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The Ides of Birthdays

My 39th birthday is in two weeks.
You know, I feel like I write the same type of blog around my birthday every year. I get extremely introspective and pensive about the whole thing. But this is my last year of my 30s and I am feeling all of the feelings that have ever and could be felt. I hate trying to bring this up to folks.. who are always wanting to remind you of "well.. you got this.. you got that...". As if you haven't dealt with depression long enough to realize it doesn't matter what you have... if one piece is missing.. it throws it all off.
While yesterday was the 3rd anniversary of my mom's passing, I realized she wouldn't be here for my 40th. That was a hard pill to swallow. I thought for sure we'd be celebrating a lot that year... my Ph.D... a baby... a big, fancy car..... all of that. I only have one of those things so far but still... I was hoping that having her hold on at least until then would be the icing on my cake.
My life feels…
Recent posts

Three Years

It's been 3 years since you've been gone.
I've been on my own.
I had to bear the weight of trying to figure out motherhood without you.

I've tried to complete my goals.. but they now seem pointless because you won't be there.

I miss you.

The baby misses you and she doesn't even know you...

She calls out for you sometimes.

And I tell her stories about you.

She knows you.

I just miss you.

You weren't done mothering me.

Step Your P****y Up

I will be 39 in a month. I am having a midlife crisis. A literal, mid-life crisis.
The job of mothering and wife-ing (lol) is a difficult one.  And add on top of that knocking on the 40s door.... and not feeling like you've achieved jack shit. I haven't traveled the world enough. Bought enough shoes. Eat fancy foods. Had sex with Matt Kemp... Had enough orgasms. Lost enough weight. Driven the car of my dreams. Paid off enough debt... making sex figures...wrote my epic historical fiction novel... worn enough hairstyles...
Blah! I've not done jack squat. *sigh* WHat Id o know is, the unpaid, emotional labor of mothering and being a wife has driven me off track and off my goals. A lot of them. I am having to retool and refocus. In lamenting to my husband, he goes "I mean you can still travel the world! With Us". Before I could control my facial expressions, I scowled. "A baby? Strapped to my back and a husband to weigh me down as I go see the Pyramids?? No tha…

A Love Like Taffy

I was in one of the many online/Facebook groups that I am in (I have a real addiction I believe....) and the discussion of marriage and its up and downs began. Naturally, women started this discussion and men sorta interjected here and there. (SN: I often wish men spoke positively and naturally about marriage the way women do....alas.... all we get are Fred Flinstone types...)

I relayed my experiences as a woman under 40 and working on my second marriage. My exact words were...

What I’ve learned in two marriages, one disastrous and one fairly new but relatively healthy, is that you learn to become like taffy:  You start out one big, sweet sticky mess. stretch, you grow, you pull, you push but if you’re lucky, you don’t break. And that’s the sweet spot.  

And when one of my good friends who was engaged said she fears marriage because she was a "hot mess"... I laughed and said, "Marriage is the joining of two hot messes....". And I continued on with my taf…

I Was Wrong about Beyonce

Oh, no.. don't get me wrong. I still don't think she can sing and I don't like her music.... I don't know or own ANY of her songs unless they get played at parties. I literally do not know ANY lyrics... dead ass. And let's face it... I'm 39 with a kid... when am I gonna go to a party that doesn't have an animated character present?

Nevertheless, I can admit when I am wrong. A while back, I wrote a blog about Beyonce and her "brand" of feminism. While I still argue and posit that Beyonce is using/used feminism/womanism as a marketing scheme (as with any good "evolutionary" artist. See: Janet, Madonna, GaGa.....). I was wrong to say that her kind of feminism isn't feminism, specifically black feminism. It's HER feminism. And who am I to judge?
Nobody...*Keith Sweat Voice*
If she thinks body performativity and sex is feminism, so be it. If she wants to be Oshun for a day, that's cool too. If she thinks to wear a onesie/unitard an…

Ciara: Reckless Reposting, #LevelingUp and Fucking Up

(Ciara and husband Russell Wilson)
Let's talk about Ciara and how she, God bless her soul, forget where she came from.....

Earlier this week, she decided to repost a sermon by Fat-Fuck-Ex-30-Year-Old-Virgin John Gray, ex-comedian turned minister (and OWN reality show personality), who was talking about women not wanting to be wives....because they walk around in the spirit of girlfriend.. or some misogynistic bullcorn. I can't remember all of it. So I will just link it here, reluctantly.

Oh, Ciara, Miss Riverdale Princess of Crunk decides to repost this with the hashtag #LEvelUp, leaving all of us scratching our heads. Lest we forget she was about to marry an UBER FUckboy named Future, had a baby by this dude, gets dumped... and moves on to Russell (who we all were cheering for because he was a decent man). She has what I like to call "marital amnesia"- we forgot our wayward ways when we get married.. (well, some of us do, I don't)....

The fault is not all on Ci…

Mommy the Monster

One of my daughter's favorite books is called Monster Trouble.  A little Afro puff wearing girl named Winifred can’t sleep because monsters keep creeping into her bedroom. She tried to set traps for them but nothing works. In the end, what made them flee was her being kind, sweet and giving them kisses. My little one finds the kisses part hilarious.

What happens when mom is the Monster. A terrifying monster of epic proportions. 
I had been sick for a few days. I’d caught whatever my daughter brought home from daycare which was simply a runny nose for her but turned into a hacking, gagging cough and congestion for me.  I could get no relief. None whatsoever.  I didn’t want to eat. I couldn’t really sleep. It all came to a head a few evenings ago.  I coughed so badly that I threw up. My husband has to grab the blankets and things.  I laid my head down on the couch, wet towel on my head to try to feel better. My daughter, not fully grasping the severity of the situation, hopped …