Unwarranted Assault & Praise

Today I read an article that made me wonder about the humanity of the American people. You should read it before coming back to read my rebuttal. 

And now my rebuttal. 

Here's the crazy thing, I never once looked at this as a race issue but as an adult to kid issue. But as I read this article twice, the writer only referred to the young girl's race and never once the officer's. So are officers white by default? Clearly not so. But what makes her race relevant but not his? This kind of tactic is subliminal. As a former English teacher who studied rhetorical devices for a living, it's clear what the writer is doing. Fear-mongering at its most subtle. By talking about the girl's race as her descriptor and tying it to entitled and mouthy teens, the author has stoked the flames of the black female stereotype. 

We have no idea what the empty word "disruptive" means. Having worked in a classroom for a decade, I know that what some of my colleagues call disruptive is just poor classroom management. But now, according to this article, black entitled teens will make people not want to be a police officer. Couldn't have anything to do with the lousy salary, poor action of peers, and the current state of people today in general. And most officers find it an insult to be assigned to a school anyway. And some of them are absolute dicks to students. I've seen it myself.

Yes there still are "Officer Friendly"s around but there are also lots of "Officer Powertrip"s too. People fail to realize the role being human plays in the way people behave in the world. These same people want you to know that how your kids behave in front of you is not often how they behave out of sight. And this is 100% true. But the same goes for these officers. They can be so sweet and loving at the dinner table and have jerk moments on the street. This is also 100% true as evidenced by those who got caught planting drugs or weapons on people, those who severed a young man's spine, and those who are caught on video tape beating another human like an animal. And those caught dishragging 14 year old girls (remember this isn't the first caught on tape this year).

New Video Of The #AssaultatSpringValleyHigh pic.twitter.com/zqBiIrOx7Y

— Anonymous (@C0d3fr0sty) October 27, 2015

I watched frame by frame as was asked. I watched number out times. Yea she hit the officer. But in the seconds preceding that, he had his arm around her neck. So you know what, I'm not going to fault her for what was a reaction to someone threatening her, no matter what they're wearing. I'm not going to apologize for not believing an officer is infallible. As far as I know, there's only one God (could be multiple but none wear a police uniform). Nor will I believe that teenagers are always in the wrong or that a verbal response warrants a physical one. I don't know if the problem is racism, ageism, or police-ism but there is a problem. I'm not talking about a racial problem but a human one. But I will say, as evidenced by this article, Black Americans aren't the only ones throwing race cards.

Some things worth noting in this case:

*The officer was nicknamed Officer Slam by the school community prior to this event

*The student lost her mother in January

*Subsequently she was placed in foster care

*Every student on video had a laptop in that class; she either didn't have one or didn't take it out (possibly left it); I know there were many times I allowed my students to use their phones for research with monitoring.

*The website where this article was published is a very paranoid website (anti liberal, Obama, Muslims, immigrants, etc).

Wanting to Be Like My Daughter

The twins turned two today. Their birthday was celebrated without much fanfare, just a couple of cupcakes with candles, a celebration that was just right for now. No gifts as they have plenty of toys to play with as leftovers from Christmas. But today I was the one to receive the gift.

Earlier this evening, I took the twins to the park to play for just a few minutes which ended up being half an hour. We went from swing to swing-- my daughter adores them. Watching her swing is like watching childhood manifest. She grips the chains and throws her head back, just lost in the awesome flying sensation. Her contagious smile ever present and the air punctuated with her giggles. To watch her swing is to remember childhood.

But that's not where the gift came in. The playground equipment wasn't made for toddlers but for bigger kids. I know that but my children do not, especially my daughter. There is a jungle gym of sorts that is definitely designed with the bigger kids in mind. And my daughter loves to climb up the first few rungs and then try to touch the higher ones. Tonight was no different. She excitedly climbed up and I watched her, gaze affixed on the next rung, stretch her hand towards it, determined. I stepped into the gap and she timidly placed her foot on my chest. Excitement shone from her eyes when her hand connected to the next rung. She didn't stop there and instead waited with her arms stretched towards the next rung. I stepped into the next gap. This time she didn't hesitate to use the help I offered and quickly went to the next rung. We repeated this process until the very last rung. Triumph and pride radiated from her being. She scrambled down from my arms and raced back to the beginning to start the process again. This happened three times before I guided her to something else.

So what was the gift? In that moment I was supremely proud of her. She was fearless, tenacious, and determined. But later on, standing in the bathroom as I was about to enter the shower, that moment replayed in my head and so did all the emotions I felt watching her. Where I felt fear, she felt anticipation. Where I felt hopelessness, she felt determination. When I felt weary, she felt energized. When I thought we were done, she had only just begun. And standing in that bathroom, looking into the mirror, tears brimming in my eyes, I wanted to be like her. I want to look at life the way she looked at that jungle gym, with excitement in the face of obstacles to overcome, to experience, and to learn from as I climbed over towards the next chapter. 

My daughter will never know how much she affects me, how much she makes me want to be better, to be someone she would one day hope to be like. I feel so honored to have been chosen to be her mother. And, until now, I wasn't sure that I was worthy of that honor. But seeing the person she is becoming, I know that I am the right person for the job. And now I feel a great sense of responsibility to protect who she is and who she's becoming. I don't ever want her to have her light almost extinguished as mine was.

Worthy of It All

I struggle with feeling worthy.

Worthy of love.
Worthy of attention.
Worthy of my dreams.
Worthy of my talents.
Worthy of success.

Gonna have a Sophia moment but life has truly been like one of her most famous lines in The Color Purple: "All my life I've had to fight". And to be perfectly honest, I'm getting tired of fighting. I used to thrive on adversity. Negative energy used to be the food I ate for breakfast, to fuel me forward. But somewhere around the mid-30s, I began rejecting the negative energy; there was just too much of it around me. That protective shell I kept over myself cracked open and I got to peek at the vulnerability I held inside.

I've always known I had talents, that God gifted me with a voice for speaking and writing. And I've always had a case of the "if onlys": "If only I lived in LA then I could act in roles that weren't as limited as those in Miami"; "If only I had time to write then I could finish my book"; "If only I had the money to finish my MFA program then I could have a completed screenplay ready for production"; "If only I knew how to cook then I could eat better and get control over my weight"; "If only I hadn't been molested then I would not have gained weight in the first place"; "If only I hadn't been raped then I wouldn't have had to put my dreams on hold"; "If only I didn't have kids so early then I could have gone off and realized my dreams and real love before having to truly settle into adulthood"; "If only I had been more proactive in high school then I wouldn't have chosen Education as my major"; "If only..."

I think you can see I have quuuuuiiiiiite a few of these regrets weighing on me, holding me back. If I have a foot cemented in yesterday how can I move forward? Letting yesterday hold me hostage is comfortable; letting it throw up barricades to realizing my potential means that I don't have to do anything about today because yesterday proved my efforts would be for naught.

While I may not be a biblical guru, there is a story in the Bible that stuck with me through the years because it spoke loudly to me. This story talks about a man entrusting his servants with money known as talents. My summary is not going to do this story justice so you can find it here. The short of it is that each servant was supposed to do something with the talents, to use them. But one servant was afraid and hid his. When his boss returned and found out, he was so angry that he had him stripped of his talents. I don't want that to happen to me; I don't want God to determine that since I am not using my writing, speaking, acting talents for good, essentially drawing attention to how good God has been to me and giving Him glory, I don't deserve them.

I have to realize that I was chosen to carry these gifts and given the great responsibility of using them to help people. My stories, my yesterday are to help people through their todays, to turn them into yesterdays, to help people get their own feet unstuck in the uselessness of regret.

There's no more time for "weeping and gnashing of teeth". I've got too much work to do. When the time comes for me to quit this Earth, I need Him to say, "Well done, good and faithful servant". So it's time to break that cement and trudge forward until all the weight of yesterday is eradicated by the promise of today and the possibilities of tomorrow.

And that begins with realizing that I am worthy of it all.

Worthy of success.

Worthy of my talents.
Worthy of my dreams.
Worthy of attention.
Worthy of love.

Life: An Update

Life with twins, a teenager, and a college boy is a heckuva lot busier than I anticipated. So finding time for myself and for writing hasn't been my main priorities. Making sure everyone else is straight has been more important. In addition, I've started working in Direct Sales this summer as an Independent Consultant for Jamberry. It's a growing business for me and I'll enjoy that. I'll save that for another post. What I want to talk about in this post is how important it is to live a full life.

A couple of weeks ago, my second son
was only days from damaging a major artery and bleeding to death (this I'm not going to explain). Then last week I was just a day away from a really messy situation with my appendix. According to the surgeon, I had come to the emergency in time to keep the surgery a clean and simple operation.

I'd been living a life of servitude since returning to work after my maternity leave. I've been a slave to my paychecks, checks that were never enough to cover the financial hurt caused by having to go on unpaid bed rest then maternity leave. I don't understand a system that gives a mother 12 weeks maternity leave but provides only 8 weeks disability pay at 60% of the average income. Mind you, the disability only begins AFTER 30 days of not being at work. So I faced an eviction this February, had been served a 24 hour notice. I begged the courts to stop it on a technicality but I still had all. that. money. to pay in rent-- over $6000. That's where my paychecks and tax refund went.

But, still I owed another $1000 so every month I had to pay another $275 OVER the rent. Which

meant, of course, everything else took a back seat. My car payment fell further and further behind. Every month I had a final notice for my electricity. I lost the cable and internet in my house. My mother was a godsend because she watched my children for free while I was at work. Daycare alone was $1000 for two a month. On a teacher's salary, it became IMPOSSIBLE to take care of my family with a quality of life that wasn't constantly threatened. And so I lived with this cloud of stress. I lived a life that wasn't living.

And last week I was this close to maybe not living at all. When I was younger, my dreams of now were waaaaaay different than what I'm living. Never did I imagine being in so much debt, being so dissatisfied with life, being so far away from my dreams, dreams that I still have. But over the course of life, I've gotten so used to not reaching, to just going with the flow, I don't really now how to begin putting those dreams back on track. Oh I desire it, sure. But talk is talk. I've got to DO. See I've come to realize in that hospital that IF I had died I wouldn't have left behind a legacy I'm proud of.

I've spent my life wrapped in a bubble of hurt and fear that I'm just as guilty

of being my own dream killer as others who have diverted/delayed my plans. I don't want a life of working to a paycheck. I want a purposeful and passionate life, one that affords me the ability to feed my family while feeding my soul. And that begins with me. I've got to DO. I've got to LIVE. I've got to BREAK out of my shell, FLY out of my comfort zone. And that's. so. scary.

Challenge 365

All these ideas swirling in my head. All these great things I want to do overwhelming my brain. All that I want to be standing before me impatiently waiting for me to do the work and achieve. Yeah, it's time. I've got to push past this procrastination and fear. I am more than I am. I try to be in the present but this is not the present I'm to be in. Time to break this cycle of struggle. The two words I heard in my spirit just before the new year were change and restoration. The last few years have been so hard and I've just reacted. Now it's time to be proactive. To start. Somewhere. Anywhere. Right now. I forgive myself of all the false starts. I release the disappointment. I silence the negative voice in my head that tells me I'll just give up; I won't finish. If I want better for myself (and I do), for my family (again I do), then I've got to do better. Starting now. Starting with this post. No apologies for yesterday because I can change none of that. No regret for what's lost because what's for me will be found again. Eyes forward. I contemplated starting another blog and, honestly, I still think I should for this next endeavor. Yes, I will do just that (I'll duplicate the post) but before I go over to another blog, let me tell you what it will entail. It's going to be a blog dedicated to Challenge 365. For one full year, I will embark on different (safe) challenges I see on the internet. The first one is an ab challenge, the one pictured. I just completed day one. The blog will talk about how I feel undertaking the challenges. Sometimes I'll vlog. That is all for here. On to create that blog.

Somewhere It's Still Sunday

Ok, I've decided to do a Give It 100 challenge-- 30 minutes of cardio and 30 minutes of writing daily for 100 days. Gotta exercise my mental as well as my physical. Guess that means I should add spiritual to the mix. Hmmm...I'll make it a daily prayer before bed since the day's pretty much over. I've been slacking on my prayer so that's a good one. Anyhoo. 30 minutes of cardio-- completed. Writing-- completed but maybe not in the form I was hoping. Prayer-- on my way.

Worthiness

I seriously have been avoiding writing in this blog. I think I'm afraid of confronting myself. I've done absolutely nothing to move forward in any a sect of my life. With my pregnancy, my drive just...died. All my dreams feel like they're perpetually on hold again. I had so many plans for this year. I imagined that, once my son graduates, I would be free to move on. Yes, I'd have the other kid but I knew he'd be open to fresh new experiences. But now I have The Minis and taking risks seems selfish and stupid. I've got to provide. And so my sail feels drawn in just when it was getting ready to billow and catch wind. I feel tethered. I mean, who would watch the babies while I'm at work for a reasonable price? As it is, my mom is kinda sorta watching them for free (not really but close enough). I'm not going to get that striking out there in the world on my own away from family. Gah, I feel so stifled. And then I think about maybe just finding a different job. However, I realized, I don't have the experiences for a different job. I got my masters in Ed Technology but there's nothing outside of ed that I know I can do. I have no idea what my skill set is. I feel trapped in a room surrounded by closed doors. I've been racking my mind for an invention, something that could provide a key to the way out. But I think the stresses blind me. So I'm left wondering what can I do, what can I make, to lift me out of the swirling sea of pity, stress, and debt. I don't want just another job. Yes, I'm part of the spoiled generation that also seeks fulfillment. I want to do what I was purposed to do. And, while I do believe that is to teach and help others, I don't feel that the classroom is my space to do it. There's just one caveat: there's a part of me that cowers in corners, feeling undeserving, unworthy of the life I dream. I mean, who am I to think my story will help people, is worth sharing? Who am I to think my words are special enough to be written and spoken? I'm just a teacher, just a single mother, just a person who barely spends time with other people. Just a socially awkward nerd. I'm a procrastinator. I'm messy. I'm disorganized. I'm a dreamer not a doer. I don't plan. I don't reach my potential. I'm lazy. I have an irrational (maybe rational) fear of failure. I have too many people counting on me, too much responsibility. It's all my fault. I did this to myself. I deserve the life I have, the struggle, the constant fear, the stress. I'm to blame. What if I fail? What if my messages aren't received? What if my scripts are flat? What if no one comes to my symposium? What if my idea is stupid? What if my work doesn't say anything and it's all meaningless. I wonder if that's all of it, all of the internal monologue that's constantly running through my mind. Doesn't feel like I"m through but that "What if I fail" is the biggie. I can't really afford to fail with these 4 month old twins and a kid almost in college and an emotionally needy kid all pulling for me. Yes, now I believe that's all of it. And there it is in black & white. So where do I go from here? How do I reprogram my mind to break past these barriers, to duct tape the critic, to push and keep pushing without quitting? This life stuff is hard.

Hello, Clarice

Hello, blog. I've been avoiding you. Well, I've been avoiding writing in general and I can't 100% blame the Minis for distracting me. I mean newborn twins are quite the distraction but, come on, I haven't written since October. It's March 1st. So, yeah, avoidance. Life has been pretty hard. Pretty frickin' hard. But here I am typing so I'm surviving. Can't wait to be conquering. Speaking of conquering...I was given quite the lovely gift with the delivery of my twins last October-- I lost 30lbs. Oooh and did I look fabulous. I got down to my lowest weight in 14 years-- yes, since I was 20 (young and stupid with no real concept of how fat I would get). I shed tears looking at the number on that scale. I vowed not to give back that gift. And, then, I almost did. I got on that scale today... Oh... My... GAWD!!! I damn near jumped off that scale. 231.2. There. That's my number. I never put on my sneakers so fast. I've issued a weight loss challenge for the month of March. These are my goals: *I'm going to endeavor to do at least 30 minutes of cardio (doesn't have to be consecutively done) at least 5 times during the week (I want to say every day but I don't want to put that expectation on me and have to confront failure if it happens). *I'm also going to work to stay within my allowable calorie count. *I'm going to drink a minimum of 10 cups (80oz-- a cup per 25lbs overweight is recommended over the normal 8 but I don't think I can do 96oz) of water a day (hopefully, this will help w/ the high blood pressure and be a natural diuretic). *I will weigh weekly (honestly, daily) in the morning and post that weight in MFP. The scale scared the bejeezus out of me this evening. *I'm going to log ALL food I eat into MFP, even if I'm ashamed-- ESPECIALLY if I'm ashamed. These are my minimum goals. Add me on My Fitness Pal (mzkannon@gmail.com).

Thoughts on teaching

the truth is, everyone thinks the business of education is similar to other businesses. it is not. put students on an assembly line as has been done and you will not end up with the same product. in what business world do new procedures gets added without proper training and guidelines? in what business world do arts get added to the whole without being properly assembled (immigrated students at various grade levels)? in what business world do all the parts get jumbled up in one basket and asked to perform the same (gifted, ese, "regular")? in what business world do you build a new model every year from the floor up almost and get paid the same as a head custodian (teaching)? in what business world do you create leaders and have a hand in the development of every person in the nation but are constantly degraded (teachers)? the system is flawed but it started w/ a lot of the parents demanding their children be treated equal to every one else regardless of performance ability. gifted classes fell apart b/c everyone wants their kid to be gifted. regular classes had to accommodate kids who would have normally had their own classes (learning disabled, esol, etc). as a teacher, it's a hard and stressful job. you have to be a special kind of person to stay in it when all the perks have shriveled to almost nothing. i can't afford to be a teacher anymore. and with the state it's in, the testing testing testing and judging, i don't want to be.

Just a lil something different

Oreo Debate

Read an article today about offensive products. Well, the problem with Oreo being attributed to a black person is that is a derogatory term used against Standard English-speaking black people (could also refer to their taste in music, clothing, friends). The offender uses the term to say, you may look like a black person on the outside but you're definitely white on the inside. It's just another way to point out that you don't belong. White people think you're ignorant by skin color; black people think you're bougie/pretentious by voice/action/preference.

In Remembrance of Andrew

Hurricane Andrew was one of the reasons I kept a land line until two years ago. Most of the people who live in S. Florida now came after Andrew and take hurricanes for a joke and not the powerhouse of destruction they truly are. If we get one that only does minimal damage, people post stupid memes not realizing how lucky they were that that's all that occurred. I've had students stupidly wishing to see a tornado or be inside of a hurricane. Before Andrew, that had never been my wish. After Andrew, that would be my nightmare.

As Brian Norcross stated, the mattress did save lives. We were hunkered down in the bathroom (the only room w/o a window), seven of us, when the tiled walls started rattling. That mattress went over our heads so quickly, it would have been comical had the situation not been so scary. The winds came in through slung-open doors and broken windows, whipping through the house and, had that storm lasted an hour more, that house wouldn't have been left standing.

Brian Norcross became someone we trusted. Many of us were sad to see him leave channel four. But
August 24, 1992 did a lot more than give us a weatherman to look up to; it gave us survivors a healthy dose of respect and fear for hurricanes.

Same Love

Earlier this week, I had the opportunity to be in the car by myself for quite a distance of driving when Macklemore's Same Love came on the radio. I started thinking about my son and the things that should have counted as signs that I missed. The PTSD therapist said he had to have been a victim before he entered school and I agree with her so I traveled back in my mind as far as I could to behaviors I would pay attention to now with more knowledge (hindsight 20/20 and I want to avoid making the same mistakes with these children).

There was the screaming when only a certain person would pick him up from daycare. The daycare would call me, asking if it was ok b/c my younger son would throw a fit. Being that this person was a relative I asked to pick him up, I said yes. But he would only scream and refuse to go with that person. I don't think she was causing him harm but maybe someone else in her house. Then the bad behavior in daycare started. He also started crying in his sleep. I moved his daycare because I got sick of hearing about all the bad things plus he wasn't learning there. And I got a job at South Miami Senior High and it was located across the street from the daycare.

At the new daycare, he flourished. Never had a problem going, never had a problem reported. But just months after leaving the other day care, he developed a cold sore. The doctor called it Herpes Simplex 1. After the panicked whirlwind of feelings over that, I chalked it up to him kissing the girls in the other day care, maybe putting the same toys as another kid in his mouth.

That summer I caught him naked by himself and I flew into a rage at him b/c I felt dirty. He said he was getting married and he saw it on tv when he was babysat by someone. I didn't react well at all. Now this is the kid who always found his third leg as a baby so I thought I was raising a pervert. Felt sure he was gonna be a porn star or something else embarrassing.

All along there was bed wetting that never went away (a sign the therapist said). And still bad behavior with people other than me.

Then came kindergarten. It wasn't long before he started saying he hated it; he would cry to not go. This is a boy who never had a problem with school; was extremely smart and caught on fast to things. He had to be tested before he entered that new daycare I sent him to (I didn't know) and he passed with flying colors. The teacher had said he was very mature.

But kindergarten brought self-esteem issues. He had a problem with being black. He said he was fat. He even said he wanted to kill himself. He developed problems socializing with kids his age. He even through a (excuse me) white-kid tantrum in school-- on the floor, kicking, screaming, everything. I'm chalking all of this up to him. I found out two years ago, there was a kid in his class molesting and sexually harassing him. Yes, in kindergarten.

Things got progressively worse and by 4th grade he was flat out failing and rude and the bedwetting increased. I again chalked it up to him. One day he told me of a dream he had where an alligator was trying to eat him and he called out to me but I didn't hear him. The alligator chomped off his head. I had no idea that he was telling me something big with that dream. Alligators mean betrayal by friends. Found out two years ago, the neighbor's kid was sexually harassing and molesting him and quite a bit further.

Like the therapist said, "Always a victim. Predators know how to find the ones who have already been hurt."

I had no idea. I just thought he was being disobedient when he would go to that house after I said not to. Disturbing dreams were coming to me by then but they always featured my other son so I got him a cell phone, talked to him about calling me whenever he felt something wasn't right, and to tell me if something happened. My youngest was still bedwetting, still having nightmares, and began asking for a step-father. In hindsight, this reminded me of when I wanted a big brother. I knew it was impossible to get, considering I was the oldest, but I wanted someone to protect me b/c I was being molested too and older disgusting men would try to talk to me whenever I played outside or walked to friends' houses by myself. Always a victim. But I didn't think of that. I thought he just wanted a dad b/c his brother had one.

I had taken him to a therapist at this point but the only issue that kept coming up were his daddy issues and that wasn't something I could fix so I stopped.

Fast forward two more years (to two years ago). My world imploded. All this stuff came out and I realized I never got to have my real son because of the perversions of other people and due to my being blind. In one really hard moment, he likened his feelings over his father's broken promises and inattentiveness to the feelings of a kid he met in the hospital who had been raped by his own father; he felt he gave his love and trust to someone only to have it violated. That admission rocked me to the core and made me so angry at my 19-year old self for being stupid enough in choosing the man who ultimately hurt my child the most.

Sometimes there are glimpses of who he would have been without the negative interference and it makes me long for that child. He is really far gone-- mentally, emotionally, academically, and physically. Sexually orientation all changed now; he's not who he was supposed to be. And as much as he insists he can change because he knows how unhappy (understatement of the year) I am with all the revelations, I know that he can't. I've accepted that though he hasn't. All of this thought sparked to life on a lonely drive by a song.

Becoming a teacher and having to care about other people's children was the worst thing I could have done for my family. I was too burnt out by the end of the day to give him what he needed. Thankfully, my oldest son had football but my younger son never found his niche to fill his void.

What he has been through is what made me the most upset about being pregnant again. That's why I thought about abortion and adoption. That's why I couldn't go through with adoption. Not being able to protect my child again is not something I can fathom. So that's why I decided to keep them. I prayed hard for daughters, though, because I know how to deal with what comes with a girl. But knowing I have another son on the way...I am truly scared of fucking up again.

Tragedy

I find it so funny that this country was pressing so hard for marijuana legalization, cheered in victory when Colorado passed it, yet condemned a 17 y/o as a thug for having smoked some. This country that says weed does nothing to your body used it as justification in painting Trayvon as aggressive. Are there double standards in this country? Yes. Are there two sets of rule books in this country? Yes, perhaps more. Has justice been served for this boy? No, not since that wet night in February. He could have easily been my son, whose Facebook posing with apple cider bottles (labels turned away from the camera) could have painted him a different way than what he is; my son, whose mere activity as a football player would label him aggressive; my son, who has taken unsmiling pictures and posted them; my son, who has occasionally dropped the "s" word in a text message (yeah, I got on him about that); my son, who would have ran just like Trayvon did on that cold February night from a man who was following him in a car in the dark b/c he knows boogie men exist; my son, who favors a hoodie and headphones. But those with the money in America wouldn't have seen the goofy loveable friendly kid many of us know down here-- they would have just seen selected pictures and pigmentation and labeled him a thug as many of our children get labeled. And if it takes a village to raise a child, then it was my son that died in February of 2012. Rest in peace, Trayvon.

Another talk with God

I had a really deep spiritual talk earlier this month (June 15th) about a number of things that have been weighing heavily upon my mind, especially the babies.

A lot of my problems with being pregnant right now were mostly selfish but truthfully even those were out of fear. I mean I'm still scared-- parenting is hard and doing it with two at the same time...

No decision I made since getting that positive sat well with me. I wanted control of my life back but just their existence made it hard. If I aborted, it would have been out of selfishness. If I gave them up for adoption, it just would have been out of selfishness...and anger...and fear. If I kept them, it would have been just because I wanted control.

Until the talk (with God) on June 15th.

On June 15th, I became okay with not having control; I became okay with the fear of the unknown; I became okay with putting my life on a type of hold for another 18 years. On June 15th, I became excited at the thought of being with my babies and watching them grow. You can already tell I've turned a corner; I stopped calling them parasites.

So, yes, I made the decision of keeping and raising my babies. My older kids are really excited and are already protective. I let the oldest listen to the babies' heartbeats this morning; he was really enthralled with listening to Baby B. But when Baby A kept kicking at the doppler, Sean told me, "Stop agitating her." Oh boy. These babies have an ally against me. I can just see it now. Thankfully, he goes off to college in a year. Accck! Did I just type that?

I've already created an event on Facebook for my Gender Reveal Baby Shower (having it in August because anything can really happen with twins but, at least, by 23 weeks they'll be viable). I even know the theme I want: MadHatter. I've already found the centerpiece for the tables and the color scheme.

I smile at their kicks (now that I know that's what they are) and listen to their heartbeats before I start my day. And I'm really looking forward to seeing who's who on the ultrasound screen this month. Keeping the gender a secret, though, will be the highlight of my summer.

The Truth of It

Let's talk.

Where to begin?

I'm sitting here in the dark, barely resisting being crushed by the boulder of responsibility that toppled onto my shoulders, blocking out the sun and closing in my way out.

Real talk. I'm tired of hearing that twins are blessings. I don't feel blessed. I feel burdened and guilted by the weight of a decision gone bad. I can't walk away from this one. I've spent weeks wrestling with my choices : abortion, adoption, acceptance. But nothing feels right. However, there are no other choices. This problem can not just evanesce. Life doesn't come with do-overs. Time Turners don't really exist.

I'm stuck.

So in the wrestling with my mental, time ticked away and one choice disappeared. So I lean heavily towards adoption. And while that decision sits well with me mentally, spiritually it doesn't. At this moment, though, I really don't see another way for me to live my life, to follow my dreams. And, yet, I feel selfish for wanting my me time so badly. It's not like the last 17 years of raising my kids have been hell, just the last two have been. But I'm severely scarred from those two years. There are barriers that I can't mentally surmount, unscalable walls of fear.

What if I mess up again?

What if I can't protect them either?

What if they grow to hate me for giving them away or for having to raise them alone?

How can I make a choice?

I just want to do what's right but how do I know what that is?

I'm so, so, so scared.

There's the truth of it.

I'm scared shitless and arrested by that fear. And that cloud of fear has fogged the shit out of my brain. I can't see, can't think, and don't want to.

But I've got to.

QoMV

Riding Shotgun

I've come to realize I'm round peg who can't fit in a square hole. Many societies want women to be submissive but that is not in the cards of life I've been dealt. I've seriously had to do and fight for myself since I was a little girl. I was indirectly raised to be independent; my life events have consistently been ones where I've had to struggle and learn for myself-- and one thing I've learned through observation and experience is that there are too many people who find it easy to walk away from things worth fighting for. So at this point in my life, the only kind of relationship I welcome is one where we learn, grow, and build together. Don't try to put me in the backseat; I'm riding shotgun. I'm tired of driving anyway.

Gemini's Twins

 Yes, it's true. 

That word on that stick is the whole truth. Well, not the whole truth because not only am I pregnant (oh goodness!), I'm pregnant with twins (pass me the shotgun). 

I feel too old to be pregnant. Now, I know 33 is nowhere near old but you have to understand that I've been doing this mommy thing for the last 17 years; I got started about 10 years ahead of schedule. So while I am technically a 33-year-old mom; I feel more like a 43-year-old mom. I'm exhausted. And for the last four weeks I've been wrestling with what I'm going to do. 

Yes, for the last four weeks, I've considered an abortion, strongly considered an abortion. Was 98% sure that was the route I was going to take. I made that doctor's appointment with the hope that the choice would be taken out of my hands-- that there would have been a case for termination that would have sat at ease with my conscience. But, while sitting in that doctor's chair, greatly unenthused with the thought of becoming a mother the third time, I made the decision that I was going to abort no matter what was on that ultrasound monitor. 

And then I saw two bubbles. I hoped I didn't see two. The doctor moved the ultrasound wand around in grave silence and a flutter of hope entered my chest. Maybe something was wrong. I mentally prepared what I was going to say to the doctor, that this was ok, this was how it was meant to be-- a wakeup call to take better care of myself. 

Finally the doctor spoke after clearing his throat. He said the machine was too grainy for him to be clear about what's going on. I told him that I thought I might have an ectopic because I had no real pregnancy symptoms other than fatigue and a missing period. He said, no, definitely not ectopic. He said, I'm just going to go ahead and tell you what I see; I see two. I said that I saw the same thing and asked if the bubbles were empty. I mean, they looked empty, really empty. Just two bubbles. 

But he said, no there's definitely something in each. And he zoomed in to each bubble and I could see the beginnings of a baby in them both. Then he zoomed further in each one and the heartbeats patterned in peaks and plateaus across the bottom of the screen. I just stared, hope replaced by resignation. I mean, I had my mind made up to terminate the one but it just wouldn't be fair to abort two. I don't know why that changed things but it did.

And now I'm in freakout mode and it keeps hitting me that I'm starting over. I was four years away from having struggled to raise two kids to adulthood and here I am starting all the way over times two.

God help me.

QoMV

Big Huge

Sooo...this weekend...big news. Can't divulge yet but whoa.

On another note: went to Jazz in the Gardens last night. Pretty cool, literally.

Well, that's all I have for you today-- have homework and such. So yeah...

My New Favorite Blog

I'll be back to say more about it but this guy right here is truth: http://blackgirlsareeasy.com.