Another reason why Pink IS NOT my favorite color...

Anyone who knows me, knows that pink ain't really my thang. I may be a girly girl, but I've never been a huge fan of the Pepto-Bismol shade. As I sit here on Friday afternoon relishing the first moments of relative peace and quiet I've had in TWO DAYS, I have another reason to add to the list why pink is solidly among my least favorite colors.

In addition to everything for a little girl being slathered in the sickly shade, my daughter's eye is now among the victims dragged into the red and white mixture's abyss. On Wednesday, she woke up with her left eye a little less than white (ok, it was pink), but I thought that was from lack of sleep, since she woke up at midnight and refused to lay it back down until after 3 a.m. She was up, playing, talking and being her usual post-7:30 a.m. self, except it was three in the morning (did I mention that it was 3 A.M.?!) After grabbing just an hour and half sleep, there was no way I was rolling out of bed to do anything that involved a squat/clean/jerk or row as per the usual at my intense 5 a.m. workout class. So, that would make the second day I missed my CrossFit class this week (catch up on that here). The daycare called me at work to say her eye was looking pink (hmmm) and they just wanted to let me know.

Then, that afternoon, they called back after lunch and asked me to come get her, because it was not only pink, but now oozing whatever an eye shouldn't ooze (Ewwww!). We get home and I see it, but her doc had me givng her Children's Zyrtec, so I attribute it to allergies and her 3 a.m. party session. Thursday was the wake up call though. She woke up with her eye nearly crusted shut and all puffy, so I call the doc, get an appointment and off we go. She has pink eye. We get the eye drops, head home and life is good. That evening after dinner though, something went wrong.

I give her a bath (my first clue should've been the pooping in the tub, but I don't really want to talk about that), wash her hair and get her ready for bed. As I'm combing out her hair and braiding it up, she starts intermittenly kicking her legs, screaming in agony and grabbing at her diaper. After the third time, I take the diaper off, clean off the diaper cream position her in front of the fan with her legs open (every lady needs a little fresh air down there) and I think we're good. At 8:30 p.m. she nods off, I start back on her hair. From 8:30-about 1 a.m., my diaperless child goes through 10 min. intervals of agonizing screaming and flailing and napping...like CLOCKWORK! I call the doc like a million times ("Give her tylenol," "Have you tried a warm bath?" "Maybe it's gas? Try Mylicon.") None if this works, but eventually she dozes off at one something. I watch her, check the clock expectanly 10 mins. later,and wait for her to start crying again, but it appears that sweet sleep has finally earned its surrender.

At five a.m. she wakes up, I pick her up and she's radiating heat. No really, I can see heat waves emanating from her body. Her temp is 102.3. I get as much of the Tylenol down as I can--what she doesn't spit back out that is. Wipe her down with a cool cloth, turn on the fan and call doc...again. She wants me to bring her in. The office opens at 8:30 a.m. She dozes off on my chest at 7 a.m. and I suffer thorugh feeling like an oven is attached to my chest. At 10, Baby E is still sleep and I REFUSE to wake her up for anything short of the second coming. She finally wakes up up about 10:30, we go to the doc and SURPRISE! she has an ear infection to top off her pink eye!

Yeah, Mommyhood is full of ups and downs, but it is one hell of a ride!

The Best Week Ever

Yes, it has been the best week ever! Monday,started with a photo shoot me and another lady at worked planned, without the two key people who normally do it, since they were both out sick. Then I had to put out the minor fire of making nice with the corporate office of a major luxury car manufacturer after they sent over a $200,000 car for us to shoot with, only to have it determined that it was the wrong car (the talent had an agreement with another car company and couldn't be photographed with a competitor) and we couldn't use it. Needless to say, they were LIVID (they'd pulled people off vacation when the request came in on the Friday before and worked all weekend to get the car ready to shoot). Ahh, the industry life...

Tuesday I was just exhausted from planning the shoot all weekend--did I mention we did it without our art department since the two key people who usually handle that were out sick?! And I had to complete a project that should've been done three weeks ago! Of course, not all of the pieces were there, since two of the people who handle that part were out sick! (Did I mention this already?! It's a REALLY big deal in a small company, because there isn't a department with multiple people to pick up the slack when something like that happens--it just falls to the head/person in charge--which really means it falls to me!).

Then, Tuesday night Baby E woke up at midnight, pulled an all-nighter, refusing to go back to sleep until after 3 a.m. Needless to say I missed my CrossFit class Wednesday morning (I'd already missed Monday, since I had to get up at 5 a.m. to finish another project BEFORE the shoot...whew!). Wed. mid-morn, Baby E's daycare called to say her eye was looking red, just FYI. Then quickly followed up with an afternoon, post-nap call that there was green stuff coming out of her eye and she had to go...(yes, they do just kick your kids out...no, her school is great, really...unless she has green stuff leaking from her eye sick...).

Anyway, we get home, get fed, bathed and ready for bed and all hell breaks loose (read about it here). We don't get to sleep until after 2 a.m., but I'm determined to get at least ONE workout in this week, so I get my workout clothes laid out, put my water bottle in the fridge and get ready to lay it down. Three hours later, I'm up, covered in baby vomit and all hopes of workout No. 3 are dashed. A 102.3 temp and doc office visit later, we are diagnosed, home, medicated, fed and manage to keep some Pedialyte down and...sleep (for her at least).

Yeah, this just may be the best week ever and I wouldn't complain about a thing.

10 Things You Thought Were Black Owned

Nothing on the above list (click the post title or here ) shocks me, since I knew about most of them. I am always surprised, however, at how we (read: black folks) respond, when we find out that our black products are not owned by us. Some of it is bad financial management, but I believe majority of it is a result of our lack of support of one another and our ventures.

I have never been a supporter of the idea of buying black simply for the sake of it being black. As I look around however, and increasingly see us losing more and more control over the images and ideas that uniquely represent us, I'm compelled to adjust my original stance. It is important for us to support each other, and yes, just for the sake of being black. It's not a color thing. It's a culture thing. We often gripe about the way other communities stick together, but it is because we have literally given up our power to influence industries to do otherwise.

Intellectuals griped about the quality of Tyler Perry's plays when he begin to gain notoriety (I admit, I did too). But I also pitched and got him his first major national magazine coverage in a People magazine article back in 2004. I even go buy movie tickets to stuff I KNOW I don't want to see, because I think the diversity in voices are important and necessary. I don't dig "urban lit" in the base sense of the word, but if I have a platform to promote it I will, in most cases, because it is important to have ALL aspects of our experiences told.

You don't have to be interested in EVERYTHING, but sometimes we have to step out of ourselves and realize that it really isn't about us. There is a bigger picture here. Keep in mind that Tyler starting out on Chitlin' circuit allowed him to start a cultural revolution, resulting in him being the ONLY black studio owner in the WORLD. Oprah didn't even swing that.

Don't complain about the circumstances if you have done nothing to change them—even if it is a decade later (shout out to my big sis for FINALLY discovering Lauryn Hill!).

Do YOU Believe In Magic?

I must admit, prior to two weeks ago, I didn’t. I actually purchased a body almost six weeks ago, but never put it on. It intimidated me (you can read all about it here). Then about a week and a half ago, I felt a burst of inspiration and woke up motivated from my progress with CrossFit and thought about the Body Magic still in the package it arrived in sitting in my closet. Baby E had just woken up and was peering at me curiously over her crib rail as I stood in the bathroom staring at the package. I glanced over at the clock on the night stand, it read 7:23. I turned back, stared at my determined reflection in the mirror, took the Body Magic out of the bag. I’d gotten advice on how to put it on (Hint: turn it inside out and roll it up your body) from my friend who turned me on to Ardyss and I stepped into the unknown.

I wiggled it up over my hips and tucked my extra stomach “tissue” down into the stretchy fabric. Baby E, laughed and giggled and started wiggling along with me enjoying the show Mommy was putting on. I felt like she was cheering me on, so I worked the straps up over my shoulder and pulled the sides together over my midsection. My first effort had me attaching the closure in the first row, but thanks to regular CrossFit Pulse visits, I had to fasten it on the last row of the three rows. That felt good and as I closed the last hook, I felt a distinct sense of accomplishment, I did it! I put on the Body Magic and the clock read 7:33. Ten minutes indeed. I cheered and Baby E cheered with me, laughing with delight because I was so happy and that made her happy.

It was snug, but not tight. It was fitted, but not uncomfortable. It definitely made me stand up straight (you have no choice but to pull your shoulders back to up the comfort factor), but I didn’t feel like I was in a Chinese torture device. It lifted the girls (a little too high! Wearing an underwire bra with it will have the twins under your chin—literally. It’s not a look I’d go for, but…). And when I put on my slinky pewter shirt and fitted black pants, I was sold! It created it's own curves to hug. And even had a friend at work remarking how my booty, which is already a statement on its own saying, "Pow!" No rolls and dare I say, I had an hourglass shape. I squatted a couple of times to test my range of motion and was surprised at how it moved with me. I felt good (ok, not GOOD, but more comfortable than any other girdle I can remember wearing), and after lifting and playing with Baby E, and spending a work day in it (WITHOUT the leg openings rolling up and cutting off my circulation—that’s a standard big girl issue with regular long-line girdles for the uninitiated), the proverbial Kool-aid was tasting good! So, do I believe in Magic? I didn’t, but I do now.

Totally Crossed Out

For three weeks I have been in pain. PAIN! It hurt to go to the bathroom (those dang squats! But more one that later). Let me explain. I made a decision—one probably a decade in the making—to get healthy and physical. A variety of things contributed to that, but most specifically, being pregnant and having Baby E and watching my father almost die as a result of diabetes.

That was it. When I was pregnant, my parents planned to come spend a month with us to help out with the new baby. My dad came down almost three weeks ahead of mom to enjoy our 70 degree December temps. He was happy to leave the “hawk” behind in the Windy City. While he was here though, twice, I found him, nearly passed out, incoherent, unable to speak, sit up or get up to come get my help. I don’t even want to think about what the outcome would’ve been if I hadn’t actually opened the bedroom door to check on him when I hadn’t heard him get up by 11 am. I found him on the bed and called 911 and then called my mother. The paramedics tended to him and tried to calm me down so they wouldn’t have to deliver a baby AND help him too! That was it. We were fortunate. God granted him a reprieve. Actually, that’s not true. God hadn’t ordained that as his time to go, but it did serve as a wake up call for me.

For years (YEARS!), people have tried to help me with my weight. I had a mentor and dear friend lovingly broach the subject a couple of years ago. And I remember giving my mother hell because she registered me for a weight loss class at her job, when I was in high school. I didn’t understand what her deal was. Wasn’t I pretty? Wasn’t I outgoing? Wasn’t I talented and involved in everything from church, school to even career-related pursuits? Didn’t I have boyfriends and go out on dates? For a 16-year-old, that was enough right? I didn’t get pregnant, got decent grades and people constantly wanted to know how my parents raised such wonderful kids! What else did she want?!

What I can humbly acknowledge now at 30-mumble, mumble, that my teenaged mind couldn’t is that my mother was concerned about my health, but my personality and the guilt trip I put on her was no match for her concern. I won that battle. But I really didn’t. She should’ve made me stay and see it through. That is not a deficit on her part, but all things are in divine order. It took me to be a real adult and now parent to really get it. Get why what she was trying to do then was important. Hindsight is 20/20 and it would’ve been SO much easier to have gone through this process with no bills, no baby, no responsibilities and the promise that they would’ve bought me whole new wardrobe when I reached my goal. No haps. It’s all on me now and I’m committed to making it happen.

But it hurts. Physically, I AM IN PAIN and it’s all because of Crossfit Pulse. I’ve never been a fitness girl. I don’t want to work out at Bally’s (or apparently CrossFit P’tree) with the model/video girl-types and their poom-poom shorts. Yes, it hurts, but it’s good. It’s necessary and it’s time. I got turned on to CrossFit by a girl at work. She did an article on this new fitness craze and after watching her (she happens to be a bit of a fitness queen herself) call out of work after doing a class, my curiosity was peaked. She said it hurt to get up. She said it hurt to even think about moving.

Yeah, I was curious, curious and scared. I get the concept of working muscles previously under used muscles causing discomfort, but all out pain? Hmmm. So I shared the CrossFit info with a friend and she found a CrossFit gym in our neighborhood and so the journey began.

Fast forward three weeks and here I am—in pain. The initial pain of the first workout went away after about a week (it really did hurt to sit on the toilet…I abused my bladder by forcing it to hold ungodly amounts of liquid, just so I wouldn’t have to sit (and get up from) the commode). But the thing with CrossFit is that it works something new (or in a different way) every time so you never plateau—and as a result, something is ALWAYS sore. This week it’s my calves and my biceps. Despite the pain (it really isn’t that bad) I can’t stop going. I wake up at 4:15 a.m. three times a week, to go and “get it in.” I get it in so Baby E doesn’t ever have to walk in and find me hovering on death's doorsteps from a preventable disease. I get it in because I have dreams of rocking my own pair of poom-poom shorts to the gym one day (actually, if I can get them on and look how I imagine I will, I will rock them to the grocery store, church*, hell, I’ll rock them to take out the trash!). I get it in because I owe my mother, for making it so hard for her when she tried to help me get it done all those years ago. I get it in because I want to be a good steward of the body and good health I’ve been blessed with. I get it in because it is the right thing to do. Get yours!

* Just kidding about rocking them to church…at least not in the sanctuary anyway.

Mommy blues…blue is my favorite color

My Punk-a-dunk is gone. Her Grandma here graciously offered to keep her this weekend with all of her biological grans and it took me all week to muster the courage to let her go…to let go.

I rushed home from the recycling place and my heart dropped when the other car was gone. My Punk-a-dunk was really gone! Gone from me. For 26 months (including the 10 of carrying her) I never been without her. I’ve never been not able to reach out and touch her. Never awaken without her smiling or blissfully sleeping face being one of the first things I see in the morning.

I look forward to that. I look forward to holding her. Nuzzling her. Telling her how much Mommy loves her and thanks God that she is in my life. Not a moment goes by when I don’t think of her or someone asks about her and I recount some adorable tale of her newest venture (“Nuh, nuh, no, no!” or “Mommy! Book” or pointing to the dog in her nursery rhyme book and making “wooh, wooh” sounds or her screaming, “Mommy! Bubbles!”). I relish her taking off running when I say come here (sometimes), or how she’s now started lowering her head and squinting her eyes, mirroring the serious face I give her when I mean business.

Now, she’s in the capable hands of a friend’s mother and I miss her, but I’m excited about getting back to me. Not waking up having to plan out what she needs for the day or what I have to make happen for her. I can spend two whole days focused on me. And I thank God, because I know I’ll be better for her when she comes home as a result of it.

As much as I miss her (and I do miss her dearly!), God willing, I will be letting her go many more times throughout her life. I have to let her go off to school. I will have to let her go out with her friends. On dates…on a date…ok maybe not that! She’ll go off to college or get the heck up out of my house when she turns 18 and I’ll have to make my peace with letting her go. She’ll get married and have her own babies one day and I’ll have to let her go.

This is just the first in a series of let gos, but I did it. And we are ok. I took the wise advice of an elder (thanks Mommy) and put on my “Mood Music,” ran a bubble bath and soaked for the first time in probably 26 months! It felt good. It felt right. It felt like things are just as they are supposed to be.

The Body Magic Spell

I really want the results above. I want to step into a fantasy world and be instantly drop three dress sizes. I'm sure this is the sentiment of me and a million other women. The above pictures are images I found of the Body Magic at work. They had me hyped about the possibilities. I was ready to be amazed. I hit up the friend who brought me in and had her measure me. I logged on, ordered my Body Magic and then waited. Four days later, it arrived. I was excited. I closed my door, opened the package and then...nothing. As excited as I was, the thing kinda scared me! It looks nice, sexy even, but it intimidated me. All of the stories (like the one from a friend to the South about needing an hour and a bottle of water?! Or this news article from a Virginia writer) were swirling in my head. I was psyching myself out of putting it on. I opened the package. I felt the fabric. But I couldn't put it on. A week passed and every time I walked into my closet, I saw the smiling faces on the package, encouraging me with promises of an hourglass figure. I recalled the meetings and all of the distributors with impossibly small waists and rounded lady lumps. I got lost in my head in my own delusions of how much finer I would be with that things on, but still I couldn't bring myself to stretch the fabric over my body. It took a new outfit that I thought could fit a little better around the mid-section (it was the last one and it was only $12!) to convince me.  I prepared myself first though. I closed my eyes and saw me sashaying to what would be my new theme (cue: Brick House "Owww!").  I was ready. I took the Body Magic back out of the package, and I tried to try it on. Then, I cried. I cried because you really do need someone (or someBODIES) to help you into the thing. It stopped at my knees. MY KNEES! I am sure that with the appropriate tugging, pulling, rolling around, inching, cussing and praying it will fit, but the prospect of all the above is a HUGE deterrent. Add to my natural aversion to all things that constrict and, Houston, we have a problem. I really do want it to work. I want to slip it on and instantly drop three dress sizes. I want to be caught up in the magic of it all. I promise, I'll give it a go. I'll get into the dang blasted thing (Getting out of it? I'm not so sure about.). No, I will conquer my doubts, my fears, my girdle aversion. I will wear you Body Magic...just not today.

The Truth About Body Magic No. 1—Le Vive

About a week ago, I sipped the proverbial Kool-Aid and became a distributor for Ardyss International . You know, the “Drop 3 Sizes in 10 Minutes” people. A good friend had been on me about the business opportunity for months now (and I'd been skeptically declining, in my own sarcastic way, but let's just say she heard the phrase, "I don't want to sell girdles!" more than once!)

Their signature product is the Body Magic. By most accounts, it is a girdle—a good one, but a girdle none the less. It is billed as a body reshaper that redistributes unwanted tissue (read: fat) from undesirable areas like your stomach and/or hips, to desirable spots like your breasts and buttocks. You’ll have to read all about my experience with that later (I just ordered it). But I can offer some insight on one of the nutritional products I have tried already—Le Vive.

I was really excited when I came home to find the white and yellow box waiting for me last week. Despite my excitement, I didn’t open it right away. As a matter of fact, I did not open the box until three days after it arrived. I had so much on my plate with work, home, life… that I heeded the wisdom of a friend who suggested that I tackle one To Do List item at a time. Don’t multi-task. Don’t play Superwoman. Just complete that one task and then move on to the next one. So that is exactly what I did. That meant, however, that my new business opportunity would have to wait.

After the wait was over I grabbed the box, ripped it open and grabbed the Le Vive. First impression: EWWWWW! It looked thick (I have a sensitive palate) and textured. Not a good look. I popped it in the refrigerator and chilled. Glass in hand I retrieve the chilled bottle and pour my first toast to the Ardyss life…

It was tasty. Like many other fruit juices, it was very sweet, but I was impressed that the ingredients did not include any preservatives, additives or added sugars. Le Vive is an organic blend of mangosteen, acai, gogi, pomegranate and noni juices and filtered water. That is all. You can’t even get a simplified list of ingredients like that with V8 juice!

So my first product experience was a surprisingly good one (I half expected to be disappointed). Now, I’m waiting on the Body Magic to arrive. While we wait, check out the story CNN did on Body Magic.

Share My World

This blog has been a long time coming, but in the heartfelt words of Ms. Celie, "I may be black, I may even be ugly but thank God I'm here. I'm here!" And here is a place where I can discuss the things that really matter to me. Do you want to hear something crazy? This website (and blog framework) has technically been up since 2007! I’ve had three years to get this thing together, and for three years there was this beautifully blank page begging for words. Talk about procrastination. Well, a lot has happened in that time, but needless to say, I’m ready. I’m ready to write. I'm ready to join the blogosphere. I'm ready chime in on all the issues—from entertainment and news to musings and guest commentary.

Here we go...