Do It Anyway

I started this post at the BBW blog, but quickly had to conquer my anxiety to post based on a personal deadline I had set. I am re-launching the #HBCUJustGive campaign and got some new promotional ideas to assist in that effort. The big plunge was recording and then posting a companion video.

I am standing at the water's edge with a toe skimming the foam of the crashing waves. I sometimes venture in to the point where the water reaches my calves, but most of the time I am content to walk along the shore line. But tomorrow I plan to dive in.

(I am not sure flowery writing is my thing...)

I have been planning to do something big, but I have been stymied by the familiar doubts that always seem to erect a barrier between my visions and reality. The same thing happened the other night when I spent half the day stressing about whether to wear my new BBW tee prototype (I wore it). The same thing happened back in November after I ordered a box full of mugs that I was reluctant to advertise. The same thing happened a few years ago when I debuted the initial BBW tee and got dissatisfied with the printing on a few of the shirts. Let's not even address my writing process...

I always get in my own way. Perfection is the enemy of the good.

I even designed a shirt for this specific issue, which says to go for it, to do it anyway, to take the plunge, go the extra mile, put your best foot forward, and whatever other maxims are supposed to be encouraging in moments like this. DO IT (with no infringement on Nike's trademark, I might add).

Because you only live once. Because someone else will do it. Because that other person's effort won't even come close to your vision. Because you will always wonder what if. Because if not you, then who and if not now, then when?

A friend asked me to articulate an objective for what I am doing and to be honest with her and myself, I have no idea. I believe I just want to feel like I am doing something other than just watching life go by. After nearly ten years of being a caregiver, and then more than 15 years of working but never making any real professional progress (or enough money), I know that it is time for me to take the extreme risk of speaking for myself and walking on my own. I have had this dream of being a writer for a long time, probably much longer than I even realized but laboring in obscurity or as a ghost writer isn't enough. For all intents and purposes, I am a writer. I write all of the time. And I am a recognized writer. I am just not acknowledged as such in any formal fashion.

So instead of trying to stumble into recognition by random twists of fate, I am trying to build a brand, which is something that I would not have said back in 2005 when I first formally began to blog. Yet, I hope that I can build a following and create some recognition for my voice. I look around and I see that there are plenty of people in the world who can do what I do for better or for worse. I am not in competition with them though, because I am simply looking for my tribe. Looking for others who can relate to my struggles, my ideas, and who are willing to support my dreams.

As I have been on this journey, I have learned to adjust my expectations, which is why after recording several takes and then encountering computer issues that made it difficult for me get the perfect take, I did something that I am learning to become more comfortable doing. I went in with the best take I had and even if only a few people see it, I posted it. But I plan to try again, so perhaps I have other opportunities to hit my own very high bar.

My final point is that by taking this risk (which is not nearly as great as it felt in the build up), I am investing in myself. That is something I haven't really done in a LONG time. I have often taken small sure steps towards a particular goal, but rarely have I ever just jumped without knowing what would happen next. Even when I had my daughter, I feel like the risks were manageable (because until recently, I thought my greater challenge had been in caring for my Mom). And that is exactly why this was such a big deal--I usually have an eagle eye for the road ahead. I have NO IDEA what will become of this, but for the first time, I am okay with not knowing.

So here I go!

Salted Wounds

As this holiday season starts, I think I will be writing a lot more. Because I will be frustrated and lonely and tired and have insomnia and be depressed a lot.

I know I can try to avoid those feelings, just like I know we can avoid certain types of accidents and mishaps. We can try to put things out of reach, we can try to label things as dangerous, we can try but sometimes shit happens.

A few hours ago, my daughter might have drank some liquid soap. And in response to what she might have done, I asked her to tell me which is futile. So I smelled her and immediately took off the clothing that she was wearing that smelled of the soap. Then I took her up to the bathroom to wash the residue from her hands and face. While she was playing in the bathroom sink, I googled the product to determine its danger and then called poison control. I was reassured that she would survive and that no trip to the ER was necessary.

That's my version of what happened. And I think all of those steps were rational and non-panicky and non-judgmental. But according to the Hub, this was my fault. Even though she was downstairs with him when this happened. And I didn't overreact by threatening to pour the liquid soap down the drain or out of the window.

As he was about to lash out at me by pointing the finger at my negligence for leaving the product within her reach, I got mad because I felt that this wasn't the moment to blame either one of us for what could have happened. It was a moment for addressing the crisis at hand, talking to our child about danger, taking care of her immediate needs, and then addressing how we would avoid situations like this in the future. What seemed very straight-forward to me became yet another example of how he has become the most irrationally over-protective father on the planet.

And so I threatened to walk out if he ever tried to accuse me of being a bad or neglectful parent again. And I mean that shit. I will walk the fuck out. Because I'm at the point where it seems clear that would be the only way to get through to him.

Despite how pissed I am, I did not blame him for what happened. As always, I acknowledged that I might have left the product out (if I did, because I used it recently to clean up her vomit that he half cleaned up the other day). But I didn't say anything about the fact that he wasn't watching her at the precise moment she got into the soap. I never say anything about how whenever he is "watching" her, she always finds a way to get into mischief or how his way of "watching" her involves sitting on the sofa reading through his social media. I didn't imply that he was at all culpable for what happened because I didn't feel that way at all. I was just relieved that our daughter was okay.

I am tired of feeling like this is a parenting competition between us instead of us being in this together. Every time we face a challenge like this, his instinct is to become the histrionic, finger-pointing, deflective parent, which is supposed to be his way of resolving the issue. Because chastising me is doing something constructive? If she trips over something, he moves the item and then complains about my carelessness or about how I've given her too much stuff.

How is everything that happens my fucking fault? And how are we teaching her to face the world if he prefers to change the world instead of teaching her to deal? Who is the parent with the real problem here?

I'm just venting at 3am. I went to sleep but I woke up and needed to get some of this off my chest. I don't have anyone to talk to about anything anymore. I pray, and I know God hears me. But I am often unsure if I'm praying for the right things if I'm essentially saying and feeling the same thing.

Mom Ashamed

I am just going to admit that yes, I write a lot about my struggles as a mother, which might suggest that yes, this is pretty much a Mommy blog...which is consistent with most things about my life, totally the opposite of what I want.

I had a meltdown today in response to my daughter's meltdown. I threw her pacifier out of the moving car when it failed to keep her from screaming at me about whatever it was she wanted. I yelled. I cursed. I cried. I detoured to a nearby playground to get her to walk out her frustration (and to do the same for myself) and she refused. So I walked off and paced the tennis courts. When I decided that my "walk it off" idea wouldn't work, I drove us home.

I am so tired. She's only two. I am not going to make it if things continue the way they have.

I felt this way a few years ago when I reached a similar frustrated boiling point with my Mom. I had tried everything I could think of to interact and engage her, and everything was met with her treating me like she hated me. The worst period of her treating me like shit were during my pregnancy. She was so mean-spirited, and it seemed like no noticed or cared. Until the day I stormed out of the house after a particularly nasty exchange when I asked her to allow me to do something and she refused. My brother must have overheard, and finally came upstairs, but as far as I'm concerned, his concern was for my Mom and not much for me.

That's pretty much how I feel all the time during this Toddlersaurus phase (and honestly, since I was six months pregnant). No one gives much of a shit about me.

I do all of the heavy lifting, but if she has an unusual bruise on her leg, the entire world has to come to a stop to determine if we need to spend the night in the ER. When I was swollen and retaining fluid during her first month (steadily pumping myself with vitamins and bleeding and everything else to breastfeed and just adjust to everything), I was sent to the doctor (not taken, but sent on my own). Her discomfort is met with concern. Mine is met with indifference.

I fucking hate everybody right now. EVERYBODY.

I hate my Mother for being sick. I hate my Dad for being helpless. I hate my brothers for being men. I hate my sister in law for being so distant. I hate my other in-laws for living in New York. I hate my friends for never offering to do anything for me or my daughter. I hate how motherhood has isolated me. I hate my husband, period.

And I hate myself for not being the person I had hoped to be. I hate that the only way I can express myself is through writing that no one ever reads. I hate that I won't publish this (on BBW where I started writing this) because I am chicken shit and am more nervous of people judging me. I hate that the anxiety of not wanting to be judged has made it nearly impossible for me to ask for help.

Sh** Storm

I lost it a couple of hours ago with the Hub and the Toddlersaurus. I was in the living room (cleaning up, as usual), when I found the pages of one of her books covered in crayon scribble.

Earlier this afternoon, I had to practically bathe this child in a restaurant bathroom sink because she had an accident and sat all in it, without even gesturing that things were squishy and runny in her diaper. Hours earlier than that, she tore down the lower bar in her closet because I wanted to change her diaper and get her dressed before we needed to leave for my dentist appointment.

I also wasted a good part of the morning/evening in search of a shoe bag. In the course of that search, I found the doll that typically travels in my ginormous Mom bag that had been missing for the past week. I'm sure that if I keep digging, I will find other things I've misplaced.

The Facebook crowd advises me to place the kid in day care to give her regular interaction with other children. And that is definitely something that I believe is necessary, but as long as I am not working and not actively looking for a job, I can't justify the expense. We need new bedroom furniture and updated plumbing. I prefer that she returns to the Montessori program that she attended this summer, but it is pricey. Yet, I might be willing to sell coffee at Starbucks to pay them because I thought it was just that great for her (small class, very diverse, close to home).

While she's gone during the day, I could attempt to take back control of this house...

I'm mad at the Hub for being so damn inattentive. To everything. Except her wants. Today, after I used half a pack of wipes to clean her up, he gave her candy. After I confronted him about the scribbling in the book, he read her two bedtime stories. TWO.

I'm mad that I don't have a physical Mom Squad. I have a community online, which is great, but it would be nice to physically talk to another parent with a toddler in my orbit. Otherwise, I am flying blind. (Actually, I am flying blind and have flown into all kinds of isht along the way.)

I'm mad at my family for not offering to help me EVER. No one ever calls me out of the blue to say "Hey, can I take the Toddlersaurus to wherever?" Not a one. And I don't expect that to change, so that frustrates me.

I'm mad that I am always doing unto others, but yeah *crickets*

I'm mad because when I think that others tried to do unto me, they might have been told that Mr. Inattentive had everything under control. And they believed him.

I'm mad because I read that Harvey Weinstein story in the New Yorker and wow. Phuck him! I'm also still mad that it was a year ago that we were still digesting the shock of this Clown's election to the White House. I'm mad that Roy Moore could win this Senate seat in Alabama, and despite all the haranguing, he will provide a solid vote to repeal Obamacare so all will be forgotten and forgiven. I'm mad because we've had 52 weeks of insanity all because we made some progress.

We're Chumped...but Not Out

If the past few months (weeks, days, hours) have anything to teach us, we can expect that the guy in the White House will do something outrageous and offensive before the end of the month. My guess is that it will either happen by Saturday, Aug. 26 (Women's Equality Day), but definitely no later than Monday, Aug. 28 (which is the March on Washington commemoration). It is his nature to be offensive, especially if we expect him to be otherwise.

Quick pause: I began writing this earlier in the day, BEFORE the pardon (mentioned in the next paragraph) was issued. This guy trolls us even in the midst of a natural disaster bearing down in the form of a Category 4 Hurricane! SMH

So it's way past time for us to collectively adjust our expectations so that we can stop acting alarmed when he baits an overreaction by his ridiculous behavior. Of course he looked up at the eclipse without those special glasses. Of course he went forward with an ill-timed rally in Arizona and flirted with the possibility that he will pardon the racist sheriff. Of course he defended the white nationalists, neo-Nazis, and the Confederacy. Of course he is feuding with Congress. Of course he has bankrupted the Secret Service. Of course he thinks it will be perfectly fine to shut down the government over a stupid wall.

And this was all the nonsense of just this week!!!

It will never stop. Because some of our fellow Americans thought he would be their man in Washington who would drain the swamp, or just stick it to the man (who was Obama, I think), there is no stopping this guy from making a giant ass of himself every chance he gets. So all of our FB haranguing about all of the damage he has done to our country, all of the defriending and blocking of your high school classmates, all of the counter-trolling, etc...I mean, keep doing it if it makes you happy. However, just know that it will make not an iota of difference.

His supporters love him and will continue to love him. They will send their teenage daughters out into the world to defend him like these young ladies here:

Or they will arm their sons and nephews with tiki torches and pretend that their outrage is really about old forgotten statues that no one cared about in communities where they don't live (and most of them don't even know why they're still standing):

Or they will send out their religious hacks to condemn your faith/patriotism/humanity:

Or they will huddle up in their posh owner's box to hatch a plan to discredit a modern-day John the Baptist for taking a knee during the anthem (you know, since football is like a religion for some of you, I thought I would analogize):

I could keep going, but I don't wish to post a picture of him on my blog, especially not the most recent one from the rally this week that prominently featured a legitimately unhinged black supporter. In a classic product placement move worthy of a Clio, "Mike" was intended to dispel the notion the Trumpets are racist/sexist/stupid. Or whatever.

I'm just putting it all out here to illustrate the point that he is here to stay. Remember when he said that he could shoot someone in Times Square and not lose any support? Well...??? Sure, he hasn't done that yet, but give him time.

Nothing will rid us of this troublesome honey badger. He don't care and we are definitely stuck with him until January 21, 2021. Now that is not a statement of resignation, but it is the truth because there won't be an impeachment. Believe me. There is no infrastructure in place to make that happen. This Russian probe is totally going to be the Iran-Contra hearings all over again. The fall guy might be someone expendable, like Don Jr., but that's why his Dad floated out the prospect of pardons. His congressional opposition consists of disorganized Democrats and Paul Ryan supporters. Mitch McConnell is his bitch. He's surrounded himself with military generals. He's been making friends with every authoritarian on the planet. And he has the nuclear codes.

I am not arguing that we give up, but I am just suggesting that we face the facts. Our energy is better spent counting down the 1,245 days until he boards that helicopter for the last time on our dime. Which means we do EVERYTHING to remind him of our disdain and odium. We use the same grassroots organizing tactics that have resulted in every other major social advancement in our country. We organize. We march. We rally. We keep making cool protest signs. We light candles for the Notorious RBG. We educate ourselves and our children. We protect our prophets (like Kaepernick); we mourn our martyrs (like Heather Heyer).  We raise our voices. We VOTE in 2018, and again in 2020, and every subsequent election. We find the folks who erected this chicken on the ellipse and mass produce miniature inflatable duplicates to pass around at his rallies like beach balls. We RESIST!

Gods and Generals

I think I want to go back to teaching American Government and History at the precise moment when Donald J. Trump boards Marine One and they take him to Andrews AFB so that he can fly back to his tower in New York City. Or wherever, so long as he is headed out of town NEVER to return as the Commander in Chief.

I know that I might end up teaching a few students who were supporters of his, and that we may or may not debate the disaster that was his Presidency. I know my position on him will be easy to discern from the absolute glee that might emanate from me, but there is another reason: I want students to truly understand how our government and system are supposed to work without the distraction of "alternative facts" and false equivalencies.

I wrote a screed on my FB page the other day in which I invoked the concerns I have about the current President's misleading interpretations of our government functions. How if he were a student of mine, he would fail...but not because I wouldn't have tried my best to impart knowledge, but because I'm convinced he would try his best not to receive it. For only a person who resists sound instruction would believe that there is ultimate power invested in the President despite the fact that our government consists of three co-equal branches. And then continue to act as if his executive powers are not subject to judicial review or congressional veto. Despite the fact that he, as a private citizen, spent the better part of the last four years cheering on the very checks and balances of power as exercised by his co-equal partners.

In addition, I need him to learn a more comprehensive version of American History--the story that offers a more in-depth understanding of both our country's founding after the Revolution and its near destruction during the Civil War. Because if the President understood those two crucial points in our history, he would not have casually and recklessly thrown out the suggestion that once statues of Confederate generals come down, so too would statues of our slave-holding Founding Fathers.

So let's unpack the difference, in anyone needs a tutorial--the Founders established this country, the Confederates tried to destroy this country. And to offer a little more nuance, in case there are more questions, slavery was bad. The Founders who owned slaves have that cloud hovering over their legacies, that stain permanently set in their expensive linens. And there is no denying that the Confederate generals who fought to maintain the southern economic engine fueled by the free labor of slaves also share that same permanent stain. Yet more than a clouded legacy or permanently blood-stained clothing, they also bear the responsibility for the death of every life lost in that struggle. The Confederate generals who took up arms in rebellion against the nation founded by those slave-holding Founders do not deserve an elevation of status on par with the Founding Fathers. In fact they shouldn't even have a proper adjective capitalized with the letter "C"...

But that is where I stray into opinion, so let me pivot back to facts. As difficult as it might be for me to separate the ownership of slaves in the 18th Century from owning slaves and defending that practice to the death in the 19th Century, that is not the point of comparison that distinguishes the two groups of men. And I know this because of my recent trip to Mount Vernon.

My Niece, who loves all things George Washington (thanks to the clever marketing genius of the Nationals' Racing Presidents), my daughter and I visited Mt. Vernon this week. I had tried to take them back in July, but I misread the hours of operation, so when I had a chance to take them on Monday, we took the drive down and had a chance to see most of the property. She loved it, I appreciated being able to see it through her eyes, and my hope is that she will continue to learn more about the founding of this country.

When George Washington decided to seek a second term as President of the entire nation, it was at a moment when it could have fractured along the very same regional lines that divided the nation 69 years later. In contrast, Robert E. Lee (ironically both a distant cousin of Washington and also his great-grandson in-law), chose exploit that rupture in 1861 when he opted to serve the Confederacy against the Union with his home state of Virginia.

Could it be argued that Washington, a traitor to England, should be remembered for that as a permanent sin? Well, the British people have opted to honor Washington in Trafalgar Square with a bronze statue presented to them by the Commonwealth of Virginia! So far, I can't say whether he is honored similarly in Canada, but that is none of my business...

The point is that not all monuments deserve public veneration. These confederate statues of generals might deserve a place of honor in communities where they did more than lead a rebellion against their country. So for example, Washington and Lee University, named for both generals and their contributions to that institution, can and should honor General Lee in whatever manner they deem appropriate. It is a private institution, and as such, the students who choose to matriculate there do so with the understanding that it has a specific history. But that does not mean that Lee deserves to have statues dedicated to his memory maintained at public expense in every city across the Commonwealth, so if some communities decide that he should retired to greener pastures, then that isn't erasing his memory insomuch as it is relocating it to a more appropriate venue.

Our country's history is very complicated, which is the other reason why we need a better understanding of those complexities. We need to agree that there are facts, and various opinions, and that what we teach are the facts and not the opinions. We don't need history taught by pundits who have a vested interest in promoting a certain perspective instead of uncomfortable truths. And we certainly don't need history reduced to 140-word character tweets dispatched by a leader desperate to prove his legitimacy. And as great as it is that most young people develop an interest in history because of interpretations in popular culture, this isn't actually a history lesson either:

But it is funny.

The Last of the Rebel Yells

This piece evolved from an initial intent to post an article on the Busy Black Woman FB page featuring the faces of the "Unite the Right" protestors from Charlottesville. When the article and my commentary failed to post on my FB page (very unusual), I began writing the piece below in response, also in reflection from having attended my family reunion in Fredericksburg, VA. Here is part of what I wrote:

Unfortunately, the article I tried to post yesterday with the photo of the Unite the Right protestors did not post, nor did my message. But today, after all of the chaos, terror, destruction, and the unfortunate deaths, I have another opportunity to express my utter despair at what happened in Charlottesville yesterday.

As all of that nonsense was going on, I was in Fredericksburg for my family reunion. As a child, we would travel to "the country", at least once a year the second weekend in August to reunite those family members who had remained in Fredericksburg with those who had migrated to DC and Philadelphia. I hadn't been to one of these events since my grandmother passed away more than 20 years ago, for a variety of reasons I may share later. On the drive down I-95, we passed an enormous confederate flag that has been erected just past Quantico and right before Warrenton, VA.

So, just over an hour's drive away from the Nation's Capitol, the confederacy has resurrected itself on the side of a major interstate. I saw it the last time I drove down to Fredericksburg for my Aunt's funeral last fall; this time I asked my niece to take a photo so that we could post it online. She didn't get the picture, and now that I have had a chance to digest what occurred yesterday, I believe it was the hand of God maneuvering things so that we would not continue to spread the hate that flag represents. Of course, my reason for wanting to post a picture was to highlight that very sentiment, but it doesn't need to be broadcast by me.

I don't know all of the details of what happened yesterday in Charlottesville because we were absorbed in our bubble of reacquainting ourselves with distant relatives. But I was reminded of the very powerful reason why my grandmother and her favorite cousin left the "county" for DC and Philly so many decades ago--they wanted a better life for their children. They understood the limitations of opportunity for black Southerners, so they joined that Great Migration as young women and later established branches of our family tree in northern communities like so many of their peers. I can only imagine that some incident or mindset, similar to what was on display in Charlottesville yesterday, is what spurred them to leave.

I posted it here because in the days since the protests, I have been reflecting a LOT about what this all means today in 2017. Not that I had no expectations that the backlash to the Obama era had begun and ended with the last election (because, sadly this is only the beginning of the counter-revolution), but it builds on a theme that I felt compelled to express a few weeks back on July 4th. I framed that piece about being woke enough to cautiously appreciate that holiday, but now I want to stake out an even bolder position--that our celebrations of this country serve to appreciate our evolution, and then to demand that we continue to strive towards becoming a more perfect union.

Because these grand American ideals are for everyone.

If your ancestors died to preserve ideals that did not expand rights or that were meant to exclude people, then that is a reason to mourn, not celebrate. Your pride is rooted in something that is the very antithesis of liberty and the pursuit of happiness, the ideals of our Founders--not the Confederate generals whose cause you defend. When you choose to stand for racial segregation, gender inequality, religious intolerance, and any other form of systematic oppression, it betrays them and every person who has ever shed blood for this country.

And of course, as I was writing this piece, the Trumpet sounded off again...and so I'm convinced that whenever I think I've missed the window to respond to his nonsense, I just need to give him six hours to say or do something else outrageous.

Too much has happened to unpack everything in one piece. So here are some themes I hope to address as I continue to examine my counter position to MAGA--America is for all of us:

1. We all hear your dog whistle, Mr. President, so no need trying to conceal it by deliberately changing the subject and getting angry. No more fake nuclear crises or hollow threats to fire members of your Cabinet.
2. Ironic that no one thought to be this overt during the tenure of the first black President. The worst you could muster up against Obama were racist cartoons, but this angry white mob thing is really quite a step forward. Feel free to march through the hood on your way back to the suburbs.
3. My Grandma Viola and her Cousin Ruth, and my other Grandmother Amanda and the many other thousands of black folks who migrated out of the South clearly understood why you march to preserve your old confederate monuments. And they aren't spinning in their graves over any of this because Barack Obama was the real shock...this backlash was to be expected.
4. There is no slippery slope when it comes to venerating Founding Fathers and Confederate generals. While many people have issues with our slave-owning Framers, most of us can see the difference between honoring the first President of the United States and honoring the President of the Confederacy. They are not equals.
5. This title of this piece comes from the name of a roller coaster at King's Dominion, an amusement park located in Virginia, north of Richmond. For years, I never knew to associate the name of the coaster with anything connected to the confederacy, but I had a doh moment a few years ago when I was teaching. That's how embedded certain colloquialisms are...yet, we need to be mindful as we evolve as a society. If these truly are harmless symbols, then moving them should not evoke such emotion.
6. Finally, thank you for leaving your bed sheets at home so that the world could really see your faces. Like many people, I was expecting to see more rowdies from the MAGA crowd because they are easier to ridicule. But color me shocked to see the IT guy at work, the guy who sells life insurance, the guy who manages the electronics store, and the kid's soccer coach. All clad in your Ralph Lauren polo shirts (he's a Jew, btw).