giving words to the unspoken: intimate partner violence.

i am thankful every day that i've never dated someone who has or would hit me.  that is a terror i've never known, and pray that i never will.  i do know what intimate partner violence can do. the losses of asia, latoyia, and san-dee serve as reminders to us all that women die because of intimate partner violence (also known as domestic violence, or domestic abuse). the very idea of the typical domestic abuse victim is seared into the consciousness of many people in the united states: she's timid, she's probably very pretty, she is attacked without having provoked her mate, and she always goes back.  the attacker is always someone who's been emasculated to some degree -- maybe his education level isn't what hers is (or anyone else's, like being a 10th grade dropout when everyone else is at least a high school grad), or he's dyslexic, or whatever.  it's mister from the color purple concentrated, it's laurence fishburn as ike turner, it's every lifetime movie shitbag boyfriend joined together like voltron.  

it's never the sparkling smile of chris brown that spits threats or curse words, bites you or calls you names.  it's never rihanna's pretty face that is pummeled with fists. it's always some nameless or faceless couple on "cops." it's always someone whose name has been changed to protect her because he's stalking her. (and it's always a hetero couple, but that's another issue for another time.)  and this seems to be the root of the problem to me: celebrity, or fame, and the perception of "our" stars as anything other than human.  they are not necessarily regarded as human, even in times of tragedy (see: the losses jennifer hudson's, bill cosby's, and the late marlon brando's close family members).  they are still these perfectly unreal creations -- half of "their" public's imagination, and half illusion borne of spin doctors.  celebrity is a tricky thing.  it's fleeting, but so demanding. what does this pressure cooker life do to someone who's barely a maturing child when they enter it, and is simply fortunate to be a functioning adult if/ when they leave it?

i ask this question because i don't believe for one minute that this is a black and white situation (meaning chris, the aggressor, bears all the fault or that rihanna, the victim, instigated her own ass kicking).  i take into account that chris witnessed domestic abuse for as many as 6 years of his life (that's 1/3 of his time on earth, roughly).  i understand that the highly invasive reports that are being shared pretty much confirm that rihanna was upset over a potential (or continued) infidelity on chris's part. i understand that it's likely that brown no longer wished to be in a relationship with her -- but check this out: you can end a relationship with someone without hitting them.  you can make your point clear without fists and bitemarks.  

my concerns are for the privacy and safety of both of these young people. there are threats being made against both of them, there's a lot of hearsay and conjecture. there are terrible jokes being made. it is now a verb to chris brown someone -- to beat their ass.  unacceptable.  the facts are known only by the persons who were present for the incident that was reported to the police.  that's not for any of us to learn about or gossip about. this is deeper than whether someone gave someone herpes, or whether someone's cheating on someone else.

it is indicative of the fact that we all have work to do: work to heal, work to grow, work to end cycles. violence is never okay in a relationship, regardless of who throws the first punch.  intimate partner violence exists when women hit men, when men hit each other, and when women hit women.  intimate partner violence exists when we are unable or unwilling to talk about what hurts or bothers us, and when we don't understand that it's never okay to strike someone you love.  unless it's self defense, it is wrong. always wrong.

this interview that jay smooth did with elizabeth mendez berry speaks much to why it doesn't matter specifically that it's a celebrity dealing with intimate partner violence. 

i am sean bell.

i got this video from jo, via a post at dawson's ink. i give thanks for stacey muhammad's project. i'm really quite speechless. teach the babies. save them. save us. & please share this video. peace.

so i've been writing . . .

i left a comment over @ womanist musings responding to a post about physical punishment. it's pretty much a rant. but i figured i should post it here, too.

something that's become apparent to me while reading this post and the related comments: each person who's commented here has a particular amount of privilege that even allows them to be here talking about this. we all have access to the internet, whether at work, home, the library, a friend's house, whatever. maybe there are socioeconomic issues that play into physical punishment being used as discipline. as the blog owner and another sista mentioned, they're the products of fresh-off-colonialism parents from the caribbean. i definitely understand that.
for me, i see a lot of mothers and fathers (or other caregivers, like siblings) who lack one major thing: patience. they may have zero understanding of the way children (small children especially) function. when katt williams gave his thoughts on black folks publicly beating their kids, he wasn't really wrong. he said, "your child is three years old; he's supposed to like skittles!"
there's a lot of misunderstanding. some of us are treating our kids like really unfortunate consequences of sex. others of us think that love is compulsory in parent-child relationships regardless of a connection between the two. how many of us (urbanites especially) have seen someone who appears to be barely 2 decades older than the child of whom they are in charge? & how does that manifest itself? slamming the child into a chair, yelling, being disengaged from the child when something big-person-specific is going on, etc. smacking the child, beating the child really seems to be the easiest way to release that pressure. the pressure of being exclusively responsible for a little person who is fully and totally dependent upon you. that's a lot if you don't even feel like you have your own life together.
that may not be the case with our parents' generations, but it's glaringly obvious with these younger parents in our communities. the same systematic lack of education, the systematic removal or lessening of resources, the cyclical violence & other ills, in my opinion, help create a toxic environment. add to that the violent society in the united states (this whole country was built on the backs of ppl controlled by violence AND land stolen from folks with epidemics and slaughter) and i think you pretty much have a prime environ for the "kick ass first ask questions later" approach to parenting i've become accustomed to seeing.
this is NOT to say that there aren't exceptions.
this is NOT to say that we can't teach each other differently, especially by relating to what exhausts caregivers.
& real rap, it's not anyone's place to determine what another person's experience was or was not. renee, i could tell from the very tone of your writing in this post that you were exposed to something that in pretty much every circle would be considered abuse. levels of punishment, explanations for punishment, etc. are always a good idea no matter what your disciplinary approach is. there is no way to determine how punishments will affect your child.
but the bottom line is this:
the master's tools will not destroy the master's house. those of us who are the descendants of slaves are likely aware of the way that public humiliation & usage of weapons (whips, flip flops, shoes, ping pong paddles) tie directly into what happened to many of our ancestors. it's not a coincidence. this system did not belong to our ancestors; it belonged to those who were in charge in the days of chattel slavery. period. & i think if more of us are able to think of it that way (not just those of us who have the luxury, like myself, of talking about it on the web), we may be able to change some things.

i am a civil service employee.

(a rant)

i have been a civil service employee for what'll be 4.5 years as of this coming sunday. i work in an office where depending on what's happening, we hear dead last about the wild shit employees do. i've heard tales of fist fights at health centers, ppl in full work dress brawling on the msb concourse, social workers knocking over file cabinets mid-fight, and (my personal favorite) the dude who was slinging rocks out of the city vehicle he used to drive medication to different city health centers. there's been a lot. the civil service workforce, for 20+ years, has been built on one idea: they have to catch you fucking up before they can call you guilty. it happened during the goode and rendell administrations, and we all remember john "i'm one of the worst mayors in america" street. let me just tell you now: i'm accustomed to the bullshit. in so many regards, the stereotypical city employee exists. and then there are people who rise far above that generally sub-par status quo to do better than just doing their jobs. there's a huge gray area, too, of folks who really don't even know how it is that they woke up and were marking 10 or 15 or 20 years with the city, possibly in the same position they had when they arrived.
i call it 'that philly shit.' but that's quite possibly another post altogether.
we have a new mayor. he doesn't play that shit; people have been jumping ship altogether or getting canned consistently since he was inaugurated in january. but, there's much to be done and so much to assess. he's essentially trying to walk with his shoelaces tied together in some regards. it's the job of the deputy mayor of health and opportunity to make some things run more smoothly

(this is where the post gets iffy, so if you can't handle graphic language or images, please do NOT read this post . . . just find something else to do with your eyes)

and that brings me to the unfortunate death of danieal kelly. if you live in philly (or within a 3 hour drive of philly, for that matter), you already know: she died in august of 2006. she was starved to death and had cerebral palsy, was covered in maggots and flies and feces . . . and that she was one of nine children living in her mother's two-bedroom apartment. there are layers of dysfunction involved in this situation, the likes of which i only wish i could say i've never seen. it's really easy to wag a finger at every fully grown person (nine of whom are being criminally charged) who had a hand in her neglect and eventual death, particularly her parents and the four social/ case workers (two civil service, two contract) who were supposed to have intervened at the first sign of danger.

the grand jury report on danieal's death and everything leading up to it smacks of one thing to me: broken people, functioning as best they can (for lack of a better term), and only really being flagged or stopped cold when it likely too late. to examine it from all sides through or past my rage doesn't give me peace. but it shows me that as terrible as this situation was/ is (andrea kelly has 9 other children if my count is right), it's a major symptom of an immeasurably sick community.

i know that these are individual community members who were responsible for the lives and wellbeing of children. that doesn't change what bothers me the most: every terrible thing that led to danieal's death was in play long before she was even born. her mother and father did not magically become fucked up and/ or crazy on january 3, 1992 (her birthday). dana poindexter, laura sommerer, mickal kamuvaka and julius murray? all of these folks were comfortable with doing what they did, and there's no way to assume that these behaviors weren't old hat for each of them. the same applies for every person at the upper levels who let the DHS employees' shit go unchecked. and carmen paris, the former health commissioner? preposterous. there's no word (in the print media or in the various city worker gossip pools) on why she'd have gone and meddled in some shit like that. clearly, she felt like it was okay to do that and didn't hesitate in doing so. that is, again, some shit that had been in play for a hot minute.

so what's my real point? i'm gonna try to dig one out, since this is a rant and they usually don't have really well-defined points. actually, i feel like my point is twofold:

the things that need to change administratively within the ranks of philadelphia's city government are going to happen regardless. michael nutter, don schwarz, and the managing director are not in a position to play around with folks' lives; they've shown themselves to be dedicated to cleaning all of this mess up. and that's wonderful. if we can't depend on people whose jobs are to provide adequate government services to us, then i daresay we don't really have a city.

but this city is eating itself alive. there's just some deep, old, long-standing muck that seems to be what most of my fellow philadelphians are dealing with. it's something many of us have inherited and will pass onto our progeny. i don't have a name for it. it's the unnamed beast that allows our murder rate to be so high continually, it's the thing that seems to have eaten the best/ most humane parts of andrea and daniel kelly, it's the same monster that leads "friends of the family" to perjure on behalf of someone they know has done wrong. it's not so simple as moms wanting that social security check. i don't know what it is.

but if people who see the disease don't do something to keep themselves steeled against it, and do what they can to demonstrate a better life to those around them, there won't be anything but stories like this. it's all connected; this link is evidenced in the fact that the family members/ friends of andrea kelly and the social workers are being charged for the same ass-covering and lying, etc. regarding danieal's neglect. she had cerebral palsy. not a brain tumor. not hiv/ aids. she wasn't born with anything terminal. and all it would have taken was for someone to decide to stay on top of this shit -- even loose monitoring, as per the grand jury report, would have made an impact.

i don't believe for one minute that i'm "like" these other folks, the ones who end up before grand juries. i know i'm not; but the bottom line is that i'm in it even if i'm not of it. and it's my job the same as it is that of anyone else in the ranks to pull this shit together once and for all. i'm just glad there's an actual consensus and work being done to make it happen. it's not gonna be easy, and it can't be done by one team of ppl w/ six-figure salaries and their staff. it really is going to take the work of everyone who wants that change and will put in the work.

*sigh*

i could be writing forever. i'll probably revisit this sooner or later; i just have to make sure i won't get fired for doing it. accountability. it's what's for dinner.

cryin like a hit dog

(and maybe you are?)
(this is a rant, straight up)

dear penis-havers:

if you ever find yourself complaining really hard about what another dude is paying for child support, create an advocacy group. do something to change the law. have a balanced, fair, honest assessment of the situations that are being mediated (however poorly or well) by the courts. the "keep a nigga" baby (phonte said that, not me) isn't the only kind of baby. there's often the "that nigga switched up" baby, and the "he started doing drugs" baby . . . sometimes the "i really shoulda left that nigga alone when he told me he was married" baby. often, in my experience, there's the "fuck that, nigga i'm not getting an abortion" baby. why? because abortion isn't anyone's fucking party, and male contraception comes in at least two trusty flavors: vasectomy (with a lower mortality rate than a tubal ligation!) and condoms. that doesn't make any woman less responsible for her own contraception, but i'm sayin. motherfuckers love pointing blaming ass fingers after the kid comes and ppl stop wanting to even look at one another.

often, going to court is a final choice for two otherwise rational adults. in my personal experience, the legal proceedings of divorce kind of demand that agreements be reached (either with or without a court), and put into writing to be made binding unless both parties agree to change things. this is usually effective if the divorce is amicable. if it's not -- and it seems like most divorces aren't, for the same reasons there are 'fatherless' children -- then it gets hairy and ignorant.
and nobody's gonna tell me that everyone remains a grownup when it comes down to the breakdown of a marriage. it's like when you break up w/ your boo of years (regardless of who's wrong or right) and emotions get heated. because they do. because you're human, and so is s/he. fuck outta here... everyone should act sensibly when it comes down to it. but that's not the most realistic thing to ask when you realize your lady's been plotting to divorce you for the past six months and only does it after she makes sure you put some money up for a down payment on a house. it can't happen when you marry your man because the two of you agree that it's the best thing to do for the new baby, but that jackass stops coming home at a decent hour and smells like some other woman's pussy when he does. quit fuckin playin.
puffy pays what he pays not just because of his income. back before justin was actually old enough to know the difference between birthdays bein the worst days & sippin champagne when he's thirst-ay, puff was on that bling shit. before it had a name, he championed it. soooooo, of course misa hylton-brim is gonna get crazy money for that kid. regardless of her own income as a stylist, puffy makes infinitely more money than she does or ever did. that means that per the law in most states/ commonwealths, it's based on the needs of the child in addition to the income level of both parents before they split up. the lifestyle comes into question. a lot of it is spousal support, too; the idea is that both the custodial parent and child did better as a full on family unit with the non-custodial parent present.
if you don't like it:
lobby
protest
picket
wrap your dick up
tell your boy to wrap his dick up
make sure you learn what the laws are in your state or commonwealth
be for real for 5 minutes and remember that the biological function of sexual intercourse is to make babies
respect the whole process
and go to your legislators and tell them to change the shit to really help those babies! i believe moms, dads, kinship caregivers, foster parents, adoptive parents, and anyone else who gives a shit about the wellbeing of a child should band together. these fuckers make laws for us all of the damn time that make zero sense in our day-to-day lives. they're not necessarily living the same way we are. so of course they do seemingly dumb shit like award $20K per month per kimmussell until they're 20 or whatever. and you know what? it's warranted, according to the man who has to "foot the bill." stop looking at the kids like fucking bills. you weren't thinking about that shit when all that fuckin and suckin was goin on, WERE you? nobody ever is. i'm still childless after one extended stint as an almost baby's mama. and you know what? that shit scared me right into the place i am right now: focused on taking care of ME.
but that's another story.
my point is this: for those of us who can't hash it out like grownups, we go to court or have a spiritual advisor or whomever help us do so. it happens. don't talk about the shoulds/ should nots simply because that's a waste of breath. if it's gonna be so in your fantasy world, put in the work to create the world you want to see.
and start with your kids, nigga, so they might have a chance at doing it differently than you.

** i do agree with some of what tigallo said, particularly about what can happen whilst fuckin with "ain't shit" individuals. problem: most ppl with errant babies fall into the "ain't shit"/ TKON affiliate or card carrying member category. i'm just sayin, if the brotha's raps aren't lies then he's personally invested in the whole child support/ separated parents side of life. fine. that's his walk. but everyone ain't tay. everyone ain't russ, kimora, misa, puffy, or even charlie sheen or denise richards.
some of us got too comfortable with someone and when the lil piss test showed two lines instead of one, folks began to show their asses.
then they end up writing songs like "ms. jackson." even your favorite rapper's favorite rapper goes through it. we're not all at the same maturity level. it is what it is.

*shrug*

on: r. kelly, demons, black folk, and gordon gartrell radio.

1) omi gave me the impetus.
2) phonte drove it home here. among other gems, he said 'the same power structure that says cops can put 50 bullets in a nigga is the same one that tells entertainers it's okay to piss on lil black girls.' YUP.
3) that motherfucker is guilty any time his damn attorney offers the 'little man' defense as what's supposed to be a legit means of proving innocence.
4) i'm glad this has actually made it to trial. really.
5) anyone who puts the fault on that little girl would probably have let the motherfucker pee on their grown asses. being in awe of celebrity, being impressionable, and being just plain uninformed of one's own power are not exclusive to kids.
6) in the first episode of the boondocks, huey asked tom dubois 'do you know the extent to which niggas love r. kelly?' and at this point in time i can say: the love was underestimated. it seems like ppl are looking for reasons for it to be okay. it ain't.
7) i don't think white ppl give a damn about it. and probably wouldn't unless it was a white girl he'd peed on. see: kobe.
8) we can't forget aaliyah. we can't.
9) the whole trial appears to be a zoo. not a sex zoo. just a regular ass, dysfunction-on-parade zoo.
10) most ppl who talk so much about sex and god (and rarely have subject matter that deviates from either) are mentally damaged. see: bizzy bone, marvin gaye (AND his daddy, i'm sure).

on: acting right.

thembi's lady laws for black women (with my notes in italics):


1. Stay Off Of The Pole. And For That Matter, Out Of Videos. I haven’t decided whether or not I have a real problem with strippers or strip clubs in general - who am I to say that men shouldn’t be allowed to gather in a public place and expose their inability to be fully intimate with their spouses by fondling and ogling some stray woman? What I do know is that YOU shouldn’t be one of said strays. Letting your body be drool-worthy for a room full of men cheapens and degrades you, and in the long run is not at all worth the money (no matter how pressed you are for cash). You never know who will be in that club, and when the "I saw Keisha on the pole!" story is told, your future boss or uncle who was "just in there with his boys" won’t be the shamed one, you will! If you like showing off your sexy side, which all of us should, save it for the right man, who will love enjoying all of the freaknasty you have inside of you without having to pay for it on a dollar-by-dollar basis. Someone will always do it, just don't let that someone be you. The same goes for being in videos. That is NOT a profession and will not lead to any sort of meaningful career, modeling or otherwise. A ho is a ho, root word whore, meaning sex for sale, and your stuff is priceless. Got it? [my note: this ties directly into lady law #8. if you're gonna strip, you're gonna strip. but don't walk out of the shaky butt feeling like someone has managed to get more out of you than what they've paid for. unfortunately, we all know about becoming a sex worker (i include strippers in that) to pay for tuition and to feed babies. in my opinion, there are a few social issues that come into play when it comes to dancing vs. working 3 jobs or whatever. i kinda doubt that most of the women who might need this caveat even read thembi's blog. but she makes a damn valid point: your future boss might be there with his boys. then what do you do? sometimes, the immediate need outweighs any potential fallout. especially when it comes to maintaining the roof over your head and that of your family. ultimately, though, shame/ embarrassment seem to tie directly into whether or not you fully own your history and present. living with no regrets usually involves being unabashedly yourself, which leads us into lady law #2.]

2. Go Where No Blackgirl Has Gone Before. The obvious interpretation of the title of my blog is that I think that I’m some Jesus figure. Not so. Actually, the very weekend before I started blogging, loyal commenter Aaliyah was at an almost all-white party filled with beefy frat boys and was asked to do a kegstand. At her side were two other friends of mine, one of which said to her "What would Thembi do?" The obvious answer – go where no black girl has gone before and do the freaking keg stand! It really IS ok to be you, whether it’s as trivial as going snowboarding or as major as pursing a PhD in Greek Mythology. Do the most random or ridiculous things you feel like doing even if you’re not technically supposed to do them, and do them at all times. The same goes for rock concerts, tattoo conventions, playing the accordion, or whatever! Being a blackgirl comes with a unique set of baggage - on the one hand, we’re accustomed to being a minority in almost any situation a million times over. On the other hand, we feel like there are certain places and activities that aren't "ok" for us. Forget all of that, risk ostracization, and trailblaze for us all. We can’t keep saying "But blackgirls don’t _______" or else we’ll never do anything at all. Be YOU, regardless of whatever skin tone, sorority, thickness, neighborhood, or whatever you may be a part of. None of it is as fresh as plain old blackgirl you. [ummmm, BASICALLY. do what you want to do because it makes you feel tingly and warm all over. screw what everyone else thinks your blackness makes you. you're yourself. period. it feels good to own and love your whole self. there's nothing like it.]

3. DON’T Get Pregnant, DO Have A Baby. When people say "Life Is Short," they really mean that life is short – when you’re unencumbered. Life is really, really long when you’re tied down to some dude who seemed great when you were sixteen years old but hasn’t even made it through his baby boy years when it’s time to send junior off to middle school. In fact, it can even seem too long when you start to calculate the potential unpaid child support, the number of times you tried to "make it work for the baby", and the time you’ll spend child rearin’ instead of actually growing up, getting degrees, and making a name for yourself. Not to say you can't have a baby early and have it all turn out rosy in the end, but howsabout having children with someone who can actually agree to be with you in a family unit for the long haul whether or not you just happen to get pregnant? Sidenote: It should go without saying, but why even risk diseases by not protecting yourself? A baby is not the only gift that keeps on giving, you know. [again, the women who probably need to at least be exposed to this concept are not reading thembi's blog. unless thembi is posting her blog for the world on blackplanet or in the back covers of teri woods 'novels' so folks can at least impede their hurtling toward disaster. *shrug* you can't win 'em all.]

4. Know Your Own Hair. Black women have more hair options than almost anyone else, and we exercise them to the fullest. But even those of use who switch from weave to ponytail and from blonde to red would never dare to wear our natural hair in public. I can spend the whole day running errands and not see one blackgirl without a perm, and the same goes for watching television or opening a magazine. What is up with that? Granted, I went natural the easy way with the Philly soul thing being at my heart and a head of naps that never really took a perm quite right, but what pains me is when another blackgirl says to me "I love your hair! How long did it take to grow? I could never get my hair to be that texture. How did you do it?" The reality of it is, most of us don’t even know what is growing out of our own heads, and its very sad. Not one other group of people on this planet can say the same. It’s fine if you settle on a perm or some braids or even a Jheri curl after exploring your options, just get to the point where you can say that you know what your natural hair even looks and feels like before you aspire to be Beyonce by default. [it is IMPORTANT to know what your hair is really about. it is really important to style, care for, manage, and possibly even cut your own hair YOURSELF. dependency on a stylist is kinda, like, not cute. no matter what your choice of hair is. if you've got a natural and only ever wear microbraids or wigs or weaves because your hair is 'ugly underneath that' SOMETHING IS WRONG. love yourself enough to know how to do specifically what you want for yourself at all times. it's a liberating feeling.]

5. Get Out Of Town. I’ve met young women who have never left their cities, seen the ocean, or even set foot in another zip code. It’s not always cheap, and it’s not always fun, but the sooner you start traveling the better. In fact, this Lady Law applies to almost everyone of every race and gender. Make a list of dream locations and get started as soon as possible. The more time you spend in the same surroundings the less you understand about the world, and for that matter, what the world thinks of you – you’ll learn that you’re not trapped after all. Besides, you can’t conquer the world if you don’t know what’s out there, and it should be your goal to conquer it! Let the trailer trash of West Virginia confuse Mexicans with Spaniards and believe that Africa is a country and not a continent. Learn your world because it is yours to learn, even if you have to do so only an inch at a time. [i used to feel bad about not having hit every country i've wanted to by age 25. but then i met someone who's never spent a night in a hotel (even in his own city, which can still be fun and eye opening depending on where you stay), never even been to the airport (cuz his ppl never go anywhere or do shit), and was so amazed at my proclivity toward traveling to nyc on a whim that he nearly pissed his pants at the chance to go himself. i got over that feeling of inadequacy. i am gonna go where i wanna go at every given chance. this year: a conference in harlem, caribana in toronto, quality time w/ the fam at the jersey shore (you aren't a philadelphian without it), and a good girlfriend of mine is moving to atlantic city. it doesn't take a lot, except maybe a plan or at the very least the real genuine true desire. things happen for us all at the right time, when they need to happen. no need to rush to be amelia earhart, but you most certainly need to get out of your zip code. not not just to go to court.]

6. Don’t Get Called Out of Your Name. I’m not on this whole "we were queens" tip, but I know that none of us should be called or let ourselves be called any of the following: bitch, ho, trick, and on and on and on. Don’t sing along with songs about "makin' it rain" unless it's for the sake of irony. Don’t even participate in anything misogynistic unless you know it’s only a joke to you, and even then don’t ever pay for it. Recognize that just like when he talks about selling crack you're not selling crack, that when some rapper talks about his hoes he doesn’t mean you, download that song from Limewire, and keep it moving. And lastly, never, EVER call yourself anyone’s "baby’s momma." My first encounter with an ex’s grown BM involved her introducing herself to someone as such, and as much evidence as I may have already had that she was feeble-minded, giving herself that label sealed the deal. Don't be that broad. [context means everything, y'all. formal introductions should not ever in your life or your former partner's life include the words 'baby's mama' or any variant. that shit's not cute. my mom occasionally refers to my estranged father as her baby daddy because she thinks it's funny. she generally refers to him as her ex. big difference. also, the context within which we use the words bitch, ho, trick, etc. means a lot. a lot. if you're at a drag ball, bitch is thrown around liberally. it's culture. it's context. watch yourself.]

7. Act White. I won’t bother justifying this term because you all know just what I mean. Talk white by speaking the King’s English, using full sentences, and the most intricate vocabulary you can muster. Act white by doing well in school, participating in any activity that suits you, and playing musical instruments. Don’t worry, you will never, ever actually BE white. If it were possible, don’t you think that all of those people who were lynched and beaten back in the day would have white-acted their way out of it? [i am a second-generation 'oreo'. my mom said they used to call her white girl for being so precise with her english, and it's definitely managed to rub off on me and my two sisters. it's so serious that i have charged myself with the task of learning perfect, unaffected spanish so that i sound the best i possibly can to native speakers. i'm not playing. i know my vernacular, i have my moments where i'm like 'you ain't shit!' or whatever. but when it comes time for that good code-switching i learned in my school days (penn charter and project learn STAND UP!), i go toe to toe with the best. furthermore, i've always believed that excellent grades are the ultimate smack in the face to the very white ppl whom your brown/ black/ red/ yellow peers can't stand. fuck what the other black kids are telling you. strive to get that perfect score on the SAT's. i took AP art history senior year. it was liberating, despite being the only black student in the class. again: be unafraid of your whole self.]

8. Get What You Deserve Without Worrying About What He Deserves. This is a weird one. All too often women say "I’m not giving it up to him, he doesn’t deserve it!" But what do YOU want? While it’s not smart to just go giving it up to any old body, getting caught up in the idea that your sexual desires should be based on what men deserve is the exact opposite of feminism. If we only had sex when men deserved it we would be a bunch of bitter, mean, deprived wenches. Learning and maintaining the balance between withstanding pressure from dudes and getting yours is part of becoming a real woman. [get yours, boo. GET IT. you want to fuck the guy or gal who delivers the milk to your supermarket? does she or he meet or exceed your standards for an acceptable fuck buddy? nobody said you had to marry the motherfucker. go on and make it happen. if you make everyone jump through a bunch of hoops when you aren't trying to go far with their ass to begin with, you may find yourself bothered with the lack of good sex in your life. the key: having and maintaining real standards. truuuuust me. i had a dope boy as a fuck buddy. i never let him talk much, cuz he wasn't the smartest. but he met the standards: ready, willing, able, clean penis, proximity to my home, a deep love for cunnilingus. my standards have since changed, as have i. but y'all get the point. there's a difference between sleeping with someone who's a total waste of your time/ energy and getting yours from someone who simply isn't the boo of your dreams while still being a great sex partner. really.]

9. Don’t Eat That Mess. Our country is facing an obesity epidemic, yadda yadda blah blah. But it’s all so very real, ladies, and I’m as guilty as the next chick. The thing is, you can get fat and out of shape eating regular food and that’s damning enough. It’s the Chinese Store chicken wings and fries (saltpepperketchup or no), grape soda, chips, quarter water, or other mess. If you can believe for one second that AIDS or crack was planted in the black community to kill us, what do you think Crown Fried Chicken is here for? And your body may be able to metabolize it before you hit 25, but after that it's just a quick ride to Lane Bryant once you get addicted, so don't do it. [she is NOT LYING. 'regular' to most ppl is hyperprocessed foolishness that comes wrapped in plastics and wax paper and shit, then goes in the microwave. and that's just what you eat at home. not a good look. i live in a walking city, yet we used to be the fattest city in the nation. the problem: most of us are walking to get junk food. i have a warm(er) weather routine: walk at least 1 mile each weekday, whether it's on lunch hour or on the way to work or on the way home. it's at least a weight maintenance measure. the next issue is making sure i don't get high and wander about in search of wings and cookies at midnight when my ass needs to (a) be asleep or (b) eat a damn apple and go to sleep. the munchies are real shit. i think this city is also full of potheads who will eat anything that isn't nailed down. it's unfortunate, but true. if you have a crazy work schedule like mine, it's super easy to do takeout instead of cooking. it's pricey, though. and depending on where you live, you may only be able to get junk. the key is balance.]

10. Be A Lady. I have never been the most ladylike of blackgirls and most women like me can trace that to our upbringings, but it’s really very simple. It’s very natural for us to speak loudly, but it’s more powerful when used in small doses, just like hot sauce. Making that lip smack before you start speaking is not cute either, especially if it’s followed by a "weeeeeeeeaaaaal," twist of your neck, and then whatever it is that you have to say. By doing that, not only have you butchered the word "well," but whatever you have to say is eclipsed by that attempt to get attention and gear up like you need prep time just to speak your mind. Swearing every other word may be cute to around-the-way boys but if you ever want to get off of the block (see Lady Law #5), it won’t do you any good. Although every once in a while another female may make your blood boil, fighting is not cute – just think, aren't you way too pretty to get into a fight and get some gash across your face? I don’t think I need to caution young blackgirls on good grooming because we’re good at that, but do you really need to let all of that unravel just because some girl is talking about you? What does that even really mean? Like Katt Williams says, if you’ve got fourteen haters, you need to find a way to get sixteen! [i've never fought someone who didn't hit me first. i'll never be the one who advises a friend to go slap the shit out of someone -- that just is not my style. i believe in maintaining my relative freedom by not getting locked up. i also think it's lame to fight someone when you have a job, or rent to pay, or kids to feed. then again, anyone who needs to consider this probably isn't reading my blog. next up: lenée's life skills classes. after doula training/ certification and a bit more day jobbing.]

i couldn't have said it better.

this post is a reflection of what runs through my mind almost constantly when i'm riding public transit during hours that kids are out, or when i enter the gallery to make a purchase or avoid inclement weather outdoors. i feel like a traitor sometimes. i try not to be elitist. i try not to think poorly of poor ppl. but, dammit, these knucklehead kids & the parents who are raising them half-assed if at all . . . what do i do when i, as an HR professional (until further notice), meet these same folks at a job fair and can't even entertain the idea of trying to recruit them when i know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they're unemployable?

i'm not saying every one of these buck-wild-in-the-wrong-way kids is gonna grow up to be a total fuckwad.
i'm saying plenty of them are -- one is too many, really -- and i just don't wanna be bothered.

*sigh*

it's enough to make me glad as shit to be a brainiac snob. i know that there's a lot under all this. i know. i know that there's dysfunction at play long before any of these little ones even exit the birth canal. but dammit, sometimes i don't care. i want peace & quiet. i don't wanna have to sit next to your smelly, cheese-curl-eating-at-seven-thirty-in-the-morning ass. i don't fucking care if you know all the words to some dipset song. i don't need to hear if you think j. holiday is sexy as shit -- do you even know wtf that means? and pull your fucking pants up. stop with the imitations of what you think languages that aren't english sound like.

ugh.

i give up. i'm going to bed. rant over.

if you identify as pro-life

(link not for the squeamish at ALL)

if you call yourself against abortions
whatever you wanna call it
make sure you're as mad about this mess as you are terminations of pregnancies.

and make sure you protest all the people who you think are involved or make it possible
be extra sure to show them pictures of what they've done wrong, too. okay? okay. thanks.

(link via darkdaughta)

oh, boy.

here we motherfreakin go.

reading this article, a few things popped into my mind:
- maybe folks don't talk enough about what to do when they don't know what to do. i.e., the one woman's situation where the doctor recommended that the mother receive an IV. i don't know that i would have recommended that the woman go take a shower. i always understood being a doula as being present in assisting the mother in the birth she wants. if a client changes her mind mid-labor about being all natural, am i really in any kind of a position to give her static? i genuinely don't think so. everyone's anxious about safe passage for the child. everyone wants the mother to be okay and for it to be as easy a labor as possible. i'm not so keen on sending a woman to get a shower if she's considering an IV.

- umm, of course a lactation consultant is pushing breast milk. it's that person's freaking job. if you don't need consultation, the consultant doesn't have a job anymore. however, lactation consultants are not MDs in most instances. this means that knowledge of a lack of hormone in the mother's body is not something that ought to be laid upon the shoulders of the lactation consultant. i don't think that a mother's inability to produce breast milk is something for anyone except the mother to be upset about. really. i'm sure that such a thing is crushing to a woman who's planned to breast feed. it's really for her to deal with, along with the aid of her partner and whomever else is part of her support system. come the hell on. if i'm doing breastfeeding education with a client and it turns out that she's incapable of producing milk, wtf kind of person am i (let alone doula) if i get uptight with her about using formula instead? really.

- the best part of the whole article is the quote from jessica sacher. parents absolutely have the same amount of due diligence as when choosing a pediatrician. it's cool to be excited about going the natural birth route, and having a doula and/ or midwife. but fantasy and idealism kind of go out the window when you're facing the choice between an epidural and suffering through what may be the most intense pain you've ever felt in your life.

this article made me think about someone's caveat to me a few weeks ago: "make sure you know how to sell yourself as a doula. what makes you unique? why should someone hire you instead of a woman who's an RN or a licensed massage therapist?" it turned my stomach that she turned it into a sale thing. for crying out loud, she works in the maternal & infant health field -- has done so for more years than i've been on this damn planet -- & instead of sharing resources with me, she fucking decides i need to sell my services as one might sell ass on a street corner. i'm glad i stopped listening to her ass halfway through the 'advice session.' i mean, of course i need to present myself the best way i possibly can. but also, i feel that an informed, positively minded parent or couple will choose someone who best fits their needs. it's ridiculous for me to try to land clients the way jewelry salespeople fight for commission. there are more births out there than i could possibly handle. if i were in it for the clout i'd have gone ahead to get an MPH and be someone's snot nosed hospital administrator.

also, i believe that prevention is the one thing that best combats situations where conflict occurs between doula and parent(s), between nurse and doula, etc.

i could be writing all night. i can't afford to. feel free to carry on in the comments, people.

g'night!

-

yay!

kathryn hall trujillo of the birthing project usa @ the black healers & midwives conference in phoenix last year:



yaaaaaaaaaay!

next stop:
full circle doula training with shafia monroe. :D

dope girls.

in streetwise terms, the word dope only means one thing: the illegal, illicit shit. usually coke or heroin. it's the norm to be a dope girl nowadays. you have a kid or two. job corps really didn't do for you what you thought it would. that welfare-to-work medical assistant training is fine but the pay caps out at $32K per year depending on where you live -- and if you've done welfare-to-work, you probably have babies to feed. so what's a girl to do?
you start pushing weight, or boosting & selling the hot shit on the street. or, you get two jobs -- maybe three -- so you can handle your business.
i'm not saying that this is what happened to gina hunt & andrea yarrell & their children, but damn if it doesn't seem that way. i'm not okay w/ this shit. it bothers me to no end that they were targeted for robbery and killed over some weed & money. i'm fucked up about the comments ppl have made as to the whys of these murders. i'm not okay with pointing my finger at any woman who seems to have chosen to push weight (or strip or prostitute or do any of those "bad" things) so she can maintain a fucking roof over her fucking head. i'm not gonna knock anybody because i know for a fact that in the past 2 years i've been so desperately broke that i wondered if selling weed was a better idea than dayjobbing it. no lie. & heaven only knows if i'll find myself there again. who knows if any of us will be in that position? over and over again, ppl are saying it's all about what the mothers did before that point. my god, is it really like that? you mean to tell me that before the killer shot that he couldn't have decided to do something else? he couldn't just walk out? what the fuck? but i guess if their house had been mistaken for a different house, it'd be okay. these girls weren't euologized as ph.ds or neurosurgeons -- cuz rich motherfuckers get into drug shit too -- so i'm under the impression that just maybe it wasn't about the fun or glamor of selling dope. i'm pretty sure that these women knew that it's not cute out here -- it weapons were found in the home, they probably knew what the norm is. there's no honor among thieves, obviously. shooting babies? for what?
my heart's broken by shit like this. i understand that murder is par for the course, and i know that folks are transitioning at what seems like an alarming rate. but the way this shit went down really breaks my heart. sometimes i understand why so many folks say "some days it doesn't pay to wake up black." apparently, it doesn't pay to wake up female, mothering, black in this country.

fuck. what is wrong with people? these cowards won't even admit to who shot whom. pointing fingers and laying blame at others' feet, like that shit's gonna help shit. so damaged. so damning.

may these lives be lost not in vain, but to teach valuable lessons to those who hear of the events. may there be rightful, righteous justice visited upon the heads of the killers. may the families of the lost/ loved ones be comforted & edified by the outpouring of sincere support from wherever it comes. it's not often that a mother or father has to bury a child or even a grandchild -- but i pray that those left behind are able to heal.

i don't even know what else to say. peace to the mothers & children.

i don't feel like delving today.

that is, i'm cleaning out my closets literally but the figurative act of doing so is way too much to handle at the moment. there are things churning around in my head about becoming a doula, becoming a massage therapist, & about this evolution i'm experiencing overall. i am a crafter, a day jobber, a writer . . . all these things that seem to be vying for dominance in my life. i mean, the logic says that i'd be without a place to be all this "other stuff" without having a pain in the ass day job, right? but i could not possibly look fwd to leaving work each day if i didn't come home to my creatively-infused home, right? so much. so many things. i've got to be immediately occupied w/ working, crafting, healing (my tattoo is healing funny, but from what i surmise it's an issue of its locale on my body & not shoddy work by jason, but more on that later), loving, laughing, building & a bunch of other -ings before i can even think about becoming the fabulously & fully self-employed self i want to be 1 year from now. there's a lot. i don't know if i can say i feel overwhelmed, or simply unaware of where/ how to begin.
thankfully, though, i'm being held up by folks who feel inclined on a consistent basis to contribute in a positive way
i'm learning to juggle (& eventually balance) it all
loosing myself of things/ persons unnecessary
finding out exactly what it is to actualize potential in the face of what can only be described as the "no-you-can't" mass choir & its accompaniment, the faithful "i've-never-heard-of-that-so-it-must-not-be-valid" chorale. fuck 'em both; i've got work to do.
i'm letting go of the idea that i've got to get everything done all at once just because i think of everything all at once. this is not freaking easy. at all.
i'm learning process
practicing patience
trying my damnedest not to just up & quit the things i hate, though they get harder on the daily
i still feel like i'm waiting for my turn to jump into something. maybe a chute or giant water slide that leads to something with which i'm entirely unfamiliar. i'm less angsty about it, though.

i just wanna be fully ready to get this show on the fucking road.

mixed feelings about the path i'm on.

(originally titled: "i'm not about to play mammy to anyone")

the other day, i got my membership packet from DONA international in the mail. i thumbed through the two newsletters & introductory info packet. i just sighed & thought, "i paid XX dollars to join an organization that won't recommend you unless you get w/ their program, & these fuckers don't even give me a membership card? blah."
then i looked at the newsletters more closely. i saw maybe one photo of a black woman & baby. i sighed, swallowed hard & heard that lovely little voice inside my head going all crazy: "wtf? you know there are black doulas, & there are black women who utilize the services of doulas . . . this shit's gotta change. get your training ASAP. read those books, find out if jackie from family birth mark is gonna be doing any classes in late spring to early summer. read some books. get comcast to come install cable, so you can research your ass off. & get ready to deal w/ those white folks, especially those who don't think of you as 'really' black; & don't forget the skeptical black folks who think you're on some new age erykah badu earth mother bullshit . . ."

i've since calmed down. i thought about some things, had some talks (thx karas & mommy & trace), & came to the conclusion that i must simply place one foot before the other. i will be certified as a birth & postpartum doula. i will seek clients who are under or unrepresented within the realm of home birth & anything labeled "alternative" child birth. i will pick the brains of everyone who works across the hall from me so we can get the data that confirms my suspicions about why doulas didn't work in the public health centers (um, hello gov't mistrust & mistrust of white folks). i'm flipping through doula blogs to view the profession from women who're not writing newsletters, but chronicling their lives & work. i'm gonna explore the connections that i can make w/ black midwives & doulas between philadelphia, nyc & the dc area. i will not allow myself to use my clients as platforms for my agenda, but i will not hesitate to remind myself why i am doing what i do. i will commit myself to providing the best possible service, & remember that it's about what the client wants/ needs. (that's gonna be hard cuz i'm one bossy motherfucker. maybe i ought to become a midwife instead? lol)

i'm gonna be dealing w/ the privileged. i know that. whether i connect with clients on a deeply personal level or not (i don't know how i wouldn't when i'm intending to be present at the birth of their child, for crying out loud), i have to remember i'm there to do a job. i can't present everyone with my ideas on how to really have a birthing revolution. i should also refrain from anticipating that when i have a black client, i'll automatically have some magical "yay i'm glad you're black; let's have a revolution" sort of thing going on. it would be cute if that could happen, but i'm not about to presume that it will.

i'm just trying to be as realistic w/ myself as possible. it won't be all drama, of course. i want to lend strength, bolster confidence, & create comforts for my clients. i want to use my knowledge of aromatherapy & such to help them. i want to become a licensed massage therapist & combine all of my skills & training to assist my clients in having the most blissful pregnancies & births possible. & i mean that.

there's so much i want to do. i'm praying that i can get it all done without compromising my integrity.

if snitches get stitches, then sew me up.

megan meier didn't deserve this. i don't care what happened between two kids -- if a parent gets involved, it should be to end the drama. not turn it into some torturefest that ends in suicide.
i applaud the (anonymous) mother who told the truth.

outside of that, i've nothing to say, really, except this:

rest in peace, megan.

meh: an update.

1) i'm paying earthlink for internet service. earthlink is cheap. earthlink is trying to make this city wireless. you get what you pay for. i am beyond annoyed. i can't even blog from home! gah.

2) there is a major scandal brewing at my job. i work in human resources, & that basically means that the inspector general is gonna be down our throats sooner as opposed to later. not just the HR manager. like, the whole office might get called before whomever wants to know about us. lordy be. i'm keeping a low ass profile at the gig. i'm crazy but not stupid. i need to pay close attn & keep my ear to the ground, f'real.

3) i would rather be fucking. seeeeeriously. you have no idea.

4) i discovered that there's been a four legged creature visiting my apartment. i will kill it, like i did the other one. sorry. if you don't pay rent & aren't a welcomed domesticated creature you have to go.

5) i found out that someone i don't fuck with like that is not only friends w/ someone else i don't fuck with like that, but that they both seem to think the world of me & want me to kick it wiht them, despite my apparent demonstration of not-wanting-to-fuck-with-them-ness. (yeah, i know.) i want them to be clear on my unwillingness to be bothered, without my having to scream or gnash my teeth. wish me luck.

6) i'm gonna start giving ppl 3 days to pay for bath products. i am not about to waste my life force making salts/ bombs (especially damn bombs) for ppl who don't seem to understand that they need to pay for what they order when they say they will. this especially applies to the girl in my office who waited 3 weeks to tell me she didn't have $6 for some bath salts. wtf? boo, i know you don't have it. that's why i didn't bring them shits to your desk... & don't think i'm giving you a sample or freebie cuz i feel bad. it's your prerogative to spend bath salts money on mcdonald's, the same way it's mine to take these joints home to take a bath with. holler.

7) amy winehouse's first album is so drastically different (sonically) from her first that she almost sounds like a different person. it's kinda sad, like on some carmen mcrae shit.

8) that being said, keyshia cole needn't be on the cover of the new essence. that's vomitous. falcor the luck dragon made the cover before they found a "down" white woman? i'm not buying that shit, kid. (if you don't know i'm joking please let this be your warning. but something about keyshia cole makes me itch incessantly. i don't know what it is.)

9) riesling is something that i never should have discovered. i love it so much that i wanna name all my babies riesling. really.

10) tomorrow (really today) i go for allergy tests. oh, lord. if i find out that i've got celiac disease i'm gonna cry a LOT. then i'm gonna find out how to make bread out of not-wheat. yeah. that's a word i just made up.

11) knowing that a girlfriend of mine is pregnant, two friends are going through divorces, & that most of my attached friends are either having drama or dating complete loons has made me feel much better about rolling solo. it sucks when i wanna cuddle on the sofa, but screw all that emo crap. i'm bad all by myself.

12) i just got cayenne pepper up my nose. damn.

13) my crush probably doesn't know he's my crush, & that's okay.

14) season 4 of the wire on dvd soon. YES! more cutty. thanks, netflix!

15) i'm one day going to be a homeowner. that's neat.

gratitude #6:

music

laughter

the circle of new friends into which i've been absorbed

ppl who appreciate simple shit

netflix

folks who're not wise enough to password-secure their wireless networks

coconut milk

the nail salon up the block from me

phillyspeak

knowing when i shouldn't do something, & sticking to that

water

yeye mi

gentle winds of change

baba mi

the fire it takes to speak up

favela rising

honest yet tactful critics

the eyes to see what's really going on

finding new blogs

yummy smelling bath stuff

knowing that what i really want is well on its way

collard greens

strawberries!!!

babies

my crafty leanings

flirting

my sunday boo (we need to really plan these dinners)

i sit at the seat of bliss... no matter what. i am carving out for myself the place i want to be most.

i guess it's my turn now

to declare it, once & for all, so everyone can know:

i wanna get knocked up. i want to be pregnant one sunny day & know that soon, the life in me is going to come forth. i want to smile very coyly at my man & giggle when he talks to my belly. i want to be secure enough to trust enough to get pregnant with a man & know that he's someone whose seed i'm not afraid to sow. i want to brew me a warrior child w/ pacifist leanings, activist tendencies, & a great love of life. i want the initial shock of finding that i'm pregnant be the prelude to gloriously blissful feelings. i want to welcome motherhood. i want to feel the baby turning around and getting excited when i'm excited. i want to sing lullabies in different languages & give thanks to the most high every single day for the blessing of carrying a life into this world. i want to take henna to my belly as it grows & make it look extra fly as an extension of me. i want a home birth with a nurse-midwife (hi, aba! can't wait until you're fully legit, girl), a doula, & an ob-gyn i trust on standby. i want my man to be there & as involved as he wants to be in the actual delivery. i want my mom to quit trippin long enough to appreciate how differently i'm finna do it; i want my sisters to be the best aunties ever. i want my maternal grandfather to be around to see, appreciate, love & acquaint himself with his first ever great-grandchild. i want my dear, dear girlfriends (all 834 of them) to send love & good energy more than i want them (or anyone else) to buy fly gifts. i want pretty dresses to wear once i'm too expanded for my regular clothes. i want to give birth in what will be the baby's room. i want to make baby food outside of my body. i will breast feed. period. i want to travel with my baby. i want to teach my baby ASL. i want to make the transition as pleasant as possible for my baby. i will not be in anyone's stark white florescent hospital room with people yanking & talking loudly; it would drive me crazy & i know it would be traumatic for baby. i want a peaceful situation during the gestation. i want to know for certain that i'm safe, loved, & secure in my home. i want to feel free enough to do it, & aware enough of what's going on around me to make informed decisions about mothering.

i'm just sayin. i want to do this. i'm not as ready as i know i need to be (i don't mean just financially), but i'm getting closer. i'm comfortable with the idea. i'm not rushing into motherhood.
but i trust my highest self enough to know that the time is coming one day soon. it's more realistic than it ever was before, & i'm making myself ready.
may my unborn child(ren) know that i'm not doing this alone. send your daddy my way, okay? don't rush, dearest. but send him along so we can do this.

i think myra, omi, atlanta & myself need to start a club or something. lol.

i'm so desperately angry right now.

so much so that i'm not sure i can stop myself from riding past this sista's house & dragging her punk ass bitch of a so-called fiancé out of the house by his ears so i can jollystomp the bullshit out of him.
i'm not sayin she's a perfect angel in all this. i'm not gonna even presume that she hasn't got her shit with her. i think, though, that she's been beyond wronged.

it goes like this:

about 4 years ago, sista meets brotha @ an open mic night. sista & brotha start seeing something of each other, living together in maryland someplace & generally getting serious. brotha & sista get evicted from their place in maryland someplace, so sista comes back to philly to her dad's house. the two continue to see each other when they can, whenever brother is in town working. brotha & sista get pregnant. brotha moves into elderly dad's house w/ sista. there are arguments, because neither of them is working. brotha plays trombone when he can get a gig for whatever bands he can. . . & by this point, the lily is defunct so he doesn't even have his house band gig. it's tight. there are the usual arguments that can be expected when things move way too fast & folks get surprised by whom it is they're really dealing with.
baby girl is born, healthy & happy.
there are still arguments, dysfunction, & stressful situations of all kinds.

fast fwd to late 2006 . . . sista is pregnant again! after a miscarriage earlier in the year, even. she is thankful for the life growing inside her, but stressed. she's working & trying to keep rent paid . . . brotha still isn't working steadily. it's still tight. brotha already has 2 kids aside from baby girl. brotha doesn't want any more kids . . . but brotha likes sex w/ no condom since they're in a committed relationship. so there are more fights
more arguing
more drama
lots of accusations
(even a stabbing!)
& a very confused, frightened, overwhelmed 2 year old.

brotha still isn't working.
sista is on TANF (temporary assistance for needy families, aka welfare) once she's too big to work.
brotha still isn't working.
sista gets bigger weekly, goes to all her appts w/ baby girl in tow when possible, & does all the housework.
brotha complains & still isn't working.
her father dies.
brotha's mind seems to be elsewhere. anywhere but where he is at the moment. maybe he's depressed. she doesn't know, nor does she care; she doesn't have time to be depressed. baby girl is a lot to keep up with. baby boy soon come. no time to be depressed, no time to be sad. gotta move, move, move, move . . .
one day about a month ago, sista & brotha get into an argument because he thinks she's lazy and making up stories about being tired/ unable to pick up the house . . . & that she must be crazy if she thinks he's gonna walk to and from the market in all that heat w/ a 2 year old
so she gets mad and asks a friend to come get her, take her, baby & the groceries to her mom's. because she might stab him again, and not miss the crucial bits this time.
they're arguing when friend pulls up . . . baby girl doesn't know if she should go to friend's car because friend is calling her . . . or if she should stay and try to keep mommy away from the fighting.
it's getting nastier by the minute. finally, friend puts the baby in the car & helps sista w/ her bags.

now?
sista has lost her baby.
yesterday, at the doctor's, there was no heartbeat.
he didn't go with her to the appointment because they didn't have enough money for the both of them to travel by bus; he didn't come when she told him what was going on.
friend was there, instead.
he told her "to get rid of it" before she was even 4 months along.
she was stressed out the entire time . . .
& this sad sack of shit wouldn't even come hold her hand & talk to her?
he won't at least pretend?
he tells her he's sorry & they'll talk when she gets in?

i'm disgusted
because nobody deserves to suffer through anything like that alone
because he won't nut up & decide to wear condoms or get a vasectomy
because that little girl lives in a warzone
because now she doesn't know what to do . . . she was staying for the children
& still wants to stay for baby girl, even though this is the most hateful, volatile, destructive situation ever.

so i'm mad.
i'm vigilant over my womb & my space
i don't want to ever see days like that. heaven knows i was close. but i'm not going out like that.
fuck the insanity
i reject notions of holding it together because you have babies. get rid of the toxins. period.

whatever you lose in life, you no longer have use for.

i pray for her healing, peace of mind, clarity, & fwd movement. whether they both grow the hell up & get better or not doesn't matter. i want her to leave that dysfunction behind.

i need to lay it all on my altar tonight, because i don't want her to be someone on tv. i don't want her to be latoiya this year or next
i cannot abide by this
i will not stand idly by & watch ppl destroy themselves.

this shit here is ridiculous.

thanks dennis for sharing this movie review with me. it's happy feet, not the passion of the christ or something. sheesh. i get worried when ppl pick on childrens' films like that.

i'll be back to discuss this after work.