i couldn’t wait

to get here. that must be why i came early. and i know that, from the very start, you’ve held my hand. no matter how wrong i was, without regard to my stubbornness, you never let go. i appreciate that. i don’t know one word to sum it up. i’ve drifted, come back, drifted again but deep down i always knew you were anchoring me. i’m thankful.

you taught me
how to politely tell someone that i don’t cosign their foolishness
what it is to make a dollar out of 15 cents
how to be sharp as a tack on a really low budget
how to make a wreath out of trash bags
what the last laugh really is
how to be a maverick
when to walk away
that faith without work is dead
what forgiveness is without forgetting
how to say goodbye to someone you love
the difference between forward movement and running away
how to love myself regardless of what other people think
that crafting a gift can be better than a store-bought item
discipline for the sake of something i want
how to share without giving myself away

when i was a little girl, i wanted to be you because you exemplified composure and class. your hair, your choice of clothes and jewelry . . . i even used to sneak your cigarette butts because i wanted to know what it’d feel like to be you. i don’t know if you ever knew that. but i wanted to be just like you when i grew up. i can only hope that i can capture and utilize a fraction of your uniqueness. the way you move through the world is miraculous to me — some days i don’t think i have the grace or patience. but then i remember whose daughter i am, and i have to correct myself.

i don’t really know if i’ll ever be able to articulate how much taller i stand because you’ve helped me and been there and said ‘okay’ even when i wasn’t sure of myself.
thank you.
every day should be your day, but i’m just making sure i take the time to speak on how i feel.
i admire, respect, thank and love you. happy mother’s day, mommy!

this is a copy of the email i sent my mom. all the manicures, pedicures and jars of honey-roasted peanut butter won’t ever do it.

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i’m tired of this shit.

myopia is a disease. it can be a blessing and simultaneously a curse, if you will. i don’t mean what my eyes can do (i’m a prime candidate for corrective eye surgery, actually). i’m talking about worldview perspective, or the lack thereof. i’m still here with mine. i’m not sure there are too many other ways to say it. i believe that love must fuel change. when i change myself, it is out of love — i cast away old things. i cast away negativity. i cast away damaging things to improve myself. to me, change outside of ourselves should be fueled by the same feelings of love. there is no other way. what could be greater than love?

shine on!

dope girl fresh has been featured on the ultraviolet underground blog.

altered thought’s silly ass is back at it. this time, he wants you to learn the basics of having relations.

laeti├žia has learned the glory of bragging, a valuable lesson learned from mama gena.

falsabaiana’s kids won the GOLD in their ballroom competition. (girl, gimme a link to read if there is one) she’s also a recent birthday girl! yaaaaaaaaay!

this is my time to celebrate ppl i know/ love (especially myself! lol) & the wonderful things they do/ create, no matter how big or small.

oh, boy.

here we motherfreakin go.

reading this article, a few things popped into my mind:
– maybe folks don’t talk enough about what to do when they don’t know what to do. i.e., the one woman’s situation where the doctor recommended that the mother receive an IV. i don’t know that i would have recommended that the woman go take a shower. i always understood being a doula as being present in assisting the mother in the birth she wants. if a client changes her mind mid-labor about being all natural, am i really in any kind of a position to give her static? i genuinely don’t think so. everyone’s anxious about safe passage for the child. everyone wants the mother to be okay and for it to be as easy a labor as possible. i’m not so keen on sending a woman to get a shower if she’s considering an IV.

– umm, of course a lactation consultant is pushing breast milk. it’s that person’s freaking job. if you don’t need consultation, the consultant doesn’t have a job anymore. however, lactation consultants are not MDs in most instances. this means that knowledge of a lack of hormone in the mother’s body is not something that ought to be laid upon the shoulders of the lactation consultant. i don’t think that a mother’s inability to produce breast milk is something for anyone except the mother to be upset about. really. i’m sure that such a thing is crushing to a woman who’s planned to breast feed. it’s really for her to deal with, along with the aid of her partner and whomever else is part of her support system. come the hell on. if i’m doing breastfeeding education with a client and it turns out that she’s incapable of producing milk, wtf kind of person am i (let alone doula) if i get uptight with her about using formula instead? really.

– the best part of the whole article is the quote from jessica sacher. parents absolutely have the same amount of due diligence as when choosing a pediatrician. it’s cool to be excited about going the natural birth route, and having a doula and/ or midwife. but fantasy and idealism kind of go out the window when you’re facing the choice between an epidural and suffering through what may be the most intense pain you’ve ever felt in your life.

this article made me think about someone’s caveat to me a few weeks ago: “make sure you know how to sell yourself as a doula. what makes you unique? why should someone hire you instead of a woman who’s an RN or a licensed massage therapist?” it turned my stomach that she turned it into a sale thing. for crying out loud, she works in the maternal & infant health field — has done so for more years than i’ve been on this damn planet — & instead of sharing resources with me, she fucking decides i need to sell my services as one might sell ass on a street corner. i’m glad i stopped listening to her ass halfway through the ‘advice session.’ i mean, of course i need to present myself the best way i possibly can. but also, i feel that an informed, positively minded parent or couple will choose someone who best fits their needs. it’s ridiculous for me to try to land clients the way jewelry salespeople fight for commission. there are more births out there than i could possibly handle. if i were in it for the clout i’d have gone ahead to get an MPH and be someone’s snot nosed hospital administrator.

also, i believe that prevention is the one thing that best combats situations where conflict occurs between doula and parent(s), between nurse and doula, etc.

i could be writing all night. i can’t afford to. feel free to carry on in the comments, people.

g’night!

my inner child needs a hug.

& an apology
& that new pair of punky brewster sneakers
someone who’ll listen the first time she says someone’s house is on fire across the street
& someone to explain why she has to be nice to or give two shits about daddy & his folk
someone to tell mommy to stop putting relaxers in her hair, no matter how much “easier” it is to style
& a friend who won’t steal her cabbage patch dolls
a real talk about boys, sex, sexuality, & why her uncles keep nudie mags
to know that difference between mommy’s cigarettes & that funny smelling stuff ricky & his friends smoke in the living room
to get to know all of the bisabuelos before they die or have strokes
to learn to jump double dutch
to learn to play chess, cuz checkers is for suckas
& to know how beautiful she is
to know it’s more than, better than okay to be black
to be unashamed of her roundness
to understand that saying no is a tool, & she should do it often

she needs more quality time with momzie
violin lessons
more dance classes
no more wave nouveau
better access to health care
more smart black girlfriends
more books
more space
a savings account
more time to play w/ the records in the basement
a trip to every cultural event and street fair philadelphia ever had to offer
to see her own reflection and smile
to know that she’s loved, a child of god no less than the stars
& most importantly
that she’s gonna grow up to be just fine.

my current feelings/ thoughts on thanksgiving:

i don’t feel like it.

this year, i want a turkey sammich in one hand & some sort of intoxicant in the other, while watching some kind of ridiculous film or television program on dvd (see: get a life, in living color, pootie tang, or napoleon dynamite) with some friends.

i will have that kind of thanksgiving. dammit.

even if my entire family converges on my itty bitty apartment & decides to eat candy off exu’s shrine space . . .
even if my perpetually chilly apartment lets the hawk in . . .
even if my janky ass oven puts an unnecessary coating of crispness on everything i bake inside of it . . .

i will enjoy this day off.

maferefun sango!!!

kawo! kabiyesile!

thank you, baba, for sending my brother my way. i love love love LOVE that boy to pieces. thank you. we are each other’s cheer leader, each other’s comic relief, & most importantly we have a taciturn understanding that can be expressed simply by the raising of an eyebrow. my brother is so sharp, too. thank you for bringing a sharply dressed black man around me, one who actually compliments me and means it. he is not trying to sleep with me (not that i know of). he is socially conscious, and gives a damn about his folks. he will entertain my conversations about all things sociopolitical, & never once calls me ‘too smart.’ we crack nerd jokes & he never, ever, EVER tells me i think too much/ too hard.

i’m blessed to have a friend like vsf. i love that crazy child. i do.

adupe.

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