Confirmation ...

I love getting confirmation that I am on the right path or that everything is going to be alright.

Tonight was orientation at my son's new school. He is my youngest child and will be entering high school in the fall, but this is my first experience with the New York City public school system as a parent (I was a public school kid). Overall, it was a good evening. I think he is a bit more comfortable about the school after seeing some of the classrooms, the cafeteria and getting a sampling of the clubs and extra-curricular activities offered. I think it also helped when a rising senior told my son that he is lucky to be going to this school and he knows my son will enjoy it.

One of my biggest concerns about this school is that my son was in a graduating class of 40 students. The high school has a population of over 5,000 students. That's massive. The building is colossal. The classes are much larger. It's a huge change. He is going from being a big fish in a little pond - where everyone in the school knew him by name from teachers, to the principal, to maintenance workers - to being a grain of sand on the beach.

Where does the confirmation come in at? Well, yesterday I received a phone call from the parent coordinator at the new school (our old school didn't even have one). The coordinator let me know that she had the package I sent with his medical forms, etc. However, my son was not on the roster; according to her, he was not enrolled for the fall semester. She thought she should contact me so that I could start advocating on his behalf because clearly I thought he was attending their school and she didn't think there were any more spaces available. So after a visit to his old school, numerous calls/emails to the enrollment office, guidance counselor, and other administrators, and duplicate online submissions, the parent coordinator informed me that she now has my son on her list and all is well.

When the dust settled, I thought about the incident. This woman could have said to herself that she had a lot of work on her desk and pushed aside my papers since my son wasn't on her roster. What she did was pick up the phone and call me. She called my cell phone. Then she called my job until she reached me, not my voice-mail. She said if it was her child, she would want someone to be considerate of them. She didn't want me finding out that there was an issue when it was too late to correct it. I see that although this new school has a vast number of students, there are people in place who look out for the individual. I know the school has a high academic rating and their program ranks amongst the top in the country. However, I discovered that they back up their boast of being available for their students and families when needed. Confirmation that we made the right educational choice for this moment in time. 

A Father Before Birth

Welcome to the Second Edition of the  Black Birth Carnival. Hosted by Darcel of  The Mahogany Way Birth Cafe and Nicole of Musings From The Mind of Sista Midwife. The Topic: Not Without Our Fathers. So often we talk birth in women circles. We celebrate birth within the feminine community and forget that without the fathers our birth experiences would be non existent. June 17th marks the day many will celebrate fathers in this country. With that in mind we came up with our topic for this installment of the Black Birth Blog Carnival.

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 photo by Saddi Khali

I’ve shared some of my son’s birthing story in the past with the emphasis on important points I wanted to convey to him. However, in honor of Father’s Day, I want to share with you from the perspective of how my children’s father impacted our childbirth experience. Creation is a miracle that is a joint effort between the divine, the man, and the woman. My children’s father and I were a team and when I needed to lean on his strength and wisdom, he made himself available.

I was pretty young when we got married and shortly after the wedding I discovered I was pregnant. I figured we would have children, someday, just not so soon. I was apprehensive about telling my new husband that we were going to be expecting a bundle of joy while we were living in a tiny basement apartment, just starting our life together. I met him one day for lunch to share the news and his reaction was most memorable. He asked if that was all I had to tell him because he already knew I was pregnant. My hesitation was unwarranted because he was excited that we were going to be parents. During the following months, he was very attentive; making sure he let me know how beautiful I was and how much he looked forward to greeting our child. He would speak to her constantly and play music for her. We read books on parenting and how to prepare spiritually for the new life that was coming forth. We had long debates on what to name our child, not knowing if we would have a girl or boy. We finally settled on a male name but were still searching for the most appropriate female name. One day while we were watching a movie, we had a simultaneous epiphany – the baby princess’s name would be perfect for our daughter.  Now we were ready for her arrival. About two weeks prior to my due date something strange happened; I started leaking. I didn’t realize that it was possible for one’s water to break at the rate of a trickle. I went to my doctor because I figured that wasn’t right. He didn’t examine me, just took my word on what was happening with my body and said I had a urinary tract infection. The doctor ordered antibiotics for me. My husband decided that was ludicrous, so we nixed the pills. I stayed home, relaxed, and dripped for three days. That third night I had trouble sleeping. I stayed on the sofa, unsuccessfully trying to locate a comfortable position. By this point, I had been in labor for days yet did not know it. I also did not know what labor pains really felt like so I was back and forth from the bathroom thinking I had to move my bowels. If it was not for my husband, our daughter would have been born in the toilet. Against my doctor’s instructions, he insisted that we go to the hospital when we did. Two hours after we reached the hospital, our first child was born.

Fast forward eight years, I am once again pregnant. We are a little older and just a tad bit more prepared to become parents for the second time. The whole family was involved with the preparation for our son. My husband and daughter accompanied me to all of the pre-natal visits. When my diet was restricted because I was borderline diabetic, my husband ensured I had the foods I needed to stay healthy and he encouraged me to walk as much as I could. As with our first child, this child was spoken to by his father daily and was showered with prayers and music. We researched names and decided upon those that declared life to the traits we wanted our son or daughter to exhibit. When I went into labor with our son, I knew what to expect this time. We brought our daughter with us to the hospital and she was in the room when her brother was born.  After the doctor (not the same one from before) caught the baby, his father cut the umbilical cord. Before I held our son, his father cradled him, prayed for him and dedicated him to God.

Today, our children are 22 and 13 years old. Although we have since divorced, our children are happy, well-adjusted, and successful at this stage in their lives. I believe their father and I gave them the best we could from the time they were conceived. Mothers and fathers each bring a unique and necessary dynamic to the process of child birthing. I am thankful that I was not alone during this period and that together we were able to lay a foundation of love and support for our children.

As we celebrate fathers, please share your stories of fathers who have impacted you or your children's lives.

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Please take the time to read and comment on the other participants posts. 

Shahmet at Adia Publishing: A Father Before Birth
Reggie at WhatrUWorkinon?: They’re All Miracles
Nicole  at Musings From The Mind of Sista Midwife:  #BlackBirth Not Without Our Fathers
Darcel at The Mahogany Way Birth Cafe: Are Men at Birth Important?
Alexis at The Ivy Expansion: A Fathers Love
Mavhu at F.W. Hargrove: I Birth At Home 

Twitter Hashtag #BlackBirth

He Said, She Said, and the Truth

For years I've heard, and believed, that in every story there are at least three sides - the first person's, the second person's and the truth somewhere in the middle. Of course the more people involved, the more versions are birthed. Today, I reflected on this after a conversation with a particular gentleman who I don't know very well.

There is this couple who are going through a divorce. I met the wife about a year and half ago in a class and she has shared some of her trials with me. Then I met the husband in a different class about a year ago. Somewhere around six months after that, I figured out that they were married to each other. He never mentions the wife ... talks about his work, the children, all kinds of topics ... never the wife. This morning we engaged in insightful conversation that ranged from the HIV epidemic to sound business practices to the NY Red Bulls (I didn't know we had a soccer team) to summer camps. She, on the other hand, mentions him often and has provided a not so pleasant picture of her soon-to -be-ex-husband; very different than what he has projected to me. Which got me thinking.

We are all complex individuals with many facets to share. We encompass both positive and negative qualities. Sometimes we reflect one attribute more than the other. Certain people just bring out the worst in us and we should not be in each other's presence. I have to be careful not to make judgements based on other people's experiences, yet still hold their perceptions with the esteem it deserves. I diligently strive to remember that people who I have issues with don't always look the same to everyone else. The most important goal is not to be right but to be fair in my representation of self and others. It has been easy for me to tell a child that his/her action may be bad but that does not make him/her a bad person. I am trying to translate this into my relations with adults.

I am a work in progress. Far from perfect. I can be both loving and hateful; kind and mean; forgiving and vindictive; the list goes on. While I strive to feed the more constructive aspects of my personality, I will keep in mind that my sisters and brothers are doing the same.

Lessons From My Bed

This weekend I received a lesson on life from a bed. OK, from two beds. Let me explain.

Last year, I was appalled when I discovered I had bed bugs. After I got over the fact that these things were feeding on me and I deciphered where I may have picked them up (a hotel in Virginia), I set about removing all traces of the pests from my home. I called the exterminator and got the ousting plan in action ... this included washing and severely drying every piece of clothing (and stuffed animal) in the house, steam cleaning all the carpets and having the whole apartment treated with pesticide in two sessions. I was not advised to dispose of my bed because the exterminators determined I had a very mild infestation and I caught it in time. Of course, I was pleased with this because 1) a new bed was not in my budget and 2) I LOVED my bed. I mean I really loved this bed. It was this big monstrosity with a mattress that looked double the size of an average one. Comfortable? I never knew such bliss. This bed of mine was so large, I had to use a step ladder to climb into it after I had abdominal surgery so that I wouldn't strain myself.

Well, let's fast forward to a couple of weeks ago and I, once again, found that these nasty little buggers were feasting on me during the night. My guess is that they laid eggs in the wood frame and they subsequently hatched. My first thought was that I should get rid of the bed. My next thought was that I really loved the bed and didn't want to part with it. My third thought was really a vision of bugs falling off while the bed is being carted away and me having a full blown infestation. Upon further thought, and nudging from others who pointed out the faults in my reasoning, I decided to get rid of the much loved bed.

Now, here is where I gained the life lesson. Because I read somewhere that the bugs can not attach to a metal framed bed, I searched for that type of furniture. Not many choices but enough that I was able to purchase something I liked fairly well. I called the junk pros to seal and remove my old bed (who, by the way, noted how comfortable my mattress looked!). After the carpet was cleaned, my new bed was delivered. Although it is also a queen size, the frame is noticeably smaller than the old one. This bed is also not as high; I'm not sleeping on the floor, but I wont have to climb into the bed. What I realized after it was dressed with linen was that I now have more space in my room. I can see more of my wall, I can move about more easily and I feel lighter.

I was holding on to an item that was clearly not benefiting me anymore just because I was sentimental. I had an attachment to a piece of furniture, long after it was useful. What is more, I was subjecting myself to physical and mental discomfort, because I was afraid of making the situation worse. How often in life do we stay in situations that have run their course and no longer edify us? This can apply to jobs, relationships, living arrangements, unhealthy eating habits ... whatever. We look back and remember the good times and think those are the only good times. We fear change even when we know that we must move on. We stunt our growth to stay where we are comfortable, even if it is draining us. OK, maybe you don't, but I can see where I have done these things. When I decide to move forward, I find what I did with the bed, that things can actually be better than I imagined.

Today, I encourage you to take a step. If your spirit is telling you that it is time for a change, listen. If you best friend says your excuses are a bunch of crap, at least think it over. If you can see that something is detrimental to your well being, do something about it.

When a Man Loves a Woman

While I was at the exhibit yesterday, I saw a picture that moved me deeply. It was a print of a charcoal drawing titled "When a Man Loves a Woman" by Fedrecia Hartley, who in addition to being a talented artist, is the director of Zion Gallery. If you click the title, you can see the picture and learn more about the gallery and their vision. Ms. Hartley graciously discussed this piece with me and as I gazed, I was overwhelmed with a sense of powerfulness.  I know there are songs and movies with this title, but I felt the need to write out of it as well. I thought about how it feels when a man loves a woman. In particular, how I feel being loved at this stage in life.

As always, I am thankful for the inspiration and hope something you read or see resonates with you.

when a man loves a woman

how does she feel?

what does it mean to her?

more powerful than an outward attraction

a spiritual connection

no conditions

no restraints

time and distance become inconsequential markers

when a man loves a woman

she is naked

vulnerable

yet always safe

she stands taller

more fortified than without him

when a man loves a woman

he engages all of his senses

he sees her

his love lets her believe

all that she knows is true

that she is unique

no one can do what she does

the way she does it

when a man loves a woman

he hears her

dreams, thoughts, concerns

are treated with the weight they deserve

never ridiculed

or blindly cosigned

when a man loves a woman

he touches her

former wounds are healed

tensions are released

she is invigorated

when a man loves a woman

he tastes a new phenomenon

the substance of life

flows from her with rekindled vitality

she explodes with a zest

that catapults her to further heights

when a man loves a woman

he smells victory on the horizon

with him she defeats all opposition

together, they represent a united front

everything is possible

when a man loves a woman

she understands

why we were not created to be alone

Uncovering Treasures

photograph by Ian Lyn

It's been a minute since I've shared; did ya'll miss me? I guess a lot has happened so I won't bother trying to catch up, I'll just jump in with where I am right now.

It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Sundress & sandals weather is my favorite and that is just what I was rocking today (or yesterday since it's now after midnight). As time passes, I appreciate my little borough, Brooklyn, (which is actually huge) more and more. Whatever I want to do, I can find it right here. The day started at my church home in bible study. Although I was the only one who somehow had the wrong starting time - therefore arriving two hours late - my leader stayed so that we ended up having a one-on-one session. Very nice. Then I walked over to Peaches for brunch. I was pleasantly surprised to find a live band playing background music. The Marvin Gaye and Bill Withers covers were exceptionally enjoyable. Next up was another stroll down the street to Zion Gallery.

My ride-or-die, big-little brother, Ian Lyn, was one of the two featured photographers in the exhibit titled "New York Country." The concept, which is really awesome, was to capture nature and rustic views within the city. The pieces were stunning, particularly ones that caught the essence of God's natural beauty in alignment with modern structures like buildings and bridges. The artists were on hand to speak about their pieces, explain the locations shot and share anecdotes about their work. Another treat was that I was able to speak with the curator, who is also an artist, about her commitment to keeping art accessible within the community.

The most interesting portion of the day however, were not the pictures on display but the revelation from my brother about how he got inspired to take his photography to the next level. A few years ago, I used to rag him about his flimsy flip phone and he would claim that he could take great pictures on it. So we had a little challenge where we would take pics and send to each other - sunrise, sunsets, rainbows, clouds, views from the bus, kitchen window, train tracks - stuff like that. Who knew that his inner photographer would be ignited? Somewhere along the line, Ian invested in a real camera, some lenses, and books.  He then set about documenting life as he sees it while continuing to learn and expand his craft. While we were at the exhibit, he was in the garden steady clicking pictures. I was inspired to see Ian get excited about views he peeped and subsequently shot.

This is a reminder that you never know what may come in life. When you find something you enjoy doing, keep at it because it is probably your gift. We all have been blessed with at least one talent and we have a responsibility to share it, for our benefit and the world's.

I have a gift for you!

Sunday is my birthday & I have a gift for you ... Spirit Song: the lyrics of my heart is now available in e-book format for viewing online or through tablet/iPad format ... download a copy today ... leave a review ...enjoy!

 Click the book to purchase now