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A Good Day

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7

I should be asleep, but instead, I’m up watching bad TV and wacky commercials. Exactly how many seasons did Walker, Texas Ranger stay on the air? It’s on four different channels at this time of night.

And who in the heck needs a shoe that washes your foot while you’re in the shower? Or a microwave pasta cooker? Or a combo hair brush and curling iron?

Anyway, I digress. Last week was brutal, and I think I’m suffering from work PTSD.

My daughter and I had a good night. After homework and spinach pizza, we made ourselves dizzy by recreating the routines from Dancing With The Stars. We’re not perfect, but we are entertaining.

Just before bedtime, E pulled out a piece of paper from her bookbag. “Mommy, this is for you.”

The paper was long and thin, like a ruler, and it was neatly colored pink and brown.

“It’s brown like your skin on the back and your favorite color,
pink, on the front.” (Side note: Pink is her favorite color, not mine, but it was the thought that counts.)

“Open it,” she made a sweeping gesture with her arms as she said this.

The words inside were simple: “I LOVE YOU MOMMY”

It made my day.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Self Esteem

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15

When my daughter and I walked into Kmart yesterday, I prayed she wouldn’t notice the enormous Barbie display by the front door. But of course she did.
“Can we look at the Barbies? Pleeeeeeeeeease?” E jumped up and down with excitement.
I reminded myself to be patient as we walked to the display. I’m not sure what Kmart is gearing up for, but they don’t have this much Barbie stuff at Christmas time.
E peered inside every box and proceeded to give me a list of what she wanted for her birthday. A mermaid. A horse. A new corvette.
I squinted at the display. Something was off about it, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. When it finally came to me, I commented before I could catch myself.
“Where are the brown dolls?”
In a full aisle of merchandise, all I saw was blond Barbie.
“Isn’t she brown?” E pointed to a mermaid on the top row.
I followed E’s finger to the doll. She had dark hair, but her complexion was pale.
“No,” I sighed. “She’s not. Let’s go.”
“Mom, I need more white dolls.” E declared this as we walked to our car.
“You do?” I asked. E has a diverse group of dolls at home. “Why?”
“The white ones are prettier.”
“WHAT? Who told you that?” I didn’t catch my anger in time. E was frowning.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “They just are.”
“Don’t you think brown people are pretty? What about me? You don’t think I’m pretty?”
“Yeah, but you’re light.”
I was confused. “Do you think you’re pretty?”
“No.” E started to cry.
My heart broke.
There are more things wrong here than I have time to write about. My daughter and I are the exact same complexion, and she is absolutely beautiful. She has big brown eyes with lashes that women pay good money to replicate, a killer smile, and a personality that makes it all the better.
Who in the hell told my baby she wasn’t pretty? And who told her that brown wasn’t beautiful?
I started thinking about what she watches on TV. Dora the Explorer. Ni Hao Kai-Lan. Hannah Montana. Suite Life of Zach and Cody.
The characters of color are cartoons.
I pledged in that instant to do a better job of showing my daughter real-life beauty in all shapes, sizes, and colors. I’m renewing my subscription to Essence. I’m on the lookout for TV programs that showcase more diversity. Brandy on Dancing with the Stars was all I had that night, but it was a start.

Five minutes of…well, it was more like an hour

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8

It’s been a long day.

I woke up at 5:15 to catch a flight to Atlanta. That was a challenge in itself. I then had to be coherent and pleasant as I directed a local video crew to capture footage of my client’s franchise.

After 4 hours of “Can we try that just one more time?” I went back to the airport to catch a flight home.

To say I was beat is an understatement. I wanted to pick up my daughter, put her to bed, and then quickly follow suit.

One snafu: She was with my mother, and they were 30 minutes away at Bible study.

“Don’t drive all this way,” Mom said. “We’re almost done. We’ll be gone before you get here.”

I shouldn’t have believed her. One thing I should know by now is that church service of any type never ends when you think it will.

It didn’t make sense to go home, so I picked up my car from remote parking and headed to the rendezvous spot, which was about 10 minutes from my house.

I got home two hours later. First, they didn’t leave until 45 minutes after we talked. Then, my mom’s ride had to take another person home first. (Yes, it would have been nice for me to know that from the get-go). And then, Mom figured it was easier for me to take her home after we met up so that her ride could go home faster.

By the time I got home, I was ready to scream. I was tired, I was crabby, and I smelled like an airplane.

Instead of taking my usual shower, I ran a bath instead. I planned to stay in for just a few minutes, but an hour passed before I knew it. And so did all of the day’s stress.

Calming down made it a lot easier to pack bags and lunches for tomorrow, which I did while making tea. Did you know it takes 5 minutes to brew a proper cup of Rooibos tea?

One hour and five minutes were definitely worth the investment in my sanity.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Bittersweet

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16

It’s late, and I know I should be in bed. But I’m enjoying the quiet that comes when hubby’s at work and daughter’s in bed. It’s so quiet that I can hear every creak and groan of our old house.

I’m beat. I’ve been teaching classes as a second job for the past nine months. One evening a week for four hours, I left my full-time job and head to class. It’s draining. Because my students are adults, I expected them to be self-sufficient. It was quite the opposite; many of them were starting second careers or had never been to college at all. It ended up taking more time that I thought.
I’ve had some adventures. There was the guy who paced the whole class, the group who routinely showed up late, and the woman who couldn’t understand why she didn’t get credit for an in-class project we did the day she was absent. She argued me down for those points. She didn’t get them.
Tonight was my last class for the rest of the year. My full-time schedule is about to go into overdrive, and there is no way I can keep up both jobs.
I should be jumping for joy.
Instead, I’m surprised by my reaction. I will actually miss teaching. There was something about connecting with people and sharing knowledge that was fulfilling. I learned as much as they did.
But for now, I think I’ll just appreciate the break.

It’s My SITS Day!

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Go Diva, it’s your SITS Day!


Go Diva, it’s your SITS Day!
And yes, I’m doing the cabbage patch as I sing this…
Welcome to my blog! It’s my SITS Day, and I couldn’t be more excited! For those who don’t know, SITS is a support network for women who love to blog. If you haven’t checked it out, make sure you do.
Here’s me in a nutshell: I’m the wife of an absolute sweetie, mom to a sassy girl, and a career woman. Some days, though, I just feel like a mess. I started this blog to keep track of it all. Plus, I love to write, so this is a good way for me to keep in touch with me, if you know what I mean.
Here are a few of my favorite posts, but feel free to poke around. Enjoy!