When you look at me I become restless, anxious, nervous.
Your stare penetrates my body with a fierceness that cuts so deep
It stirs my soul.
As you move close to me, I'm forced to catch my breath.
Your presence is dominating; your scent's intoxicating; your spirit's magnetic.
The energy between us electrifies the room.
When you speak to me, I become hypnotized, mesmerized.
My eyes are focused on your lips as they form each and every word.
I'm completely under your spell.
When you touch me, every pore in my body opens up with a hunger
that only your hands can satisfy.
Your caresses are spine tingling; toe curling, teeth gritting
Without penetration you send my senses into a frenzy.
The very thought of us moving in perfect harmony sends me into overdrive
You stimulate my soul, my mind, my senses
In three simple words, you are climatic.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
A serious misunderstanding
Everyone knows someone that's either been deployed or will be deployed to Afghanistan because of the war.
Our youth minister is currently serving his second tour. The senior deacon has done a tour as well as a couple of members' sons and daughters being deployed.
Obviously these soliders are always on our prayer list. All of the soliders are on the prayer list of the church.
Since meeting J.T. (let's give the current beau some identity) I wanted to be a more active citizen. He's been deployed three times, each time for at least a year, and is constantly saying how nice it is to hear from folks back home.
I am by no means a stranger to having friends and/or relatives participating in a war. In 1991 when my daughter, Courtney, was coloring her heart away in kindergarten, her father was a Marine doing battle in the Gulf War. So were several of my cousins and high school classmates.
As I enjoyed the comforts of my apartment during my senior year at Jackson State University, Derrilyn and I watched the battle unfold. She's watching on her television, I'm watching mine, we're both lying across our respective beds yelling back and forth.
We were simply amazed at the amount of fire power taking place. I remember her saying "It looks like a fireworks display. It's like the freaking Fourth of July."
By the way, her then brother-in-law Micah was a solider in that same war.
We questioned whether or not it was necessary, as many of us are doing with the current war. We wanted to know how many men or women would have to die, as most of us are asking today. More importantly we were active with our loved ones overseas.
There was no internet. No webcams or any of this other fancy stuff we have today. We communicated the old fashioned way - we wrote letters. We mailed care packages and we wrote more letters.
So in listening to J.T., I thought "why aren't I that active now?" It might even be easier with all this modern technology. I want to send someone a care package!
I mentioned this to J.T. and he thought it was a good idea. He also warned me not to be disappointed if wives weren't very enthausiatic with the idea and that deployed husbands might get the wrong idea.
I thought, surely no one will care if I ship a care package to send their husband, wife, son, daughter, or whomever. I mean they will have to give me the address! And as for the men getting the wrong idea, I thought why would they? If I was interested in anyone romantically, I certainly wouldn't have waited for them to leave for war to express it. Not my style.
Low and behold I take my idea to one of the individuals from the church. I expressed my desire to be more active, "I feel a need to do something....blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada. Please call me with the mailing address." She seemed very pleased with the idea, even suggested some items. I thought GREAT! "I knew he didn't know what he was talking about."
The call never came and I never asked again. Had she recommended I send him a set of encyclopedias I would have, that how's amped up I was about performing my civic duty. Plus it was the holiday season. I wanted to send a "hang in there" note and more importantly, I wanted to send a care package!
Needless to say I was disappointed but maybe next time. So a couple of weeks pass and my son, Cody, comes home and tells me his barber is being deployed. I was on it like a pit bull. Get me an address, we're sending a care package.
Of course he's 16 so that never happened. However, I did track down a email address and with that I was off and running.
I sent a very basic email. "Hi, hope you don't mind my writing just thought you'd like to hear from a friendly voice back home. Nothing happening in the sports world. Cody won't let anyone else cut his hair, I don't know what he's going to do about the prom"....that was the gist of my message. Seriously.
The next morning I had a response. Great! It starts out super fantastic. Talking about everything from the atmosphere, to why he's there (as part of a clean up crew), when he's returning home and the stench.
Then it takes a turn that left me thinking WTF?
"I've always wanted to get with you. I've always thought you were a beautiful woman. You're cool, down-to-earth, blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada."
WTF was that? This was sooo not my intention. No. 1: you're married. No. 2 you're married. No. 3 you're still married. Can I just speak to a brotha? Can't I just be nice? All I could do was exhale!
How do I respond to that? Should I EVEN respond to that? Way to much thinking is now going into something that was suppose to be an act of kindness. I don't need this occupying space in my brain, I have enough clutter up there.
I feel as if I'm back at square one because I certainly wasn't trying to send that type care package.
Our youth minister is currently serving his second tour. The senior deacon has done a tour as well as a couple of members' sons and daughters being deployed.
Obviously these soliders are always on our prayer list. All of the soliders are on the prayer list of the church.
Since meeting J.T. (let's give the current beau some identity) I wanted to be a more active citizen. He's been deployed three times, each time for at least a year, and is constantly saying how nice it is to hear from folks back home.
I am by no means a stranger to having friends and/or relatives participating in a war. In 1991 when my daughter, Courtney, was coloring her heart away in kindergarten, her father was a Marine doing battle in the Gulf War. So were several of my cousins and high school classmates.
As I enjoyed the comforts of my apartment during my senior year at Jackson State University, Derrilyn and I watched the battle unfold. She's watching on her television, I'm watching mine, we're both lying across our respective beds yelling back and forth.
We were simply amazed at the amount of fire power taking place. I remember her saying "It looks like a fireworks display. It's like the freaking Fourth of July."
By the way, her then brother-in-law Micah was a solider in that same war.
We questioned whether or not it was necessary, as many of us are doing with the current war. We wanted to know how many men or women would have to die, as most of us are asking today. More importantly we were active with our loved ones overseas.
There was no internet. No webcams or any of this other fancy stuff we have today. We communicated the old fashioned way - we wrote letters. We mailed care packages and we wrote more letters.
So in listening to J.T., I thought "why aren't I that active now?" It might even be easier with all this modern technology. I want to send someone a care package!
I mentioned this to J.T. and he thought it was a good idea. He also warned me not to be disappointed if wives weren't very enthausiatic with the idea and that deployed husbands might get the wrong idea.
I thought, surely no one will care if I ship a care package to send their husband, wife, son, daughter, or whomever. I mean they will have to give me the address! And as for the men getting the wrong idea, I thought why would they? If I was interested in anyone romantically, I certainly wouldn't have waited for them to leave for war to express it. Not my style.
Low and behold I take my idea to one of the individuals from the church. I expressed my desire to be more active, "I feel a need to do something....blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada. Please call me with the mailing address." She seemed very pleased with the idea, even suggested some items. I thought GREAT! "I knew he didn't know what he was talking about."
The call never came and I never asked again. Had she recommended I send him a set of encyclopedias I would have, that how's amped up I was about performing my civic duty. Plus it was the holiday season. I wanted to send a "hang in there" note and more importantly, I wanted to send a care package!
Needless to say I was disappointed but maybe next time. So a couple of weeks pass and my son, Cody, comes home and tells me his barber is being deployed. I was on it like a pit bull. Get me an address, we're sending a care package.
Of course he's 16 so that never happened. However, I did track down a email address and with that I was off and running.
I sent a very basic email. "Hi, hope you don't mind my writing just thought you'd like to hear from a friendly voice back home. Nothing happening in the sports world. Cody won't let anyone else cut his hair, I don't know what he's going to do about the prom"....that was the gist of my message. Seriously.
The next morning I had a response. Great! It starts out super fantastic. Talking about everything from the atmosphere, to why he's there (as part of a clean up crew), when he's returning home and the stench.
Then it takes a turn that left me thinking WTF?
"I've always wanted to get with you. I've always thought you were a beautiful woman. You're cool, down-to-earth, blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada."
WTF was that? This was sooo not my intention. No. 1: you're married. No. 2 you're married. No. 3 you're still married. Can I just speak to a brotha? Can't I just be nice? All I could do was exhale!
How do I respond to that? Should I EVEN respond to that? Way to much thinking is now going into something that was suppose to be an act of kindness. I don't need this occupying space in my brain, I have enough clutter up there.
I feel as if I'm back at square one because I certainly wasn't trying to send that type care package.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Follow his lead
At a very young age, girls are taught to follow the lead of their partner.
The man is the leader house and that ladies should stay in their place.
We're told and taught to especially follow a man's lead on the dance floor.
He steps forward, you step back. He steps back, you step forward. He goes left so it's left we're going. So on and so forth.
Recently I was talking to my grandmother about wanting to dance with my current beau. Not my "out with the girls" dancing because while I'm certain my Bigmama loves me dearly, she might not appreciate my getting low to the floor with her. And I certainly wouldn't tell her about my one-leg up routine, learned from my girl Greta in Orlando, or my pole dancing session on stage at Martini's following my 40th birthday party. I might get disowned - scratch that- I'd definitely get a beat down Madea style!
Anyway, at the end of the conversation she said "remember to let him lead." Her last statement stayed with me the rest of the night and I thought why should it apply only us dancing? Why can't I follow his lead as far as our relationship is concerned?
At times I find myself stressing about things when he doesn't seem to care. Why can't I follow his lead then?
Example: Now that the hoopla of the holidays is over, we've tried to coordinate schedules and nothing is looking good so far. Or shall I say I'm trying to coordinate schedules. He's Mr. "baby it will work out" in his very laid back and nonchalant way.
It's challenging enough being in a long distance relationship and not able to see the person whenever you'd like but to go months is downright painful. The stars are definitely NOT aligned where our we're concerned.
Don't get me wrong, the distance truly doesn't bother me. However, most of you that know me are aware of my physical needs and how important fulfilling them are to me. At the risk of sounding salacious, a sista gotta have it....at least once every month. Is that too much to ask?
Nevertheless, whenever we're discussing this particular topic it's no big deal to him. So I'm sitting here with the devil on my left shoulder and an angel on the right and trust me folks they are going to war.
"If he's not getting it from you, he's getting it from somewhere else. You should do the same, you have people you can call." We know which voice this is.
The good voice counters with: "the man has been deployed three times for at least a year each time and he says he went without sex each time for the duration. According to him, his body's temperance is very high."
"Yeah right! And if you choose to spend eternity with me, I'll give you a glass of good ole ice tea."
"You have to trust him, if you want this to work."
"Don't be no fool. Fool!"
Will everybody shut-up! Is this what schizophrenics go through? Dayum!
You can imagine my plight.
It's not like I'm sitting home taking up knitting. I mean, I have a social life. I have work, the kids, the gym (and we all know there are plenty of men there) and I have my address book.
I have not been deployed by the U.S. military or anyone else and my body certainly has not been programmed to go without.
But do I really want to call up someone else? Am I truly interested in meeting someone new? If I were honest with myself I'd say the answer to both those questions is no.
So I was finding myself in a bit of a quandary. Until this weekend.
"Remember to let him lead." This one, single statement has changed how I view our relationship.
If he's laid back, I'm going to be laid back. If he becomes frustrated that we hadn't seen each other, frustrated I will become also. If he develops a "fierce sense of urgency" to get together, I will clear my schedule. But by the same token, if he wants to take a page from Tony! Toni! Toné!, "It never rains in Southern California" single when he says "I haven't seen your face in a year, I can't wait until I get there" and take it that long, I can TRY that too. No guarantees but I'll try.
Looking back, I've actually tried following a man's lead before and he didn't like it.
Everything was cool as long as I was wound all tight, fighting to make the relationship work. But as soon as I adopted his attitude, there was an immediate problem.
Eventually we got a divorce. My laid back, cavalier attitude rivaled, if not surpassed his - which was not good. As he laid back chilling, I started surveying the room. I returned some smiles, even held some glances and eventually moved on. So let's see what this spin around the dance floor holds. As my girlfriend told me recently "enjoy the ride, even if it's a merry-go-round."
I'm not sure if that's what my grandmother had in mind with her advice but I'm riding it till the wheels fall off.
Then again, knowing my Bigmama, I could be following her advice to perfection. She doesn't strike me as the type to have followed his lead to misery.
The man is the leader house and that ladies should stay in their place.
We're told and taught to especially follow a man's lead on the dance floor.
He steps forward, you step back. He steps back, you step forward. He goes left so it's left we're going. So on and so forth.
Recently I was talking to my grandmother about wanting to dance with my current beau. Not my "out with the girls" dancing because while I'm certain my Bigmama loves me dearly, she might not appreciate my getting low to the floor with her. And I certainly wouldn't tell her about my one-leg up routine, learned from my girl Greta in Orlando, or my pole dancing session on stage at Martini's following my 40th birthday party. I might get disowned - scratch that- I'd definitely get a beat down Madea style!
Anyway, at the end of the conversation she said "remember to let him lead." Her last statement stayed with me the rest of the night and I thought why should it apply only us dancing? Why can't I follow his lead as far as our relationship is concerned?
At times I find myself stressing about things when he doesn't seem to care. Why can't I follow his lead then?
Example: Now that the hoopla of the holidays is over, we've tried to coordinate schedules and nothing is looking good so far. Or shall I say I'm trying to coordinate schedules. He's Mr. "baby it will work out" in his very laid back and nonchalant way.
It's challenging enough being in a long distance relationship and not able to see the person whenever you'd like but to go months is downright painful. The stars are definitely NOT aligned where our we're concerned.
Don't get me wrong, the distance truly doesn't bother me. However, most of you that know me are aware of my physical needs and how important fulfilling them are to me. At the risk of sounding salacious, a sista gotta have it....at least once every month. Is that too much to ask?
Nevertheless, whenever we're discussing this particular topic it's no big deal to him. So I'm sitting here with the devil on my left shoulder and an angel on the right and trust me folks they are going to war.
"If he's not getting it from you, he's getting it from somewhere else. You should do the same, you have people you can call." We know which voice this is.
The good voice counters with: "the man has been deployed three times for at least a year each time and he says he went without sex each time for the duration. According to him, his body's temperance is very high."
"Yeah right! And if you choose to spend eternity with me, I'll give you a glass of good ole ice tea."
"You have to trust him, if you want this to work."
"Don't be no fool. Fool!"
Will everybody shut-up! Is this what schizophrenics go through? Dayum!
You can imagine my plight.
It's not like I'm sitting home taking up knitting. I mean, I have a social life. I have work, the kids, the gym (and we all know there are plenty of men there) and I have my address book.
I have not been deployed by the U.S. military or anyone else and my body certainly has not been programmed to go without.
But do I really want to call up someone else? Am I truly interested in meeting someone new? If I were honest with myself I'd say the answer to both those questions is no.
So I was finding myself in a bit of a quandary. Until this weekend.
"Remember to let him lead." This one, single statement has changed how I view our relationship.
If he's laid back, I'm going to be laid back. If he becomes frustrated that we hadn't seen each other, frustrated I will become also. If he develops a "fierce sense of urgency" to get together, I will clear my schedule. But by the same token, if he wants to take a page from Tony! Toni! Toné!, "It never rains in Southern California" single when he says "I haven't seen your face in a year, I can't wait until I get there" and take it that long, I can TRY that too. No guarantees but I'll try.
Looking back, I've actually tried following a man's lead before and he didn't like it.
Everything was cool as long as I was wound all tight, fighting to make the relationship work. But as soon as I adopted his attitude, there was an immediate problem.
Eventually we got a divorce. My laid back, cavalier attitude rivaled, if not surpassed his - which was not good. As he laid back chilling, I started surveying the room. I returned some smiles, even held some glances and eventually moved on. So let's see what this spin around the dance floor holds. As my girlfriend told me recently "enjoy the ride, even if it's a merry-go-round."
I'm not sure if that's what my grandmother had in mind with her advice but I'm riding it till the wheels fall off.
Then again, knowing my Bigmama, I could be following her advice to perfection. She doesn't strike me as the type to have followed his lead to misery.
Friday, January 9, 2009
"Daddy said"
Yesterday's drive home started out great.
I was ahead of schedule picking Nicholas up from the YMCA's after-school program, so I decided to stop off and treat myself to some quick pampering. I got my eyebrows waxed (after a month this was LOOOONG overdue) and even decided to get a manicure since I was there.
Afterwards I dropped into Office Max and picked up some school supplies for both of the boys and headed over to the Y.
Since this is the same gym I've been working out at for the past 10 years, everyone knows me, the ex-Mr., Nicholas, Cody and Courtney. Some of them can't even believe Nicholas is old enough to be in the afterschool program; they first saw him chilling in an infant carrier in the nursery. Therefore on days like yesterday when I'm a few minutes late they will take him from the afterschool program to the nursery. I know, I know...getting your brows waxed and nails done does not constitute being late to pick up your child, frankly it's a little ghetto fab! But on this one occasion that was me, Ms. Ghetto Fab!
So I pick him up to find, he's taken off his outer shirt. It was nearly 70 degrees on Thursday and I'm sure he got pretty hot with all the running and playing they do afterschool. Not a problem. What got my goat was the fact he didn't have his jacket. It's the third jacket that's gone missing in action since the cold weather moved in, and that's counting Christmas break. Needless to say I was not happy about that. But he's six and more importantly he's a boy. I am impressed most days when he can find his book bag.
His father took him to school on Thursday morning. I guess he figured he'd better do something after getting shot down like a black man by the New York Police Department Wednesday morning.
Anyway, we're walking to the car and he says, "Mommy, why did you take daddy's toaster? He needs his toaster."
I wanted to say, "WTF" but of course you can't say that to the 6-year old, therefore, calmly I asked him what he was talking about.
"When I wanted a pop tart daddy said he couldn't toast it because you have his toaster. My daddy needs his toaster."
Inhale.
Exhale.
"Nicholas I didn't take your daddy's toaster. That was my toaster. I bought it with my own money. Maybe daddy can get a toaster soon."
That's what I said but what I wanted to say was: "Tell your sorry daddy if he'd give me my divorce settlement money I'll gladly buy him a toaster; with damaged cords of course."
If that wasn't bad enough, after we get all buckled up in the car, he says.
"And daddy said he's not happy about YOU not putting medicine on my ear everyday. He said you need to put medicine on it everyday."
He even emphasized "you."
I'm steaming by now! Who tells a 6-year old this type of stuff? How can he be a well-adjusted little boy if this is the crap you're feeding him during your time with him?
Keep working with me God. PLEASE keep working with me! Because I was about to blow a gasket!
Me: "Daddy is more than welcome to put medicine on your ear everyday if he'd like."
Nicholas: "But he doesn't have any medicine, you have the medicine."
Me: "Trust me son, the store will sell your daddy some medicine just like they sold it to me. I'll email him the name of the store. Okay?"
Nicholas: "Thanks Mommy, you're the best mommy in the world."
You dayum right I'm the best mommy in the world! Because what I wanted to say was: "Tell your daddy he can kiss my azz with his short, ninja turtle-donald duck looking azz." On second thought don't tell him that, he might take it literally and want to take me up on it! So why don't I stick with "go to hell, doused in gasoline."
Why do adults put children in the middle of whatever their issues are? I've never understood that. Once you're finished with a person, relationship wise, be finished with them. At least I'm that way.
When I filed for divorce, I had already left the marriage. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. The get-up-and-go had got-up-and-went. I knew I could leave with a clear conscious and a wide-open heart to love again. I was through with him. And other than raising these children, we had nothing else to discuss.
Apparently he didn't see it that way a year ago and still doesn't. How long can a person hold a grudge? Am I suppose to continue to pay for wanting to be happy?
Everyone that knows me is aware of my flip lip and smart mouth. I am definitely not a tongue-biter, I say what's on my mind.
However, in this case I will attempt to keep the peace and keep my son out of the unnecessary wars divorce brings on.
I will hold my tongue, not even bringing it up to the ex-Mr. which is probably what he wants me to do. Anything to argue, even if it means using the toddler to do so.
It's times like this I wish Nicholas was still chilling in his infant carrier while traveling to the nursery.
I was ahead of schedule picking Nicholas up from the YMCA's after-school program, so I decided to stop off and treat myself to some quick pampering. I got my eyebrows waxed (after a month this was LOOOONG overdue) and even decided to get a manicure since I was there.
Afterwards I dropped into Office Max and picked up some school supplies for both of the boys and headed over to the Y.
Since this is the same gym I've been working out at for the past 10 years, everyone knows me, the ex-Mr., Nicholas, Cody and Courtney. Some of them can't even believe Nicholas is old enough to be in the afterschool program; they first saw him chilling in an infant carrier in the nursery. Therefore on days like yesterday when I'm a few minutes late they will take him from the afterschool program to the nursery. I know, I know...getting your brows waxed and nails done does not constitute being late to pick up your child, frankly it's a little ghetto fab! But on this one occasion that was me, Ms. Ghetto Fab!
So I pick him up to find, he's taken off his outer shirt. It was nearly 70 degrees on Thursday and I'm sure he got pretty hot with all the running and playing they do afterschool. Not a problem. What got my goat was the fact he didn't have his jacket. It's the third jacket that's gone missing in action since the cold weather moved in, and that's counting Christmas break. Needless to say I was not happy about that. But he's six and more importantly he's a boy. I am impressed most days when he can find his book bag.
His father took him to school on Thursday morning. I guess he figured he'd better do something after getting shot down like a black man by the New York Police Department Wednesday morning.
Anyway, we're walking to the car and he says, "Mommy, why did you take daddy's toaster? He needs his toaster."
I wanted to say, "WTF" but of course you can't say that to the 6-year old, therefore, calmly I asked him what he was talking about.
"When I wanted a pop tart daddy said he couldn't toast it because you have his toaster. My daddy needs his toaster."
Inhale.
Exhale.
"Nicholas I didn't take your daddy's toaster. That was my toaster. I bought it with my own money. Maybe daddy can get a toaster soon."
That's what I said but what I wanted to say was: "Tell your sorry daddy if he'd give me my divorce settlement money I'll gladly buy him a toaster; with damaged cords of course."
If that wasn't bad enough, after we get all buckled up in the car, he says.
"And daddy said he's not happy about YOU not putting medicine on my ear everyday. He said you need to put medicine on it everyday."
He even emphasized "you."
I'm steaming by now! Who tells a 6-year old this type of stuff? How can he be a well-adjusted little boy if this is the crap you're feeding him during your time with him?
Keep working with me God. PLEASE keep working with me! Because I was about to blow a gasket!
Me: "Daddy is more than welcome to put medicine on your ear everyday if he'd like."
Nicholas: "But he doesn't have any medicine, you have the medicine."
Me: "Trust me son, the store will sell your daddy some medicine just like they sold it to me. I'll email him the name of the store. Okay?"
Nicholas: "Thanks Mommy, you're the best mommy in the world."
You dayum right I'm the best mommy in the world! Because what I wanted to say was: "Tell your daddy he can kiss my azz with his short, ninja turtle-donald duck looking azz." On second thought don't tell him that, he might take it literally and want to take me up on it! So why don't I stick with "go to hell, doused in gasoline."
Why do adults put children in the middle of whatever their issues are? I've never understood that. Once you're finished with a person, relationship wise, be finished with them. At least I'm that way.
When I filed for divorce, I had already left the marriage. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. The get-up-and-go had got-up-and-went. I knew I could leave with a clear conscious and a wide-open heart to love again. I was through with him. And other than raising these children, we had nothing else to discuss.
Apparently he didn't see it that way a year ago and still doesn't. How long can a person hold a grudge? Am I suppose to continue to pay for wanting to be happy?
Everyone that knows me is aware of my flip lip and smart mouth. I am definitely not a tongue-biter, I say what's on my mind.
However, in this case I will attempt to keep the peace and keep my son out of the unnecessary wars divorce brings on.
I will hold my tongue, not even bringing it up to the ex-Mr. which is probably what he wants me to do. Anything to argue, even if it means using the toddler to do so.
It's times like this I wish Nicholas was still chilling in his infant carrier while traveling to the nursery.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Entangled with my locks
Did you ever get to the point where you thought, I'm kinda hating my hair?
Not in a terribly bad way. But to a level that you want a change and you want it NOW!
I'm at that stage.
Letting my hair grow (as black folks say) for the past six or so years, I've gone from a frequent perm to a quarterly perm and even a semi-annual perm.
I tried to go natural. I rocked the curly fro when a radical "power to the people" attitude was needed. Sported the wavy layers for the wild, carefree and flirty look and when I felt the need to be soft and sexy, to my ceramic flat iron I went.
Needless to say, I got restless. I got antsy and I got bold.
I colored my locks a shade called "tanzanian sand" (Whatever the hell color that is! I call it brown, my friends say honey blonde...whatever) and I got a haircut.....well sorta.
Instead of going completely crazy, I went from a fairly decent and near shoulder length, my hairdresser agreed to do layers.
At first I was all over it. I could do a wash, a blow dry and then flat iron curl completely to the back. And with the right makeup, it was flat out sexy!
I was getting compliments on my hair. That's what's up!
However, three months and a couple of photos later, I realize I'm not feeling the hair at all.
For one, it's grown to that intermediate stage, hence the layers no long exist.
I had to follow my own advice: "That ain't sexy!"
So I decided to try something new. I opted for the perm every six weeks and flat iron almost daily (which is never a good idea.)
Thank goodness I have true African tribal tresses because no major damage was done, it rarely is.
My hair is a solider within itself.
As a child I hated it. It was thick, nappy and a flat out mess if not washed and pressed at least weekly.
My mother loved battling it out after a washing (or at least she pretended to love it, probably more for my benefit) and my aunt was the press-and-curl queen. She had seven sons and I was the lone niece living in the South, therefore she got a chance to put the heat to my ears and neck.
If you've ever felt the steam from a hot comb, you're traumatized for life. Definitely something you'll never forget.
Anyway, even with all of my extracurricular activities, Aunt Louise's magical touch with the hot comb would hold, all week.
Yet I still hated it. Now I see that I was a typical teen and pretty much hated everything.
Anyway, once I packed my bags and trotted off to college it became a different story.
Having given birth to my daughter Courtney by this time, needless to say my hair was beautiful. It was full, long and as healthy as it had ever been.
But was I happy? Of course not.
I wanted a perm like everyone else. I wanted a cut like everyone else (especially Anita Baker.)
I wanted to fit in. You have to understand, I attended a historically black college, Jackson State University, where appearances is all the rave.
Black folks don't play about their looks! Never have, never will.
Along with my newfound independence came a perm and a cut - the Anita Baker cut.
My mother was not happy! Neither was Aunt Louise.
But I needed to fit in! I needed to be able to fix my own hair when a weekly trip home wasn't possible. That makes sense right?
Soooo....I went through the normal back and forth spell and for the most part I was happy with my decision.
Fast track to today, what was I thinking?
I had it made! My hair was healthy; my hair was happy.
Now there are days I feel as if I've pissed it off!
It refuses to act right and no amount of styling is going to satisfy it or me.
Looking at a picture my girlfriend Debra and I took at a recent Debutante's Ball for her niece, I thought "I hate my hair!"
She said I was crazy. As did Derrilyn and a couple of others but the ultimate meeting of the minds had to be between me and my coils.
Last night an agreement was reached.
My hair and I signed a peace treaty...so to speak.
I will stop it with the perms every six weeks and go back to my quarterly touch-ups. I will go back to the curly fro and when there's too much new growth, it's time for the wavy locks.
Isn't it funny, the more things change, the more they stay the same?
In short, I will take another stab at going natural along with millions of other African-American women who's vowed to take the heat off their hair.
Unbelievable, over 20 years later, I'm still trying to fit in.
Not in a terribly bad way. But to a level that you want a change and you want it NOW!
I'm at that stage.
Letting my hair grow (as black folks say) for the past six or so years, I've gone from a frequent perm to a quarterly perm and even a semi-annual perm.
I tried to go natural. I rocked the curly fro when a radical "power to the people" attitude was needed. Sported the wavy layers for the wild, carefree and flirty look and when I felt the need to be soft and sexy, to my ceramic flat iron I went.
Needless to say, I got restless. I got antsy and I got bold.
I colored my locks a shade called "tanzanian sand" (Whatever the hell color that is! I call it brown, my friends say honey blonde...whatever) and I got a haircut.....well sorta.
Instead of going completely crazy, I went from a fairly decent and near shoulder length, my hairdresser agreed to do layers.
At first I was all over it. I could do a wash, a blow dry and then flat iron curl completely to the back. And with the right makeup, it was flat out sexy!
I was getting compliments on my hair. That's what's up!
However, three months and a couple of photos later, I realize I'm not feeling the hair at all.
For one, it's grown to that intermediate stage, hence the layers no long exist.
I had to follow my own advice: "That ain't sexy!"
So I decided to try something new. I opted for the perm every six weeks and flat iron almost daily (which is never a good idea.)
Thank goodness I have true African tribal tresses because no major damage was done, it rarely is.
My hair is a solider within itself.
As a child I hated it. It was thick, nappy and a flat out mess if not washed and pressed at least weekly.
My mother loved battling it out after a washing (or at least she pretended to love it, probably more for my benefit) and my aunt was the press-and-curl queen. She had seven sons and I was the lone niece living in the South, therefore she got a chance to put the heat to my ears and neck.
If you've ever felt the steam from a hot comb, you're traumatized for life. Definitely something you'll never forget.
Anyway, even with all of my extracurricular activities, Aunt Louise's magical touch with the hot comb would hold, all week.
Yet I still hated it. Now I see that I was a typical teen and pretty much hated everything.
Anyway, once I packed my bags and trotted off to college it became a different story.
Having given birth to my daughter Courtney by this time, needless to say my hair was beautiful. It was full, long and as healthy as it had ever been.
But was I happy? Of course not.
I wanted a perm like everyone else. I wanted a cut like everyone else (especially Anita Baker.)
I wanted to fit in. You have to understand, I attended a historically black college, Jackson State University, where appearances is all the rave.
Black folks don't play about their looks! Never have, never will.
Along with my newfound independence came a perm and a cut - the Anita Baker cut.
My mother was not happy! Neither was Aunt Louise.
But I needed to fit in! I needed to be able to fix my own hair when a weekly trip home wasn't possible. That makes sense right?
Soooo....I went through the normal back and forth spell and for the most part I was happy with my decision.
Fast track to today, what was I thinking?
I had it made! My hair was healthy; my hair was happy.
Now there are days I feel as if I've pissed it off!
It refuses to act right and no amount of styling is going to satisfy it or me.
Looking at a picture my girlfriend Debra and I took at a recent Debutante's Ball for her niece, I thought "I hate my hair!"
She said I was crazy. As did Derrilyn and a couple of others but the ultimate meeting of the minds had to be between me and my coils.
Last night an agreement was reached.
My hair and I signed a peace treaty...so to speak.
I will stop it with the perms every six weeks and go back to my quarterly touch-ups. I will go back to the curly fro and when there's too much new growth, it's time for the wavy locks.
Isn't it funny, the more things change, the more they stay the same?
In short, I will take another stab at going natural along with millions of other African-American women who's vowed to take the heat off their hair.
Unbelievable, over 20 years later, I'm still trying to fit in.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
He won't be this age forever
This morning started with it's typical madness.
I begrudgingly crawled out of bed at 6:45 a.m., brushed the teeth, performed my daily facial regime and applied the makeup.
A couple of minutes later I made the trek to Nicholas' room to get him out of bed, (his own bed mind you that he's only been sleeping in since December, that's another posting all together) for more of the same: the brushing of the teeth, washing of the face, brushing of the hair.
We finished making the beds and headed downstairs to get him dressed as his waffles were cooking. We're all about some multi-tasking in the morning.
Anyway, as he's putting the finishing touch on his school uniform his dad calls.
Let me back up a minute.
I wrote the ex-Mr. a letter on Jan. 2 in my very own creative way informing him that I didn't think it was cool the way he neglected Nicholas in 2008. I let him know that while it's great his payments are on time, and sometimes early, Nicholas needs his time as well as his dime.
In addition to that, I asked that whatever his distractions were in 2008 that took his time and attention away from his 6-year old son, please be modified so that his schedule included time with his sons, especially the youngest one. I closed the letter telling him, Nicholas wouldn't be this age forever so we'd both better enjoy it while we can.
To my surprise he called two days later (on Saturday), AGREERING with me! I was blown away. He promised to do better and in spite of him throwing a couple of his usual insults in there towards me, I remained silent and simply listened.
Nicholas, like most boys, worships his father. He soaks up any attention and time thrown his way. And as much as it pisses me off that he seems to be an after thought to him at times, I always allow him to go, even if it's only for an hour. The ex-Mr. will never be able to tell him I stood in the way of their relationship. Whatever opinions are formed will be formed solely by Nicholas.
The two of them spent Sunday afternoon together- yeah Sunday afternoon. The ex-Mr. picked him up around 4 p.m. (I'm assuming after he completed his golf outing since that's how he was dressed) and returned him at 7:30 the next morning prior to going to work.
I figured they had to start somewhere. I guess to him this was doing better.
When he came home Monday morning he was in great spirits. "Dad says he's going to pick me up tonight." I thought wow! He REALLY is trying to do better. I was so happy for Nicholas. He needs that bond. Yes as boy but more importantly, as a young African-American boy. He needs his father.
Needless to say the call that night never came, neither did the pick up. He was bummed out all night. My heart was breaking for him. But we got through it and had a great first day back in school on Tuesday.
Now we're caught up to this morning.
I saw it was his dad calling so I gave Nicholas the phone. He's standing right next to me so I can hear the entire exchange.
Nicholas: "Hello"
The ex-Mr: "Good morning Scooner (what the hell is a scooner).
Nicholas: "Hi dad"
The ex-Mr: "Do you want daddy to take you to school"
Now normally that's a slam dunk yes!!!!
Nicholas: "No. Mom can take me. You can take me another day"
Dead silence on the other end.
After they got off the phone I asked him why he didn't want his dad to drop him off.
"Because he was suppose to come and pick me up to take me to his house and he didn't. When he takes me to his house, he can take me to school. I want you to take me to school mommy."
I was speechless. Eventually I regained my composure and even tried to talk him into changing his mind, but he wasn't having it.
He was already transforming. He was already conjuring up his own opinions of his relationship with his father.
And as much as it broke my heart to see him disapppointed, I'd always known he wouldn't be six forever.
I just didn't think he'd grow up so fast mentally before his 7th birthday.
I begrudgingly crawled out of bed at 6:45 a.m., brushed the teeth, performed my daily facial regime and applied the makeup.
A couple of minutes later I made the trek to Nicholas' room to get him out of bed, (his own bed mind you that he's only been sleeping in since December, that's another posting all together) for more of the same: the brushing of the teeth, washing of the face, brushing of the hair.
We finished making the beds and headed downstairs to get him dressed as his waffles were cooking. We're all about some multi-tasking in the morning.
Anyway, as he's putting the finishing touch on his school uniform his dad calls.
Let me back up a minute.
I wrote the ex-Mr. a letter on Jan. 2 in my very own creative way informing him that I didn't think it was cool the way he neglected Nicholas in 2008. I let him know that while it's great his payments are on time, and sometimes early, Nicholas needs his time as well as his dime.
In addition to that, I asked that whatever his distractions were in 2008 that took his time and attention away from his 6-year old son, please be modified so that his schedule included time with his sons, especially the youngest one. I closed the letter telling him, Nicholas wouldn't be this age forever so we'd both better enjoy it while we can.
To my surprise he called two days later (on Saturday), AGREERING with me! I was blown away. He promised to do better and in spite of him throwing a couple of his usual insults in there towards me, I remained silent and simply listened.
Nicholas, like most boys, worships his father. He soaks up any attention and time thrown his way. And as much as it pisses me off that he seems to be an after thought to him at times, I always allow him to go, even if it's only for an hour. The ex-Mr. will never be able to tell him I stood in the way of their relationship. Whatever opinions are formed will be formed solely by Nicholas.
The two of them spent Sunday afternoon together- yeah Sunday afternoon. The ex-Mr. picked him up around 4 p.m. (I'm assuming after he completed his golf outing since that's how he was dressed) and returned him at 7:30 the next morning prior to going to work.
I figured they had to start somewhere. I guess to him this was doing better.
When he came home Monday morning he was in great spirits. "Dad says he's going to pick me up tonight." I thought wow! He REALLY is trying to do better. I was so happy for Nicholas. He needs that bond. Yes as boy but more importantly, as a young African-American boy. He needs his father.
Needless to say the call that night never came, neither did the pick up. He was bummed out all night. My heart was breaking for him. But we got through it and had a great first day back in school on Tuesday.
Now we're caught up to this morning.
I saw it was his dad calling so I gave Nicholas the phone. He's standing right next to me so I can hear the entire exchange.
Nicholas: "Hello"
The ex-Mr: "Good morning Scooner (what the hell is a scooner).
Nicholas: "Hi dad"
The ex-Mr: "Do you want daddy to take you to school"
Now normally that's a slam dunk yes!!!!
Nicholas: "No. Mom can take me. You can take me another day"
Dead silence on the other end.
After they got off the phone I asked him why he didn't want his dad to drop him off.
"Because he was suppose to come and pick me up to take me to his house and he didn't. When he takes me to his house, he can take me to school. I want you to take me to school mommy."
I was speechless. Eventually I regained my composure and even tried to talk him into changing his mind, but he wasn't having it.
He was already transforming. He was already conjuring up his own opinions of his relationship with his father.
And as much as it broke my heart to see him disapppointed, I'd always known he wouldn't be six forever.
I just didn't think he'd grow up so fast mentally before his 7th birthday.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
What I want.....
I want to cuddle next to you as we watch the crackling of the fireplace and listen to the sounds of Kenny G.
I want you to pull me into your arms as I straddle your lap and rest my head against your broad shoulders.
I want you to read to me as I lie there soaking in every word, every sound.
I want you to whisper in my ear "look at me."
When I do, I want you to caress my face with the fingertips of your left hand as the palm of your right hand cups the opposite side of my face.
After a few moments of this, I want you to trace the fullness of my lips with yours; gently nibbling along the way.
I want you to eventually kiss me.
Kiss me so passionately that it nearly drains me.
Leaving me just enough energy to drain you of all the negative energy floating your way.
I want to, in turn, kiss you so passionately that I swallow your pain and frustrations.
I want us to leave everything and everybody behind us as we take our journey to a blanket on the floor.
I want us to have this chance at happiness.
I want to cuddle next to you as we watch the crackling of the fireplace and listen to the sounds of Kenny G.
I want you to pull me into your arms as I straddle your lap and rest my head against your broad shoulders.
I want you to read to me as I lie there soaking in every word, every sound.
I want you to whisper in my ear "look at me."
When I do, I want you to caress my face with the fingertips of your left hand as the palm of your right hand cups the opposite side of my face.
After a few moments of this, I want you to trace the fullness of my lips with yours; gently nibbling along the way.
I want you to eventually kiss me.
Kiss me so passionately that it nearly drains me.
Leaving me just enough energy to drain you of all the negative energy floating your way.
I want to, in turn, kiss you so passionately that I swallow your pain and frustrations.
I want us to leave everything and everybody behind us as we take our journey to a blanket on the floor.
I want us to have this chance at happiness.
Survey the room
They say the older we get, the wiser we get. Maybe it would be more accurate to say, the wiser we SHOULD get.
Although, some people are born wise and at peace. For others, like myself, it's a process.
The past several years, I have come to realize I am truly traveling in the right direction.
Wiser financially. Wiser spiritually. A wiser mother, sister, daughter, aunt, friend, co-worker and overall human being.
Please understand everyday is a new adventure bringing a new challenge and unforeseen obstacles.
However, the method in which I choose to leap over these barriers is crucial to my spirit and soul growing wiser.
To handle problems in a mature, reasonable and calm manner has been my quest the past several years. And minus one brief setback recently, I've stayed on course.
The new addition to my journey through life will be a daily blog; at least I pray I can blog and cleanse my soul in this manner daily.
Here goes!
January 6, 2009
I spoke with a close friend on yesterday and at the end of our conversation it dawned on me how angry divorce can make people. That bothered me throughout the day.
After hitting the gym on my lunch break to ZUMBA (if you haven't tried it, please do) and after work for a boot camp class, I realized the one thing we can't do is depend on someone else for our happiness.
Not our friends, our family, our co-workers, our children. It's unfair to place that amount of pressure on others and just as I'm in charge of my destiny, I'm in control of my happiness - from start to finish.
After crawling into bed around 8:30 p.m. I evaluated my love life.
Currently I am in a long distance realtionship. Not a problem, I'm not interested in anything locally taking time away from my children. However, the problem is the lack of emotional dancing.
In the beginning, as with most relationships, our conversations were normal. We clicked immediately. We laughed together for hours, we shared hopes, dreams and goals. We danced endlessly emotionally. We walked into the room hand-in-hand and didn't stop moving, dancing until it was time for our conversation to end.
But suddenly it stopped. He pulled away, not totally but enough where it became noticable and somewhat distrubing.
Don't get me wrong, we're still dancing, only now there are several songs being sat out. Now I can dance in my "Valet Parking only shoes" whereas before they were strictly for show.
Now after we walk into the room hand-in-hand, we dance to a couple of songs and then I'm guided to a table while he goes to the restroom, to the bar, back to the car, check emails or simply surf the internet.
And while I'd love to dance the night away with my current beau, maybe it's time to survey the room and take inventory of the single suitors in search of a dance partner.
Although, some people are born wise and at peace. For others, like myself, it's a process.
The past several years, I have come to realize I am truly traveling in the right direction.
Wiser financially. Wiser spiritually. A wiser mother, sister, daughter, aunt, friend, co-worker and overall human being.
Please understand everyday is a new adventure bringing a new challenge and unforeseen obstacles.
However, the method in which I choose to leap over these barriers is crucial to my spirit and soul growing wiser.
To handle problems in a mature, reasonable and calm manner has been my quest the past several years. And minus one brief setback recently, I've stayed on course.
The new addition to my journey through life will be a daily blog; at least I pray I can blog and cleanse my soul in this manner daily.
Here goes!
January 6, 2009
I spoke with a close friend on yesterday and at the end of our conversation it dawned on me how angry divorce can make people. That bothered me throughout the day.
After hitting the gym on my lunch break to ZUMBA (if you haven't tried it, please do) and after work for a boot camp class, I realized the one thing we can't do is depend on someone else for our happiness.
Not our friends, our family, our co-workers, our children. It's unfair to place that amount of pressure on others and just as I'm in charge of my destiny, I'm in control of my happiness - from start to finish.
After crawling into bed around 8:30 p.m. I evaluated my love life.
Currently I am in a long distance realtionship. Not a problem, I'm not interested in anything locally taking time away from my children. However, the problem is the lack of emotional dancing.
In the beginning, as with most relationships, our conversations were normal. We clicked immediately. We laughed together for hours, we shared hopes, dreams and goals. We danced endlessly emotionally. We walked into the room hand-in-hand and didn't stop moving, dancing until it was time for our conversation to end.
But suddenly it stopped. He pulled away, not totally but enough where it became noticable and somewhat distrubing.
Don't get me wrong, we're still dancing, only now there are several songs being sat out. Now I can dance in my "Valet Parking only shoes" whereas before they were strictly for show.
Now after we walk into the room hand-in-hand, we dance to a couple of songs and then I'm guided to a table while he goes to the restroom, to the bar, back to the car, check emails or simply surf the internet.
And while I'd love to dance the night away with my current beau, maybe it's time to survey the room and take inventory of the single suitors in search of a dance partner.
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