is for calves, cats' milk is for kittens, and so forth. Clearly, this is the way nature intends it. Just use your own good judgement on this one.

Milk is not just milk. The milk of every species of mammal is unique and specifically tailored to the requirements of that animal. For example, cows' milk is very much richer in protein than human milk. Three to four times as much. It has five to seven times the mineral content. However, it is markedly deficient in essential fatty acids when compared to human mothers' milk. Mothers' milk has six to ten times as much of the essential fatty acids, especially linoleic acid. (Incidentally, skimmed cow's milk has no linoleic acid). It simply is not designed for humans.

Food is not just food, and milk is not just milk. It is not only the proper amount of food but the proper qualitative composition that is critical for the very best in health and growth. Biochemists and physiologists - and rarely medical doctors - are gradually learning that foods contain the crucial elements that allow a particular species to develop its unique specializations.

Clearly, our specialization is for advanced neurological development and delicate neuromuscular control. We do not have much need of massive skeletal growth or huge muscle groups as does a calf. Think of the difference between the demands make on the human hand and the demands on a cow's hoof. Human new-borns specifically need critical material for their brains, spinal cord and nerves.

Can mother's milk increase intelligence? It seems that it can. In a remarkable study published in Lancet during 1992 (Vol. 339, p. 261-4), a group of British workers randomly placed premature infants into two groups. One group received a proper formula, the other group received human breast milk. Both fluids were given by stomach tube. These children were followed up for over 10 years. In intelligence testing, the human milk children averaged 10 IQ points higher! Well, why not? Why wouldn't the correct building blocks for the rapidly maturing and growing brain have a positive effect?

In the American Journal of Clinical Nutrition (1982) Ralph Holman described an infant who developed profound neurological disease while being nourished by intravenous fluids only. The fluids used contained only linoleic acid - just one of the essential fatty acids. When the other, alpha linoleic acid, was added to the intravenous fluids the neurological disorders cleared.

In the same journal five years later Bjerve, Mostad and Thoresen, working in Norway found exactly the same problem in adult patients on long term gastric tube feeding.

In 1930 Dr. G.O. Burr in Minnesota working with rats found that linoleic acid deficiencies created a deficiency syndrome. Why is this mentioned? In the early 1960s pediatricians found skin lesions in children fed formulas without the same linoleic acid. Remembering the research, the addition of the acid to the formula cured the problem. Essential fatty acids are just that and cows' milk is markedly deficient in these when compared to human milk.

WELL, AT LEAST COW'S MILK IS PURE

Or is it? Fifty years ago an average cow produced 2,000 pounds of milk per year. Today the top producers give 50,000 pounds! How was this accomplished? Drugs, antibiotics, hormones, forced feeding plans and specialized breeding; that's how.

The latest high-tech onslaught on the poor cow is bovine growth hormone or BGH. This genetically engineered drug is supposed to stimulate milk production but, according to Monsanto, the hormone's manufacturer, does not affect the milk or meat. There are three other manufacturers: Upjohn, Eli Lilly, and American Cyanamid Company. Obviously, there have been no long-term studies on the hormone's effect on the humans drinking the milk. Other countries have banned BGH because of safety concerns. One of the problems with adding molecules to a milk cows' body is that the molecules usually come out in the milk. I don't know how you feel, but I don't want to experiment with the ingestion of a growth hormone. A related problem is that it causes a marked increase (50 to 70 per cent) in mastitis. This, then, requires antibiotic therapy, and the residues of the antibiotics appear in the milk. It seems that the public is uneasy about this product and in one survey 43 per cent felt that growth hormone treated milk represented a health risk. A vice president for public policy at Monsanto was opposed to labelling for that reason, and because the labelling would create an "artificial distinction". The country is awash with milk as it is, we produce more milk than we can consume. Let's not create storage costs and further taxpayer burdens, because the law requires the USDA to buy any surplus of butter, cheese, or non-fat dry milk at a support price set by Congress! In fiscal 1991, the USDA spent $757 million on surplus butter, and one billion dollars a year on average for price supports during the 1980s (Consumer Reports, May 1992: 330-32).

Any lactating mammal excretes toxins through her milk. This includes antibiotics, pesticides, chemicals and hormones. Also, all cows' milk contains blood! The inspectors are simply asked to keep it under certain limits. You may be horrified to learn that the USDA allows milk to contain from one to one and a half million white blood cells per millilitre. (That's only 1/30 of an ounce). If you don't already know this, I'm sorry to tell you that another way to describe white cells where they don't belong would be to call them pus cells. To get to the point, is milk pure or is it a chemical, biological, and bacterial cocktail? Finally, will the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) protect you? The United States General Accounting Office (GAO) tells us that the FDA and the individual States are failing to protect the public from drug residues in milk. Authorities test for only 4 of the 82 drugs in dairy cows.

As you can imagine, the Milk Industry Foundation's spokesman claims it's perfectly safe. Jerome Kozak says, "I still think that milk is the safest product we have."

Other, perhaps less biased observers, have found the following: 38% of milk samples in 10 cities were contaminated with sulfa drugs or other antibiotics. (This from the Centre for Science in the Public Interest and The Wall Street Journal, Dec. 29, 1989).. A similar study in Washington, DC found a 20 percent contamination rate (Nutrition Action Healthletter, April 1990).

What's going on here? When the FDA tested milk, they found few problems. However, they used very lax standards. When they used the same criteria , the FDA data showed 51 percent of the milk samples showed drug traces.

Let's focus in on this because it's critical to our understanding of the apparent discrepancies. The FDA uses a disk-assay method that can detect only 2 of the 30 or so drugs found in milk. Also, the test detects only at the relatively high level. A more powerful test called the "Charm II test" can detect 4o drugs down to 5 parts per billion.

One nasty subject must be discussed. It seems that cows are forever getting infections around the udder that require ointments and antibiotics. An article from France tells us that when a cow receives penicillin, that penicillin appears in the milk for from 4 to 7 milkings. Another study from the University of Nevada, Reno tells of cells in "mastic milk", milk from cows with infected udders. An elaborate analysis of the cell fragments, employing cell cultures, flow cytometric analysis , and a great deal of high tech stuff. Do you know what the conclusion was? If the cow has mastitis, there is pus in the milk. Sorry, it's in the study, all concealed with language such as "macrophages containing many vacuoles and phagocytosed particles, etc."

Stay Tuned For Part 2.....

Mama, Heal Thyself!

2008-06-12T09:05:00.000-07:00

Despite the sometimes misconceived idea that as women and mothers we can or should be able to "do it all" there remains the very real fact that we can not and should not even try.

The attempt to do it all has often found us overextended, feeling unappreciated and literally depleted. The truth is, we regularly need a break, and without one we quickly understand the oft spoken adage that women do indeed get weary.

The body is the same way. When we overextend it's energy capcity, insisting that it take on the task of digesting and metabolizing the "food" we eat and eliminating the waste and toxins, in its best effort to keep us alive and vibrant, we are creating great harm to the only vehicle we have in this life to experience natural and spiritual bliss.

I have spent the past year researching, sharing with others and experiencing first hand the great power of the ancient art of fasting for physical and spiritual wellness. It has certainly rendered my body healthier and my mind clearer, but it has also had the unexpected benefit of making me a better, more mindful mother.

While it encourages a magical cleaning of the body, it performs a miracle cleansing of the spirit. I am kinder, less tempermental, more disciplined and less prone to fly off the handle or insist on my way, as a result of this practice. There are countless benefits to the practice of fasting and I invite every BMD mama to join me on what has been an extraordinary journey to true, Whole Life Health.

Visit our sister site at http://www.thenewfastgirls.blogspot.com/ and join our group through yahoogroups, Keyword: FastGirls

If you want to re-experience the miracle of fasting or if you are new to the practice and want to do something for your life and health that provides a genuine cure and not a temporary fix, give this timeless art a try. Your body, soul and family will thank you.

Cheers!

Jasai
BMD Curator Mama

What's in a (nick)name?

2008-05-26T19:25:00.000-07:00

Mothers are famous for nicknaming their children. There isn't a single man, woman or child that I know who has not at some time been called by a nickname. Occasionally it's just a sweet knowing between mother and child. More often it is widely known throughout the family and community. Certain nicknames span generations, never losing their texture, flavor or popularity. While others are obscure and nothing you would hear more than once.

What are your children's nicknames? Where did the name come from? What is your nickname?

Here are some interesting ones that have made me say, hmmmm....

Toochie

Stinker

Beauty

Kidoshe

BMD Examines: The Natural Order of Things

2008-01-06T07:35:00.000-08:00

In most any discussion related to the conception, bearing and raising of children, there lies unspoken, the very present and pressing issue of preventing pregnancy. The 1960’s presented women with “the pill” as a safe and effective way to own our reproductive health and liberate us from the worry of bearing children outside of intention.

Today pharmaceutical companies, pill in hand, are pushing past god to offer us another more sinister, illusive kind of liberation; from the very cycle of life.

Dr. Susan Rako has this to say about the pharmaceutical industry’s attempts to “fix” the natural order of things:

"Tampering with the hormonal climate of healthy menstruating women, including teenage girls whose lives stretch ahead for decades, for the purpose of doing away with their periods is, in a word, reckless. Manipulating women’s hormonal chemistry for the purpose of menstrual suppression threatens to be the largest uncontrolled experiment in the history of medical science. Hands down.

What the media has not conveyed, what the public has not heard, what too few health professionals know, and what every woman and her doctor must know about the hazards of menstrual suppression deserves a voice. I am determined that it will have one."

Observing the radical shift in the medical community toward menstrual suppression as a viable option in women’s health, Dr. Rako sees not only a vast information gap for women, but a serious health crisis on the horizon. Drug companies and many health professionals are promoting the idea that it is okay, even preferable, for women to forgo their periods if they are not trying to get pregnant, and many women, when faced with the choice, are seriously considering that option. But what isn’t being discussed enough are the hazards of such suppression, risks that include osteoporosis, heart attacks, strokes, and cancer.

In her book “No More Periods?” Dr. Rako delves into the whys, hows, and musts of women’s gynecological health and takes a reasoned stand for believing that nature and our bodies have an intelligence about this critical issue.

The economics of our community coupled with a lack of adequate healthcare and a concerted move to call quackery our own intuitive knowing, has left too many black mothers undereducated and as a result, at the mercy of medical researchers who are more than willing to offer us a new, improved but untested way to do a dangerous thing.

Conscious conception is a critical issue and one that we must take seriously if we are to raise our children in settings unhampered by poverty and unpreparedness. But the idea that we would do something as counter-intuitive as shutting down completely, a physiological system put in place at our own inception, begs questioning and examination that is not likely to take place in a doctors office.

BMD Examines: The Power (and politics) of Presentation

2007-12-30T08:55:00.000-08:00

Phillipe Copeland challenges the spin of image and perception when it comes to the examination of white teenagers and pregnancy versus that of black teenagers.

Phillipe writes: "For many the unmarried, black teenage mother has become a virtual icon of the alleged depravity and decline of "black culture". How often do you hear pundits, politicians and intellectuals bemoaning the depravity and decline of "white culture" because sometimes a young white woman gets pregnant when she didn't plan to? Like so called "black on black" crim e, it appears that the rules are different when a white teenager gets pregnant."

It seems that in the wake of the Jaime Spears revelation we have an opportunity to see with clear lenses how a set of circumstances for black teenagers can be used to focus the collective conscience on carelessness, moral depravity and a dearth of hope while that same situation in the life of a white teenager acts a perfect opportunity to focus on maturity, courage and the potential to overcome obstacles.

What do you think about the disparity in portrayal? How much of its negative effects do you think would be avoided by pulling our children away from the television where they are constantly being packaged in one stereotypical way or another?

Do you think that as parents of black children it is imperative that we provide our children with every opportunity to be encouraged and self affirming, even when the action is less than skillful? Generations of young people having babies has proven that as difficult as it might be, the ultimate outcome is not always so grin and detrimental.

BMD Examines: And When He is older He Shall Not Depart?

2007-12-26T19:12:00.000-08:00

Maybe as a result of it being the holiday season and as such, a time when people more openly share their particular spiritual beliefs and practices, discussions abound in which it seems a significant shift is taking place in the belief systems and resulting practices of this generation of parents versus past generations.

Perhaps you are a Buddhist with Baptist parents or make Wud'u where you used to offer Penance.

BMD wants to know whether you are you raising your children in the same religious or spiritual tradition in which your parents raised you? And if not, how does the practice of a different religion or spiritual metaphor affect the relationship between your immediate and extended family?

Is there room enough for close family ties that include a variety of spiritual/religious belief systems and practices? Or has it proven too far a curve ball to fetch?

how do you teach a thing like THIS?

2007-05-23T20:35:00.000-07:00

Jasai - 31
Los Angeles, CA
2 children - 1 boy (12), 1 girl (6)

“Mom,” my son says in the kind of tone that lets me know what he is about to say is troubling, “Oren always says nigga.”

I pause.

And then I unload.

“Why would he feel like he can say that around you?!!”

Blank face.

“There is no way he is saying that if you are not!!”

Guilty face

“Do you think I know any Jewish people who would think it was okay to say that word around me???!!”

Appalled face

“Do you know that he is hurling offense at you, your family and every other black person you know when he says that??!!”

Sullen face

I went on this way until I could not untangle all the things my head and fighting heart wanted me to say.

You see, Oren is my son’s energetic if academically oblivious Jewish friend. I have my issues with him for this and other reasons but since they have a similar hobby in skateboarding and my son’s grades don’t reflect Oren’s work habits, I let it slide. But no more.

How do you teach a young black boy that you do not compromise on an issue like this? That as an emerging black man in America, there is no room to acquiesce to the ignorant tide of individuals, media and even other black folk who think that word has simply become part of the American lexicon like “homey”, “dude” and “man”. And that never is he to conform to such ignorance in order to save a friendship. Never.

I assured him that there was is no way Oren would continue to be his friend if he tossed derogatory names for Jews up and down their jr. high school hallways.

He tells me Oren says these things because he watches David Chapelle. I tell him I could give a damn why he says it.

But I will not tolerate it or teach my son that it is acceptable for him to tolerate it.

the truth about bureaucracy and the breast

2007-05-22T19:55:00.000-07:00

Jennifer James
Chapel Hill, NC
2 children - girls

Did you know that there are only 56 Baby Friendly Hospitals in the United States out of 19,000 worldwide? Did you also know that when black mothers give birth in Baby Friendly Hospitals, their breastfeeding rates go up significantly?

In 2001, a research team from Boston University Medical School and Boston Medical Center tracked the results of Boston Medical Center attaining its Baby Friendly Hospital designation. Not only did their breastfeeding initiation rates go from 58 percent to 87 percent over four years, the rate of black mothers who initiated breastfeeding rose from 34 percent to 74 percent. That's drastic. That's significant. That's remarkable.

Additionally, a study released on May 15 states that when a child is born in an inner-city, baby-friendly hospital breatfeeding rates are comparable to national breastfeeding averages.

Since 1991, hospitals and maternity and birthing centers around the world have been awarded Baby Friendly recognition, but it's not easy. Each hospital and birthing center has to comply with ten specific steps set up by the WHO and UNICEF in order to call themselves baby friendly and cannot "accept free or low-cost breastmilk substitutes or feeding bottles".

Of course, we know this poses a difficult challenge for most hospitals both in America and worldwide because of the sweeping dominance of formula companies. Money talks, to be sure.

What this says to me: This says that the vast majority of hospitals in the United States would rather sell out the health of babies and instead accept lucrative contracts from baby formula manufacturers under the guise of giving mothers feeding options for their babies. This is clearly reprehensible.

If you are a pregnant mom, please consider supporting Baby Friendly Hospitals that are doing the right thing and thinking about the well being and health of babies and not their budgets and pocketbooks.

*Jennifer James is the Editor of MommyToo and many other blogs which focus on the health and well-being of mothers and children of color in America.

BMD Examines “The Warrior Method”

2007-05-16T21:07:00.000-07:00

Nature vs. Nurture vs. Negative Proof*

Part of what “The Warrior Method” seeks to examine is how much of the way in which our boys view themselves and are viewed by our society, has to do with the social (read: racial) forces that gently film over the very eyes through which they perceive their Being. Although the text and it’s author do not allow for wholesale “blaming” of the social order for the behavior and circumstances of black boys in this country, its position begs caution to parents/guardians/educators and concerned citizens, insisting that we not allow the very present effects of society’s personal, political and institutional biases against our boys to go unexamined.

Dr. Winbush writes:

“As an educator who specializes in the development of African American adolescents, I am constantly asked if there are any successful techniques to be used to help raise healthy, confident African American males. Of course. But far from easy because psychologists and educators are reluctant to offer techniques that factor in the role of racism in the development of African American boys. The preferred method of explaining black male behavior is to focus on internal rather than external issues that determine their lifestyles.

“Not so clear however is why explanations of white adolescent behavior are commonly offered in the context of how social forces shape their behavior. Mary Pipher’s best selling book Reviving Ophelia discusses how sexism plays a nefarious role in the development of white females, particularly as it relates to their dependence on male approval. It is nearly unthinkable to exclude social factors in explaining white adolescent behavior, yet explanations of black adolescent behavior often focus on the internal pathologies of black life in America.”

Despite being a mother who is adamant that my son understand and execute an exacting measure of personal responsibility, it is impossible for me to disregard what I see as - more clearly as the years pass - a carefully orchestrated, if unconscious, campaign at the most fundamental levels of society, to see our sons take their place at the awful bottom of all things.

I suspect that there are many mothers who fear acknowledging this fact will relegate them to the ranks of those who buck-pass, shirk or even worse, give their son(s) the impressions that any outside intent could ultimately determine his fate.

Is this a legitimate concern? Are there mamas who feel like this is a phantom dilemma?

*Negative proof is defined as that which occurs when there are two competing explanations, and neither can be confirmed by observation.

Visit your local bookseller and purchase The Warrior Method by Dr. Raymond Winbush

Objectifying Black Babies...A Teacher's Comment to My Child

2007-05-13T17:19:00.000-07:00

Trula
Cleveland, OH
3 Children - 2 boys (9)(12),1 girl(18)

Recently in one of my daughter's classes her teacher said she wanted to find a black man to have black babies with because 'they are so cute'. She then singled my daughter out, the only black person in the class, to ask her if she agreed with her. I-bop said she tried to be non-comittal and change the subject, but the teacher persisted. Then after school i-bop went to talk it over with the assistant principal, who then talks to the teacher about it.

Then this woman went to the drama practice (i-bop is rehearsing, she's in the spring play) all crying and AGAIN putting i-bop on the spot, talking crap about how it's an 'aesthetic' thing like preferring the color pink and she just loves black people blah blah blah. Then she left.

I am writing a letter to her & the assitant principal but I am super-pissed right now. I have to be careful how I word things lest these people dismiss me and i-bop as 'angry black women'.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ok here is the letter I just emailed to her:

Hello Ms. ------,

My daughter ------ is a student in a Spanish language class of yours. She bought to my attention comments you made yesterday (2/28/07) about wanting to find a black man to have a child with, because you feel black babies are so cute. You also singled her out to ask her opinion on the matter, I presume because as the sole black person in the class you wanted her to validate your opinion.

I find your comments offensive and problematic to say the least. I am certain that you meant no harm, however I am unable to ignore or excuse your conduct because I am appalled at your lack of sensitivity and unprofessional behavior. Your job is to teach, not to express to students your racial preferences in regard to your future mate. Regardless of the context this subject came up in, as the teacher and the adult you should have re-directed the conversation and kept your race opinions to yourself.

I also feel compelled to tell you why your comments are so ignorant, because you repeated them again when you apologized to ------, and again when you called my home and discussed this with my husband (------). This tells me you are truly confused as to why your comments are ignorant and offensive. Ms. ------, blackness is no more a monolith than whiteness is, but that, among other things, is implied by your comments. Not to mention your complete and utter objectification of black babies and black people. Black babies are not little inanimate dolls for you to play with and talk about how cute they are because of maybe their features, skin color, and hair is so different from yours. They are living breathing people just like white babies.

After ------ told me the things you said when you came down to her drama practice (how it's just an 'aesthetic' thing and it's your 'preference') it became painfully obvious to me that you are simply unaware of how obtuse your feelings are in regards to this matter. Ms. ------, choosing a partner and subsequent child is not like picking a color scheme for your house.

There is so much range and diversity among black people, just like among white people or any other 'race', but you seem unaware of that. Your comment that you'd like to find a black man to have a black baby with indicates that you think we are all the same. Which black man? Will he be the same religion as you? Will he share similar political views? Have the same morals, values, and code of ethics as you? Or are those things irrelevant to you as long as he is black and can give you a cute black baby to play with? Ms. ------, I am told you have grown white children. Surely when you chose to be with their father, there were a lot of things you considered. Understand that when choosing to be with someone not of your race background the very same factors should be considered as well. If you are unable or unwilling to understand that, at the very least keep your fetishizing of black people to yourself.

I am certain that you still do not see your comments as wrong since you repeated them 3 times. You probably feel they were benign or even positive comments. I want you to understand I am not attacking you; rather my concern is about what you said and its effect on my child. I would like you to understand that racism isn't only about hating on other races. It is also embedded in the seemingly innocent ways that we think, talk, and respond to a race not our own. On the surface your comments may seem like a benevolent statement but when looked at through the lenses of American history and a person of the race being discussed, they are very rooted in racist ideas.

I would also like to point out to you, that whether ----- or another black person was in the class or not, your comments were inappropriate to the white students as well. You should not assume all white people believe erroneous ideas like this such as yourself, and you did your white students a grave disservice by assuming they did or that they would not be offended. In short, it was wrong of you to discuss your
racial preferences in choosing a mate to your students, period. You owe the whole class an apology.

Finally, your coming to ------ at her drama practice being all loud and crying was wrong. While I appreciate your apology...Thank You! I resent your putting her on the spot in front of her peers again and I am deeply saddened that you repeated your statements again to her. And the crying...give me a break. Ms. ------, what on earth did YOU have to cry about? And I am struggling to understand why you came at my daughter like that. As her teacher and an adult you are already in a position of authority over her. I feel your crying was a manipulative ploy to make her feel responsible for your mistake and that it was her fault simply because she spoke up. Perhaps it was subconscious, but surely upon reflection you can see why I feel your response was selfish, completely disregarded ------'s feelings, and made her feel bad for speaking up about your highly inappropriate comments.

------ did nothing wrong here. She tried to avoid being drawn in the discussion in the first place and she then voiced her concerns to the assistant principal. We have lived in ------, a primarily white, conservative community, for going on 7 years and in all this time my daughter has been a model of self-restraint when dealing with racist comments, from out-and-out racial slurs to comments like yours from students. She is not known for being a 'race-agitator' or as being overly sensitive to race comments, Ms. ------, because she is not. ------ tries her best to get along with the majority white population of students here, and she often, quite often ignores race comments said to her at the high school by the white students in the interest of getting along. So when she expressed how disturbed she was by what you said and your subsequent apology I could tell she was deeply hurt. The one time she speaks up to a person of authority the teacher acts like it's her fault? How dare you.

I am forwarding this letter to the principal and assistant principal. I am also writing a letter to the superintendent of ------ City Schools, including this letter and a suggestion of sensitivity training in regards to racial issues for ------ City teachers. It is not my desire or intention to get you into any trouble, rather I want a written record that this occurred and my suggestion of sensitivity training noted, if nothing else. I am disturbed that any teacher in ------ City schools would make a comment such as this. The reason we decided to live here was because of the caliber of the school system. I am truly dumbfounded that a teacher would make such comments as I did not expect that from a professional within the school system. You have deeply disappointed me, Ms. ------. I hope you do not further disappoint me by acting out against ------ academically or singling her out in any way regarding this matter again. Rest assured, if you do, I will take appropriate measures.

Sincerely,
Ms. Breckenridge

------------------------------------------------------------------

The Warrior Method

2007-05-02T09:28:00.000-07:00

I am humbled by this charge of being mother to a son. It sometimes confounds me and leaves me feeling like I need the awesome guidance of a North Star. This book shines bright in just such a way. Do something gentle for your mama soul and read this book.Then recommend it to a family member and a friend.

Discussion on the text to follow. Stay tuned.

Read reviews here.

The View From Here: On Raising Black Boys

2007-01-22T19:13:00.000-08:00

Name: Amanda - 30
Seattle, WA
Children: two sons (3), (2)

A while ago, I wrote out some of my thoughts about the job of raising boys, and Black boys in particular. Another mother commented about fearing for the safety of her (potential, likely Black) son. I wanted to expand on her point a little more, because it's something we've thought about as well.

Right now, my kids are "cute little Black babies." Among white people they are sometimes seen as a novelty. I have heard, "Oh, Black babies/kids are so CUTE!" way too many times. I'm hearing that less now, and I'm sure that particular comment will taper off completely by the time the boys are preteens. Black babies may be cute, but Black teenage boys are thuggish, threatening, potentially violent gang members.

Possibly, when they are with us (their white parents), they may get a "pass." They could be granted honorary whiteness because they belong with us, despite their Blackness. When they are on their own, or with other Black boys... All bets are off.

I don't think I'm being overly dramatic about this. Have you heard what happens to Black men who cross the paths of arrogant white men with power? When Sparkle gets his drivers license, should I tell him that he's not allowed to drive alone? If he speeds and gets pulled over, and he's on his own, he could be in trouble. As Black boys/men, they will have to be extra sensitive to the perceptions of other people around them. Even if it feels artificial to them, they will have to work on projecting an image of confidence, compentance, and cheerfulness. If they don't, they are more likely to be seen as surly, disrespectful, or dangerous.

I'm not sure how we'll handle things as they get older, but we are already working on some of this. When guests come to our house, we encourage Sparkle to "be the welcomer." Before they arrive, we practice opening the door and saying, "Welcome! Come on in, we're glad you're here!" Sometimes Sparkle loves this job, and sometimes not. Last week he told me, "I'm feeling shy today, Mom. I don't want to be the welcomer. You come with me." And that's totally fine.
When we go to church, I hold Sparkle's left hand as we go through the door. His right hand is free, and he holds it out to the church greeter, shakes hands, and says, "Good morning!" He also knows how to shake hands while looking the other person in the face and saying, "Hello, it's nice to meet you!" We literally practice casual small talk type stuff, and reciprocal comments that help make the other person feel comfortable. For example, instead of replying with "I'm fine," he can say, "I'm doing well. And how are you?"

Part of this is just that I want the boys to have good manners. But also, I hope that their composure and charisma will help keep them safe. When Pumpkin picks up his date for a high school dance, he may need to charm the socks off her parents before she gets in his car to leave with him. If he dates a white girl, I hope he'll be the type of person that the white boys will respect enough to leave him alone. When Sparkle gets a job, he'll have to prove the stereotypes about Black workers wrong to get a promotion. It's not fair.

Of course it's not fair.

I hope that we won't be overly paranoid about their safety. And I don't want to teach my kids that the world is dangerous, or that someone is out to get them around every corner. But I want them to be prepared and cautious. And part of being prepared is knowing how to make a good first impression, how to manage your image, and how to make other people comfortable.

I'm not sure how to end this post. Maybe I'll just ask you all, what do you think? What have you observed? Are you thinking about these things with your kids (girls or boys, Black or white or other)? I'm not crazy, am I?

searching for our soul

2007-01-15T20:24:00.000-08:00

Mrs. J
Hudson Valley, NY
3 children - girl (4), boy/girl twins (16 mo)

I'm a Northern black woman who grew up in a family whose idea of a traditional meal was spaghetti with meat sauce. No soul food savvy matriarchs have graced either side of my family tree since the great migration. So when my own kids were born, I was determined to raise them as part of a clan that ate traditional African American food throughout the year, not just on holidays.   

The exploration of my culinary heritage began with a simple weeknight dinner of collard greens, yams and black-eyed peas. I was feeling rather pleased with myself when my four year old appeared at the kitchen door.  "Mommy? What is that...smell?" she stood in the doorway frozen, face shielded by her sleeves.  "Black eyed peas, honey. Mommy's making black eyed peas tonight."  She clamped her angelic face tighter. "They smell horrible."  My husband glanced up from his computer. "It's black people food, honey."  Did we really want her to associate our culture with what she described as "a horrible smell?" I tried not to roll my eyes and began setting the table. "It's what we're having for dinner tonight."   

The meal got off to a good start until we asked her to actually start eating. There were tears, followed by threats of timeout. There was squealing, followed by threats of slightly more severe forms of punishment. In between plea bargains, my husband helped himself to seconds and I fought back tears of frustration. My fifteen month old twins sat contentedly in their highchairs, licking fingers and smacking lips at the first taste of their culinary birthright. How could my eldest child possibly grow into a strong African American woman without ever having tasted black eyed peas?

I was nauseated the mere thought of my firstborn daughter making a quicker mental association with  BEP's Fergie than the cuisine of her very own culture.  Maybe I just needed to accept the fact that my child had a somewhat eclectic, international palate. After all, she tried risotto at nine months and enjoyed it. Other international foods like hummus and (cooked) sushi are regular requests. At least she was an equal-opportunity eater. I picked up the dish she'd just poked at, the black eyed peas stared back at me forlornly. It burned me up that if those poor legumes had been edamame, she probably would have cleaned her plate.  

It wasn't until my beloved was in bed for the night that I stepped down off my pedestal and realized where I might be falling short. Even broken down to a preschooler's level, there was really no clear reason why an African American four year old should be obligated to eat black eyed peas (aside from nutritional value). If slaves were forced to eat what we now know as soul food because they just didn't have another choice, does that mean their free descendants should have to? Grown-ups do it all the time. Nobody (at least nobody I know) starts salivating at the thought of boiled pigs' feet. But sweet potato pie is a whole different story altogether. And I'm the first one to turn my nose up at chitterlings before taking a second helping of baked macaroni.   Maybe it's time I let her celebrate the right to pick and choose from the rich diversity within our cultural palate. Maybe it's less about the food, than our freedom.

*Mrs. J writes about Pop-culture, politics and playdates at Our Kind of Parenting

This has happened to you

2007-01-09T18:47:00.000-08:00

Every Mother - 18 to 80 yrs
Everywhere, USA
No matter how many children you have

Family Guy - Annoying Stewie - video powered by Metacafe

My question is, what happened to the part where she jumps up and grabs him by the eyelashes?

One hundred (or so) things I love

2007-01-05T20:14:00.000-08:00

Jasai -31
Los Angeles, CA
2 chilren - 1 boy (11), 1 girl (5)

the smell of Jasmine . baby powder mist . salad w/spinach leaves . Sissy Lou . The Boy . skirts . forehead kisses . short stories . facials . bubble baths . red seedless grapes . yoga . chai latte w/ foam and whip . my mom . lying on grass in warm shade . the beach . traveling . cooking . intimate conversation . writing letters . a boy named Alex . sea salt . picture frames . buddhadharma . having my feet rubbed . deep breathing . soft soil . driving across country . dining out . sleeping in . reading . singing . interesting men . strawberries . discovering new neighborhoods . dancing . taking long walks . touring new homes . stretching . being touched . laughing . listening to stories . sitting in Rituals . going to the spa . museums . water colors . mysterious men . eccentric women . lectures . Tavis Smiley . Cornell West . Ira Glass . church choirs . Easter Sunday . Black families . Soul music . Range Rovers . cream cheese brownies . fishnet stockings . beautiful jewelry . private spaces . big mamas . hammocks . places of worship . chanting . women in hijab . silence . me . freedom . peace . men who write . Nights in NY hotel bars . baby girls . rebellious women . teachers . carnivals . French baguettes w/ real butter . farms . laundry on the clothesline . days to myself . fresh produce . Louisiana Faire . mojitos . live music . white beards . Black love . crying softly . my pale yellow bench . marriage . daydreaming . old flame memories . art . brightly painted walls . weddings . graham crackers and milk . new experiences . future prospects . the word "circumvent" . smiles . naked bodies . fish . learning . my pregnant body.

*I realized recently that I want to have another baby. OMG! .....smile honey :o)

a kind of love letter

2007-01-02T21:27:00.000-08:00

Amber - 38
Washington, DC
2 children - boys (9) and (6)

April 9, 1995

My dearest sister,

Pregnancy is a power not easily understood, gained or contained. My heart goes out to you for your loss. If you need me I am here, always.

Love,

Leah

My oh my, how time does fly

2006-09-06T22:47:00.000-07:00

Is it today already?

If you have been wondering where BMD and its curator mama have been for the last cycle of moons....I've been wondering too. And then I found myself ....doing back to school and football practice, Daisy troop and voulunteer groups. Homework till I'M blue in the face. Spiraling late nights and deliriously sleepy days.

Needless to say, we are (most of us) back to motherhood at hyperspeed. Being Mama Daily is also on a new and improved program as we are aiming to introduce and interview women writers musing about what else -- motherhood (or subjects that tickle gently around the periphery.)

So keep peeking in and don't forget to send in your journal entries.

Whew! Is it time for bed yet?

Mama's Eye View: My Parenting Philosophy

2006-07-30T21:41:00.001-07:00

Kohana
Mid West, USA
2 Children - 1 boy (1+), 1 girl (en route)

Parenting is hard. Good parenting requires commitment, consistency, and education. Each child has a unique personality that requires the parent to apply themselves to raising the child in a unique way. When a child joins the family through adoption there is one more layer of education and effort necessary in parenting. If the child is also another race than the parents, yet another layer of effort is required. Similarly, a child with special needs (learning disability, fragile health, etc) requires the parent to grow beyond the basics of parenting. So transracial adoptive parenting requires more work (in my opinion) than "regular" parenting.

My biggest question is, (to use my family as an example) can two Caucasian parents (one European and one American) instill a strong racial and ethnic pride and identity in their non-Caucasian child? Really, I don't think that they (we) can. To go back to the special needs analogy, a parent may never know what it's like to have ADHD or to be diabetic. The best a parent can do is learn as much as they can and open doors for their children to go where they cannot. I hope my special needs analogy doesn't leave anyone thinking that I view being non-white as a negative thing. Quite the contrary. I'm just saying that as much as I read and talk and listen, I will never be anything other than white. I may be a white person with insight and that's what I can offer my children. My greatest aspiration is to be their door.

A couple of the essays in a love like no other really resonated with my feelings. I'd like to include a few quotes for your consideration. In "Color Her Becky: Grappling with Race" Jill Smolowe discusses her daughter's progressing identity as a Chinese-American daughter of white adoptive parents. She says:

Bewildering stuff, this business of race. Make too much of it, and you risk grooming your child to forge an identity based on other people's insensitivity and ignorance. Make too little of it, and you risk failing to prepare your child for life in a country that every ten years maps its racial boundaries in such meticulous detail that the 2000 Census offered 63 different options. During the prelude to an international adoption, you sift through a (pardon the expression) Chinese menu of choices. By the time you've checked all the boxes and answered your social worker's barrage of questions- Will you raise your child to respect her heritage?
Will you honor your child's place of birth? Will you instill racial pride in your child?- you feel that you've considered all the angles. But all those hypotheticals are a lot like the vows you take on your wedding day when you promise to love and honor your future mate: You really mean it-you just don't have a clue what it will look like or how it will play out.
After doing my independent study and facilitating a transracial adoption support group for a year I thought I really knew all about it! I am only beginning to realize how little I know. Jill Smolowe goes on to say:

I acknowledge, embrace, and celebrate that [her daughter, Becky's, Asian identity], just as I celebrate all things Becky. But I am disinclined to try to dictate to Becky what her skin color, Asian features, and cultural heritage should mean to her. I'm not Asian; how could I possibly know? I also don't know how to instill racial pride in her, as the adoption literature often exhorts. Instead I resonate to a comment made by a Native American adult whose adoptive parents are white: "I'm very grateful that my parents never tried to give me what they weren't able to give: my Indian self. I think that causes confusion. It was my journey to find out more.

I agree with Jill in so many ways. She makes an effort to connect Becky to her Chinese heritage through culture days, relationships with other Chinese Americans, celebrating Chinese holidays, etc. Yet she also recognizes that she is only leading her daughter to a door that she cannot pass through herself. God, help me find the door.

Universal Inevitable Truths

2006-07-24T09:03:00.000-07:00

Shannon - 36
1 daughter (17 mo.)
Champaign, IL

The universal, inevitable and necessary - but always sad - toddler truth, is hitting Nat hard these days:

Everyone on the planet wasn't put here to serve her.

Two examples:
1. At a birthday party last weekend, Nat reached for a cookie in another little girl's hand. "No-no," I told her, "that's not Nat's cookie."
She gave me the most heart broken, incredulous look. It was her first encounter with something that she wanted that wasn't hers (other than our glasses or cell phones or that kind of stuff).
2. Today, at the playground, Nat got a bit more adventurous than usual and struck out on her own. We watched her from a decent distance as she toddled about, oogling the older children in awe. Suddenly, another little boy a bit older than her, slid down a slide and into her, toppling her over. She looked up, started crying, picked herself up and pointed at him as if to say "You! You have violated my person! Do you know who I am?" She didn't know we were watching. We just about fell over laughing. But Cole also swooped over to save her.

She has had the habit, for a while now, of waving enthusiastically at the backs of people swiftly walking, jogging or biking away from her after they failed to acknowledge her presence. She seems to think they just missed her and will turn around once they realize who they've passed.

I suppose you could call her entitled--but to love and attention, not to stuff (except other people's cookies, I suppose).

It's hard to walk the line between spoiling her and keeping her little ego healthily intact as she learns that other sovereign humans inhabit the planet along with her. But for the most part, I think her ego is doing just fine.

meditations of a weary mama's heart

2006-07-17T09:05:00.000-07:00

Jasai - 31
Los Angeles, CA
2 Children - 1 boy (11), 1 girl (5)

beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places. beautiful things are often born from dark places.

If I can just keep saying this to myself I will make it though the summer and sooner than I can lose my wits, my son will be back home with me.

Where, Oh Where has My Babygirl Gone....

2006-07-07T10:14:00.000-07:00

Angela - 39
Columbus, OH
1 daughter (16)

Yesterday I had a scare at the airport.

I was there to pick up MyKiddo. So, I'm standing outside the gate waiting. I'm on my cell phone and I'm trying to position myself so that she will see me as soon as she turns the corner. So I wait a few minutes......no MyKiddo.

Suddenly this young woman comes up to me from behind. She resembles MyKiddo but she is "grown up", fingernails done, hair done, looking all pulled together in a casual "I'm a damn college student way." Lord have mercy! So I say to her, in disbelief, "Who do you think you are?" (after hugs and kisses) She just laughed because she knew exactly what I meant.

Let me explain.

I am having a hard time accepting that my daughter is going to graduate from high school next year. I keep telling her she's in the 7th grade, and I don't want to hear anything different. Now, I'm the mom that started taking this kid to college fairs when she was in the 8th grade. I have made it clear that not only will she go to college, she will go away to college. "Be independent. Live your life. You will be on your own soon. Blah Blah Blah." I have always told her she would be on her own after college and how I didn't want her to come back home. Get your own apartment.....house.....car......state.....etc.

Now that the hour is swiftly approaching I'm working my way up to a nervous breakdown. I feel like this time has flown. She grew up so fast. What If I didn't teach her some important thing, what if she doesn't do well. What if she's lonely. What if she goes away and stays away. What if she makes some of the same mistakes I've made. What if she kills someone and goes to jail. What if she gives all of her money away to a homeless person with a sad story. I know it's crazy but I think of these things.

MyKiddo is a well adjusted child. She's smart and even tempered (despite me being the hot head that I am). She will be fine. And she knows her mother. So she knows, "Who do you think you are?" really means, "Do you think you are grown, and you can make it without me? Well sure you can, I taught you to do just that. But, please don't leave me!" I thought only children experience separation anxiety. I'm thinking of following her out of state to college, or feigning some illness that will require her to stay home to take care of me.

I know, I need prayer. You people with children, y'all feel me?

Conversations With a Three Year Old

2006-07-05T08:51:00.000-07:00

Andi - 47
Philadelphia, PA
3 boys - Buster(18) Buddy Boy(3),
Punkin (15 months)

In the car:

Buddy Boy –
Where is the sun?
Behind the clouds?
Is he hiding?
Is he hiding behind the clouds?
Is he lost?
Is he shivering?
Where is his mother?
Where is the sun’s mother?

At the dinner table:

Mom –
Eat your broccoli.

Buddy Boy –
I can’t eat my broccoli because Jesus doesn’t like broccoli. Jesus is in my heart and my tummy and he says he doesn’t like broccoli.

Buster –
I think he ‘gets’ religion.

In the Living room, sitting at his toy piano:

Buddy Boy –
Me and Punkin are brown!
Ma, me and Punkin are brown?

Mom –
Yes.

Buddy Boy –
And we love each other! (hugs and kisses his brother)
(sings) I love Punkin and you, Punkin and you. I love Punkin and you, Punkin and you.Buccu Boo, Buccu, Boo!

Love, Mother Dear

2006-06-26T21:01:00.000-07:00

Bassey - 30
New York, NY
1 little butterfly - En Route (11 wks)

This afternoon. They gathered for the love of. Sat me down. Fed me. Told me that there was no such thing as alone. No such thing as "single mother". They all gathered. Those that could be there. Those who couldn't called. Emailed. Said, "You are blessed. This baby is taken care of. You only need to be healthy. You only need to let us." Roger kissed the belly. Remembered the forehead. Lara, Mahogany, Lynnie, Marty, Roger, Tyren, Syreeta, Sabrina, Fish... who ate only steak. While the rest of us salmon and tuna and potato salad and this is what we will do and corn/mango salsa and Amari and word problems and jokes about BJ Wholesale and we are afraid that you won't tell us when you need us and strawberries and veggie chips and there will always be a somebody and Pom White Tea juice and whatever you need and I felt the baby for the first time this morning.She is nothing but wings fluttering in my stomach. Wasn't sure at first what it was. Felt like something I never imagined. Soft and constant. Felt like I fell in love for the first time with this something taking shape in my womb. This thing that pushes Chuckie aside and says, "Let me be." Today, there was a love like everything. Remembered Peter all day. Didn't cry for the first time in ages. Just smiled a bit. Thanked him for this. This family he helped create. This everything that I am now living for. These people that know me inside and out and remember me whole and broken. They teach me that it's okay. Taught me to breathe and take it easy..."Don't worry, girl. We got you."

Don't worry, y'all. I love you.

Right now. I'm in a penthouse on 12th street. Taylor and Marie Elizabeth recognized my need to not think about what needs to be done to the apartment. Only what needs to be done for my health. So they left me in charge. There are two cats here. "The Boys" they call them. They nudge me to put my laptop down so they can climb into my lap and purr. Their sound matches the flutter that has become my child. It's like they are speaking to each other. I want them to tell him, that we are ready.

It's Saturday night in the only place that matters.

Sometimes I want to push this thing aside. Live life full and anonymous. But where is the village in that? My parents worry because there is no husband and wife becoming mother and father. Just friends becoming parents. And friends remembering family. I could give this child one person to call father and one person to call mother. But I like it this way, I give this child 50 uncles and aunties and a variety of things to learn and ways to grow. This child will be stronger sooner. Will be kind and brave. Will be unafraid to ask for what it believes and needs. Will be beautiful and free...And maybe it didn't turn out the way the world suggests. But that's why it's only a suggestion.

So child,

I give you better than me, I give you a world full of people who wish you happy and send you love before your eyelids are properly developed. I give you never alone. Never without someone to talk to. Someone to hold you. Someone to promise you that if they can't fix it or answer it or find it, then uncle someone will or auntie someone else will help you find the truth yourself. And Uncle Fish will beat the haters up. Or teach you the strength that poetry takes to avoid the fight in the first place...

You will learn what it means to love all people and expect the best. Because it's important. People will try to talk you out of your nature. Fuck them. Follow your heart. Believe.

And there is so much for you to love.

And your mother and your father will always provide for you a world full of colored things.

Until it is time for you to build your own world... create your own colors.

I want you to believe in the impossible.

I want you to believe that it is all possible.

I didn't think you were possible. I didn't think I could fall in love with someone I never met.

So don't worry, kid. Work on figuring out your genitalia. We got the rest covered.

Love and stuff,

Mother Dear.

P.S. You don't have to be a doctor if you don't want to, Auntie Lara is just talking crazy. But I will have to stage an intervention if you become a Republican. That's where I draw the line.

Goal No. 12,543 - lower. my. voice.

2006-06-23T09:19:00.000-07:00

Trula - 34
Cleveland, OH
3 children - 2 boys (8), (11), 1 girl (17)

I remember reading somewhere about how when women want to improve their communication with men in the workplace, the first thing to do is not ever raise your voice. This is because when women get upset our voices tend to get higher and higher and sound very strident and whiney. Which apparently men find very irritating.

I figured this is probably true of children, because I have noticed my children getting a pained expression on their faces sometimes when I am telling them to do something. And sometimes they’ll ask me why I am shouting and I don’t even realize I have raised my voice. So lately I have been working on speaking to them in a lower tone of voice.

The effect has been marvelous.

When I tell them to do something, they take notice and do it right away. I realize now that they had gotten used to tuning out my ‘strident’ voice, which would cause me to tell them a second time, with my voice even higher and more buzzing. If I had to tell them a third time, oh man, I sounded very high-pitched.

T-bop told me tht other day that he liked my calm voice very much. That made me feel very happy.

The View From Here

2006-06-19T08:49:00.001-07:00

"Antonio" - 30
Los Angeles, CA
1 child - son (8 mo)

I distinctly remember the first time I heard my mother talk to herself. I will never forget it. I was eight, and I was sitting in my bedroom. She was walking down the hallway in our duplex in a flowery blue dress. I can't remember what she muttered, but I remember seeing her and thinking, "Is she talking to herself now?" The beatings and the weird accusations had gone on for years. I didn't know it then, but my mother was beginning her descent into a schizophrenia.

If anything, my father was my "mother." Though my parents divorced when I was only two years old, my brother and I remained very close to our father, spending our weekends and holidays with him. For us, it was a respite from the whirlwind of life with our mother. He loved, he cooked, he cleaned, he instructed, he nurtured, he did homework. Everything I have and believe, I owe to him, and I thank God for him every single day. Because of his example I cannot, for the life of me, understand how a man can abandon his child.

For a long time, I was mad at my mother. When I was in college, I would often dream that she was healthy. I would picture her and I on a bridge together, and her hair would be flowing, her face glowing in the sun. I'd wake up in the middle of the night thinking, "Wow! She's healthy!" Then, a few moments later, I'd realize it was just a tortuous dream.

My mother and I have now switched positions: I take care of her; I pay her bills; she calls me to ask permission to go to the store; I take her to the doctor. In many ways, she acts like the baby. No longer in a constant rage, she's now a little old lady who doesn't want any trouble. On my instructions, she calls me everyday to check in. Sometimes, I'll be in a big meeting and I'll look down and see "Mom Calling" on my cellphone. Though I still have pain from the past, I don't dwell on it. Instead, I chose to love her for giving me life. This realization did not come easily, but rather over years of prayer, reading, self-analysis, meditation and conversations with my wife. I forgive my mother for being sick, because it was out of her control.

My relationship with my mother has made me a more sensitive man. Though I'm strong and disciplined, I am also understanding and compassionate. My son is eight months old and I don't think I really understood what unconditional love was until he was born. Yes, I love my wife, and very much, but my love for my son is inexplicable. There is no greater feeling for me than laying in bed with him, playing and babbling. My relationship with my mother, and it's effect of forging a closer bond between my father and me, makes me a better, more sensitive father--and husband. I'm the type of dad that wants to be home every night to read bedtime stories. I don't want to miss football games because my dad didn't. So, in many ways, my son will benefit from my childhood experiences with my mother.

A Mowhawk Mentality

2006-06-12T16:33:00.000-07:00

Ama - 30
Raleigh, NC
1 son (3)

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 in 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 surroundings 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 stylish - in a trendy, 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.

perfect journey stories

2006-06-05T12:27:00.000-07:00

Bea - 34
New York
2 children - 1 boy (9), 1 girl (5)

June 16, 2002

Today I was given the rare opportunity (at least one that I took the time to observe) to appreciate the great blessing and wonder that being a parent is. It started with Scooby Doo. Forest and the kids and I went to see Scooby Doo at a movie theatre uptown. Well, Forrest and Justin went to see Scooby Doo while I sat in the lobby entertaining my 14 month old daughter who did not seem to get the value of being entertained in a pitch black room by a talking dog. While we were having our own brand of fun, there was another mother in the lobby, a demure, doting Asian woman cradling a tiny baby girl, we exchanged pleasantries; babies names and ages, weight and propensity for hyper-activity – and the universal topic of sleeping through the night; no one ever seems quite happy with how it’s going no matter what stage they’re in. (In fact, earlier that day another couple swore that their four month old had been transformed into a non-sleeper as a result of a trip taken to the mid-west. They were hoping that a return trip would rectify a very bad situation. Any trick will do.)

The Asian woman and I continued at our exchange of small talk when suddenly the conversation of how far my children were apart in age, and how she started her family off with two dogs and a bird, turned into a confession of how she had been trying to have a baby for seven years. My heart slipped. I knew that I was about to hear a familiar story; one I had seen on television and read in magazines hundreds of times and right before me, willing to put a family to this story was this woman and her miracle baby – this is actually what she called her – and she was sincere and grateful with her sweet baby in her arms. “Four times we did it,” she said.; one artificial insemination and three in vitro-fertilizations. “You can’t work when you’re doing it either,” she confessed. She talked about the stress, the strain on her marriage, her fear and the physical turmoil of staying at home in bed for nine months.

Weight was the first thing that came to my mind. I wanted to ask her how much weight she gained, but I knew before the question was even fully in my mouth that weight was something that only women who could make babies on their own would be worried about. Her issue was a matter of creation. She was a woman who would risk it all, in fact had, in order to be a mother; whatever it takes, whatever it costs, no matter the time. I mentioned a couple that I knew of in the same situation. “They finally adopted,” I told her with encouragement in my voice. But she was resolute, “That is the way for some people,” she said matter-of-factly. “There are lots of children who need good homes but we went ahead.” And after speaking of the test of endurance she and her marriage had gone through she smiled broad and triumphant, “And I will go again very soon.” No question about it; confidence soaring. The doctor told her to wait six months. She went back, she said, in two.

There was a beauty to her determination. A grand pride in her accomplishment. She had won the race not given to the swift or strong but to her for endurance.

I will love and cherish my family and children not as a result of the difficulty I had to experience in order to obtain them but for the very opposite reason. Because it was - they were - easy and perfect and right on time.

The 11th Commandment

2006-05-25T11:18:00.000-07:00

Jamila -23
Illinois
1 child - girl (11 mo)

As a young single mother I have become accustomed to people, particularly older women, constantly trying to usurp my authority.

Case in point: I told a woman that I did not want my daughter drinking kool-aid. Why did this women insist that my daughter needed kool-aid and attempt to give it to her anyway - right in front of my face?

Another case in point: I told my aunt that I did not want her placing stickers into my daughters first year calender because it was something that I wanted to do myself. Why did this women put the stickers on the calender anyway?

Tonight I told my mother that I did not want my daughter doing something that my mother wanted her to do. So, while I am ironing my mothers jeans, why does she allow my daughter to do what I had told her several times I did not want my daughter doing. And then my mother laughs and says she let her do it because I've done things in the past that she didn't want me to do.

I'm angry and I'm giving my mother the cold shoulder until I leave this house on June 12th.

While I type this post my mother is sitting behind me on my bed trying to have a conversation with me and frankly, I'm not having it. Furthermore, for the entire remaining duration of my vacation I am not going to allow my mother to babysit. Just because I am a young mother does not give people the right to go behind my back and try to parent my child in a way that I have made explicitly clear I do not want my child being parented.

If they will not respect my wishes they will not be allowed to be alone with my child. PERIOD.

Dignity

2006-05-22T23:47:00.000-07:00

Kenya* - 28
Newark, NJ
1 daughter (19 mo)

I got the call on thursday night, as the clock neared midnight. She was having mild contractions, and she didnt want to be alone. I made the 80+ mile trip, tired from the days' festivities, and sat in the dark as she tried to sleep. We breathed, we rocked, i rubbed her hips with almond oil as she raised and lowered her fingers in time with the chants. I held her in the shower as she swayed. I brushed the hair from her brow as she cried.

She was a wild animal in her "sacred" habitat... there was incense burning - sandalwood - and a rubber pool. There were grapes and nasty brown rice crackers that we laughed at and I refused to try. We sat on her bed, piled with pillows, and talked about how powerful being a woman can be.

The phone went out because of the rain, and we kept the lights off. She shouted the title of the next cd that should be put on the stereo. Decency was not a thought at all as we stood near the windows - one nude, one clothed but still soaked from the shower - and moaned the word "ooooooOOOOOPEN!"

We went to 7-11 for slurpees.

And it took hours upon hours upon hours. But the opening gave way to pulsing, screaming, thoroughly electric energy.

And he was there. And we sat in awe.

So beautiful.

Welcome to the world, Adonai.

*Kenya is a Doula in the New Jersey area. She writes about motherhood at Me vs. Rut

Give Me Some Skin

2006-05-17T22:16:00.000-07:00

Trula - 34
Cleveland, OH

3 children - 2 boys (8), (11), 1 girl (17)

There is great power and affirmation in raising black children in a racist culture who are conscious and proud of who they are; who have no desire to be white or look white or 'act' white, any of that. And by acting white I don't mean what you sound like or what kind of music you listen to or whatever. It's the conscious imitation of what some people think white folks are like...it's hard to put my finger on but I know it when I see it.

When I was a child I didn't want to be white, but I had a difficult time being the only black child in my school class or at camp. I felt singled out a lot of the time and I got easily upset and flustered at questions about my skin color, hair texture, slavery, etc.

My kids don't have that and it knocks me out. They don't have the apprehension around white people that I had at similar ages. They have a confidence in themselves that took me decades to master. Little things...like one time Scott had this white friend over and they were coloring. The boy asked Scott to pass him the 'skin color' crayon. So Scott passed him a brown crayon, he didn't even blink. The kid was like, no I meant my skin color. Scott then says, "you should have said so, because when you say skin color I automatically think of brown. I'm brown and most people in the world are brown." The kid was like, "I didn't know that!" Then they started talking about their Yugioh cards.

I didn't say anything...I was just knocked out by how Scott responded to that. When I was a kid I hated it, absolutely hated it when white kids started that 'skin color' crayon nonsense. Me at that age? I would have just passed the peach crayon and felt upset in silence, because I would have assumed that's what they meant...even though my own skin is brown.

Scott's response tells me that he is viewing the world from his perspective as a black person, not the skewed, reflected perspective of white people. It didn't even occur to him to care or wonder if the white boy would get upset if he passed him the brown crayon. I think being freed from caring what white people think is an important step in achieving black consciousness. For black children who never have this 'caring what white folks think' mentality, there is no telling what they can/will do as adults.

Scared of my own damn people

2006-05-15T19:43:00.000-07:00

Shawna
Bronx, N.Y
3 children - 2 boys (15), (11) and 1 girl (9)

I was thinking of homseschooling my son. As you can imagine there are many reasons, but when push comes to shove, I think I have to admit that fear of Black people has led me to this decision. Now, I won't say fear of my people is the only reason, but it is a big reason; maybe sixty to seventy percent of the reason.

My youngest son Shane will be entering junior high school this fall and that scares me to death. Not only is the New York City school system overcrowded and understaffed, but its is woefully inept and dangerous as hell. Junior high school and high school was bad when I went and some twenty years later, it has only gotten worse.

I live near a junior highschool, the one my son is suppose to be attending this fall and what I see from these kids every afternoon when I am picking up my children is enough to scare any Mother and scared I am.

But not just me, my son is scared as well.

Every afteroon I am treated to my daily dose of cursing, fighting and stealing. These kids have the filthiest mouths and aren't afraid to use them…. even on adults.The young guys (usually Black) are always either fighting (attacking someone) or looking for a fight. I often overhear their conversations and it always has something to do with "F**king dat nigga up". But the person who has it the worse is the poor guy who runs the corner store. It is his place of business that these guys come to, to steal. I see dudes in there with cellphones and the most up to date gear, stealing twenty-five cent juices.

I have been witnessing this for years and it has progressively gotten worse.We now have cops rolling through the neighborhood telling kids to go home over the bullhorn, and as I watch these guys loitering around I can't help wonder where their parents are. When I got out of school I was expected to be home by a certain time and God help my behind if I was not.

I wrote all this to say, that I never thought the day would come where I would fear my own people but that time has indeed come. Actually, I don't fear them, I fear what they will do to my child and the effects it will have on him and his education.

You can't learn in a school or classroon that is out of control.You can't learn if you fear going to school. You can't learn if you fear being attacked or called names for actually doing your work and trying to get an education. It's not talked about much, but I think a good number of kids who drop out of school do so out a fear.It's not just the bad kids or hoodlums who drop out.Many kids simply fear for their lives.I knew many such kids when I was in school and I don't plan on allowing this to happen to my son.

Homeschooling my son is not a done deal as private school or maybe even Catholic school is an option his Dad and I are keeping open. But my heart is definitely set on schooling him myself. Not only do I think I can do better job and give him that one on one attention he could never get in a NYC classroom, but as you might imagine from what I posted above, he would be a lot safer and that is what matters to me most.

Something special (and funny) for Mother's Day

2006-05-14T19:49:00.000-07:00

On Friday May 12, upon picking my five-year-old daughter up from her preschool, I received the following Mother's Day card:

FRONT:

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY !!!!!

We only have one Mom, one Mommy, one Mother in this world.
Don't wait for tomorrow, tell her you love her today.

INSIDE LEFT:

This is what my mommy looks like:

(the teachers asked the children to cut a photo from a magazine of what their mother looks like...I'm sure this choice has more to do with the number of times we have watched Brown Sugar than any actual resemblance on my part to Ms. Lathan, but I could have done worse.)

INSIDE RIGHT:

One thing I like about my mommy's food is....
"Her Macaroni and cheese."

One thing I like about my mommy's hair is...
"That it is black and she braids it."

I love my mommy because....
"She is smart and decent."

DECENT???!!!! (*note above that my daughter is five)

How hilarious and gracious (and observant if I do say so myself)!

I hope your Mother's Day was as filled with joy, gratitude and fun as mine.

Approaching Zion - Pt. 1

2006-05-10T09:34:00.000-07:00

Anonymous - 30
New York, USA
Approaching Zion (5 weeks along)

Jasai,

Hi. I just got through reading your blog and Being Mama Daily and I felt the need to talk to you. I don't know if you remember but about two weeks ago, I responded to a comment you left in my journal and I was pretty vague. In complete confidence, I just wanted to talk to you a bit about your experiences as a mother. I know your last entry said that you are married. I was wondering if you were married with your first child as well…

quiet quiet quiet: but I just found out that I'm five weeks pregnant. And your last comment [you look beautiful and happy in these photos] caught me right when I was trying to decide what I was going to do. The site and the stories and a combination of other things led me to make the decision to be a mother. The timing is all wrong and it's the last thing I would have chosen but it chose me for a reason.

I'm just reaching out to all the mamas I can find because I'm so conflicted and confused but still somehow feel like I'm doing the right thing despite feeling like I have nothing to offer this child right now.

So yeah… I would love to talk to you about this if that's okay.

Thanks,

*This new mama needs a bit of our shelter, warmth, light.

Motherhood: an Intimate Portrait

2006-05-07T21:19:00.000-07:00

Angel - 36
Maryland
1 boy (5), 1 girl (9)

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll make it through this. I can’t help thinking about the woman I met six months ago, who said she had three children, technically four, but one—her daughter—has been missing for so long that it feels like only three. Who would have thought that when her daughter asked her to keep the children for a while because she needed a break, that “a break” would mean twenty-five years. Who would have thought that the last person who saw her would be a neighbor, peeking through the blinds, watching as she tossed three packed suitcases into the trunk of a mustard yellow Camaro in the middle of the afternoon, and drove off into forever with a man that wasn’t her husband, the house behind them in the distance full of only the things she couldn’t carry or didn’t want at all.

I don’t know which is harder: to raise my daughter in a misogynist society that sees her—us, women in general, black women in particular—as nothing but flesh, deserving of abuse or servitude or both, always good enough to follow but never good enough to lead; or my son in the same society that urges him to be the macho misogynist; a low achieving, low expectation, low morale society that never puts its money where its mouth is; one that wants nothing from the black man but buffoonery, always putting black men in dresses and calling it entertainment or behind bars and calling it justice.

African American parents bear a burden unlike any other. There are so many layers we must dig through, analyze, inspect before we can ever get to the heart of a matter:

Did she not make the swim team because she’s black and better than half the children on the team, all of whom are white? Or was it really too late to apply?

Did they pass him over for the job because he’s black or is the other candidate truly more qualified?

Is the school failing because it’s predominately black and the expectation is low, or is it just a bad school with a bad administration and frustrated teachers?

Does he really have ADHD or is he being targeted because he’s black, misunderstood, bored in a school system that’s stuck in a time warp—a 24 year old inexperienced teacher’s daily target?

And when racism is the issue there is the work of dealing with that even before we can even get to helping our children. Not only does the work take time and sometimes money, it depletes the invaluable resource of emotional energy that could be better spent with our children—loving them, nurturing them, teaching them.

The Black mother rarely leaves the hospital nursery—newborn baby swathed in blankets, proud papa by her side—with this reality in her head. Somehow she envisions, or at least hopes for, a world better for her child; a world made better, now, because her child is in it. She has dreams, like all others, of her child being a business owner, a lawyer, a doctor, a teacher, an astronaut, a dancer, a writer—anything but another statistic. Anything but a caged bird behind wired bars; a body swinging from a pole in a dark, smoky nightclub full of salivating men waving wrinkled dollar bills. Anything but the name on a headstone, the bull’s eye target of a misguided bullet.

Never does she dream of the battle that it inevitably becomes, no matter what socioeconomic level she finds herself upon; never does she realize the switcheroo game she’ll be playing for the rest of her life—soft and nurturing one minute, battle gloves on the next.

We come from a tradition of excellence: of being better, expecting better, achieving better. We come from a tradition of community: each one, helping one. We come from a tradition of faith: we will survive. We are a people, and, as Alice Walker once wrote about her quest to find the burial place of Zora Neale Hurston, a people do not throw their geniuses away. Inside our homes, tucked in their beds, are geniuses in the making. Astronauts ready to make the next trek to the moon, engineers ready to design bridges and tunnels and roads, scientists ready to really cure diabetes, writers and thinkers and painters, ready to define what art truly is. That we are even here, at this moment, despite all the blows we’ve been given as a people, is a testament to the strength we have, to the champions we are; to that rod of steel placed in our backs from the very beginning, by our mothers and their mothers and their mothers too.

When I feel like I just can’t go anymore, I head to the corner, get a swish of water in my mouth through meditation, get my gloves tightened through prayer, even give myself a minute just to cry, to lighten this heavy load. Then I head back in, re-energized, re-focused and ready. Giving up is never an option. Not for me, not for my children, not for my ancestors, not for the generations to come. We are a people, and a people do not throw their geniuses away.

"It's hard when all they want to be are rappers and football players." - Elementary School Principal, LAUSD

2006-05-02T18:57:00.000-07:00

Jasai - 30
Los Angeles, CA
2 children - 1 boy (11), 1 girl (5)

I. Am. Done.

This is what I feel after a week of having been pissed, blown away, astounded, dumbfounded and down right numb with disbelief; just tired, heart sick. And oh yeah... DONE!

I am the parent of a child being educated in the Los Angeles Unified School District. Undoubtedly one of the worst, most inept, racially marginalized school districts in this nation.

I will not belabor the particular incident that sent me to this place – it causes me anxiety that I would not wish on my worst enemy but suffice it to say, as a result, I demanded a meeting with the brand new principal of my son’s school.

In short, what will follow are the words out of his mouth after having spent nearly twenty minutes discussing how my son was volunteered for a program that acts as an indicator to future schools and administrators of a child with learning/behavior issues in the classroom:

J: Let me be frank with you Mr. McGee, I have an issue with the way that it seems that black boys in this district are systematically held to an expectation of underachievement or considered to have, at the slightest hint of misbehavior, some larger emotional, social or psychological issue. Issues that would rarely if ever be attributed to their white counter-parts when exhibiting similar behaviors.

His face reddens, he breathes deep...

Mr. M: Well Mrs. M, let me be honest with you, there are a lot of imperfections in our district, as in every district. Teachers and administrators are people and people unfortunately often have biases. It is difficult for some teachers when they try to reach little African American boys that come from the inner city or ...the projects. When they don’t have fathers in the home or strong male figures it is difficult to get their attention.

J: (nodding) uh huh

Mr. M: When all it seems that these little boys want to be is football players or rappers, the teachers feel as if they do not want to learn.

J: My husband is in the home. And the little boys who do not have fathers in the home should not be punished with low-expectations and generalizations by teachers who are uncomfortable with them or ambivalent about their futures.

Mr. McGee: Your right Mrs. M and it takes people that will keep sounding the bell, saying something so that one day things will change.

J: Well, since my daughter will be starting here next year, I think this school should be about the business of educating its teachers and faculty about the realities of dealing with people unlike themselves. They should maybe get some training in diversity as the face of this school is becoming more diverse every year.

Mr McGee: (nodding slowly) Yes we... well we would like to see things improve and we need people to keep sounding the horn on things like this.

The conversation went on like this for much longer than I would impose on you. And at the close of it, when I informed him that I was a writer, knew the power of words and a carefully placed letter or two and would be looking into getting some diversity training at our school, he winced out a smile and asked underneath a bit of nervous laughter:

Mr. McGee: You wouldn’t like to come and talk to the kids about writing would you?

J: Sure I would. You set it up.

______________________________________________________

If you are the mother of a little black boy or young man I implore you to sit down with him and ask him the following questions. Encourage him to be open and honest about his feelings as they relate to school.

There is a plague on our houses - on our communities. A plague that will surely wipe us out if we do not become brave, speak up, take nothing for granted and insist that the educational system that we invest our hard earned dollars in, do a full and fair job of educating our children, especially our boys. We demand it and will stop at absolutely NOTHING and NO ONE, to get it.

ASK YOUR SON

1.) How do you feel about school?

2.) What do you think your value is to the educational system.

3.) What value do you think education plays now and will play in the future for you?

4.) How do you think the educational establishment (teachers, principals) views you?

5.) If you could change one thing about the way you are being educated on a day to day basis, what would it be?

6.) What is your favorite subject?

7.) What do you want to be when you grow up?

Send your son’s responses to Jasai at 3727 W. Magnolia Blvd, Box 406, Burbank, CA 91505. Be sure to include his name, age, grade and the school district he is being educated through. We can do this mamas. We can make them listen. We can make a change. We can make the difference. If we don't, no one else will.

Please forward this post (by clicking the envelope below) to every mama you know. Got mama friends with no email? Print it and pass it around.

redemption vs. red socks

2006-04-30T23:28:00.000-07:00

April 26, 2006

Salina - 34
Los Angeles, CA
1 child – son (11)

I need to share with someone. I just found this blog. This is the first time ever that I am blogging but today I had such a remarkable moment with my son.

He's eleven going on twelve and today was an amazing day. I see he's becoming more open and comfortable; not an easy task when you're a Cancerian boy being raised by a Cancerian mom - no buffers to assuage the dramatic mood shifts and the maelstrom of manic-like behavior I sometimes rain down on him. After my periodic ranting and raving ends, I apologize, telling him that mom is just "having one of those days". That he is the greatest and most wonderful human being I know. I can tell he believes me, but still, there's the ambivalence about how much he can and should say sometimes.

He never really knows how the dirty clothes balled up in the drawers, the missing homework assignments, the uneaten lunch stuffed under the car seat in his effort to destroy evidence of wasted food, or even the occasional lies, will affect me. On a good day, we can just talk about it, I encourage him to reflect and keep becoming his highest self. On those dark days where I wake alone in a bed, after ten years of single parenthood; those days when the palpable loneliness, albeit self-induced, overwhelms me, I snap, yelling, screaming, and literally pressing him into a corner. I'm loud; so much that my voice alone can send him into paroxysms of fear and shaking. Of course my heart breaks and I go crying in the bathroom, cursing myself for not being able to talk with him; for showing those traits and ways of the adults who tormented and tortured me as a child.

Yesterday however, was a new day. I explained to him that mommy's yelling and screaming is never okay. I apologized for the example it sets, told him about PMS, and the fact that I battle clinical depression. It's not him, it's me.

"Is there medicine you can take for PMS mom? Is there something you can take to make your moods better?" A wonderful, brilliant young man he is.

I assured him that on those days, I would speak less, and breathe more slowly, so as to not get near the brink again. This was a revealing moment - in his eyes was the hope that my words were sincere. Never again I decided, would I allow my anger to amplify my voice to the level that it broke my child's spirit. Never again would I allow my battle to compromise the relationship between my son and me. The thought that he, would become as I: the proverbial mother-less child, unable to even speak to Her. We talked some more and I could see that he believed me.

The Universe gave me my first test this morning. I noticed he had on red socks, a direct clash with his standard school uniform, and basically a potential threat to his safety. Today was a sad morning, so rather than joke, I asked him directly – “Why?”

“No clean socks,” he assured me, forgetting that I had just done laundry four days ago. "None in my drawer. I didn't see any clean socks."

I took a deep breath, remembered our deal, and calmly told him to go and find socks. After a few minutes too long he appeared, clean white socks in hand. This was the moment of truth. How would I respond? I didn't. I simply said "I need to trust you, and it's hard when you don't tell the truth." My response was met with a stunned silence. He looked at me, swimming in relief. "Ok mom. They were hard to find ‘cause they were in a different drawer. I didn't look hard."

The great mommy debate: remixed

2006-04-27T11:21:00.000-07:00

April 24, 2006

Britni--25
Los Angeles, CA
1 son (6months)

Last night my aunt (my babysitter) called to say she couldn’t watch my son today. And of course, I don’t have a backup sitter. Although it is frustrating to be given such short notice and have to take off work, hanging out with my son is a welcomed break. A few weeks ago, the same thing happened, but instead of taking two days off, I worked from home. I am thankful that my job provides some flexibility, but staying home--even for a day--always makes it harder to return to work.

I know I’m not alone. All throughout my pregnancy I read thousands of magazine articles, books, and trolled the ‘net for baby advice. A lot of the time I’d come across articles dealing with the great mommy debate: to work, or not to work. For many of us, the option does not exist. Being as not-so-single, single-mommy, I don’t have a second income to fall back on. I must work. And for now, working means getting up early, dropping off my son, and driving to the office. It’s a routine that I’m used to, but now that I’m a mommy I want something more.

Being on maternity leave was the best vacation I’ve ever had. It also gave me time to reconsider what I thought “work” should be. Getting up every morning and leaving my little one makes me feel as though I am missing out on so much. At six months old he has already grown so much, wiggling and rolling and smiling wider each day. The last thing I want to do is be at work when he takes his first steps or mumbles his first word.

So what’s a mommy to do?

It’s easy for me to dream of working from home, but never realize it. It’s easy to become a worker bee, driving to an office each day and working a job I don’t really enjoy. But I’d rather be the Queen. I’d rather work from home or the park or a beach in Jamaica, while I’m spending time with my son. I want to be able to provide for him, while keeping my sanity and happiness as a woman in tact. I know it will take a little more drive and a little more hustle, but I’m willing to work a little harder to get where I want to be.

Who knows, in a year or two, you may look up and see my name in your favorite magazine’s byline.

breathless. speechless. grieved.

2006-04-24T17:34:00.000-07:00

April 24, 2006

Jasai - 30
Los Angeles, CA
2 children - 1 boy (11), 1 girl (5)

My girlfriend just wrote me and told me that a woman whom I knew well, through and old job, lost her daughter. It took a few moments for it to register, but then it did.

I recall the day it was first whispered at work. Later that week I saw her walk by my office. She did not look her usual lively self, so I called her in. Her baby, her beautiful teenage daughter, just heading off to college, had brain cancer.

She seemed less distressed than me. Her daughter had beat cancer before as a child, and they had the best brain surgeon in world - literally - on the case. This news let me breathe more easily. I googled brain cancer and this doctor incessantly, and I prayed. I left that job shortly thereafter.

That was more than two years ago. And this news, all of these months later sliced me open and gutted me like a fresh fish. I have a daughter. She is five and having her in my life was like having a precious jewel placed in the center of my eye. It is the way I see her no matter what she does or how I feel. I can not imagine this kind of loss…………

Yet my whole heart goes out to my mama-friend who lost her best friend and baby girl. My heart goes out to every mother who has lost a child. May God keep you in his perfect care. Keep your heart in his able hands.

The Life of Wife

2006-04-19T12:27:00.000-07:00

Being Mama Daily has a sister site that tells the tale of what it’s like to be His Wife. The Wife. That Wife. The Life of Wife will be the window inside of married-lady land.

Like Being Mama Daily, The Life of Wife is an interactive site where wives from all over the country will tell their stories, share insights, and vent in the fresh open air of sisters in the struggle or girlfriends in the glee club (depending on what day it is).

To tell your tale, email wifestories@yahoo.com. Be sure to give us your name, the city in which you live and how long you have been married to the man.

I’ll see you there!

Al’s wife
Curator
The Life of Wife

Playing House

2006-04-13T21:55:00.000-07:00

April 09, 2006

Britni - 25
Los Angeles, CA
1 son (6 mo)

This weekend I got a glimpse of what life might look like if my beloved has to go upstate. My family went out of town, so it’s just me and the little one. Although I love having the place to ourselves, I must admit it’s a bit lonely.

I love my son, but there are only so many times I can play peak-a-boo. There are only so many stories I can read. Only so many times I can dance him around the room until I need a break. Who do you turn to when there’s no one to give you a break? I don’t mean that I need a babysitter, I have one. But just an hour or two, a nap, a chance to read a magazine, some alone time so I can regroup and play with him again. Times like these I wish my beloved were here.

What am I saying? I wish he were here all the time. I wish he could play with our son. I wish we could pack up the car and head to the park for a day out. I wish he could give him a bath. Anything. Everything.

Today the little one and I went to target to pick up a few things. When I go to target I love to look around at everything and I usually spend way too much money. But today, I browsed the home stuff—curtains, bedding, bathroom goodies, etc., and all I kept thinking about was “When _____ comes home we’ll decorate our house really nicely.” I kept thinking about our apartment in Brooklyn, and how we picked out everything together. How we decorated it, carried it from Ikea in Jersey (on the subway) and adorned our place the way we wanted.

I miss that. I miss having my own space.

I love my mom for letting me stay and save money, but there’s nothing like having your own space. I feel like our life is on pause. There are so many things I’d like to do, namely move into our own apartment, but I can’t. I don’t want to do anything big until I know what’s going to happen with my beloved. So I wait. And I wish.

*Britni talks about motherhood at http://www.theprisonerswife.blogspot.com

Our version of perfect

2006-04-11T21:32:00.000-07:00

Ebony - 35
Columbus, Ohio
4 Children - 1 girl (9) and 3 boys (4) (1 ½) (3 mo)

I've always wanted to be one of those mothers who was always on the move. Cooking my kids nutritious lunches and dinners. Oatmeal for breakfast on cold days to warm their insides up. House didn't need to be spotless, but presentable at the very least. Taking them to the park to play. I pictured us having picnic dinners in the living room floor "just because" and clean clothes folded and put away nicely in the drawers. You know, very June Cleaver like. Instead I'm very Peggy Bundy like.

But then I never expected to be separated with 4 kids, no car (the bus is no fun with a double stroller let me tell you), no support and getting just enough temp jobs to pay the rent. and. nothing. else.

I'm always rushing to make it out the door by 7 a.m. and when I roll back in at 7 p.m. I sit down and watch Jeopardy. Then I drag myself into the kitchen to make "something" for dinner, then it's of to bed for the kids. The house often doesn't get cleaned until the weekend, if then. I yell more than I want to, read less than I like and want to throw up when I even see a beaver on TV.

Today on the way home on the dreaded bus, as my kids were happily playing with each other, and even my three month old laughed, a woman said, "You got your hands full, but they sure are happy kids." I smiled and thought, "June Cleaver ain't got nothin’ on me."

I may not have turned out to be the mother I always thought I would be, but my kids are healthy and happy and I'm just the mama I need to be.

*Ebony writes about motherhood at www.ebonyblue.blogspot.com

Still holding on

2006-04-11T12:03:00.000-07:00

April 3, 2006

Schunetta Burns-Wilson - 31
Pomona, CA
4 Step-Children: 3 girls (13), (10), (8) and 1 boy (4)

The Sunday School lesson for the week was "Living With Tragedy" so fitting for my life and for what appeared to be a recent tragedy for me.

It’s now been eight weeks and my little munchkin has gone; short lived but yet I trust Him. I am still looking forward to Motherhood, it’s just…. where did you go baby? What happened Lord to the little blessing inside of me?

God answers all prayers and so with that I know and trust that it was not time. Yet again I name it and claim it that Motherhood is coming just for me. As funny as it seems, my husband just doesn’t understand all that I am feeling. Yet I trust that God will work on and through us both to get through what appears to be a tragedy. I often think and daydream about what was wrong with my baby. Was it a girl or a boy dark like mommy or stocky like daddy? Whatever the cause I know the cure is Jesus.

Read Schunetta's previous posts:
What Gratitude Will Get You
Operation: Stepping into Motherhood

To Son, With Love

2006-04-05T21:31:00.000-07:00

Robyn - 35
1 child – son (21 mo)
Southfield, MI

I recently got up the energy to make good on a promise that I‘d made to myself 21 months ago. That is, to write my son letters. Why you ask? I want to chronicle his young years in a way where he can read about them and feel what was going on at that time.

I said that I was going to start when he was born and one day turned into five, turned into five months which turned into today. But doggone it, I am doing it now. I want him to know what his mommy was like when she was ______ years old. I intend to do this once a month or at least once every three months (so that there’ll be something interesting to talk about) because life can get boring and mommies and daddies can get tired, yet he grows and he grows.

I know that he won’t appreciate it when he’s young (unless he turns out to be a very sensitive child), so I don’t intend to show it to him until he gets into high school….maybe college! This will be part of his lineage, part of his legacy to his grandchildren and so on; a documented griot’s version of the most precious time of his and my life. I want him to know me for me; something that time cannot replace or take away. They say the mother/son bond is very strong and I hope this will always serves as a reminder that I am his first love and that I always will be in his corner.

Where's My Dad?

2006-04-03T09:56:00.000-07:00

March 28, 2006

Andi - 47
3 sons - (18), ( 3), (1)
Philadelphia, PA

I am single and I have three kids. The youngest two are adopted. My oldest son sees his dad on a regular basis but the two little guys don't have a "dad". I knew this was going to be an issue for all of us to deal with as they grew older and I have thought about it a lot. I wasn't prepared for Buddy Boy to lay claim to it so young though. He was just past 2 and barely talking in sentences when he started asking "Where's my dad?" He asked me, his grandparents, his teachers... I had to work on my answers and it was hard for me. Imagine how awkward for his teachers.

So I naturally tried to write it down. I decided to make a book about it for him and make copies to share with his grandparents and school, to help them out as well. I used PowerPoint to make a slide show with pictures of all of us in his family and simple, clear text. I printed out the slides and sewed them together with ribbon between cardstock covers. It is one of his favorite books and just yesterday he brought it to me to read when we were having a quiet moment on the couch.

It goes something like this:

Buddy Boy has a big question.
He asks his mom again and again
"Where's my dad?"

"You don't have a dad."

"Why?"

"Because I adopted you and I am single."

"But where is my dad?"

It goes on with him repeating his question over and over and me explaining all about his first parents, with some little tidbits like I know she likes to fix people's hair and she loves music. His bio father played football in high school and wanted to go to college to study psychology. He has me, his big brother, his grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, all who love him. But no dad. Different types of families... you don't have a dad but you have all these people who love you in your family, including your birthparents.

My idea was to give him information about his bio family as well as emphasis how much he is loved in his whole family. Give him his past and ground him in the present. I used the repetion of his question the same way he was using it, to give him a chance to process the information, gather facts and sort out relationships. I think that's how young children think and I hope I gave him enough information and reassurance to build understanding and security. I think it did its job. I illustrated it with photos of our family. I don't have any of his first parents, so I had to be a little creative. I used a rose on his first mother's page and a picture of him with a football on his bio father's page.

It is one of the central facts of his life and one of the things we will always be dealing with. Working on making sure he has role models, learns to be a man and a father, learns about families and love and relationships.... you can go on from there. I approached it from the beginning with talking, listening, writing and reading. My tools. Language, creativity, paper, computers, pictures, words.....

Blessed art thou O Lord our God, creator of the universe and father to the fatherless. We praise you for the gift of language; the path of connection; the flow of love; the net of family. Open our lips and our mouths shall give forth thy praise.

Who Wants to Battle?

2006-03-25T19:40:00.000-08:00

February 18, 2006

Tiffany - 37
Claremont, CA
2 daughters - (6) and (7)

Before I knew it my seven year old daughter was on stage. We were in Los Angeles at Magic Johnson’s Theater at the Black History Month celebration for children. My daughter, who is growing up in Claremont, who is the only black girls in her class, who is not allowed to watch MTV, BET or any other channel that shows a bunch of half dressed black girls doing things that look more like pornography than dancing, is on stage because she had volunteered to battle.

I sat there thinking nothing about this situation could be good. Either she is going to get up there and do a lot of things I find inappropriate or she is not going to do it because she is scared and I don’t know if I can get up there in time to comfort her or save her any embarrassment. As I sit and think I know it is wiser to let her work it out. After all, she did volunteer and I will learn more about her if I sit and observe how she handles the situation. But, at the same time I want to make my way to the front to be near, to position myself so I can snatch her away – if necessary – from the moment. I want to protect her from being scared, and to take away the sense of humiliation she might feel because she cannot dance like them.

I waited, hoping I had made the right decision.

The first girl goes up, gyrating and thrusting and getting all in her opponents face. I see some hesitation in my daughter’s eyes. The second girl goes up; all of four years old. The same thing happens, pelvic thrusts, gyrating, dropping it like it’s hot. You name it, this girl could do it. A lot of the parents laughed and cheered. A lot of us sat and observed silently with our mouths hanging open. I watched the hesitation in my child’s eyes turn into fear. I decided to be wise and let her work it out herself (Even if every muscle in body was ready to bolt to the stage). Before they got to number three she walked up and whispered into the host’s ear that she did not want to do it and took her seat.

WHEW…

She had handled it all by herself and I could stop worrying. When the show was over she ran up to me with a smile on her face and I told her I was proud of her. I told her she was very brave for getting on stage, while at the same time I was relieved to not have seen her compete with these girls who were dropping it like it was hot.

Mamahood: A Beautiful Tale

2006-03-22T21:01:00.000-08:00

Idrissa -53
Newark,NJ
1 daughter - 26

Being Mama for me has been an awesome experience. My pregnancy was one of the happiest times of my life and the following years of raising a little African American princess, with shiny bright eyes and a quick-witted mind, were years of joy and total responsibility which bonded me to the wonderful young woman that my little girl has become.

Yet at the age of fifty three my duties as Mama have become those which I never expected. My adult daughter has been chronically ill for the past few years and I am her primary caregiver. Still, I thank God that I find JOY in my duties with faith and hope that her healing will one day be complete.

My daughter is 26 years old; educated, smart and very assertive. She is a spiritual being with her eye on the Lord despite her many challenges. She has faith that totally amazes me some days. Having struggled through asthma as an infant, juvenile diabetes since she was nine and orthopedic surgeries from a birth defect as a pre-teen, health challenges are not something new to us. But her recent crisis with end-stage renal failure brought new meaning to faith, patience and accepting what is, rather than what we hoped for.

Being Mama daily means that I must witness my child deal with frustrating limitations that would destroy the average person. My daughter is no average daughter and as a result, I am no longer the average Mama. Yet I still find JOY in my mamahood; the many, many hospital admissions, sometimes to the Critical Care Unit, the many medications and dietary restrictions, the home care professionals that invade our privacy are just something that we handle. We refuse to ignore the light at the end of the long tunnel we know as life.

My mother often advised me that motherhood is not something we are ever prepared for. "It's OJT (on-the-job-training) and you just have to do the best that you know how and to trust in the Lord." My mother ain't nevah lied!

It breaks my heart sometimes to see her suffer and to watch her struggle to climb the mountains that face her. As much as I want to I can not climb those mountains for her. But I am committed to climbing with her for as long as she needs me. Her faith is unwavering (even when mine is shakey) and I am encouraged by how brave she can be.

I am also strengthened by her faith in me; she knows that like God, I will never forsake her nor will I leave her alone. This bond brings me joy in my sadness. It may not be the party that I expected but I am still gonna dance! This is not the life that I would have chosen for she and I but I am still grateful for this life, for this journey of being a Mama to one of the most exceptional daughters in the world.

A mother's love has no boundaries. We give all that is needed no matter how deep we have to dig to find it. We find joy in our ability to be the Mama that God meant for us to be and we find strength in His absolute love.

Mama=equals love!

Mama Lesson #1,3206

2006-03-20T20:22:00.000-08:00

March 1, 2006

Lisa – 30
Loganville, GA
4 Children- 3 Girls (11) (4) (18 Mo) 1 Boy (5)

We've had some beautiful weather lately and the kids have enjoyed every minute of it. I remember as a kid I used to love playing outside. I was a little 'tomboy', that's what I was called. I used to climb trees and fences. I would play basketball and touch football because growing up in Brooklyn we didn't have much grass to play in. I used to love racing. We would do relay racing and one on one racing and some how I would always win or be one of the best.

It's funny, that's how I like to look at my life today. Win or be one of the best in everything I do. With so much to do I've been wondering lately on how can I be the best at it all. How can I always win?

Today however I realized that I can't always win and be the best. I realized that I can just be my best.

Mothering-Absolutely the most rewarding job there is, although I may not see those rewards until years and years and years later. For now I at times feel unappreciated and even over-looked. Yet, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Home Schooling-Courage, courage, and more courage. I don't think the question of "are they getting all that they need"? ever goes away, but experience tells me they must be because they surprise me all the time with how much they know.
Home Based Business-Now there's a challenge that I still haven't been able to figure out how I even fit it in. I've learned to do what I can and just keep moving.

Keep Moving!

What's in a name?

2006-03-16T18:01:00.000-08:00

November 12, 2005

Jasai - 30
Los Angeles, CA
2 children - 1 boy (10), 1 girl (4)

“When I have a son I'm gonna name him Joseph Darnell Curtis Zephryn Morris.”

This is what my ten-year-old son tells me this morning during a pause in his weekend chores.

I lose my breath.

Does this mean that he is going to abandon his children like the namesakes he calls upon to guide his would-be child’s way in the world. Poor baby; great-grandfather, grandfather, father, gone. Will the male inherits of my family be doomed to the curse of wandering and irrepressible selfishness? Should I know that like hair texture and eye color, propensity-to-leave is what comes with the package labeled “who we are” and it was simply that first choice of procreating with ‘him’ that has lead me to this. I have to believe something else. I have to believe it or I will be forever grieved.

How does this happen? What is it that makes this precarious, invisible connection so dense and weighty?

*names have been changed to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent

Caught!

2006-03-15T23:04:00.000-08:00

December 19, 2005

Frieda - 41
Avon, CT
3 children - Girls (16), (15) and (11)

If you teach the perils of procrastination to your children............

but do not yourself avoid procrastination, what does that make you? A hypocrite? Nice - a procrastinating hypocrite! Very nice Frieda.

It is 12:06 a.m. and I have been up all night doing last week’s work.

what gratitude will get you

2006-03-13T23:39:00.000-08:00

March 9, 2006

Schunetta - 31
Pamona, CA
1 baby (en route)
4 step children - 3 girls (13), (10), (8) and 1 boy (4)

It seems like just yesterday when I talked to my Heavenly Father and expressed to him: MOTHERHOOD. It also appears that just yesterday I wrote about my wonderful step-children.*

Growing up in church you always hear "He may not come when you want him but he is always on time." Boy oh boy is that the case! At the same time I have been struggling with this whole weight thing so that when God does bless me with a child I won’t be so fat.

Well, all that was so until March 08, 2006 when hubby and I went walking casually through Target. We purchased a home pregnancy test and look-a-there! a little “coming to the world!” I immediately went to the Dr. this morning to be reassured of what I saw last night. So motherhood was claimed and now it is being received. Lord I just want to thank you for all that you have done for me. God is good all the time. All the time God is Good!

*see Schunetta's previous post

Little Brothers = Big Love

2006-03-13T22:18:00.000-08:00

March 8, 2006

Trula - 34
Cleveland, OH
3 children - 2 boys (8), (11), 1 girl (16)

My sons think the sun rises and sets on their big sister. She is

5 1/2 years older than Scott, 8 1/2 years older than Todd. My kids have always enjoyed hanging out together but the past couple of years she has, naturally, wanted to spend more and more of her free time with her friends. My sons have expressed missing her. This past Saturday we spent the entire day together and it was grand. She was a little grouchy at first and complained of wanting to be with her friends, but she soon got over it and
spent time playing with her brothers. I asked them, what did you like best about today? and Scott and Todd said: Everything but especially seeing Iyende all day.

The Little Match Girl

2006-03-11T10:58:00.000-08:00

Anonymous - 32
Los Angeles, CA
3 children - 2 boys (10) (11 mo), 1 girl(6)

I am a woman, wife and mother, in awe of a man’s mind. A tangible man, an easily accessible man.

A man who is not my husband.

This poses some true challenges. How to excavate a beautiful and promising intellectual companionship when the only tools you have at your immediate disposal are ones that you know will surely and permanently destroy everything?

Why I love my daughter: Reason # 98,454,753,356

2006-03-09T11:54:00.000-08:00

February 08, 2006

Kenya - 28
Newark, NJ
1 daughter (15 mo)

Because I get to experience everything - EVERYTHING - a second time. Life, through new eyes. I get to see what is joyous about a rolling ball. I get to clap at the discovery of bending over and peering at the world, through your legs, from an up-side-down vantage. I get to make razzberries and giggle my head off. I get to feel the thrill of a first plane ride. I get to taste pure honey. I get to stand in awe at the epcot ball.

I find simple delights in everything now. I get to do the first day of school, the first school play, the first recital. The first really cool big girl bed. The first... oh, so many firsts, all over again...
looking at life from both sides; my daughters gift to me. And I thank every god there is that I finally have this opportunity. I will never take my fortune for granted.

I look at her and literally cry from happiness, as she stretches her arms to the pillow and tells it about her day. I secretly delight in her frustrations over not being able to figure something out, because that means that I get to watch the eventual "lightbulb moment." (I also like to poke her till she swats at my hand and says "mmmBAkup!" guess I didnt get enough of doing that to my little brother when I was young! ha!)

I love her. I know that that goes without saying, but ohhhhhh, she is the most beautiful thing and I love her so much I want to go shout it to the world!

But instead, I think we will just sit here and cuddle.

Glad to share in his world

2006-03-07T19:34:00.000-08:00

January 13, 2006

Pat - 36
San Mateo, CA
3 children - boy (8), twin girls (3)

Buster wanted to know if (insert celebrity name here) was a lesbian.

Buster is eight.

My husband - after I replied that I thought she was, as I had read so in a magazine – asked me where he would get such terminology. I eyed him suspiciously to see if he was kidding. Not long ago it had been legal in San Francisco for gays and lesbians to marry (that’s one place) and The “L” Word is a very popular show on Showtime about Lesbians (that another place). And although we don’t have Showtime, The “L” Word has commercials on E! This is where he would hear the word lesbian.

But the fact that he would come and ask me such a question without a moments hesitation makes me proud, makes me feel like I am giving him the tools he needs to feel confident and trust that I can be trusted with his thoughts; his curious nature.

Meet Mr. Wiggles

2006-03-07T06:32:00.001-08:00

March 1, 2006

britni - 25
Los Angeles, CA
1 son (4 mo)

Little O cracks me up. I love to watch him wiggle. He does that a lot now. I put him on his tummy so he can learn to crawl, but he flips over and ends up wiggling around like a little beetle stuck on his back. Cute. Even when I’m tired and hungry and not in the mood to laugh, he can make me smile like I just had some kool-aid.

Right now I am at work (um, not working), missing my son’s gummy little smile. Wishing I could tickle his tiny toes and hear the beginnings of his laugh.

He is so beautiful.

And I don’t just say that because he is mine. There is a light in his eyes that I wish had never dimmed from mine; so innocent, pure and playful.

I will try to protect him.

I will try to preserve his giggles for as long as I can.

Too Two

2006-03-05T09:59:00.000-08:00

February 28, 2006

Kellie - 30ish
Cleveland, OH
1 daughter (2)

I never thought I would liken mommydom to my favorite pair of jeans. It feels as though I’ve lost ten pounds and I’m back in, only it’s Prophet, my daughter, I’m back into after a rocky introduction to the truly Terrible Twos.

I lost my swagger when they hit. A swagger, let me tell you, I was wearing like those shoes you insist on buying although they’re a half size too small. Becoming mommy felt fantastic, confusing, and sometimes cumbersome. But finally, motherhood is starting to fit again.

The first year and half was everything they say, watery eyes with each milestone, lots of phone calls declaring these milestones, and wondering how something so beautiful managed to use me as a portal.

Then there was a birthday. Two has brought some anxiety otherwise known as reality, into this wonderful life. A very independent, mini- fashionista, who already has a favorite color and shoe, has emerged. Which pajamas she will wear to bed is even a struggle! But these battles have taught me what is important, or more appropriately, what is not; so what they’re not P.J.s – sweatpants? – close enough. As I learn to let go of the specifics, I’m finding that year two is also everything they claim. As my greatest teacher steps into the classroom, let the learning begin.

Finding what she's good at

2006-03-03T11:19:00.000-08:00

February 24, 2006

Tiffany - 37
Claremont, CA
2 children - girls (6) and (7)

I sit with great pride and satisfaction as I watch my youngest daughter flip and tumble and work on the beams and bars during her gymnastics class. Not because she is a natural and executes the movements with great ease, but, because of the very wide grin she has on her face as she does it. First Grade has not quite been the experience I would have hoped for. It is unfortunate because 1st grade is the turning point for all grades to come. Hopefully next year will be better. Hopefully she will get a better teacher who can motivate her. Hopefully she will enjoy it more and be more confident. Hopefully she will learn to think in terms of “I can" instead of "I can’t"

She is somewhat of a timid child with an endless amount of energy. Since she could walk we have watched her flip off the couch, off the bed, or anything else that she thinks is the proper height. She has no fear when it comes to leaps and bounds and flips, but, lots of fears when it comes to lots of other things.

This is the first class she has taken solo. Usually we sign both girls up for the same things; ballet, cheerleading, hip hop, girl scouts… etc. It was not until this year that we decided it was time for them to be separated. We needed to find something in which Ayanna could be successful, something to boost her confidence. Something she would love doing and do so with great pride. Something she could do on her own, without her big sister. Something she is good at.

I think we found it.

Some things I never thought I'd do

2006-03-02T21:31:00.000-08:00

February 9, 2006

Deidre – 22
Los Angeles, CA
1 daughter (3 mo)

I am having so much fun being a mother. Leah is a wonderful baby. It’s everything outside of my relationship with her that frustrates me.

I always knew I would have children and a family but I never pictured myself as a single mom -maybe a divorce down the line (although hopefully not) but never starting out by myself.

Now here I am with my little angel wondering why her father, who was so excited about her coming into this world, is too busy to see her.

I know there are a lot of single mothers and I know I can take care of Leah by myself, but no matter how strong I may seem, I am so hurt inside.

a serene life

2006-02-28T19:20:00.000-08:00

October, 2005

Ekere - 32
New York
1 Daughter - (6 mo)

Serene is a beautiful girl. She is much like I expected based on her behavior in the womb: feisty, hungry, responsive and then suddenly, unpredictably still. She makes me laugh sometimes and want to cry others. What does she need? Why she crying? Why won't she's sleep? Is her diaper wet? Why not? Where did she get that strong set of lungs from?

When she is calm and comfortable, I feel peace beyond peace. When she cries - and she does cry - it stirs something in me that I have never felt.

When I look in her face I know there's nothing I wouldn't do for her.

*Ekere writes about motherhood at www.ekeretallie.com

Who knew?!

2006-02-27T22:00:00.000-08:00

A girlfriend who loves BMD was incredulous when I asked her how come she didn't leave comments for all of the journal entries that she enjoys so much. She furrowed her brow and squeaked, "Who knew you could comment?!"

Cleary there has been some faulty assumptions made on our part.

If you scroll down to the end of each entry and look to the right, you will see the word "comments" with a number just to the left of it. If you click the word "comment" you will see/read all of the things other mothers have had to say about that particular entry.

This is where you come in: to the right of those comments there is an empty box [big, empty box] It is there so that you can talk back to the mothers, co-sign, give an "Amen!" or whatever floats your boat. In any event, there is a place for you to have your say - everytime a new post goes up.

After you type in your comment you need to look just beneath the comment box where you will be asked to choose an identity (don't get nervous) most of you will fall under the catagory of "other" If you want to make an "anonymous" comment, that option exists as well.

After you check "other" a new set of boxes will pop up and ask for your name. You can use your real name, an online alias or the name you always wished your mama had given you - clearly this is your choice.

And when all of that is done press "publish", or if you're really anal like me, press "preview" to check you work (it's an old college habit)

Okay ladies (and gentlemen) if we are all clear now.....let's comment.

Go. now. Scat!

curator-mama
Being Mama Daily

Awakening

2006-02-27T18:00:00.000-08:00

February 23, 2006

Kelly - 28
Columbus, OH
3 children - boys (10), (5) and (4)

Beep ) )
Beep ) ) ) )
Beeeep ) ) ) ) ) )

The alarm clock.

In response I turn over to quickly silence the sound.

Here we go again.

I once read in a magazine devoted to mothers that in order to conserve on time it is better to get fully dressed before you wake up your children. Obviously they didn’t have three cranky boys to get up for school. The complaining begins immediately, as I instruct each child to head toward the bathroom for their morning rituals.

“Mommy I’m cold,” says the bossy five year old which is immediately followed up with, “I don’t want to go to school today.”

Ha! like he has a choice in the matter. Not even diverted from my mission I continue to iron out clothes and gently prod them toward the bathroom. “Michael, get up!” I yell, with just a hinge of intimidation in my voice as my ten year old continues to hide under the covers to avoid the glaring lights. I have to let him know I mean business, or he’ll go right back to sleep. Then there’s my four year old baby, who still tries to use his “naiveness” to fool me into thinking that he can’t do anything for himself. It varies from not being able to find his shoes to not being able to zip up his coat. Everyone at some point has had to assist Kolman in getting ready for school.

In the end we tend to make it; usually on time. With a peck on the lips and a quick “have nice day”, “be good”, or “listen and follow directions”, they’re off to walk the hallways of school without me. And just like that, I can’t wait to see them again.

She who grows up to be mama

2006-02-25T17:24:00.000-08:00

January 27, 2006

Jasai - 30
Los Angeles, CA
2 children - boy (10), girl (4)

Not doing it hurts. Running to the page is like energy. Like sunbursts. Like I’m crossing the finish line with every word and not doing it hurts. Holding off stings, cracks, bleeds, scabs over but never heals. Writing the story out heals. Keeping time and keeping up with the world in my head helps heal me. I did not know I was so hurt by his absence. So sliced open by the void. So blank where he belongs. So sad he’s gone.

My father has been gone for more than twenty years.

If I had a Pasadena Star News I would be able to say exactly how many seconds of absence I have experienced, piled one on top of the other, since he plowed his late model Lincoln or Cadillac into a couples only son, splitting him and me in half.

He died. His family has had to live with that grief.

And I have had to live without mine.

There is no way to carry the grief of an absent father when you are trying to fit into your cliques and bras and skin. There is no clear place to put it so you sit it down. It gets shuffled around until it’s firmly under your step-father’s suspicion. His suspicion that you have lost your mind for slipping his home number to more boys than you can see futures with. But you haven’t lost your mind. You have lost your father; your way, your safe lap. And so you search laps from Pasadena to Muskegon and like that traveling girl with the golden locks, discover that so many of them are too big or too small, too warm or too cold. They are not kind or true and so you swallow the losses; the things you have to leave as toll; currency for the exploration of nothing. Nothing just right. Never. And so “never” is your new song. Never love. Never trust. Never fall for it. Never care. Not ever. But “never” is a kind of paralysis. Never move. Never cry. Never try. Never paint. Never write. Never share. Never help. Never give in, until the absence throws you up like so much bad fruit. And so you swing to the worse; “always.” Always call. Always do. Always cry. Always give. Always believe. Always burn, seethe, peel, tear, never heal – and back again. Spend it all on love (read:sex), then clothes, then books, then therapy, then gas - $2.98 a gallon to drive to a sprawling Lancaster prison and search his face for all of the tiny pieces I need in order to put it together; to fix and fill my life.

Go ahead, ask me. I dare you.

2006-02-23T18:01:00.000-08:00

February 20, 2006

Robin - 31,
Raleigh, NC
1 son (2)

I love my job.
I love my husband.
I love my little boy. He turned 2 in January. He is a joy.

But ohhhh...

Some days I want to come home and not have anything or anybody need something from me. The dog needs me to take him outside, the baby needs his diaper changed and he needs a cup of juice and he needs a snack and he wants to watch the Wiggles and dinner needs to be cooked, dishes need to be washed and put away, the kitchen floor needs to be swept and the laundry needs finishing, the bed sheets need changing, the bathrooms need cleaning, my husband needs me to proofread his website or give him advice on his business, his mother needs us to help her move to her new house, my dad needs me to call him at least once a week, my emotionally needy friends need me to listen to their potential life mistakes but not offer any contrary advice. The first time I sit down is at dinner while I eat. Nobody even thinks to ask what I NEED or WANT…..

I need to pee when I first get home.

But I am mama and I must persevere. I must take a deep breath, and do all that is asked of me. Some days are better than others of course, and it’s nothing I would consider walking away from.

But sometimes I feel like screaming.

Operation: Stepping into motherhood

2006-02-22T17:19:00.000-08:00

February 20, 2006

Schunetta Burns-Wilson - 31
Pomona, CA
4 Step-Children: 3 girls (13), (10), (8) and 1 boy (4)

Wow, to be a mom....

I often wonder what it would be like. I watched my mother struggle as a single parent, doing the best she could with what she had. I often thought,"man oh man she is strong."

I have felt like a young mother at times when I had to watch my little brother; nurture him the best I could while she was away. She would always say "don't worry, just have a little talk with Jesus. It goes a long way." In those days I always told her that I would never call another woman mom. We even joked sometimes about step moms and I always commented, "steps are made to be walked on."

That was until July 31, 2004 when I became a step-mom to four beautiful children who adore me. This helped me realize that I am just that, a step for them. I want them to be able to take the right steps and avoid some of the pitfalls that I had to deal with. I want to help them with making the steps, to do even better than I did and step into every phase of their lives with their heads held high. I truly believe that God is preparing me for my own motherhood, which is to come soon -by faith I claim it.

Oh God, how awesome it is to be a mom. I can’t wait for the times that I can just look into the eyes of what you have made through me, and praise you for all the opportunities that I have to love them. I will do my best to give them back to you as my mom has done with me.

They ain't heavy, they're my babies

2006-02-20T17:16:00.000-08:00

February 19, 2006

Julia - 51
Padsdena, CA
3 children - (33), (30), (21)
5 grandchildren -(10), (7), (4), twin boys (deceased)

My baby just turned 21 on Friday, Feb 17, and it made me take a long hard look at the years when all of my children were growing up. There have been ups and downs, as in any family; disappointment for sure, but the joys far outweighed the disappointments. I truly believe that trials and tribulations make a family stronger. Especially if your perspectives are in the right place and there is unconditional love and commitment.

I have always known that my children have been my saving grace, and no matter how bad things looked, there has never been a time when I regretted having them. Oh! I would have liked a little vacation away from them (which I took as often as possible) or to run away for the day, but for the most part I can truly say that I enjoyed raising my children. They helped to keep my priorities in order, and to realize that at this particular season of my life that it wasn’t about me, but about them.

I thank God that he has blessed me with the love, wisdom, strength and courage to be the best mother I could be in the face of my wonderful blessing. There are things that I wish I could have done differently - most definitely - but there were lessons learned, even in those things I thought were failures on my part.

My children are all very unique and different in their own rights, yet my love for them is unconditional and unwavering. They are all trotting their own paths in life, and I trust God that He will continue to work a good work in them, never give them peace in sin, and that they will love Him with all their hearts. My constant prayer is that they realize and know that “They can do all things through Christ that strengthens them”, and that He has a wonderful plan for their lives; as men and women, son and daughters, sisters and brothers, husbands and wives. I pray that they realize the value of the relationships with the people God places in their lives and to know that there is a lesson to be learned from those relationships. That they to will know the joys of being parents to the fullest.

And God has now so graciously given me 3 wonderful grandchildren to love and nurture. I know that Niem and Nasir are watching over their Nani from heaven. Thank you Lord for the brief precious moment I had with them.

I watch in amazement at the wonderful job my children are doing as parents. Their parenting skills may differ in ways, but I thank God that I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the love that I gave my children continues to flow to my grandchildren, unconditionally and unwavering; it is what truly matters.

God is good

What she'll see when she looks up

2006-02-18T22:05:00.000-08:00

February 10, 2006

Deidre – 22
Los Angeles, CA
1 daughter (3 months)

When people say, “babies change everything” they are so right. Mostly.

My mother and I have never really been close. There have been times when I really needed her and she was too busy with work or her church. At times she has even suggested that I go to other people for help, so I didn’t expect her to be interested in my pregnancy. To my surprise she was.

Reluctantly I allowed her to be a part of my life and spent some time with her. I started to think that maybe I was important to her.

On November 3rd I called my mother to let her know that my daughter, Leah Rose had arrived.

Work # - No answer.

Cell # - No answer.

I kept calling...

I Gave up.

I called my dad. He was there in fifteen minutes. A few hours later I hear from my mother. She tells me she’ll be there after her vanpool gets her to Pasadena.

But not right away.

She has to go to Bible Talk meeting before she can come see her first granddaughter. I was amazed.

Kellie always first.

Am I ever on her radar?

A word from BMD's curator-mama

2006-02-16T19:08:00.000-08:00

Cheers! I am thrilled that you have found your way to Being Mama Daily. In finding this site you have found a unique opportunity to talk shop, say your piece, let your mama-soul blow free in the breeze.

I am here because the experience of conceiving, bearing and raising children has pushed and pulled at my body, mind and spirit so that I looked up one day and found that I was wiser, more centered, braver and more beautiful for having donned the dress and made the trip. This realization has been and continues to be a process. I am here because I imagine that there must be other mothers out there with similar growing joys and pains.

Save for a few that I will mention shortly, there are no rules at BMD. No subject is off limits and any woman who is currently, or has in the recent or distant (especially distant as you surely have something to share) past, raised a black child, we want to hear from you.

Now, some people have asked, “Why women who have raised black children and not just black mothers?” It is for the same reason that I do most things; for my children. For our children. I want black children to finally and out loud, hear the voices of their mothers; the emotion and honest intention in our effort to raise them in a world that can shuffle from promise to pain in a blink. I want them to hear us say we love them and how sometimes that heals or hurts depending on the day. How nothing is more important than their safety and everything that we would give to ensure it, even when we feel threatened or afraid. I want them hear us and I want us to speak to them so that this generation and the next and all of those that will surely follow, will know that we did our best and even then, for us, it never seemed like quite enough. I want them to hear us say that we are human, but we recognize the divine task we have been given to care for their souls, even if only for a little while.

Now for the fine print. Below are a few rules that we must observe in order to make this forum effective:

1) If you read something that moves you, say so. Comments, feedback and general encouragement are so much of what keep us moving. We are after all, here to share.

2) Speaking of sharing, send in your journal entries. They do not have to be any specific length; short is as good as long. But if we do not tell our own stories, no one will ever know.

3) And finally, tell somebody about BMD. Send a link to a friend or a mass email to a bunch of mama-friends, then come back and listen. You will be changed and amazed by what you hear.

Best to you and yours always,

Jasai
curator-mama
Being Mama Daily

The sound of bittersweet memories

2006-02-15T21:45:00.000-08:00

February 20, 2002

Leslie Green - 35
Lees Summit, MO
4 Children - (19), (8), (6) and (22 months)

On this particular night emotions were high and voices were being carried over banisters, down stairs wells and seeping through the slightest cracks in the drywall. The argument we were having was suddenly blindsided by my fourteen year old daughters’ blunt request to live with her father who was still residing in Los Angeles. We’d settled in Kansas after I graduated from a small Christian college several years earlier in an effort to create a sound, structured and safe environment for both of us. The foundation I had so proudly built was being shaken to its core. Harsh and unforgettably cruel insults and accusations were being hurled back and forth between the two of us. My intentions were to remain firm and stand my ground but my feelings were hurt. Not only was my pride in jeopardy but I felt as if the endless sacrifices I’d made on our behalf were being mocked. Wounded, I began to rage fiercely, so much so that the initial reason for the argument was no longer in view. My focus was shattered as I began to drown in my own fears.

The possibility that one day our daughter would choose to leave the nest I fought hard to create for her, and fly into the arms of the man she first knew and loved, was always present. The sense of rejection was all I could manage to hear and the struggle continued into the early morning. Before it would end, a telephone call needed to be made to my former husband who would have the last word in this battle. I was relieved when I realized that he was in support of my disciplinary actions. She was chastised for her disrespectful and defiant behavior and once the dust settled, informed that she would not come to live with him under the circumstances at present. As her feelings settled, he spoke calmly to her. She said she understood and yet the tears she shed told a different story. When the telephone call was finished I slowly (almost with hesitation) walked up to her - steam still emanating from both of us - and positioned myself in a way that offered a truce. I reached out to her, one hand at a time, situated them around her small body and squeezed tightly. Her resistance only provoked a firmer squeeze. But as a tree will flutter when the wind blows, the connection and years of love between a mother and her child are more profound than anger or disappointment. Once I felt the pitter pat of her hands on the small of my back I knew that I was falling in love with her all over again; as deeply and intensely as I had fallen for her fourteen years earlier when I was just a teenager.

Her bedroom door was left slightly ajar when she finally settled into her bed. I knew that she needed to be left alone with her thoughts. It had been an emotionally draining night. When I finally reached my own bedroom the chill in the air was reminiscent of the emptiness I felt after she was delivered. As I prepared for bed I remained unsettled, so I opened my journal and wrote this poem:

Teenage Mom.

Now it is summer…
Time & again I thought of you
& imagined your presence healing my soul
& I cried out for you
Tears of pain
& loss
& letting go of love
& flowers that bloom
& die
The decision was made
The beginning of the new
Seeds being planted too early in spring
Then I saw you,
Your face
In the reflection of myself
& I opened my arms
& my legs
& I felt your breath, for a moment, upon my inner thighs
& I knew that I had emptied the most special part of me; you
I lay in silence of creation
Of life
Of letting go the girl-child in me
Now a woman without answers
I go on though 'cause it’s a day to go on
& lessons to learn
& then years of lessons
& questions unanswered
You
Now me with ideas and an expression of identity
Taken some from me, but mostly you
Pushing and pulling against or towards depending on the day
The moon
The sun
Fighting the evolution of discovery
Questioning the questions I once asked in search of a life
Opposite of what is

Angry
Like the vision I did not have
The emptiness I could not foresee
The story of separation I did not know was to be told
And
Still
I
Am
Answerless

What a lucky little girl

2006-02-15T06:19:00.000-08:00

June 17, 2001

Jasai - 26
Los Angeles, CA
2 children – 1 son (6)
1 daughter (8 weeks)

Today my daughter met her father for the first time. Instantly it was love; as clear as a summer day. With zero fog was the way she recognized his face although she had never seen it before; the way she knew his scent, his warmth, his flow. All that and she’s only 8 weeks old. Her dad has been in Okinawa, Japan for the last six months, waiting with great anticipation for the day (father’s day ironically) that he would see his baby girl, for he had already met her. I could see it in his eyes when I handed her over.

They are napping together right here next to me. Amazing. She is good for him and he for her. And although she stirs, she is sure of this person. No doubt. I am happy for her. Ecstatic at her chances in this life, for this man is going to be there just like he is now - arm over her stretched out baby body, protecting her; her dreams, her mind, her person and wishing he could, when he will be unable to. I am glad she will dream in bright colors because of this love, his face – beautiful and muddy brown –full of calm and gratitude for the life he surprised himself by creating. Congratulations baby. You have done yourself and your family a good turn by wanting to be the best father your mind could conjure up. I see it in her breath, the high and low of her sleeping chest – she’s with you and she believes what you say.

Contemplating motherhood

2006-02-13T21:00:00.000-08:00

February 9, 2006

Wanama - 31
TX
4 Children - 3 Sons (8), (6) and (2)
and hopefully a girl (in progress)

On being a mama, I asked God this morning what is it all about. I have three boys, Isaiah 8, Jalen 6, Zachary 2 and I have one on the way - a girl for sure. As I’ve gone through this pregnancy I say to myself, “What is it all about?” God says, I have been chosen to bear the future. My job is to nurture and love them as he has nurtured and loved me.

I realize now, that my children do not belong to me; I am a steward over them. They belong to God. It is he who decides what path they will ultimately take in life. My job is to direct them in the best way that I can - in the things of God - and pray that they do not lose their way; and if they do, that they will come back. This gave me some relief and perspective on motherhood. In the day to day hustle, just stopping and thinking for a moment why I chose to be a mother. I consider it a privilege to be called mommy, no matter how many times I hear it in a day. It has become music to my ears.

My Baby: A Retrospective

2006-02-12T21:38:00.000-08:00

February 2, 2006

Nisa - 34
Los Angeles, CA
1 child (unborn)

It was just a dream. That’s what I say as I force myself to wake up. Both the small of my back and my pillow are damp. I sit straight up in bed and repeat that it was just a dream, but why? Why did she have to ask me about my baby?

It was one of those dreams categorized as a “thug” in Women Who Run with Wolves. A dream where some nameless, faceless man, is chasing me and I don’t know why, but I run. I run like my life is dependant on it. I run past train tracks and thru dark allies. I need help. I need someone to help me get away.

I see a familiar face; a girl I went to high school with. I run up to the window of her car and explain that I need a ride. It’s raining and she’s looking at me funny but she let’s me in. She remembers me from school.

“You used to go out with Bobby didn’t you?” she asks in the same way she used to; like she already knew the answer. “Yes” I reply, still looking over my shoulder, unsure if I’m really safe yet. This doesn’t feel like a dream. I can hear her car engine purring and the rain pouring from outside. I shiver slightly.

“Didn’t you get pregnant by Bobby right after school?” she asks. All of a sudden I cannot breathe, I cannot move. Is this some type of a sick joke, I wonder. I cannot respond, I cannot find the words. “You did, I know you did. You got pregnant right after you graduated,” and I am clawing for breath, for life, for hope. I must say something, but the words are stuck in my throat like fish bones, and I am chocking and I am dying.
“Yes I did.” I respond in an almost whisper.

She stops the car and looks at me square on. “Let me see a picture. I know you have a picture. What did you have a boy or a girl?” Her words are fast and hot like bullets. I have no armor. Slowly and deliberately I say, “I was pregnant, but we didn’t have a baby.”

I am fully awake now and crying. Remembering my maroon cable knit sweater, the one I bought to wear in college. He, driving his father’s car. Us holding hands as he took me for what he thought was a routine appointment. He didn’t notice my solemn face when he returned to get me. We were just kids, our whole lives ahead of us. Far too young to have a baby, that’s what I told myself. He was too fragile and couldn’t handle the truth. It wasn’t a lie. It was just a decision that I had to make on my own. I exercised my choice.

It would be five years before I told him the truth of that day. He broke down and cried as I’d never seem him do. Not when his mother gave him over to his father to raise; not when his father would stay in his bedroom and smoke crack all weekend; not when he had to sleep in his car to stay in college. He cried all over me in my bare New York apartment. I just held him, let him cry. My tears wouldn’t come for another ten years.

I woke up from this dream in tears because my baby would have been as old today as I was when I walked into that clinic. I cry because I’ve never cried for the girl in the cable knit sweater on her way to college, or the baby that only had four weeks of life inside her. I cry because only in a dream would anybody ever ask me about my baby.

Grateful for an (extra)ordinary life

2006-02-09T12:05:00.000-08:00

December, 2005

Kymberle - 36
Maricopa, AZ
2 Girls - (12) and(2)

Today was a beautiful day. A friend mentioned how much he envies my weekly vacations. I never thought of being at home as a vacation; laundry, homework, carpool. I imagine to him and others, being able to flee the workplace could be envisioned as a get-away. Some days I feel guilty for not accomplishing anything other than making sure the girls made it to their appropriate destinations and resting. It feels like so much time is wasted. On the other hand, much needed sleep is gotten. I wouldn't need so much if I didn't grind so hard Thursday through Saturday. It’s time to make some Decisions.

I miss my girls terribly when I'm in Pasadena. Skye will be a teenager soon. She needs me close. I want to be close. Savannah is growing so fast. She's so smart. And they are so different! The girls are both on winter holiday. Skye left for California this morning. I pray for her safety and hope she enjoys herself immensely. I love her so much...I don't think she even realizes. She's in a very awkward stage, which is difficult for both of us. I'm trying to be more patient. I want her to feel safe, confident, and comfortable with herself and our relationship. I wish she would open up more.

I will continue to pray for guidance and her covering. Thank You Lord for blessing me with two beautiful, healthy daughters. Thank you Lord for keeping them safe. I pray for constant spiritual covering; safety from harms way. Lord, keep them close to you first, and each other always. Instill in them a desire to serve you O Lord and teach them to walk in your will. Bless our home. These things I ask in your son's name. Amen.

something from my blue heart

2006-02-07T18:48:00.000-08:00

July 7, 1999

"Sara" - 23
Long Island, NY
4 children - 1 boy (3), 3 babies (unborn)

When you mourn the loss of loved ones what you are really doing is mourning your loss, pain, grief, confusion.

My babies.

Each of them comforts my soul and provides it with a kind of peace. They guard me against self contempt. When I want to scream my tears, they touch my eyes lightly; still the pulsing ache in my chest. They know that I am sorry. I do not need to confess it with words. They know me and I am glad. The procedures never took them from me. I used to wonder why I never felt great regret or guilt and it is because not having them in the physical form is my lesson to self-examine and grow. But my babies are always here; in the breeze, in the sound of rustling leaves and born children’s smiles. They encourage me to speak and be truthful and fair, to myself and to them. Their purpose is continued without the diapers, the tears, the welfare, the fear. They are still my children, helping me grow, learn, love, live, just like I promised I would for me and for them. And “Eli” watches with them. He is my one joy, manifested.

*Names have been changed at this mother's request.

In her own words

2006-02-07T10:12:00.000-08:00

February 5, 2006

Tomorrow -34
Alta Loma, CA
1 daughter (8)

I'll never forget the special moment it clicked; when I realized what being a mom was all about. It had been a year since my uncle passed away and Hunter, at five, would always ask me “Do you think uncle is happy in heaven?” My reply was always yes. Then once, following this question she asked something else; something I would never forget. “Mommy if I were to die, can I choose you again?” The bewildered look on my face must have prompted her to ask the question again. I could tell this wasn't a joke but instead an innocent question that only a child could ask. I didn't really know how to answer so I replied, "What do you mean?" And my daughter said these words to me: “Mommy when I was in Heaven I saw you and I told the angels that I choose you to be my mom. So, if I were to die could I choose you again?”

I had to be very careful with my response because I am no longer married to her father. "Hunter,” I said, “I think you should plan on sticking around for as long as you can because you couldn’t choose daddy again."

“Okay mommy,” She said with a smile, “that's a deal.” And as she turned to walk away I heard her say, “I'm glad I chose you.”

And I'm glad she chose me to.

Photo provided by ©Karen Walrond 2005

good housekeeping?

2006-02-02T22:14:00.000-08:00

April 10, 2003

Bernadette
San francisco, CA
Two children - twin boys (6)

I am Pissed! I am working everyday to become the kind of woman I have dreamed of my entire life and suddenly I am being told basically that something as small as housework should stand in the way of me and what I am trying to experience. Why would someone who could 1) afford a housekeeper (once a week mind you) and 2) have other activities of greater quality and value to them that can be undertaken in place of the housework, not hire a housekeeper? I learned a very valuable lesson from a wise woman today about delegating tasks evenly so as to leave time to do what you enjoy, what motivates and makes you happy so that you want to wake up everyday and do this thing called life over and over again. But somehow wanting this, not only for myself but for my family turned into “That’s a waste of money,” “That’s just lazy,” “Why would an able-bodied person need a housekeeper?”

I’ll tell you why; because I deserve clean floors and long leisurely hours with my children. Because I want to sit on clean toilets and not have to sacrifice time to work out and stay fit and healthy. Because I never want to see grease behind my stove or on the side of my refrigerator and that should not have to cost me the
opportunity to read or sit or nap or do whatever the hell I want to do with that freed-up time that I more than deserve and have worked for.

There are never any complaints when I spend sixty or seventy dollars on dinner or forty dollars on lunch but forty-five dollars a week to pay someone to clean the kitchen and bathroom is above us? Because that’s what I hear. The fear in his accusing voice says, “Who do you think you are? We’re not those kind of people. We work. We Hustle. We are not there yet.” People should really consider that there is so much more in life than what was drilled into our heads under our parents’ roof.

It’s okay to do a new thing. That thing that suits you and your lifestyle. That thing that makes you happy and genuinely fulfilled. People should examine whether they are happy and fulfilled or just reading the already written lines.

what happens in the aftermath

2006-02-02T20:17:00.000-08:00

May 18, 2004

Kellie -50
South Pasadena, CA
2 girls (21) and (18)

Being mama: fulfilling. challenging.

Erica was in a car accident very early Sunday morning, coming home from Edgar’s house. She was hit-T-boned on the driver side door-by another car. The driver fled the scene. So did the witnesses.

Their actions made impact on Erica: she could not believe that anyone would leave an accident, even if they were at fault. Weren’t they even interested in making sure she was not hurt? She would have stayed. She would have helped. Why would anyone do differently?

This is a tough teaching opportunity. I want her to learn the right lesson. But what is the right lesson? I don’t want her to be jaded, angry, or bitter based on how people treat her. But I don’t want folks to stomp on her heart either. I love her soft and caring heart. I want her to retain that even if it means she’ll be hurt from time-to-time. But it’s hard to teach someone to stay soft when you struggle to learn that very same lesson.

My child could have been killed in that accident.

This is very sobering.

I must enjoy her every day. I must love her every day. I must be there for her every day. It might be the last day I have with her. God might need her today.

And my other daughter...

I love her, but she can be self-focused to oblivion. I called her to let her know EJ had been in an accident. In all of the excitement, I wanted to make sure all of the family knew, including Mom and Dad and Auntie. Deidre responded by calling Erica and saying “Well thank you very much for telling me about your accident. I had to hear it from Mom. Why didn’t you call to tell me? Why did I have to hear it from Mom? You should have called me first.”

Erica answered, “I’m not hurt, thanks for asking.”

Black Girl Swagger

2006-02-02T14:24:00.000-08:00

February 2, 2006

Britni - 25
Los Angeles, CA
1 child - Boy (3 mo)

there is no finger-popping here. no rolling of the neck nor eyes. but becoming a mommy has definitely had some interesting side-affects: a shot of self-confidence.

i have always been a “thick” girl. as a young girl, having a womanish body meant being looked at by men before i was ready to deal with their stares. so i hid. my high school uniform; baggy jeans, a sony walkman, and enough sarcasm to cut you deep. it worked. i wasn’t bothered, I was respected (ok, maybe feared) which kept the nonsense at bay. but strangely enough it also kept away the attention that I craved—the love of a partner to share my innermost thoughts. fast forward.

two years into a committed relationship, i find out i’m pregnant. once I came to grips with having a baby and fully embracing it, I started to notice that I allowed myself to be comfortable in my own skin. being pregnant in the summer in Brooklyn will force anyone to shed a few layers of clothing. and there I was. showing off parts of my pregnant body, that I would have never shown off before. odd isn’t it? when a lot of women are drowning in maternity tents, trying to hide their burgeoning bellies, I was trying to show mine off (and make it look bigger). my arms, which I have always hid, found themselves seeing the sunshine (in public) for the first time. even now, my son is three months old and although i’m not pleased with my jelly belly, i am more at ease in my skin. my head rides a little higher on my shoulders and my walk has a little bit more movement in the hips. perhaps it is because i now know i have the strength to endure an amazing amount of pain and produce something more beautiful than any poem i could write. my son is my badge of honor: perfect, beautiful, precious, a blessing.

and it shows.

the night the earth shook

2006-02-01T18:18:00.000-08:00

March 7, 2003

Jasai -27
Los Angeles
2 children - boy(7) girl (23 months)

My daughter screams around this time every weekday morning (6:10 a.m.) She wants to get out of her bed to come nudge and huddle under me. One week ago tomorrow, she had what I didn’t know at the time was a normal reaction to a too-high fever. So strong and frightening was the way she shook in my arms in the throws of a seizure that I knew I had to hold on tight to my mind or I would have lost it.

She shook and shook, yet I was solid and grateful for her life, and her strength, and her will. She was holding on and pushing through for the pain that she knew I could never endure if she gave up. I loved her soul in those long, anxious and terrifying moments. She was the best gift in that moment; the gift of letting go and trusting that it would all be okay. Nothing I was capable of doing mattered except trusting and loving. There really is nothing else, only derivatives. She fought through, held on, and understood, at the end of that tunnel, better than she had at its beginning that I am here for her. For both of my children. For any to come in the future. Above all ambition and seeking, my heart’s eye in constant on them. God has granted me the privilege of souls. I will work and not faint.

End 6:22 a.m.

learning to let go... kinda

2006-01-31T11:13:00.000-08:00

April 3, 2004

Jasai
Los Angeles, CA
2 children - boy (8) girl (3)

Motherhood somtimes not having very much to do with children. This is the very valuable lesson I learned today during the BMD orientation (which went superbly.) Many times I am doing things in the name of it being "for their own good" when the truth pronounces loudly - if only i would listen - "that is not their personality and if you keep fighting them on this, they will keep fighting back." That would be a a crummy way to spend the next 18+ years.

The enthusiasm, fervor and fever of the mothers on the subject of mothering was a breath of fresh air (and a jolt to the tear ducts once or twice.) Truly it is time that they were heard on this matter.

Son (10) is with his father for the "birthday weekend." Promised gifts were brought. Promised weekend was had. Will review this as positive. Will put other (many) failures to come through, aside. What is good for son and makes son happy is goal. Son is good and happy.

END 10:21 p.m.

dust off your journals ladies

2006-01-31T09:37:00.000-08:00

Being Mama Daily is our open forum, talk time, testimony. If you read carefully you will hear the sound of our widest visions and deepest intentions on our journey as Mother. The posts that you will read are real journal entries from women raising black children all over the world.

If you are a mama, step-mama, grand-mama or guardian-mama who wants to contribute to the dialogue, email your journal entries to beingmama@yahoo.com. Be sure to include your first name, the gender and ages of all children you are mama to, and the city in which you live.

Share your journey with so many other mothers around the world. Let’s spend some time on the intimate details of being a mama daily.