It was one of those evenings. I was big and uncomfortable, as one usually is at nine-and-a-half-months pregnant.
“Let’s look at a movie,” I suggested.
“Okay,” my two girls agreed then sprinted to the couch.
“Mom I have a question for you?” my 10-year-old pronounced as I channel surfed. “For years you kept saying you did not want anymore kids. And I got it. You had sex with dad those two times and had me and Sage. But if you didn’t want any more kids, why did you have sex with Dad again?” Read more
“Was she black?” my 10 year-old daughter leaned in and whispered as we walked toward the car.
I was puzzled for a second. Then I noticed her eyes advert to her 7-year-old sister, who was skipping a few feet ahead—a clear signal that it was safe to answer because she was out of earshot.
Then it hit me. She was talking about Sandra Bland. She must have overheard me discussing the case on the phone moments before leaving the house. Read more
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words will never hurt me.
Most of us remember that classic rhyme from childhood. Well, even as a kid, I knew that was some BS. We recited those lines so other people would think their words had no affect on us, but most of the time the opposite was true.
And it still is. Case in point—being a 39-year-old pregnant woman, otherwise known as #mycurrentsituation.
I’m expecting my third child in weeks, and this pregnancy has been different in many ways. Perhaps, what has made it most memorable though are other people’s comments.
I’m not going to lie. I’m happy most professional sports have ended — at least the ones my husband watches.
A few weeks ago, the NBA finals brought back a particularly bad memory that turned our entire household upside down. Let me take you back to the 2014 NBA championships.
Gerald was shouting at the TV as he had been every night since the playoffs began.
That night I was rushing out for a meeting with an artists’ group. “Bye, y’all!” I yelled, running out the front door. I knew the girls were in good hands because Dad Can Handle It!
I was back home by 8:30, the perfect time to give both of my girls kisses before bed. But as soon as I came in, I knew something was wrong.
I recently heard you on Los Angeles’ 92.3 iHeart radio talking about your latest song, “I Don’t Mind,” and I felt compelled to write you. In the interview, you said your hit song is not about encouraging women to become exotic dancers.
Okay, but here’s the funny thing. That track is singlehandedly responsible for the half-dozen or so talks about “poles” and “dancing” that I’ve had with my 7- and 9-year-old daughters every time your song comes on the radio. Which is a lot.