The Motherload

Something is going on with the moms in the atmosphere. 

One of my guy friends has gone completely no contact with his mother. Another is trying to get his mom to go to therapy while another friend and his mom are "taking a break" because he is 40 and she treats him like he's ten. I wish this was only a male friend issue, but it ain't. Just the other day, I got some messages from Risky Business. She was upset because an argument over the temperature in her house led her and her mother to "tussle" over a box fan. Huh? 

Dear millennials, have you noticed that we had the sweetest grandmothers while our mothers are nuts? Like loco? What do you think is the meaning of this? Then, on the news, they said the young people behind us, the ones our generation birthed, are a bunch of useless sad sacks that can't do anything outside of play games on their phones! They are needy and wimpy because we as mothers affirmed their emotions. I suppose they will birth and raise a generation of vegetables or serial killers.

My mom has gone on to glory, but we were not without our issues. However, I like to believe if she were alive we'd be fully healed, although this wish does not jive with the tends I'm seeing. Mamas are losing it and their kids are letting them go, too exhausted to deal with it. Therapy, meds, active listening and open communication doesn't seem to be working. I guess we have to do what my grandma would have advised: we just have to pray for them. 🙏

Family No Fair

Today, I got into a huge argument with my brother. We are six years apart. At what age is this nonsense supposed to end? And to think, I was super excited when he was born. Now, all he does is yell, complain, mope, and bark. I guess this argument was all my fault for not allowing him to strong-arm and overrun a conversation he was not even a part of. I will not be bullied by my kid brother. My bad. 

Family, am I right? When I used to get into tween spats with my mom, my grandma would say, "Well, you don't get to choose your family." I'm not so sure. I have heard that there are cultures that believe that the spirits of babies choose their parents or that the family you are born into is all a part of some type of divine plan. This evening, I wanted to dropkick my brother. How's that for divinity?

My mom had four siblings, and now three of them are gone, including her. I know the importance of valuing your brothers and sisters better than the average Joe. I know a lot of people who are only children, so I also know how lucky I am to have brothers and sisters. I love and appreciate them. That doesn't mean that I don't often fantasize about stomping on my brother's foot. He thinks I don't hear him, and I know he doesn't hear me. At times, he can be truly unbearable. I didn't choose him, so I guess I should just love him, even though that is easier said than done, and I would much rather love to elbow him in the ear. Little brothers, am I right?

Liar, Liar

The other morning was a very difficult one with my nephew. I am finding that getting him ready for school is playing out more like peace negotiations these days, but today he was really in rare form. Although he had new and clean shirts to wear to school, he tried to wear the shirt he wore the day before, knowing that was not okay. Then I told him to brush his teeth. He went in the bathroom then came back out, claiming he did it. I asked to smell his breath, then he tells me he didn't do it because he couldn't find his toothbrush. This is lie two or three if you count the stunt with his shirt. I gave him a new toothbrush and he comes back saying he brushed his teeth again. I ask to smell his breath. He then reveals he didn't brush because he can't find the toothpaste, three or four.

I know that he is just a kid and that none of this seems like a big deal, but I am concerned with his need to lie about even the smallest, most unimportant things. If not handled now, I see this only getting worse with age until he inevitably hot-wires my aunt's car! I remember these little white lie mischievous boys from when I was a kid. In middle age, the reports are not good. One of them is in jail. I'm mortified! 

He marched out the door to get on the school bus, upset because I told him that if he keeps trying to skip brushing his teeth, I'm going to brush them for him. He turned his back to me to leave, and I got a glimpse of him at 17, flipping me off and saying something smart under his breath. It was bone-chilling! You know, the consensus is that boys are easier to raise. Please! Whoever said that is a liar, liar pants on fire. 

A Whole Person

Recently, I have been making an effort to stay in touch with my 91-year-old grand cousin. He was my grandmother's favorite cousin, Larry. He has been married for about 70 years to his wife, and they are retired, living out west. I have enjoyed our conversations because he has told me so much about our family history. Tonight, he told me that when my grandma was younger, my great-grandfather used to yell at her. 

"I think he was just afraid he was going to lose her," he informed me. 

When we got off the phone, I burst into tears. I know that no one is perfect, but my grandma came pretty close. She was kind and she was sweet and she was always thinking about everyone but herself. I couldn't stand the thought of someone being mean to her, no matter what the reason. I then began to think about the tantrums I used to throw as a kid and how ungrateful and bratty I could be. I pondered on something that we don't realize until we are older: the adults in our lives had whole lives before we got here. My grandma, who got on me for not wearing dresses and insisted that I press my hair, loved me and took care of me and also had a dad who could sometimes be mean to her. She liked to dance and play the guitar when she was younger. She sang with her friends in a jazz band. She was more than just the old lady that got on me for sitting with my legs open in skirts. She was a whole person. How did her life influence the kind of life that she tried to point me in the direction of having?

If nothing else, big questions like this are signs of getting older. When my niece and nephew become teens, and I am grounding them and putting them on punishment for being obnoxious, I wonder if they will be wise enough to know that I am not just their cruel aunty. I was a whole person before they got here that liked chopped and screwed love songs and books. Perhaps they will take this into account when they are mature enough to create a full picture of me. 

Mean Girls

My nephew is the coolest little dude I know. I am not just saying this because I love him. He is funny and creative. But I was just as perplexed as he was when he walked in my room moping because his friend in his kindergarten class, we will call her G1, called him ugly! My heart sank. He looked so sad, and I was furious. First of all, he is not ugly! Second of all, I was triggered. I had the same face all the way through high school when my peers would say something mean about me. He then said he didn't want to go to school because of it which really pissed me off! We all know the stats: if little Black boys don't develop a love for school early, they will probably drop out before finishing. I couldn't stand the thought of it! 

"You are not ugly," I assured him. He looked like he believed me about as much as I believed my grandma when she would tell me I wasn't ugly. He probably was thinking what I used to think which was, "If I am not ugly, why would they say I am?" I explained to him that some people say mean things and that he should not let what they say get to him because what they say isn't true. I could tell he wasn't buying it. 

Then, just yesterday morning, I put out his new outfit for him to wear to school that he was excited about. Yet, after he put his pants on, he was not happy. 

"I don't want to wear these," he complained. 

"Why not? They are new!"

"G2 made fun of my other pants," he said, shoulders slumped. 

All of a sudden, it was 1992 again, and I was sitting in class trying not to hear the kids laughing at the clothes that I had on and again, I was furious!

"No one is going to like my pants!" he whined. 

"It is not about if everyone else likes your clothes, it is about if you like your clothes," I told him, stuffing him into his coat to go to the bus stop. Wow. That one was one of my grandma's greatest hits. 

Then I thought about my mother. She was always encouraging me to be tough and stand up for myself, and I just wasn't. Eventually, as much as I loved school, I hated to go. Hated the way I looked. Hated being seen. And when that got overwhelming, I became just as mean as everyone else.

As dramatic as it may sound, bullying is a big reason why I didn't want kids. I didn't want to have a kid that would just be a punching bag for the other kids, or worse, be the kid that was doing the punching. Bullying was a HUGE part of my childhood that I didn't want my kid to experience to the point that I didn't want one at all. Now here is my 5-year-old nephew, learning about the sting of cruelty as we have raised him with love and kindness. It's not fair!

"Tell him, 'F$ck dem kids!" P suggested. As crazy as that would be for a child to say to another child, it was honestly what I was thinking and what I have gone back and told childhood me as she got roasted on the playground by obnoxious little a-holes. 

I think that I am going to call his teacher. This is something that neither my grandma nor mother would have done. But there has to be a middle ground between being too passive and being too harsh. For me, I feel like that is adult intervention. I'm not going to let the kids burn my nephew's self-esteem as they did mine so many years ago. 

Homecoming Post 6: The Engagement Arrangement

Don't let the smooth taste fool ya. Just because Xavier is a Catholic school, that does not mean that many of its grads are in conservative relationships. I mean, a lot of people are married or dating. Yet, the way it was explained to me by people with skin in the game, there are a lot of situationships, sortaships, quickieships. Child, there are a lot of ships and a lot of them sink! People are hooking up and getting down in these black and gold streets! I even wanted to interview this man I went to school with for my InstaLive who has an "unconventional marriage" with his wife. And by unconventional, I mean he and his wife allegedly come to the tailgate to pick up chicks! Folks are just creating the romantic relationships they want out here and I am trying not to hate about it. The longest relationship I have ever had is with this outdated, slow "smart"phone of mine. 

Enter Savannah. She and her partner Brandon have been in a relationship for about five years. They have kids. They live together. They go on date nights and throw birthday parties. They put together elaborate playscapes for their kids in the backyard. So, I was surprised when out of nowhere, she announced to me as I was sitting outside the tailgate, "I gave Brandon an ultimatum and told him that he needs to propose by the end of this year."

I turned to my aunty who was sitting right beside me and her face went completely blank, a talent that I have never been able to master. 

"Oh Savannah, that's not a good idea," I said, shaking my head. 

"I had to start pulling the Band-Aid off. If he doesn't do it, it's not like I'm going to leave."

I looked back to my aunt whose face was still blank. This was a bad idea. Ultimatums NOTORIOUSLY do not work! If anything, they make things worse and cause resentment and anger. I mean, we only need to look at the show The Ultimatum! No matter how sweetly you word the demand, someone ends up alone and embarrassed. 

So, I called Savannah to get permission to blog about this and to get some clarity on some things. She basically said that the whole thing was not as big as I was making it. So, I told her how an OG once told me: an ultimatum is much like a gun. If you are going to pull it out, you better be prepared to take action. You gotta be ready to stand on the demand. 

My stomach began to hurt even more on the situation when she told me that she meant by the end of this year, not next year. It's already November! My friend wants to be proposed to within two months! Had she not heard the word? These Xavier men will drag an engagement like a Newport! 

"He will do it if he loves me," she said confidently, right before we got off the phone. 

I hope he does. She deserves a ring. Anyway, there is no room in the Xavier dating pool for another relationship casualty. 

Dateline 30-Something

Did you know that people are still dating? I honest to God had no idea! I thought that all of us that are not married by now had agreed to give up years ago! I mean, can you believe it. People are still trying. I mean, I am shocked! Do you know how much energy it takes to try? It takes all I have just to roll over and groan into my pillow! 

My friend Ashley said she went on three dates last week. Three. One. Two. Three. Three dates. On three separate occasions, she showered, did her hair, got dressed, left her apartment, drove to a location, met with a man, had banter for two hours, then came home. She did this three times. One. Two. Three. Wooo! I need a nap from just typing that out! 

I mean, I get it I guess. A lot of my friends want marriage and kids, so if ever there was a time to amp up the dating, I guess the time is now. I don't want kids, but I like to think that if I did, I would just cut my losses and go to the sperm bank! The motivation it takes to go on apps and get out and meet people...yikes! I just don't have it, not that I ever really did. But I really don't now. My tolerance for disappointment has decreased over the past ten years. Just the idea of being let down makes me sleepy. 

But I have to admit, I have my fingers crossed for my friends still fighting the good fight. Every friend over 35 that finds love is just indication that all the rom coms were right, and there is love to be found going into middle age! Hey, I hear you laughing at me, but whatever. Believing in fantasies keeps you young. 

Who Let The Dogs Out?

Did I miss something? When did Black people become dog people?
I have to be honest: I am not a big dog person. I grew up in an area of Atlanta where many households had pit bulls or rottweilers. They would keep them tied up outside, ready to attack you when you walked by their houses, or bark at you while you waited on the bus. But let's be clear: those dogs were kept out.side.
Recently, I was feeling down, so my friend invited me to her sister's house for a dinner party. I was excited to go and get out of my own head. I was eager to meet some new people and of course, eat. Once we arrived at my friend's sister's house, I was speechless. The house was so beautifully decorated, I felt like I was in a fancy interiors Instagram page. I was looking at some of her awesome pictures and nicknacks when I caught a glimpse of a small Black dog out of the corner of my eye.
My body got tight and I froze in place as I listened to the rest of the family greet the dog in the living room. This was a dinner party. Surely they were going to throw the dog outside or lock her in a bathroom. NOT!
I tried to ignore the dog as it freely sashayed around the house like it owned the place. It was hard for me to really engage with people, mentally dipping in and out of the conversation to keep tabs on where the dog was at and what it was doing. 
The party moved into the living room for dessert and I calmed down just a little. The dog got comfy on the floor and looked as if it was going to go to sleep. That was until two guests came late with their slightly bigger more aggressive dog instep. Everyone greeted him like he was part of the family with the same hands they were holding their drinks with.
"This is an animal, gross," I thought to myself as they continued their unhygienic hellos.
Then the dogs saw each other and about an hour of barking and fighting ensued.
How do you let a host know that you are uncomfortable with their animals when invited to their home? I ask because me screaming out loud and shielding my dessert and face with my arms didn't do the trick.
Other than those ferocious beasts hovering around, the dinner was lovely. I told my friends this story and they say I am overreacting. Apparently, dog lovers consider dogs people. Not I. Gross.

Homecoming Post 2: Sand to the Beach

My first day on the campus of my college, I saw a bunch of interesting stuff. I saw my old speech teacher, class of '97, drunk. This teacher introduced me to the guy that plays Basie Skanks on the show Greenleaf. I ran into one of my favorite nuns (I went to a Catholic college). But one thing that I found, well, interesting, was the number of my classmates that brought their spouses to the homecoming. Question: WHY ON EARTH WOULD SOMEONE BRING THEIR SPOUSE TO HOMECOMING? Is that not the prime example of bringing sand to the beach?

I mean, I really thought about this. Why would you bring your spouse, who most likely didn't go to the school, to your homecoming? They don't know anyone, and you are going to spend a chunk of your time (that could be spent drinking) introducing them to people that you yourself haven't talked to in years. I met a number of significant others who were all nice, but they seemed bored. I was bored for them. When I got tired, I took an Uber back to my hotel. You can't Uber back to Chicago or wherever you came from. 

Immediately, I thought that this had something to do with lack of trust. Husband comes with Wife because he doesn't trust her to come alone. Wife brings Husband because she doesn't trust him to spend time at home alone without her. So they stay bound to each other with invisible handcuffs, smiling all the while and being social, while keeping a watchful eye out for one another. This is possible. 

On the flip side, one may actually want to introduce their spouse to the life that they once lived at the college they once attended. They may actually find joy in introducing their spouse to their old friends and teachers. I would find no joy in this at all. In fact, it would annoy me, rehashing pieces of my past every fifteen minutes. 

Then I had to take off my hater glasses and really reflect: Holly, why would you bring your husband, if you were married, to your homecoming? I would do it for one reason and one reason only: TO SHOW OFF! I never had a boyfriend during my college days, so I would bring my husband and wear him like a cute purse, just to prove to my classmates (who, in reality, probably wouldn't care) that I could actually pull a man. And I would dress him up cute and take him to everything, posing for pics with him with my hand on his chest, the diamonds of my wedding ring catching the flash of the camera. Not for nothing, many of my old peers have some FINE husbands. I mean, really fun 8s out of 10s. 

As a single, thirsty homecoming goer, I will say that seeing people paired off helped me decipher who was attached and who wasn't. It also helped to remind me of the ultimate goal: to find a man of my own and start my own family one day. Seeing girls I knew when I was 18 married with a kid at 32 showed me that this is not only possible but ideal. I actually found myself fantasizing about what my husband would be like when I get one. I will tell you about him here. I'm totally not bringing him to homecoming. 

Happy Birthday Grammy!

 Grams, the birthday girl. 

Fudge cake

Forcing my brother to love me.

Me 

Aunt Lara and Grams

 My brother Cass and Grandma

My grandmother has Alzheimer's, but that didn't stop her from being fabulous at 89. We  had a party, equipped with cake, ice cream, family, and Mardi Gras beads which, for some reason, she has become fixated with in old age, lol. Grams was totally into the photo ops, and even sang us and her nurses a little Dionne Warwick in closing. Happy bday, love you Grams!



Sisterly Love

 

So for the past week, I have been floating on the high of having finally gotten to meet my sisters and extended family. I got to go to Dallas, TX last week to meet them all and let me tell you, it couldn't have gone smoother and I couldn't be happier. You hear about the whole side sibling thing and there is always drama involved. But this was awesome. Long story short, after I was born, my parents did not stay together. My dad then had five kids after me, one of them a son he had during his current marriage. He was unable to come to Texas, but I did get to meet my sisters and my little niece. They are so cool and funny and pretty and just amazing! So now, it's official: including the siblings I grew up with, I have  8 brothers and sisters (five sisters and three brothers). It feels good to come from a big family:)

Very sadly, my family came together this weekend to bury my little cousin Joseph. Some of my cousins came in from out of town for the funeral, and we got to take a picture with my grandma, shown here swaggin' in a red, faux suede mini and blazer.
*In this image from left to right: my little sister April, my brother Cass, my cousin Stephanie, cousin Caprice, cousin Christopher, and my little brother Anthony with half of his face cut off, lol.

Labor Pains

Tomorrow is Labor Day and my auntie called to tell me that my uncle is cooking out.
Sigh.
Truth is, I am broke and hungry, so my face will definitely be in the place. But as I have expressed before, I have always felt like my family doesn't really like me. This was proven by the Uncle Asshole incident and countless of other occasions where it has been made clear that my extended family just rather not have me around.
We will see how tomorrow goes. My uncle drinks like a fish, so everything should be cool until he gets too-too wasted. I will let you know how it goes.

Written All Over My Face

When it comes to describing the past month of my life, I don't know which word to use: dramatic or traumatic.
My grandmother used to tell me when I was a kid that I was a drama queen, that I made things seem worst than they really are. So for a split second, I thought that maybe this has been the case of late. So what if I am technically homeless. I still have my health and I'm not dead, right?
This is what I told myself as I laid down to sleep on the floor of the motel that my family is currently staying at. And I have to say I even felt refreshed as I got up to go to the bathroom. Then I looked in the mirror.
MY FACE LOOKS LIKE A PIZZA!
I swear to you that I almost screamed. My face is soooo broken out! Not to toot my own horn but toot! I usually have good skin. The few instances that my skin has ever looked this bad has been when I was really stressed.
I remember having Pizza Face in the second grade when taking my ITBS Test. You know, that whack placement test they give you in elementary school that more so grades the teachers than your abilities. That doesn't stop the teachers from pressuring you to tears to pass. And of course, I had Pizza Face right before I went to Xavier. Ah, when I had little non-problem problems.
So back to my face. It looks horrible. And on top of that, I have lost my Afro pick and my hair feels like a rug. I do not look cute. I need to get myself together ya'll.

The Jesus Piece

Do you remember me telling you guys that I was getting back on the God wagon? I'm not going to go into detail, but I will say that I have somewhat fallen off the wagon and plummetted to the ground.
Why? I guess I am just annoyed. I know that I should pray and all, but I also know that God knows what I need, and I am kind of peeved that I have to go to him when he can see that my life is in the shitter. And no, I don't think that he has forgotten about me. His love for me is clear. But my family has been evicted. They are living in an extended day motel. My mom has been unemployed for two years. My brother is in college and consistently a thousand dollars away from having to come home. On top of this, my face is breaking out. All I want to know is...WHEN IS HE GOING TO STEP IN ALREADY??? I guess I have to pray about it.

First Night

Today I woke up at my new place, where I am rooming with a friend, and sighed. I felt thankful to have somewhere to live, but odd. The house isn't mine. The room isn't really mine. I thought that I would feel different now that I am all moved in, but I don't. I still feel homeless. Maybe when I get my room all arranged...but I doubt it. I hate this feeling of being in limbo! But the thing is, I don't think that I would feel any different if I had my own place. I seem to only feel complete around my family (my mom and aunt and siblings that is, not uncle asshole and the crew), even though I have spent the past three years since graduation trying to escape them. Sigh.

Uncle Asshole

After a ten minute convo with my uncle the other day I came to a conclusion: he is an asshole.
I called him because I saw that his employer was hiring, and seeing that he is pretty high up in this company and I need a part-time job, I wanted him to give me a recommendation. It would have been super if he could have gotten me an interview. What a joke.
Background on this uncle: he is my mom's brother, but did not live near me when I was growing up. Spending 110% of my time with my grandma, listening to her talk about her children, I get the feeling that he was my granny's favorite, which is why it is so surprising that he is such a self-important prick.
Basically, he calls me and tells me that he can not oblige. His name is big with this company, and he didn't need me coming in and embarrassing him. Mind you, he has a corporate position and I would have been a PT administrative assistant. He said he could not do it if he wanted to, which is a lie. He said he feared I would blow up at my managers if I made a mistake, which is a lie. He pretty much thinks that I am this drunken loud party girl which is again, a LIE! I would love to tell you how he formed this opinion, seeing that I have only been around him a hand full of times, but I can't. After replaying our convo in my mind where he insulted my personality and work ethic, all I have came up with is that he is an asshole. Plain and simple.
I guess it's true: no one can stunt your growth like family.

Packing

It was the worst of times, it was the worst of times at Clay Manner.
Pretty much, we have to pack and move and no one feels like doing it. No one! We just have so much stuff- things from my grandma's old house that we have been storing since she went into the home, stuff my brother didn't want to take to college, stuff we have not used in ages. Stuff, stuff, stuff! The fact that we only have until Monday to move has everyone fatigued and sluggish. It's a mess.
Then there is the feeling that none of us can shake, this feeling that we are tight roping and could fall at any second. I feel that I never felt this way before because my Grandma was my safety net...before she lost her mind.
So this weekend is going to be full of looking for the tape loading up the car and no, I am not excited.

The Question

Lauren wanted to know where the Black gay stood in the conversation on the Black family. Are they allowed to have an opinion? I say yes. But my view is that before we can openly discuss the topic, Blacks would first have to admit that there are gays in their families and that gays deserve to have families. So I am guessing, if we are ever going to have this talk, we are going to have to do it as a Black youth, minus our elders, because I can not see them being down.

Something Ghetto

My younger brother Cass is in college. He is going into his sophomore year, and as of right now, my family is dealing with the usual right before school financial aid dramas.
Drama of the week? His financial aid counselor decided to go on a vacation at a time when the rest of the aid counselors were busy...doing their jobs! Anyway, she returned to the office this week, a week before school starts, tanned and ready to go. However, because she has been gone so long, all the work-study slots are filled, and my brother will not be receiving it as part of his aid package...AGAIN!
So as a solution to this, my mother decided to call the office with a major my-son-shouldn't-have-to-pay-ish attitude. Tanned Counselor didn't appreciate her tone and hung up...possibly. And I say possibly because it is very likely in our house that the call dropped.
Either way, it doesn't matter. Mommy is mad, and wants to "see" her when we drive my brother back. Just a little something ghetto I decided to share.