The Mama Spot

Celibacy Blues

I like sex.  I like it a lot.  Over a year ago, though, I decided to take a pass…indefinitely.

There was no moral or religious code driving my decision.  I’m perfectly comfortable with having premarital sex.  For me the decision was all about ending the senseless cycle of choosing what I don’t want.  It was about getting honest with myself and standing in what I truly wanted.  It was about getting that the vajayjay vote is a powerful way of signalling to the Universe that you want more of what you’re voting for.

See, I had become really comfortable being that chic who was cool with whatever, you know, the gray area.  As long as the gray area was defined explicitly, I knew how to be there.  I knew how to love a man deeply, passionately even and at the same time respect his honesty.  I had evolved into a woman who was so deep she could flow in the “what is” of a relationship that in actuality wasn’t.  I was a master at acting girlfriend-ish.  I could do it graciously, generously and without drama.  I was cool like that.

But, the truth was, I wanted a partner, even while I was practicing the art of not pushing... of letting him be where he be, I wanted to build a life with a man who wanted to build a life with me.  I wanted monogamy, exclusivity, commitment.  I wanted a husband, a life partner.

But, the even deeper truth, is that despite the words that were coming out of my mouth, I didn’t truly believe I could have all that that meant to me.  I felt unworthy; not unworthy of any particular man.  It was a general all-purpose unworthiness.  Just unworthy.  Period. 

And, so, I voted with my vajayjay for what I didn’t want in a subconscious effort to avoid the pain of voting for what I really wanted and not getting it, because I didn’t deserve it. 

It was that simple.  And, because it was, the antidote was just as simple.  Stop choosing what I don’t want.  Become the partner with whom I want to share my life.  Step into that life and fill it with nothing but wonderful.  Leave enough space for him to step in, too.

And, when he does, wield that vajayjay vote over and over and over again.

Pillow Talk: Episode 3--I Think I Caught This Curveball

I sprinted downstairs to share this one.  My poor son is suffering from some sort of allergy-cold nastiness that doesn't seem to be responding to any of the drugs I hate giving him.  Therein lies the inspiration for this one...at least until the curveball:

Son:  Where does snot come from?

Me:  *completely and genuinely excited*  That's a great question!  I've always wondered that, too.  How is it that no matter how much you blow your nose, there's always more snot left in your head?  You know what?  If you wake up a little early tomorrow, we'll Google it!  Great question, son!

Son:   Hey!  Let's look up where mucus comes from, too! *beaming proudly*

Me:  Uh...snot is mucus...I think there must be some organ in our body that only makes snot.

Son:  Uh...what's an organ?

Me:  An organ is a part of your body that keeps it working, like your heart.  (Best I could do.)

Son:  Oh.  I wish I was a doctor.  Doctors know all the parts of your body...I think that you just have a lot of boogers, and somehow your nose turns it into snot.  That's where it comes from...Where do boogers come from?

Me:  Exactly!  Exactly!  I just don't know.

Son:  Um...Mama?

Me:  Yes?

Son:  Why did that lady think she was really a boy and get her body changed?

Me:  *reaching for the curveball and cursing the pregnant man's ubiquity*  Er...uh...Everybody's different.  And, some people in their minds and hearts feel like they're in the wrong body.  Now, go to sleep.

Son:  Mama?

Me:  Yeah?

Son:  I love you.

So...did I catch it?  Or, did I strike out?

Pillow Talk: Episode 2--It's the Law...Isn't It?

Since my mother passed away years ago, my sisters and I (The Syndicate) have made it a point to keep her memory alive for my son through picutres and stories about the time the two of them spent together.  When he was three months old, I was blessed to be able to convince my mother to quit her job at a daycare center and come care for her grandson full-time with me replacing her income (which was criminally low) and doing extra when I was able.

I've often wondered if my son really remembers my mother, or if his memories are just of the tales we've fed him over the past four years.  I got my answer last week during a bedtime discussion about our participation in the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life.

Me:  You know tomorrow is Relay for Life!

Son:  I know!  I can't wait!

Me:  And, you know that Relay for Life is one of the ways we live our family's values, right?  Remember?  "We use our gifts to make the world a better place."

Son:  I miss Grandma.  She used to play with me and feed me and take care of me.

Me:  Really?  For real?  Do you really remember Grandma, or are you just thinking about what your aunties and I tell you?

Son:  No, Mama.  I remember her.  I remember the last time I saw her.

Me:  Is that right? *incredulous*

Son:  I was wearing a red and white shirt.  It was when the TV used to be in the dinner room (which we had converted into a bedroom for her.)  We were watching Rudolph.  You were sitting by the kitchen, and Daddy was sitting on the other side by the two doors.  Grandma was laughing.  I can still picture it in my mind.

Me:  *sniffling*

Son:  Mama?  I'm going to take care of you when you get old.

Me:  You are?

Son:  Yeah!  It's against the law not to!

Me:  Um...no...it's not.

Son:   Wha?!   *incredulous*

Me:  Yeah.  You don't have to take care of your parents when they get old.  Some people don't.

Son:  Well, it should be against the law!

Please Vote for AllAboutSchools.com

Tomorrow I attend my first Ladies Who Launch incubator workshop session in my quest to better align my livelihood with my passion.  This entrepreneurship game is serious, but already, although I've only put my first size 10 through the threshold, I know I'll step all the way through to the other side.  

One of my inspirations for edging closer and closer to the cliff is my good friend/fam, Charles Wright, founder of AllAboutMySchool.com.  Since I've known him, this father, husband, advocate for improving our children's education has been tinkering, strategizing, plotting, creating...and now competing to help us get more involved in improving the performance of our schools.

AllAboutMySchool.com is competing in a business launch competition offering just enough in prizes to make sure this valuable tool for parents, educators, administrators and other concerned community goes live sooner rather than later.  So, please swing by the TAG business launch competition site and vote for Video #2 to support this great venture!

Pillow Talk: Episode 1--Mrs. S's Hustle

I'm going to pretend like I haven't been gone for a while, so we can get right to catching up.  These next jump right into my sharing the first of several bedtime vignettes:

Me:  Look.  If you want me to lay here with you for a few minutes, you need to at least act like you're trying to fall asleep.

Son:  OK.  But, can we just talk about our day first?

Me:  No!

Son:  Mama?  You know Mrs. S., the other first grade teacher across from my class?

Me:  Go to sleep!

Son:  She's like the Tooth Fairy!

Me:  Really?  How's that?

Son:  When she pulls kids' teeth out, she doesn't even hurt them!  I think she gets paid extra for that!

Me:  Is that right?

Son:  D. (his 13-year-old cousin) says that the Tooth Fairy isn't real; that really your parents gently sneak under your pillow and put the money there.  *Pause*

Me:  Um...well...what do you think?  *eyes shifting guiltily from side to side*

Son:  I think she's wrong, because I don't think parents have enough money to pay for all those teeth!

Me:  That's a good point!

Son:  Besides, if it was parents, they would just tell you...If they were honest...

And, thus began my agonizing over when to confess what I really know.  Ultimately, I decided on "never"...taking this one to my grave.  Tonight, he sleeps anxiously, waiting for a bunny to bring him candy and Pokemon cards in a pastel basket.

Meet My New Baby!

That's right!  For months now, I have been pregnant and keeping it a secret.  "Pregnant!?" you say (while trying not to judge me.)  Yes!  Pregnant!  Pregnant with possibilities!  Pregnant with purpose!  And, today, I can barely contain myself as I introduce you to my baby...WeParent.com!

Several months ago, I decided to start blogging as a way to build up a writing routine that would eventually lead to my authoring a book about African-American parents and co-parenting.  My first blog, as some of you know, was actually called WeParent and was going to be about my co-parenting experience.  It lasted two posts, one about my pissedoffedness with my son's father over the booster seat and the other about why I feel so passionate about co-parenting.  

Then, I started The Mama Spot...and fell in love.  I discovered a gift, a new way of connecting, a community...an entire new universe.  And, somewhere along the way, I also discovered a calling.  When you weren't watching, I was becoming convinced that by sharing my rocky journey through self-growth honestly and humbly, I could help people find a path to change in their own lives and eventually find a way there, myself.  

As that new consciousness was converging with this role called "co-parent", I committed myself, perhaps for the first time fully, to one of my "brilliant ideas" (You would be shocked to know how many others are sitting dusty in drawers, closets and long lost notebooks.)  I stepped into that awesome space of allowing my faith to be stronger than my fear; of truly believing that my "..playing small does not serve the World."  And, that one step propelled me into a mission to create a space where  mothers and fathers like my son's Daddy and I can find information, healing, encouragement, advice and perhaps even joy as we parent together even though we now live apart.

Sleep and meals have become distractions as I find myself getting high off this thing!  It truly has become my baby.  And, as far back as its conception, it has been surrounded by the love of an unwavering village for which I feel endless gratitude.  As I stand here before the Academy...oh...my bad...wrong speech!  But, really, there a are a few people who I need to big-up for their role in this birthing process...and a whole lot more who I'll thank outside of the blogosphere.  So, here goes:  (pulling list out of lapel pocket)  Shout out to Ronald, my technology guru and unfailing cheerleader; my son's father, who shall remain nameless, but who made all this possible by being my Baby Daddy (and who has been supportive even when it means that his business gets shared with all of you); my own Daddy who is a constant voice of encouragement; and to John of Sozo's Design who brought the vision to life and who has truly offered this as a labor of love...a website Baby Daddy of sorts.  Renee of CutieBootyCakes, my cyber-inspiration among many other great things; and Tish who provided the creative vision for the site.  And, of course, to so many others whom I count among the miracles that guided me to and have joined me in this exciting new adventure.

So, now, finally, here's what you'll find on WeParent.com:

• Blogs like MamaSpeak and Fatherhood Freestyle where a team of blogging Mamas and Daddy's tell what's on their minds
• Columns like Real Families, which features co-parents making it work and Words from the Wise, our advice column
• WeParent Connect our online community where members write their own blogs, engage in discussion forums and share cute pics of their kids
• And lots more...

I hope that each of you will visit the site, and share it with someone you think might benefit from the support of a community of parents and parent advisers focused on strengthening our families.  And, don't fret, now that we've launched, I'll be back posting weekly on The Mama Spot.

I can't wait to hear what you think about WeParent!  Please spread the word!

Shades of Blackness

It's been a while, I know.  I'll confess that I was a little peeved with President Obama who was still President-Elect Obama when my grudge began.  But, with the whole Inauguration/Leader of the Free World thing coming up, I didn't want to make waves for the man, so, you know, I played the background for a minute.  But, I'm back.

Here's the deal.  I was going to write an open letter to my son on his birthday, January 10th, but Mr. Obama bet me to the punch with that Parade piece and really stole my thunder.  This isn't a Victim Binge post, but...you do feel me here, right?  Thus, the whole grudgey silent treatment thing.

It took me a while to figure out how to recover, but I did.  Whenever one finds herself at a loss for blog content, turn to one's child's father.  There's always something rich there.  So...I decided to write an open letter to him...but it isn't complete.  Alas, that's an upcoming post.  Fortunately, something else came up recently...

During an interesting conversation, my new colleague, a Black man who has hinted at Republican leanings but seems to support our new President nonetheless, and I were trying to make sure we were talking about the same person.

"Oh.  You mean the light-skinned brother?" he asked.

Now, this is a reference every Black person in this country at least (I don't know how they do elsewhere in the Diaspora) has had umpteen million times.  It's a standard way of describing the man you're dating, which child belongs to whom, which woman you're about to stalk at the club...yourself.  But for some reason, in this instance, I found myself stumped, confused, befuddled, as I looked at my own skin trying to compare myself to the nameless subject of our chat.  Still, I responded appropriately albeit unconfidently, "Yeah.  Maybe my complexion or a little lighter."  Or was he?

I don't know if it's my new Obama Era sensibilities that have shifted my perspective and suddenly left me questioning so many things, including my ability to differentiate shades of Blackness or perhaps some new consciousness about the relativity of Black people's skin color comparisons, but dangit, I need a Complexion Color Wheel.  And, if we are truly going to be led into this post-racial America, I know White folks need one, too!

Seriously, I consider myself relatively pecan, not light, not quite brown-skinned, definitely not caramel, because there's a certain glow that goes with that that I just don't have, but to my son's father's Charleston-bred family, I'm just light-skinned.  And, when is a brother dark-skinned versus chocolate? Is that just when he's fine?  Then there's yellow versus red, although, I haven't heard "redbone" in a long time.  My middle sister is the yellow one in our family, and I think my youngest is brown.  I can't quite place my son. His father, dark-skinned.  And, then, there are those among us, who can't be classified as other than white, but on the spectrum of Blackness.  You get my point.

On second thought, I guess I realize that my color wheel could lead to more Wannabe/Jigaboo colorism, but I'll hope that in the Age of Obama, we will finally dead that.  Because, for real, some Black-is-beautiful Pantone chips would help a little.  Anyway, I found my confusion confusing until I realized that this thing we do, this way of describing ourselves is confusing and relative and dynamic...but still so beautifully Black, fraught with all the creativity and contradiction that color us as a people.  

The good thing is, turns out that my colleague and I were talking about the same person...at least I think we were.  

Your turn...Have you figured this whole shades of Blackness thing out yet?  Do you really know what brown-skinned means?  Are dark-skinned and chocolate the same thing?

Again, There Are No Words...

Beyond the two words I plagiarized on November 5th, I can only ask that you take a moment to read the beautiful post, "Yes We Can:  President Barack Obama," written by Nick Chiles today on My Brown Baby.  Watching the sea of winter hats, earmuffs and Kool-aid smiles all over the Mall, I for one, am speechlessly in awe on this day.

Here's the beginning of Nick's post:

How do I even begin to understand the unfathomable? It is as if I have been told that gravity is a hoax, that the solar system is an optical illusion. James Baldwin pondered the evidence of things not seen; I ask if we have witnessed the impossible.

Enjoy, and I'll see you, driving change, on the other side of this celebration.

The Other Woman

 

My son loves me.  I know he does, because he says "Mama" so many times each day that I have seriously considered changing my own name to "Sally" much like my own mother did.  OK.  Well, that's not exactly proof.  When I picked him up after he spent a week away in Charleston with his father's family, the first thing he said after, "Mama!" was "That's the prettiest smile you've ever smiled," as he touched my cheek.  And, besides, whenever I tell him how much I love him, he claims to love me back.  That boy loves his Mama.

So, you can imagine my being taken aback when just over a year ago, as we were wrapping up our bedtime prayers with the list of everyone queued up for blessings, my son, who loves *me*, started claiming blessings for his stepmom, his stepsister and his stepbrother.  Huh?  Me thinks to myself, "Uh..your Daddy ain't married."  But, instead, I ask, just for confirmation, "Now, um...Remind me.  Who's your stepmother?"  And, he says her name.  This other woman in his life.  Seriously, the words, "Do you love her?" almost escaped from my lips.  But, I played it cool.

My co-parent (or Baby Daddy, as we sometimes call each other affectionately and politically incorrectly), his girlfriend and her children had been living together for about six months when this little glitch in my program occurred.  And, please understand that it had happened just weeks after I had been set up by my son's father in a most uncomfortable way.  One afternoon, as we were making a kid exchange at Waffle House (classy, not; but convenient), he tells me that his girlfriend's daughter, has something to ask me.  And, right there, cornered in a giant Waffle House parking lot, pinned between Hassan, my beloved Nissan Sentra, and her Acura, I find myself having to face...well, look down at...a nervous 10-year-old, too uncomfortable to even look up from the ground, asking me if she could come to my son's house, since he always comes to hers.  Whoa.  I look helplessly at that man who fathered my child, think to myself, "Does her Mama know she's asking me this?", and say, "Of course, I'll talk to your mother, and we'll figure out a good day."

It was probably a month or two later when I invited her to go to a play with us and to spend the night on December 23rd.  You can imagine the email exchange between her mother and me.  Well, maybe you can't, because it was full of nothing but gratitude.  She was thankful that I had thought about her daughter, and I was thankful to be able to have connected with a woman who was spending a whole lot of quality time with my child.  We both were ecstatic about the complete absence of the drama that most of us accept as a given in situations like this.

And, over the course of this year, we have become partners in many ways.  There are bumps...less about us than about them and how their journey together will affect all of our children.  But, even after a recent "disruption in communication" between the two of them, I found myself reaching out just to say that I care about our kids...and, "I hope you are well."  And, I found her reaching back.

Here's the thing.  If it hadn't been for our children deciding that they were family, we would not have stepped into this awkward space of cobbled-together familial titles like bonus mom and myson'sfather'sgirlfriend'sson and aunt/mom/something-or-other (Really, what do you call your mother's boyfriend's son's mother?).  They were thrust into this mess by parents who for whatever reasons have chosen not to commit or not to commit fully to one another.  

They struggled for a while.  And I worried...a lot.  But, in the end, or the beginning depending upon how you look at it, they chose to call this a family when none of us were willing.  They chose to commit so much that they have, on their own, dropped the "step" prefix when they refer to one another.  So, in our minds, we now have no choice but to be the mothers, the women, they demand we be.  And, my son's father?  He has no choice but to stay out of the way of a perfect storm of coordinating schedules, cross-referencing gift purchases and, yes, just a wee bit of commiseration.

Don't get me wrong.  Like everyone, we have issues.  We are still figuring this thing out.  I am still waiting to see if they will weather the storms and hoping, secretly, that they will.  I imagine that she and I both are still uncertain about the boundaries of our own relationship.  Our friends and families aren't exactly feeling it, although they try.

But, still, my son's other woman and I stand together to say that this is possible.  We are not special.  We are regular women bonded by our decision to follow our children's lead through a relationship maze we have crafted.  And, to us, it is clear that they know the way.

Thank You and Happy New Year!

I'm ready to kiss 2008 good-bye, but I must say that it is a bitter-sweet parting.  So much has changed in my life this year with new windows appearing just as doors slam shut behind me.  I take credit for gently pulling a few of them to on my own, but a couple left me with a knob-shaped bruise on my behind.  I have no complaints, though; no regrets.

When I started conceptualizing this post, I was going to announce that 2008 was my year of lost and found.  The body I lost to childbirth and the "new twenties"?  I found it through a ridiculously healthy diet and a personal trainer.  The twelve pounds I lost in that process?  I found them again, too, and will be carrying them into 2009.  The passion and vulnerability of falling in love...something I thought I'd lost?  I found them through a man I knew I would marry.  The courage to and joy of choosing myself when it became clear that...um...he's just not that into me?  I found that, too.  I lost several friends/colleagues to layoff number sixteen.  I found my own head on the block with number seventeen...but it (my head, that is) rolled right around the corner where another opportunity was waiting for me.

So, initially, lost/found seemed appropos.  But, really, when I tally up the losses versus the founds, it ends up that 2008 might actually just be the Year of Found.  The list of treasures I've collected over the past twelve months is too extensive to detail here, but here are some of the highlights which majorly outweigh anything that on its surface looked like a loss:  two new brothers-in-law (well, one is still brother-in-law-to-be, but I'm counting him); new friends who understand what I do for a living; old friends I'd neglected lost touch with for years; evidence that the Law of Attraction is real; a phenomenal coach; a path to becoming a coach myself; clarity of purpose; the confidence to write this blog; and you, my Mama Spot family.  The thing that amazes me about my "losses" and the multitude of founds is that every single one has led me back to myself, a self I'd forgotten was there or one I had yet to discover.  I have found myself, and we are enjoying getting reacquainted.

And, for that, I say, "Thank you!"  to each of you, for taking this journey with me.  I have grown so much right here in this space that we have built together.  So, with that, I'm puckering up and leaving a big wet one on 2008 and daring 2009 to bring it on!  Happy New Year!

Your turn.  What was your theme for 2008?  What have you lost and found this year?  What are you ready for in 2009?