Using my 100th Post for the Power of Good!!!

Today is a Double Celebration!!

This is random and pressing details' 100th Post!

*cues confetti and party horns*

It has been a strange journey this last year and change! Ups and downs, lessons learned, pet peeves, foolishment, foolery, side-eyes, and ignance... remembrances, tributes, friendships, inspirations, pleas, public service announcements and advocacy... we've shared a little bit of it all together.  I am honored every time I log on and find that someone (and sometimes several someones) has had enough interest in what I have to say to not only take time to read, but to comment!!  Your comments are the special sauce on the Big Mac of my life! *No Ronald!*


To all of you, I say a most sincere and heart felt "Thank you!! Now get outta my bathtub!!"

But the Biggest, Awesomest and Most Supercalifragilisticexpialidociousest news of all is....

My girl Dwina got to bring lil' Man home from the hospital today!!!  

Thanks to all of the prayer, positive energy, love and support of any and all of you who kept them in your thoughts and prayers!!  Lil' Man is a bona fide miracle baby!  He's beautiful, and he is home in plenty of time for Mother's Day!!


Which is the coolest thing in the world, and made me break out in a Bro. Franklin dance!!


So in honor of this most excellent day and it's dual causes for celebration... but mostly b/c of Lil' Man, enjoy the following!!

Hold it down, lil' man!!

I got seriously irritated in my attempts at figuring out my Christmas present..... so being me, I said screw this I'll come back to it later. Then I went over to one of my fave blogs, Oh, Hell Nawl to catch up on what I missed. And I came across this seriously funny vid.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again... little boys LOVE their Mommas! I can see Eli pullin' some stuff like this. That's ok. Lil' man just settin' the ground rules!

Enjoy.

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Uncle

Plenty of what I write references my Mom. She's my sHero. And more than plenty of my decisions and actions are directly influenced by what I think she would expect/want/be proud of.

This post isn't exactly about her, but in a round about way it is.

The true subject of today's random and pressing post is my uncle, Alvin Beck, my mother's oldest brother. Found him dead in his basement this morning. That's so raw and ugly a thing to say, but it's the truth. And after arrangements are made, phone calls placed and news broken, where do I turn? My friends and loved ones.... and the internet. I think that's because so much of how I process things is by forcing them into making sense through the written word. It makes things manageable and real and tangible. Anyhoooo.... I just want to share some things about my uncle.

First of all, in his last few years, Al became somewhat of an eccentric oddball. He gave in somewhat to the pressures of the world. But when I was a kid, he was "Uncle Al, the kiddies pal!"

He was the proverbial favorite uncle. He was the one who played all the musical instruments (guitar, banjo, mandolin, trombone, trumpet, keyboard, fiddle). He was the one who bought a house that had a small renter's cottage on the back lot... specifically for use as a playhouse for his nieces and nephews. He was the one that took us mushroom hunting, rock climbing, fishing, and to the dime store with $5 each to buy whatever we wanted (and let me tell you, at the dime store in the early 70's, $5 was a small fortune when whatever we wanted was usually penny candy and maybe a Barbie doll).

He and my Aunt Carol didn't have any kids of their own, so my brother, cousins and I always made the grand haul for birthdays and Christmas. They always fixed us the bomb-ass Easter baskets and organized the ultimate in Easter egg hunts. There were cookouts almost every weekend of every summer with the juciest chicken and burgers, hotdogs done just right, all the trimmings and inevitably homemade ice cream with fresh strawberries to top it all off.

He was there for all the milestones of my life. Birthdays, Confirmation, graduations, proms and homecomings... there was Uncle Al with his camera, documenting it all. There is photographic proof of every jacked up outfit, every unfortunate hair style, and poor makeup choice I ever made thanks to him! When I got my first apartment, he furnished it for me.... and I mean bed, bedding, table and chairs, armchair, dishes, pots and pans, silverware, towels, cleaning supplies... the whole set up!

Everything I ever did in my life, he was somewhere in the picture. Even if he didn't approve of what it was I was doing, he was still there, just like my mom was, waiting for me to find my way back to the right path. He had faith in me like that, ya know, that I would find my way back. "You're a smart, girl, Amy. You'll work it out." He never really told me, "Hey, you're messin' up here, kid," but his disapproval could be almost palpable. It must have been a familial talent, because Mom was like that too. Didn't hafta say a word, but you knew, absolutely knew, without a doubt that they were disappointed in you. And you had best t' fix it!!

Like I said, in later years, life pressed down on him like a stone, and it took its toll. So, in a way, I know that, for him, death is probably a sweet release from it all. And I guess a huge part of my sadness today is that I didn't say "Thank you" enough. I really try not to live in regret as a general rule for life, but that is something I can say that I do regret. The time to have said all the things I should have has passed with him. I have long missed the Uncle Al who played such a role in my becoming who I am. Now I mourn the loss of the opportunity to let him know that I appreciate him for that.

So today, I imagine the following scene in Heaven. It's the kitchen at my Gramma's. Mom's fixing Gramma's hair, there's a roast with carrots and potatoes in the oven, sweet tea chilling in the fridge, homemade icecream in the freezer and Uncle Al playing guitar and singing while Mom and Gramma gossip about the family and people in church. It's a scene that played out plenty of times in real life, and dammit, I wish I could have it one last time.

Oh, HELL NAW, he didn't!!!

In the interest of fairness, let me first say, the boy has had a rough month. First there was a parent-teacher conference about "less talking, more working" with Mrs. Beard. Then the tummy troubles and trips to the doctor to work out that issue. Then, and probably most profoundly upsetting, the death of his lil' girlfriend, Ashanti.  And finally, yesterday he busted up his lip falling off a skateboard at the neighbor's house.  

But today, I was forced to the conclusion that my son has gone out his natural mind!!

What prompts this conclusion, you might ask?  Well, lemme tell ya.......

It started out as a pleasant Sunday morning.  We got up, got showered and dressed and took ourselves to Church.  When we got to Church, there were the usual members of the congregation there, as well as a few visitors.  Visitors with children.  Lots and lots of children.  Wonderful.....  the babies need Jesus in their lives.

Now, I make Eli stay in the sanctuary with me until after Children's Church.  He is always well behaved, and he loves to sing even if he doesn't know the hymns (he's always on his own tangent during the music).  Well, these new children were not so much well behaved.  Fortunately, they were seated a comfortable distance away from us.  However, when the kiddos were called forward for Children's Church, all sorts of tomfoolery ensued.

These kids acted like they didn't know how to sit still or pay attention....  and our usually attentive, know-the-routine "regulars" started actin' like THEY were new!!  Well, I caught the boy's attention in short order, and shot him straight in his forehead with 

"THE LOOK,"

then held up two fingers--not two fingas, like deuces, 

TWO FINGERS, like this yo second strike, child!!!

The child looked at me like he was estimating the distance between my pew and the dias they were all on, then from the dias to the door.  I could all but hear his thoughts!!!  "Yeah....  I can make it to that door before she gets to me...."  He was givin' serious thought to makin' a dash!  Well, Pastor didn't have sense to realize these hooligans had done got out of pocket until one of the "newbies" knocked over the flag.  At this point, all of the mothers of the "regulars" moved as a single well-maintained mind!  We had the doors and aisles covered and were closing in.

As expected, the children scattered, but to no avail.  There was no escape.  And then, it happened......

I took hold of my son's arm, proceeding to march him back up the aisle to await judgement. I used all three of his Christian names and his Surname, "Elijah Michael Adam C******, you sit your narra little behind in this pew and DON'T YOU MAKE A SOUND!"  As I turned to go help gather the rest of the hoodlums, I hear from my son's mouth:

"KISS MY BUTT, MOM!!"

WHAT????!!!!!????

I swear on every episode of Aqua Teen Hunger Force and Ray-J's ho's that time stopped.  The sanctuary was silent except for the gasp of horror and expectation that the congregation voiced as a single entity.  I turned, sighted my target, and slowly but deliberately closed in.  Some other mamma was gonna hafta clean up the rest.  I had bizness to handle.

The boy's eyes as I approached betrayed his desire to run for his raggedy lil' life, but as the doors were too far away,  he recognized that this was no longer a viable option.  This time, as I got hold of his arm, I felt the trembling of a child who knew, beyond any shadow of doubt that he had GONE TOO FAR!

I won't describe ensuing events.  Let's leave it at this....  he's lucky he still has sleeves!! And, no, I don't think Jesus is mad at me for it.  Jesus didn't ever pop off to his mamma like that, so I don't expect He intends for me to put up with that kinda nonsense.

As for the boy, I wish he would try some mess like that again..... hrumph!!

It's a Mom thing I guess

So, my kid's been having some little health hiccups lately....not too serious really, just enough to make him intermittently pitiful.  And all moms know, when your kiddo is pitiful, your heart kinda melts a little.  This got me thinking about how fast he's growing up.  That got me thinking about when he was a baby.  

So, I just wanted to share one of my favorite memory of Eli's babyhood.

When he was just about 8 or 9 months old, he started pulling up on the rail of his crib and climbing out, so I had to make sure he was fast asleep before putting him in his bed.  The easiest and fastest way to do that was to hold him and put on music (Al Green, Let's Stay Together worked the best) and dance slowly until he dropped off.  I would put the song on repeat and just keep going til I felt him relax, his breath deepen and slow.  Then I'd keep it up for another five minutes or so, until I was pretty much sure he was out like a light.  I can remember the feel of his soft baby curls against my cheek and the baby shampoo and lotion smell.  This is one of the sweetest memories I have.

And now, I look at him asleep on the couch, and I'm thinking how I'm gonna hafta wake him up to get him to bed because he's gotten too big to carry.   

But he'll always be my baby!

not your mama!!!!

now, all my friends and coworkers know this, but i feel the need to enlighten the random reader with this background info, purely in the interest of context.

i had a simply amazing mother. she died just about 5 years ago--Jan. 17, 2004. (oddly enuf, my boyfriend's birthday. . . . ) but when she was alive, and healthy, she was the queen of our family. there is no doubt of that. now, she and dad were married for 37 years when she died, and she took care of EVERYTHING!! house, bills, insurance, all that shit.....dad mowed the grass, went to work and handed over his paycheck. period.

i have a younger brother. he's zero for three in the marriage department. i love him coz he's my brother and i hafta, but he's a fathead. he likes harleys, beer and chicks. preferably all simultaneously.

mom took care of everyone's everything. then she died. now, the fathead and my dad think that I have some intentions of taking care of them like mom did. ummmm.......no. i'm not my mom. and i'm fasho not tryna be their mama!! here's where we go from the context to the meat n potatoes of this posting.

dad lives in the basement apartment of the house, and fathead is currently occupying my guestroom. fathead returns whenever he's between chicks. i let him come back because i'm secretly still afraid that my mom will retun to haunt me if i don't take care of her baby boy. meanwhile, i have my own six year old son, Eli, whose "daddy" has not seen since he was four weeks old. so, admittedly, i derive some benefit by my dad being in the same residence, and when sober and home, my brother has the potential to be an adequate backup babysitter.

but here's the bump in the road. these people honestly think i'm fittna clean up after their asses!!! they think imma work 12 hour shifts on a fairly busy medical unit (i'm a registered nurse), keep the bills paid and keep the house clean, schedules arranged, grocery shopping done, laundry washed, etc. weeeeeelllllllll......... they're only wrong. now, my mom did it. she did. she did hair 12 to 16 hours a day, 5 and 6 days a week, then turned around, made dinner, cleaned up, helped us with homework, bathed us, got us to bed, then stayed up til midnite or 1:00 in the morning doing laundry and housework, got up at 6:00 and did it all again. she was either a more dedicated woman than i will ever be or she was a martyr or just a sucka!! i choose to believe she was more dedicated, coz she's my moms and i love her. point is, tho, I AM NOT THAT!! she was a better person than i will ever be. i'm ok with that. honest.

and here's my logic: we are all adults. we all live in the same house. we all have jobs. we are all able to clean up the house. if we all do SOME of the housework, no one has to do ALL of the housework. i think the simplicity of the solution is elegant and beautiful. everyone does something, no one does everything.

but these clowns want a mama. well....... I AM NOT YOUR MAMA!!! (except for Eli, and I am his mama). therefore, although it is killing me, i am on strike. let this bitch pile up, let the pile fall around them and let them know, i am done. help me or live in it like you leave it. i am patient. i can outwait them. game on, boys.....