First Days...My Wordless Wednesday

Today, I used up all my words on a guest post for Tom the Girl.  If you want to read right now, go here.

Something I mention in that post has to do with my mom’s legacy.  To see just how much of a family girl I am…a carrier on of traditions, if you will, look at this!  To read more about it, like I said earlier, go here.

My picture of Joey and Eddie on Joey’s first day of school.

My picture of Joey and Eddie on Eddie’s first day of school.

LOL. My Mom’s picture, taken of Lana and me, on my first day of school.

History repeats itself!!!!

Believe in Me

Maybe I will not fit your mold of the mommy blogger, but there has been enough talk out there as of late…there is no clear definition of the mommy blogger.

I write to clear my mind. I write to find myself after I lose myself throughout a busy day of employee and mommy and significant other.  Here is another one of my pieces. Enjoy.
Do you believe in me?
Cause right now I’m walkin a fine line
steppin through the mines in my mind
Fallin behind
Because of lack of time and
Feelin like 999
pieces of a puzzle
What happened to that 1000th piece?
You know, the piece that ends up forever lodged under the baseboard of floors
Or lost in shores
Of couch and cushion.
I ain’t pushin
no drugs or crazy talk sh*t
But I just ain’t havin this one bit
I am tired
I lost a part of me
I am a paranoid perfectionist
And that missing piece is drivin me crazy
I am cravin to be whole and this is just bad, bad, bad
And not bad meaning good, but bad meaning bad
Do you believe in me too?
Unending litany of questions
I am looking for your suggestions
On the who, the where, the why, the what
Trying to find out how to get where you got
Forgetting that you are you and I am not
Because of lack of time and
Getting the sh*t kicked out of me in my prime
And how many mountains does a B*tch gotta climb
To make a dime without committing a crime
Your crime is an offense against nature and SHEEEEET
There ain’t no judge and jury that convicts for that
On this…
earth
And that’s okay because it ain’t you that should define my worth
My worth is that of ancestors that I have not forgotten
Picking Peruvian cotton in mountains that have stood longer
and stronger
and withstood the test of time
Sharp peaks and fertile valleys
Not mountain, but woman, who you shove into dark alleys
Alleys where you learned to love to hate
Alleys that you negate
Whatchou mean that you know not of what I speak?
Watch what you say before you end up with tongue in cheek
You have forgotten that you have tried to prey on the weak
One day I may decide to forgive you for your mean streak
But I cannot forget that with my life away you tried to sneak
Even deeper I cannot forgive myself that I allowed you to make me feel bleak
Do you believe in me too?
Fcuk that
I believe in me and
With each blow with which you try to defeat
Your indiscreet deceit will only lead you into a retreat
As I deplete you arsenal of hate and misery
I aim to march on to a victory
A meeting with my destiny
I am the warrior Indian princess from deep
Within the womb of the mountain
And I give rebirth unto myself
And into my own soul I will delve
For the strength, the courage, the wisdom
That you do not hold
That you do not hold
But I do because I am that bold
I am the bold
I am a child of the sun
I am fire and light
And will succeed despite your spite
And green eyes shooting daggers of wrong, not right
For if you were right I would lie down dead right here
But now I stand without fear
For you I will not shed a tear
And now I hear the ding, ding
Start the match
I will rise from my corner of the ring
And from every mountain top you will hear me sing
A call of victory, victory, victory
I will not wallow in your misery, misery, misery
And now I am that bad, if you would
And not bad meaning bad, but bad meaning good

I have a tantrum thrower

I have a tantrum thrower.

Wow, it’s like I asked you on a date and skipped dinner and brought you right to the bedroom, isn’t it?

But, there’s no cute way to enter this post.

I have a tantrum thrower.

I’d show you a movie, but it costs $60 a year to have videopress so that I could post it.  But, I’l try my best to describe it.

Here, he begins by whipping his cup across the room.

The tantrum thrower is Chops. Twin A. He begins by screaming, grabbing on to my leg and holding tight so that I can’t walk anywhere without him dragging with me.  When I don’t allow him to hang off my leg, yes…that’s right, I peel him off…he then throws himself to the ground.  Like superman. I mean, this kid needs a full on cape.  He throws himself, by leaps and bounds, and then puts his hand out in front of himself…yup, he’s smart enough to protect his face and head.

Next, he throws himself towards the ground


And then…he writhes. He squirms. He screams. Blood curddling screams. He twists and arches his back. Throws his head back.  Did I mention the screams.

All the books (read:internet) say to ignore him. To find him a safe place to throw his tantrum and leave him. To not talk to him. To not try to reason with him. To not punish him or become angry with him.

.....Once on ground, he does not sleep. He SCREAMS.

Yeah. Easier said than done. On the safe place: I find my son a safe place to throw a tantrum and then I walk away at which point he gets up, follows me, and then throws himself down in front of me yet again. Yay.

On not talking/reasoning. I cannot open my mouth.

No tantrum is complete without the arching of back...
I’m going to be honest, I already have a proclivity towards swearing like a sailor. So, in this case, I have to keep my mouth shut.

What a great a mother, right? All is want to do is to tell my kid to shut the %#$& up.

I really wish I could post this video.

He is only 18 months old. Is this the beginning of the terrible twos? Will he throw tantrums until he is three? Will he always be a tantrum thrower?

I have three other children that I have raised myself. None of them has been a tantrum thrower. I don’t know what to do with this.

I want to keep my motherly patience and composure. But the potential of one more year…heck one more month of this?

HELP.

Did You Know, I Love to Flow?

Some of you may be familiar with different types of poetry.  I grew up a dramatic melodramatic girl, writing poetry–of all kinds.  Because, when I wasn’t day dreaming that I was the love child of Jimi Hendrix (how cool am I if I am???), I was the descendent of Edgar Allan Poe, or John Keats, or Pablo Neruda… Or I would have been the BFF of Sylvia Plath… I TOLD YOU MELODRAMATIC!!!

Where I grew up, and for the most part, where I went to college, poetry had rhythm.  It rhymed (sometimes), it could be measured (most of the time) or it was free form.  Until I began to teach, I had no idea that poetry could be FLOETRY.  Or slam.

Most of my teaching experience is in urban education.  Lower socio-economic standing, mostly students of color, the deepest, most richly worded, talented and brilliant minds I ever met were in these schools.  My students introduced me to flow.  They encouraged me to slam.  It was a way to share who I was in a raw, organic form.

And now, on this tired Tuesday on which I’ve given nebulizer treatments, gone on doctor visits and picked up steroid scripts, I feel exhausted–and apparently uninhibited enough to share this with you.

I wrote this about two years ago.  I hope you don’t mind that I share my past with you.  Sometimes, it helps me heal.  It helps me close doors.  And in this case, it is also opening a window into my soul.

Heart Burning Emptiness’ Echoes

Heart burning emptiness’ echoes
Hollow spaces in cavernous places lost long ago
Innocence
lost long ago
Passion
lost long ago
Even though I ask I guess I’ll never know
What moves your mountains and parts your seas
What emotions and touches bring you to your knees
And love sick
Desperate for movement from you
I drop to my knees, thinking yes, I know this will please
Never your tease, I always aim to ease
Easily takin the bones you throw
Never complainin bout how low I will go
To fill the depths of dark lovely things within
You swim the shallow end
I am lookin for a man interested in deep sea divin
Your toe sits at edge of pool, afraid of possible shivers up spine
But I don’t know why when the temp is mine and
…I run hot
But I allow you to make a fool of me
Waitin for days that might never come
Days away
You don’t look in my eyes but with
Lack of touch and louder than words you send me a message
I was a mistake
And your eyes are focused on hindsight
Maybe at end of tunnel you see light
But I see dark
I see lonely and tears and one
All along I have been fallin
And you have been trippin
But now pain is risin
It is dull but it throbs from deep within
We made love but it is just an action
And you don’t possess the emotion
You are lying to either me
Or you
I wish I had the strength to do
What needs to be done but I don’t
I carry on with life
Sometimes it hurts to breath
I can’t stand to breath
I don’t want to breath
But I am breathing, my heart is beating
For three now
And half of my two are part of you
My tears release my pain, the pain of my love
But I am filled with so much love
That I fear I may never stop crying until
I am swimming…or drowning
In this salty body

***If ten people read this and request me to, I will record this and post the audio clip of how this sounds performed…TEN PEOPLE…which, of course, I say ten because I am sure ten separate and different people don’t even read this little bloggy***

Come on Hollywood, Are You Serious?

Being a woman is funny.  At least it is to me.   Don’t get me wrong.  I thoroughly enjoy being a woman.  Definitely better than the other option.  But, I have to talk about something…

ARE YOU SERIOUS, HOLLYWOOD?????

Okay, some background info.  It’s Wednesday morning.  E and I are in bed.  He’s watching The Covenant, and all I see is bad acting and 18 year old girls in tiny pajamas.  I turn to him, and question, “Do you really find this entertaining?”

“Yes, ”  he answers.  Then he scrunches up his face in that way he always does when he knows that I’m just thinking way too hard, “Why???”

“Well, I was just thinking that you should be offended at how stupid Hollywood must think you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you can’t actually find value in this crap.  Hollywood thinks you’ll watch this because the girls are in small pajamas and they think you’ll fall for that.  It’s offensive to you and women.  And those girls are only 18, 20 years old.  Too young for you.  Are you some kind of dirty old man?”

Okay.  Maybe I was going too far.  But I had reached a point of no return.  Especially when he responded…

“Yeah.  I guess.”

“What?  Come on.  This is the downfall of American society here.  Oversexed and underthought.  Bad acting.  Bad plot.  Bad writing.  But underclothed chicks make the movie? “

“I guess it’s enticing.” Is he stupid?  What would possess him to think it would be okay to admit this to me, especially in this moment?  Poor him.  No grey matter.

“To whom?” My retort.  I know he means him.  And everything with a peni$.  I JUST DIDN’T THINK HE’D GO THERE.

“Well….” was his quick and witty response.

I think you know where this conversation went.  But…

Isn’t it sad?  I mean, all these GROWN-AZZ men watching these teeny bopper girls on the screen.  Drooling.  Wishing.  Pondering.  It’s sad.  It really is.  Men thinking about these unrealistic images of girls.  Not appreciating what they have right there in front of them.  Let’s be realistic.  I think the most average joe thinks, hey, if I could just get in the same room with her, I’d have a chance… I said this aloud to E and he said, most guys don’t care about what else they could get IF they COULD just get into the SAME ROOM as her.  Are you serious?  They are THAT easy?

Then women begin to hate themselves.  If only I could be. A size smaller.  An inch taller.  A little more toned.  A little less wrinkly.  A little more tanned.  A whole lot more beautiful.  A lot less scared.  A whole bunch more DESIRED. BY. MY. MAN.

So men wish they could be anything to these “silver screen” girls.  But women want to be everything to just their man.

And it doesn’t matter.  How bald he is. How built he isn’t.  How fat he is.  How smart he isn’t.  How much he drinks.  How little he cleans.  What a mess he leaves.  That he leaves without a goodbye kiss.  How much money he doesn’t make.  That his jokes are only funny to her.  How he forgets what she dreams of.  How he remembers her flaws.

All. she. wants. is. for. him. to. want. her.

Come on, Hollywood.  Make a movie about her.  And cast her in the role, too.

Wordless Wednesday

The Weirdness starts at the top...

 And just keeps on going...

 and going...

...and going!

From where does it come? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree...