May 29
3:oo a.m. Shrieking screams followed by the sounds of charging feet awaken my husband and I out of slumber. Our bedroom door burst open and the light of the hallway reveals the silhouette of our 4-year-old daughter, Sage. In a panic she calls out “Momma” then races across the room and leaps into our bed.
It was one of those average weekday nights. We’d just finished dinner. The dishes needed to be washed and lunches packed for the next day. I glanced at the relentless clock and knew it’s was time to get the girls ready for bed.
“Girls, it’s time for your shower!” I yelled as I ran into the bathroom and turned on the water.
“Skye, get in first,” I shouted. “AND USE SOAP!”
It was the first week of February and, like most typical weekday mornings, I was rushing to get my girls to school. As I dropped off Sage, my youngest, the director of her day care pulled me aside to find out whether I was planning to get her African heritage portrait taken. They were setting up now, she said, and I hadn’t filled out a form.
I honestly planned on opting out. But with this conscious or subconscious nudge, I said yes. I don’t know why I was thinking about skipping the heritage picture, being Black History Month and all. But as I thought about it, I’d always been a little skeptical about the holiday.
Now don’t get me wrong, I believe there should be a time to celebrate African American heritage, but I prefer not to get caught up in the logistics of it being designated to a particular month. And the fact that I always hear the same focal points of our history during this time had been a turn off.
As the years pass, I find that I’m continually redefining myself. First I was an artist. A graphic designer. Wife then mother. Author. Illustrator. These days, I just call it like I see it… I am the Crazy Mom with Kids! Read more
If you are anything like me, you are gearing up for that last-minute holiday shopping. And the fact that my children are already out of school for the holidays means my stress level has soared tenfold.
The mere thought of them tagging along during any part of my shopping ordeal makes me feel a bit tense. Dealing with them argue over who had the toy last or asking why they can’t have another toy that they already have at home is too much to deal with in a crowded Mall. In addition to taking deep breathes, threatening, and bribing my children to behave, I have, after years of experience, learned to adopt a few tricks to help my trips to the store go off without a hitch:
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