Honey child

I love it when I go to the South.

Because in the South its honey child this and honey child that.

Like honey child when did you get back,

You want something to eat honey child?

You look like you ain't eat in a week honey child,

you miss grandma's cooking honey child. Or is that city life

driving you wild, honey child.

Come and taste some of these blueberry muffins, fried chicken, and peas.

If you please honey child, I've got more that is sure to please honey child.

Collard greens, and macaroni cheese, pork chops for breakfast honey child with

shrimp and grits and a whole lot of kicks honey child and that's just for you and me honey child.

-me

Are you a Jack in the box parent?

When I was a little girl my friend named Kim gave me a box. On the side of the box was a small little crank that played music when you turned it. The tune if I still remember went like this "All around the mulberry bush the monkey chased the weasel.......then pop goes the weasel." Next thing I know a big funny faced clown popped out of the box and scared the himmy jeemys out of me. Who would have thought that a little clown would be in that little box.
Many people are slow to admit if they are a Jack in the Box parent, however they may know some who are. In case you didn't know, a Jack in the Box parent is a parent who pops out when it is convenient for them. Not convenient for the one opening that mysterious box, but convenient for the clown that chooses when to pop out and scare the himmy jeemys out of the child.
Parenting is not easy. Many days you want to call it quits, jet away on a small cruise ship. But how can you. You made a sacrifice. So why is it that one parent feels that he or she can pop in and out and say boo when they feel like it. Being a mom or dad is a full-time job, not a part-time job. With that job comes responsibilities like laundry, car pooling, runny noses, and 18 years of why, please, help me, etc. etc... So why is it that so many parents are like the monkey running around the mulberry bush trying to chase the weasel before the clown shows up? I have no clue. But what I do know is after awhile I got tired of that box and that funny faced clown and I threw it in the trash. I just hope we can get it together before our children decide to get rid of this clown act for good.

He did his best!

Mothers as we check the breath, adjust the bow, remind them to grab their book bag, and finally wipe them down with some good old saliva juices the question arises in my mind have I truly prepared my children for school. This school year has definitely been a rough one, and while there are many more to come I sometimes feel like I might be the reason my Child is Left Behind.
I knew it was a little abnormal when my son could not hold a conversation without bouncing around in his seat, or cutting me off every time I spoke. But I do that. I love to listen, but I believe that I may bust open sometimes if I do not get my point across. So of course I assumed this was typical 3rd grade/31 year old mother behavior. However, typical third grade behavior turned into some really bad grades coming home. Of course I panicked as usual. Offered all of my teacher strategies, and diagnosis. The teacher replied, "He is definitely capable, he just does not focus." Focus turned into the mystery word at home. I used it whenever it felt right. "Son stop peeing on the floor, you need to focus more. Son, focus on eating your carrots. Honey, can you focus that television screen so that I can see it better. Little boy, are you focusing on the words that are coming out of my mouth?" Basically focus, focus, focus. Even after all my hard work with focusing my son was continuing to bring home papers that had big F's on it that screamed he needed to focus more.
I decided to do what any normal 21st century, former teacher, therapist twice a month mom would do. I had him assessed. Of course it was true. The words that no mom wants to hear but the pharmaceutical companies crave. "Your son has ADHD." Okay tell me something that I don't know. I was hoping for a quick fix, and what I got was your son needs to be medicated, attend therapy, and of course he will need an IEP. "You mean to tell me that this is not over." I could have swore that he would magically begin to make A's once I took the initiative and had him diagnosed. But of course he did not. After, we left the docotor's office all kinds of regret entered my mind. "I let him eat way too much candy. He needs an earlier bedtime. My ADHD has trickled down to him. We spend way too much time together." What I really felt bad about is all those times I fussed at him about bringing home bad grades. He told me he was trying his best, and I didn't believe him. I failed him. I did this.
Every Monday my son's teacher sends home a packet of last weeks work. For the last several weeks my son has not performed to0 well. A lot of sheets with F for Focus in large letters. I visited my son's class early Monday. My son of course was in the front of the class with his hand raised attempting to show Mommy how smart he truly is. His teacher pulled me to the side and told me that he did his classwork really well last week. He made some good grades; however, there were some tests that he did not do too well on and she did not stick them in his folder. He still has to review the wrong answers before they will be sent home. I smiled a sad smile and signed the papers.
Later that day Dedan couldn't wait to show me his folder. It was full of A's. He clapped his hands, even pumped his fist New Jersey style. Then he asked, "Mommy are you proud of me?" I responded, "Of course, you did your best!"

Skakita Johnson's smile

Have you ever found yourself flipping through Facebook, Myspace, Linkedin going through pictures of your old friends from high school or college. And suddenly you come across that one picture that holds your attention. Maybe its a friend, or a friendnemie, or possibly its the other girl. But when you look at her she looks back at you with this mischievious grin. One little grin that spoke a thousand words. This grin screams I got what you want. You tried, but you failed. I found it. The gold at the end of the rainbow. The last lucky charm.
The other day I was surfing one of my social networking pages, and I came across that grin. Shakita Johnson's grin. It wasn't really mysterious. It might have even resembled a smile more than a grin. What it was is happiness. My long lost friend had found something that I did not have. Something that was free and not for sale at Lord and Taylor's. It was joy. There was so much joy in her smile that I could write joy on every tooth that shown in that picture. I continued to stare at that picture, and I was captivated by her smile. I even tried it in my 24kt gold mirror. I attempted to replicate that smile and feeling. But every time I tried I fell short. Not enough teeth, or too much cheek. Plus my eyes did not look like her eyes did. Even her eyes were smiling. Her smile made me wonder what was she thinking? Who made her feel like this? Did she just get a promotion or just find out that she was pregnant? Neither one. Who was she smiling at? By the way that the picture was shot I could tell that only two people had been in that picture. It was her and her husband. In some pictures she was holding the camera and in others he was holding the camera. But one thing was sure. She was smiling back at him. He was the reason for her smile. It didn't seem like they had a lot in the picture. They didn't look like they possessed a very expensive car, or even owned a home. But they loved one another. He made her content, satisfied. He filled her cup, and she dranketh from it. That smile was so intoxicating that I almost wanted to cry. It enragd me. I felt guilt, envy, and joy all at the same time. I was happy for her. Even though I wished it was me. I was still happy for her. Shakita Johnson had a smile that spoke a thousand words and only her husband knew what those words meant to me.

For Nana

When I was little I caught a butterfly in my hand. It was so beautiful with specks of gold, purple, and green. I wondered to myself where did this butterfly come from? How did she get here? I made up stories about how she was probably from royalty because of her purple color and rich texture. I thought maybe she could have been from wealth, because of the gold specks that danced around her wings so soft and elegantly. I envisioned that all the other butterflies were envious of her because she was green and illuminated when she flew from flower to flower. I loved her so much that I basked in her beauty. I wanted to keep her for myself forever and ever.

I asked my mother for a jar, and I put her in it so that she would never leave me. When we were alone, I let her dance freely all over my room and sometimes she would stop to kiss my nose. But one day to my surprise when I opened the jar she did not move, she did not dance, she did not illuminate. My beautiful butterfly was gone. And while I admired her for her beauty, and the time we shared I knew that that my room was not her world. What awaited her was a land rich with exquisite things like honey nectar, and dew drops, lemon grass, and rainbow casts a new journey for her to embark where she could dance freely and allow the world to bask in her beauty.

For Nana, Dedan and Dylan will continue to bask in all that you made beautiful.

What's wrong with my mom's jeans!

The other day I came across this ad for jeans while I was getting a pedicure. The name of the jeans were "not my daughter's jeans." In the magazine was a picture of a headless woman with the tiniest legs wearing a pair of modelesque boot leg jeans. I continued to flip through the magazine but I kept returning to the ad. Who is this headless woman? It definitely can not be a mom. I mean I don't think my forearm could fit into those jeans. I guess the ad was attepting to tak the stigma away from those controversial "mom jeans" and invent a new mom jean that everyone would love. Please! Did I say please! Please again! Are you serious? I am only 32 years old so I did not really have the priviledge of wearig mom jeans, because I think they had burnt them all during my high school years. However, every now and then you will catch an Alzheimer's patient walking around in your local grocery store or retirement center reminding us of what a mom jean is supposed to look like. I however never saw a problem with the jeans. Matter of fact, I wish they would bring back the original mom jean. I mean, it looked quite comfortable, sucked in your belly fat, hid your flaws, and made your wasit appear tinier. If I was to contort my body to fit in those "not my daughter's jeans" I would be pushing all the baby fat to my neck and then I would need a turtle neck. What's up with jeans anyway?

Remember when people started wearing low-waisted jeans. What idiot invented these jeans anyway? This led to a trend of everyone's backside hanging out and Brittney Spears virginal behind showing us her thong to thong, thong, thong. I mean I think three music careers took off due to low-waisted jeans. Good for them of course, but terrible for me. I mean I couldn't wear them now, nor could I wear them at 12. The criteria for those jeans was no ass, no hips, no waist, etc., etc. etc. We replaced those jeans with the skinny jeans. Millions of thick legged women, like myself were running into the Gap embarrassing ourselves and asking models perpetuating college kids for skinny jeans. Again many of us were fooled into believing that once we stepped into these jeans, poof we were skinny. But actually we appear fatter and more bloated. But then an angel appeared. Someone, a real woman, a mom invented the elastic band that stretches over the button to your jeans and connects with the other part of your jeans creating this magical elastic belt that allows the front part of your pants to expand. You don't have to worry about buttons busting, or pants getting too small. Just put on one of these magic elastic bands that can connect one part of your jean to the next and your can stay a size 4 forever and ever. Now that's an invention and it only cost $9.99.

Just Dreaming

I have a dream that one day women can roam the aisles of the local grocery store and buy triple chocolate chip cookie dough and eat it while their children munch on Chex mix. I have a dream that women will no longer gain weight from eating the foods that make them the happiest in the world, but gain weight when husbands want sex. In the perfect world Jenny Craig will no longer operate as a weight loss center, but a beautiful clothing store full of items that minus you actual size by 4. We go through labor, and children, and husbands. Why can't we have what we want for one day? How about a television made out of a Hershey's almond bar that when you watch it too long it drips and you can put strawberries on the nightstand and like magic you have chocolate covered strawberries. Where is the peace in this world? What if you could eat Chinese food with white rice instead of brown? How about ice cream? What if our children's eyes were made out of scoops of ice cream and instead of worrying about the sex of your child you concentrated on the flavor of their eyeballs. What about sour cream? I love sour cream! I wish they made it in body wash. What if everything we ate had sour cream in it? Wouldn't that be Heaven? What if you could consume one cake in a day and not gain any weight? What a life! One day I would eat Red Velvet the next day Up Side Down Pineapple cake. Then I would wash it down with a Caramel Frappucino. Why did Starbucks decide to tell us the real reason why those drinks taste so good? Sugar! Ahhhhhhhhhh! Finally, when our significant other picks that special moment at the restaurant when we are about to ask for dessert to remind us that we are on a diet we yell out your penis is small! What a life? What a dream?

Fairy Tales

A few days ago a special, special person announced that she would be leaving and embarking on a new journey to inspire, create, and become who she was destined to be. Because of her connection with me I was weary, because I was afraid for her. I was afraid of the what ifs. I allowed every thought in my mind to invade my mouth, and totally tell her all the reasons why she should not go. Never did I tell her why she should go. I thought about that old fairy tale Little Red Riding Hood. You know how Little Red Riding Hood went exploring in the woods, and found herself in the Big Wolf's mouth in the end. I thought to myself did Little Red Riding Hood's parents give her any advice before going off into the woods. Did they tell her to look out for the wolves? Did they remind her that it would be dark and scary? Or did they simply say nothing?

Long story short my sister has received this fabulous opportunity to broaden her horizons and move on with her career. At first I was hesitant, because I knew everything was not perfect and like in the story I knew their would be wolves to past, but I started to remember, and I began to think. What I thought about was my first dreams. The dreams I had before the kids, before the family, and before the marriage. I even thought about dreams I had when I was a child. I began to change my mind. I told my sister that I think having children and starting a family does something to a woman. I remember having all these ideas, and being passionate about being a doctor, and once being an actress. But what stopped me was not the wolves, but the what ifs. I told my sister sometimes us mothers get so caught up in our family that we forget what its like to dream, what it was like taking that step out into the woods. We get so wrapped around what is good for the family is good for me that we begin to forget what inspired us. We make so many changes to ourselves that when we look in the mirror we don't see Snow White anymore we see our step mother. Therefore, for all the women out there who are stepping into the woods, especially my sister I send you my passion to take with you, my love, my Good Godmother fairy dust and I wish you a safe journey. Go as far as your dreams will take you! Remember even thought Little Red Riding hood got eaten by the wolf, she was saved in the end. Some would say it was the hunter. I believe it was her faith, my love, her strength, my passion, her will, my Good Godmother fairy dust.

Pink Cooler

Once a year the gods summon us to visit that small white room, and sit on that metal pedestal called stirrups for our annual visit to check the goodies. Because of Eve we are given the uncomfortable pleasure of having our privies checked by some stranger all to find out if we are still functioning properly. One things that is true about those special appointments is that they have always remained weird, and unusual. The first time we went we shuttered at the thought that our mother would find out that the plum has been snatched from the tree. As years progressed, and we married those visits became predictable and routine. So today, at 31years of age I was caught off guard for a moment when my doctor suggested I get a mammogram. Of course I had felt it, but I'm 31. Not 4o. But 31. I do everything right. I breastfed my kids, for a year I must say. But that didn't matter. What I felt was real, and to my dismay what the doctor felt underneath my breast was also real. She left the room, and I begin to stare at the bio hazardous container. It said dispose of each day. I wanted to jump in. I wanted to dispose of this little situation. My mind went from the trashcan to the pink cooler I purchased from Loews. I thought it was cute. It was on sale, and of course I was supporting breast cancer research. I don't know which reason outweighed the other, but all I could think about was that pink cooler sitting in the garage. I hadn't even used it yet. For the first time in my life I didn't feel like a diva. I didn't feel like a Prima Donna Momma. I just felt like a woman!

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Desparately Seeking Crazy

School is out, and all of a sudden I am having the hardest time getting out of bed. Usually my alarm clock will wake me up. Then I will begin the day brushing my teeth and getting the kids ready for school. Or my children will run into my room and ask for breakfast, or whine about how hungry they are. I don't know. They definitely can't run into the room anymore, since the bedroom door just got fixed. Took care of that. They're not going to ask me to fix breakfast, because mom only fixes breakfast on Sundays and that's when we don't go to church. So what is the problem? Why do I feel so bored, so alone, so useless? There are definitely things to be done around the house. Dishes need to be washed, food prepared, and clothes definitely are piling up. But that doesn't interest me. I need something more. I need to feel the wind beneath my wings. What happened to my inner motivation? The strength I had to pull it off. To get that job when I was no where near qualified. To snatch that man up that I had no idea what he had in store for me. To drive an hour and a half to become a certified teacher, and take online classes for a master's degree with no Internet. Where did that woman go? Where is she hiding? That woman was brave, courageous, spontaneous, a multi-tasker. That woman was pretty much crazy! What happened to my crazy? And where is it hiding? There are dishes to be done, and books to be written, and school work to be started. That woman enjoyed feeding her kids three times a day. Who is this woman I'm staring at in the mirror? I've lost my crazy. That's it. I lost my ability to go over the deep edge, and get things accomplished. To fight the odds, and those people who would rather not call me by my government name. By golly, I've lost my inner crazy. And I want it back. And if I can't find it in this comfortable bedroom, then got dammit I'm going to leave out of this room. I will search for it on the mountain tops of Splash Mountain at Disney. I will search for it in the aisles of the local Walmart on Christmas Eve. I will look for it in the taste of every flavor invented by Ben and Jerry. I will think back to how many times my significant other called me crazy, and attempt to remember why I was called that precious name so many times in our marriage. I will find it! I will find it! I will find my inner crazy.

Mommy's Little Secret

You called my name and I came. We flew over mountains and oceans. You whispered in my ear, and my hair lifted. We danced the night away. We drank the night away. I woke up and I was refreshed. You made me feel better. You took my stress away. When can we do it again? I already miss you. I can't wait for you to come and wisp me away again. Until next time. "What's your name again?" "Vacation." "Oh vacation. I remember you. Before the kids, the marriage, the job, the divorce, the recession. Good to see you again." "I told you I would always come back for you."

Can I be me

Acceptance is such a crazy thing, and learning how to accept yourself is the first step. Attempting to convince people to accept you is an even bigger leap. I have decided to stop. Stop explaining. Stop convincing. And stop trying to be socially acceptable. I'm going to be me. Confused, lonely on Tuesdays, reality show queen, hyperactive in the morning, emotionally distraught on Thursday, evil five days out of the month. Self-absorbed, if thats what you call it. You know what, your right. I'm a little self-indulgent. So are you, during that time of the month. I choose to be this way 24 hours a day. Am I wrong? Am I a bad person for being me? While you walk around in those panty hose, and that too long skirt with your momma's girdle on. I'm running bare. Yes, I said it. Full commando. Do I care what you think? Hell no!! I'm be so who are you gonna be!

The traditional mom

You wake up at 6:30a.m. You brush your teeth. You make your bed. The children clothes are ironed and placed neatly at the end of their beds. Children get dressed, breakfast is made and then you are on your way to school. Jimmy forgot his book bag, so you drive all the way home, and then back again. You go home watch Ellen, then Dr. Oz, then the View. Time to make dinner. Take a nap. Pick the kids up. Do homework. Play outside. Eat dinner. Make love. Watch TV. Go to bed. The traditional mom is traditional, and any little interruption in her conventional life will throw her off, the kids off, and definitely the husband off. I think sometimes as mothers we dream to have the peace and comfort of a story book home, but miss out on spontaneity. That forgotten book bag becomes the excitement in her life. She becomes afraid to even wear red nail polish. She wants to of course, but she won't. It's not traditional, its not normal to her. Her hair has been worn the same way for the last five years. Every day is like a scheduled 3rd grade class. But this morning I think she will paint one toe red.

Time for a BBQ

Crazy story. Okay you may not have figured it out yet, but yes I am a Diana Ross diva not a Celine Dion diva. The other day the diva in me was tested, and it was not pretty. Here's the story. Okay, I was trying to cool off. My hair was turning a little un-diva like if you know what I mean. I decided to go into the country club in our community to cool off, and get a refreshing can of soda pop. When I was almost pushed out the door, by some old man of the creamy complexion, because his wife got sick on some sort of boat ride. He yells, "Get out, Get Out!" I'm like, I live here fool. His supposed sick wife, then yells "I don't care if your the nurse, get out." Okay. Okay. Okay. It took the Jesus in me, not to act like my cousin Mookie. For real. For real. For real. He actually even grabbed my shoulder, and tried to turn me around and push me out the door. I was thinking 1. Don't we have a black president. 2. If I knock the sh*t out of him isn't that self-defense. 3. We own two dang on homes up in this piece, can I get some respect. Lastly, where is Al Sharpton when you need him. I couldn't believe it. I left somewhat quietly after a nicer man of the creamy complexion explained to me that the woman was ill and needed assistance. I definitely knew she needed something, and I would not have hesitated to give it to her and her husband if he would let me. However, I decided to remember what the preacher said in the last sermon I heard. "Be the better person," so I did. But I was planning on calling HOA (HUMAN beings who should just be happy to OWN a home, and leave me the fu*k ALONE association). Of course, they didn't go ringing on the door bell, like they do us (if you know what I mean). But I had something in store for HOA, and the Mean Old Man of the creamy complexion and his Drama Queen wife. I
I asked myself what would Diana Ross do? She would turn a lemon into lemonade, a problem into a party. So, on the 4th of July when everyone plans on being at the pool and getting their daily tan. I will be inviting my family from Baltimore. You know the cast from the hit movie the Wire. We will have hip hop music, crab potato chips, prison tattoos, might even pass around some pigs feet since we are in the south. Plus, uncle Mike loves pigs feet, and one thing we will not have is some sun block. We are definitely going to let that Black shine on 4th of July. How do you like that!

A night to remember

Tonight is the night. The kids are tucked in, and your significant other whispers those four romantic words in your ear. You wanna do it? So you run and get your kids' sponge bob music player, and you get ready to get busy. You reach for some lingerie, but you remember you haven't bought any in six years, so you grab a bikini and jump in bed. Before you climb in bed, you run for an energy shot, and grab some gummi bears then jump back into the love nest. You prop yourself on the bed like your about to do a lingerie ad or rather a swimsuit cover. The door opens, and just when you think its him with a Kem cd, its your son he's had a weird dream about squirrels chasing him and peed the bed. "Mom are we going swimming tomorrow?"

Can you handle it?

Can you handle the truth? What will you do with it once you receive it? If it wasn't for some great friends, many lovers, and some strangers, and a few enemies I wouldn't be the woman I am today. Sometimes listening to critics, is the best advice you will ever receive. Have you ever had someone suggest a new look, a new book, or maybe even a best practice to use? How welcoming were you to the criticism? Did you make an excuse, did you turn them down, or did you tune them out? Well I know one thing if there is something you think I should try I'm gonna consider it. I might not do it but I will consider it. I mean thanks to some highly effective feedback I have shaved my legs, colored my hair, waxed my snatch, trimmed my whiskers, whitened my teeth, and that was just yesterday. Think about it. Stella got her groove back with a new cut, Megan Ryan got her man back with Jungle red nail polish, and Jada Pinkett-Smith has kept her man for years while using the element of surprise. We have to reinvent ourselves lady. You can't stay the same forever. We are not little chickees anymore sisters, we can't do a cute laugh anymore and get the same effect. You got to get that wow factor. You know the expression written on their faces as you walk into the room. What I'm trying to say is can you handle it? Because if you can, believe me you won't be disappointed, and there is no going back. You will look better, feel better, and want more!

MacGuyver Mom

What would you do? When in a situation of despair, and the only thing you have is the sense God gave you, and your top notch Primma Donna bag.

Scenario 1: Your on a field trip, and your newly made friend is embarrassing herself and the rest of the moms, because her children are running around the children's museum like they are in an exhibition for kinesthetic role play. Bobby nose begins to bleed profusely, and Sara has already left to get Bobby's twin brother Michael out of the man's bathroom before its too late. What would MacGuyver Mom do? Look in your new Diane Von Furstenburg bag. Got it! Good! You reach for a tampon. You ram that tampon in his nose like good sex, and you stop the nose bleed. Yeah! You saved the day. 1 point for MacGuyver Mom.

Scenario 2: Oprah is on highlighting the influence of Edward and Jacob from the Twilight series on her show, and explaining how those characters have driven women to exercise, and stop drinking cocktails in the afternoon. Your children are outside of course playing unattended, with the neighbors' kids and you feel okay about it, because of the cost of your mortgage. You assume nothing could go wrong in this overpriced community. Your son runs in screaming, and falling down in pain, and itching erratically. You wait until a commercial comes on. He tells you that he was jumping over bushes, and believes he's dying. What would MacGuyver mom do? You look in your Versace python bag, and you remember that you gave all your hydro cortisone cream to your housekeeper who is functioning as a gardener this week, because the full time gardener got a case of poison ivy. You grab relief in a tube. The one thing that keeps any man away for 7 consecutive days, Monistat cream. You rub it all over his body, and you grab a bottle of Benadryl, and use it for its intended purpose rather than a sleep remedy. You did it again, you saved the day. Good Job! 2 points for MacGuyver Mom.

Top Ten Mom like Behaviors

10. The only time you get to see a rated R movie is when the makers of Sex and the City release a new movie.
9. You and your husband no longer sleep together.
8. You would rather mop the floor then have sex.
7. Your DVR is full.
6. The only time you really feel like working out is when you watch the E channel.
5. The last time someone touched you down there and you liked it, you were getting waxed.
4. You ability to deal with bullshit is minimal
3. You use your own spit to wipe strangers faces in the street.
2. You can't remember what your first name is.
1. You look in the mirror and you see your mother.

I have Issues

Okay, so why do I have an issue with all these girls out here showing all this skin. Now those who have known me are probably shaking their index finger at me like "What are you talking about?" Back in the day I was known to wear a halter top or two, some short shorts, a teenie bikini, and any sexy item of the sort. Have I changed? Would I still be running around here in a halter top, if backless shirts had built in pick up trucks inside of them? Or, do I truly want to see women represent themselves in a much classier manner? Does sexy always mean more skin, and less cotton? Or is sexy in the eye of the beholder? Most women agree that we are not dressing for the man, but we are dressing for the ladies. But when you step outside in an on land bathing suit, then it sort of seems like your dressing for the man. I know, I don't want to see all of that flesh! I mean summer is around the corner, so its only going to get worst. But I really want to know if the issue is too much skin, or is Prima Donna Momma a tad bit jealous. Do I secretly wish to dress up like Nicki Minaj, and Rhianna? Or am I comfortable wearing Mommy couture? Well I'm definitely not a short shorts kind of girl anymore, my daisy duke days are definitely over. And thick legs, and a small waist do not define me. I rather leave it up to the imagination. While the young girls are saying it with the booty, I'll be saying it with a look, a flip of the hair, a cross of the leg, a wink of the eye, an that intoxicating aroma called Chanel No. 5.
Yours Truly,
Prima Donna Momma

Spring Cleaning

Spring has arrived, and now is the time to put those winter clothes away and pull out those spring trends. I love spring, because the flowers are blooming, and its the markings for something new and refreshing. I believe this can be said for people as well. Sometimes you keep that friend around, because she or he was your friend for years, and they seem impossible to be without. However, that same friend is like a moth eating away at your winter sweaters, and while you might be able to hide the hole or sew a patch its just not the same anymore. That sweater just like your relationship is not torn, and while you may love the sweater its time to move on, and get a new one. I mean you can get by wearing a sweater with a hole on the side, but not one with a hole near the heart. And sometimes tucking it away in the back closet is not the solution. Sometimes you have to move on. And though you may love the sweater, and all the good times you shared. There might actually be a bright colored cashmere cardigan just waiting to start the season off with.

Love
Prima Donna Momma

Knowing Your Worth

I have a few good girlfriends, not a lot but a few and I'm grateful. The one thing I notice about women is our strength, our courage, our beauty, and our perseverance. One thing most women do not know about themselves is their worth. I have sit back many times, and listened as women have plotted, contrived, convinced, and attempted to swindle men into marrying them. Only to be afraid that he may run off, after five good years of investment and marry the next good looking mother figure that gives him the eye. But I ask all you divas out there to turn on your diva switch, and ask yourself what am I worth? Who is the real prize? Look in the mirror, baby. You will see the prize starring back at you. That beautiful goddess in the mirror is the real investment, and when we begin to believe it he will too. I believe the best way to keep a man, is to make sure that he knows that you are the best thing he ever had, and is ever gonna get. I think I did such a good job convincing my ex-husband of how good a woman I was that he just can't leave me alone. A strong man knows a good woman when he sees her. A weak man can't handle the truth. If your constantly begging, for treasures, then your definitely doing something wrong. You have reluctantly left you man thinking he is the golden ticket when in fact, you are. A true Prima donna knows how to turn an argument in to a make out session, and a credit card bill into a beautiful piece of origami. God blessed us with beautiful minds capable of love, and caring, and male manipulation. Use God's gifts to the best of your ability. Look in that mirror and ask yourself "What am I worth?" Then answer yourself back "a new car, a new wardrobe, a new kitchen table, and maybe even a new man." But remember your the treasure. Like the good book says, ".....a man who findeth a woman finds a good thing." We are the good thing!

Where did the Ummmph Go!

Okay, so college is so ten years ago. The things that mattered then hardly matter now when your spending time working on science projects, planning family trips, and attending teacher conferences. But what happened to the ummmph. Is it just me, and the rest of the moms out there, or is it every woman. I mean I go out. You know hang out with the girls, attend a rated R movie every once in awhile. But why are some of my friends who don't have kids sounding like they need a multivitamin. I mean whats the problem, you don't have kids. The world is your oyster. You can do what you want to do, right. No responsibilities. I mean in college we shared our occasional drink or two. Whats the harm. You hold my pony tail, I'll hold yours. In the end it was all fun, and games. Now I usually spend my time keeping one of my kids from completely falling in the toilet when a stomach ache arises. So if your not dealing with that shouldn't you be living life to the fullest. Shouldn't you be happy. I mean I'm happy. At the end of the day, when I have watched my last reality show, tucked my children in, an drank one of mommies special drinks I feel like life is worth living. So am I missing something, or am I the lucky one. Have I missed the big picture? Do I have the best of both worlds? Did I lose my ummmph or am I really the lucky one? I think I might just have it all. I'm happy, I mean I'm really happy, and I'm not drunk, or high, or on meds. Let me retract one of those statements. But I am seriously happy! I didn't lose my ummmph, I let it out everytime I watch Dancing with the Stars. What the hell, I'm a diva, sexy, size beautiful, Prima Donna Momma!

Searching for Peace and Happiness

Well, my mother is in town. Of course my children had to go through the list of rules with her to make sure she had no problems with adjusting. One particular rule that stuck out greatly is our rule that you do not have to bathe on Fridays. Saturday is usually family fun day, and Sunday is of course church, but Friday is no bath day. We pretty much sit in the house rent movies, and eat pizza. This ritual of not bathing on Fridays, has become sort of a tradition. And we all know how much children love routines. Most psychologist tell us that routines are best for children, but what aboout the parents. When people behave irratically, or in a spontaneous manner it is assumed that they are somwhat unstable. Those days of impulsive behaviors are part of the past, I exist now as a mother with all her expectations spread out on the table. And to be honest, I love every minute of it. I have grown accustomed to no bath Fridays, and I love it. So while you may disagree, and may not want to carry on a conversation with me or come within a foot of my distance. I am proud to say that I love my routines. I love going to my kids' school once a week, visiting Miss. Carey, working on my school work, spending time with my family, and not bathing on Fridays.

I've Just Been Robbed.

Okay, so Diva is definitely down. Hair is looking a mess. Hair weave is past due, and my pajamas have turned into a uniform. What is the problem? My kids are sick. Those little friends called germs have snuck into my house, and robbed us dry. It first started with Dylan. Of course that began before dawn, lets try 4a.m and lasted until 7a.m. Dylan was vomiting, pooping, and pretty much getting rid of any type of liquid form in his body through any one of the 9 open orifices. I run out to get supplies, so that when the robbers come back I will be strapped. I end up spening nearly $200 getting prepared for the next brigade. I have gloves, lysol, masks, children's immodium, gingerale, orange juice, and vitamins. However, still my mother manages to find one thing that I did not get, so of course I'm back to the store for Pedialyte popsicles.

By the way did I forget to mention that my niece is visiting for the weekend. Which means weekend plus week when you are dealing with my sister. So just when I think things are getting better, what happens. I get a phone call from Dedan's school. Of course, my baby has thrown up in front of his entire class, and because my son is incredibly smart he throws up on his homework, and notebook. In the mean time I have been filling myself with herbal supplements to boost my self esteem, and walking around like a zombie with a mask and gloves, hoping that these perpretrators do not come after me.

Of course I say diarrhea, and vomiting and exhusband/dad has dissappeared. So it is just me the kids, and ADT (Another Day of Torture). Well gotta go. I think it is time to stick another suppository is my son's behind to prevent him from throwing up. However, I don't know how its going to prevent him from having diarrhea. Next, husband is definitely going to be a pediatrician.

I now seperate you as husband, wife, and children

Divorce, is hard on children. Our spouses drive us crazy, and I suppose we do the same. It begins with seperate beds, and ends with seperate holidays, homes, and families. When your ready to finally leave you spouse, he or she has probably driven you to a point of no return. When all you can think of is getting away as fast as you can from the person who once was considered your significant other you forget about the children. But in the midst of hurting eachother, the real people who end up hurt are the kids.

Yesterday, I spent the day planning a birthday party for my ex-nephew. I got balloons, cake, ice cream, decorations, pizza, the entire cha-bang. We played with the pinata, his dad came, his grandfather, my kids, and my ex-husband. I tried to make it the best party I could, but my ex-husband surprised me by reminding me of the one person who was not there, my ex-nephew's mom. When did a mom become blackballed from the VIP list. In my journey to plan the perfect party, the main ingredient was missing, his mom. It wasn't because I didn't want her there, or because he didn't want her there. But divorce calls for seperate holidays, homes, families, and even birthdays.

Its Not me its My Genetic Makeup

I have called my ex-husband a lot of names in the past, my favorite one of course is habitual liar. However, I have come to realize that the pathological liar gene is a sex-linked trait that is dominant on the Y chromosome, and can be passed down to future generations. When did lying to parents become ok? I mean I tell my little white lies: for example, no I am at the grocery store when I am really out shopping, or yes I am on my cycle and it will last for another two weeks. But when did my precious angels figure out that they could get away with lying.

The other day my ex-husband bought my oldest son another video game, to add to his super duper video collection. Of course he decided to show his behind after the money was spent, and was restricted from playing the game until my ex-husband decided to let him play again. Well Dedan wasn't having it that way, and decided that he would wait until everyone was neatly tucked in their beds, before going down and sneaking the video game from momma's purse. I wouldn't have caught on the next day if my son didn't keep telling me about how cool the video game was that his dad bought him the day before. Of course I asked "You sure know a lot about a game that you never played." The car fell silent, and he began to explain to me, that if he would have played the game this is how cool the game would actually be. I got him to admit that he played the game without permission, and he was punished. His father actually surprised me by agreeing in my brutal method for disciplining our son, and added on another day of no video games. I felt great, I felt like we had tag teamed him. I woke up this morning to find two wet beds. I asked one son "did you pee in the bed?" Then I asked the other the same. And of course Dedan responded, "Oh no mom I didn't pee in the bed that is watermelon juice on my pants." So is my son a fibber, or did he really wake up with underwear full of watermelon juice. I guess I can't blame him, its genetic.

Looking in the Mirror

Today, I spent 10 minutes attempting to convince my son why he should go to school when he believes no one in his class likes him. Of course I joke around, and tell him he is the coolest kid at the school, plus he has the coolest mom, "what's the problem. " But regrettingly. I push him out the door promising to visit him during lunch time, and bring a popsicle bribe to school praying that this will help my son get some friends. Before I so effortlessly threw him in the trenches, he told me how kids called his birthmark nasty, and said they don't want to play with him, and call him weird, and other names. I reminisce back to my own childhood, no friends, doing pantomime doing recess, and pretty much making cut outs with my sandwiches in the shape of people to talk to. As you can see the apple doesn't fall to far from the tree, but what can you do. What can a reformed weirdo, turned diva tell her seven year old son about the harsh world of school bullying? How can I help my son fit in? Or maybe he just wasn't meant to fit? I love my baby I love his weirdness. I know there is a pre-adolescent band camp somewhere I can enlist my son, so he is around people who appreciate his corkiness, and his need to faint when he doesn't get his way. I guess what I 'm trying to say is sometimes, and parents we spend days trying to fit into what others ideal for the typical mom is, or employee, or church member, but what we need to do is be ourselves. Embrace your flaws, and teach you kids how to love themselves for who they are.