On Sunday my son shit on my floor...twice. Today he is running around partially naked slamming his yucky toddler butt on my sofa. He is almost 3 and should be well on his way to potty training. However, it appears I'm not that lucky. I have a son that hates diapers, loves being nude, yet refuses to attempt potty training. I have too many stories that begin with "I don't know why he keeps peeing on my floor". I've purchased pull-ups, favorite character underwear, potty seats, lollipops for treats, etc. Frankly, I'm tired and did i mention that my son shit on my floor...twice. After the first year of life, toddler poop is really adult poop, so picture that...on my floor...twice. Too gross.
I made him help me clean it up (safely of course) and his simple response was, "Mommy, this is yuck". Kid, you just made your first understatement. I've tried to take him to the bathroom every hour. I've given him "you're a big boy and big boys use the toilet"speeches. I've read articles. Nothing is working. And yet, he is obviously uncomfortable with wet or soiled diapers because he tears them off as soon as they're no longer 'fresh'. Is he going to wake up one morning and decide to use the toilet or am I going to be telling his first girlfriend stories of him soiling himself at 7 years of age? *Deep Sigh*
But is there a such thing as parental peer pressure? Because to be honest, he's my first child and if he still doesn't want to potty in the toilet it doesn't bother me that much. That is, until it comes up in conversation. You know-THE conversations-the ones in which everyone talks about what their kid is or isn't doing. Now, I love to tell the "And then so & so said, 'Mommy, i think the dog is shyyyyy"...because really when your 2 year old uses the word shy correctly, your chest automatically swells.
But then you have to sit your ass back down, when the conversation goes like this:
Person A: "Is he potty trained yet?"
Me: "No"
Person A: "And how old is he?"
Me: *Insert mumbled "almost 3" here*
Person A: (Disappointed slow nod)
Because all of our children's accomplishments are because of us, their failures are also directly our fault. What? That's not how it goes? Okay, pretend that's not the unwritten rule if you want, but then why do you feel bad when someone questions your kids' weird scratching? I mean really, why does your kid scratch himself like that?
Nevermind, I digress.
My point is that I don't like when my son soils my floor with bodily fluids, but I don't know how to change it right now. And i don't want to feel bad about it either. It's gross, but it's far from the end of the world. And I wonder how he feels. He's only been alive for two years and eight months and now I want to change up something very routine and sacred to him-the diaper change. I'm damn near 26 years old and I still get ornery when I don't have lunch between 12pm and 2pm. Imagine how I would feel if someone told me I had to start using the bathroom upside down or something. Change is hard...for all of us. So I guess, FOR NOW, I can relax a little and just really, really pray I never find poop on my floor...again.
Showing posts with label frustration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label frustration. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Soledad
Warning: The following is a conversation I've had with myself...it is mostly unedited and tragically accurate. Proceed.
Why doesn't it feel okay to be alone? Or more specifically single? I have beautiful friends & family and yet singledom weighs heavily on my shoulders. Sometimes I physically feel a heaviness as if being single is something to live through, a cancer of sorts. How did I get here? And seriously, how do I get out? I remember the end of my last relationship as one of the saddest, most traumatic experiences of my life. (Trust me, if you knew the details you would agree it's not an exaggeration) There were days I sobbed the mascara right off my lashes, forgot what food taste like because I missed all meals, and generally curled up in bed until the next day of work. Those days have been long gone. I've partied, dated like a champ, took some 'Naively Engaging with the Opposite Sex' L's, sat in silence, verbally vomited in therapy, read relationship books, and made positive changes in my life. At various points I went to church, worked out, re-examined my career choices, and focused on my little one...all in over 13 months.
13 months...and I'm still here. Where is here you ask? Oh, just waiting for my Tyler Perry ending. Almost literally waiting for a "blue collar" handsome, Church going man of color to come and rescue me from my life and make me believe in love again. Well, except that I actually prefer a white collar man, Church is preferred, but not mandatory, and I don't want to be saved at all. I just want to believe in love again. I want to believe that people care about more than themselves. More than money. More than sex. More than popping friggin bottles at the club. Jesus Christ, my dating experiences this past year have encompassed quite a few characters, from a corner store bodega worker to legal staff on Wall Street. No winners. And maybe the truth is that I'm not frustrated that I haven't found THE ONE to settle down with, but that the options are so similarly disappointing. Broke or well off, high school drop out or college educated, broken home or 2 parent household, inner city or suburbs, every man makes me lose a little bit of faith in humanity. Literally.
I suppose what I'm really looking for is purity, integrity, commitment, and honesty. I want a man that won't lie to my face about his intentions or behaviors. I want a man that can tell me it's not working for him instead of slowly but surely ignoring my text messages. I want a man that truly understands that it's NOT okay to have your cake and eat it too. I want a man to know that he is NEVER allowed to tell me that he can "have me" any time he wants. I'm not a fool. I know that sometimes we play a bigger role in our interactions than we like to admit. I also know that there are times I'm disrespected because the other person really believes it's okay. Not because it's me per se, but because I'm a woman and who cares how I feel? Why don't they understand how much that hurts? Better yet, why don't they care? I'm not asking them to see me as the best thing since slice bread, I'm asking them to see me as human. To see that I have intrinsic value and worth. Is that ideal too great? Or just not of worth?
Well I challenge men to play fair at least. To play hard ball without tricks. Simply understand the truth won't kill me. I've survived too much to feel bad because you don't like me. Shit, I don't like you all either. However, I will continue to feel bad that you don't even deem me worthy enough of that conversation though. It's a double edged sword-I feel like I get treated like some china doll that can't handle the truth because it will shatter me, yet men seem to think I can handle being treated like shit with no issue. Fuck you. Not the men that "just didn't work out"-fuck the ones that treated me like shit despite telling me various times, various ways that they would in fact "not treat me like shit".
I could almost understand if men just said this shit to sleep with you and it always worked. But not with me. My digits are loooooooooooooow in that arena and thank God because really, my vagina is not for practice. But.........being single is lonely...even surrounded by friends, even surrounded by family, even surrounded by a boisterous almost 2 year old. And I wish it was just the sex because that's easy to address, but it's not. It's the fact that after a long day of work, there's no one waiting to hear about it. There's no one that's been waiting all day just to see your beautiful face or hear your voice on the phone. There's no one to argue with about dinner choices. No one to snuggle with during a rain storm. No one to be silent with on a Sunday morning. No one to discuss celebrity shenanigans. No one to hold your hair back when you puke after a long, crazy night out with the ladies. I suppose these things actually make up that nasty word: intimacy. I'm terrified of it. Feel vulnerable because of it. Ah, but I miss intimacy. Soledad/Solitude feels like shit.
Why doesn't it feel okay to be alone? Or more specifically single? I have beautiful friends & family and yet singledom weighs heavily on my shoulders. Sometimes I physically feel a heaviness as if being single is something to live through, a cancer of sorts. How did I get here? And seriously, how do I get out? I remember the end of my last relationship as one of the saddest, most traumatic experiences of my life. (Trust me, if you knew the details you would agree it's not an exaggeration) There were days I sobbed the mascara right off my lashes, forgot what food taste like because I missed all meals, and generally curled up in bed until the next day of work. Those days have been long gone. I've partied, dated like a champ, took some 'Naively Engaging with the Opposite Sex' L's, sat in silence, verbally vomited in therapy, read relationship books, and made positive changes in my life. At various points I went to church, worked out, re-examined my career choices, and focused on my little one...all in over 13 months.
13 months...and I'm still here. Where is here you ask? Oh, just waiting for my Tyler Perry ending. Almost literally waiting for a "blue collar" handsome, Church going man of color to come and rescue me from my life and make me believe in love again. Well, except that I actually prefer a white collar man, Church is preferred, but not mandatory, and I don't want to be saved at all. I just want to believe in love again. I want to believe that people care about more than themselves. More than money. More than sex. More than popping friggin bottles at the club. Jesus Christ, my dating experiences this past year have encompassed quite a few characters, from a corner store bodega worker to legal staff on Wall Street. No winners. And maybe the truth is that I'm not frustrated that I haven't found THE ONE to settle down with, but that the options are so similarly disappointing. Broke or well off, high school drop out or college educated, broken home or 2 parent household, inner city or suburbs, every man makes me lose a little bit of faith in humanity. Literally.
I suppose what I'm really looking for is purity, integrity, commitment, and honesty. I want a man that won't lie to my face about his intentions or behaviors. I want a man that can tell me it's not working for him instead of slowly but surely ignoring my text messages. I want a man that truly understands that it's NOT okay to have your cake and eat it too. I want a man to know that he is NEVER allowed to tell me that he can "have me" any time he wants. I'm not a fool. I know that sometimes we play a bigger role in our interactions than we like to admit. I also know that there are times I'm disrespected because the other person really believes it's okay. Not because it's me per se, but because I'm a woman and who cares how I feel? Why don't they understand how much that hurts? Better yet, why don't they care? I'm not asking them to see me as the best thing since slice bread, I'm asking them to see me as human. To see that I have intrinsic value and worth. Is that ideal too great? Or just not of worth?
Well I challenge men to play fair at least. To play hard ball without tricks. Simply understand the truth won't kill me. I've survived too much to feel bad because you don't like me. Shit, I don't like you all either. However, I will continue to feel bad that you don't even deem me worthy enough of that conversation though. It's a double edged sword-I feel like I get treated like some china doll that can't handle the truth because it will shatter me, yet men seem to think I can handle being treated like shit with no issue. Fuck you. Not the men that "just didn't work out"-fuck the ones that treated me like shit despite telling me various times, various ways that they would in fact "not treat me like shit".
I could almost understand if men just said this shit to sleep with you and it always worked. But not with me. My digits are loooooooooooooow in that arena and thank God because really, my vagina is not for practice. But.........being single is lonely...even surrounded by friends, even surrounded by family, even surrounded by a boisterous almost 2 year old. And I wish it was just the sex because that's easy to address, but it's not. It's the fact that after a long day of work, there's no one waiting to hear about it. There's no one that's been waiting all day just to see your beautiful face or hear your voice on the phone. There's no one to argue with about dinner choices. No one to snuggle with during a rain storm. No one to be silent with on a Sunday morning. No one to discuss celebrity shenanigans. No one to hold your hair back when you puke after a long, crazy night out with the ladies. I suppose these things actually make up that nasty word: intimacy. I'm terrified of it. Feel vulnerable because of it. Ah, but I miss intimacy. Soledad/Solitude feels like shit.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Is there a way to know?
Sometimes I think to myself that it's easy to judge what makes a good or bad mom. On the train, you hear a mom call her daughter a "little bitch" and it makes you cringe. Mom smacks little boy across his face for wanting candy and you remember Katt Williams say "He's 2 years old, he's supposed to want Skittles, you simple bitch"-easy judgments in my book. I revoke their mommy card immediately and maybe that's wrong, but maybe it's not. But forget about the easy stuff. Forget about the things we see that we make jokes about, or report on our status updates, or share via text message. What about all that isn't seen, but is felt like hot coal? What about the interactions that no one would ever know or hear about without our disclosure-the ones that actually in essence cement the foundation of our beings. It's not dramatic, let's face it a parent can make or break a lot of who and what we are. At one end of the ring, we strive to be everything that parent was not and at the other end of the ring, we look in the mirror and realize that the 'enemy' sits firmly in the middle of our chests. Some of our worse habits can be traced back up the gene pool with ease as we simultaneously praise ourselves for not being "as" selfish, ignorant, and flawed as Mommy or Daddy Dearest.
I look at my son and I wonder what mistakes I will make, what mistakes I've already made, and whether I'll ever do some really great stuff in his life. I joke that every kid needs something to talk about in therapy, but who really wants to be the focus of that conversation? Not I said the cat; especially when week after week I find myself bashing one parent or the other in my own therapy sessions. I've struggled with whether or not therapy is self-indulgent. After all when was the last time a woman of color got a minute, let alone 45, to talk about all that is wrong without having to find the solutions for someone else's problems? Don't worry, I'll wait. I've spent so much of my short life taking care of other people that talking about situations where I've REALLY been wronged or people FAILED to take care of me is HARD. Hating my stepfather or my real father and talking about the reasons is difficult, but stepping up to the plate to swing at my mother has been the hardest conversation I've ever had to have.
If I had to put it in simple terms, my stepfather abused me, my biological father neglected me, and my mom just failed to act. She never came up to the plate for me or my siblings. She never fought back. She never did right by us. She always chose him or maybe worse, maybe she always chose herself. She didn't want to be a single mom. She didn't want to be on public assistance forever. She didn't want us to grow up without fathers. These days she talks about divorcing my stepfather and all I keep thinking is "well that's a day late and a dollar short". I battle chronic depression, my sister has anxiety attacks, my youngest sister has an eating disorder, and well my younger brothers (who are still in middle & high school) are early in their visual dysfunction. One dabbled in the usual acting out behaviors, smoking weed, drinking, truancy and the other has decided that stealing and lying is okay as long as he gets what he wants. Ask him why he does certain things and at 12, he'll answer, "Cuz I want attention. Just some attention". I can pat my parents on the back for making sure we all, at least, valued education and hard work. But I can also provide them with a big "F*ck you" for being selfish bastards.
Yesterday I told my mother, "I've decided to eliminate people from my life that don't contribute positively to it and refuse entry to new people who won't contribute positively". Silence on the phone. Hmmm, let's guess what mommy is thinking. #1) She's thinking I'm talking about my stepfather (she's mostly right) & #2) She thinks I'm talking about her (guilt sure is a motherf*cker when you're actually wrong). I ask her why she's quiet and she answers as only she can, "Oh no, nothing. I respect your opinion, it's just that you sound bitter and I don't think you'll always feel that way". Hmmm, no shit Sherlock, you let our father abuse us for years and yet you want us to still come around and play nice. Even though, he's still a selfish alcoholic. He still hasn't apologized to anyone for the years of misery. And he has yet to make any attempt to become a different man.
Me on the other hand-I fight like hell to keep my head above water so I'm not on antidepressants. My sister's anxiety attacks have become more frequent. And I just saw my youngest sister who is once again so thin her eyes look black as if she's been punched. I asked her about it and she looks at me with obvious pain and says "You know, good weeks, bad weeks. It's a bad couple of weeks, I've just been thinking alot".
F*ck you dad for being an abusive, remorseless prick & f*ck you mom for being a coward.
"I don't think you'll always feel that way"
Guess what? I don't know what later will feel like or look like, but I know today and today you suck. And i like to think that my son will NEVER think of me in this way, but is there a way to know? Will I choose my needs over his? Will I ever choose a man over my baby? Will I sit back and watch evil and misery chip away at my little boy's soul? I once heard in a clinical training that trauma slowly destroys a child's ability to dream. Little by little, that child will begin to limit what they believe they can do in life, what they believe can happen, what they believe people are capable of. Would I let my son lose that faith? Would I help him lose it? I think to myself, "Hell no, I know better", but is there a way to know?
Could my mom have ever dreamed at 16 that she would still sleep with a man who hurt her daughter even after she knew?
Could my mom ever dream as a child that she would be punched like a man in front of her kids by her husband?
Could she dream that she would then wake up the next day and make him breakfast?
Could she dream that her oldest daughter would eventually be her protector?
Could she dream of just how much it broke her spirit to be that?
Empathy would ask me to put myself in her shoes and understand her fears, her concerns, her limitations. But Anacaona would say I would never wear those shoes so why bother? I love my mother in the most painful of ways, but I'm ashamed of her weakness. Growing up I thought my mom was so strong to put up a brave front for the world when she suffered so much. It took me years to identify that strength as "fear". Fear of change, fear of loneliness, fear of the unknown. And shit we're all scared of some/all of these things, but it does not freeze us all. Why couldn't my mother do better? Simply do better. Simply love better. Choose better. Be better.
I could run circles around the possible reasons and grow dizzy from the possibilities, but aside from all the clinical excuses, is there a real way to know? What could anyone tell me now to heal? To forget? To be.
And if I knew any more, any deeper, would I be any different? Is there a way to know?
I look at my son and I wonder what mistakes I will make, what mistakes I've already made, and whether I'll ever do some really great stuff in his life. I joke that every kid needs something to talk about in therapy, but who really wants to be the focus of that conversation? Not I said the cat; especially when week after week I find myself bashing one parent or the other in my own therapy sessions. I've struggled with whether or not therapy is self-indulgent. After all when was the last time a woman of color got a minute, let alone 45, to talk about all that is wrong without having to find the solutions for someone else's problems? Don't worry, I'll wait. I've spent so much of my short life taking care of other people that talking about situations where I've REALLY been wronged or people FAILED to take care of me is HARD. Hating my stepfather or my real father and talking about the reasons is difficult, but stepping up to the plate to swing at my mother has been the hardest conversation I've ever had to have.
If I had to put it in simple terms, my stepfather abused me, my biological father neglected me, and my mom just failed to act. She never came up to the plate for me or my siblings. She never fought back. She never did right by us. She always chose him or maybe worse, maybe she always chose herself. She didn't want to be a single mom. She didn't want to be on public assistance forever. She didn't want us to grow up without fathers. These days she talks about divorcing my stepfather and all I keep thinking is "well that's a day late and a dollar short". I battle chronic depression, my sister has anxiety attacks, my youngest sister has an eating disorder, and well my younger brothers (who are still in middle & high school) are early in their visual dysfunction. One dabbled in the usual acting out behaviors, smoking weed, drinking, truancy and the other has decided that stealing and lying is okay as long as he gets what he wants. Ask him why he does certain things and at 12, he'll answer, "Cuz I want attention. Just some attention". I can pat my parents on the back for making sure we all, at least, valued education and hard work. But I can also provide them with a big "F*ck you" for being selfish bastards.
Yesterday I told my mother, "I've decided to eliminate people from my life that don't contribute positively to it and refuse entry to new people who won't contribute positively". Silence on the phone. Hmmm, let's guess what mommy is thinking. #1) She's thinking I'm talking about my stepfather (she's mostly right) & #2) She thinks I'm talking about her (guilt sure is a motherf*cker when you're actually wrong). I ask her why she's quiet and she answers as only she can, "Oh no, nothing. I respect your opinion, it's just that you sound bitter and I don't think you'll always feel that way". Hmmm, no shit Sherlock, you let our father abuse us for years and yet you want us to still come around and play nice. Even though, he's still a selfish alcoholic. He still hasn't apologized to anyone for the years of misery. And he has yet to make any attempt to become a different man.
Me on the other hand-I fight like hell to keep my head above water so I'm not on antidepressants. My sister's anxiety attacks have become more frequent. And I just saw my youngest sister who is once again so thin her eyes look black as if she's been punched. I asked her about it and she looks at me with obvious pain and says "You know, good weeks, bad weeks. It's a bad couple of weeks, I've just been thinking alot".
F*ck you dad for being an abusive, remorseless prick & f*ck you mom for being a coward.
"I don't think you'll always feel that way"
Guess what? I don't know what later will feel like or look like, but I know today and today you suck. And i like to think that my son will NEVER think of me in this way, but is there a way to know? Will I choose my needs over his? Will I ever choose a man over my baby? Will I sit back and watch evil and misery chip away at my little boy's soul? I once heard in a clinical training that trauma slowly destroys a child's ability to dream. Little by little, that child will begin to limit what they believe they can do in life, what they believe can happen, what they believe people are capable of. Would I let my son lose that faith? Would I help him lose it? I think to myself, "Hell no, I know better", but is there a way to know?
Could my mom have ever dreamed at 16 that she would still sleep with a man who hurt her daughter even after she knew?
Could my mom ever dream as a child that she would be punched like a man in front of her kids by her husband?
Could she dream that she would then wake up the next day and make him breakfast?
Could she dream that her oldest daughter would eventually be her protector?
Could she dream of just how much it broke her spirit to be that?
Empathy would ask me to put myself in her shoes and understand her fears, her concerns, her limitations. But Anacaona would say I would never wear those shoes so why bother? I love my mother in the most painful of ways, but I'm ashamed of her weakness. Growing up I thought my mom was so strong to put up a brave front for the world when she suffered so much. It took me years to identify that strength as "fear". Fear of change, fear of loneliness, fear of the unknown. And shit we're all scared of some/all of these things, but it does not freeze us all. Why couldn't my mother do better? Simply do better. Simply love better. Choose better. Be better.
I could run circles around the possible reasons and grow dizzy from the possibilities, but aside from all the clinical excuses, is there a real way to know? What could anyone tell me now to heal? To forget? To be.
And if I knew any more, any deeper, would I be any different? Is there a way to know?
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Mom meets blog
I would like to write a post about mommyhood. I've been thinking about what I would write and have even rewritten it in my head a couple of times. The only problem is that I'm too tired to write/type it. I know that if I start, it will be longer than I expect and frankly I don't have it in me. So I'll just share the first few things that come to mind before I fall asleep on the keyboard:
- My son shits alot...I think he got it from his momma lol-It's better than him being constipated...except that middle of the night shitty diaper changes have led to shit on my finger or hand on more than one occasion...shit that I haven't noticed until I crash back into the bed and...well you let your imagination run with that-
- My breasts hurt-I love breast feeding Joseph and I hate breastfeeding Joseph. More to come another day.
- If you see me on the news and my identity is revealed, it will be because my boyfriend has gone missing and I am the main suspect. My motive: Once again, the baby will not go to sleep until 6 or 7 am. My boyfriend, on the other hand, has no problem drifting off into that good sleep. I decide to "take him out" as revenge.
- If I don't go outside at least once a week, I think I will LITERALLY go crazy, not figuratively, I WILL START TALKING TO MYSELF MORE THAN I WOULD PRE BABY AND IN A WAY THAT MAKES PEOPLE UNCOMFORTABLE AND PRONE TO STRAPPING OTHERS ONTO BEDS.
- I love being a mother already. The journey has just begun and I know that it is a thankless job and I know that it will make me cry on more than one occasion and I know that my life will not be mine anymore and I know that this will piss me off sometimes and I know
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
When it's almost time to deliver...
you think about a whole heck of a lot.
I've been home for almost 8 days and the truth is that most times it blows. I have a baby due in less than 6 days and frankly there's no way to prepare for that. Sure, the bassinet is up and the room is painted (though I still can't find any f*cking borders grrrr!) and he's got enough onesies to wear to high school, but otherwise, you're just stuck. Wondering if the next moment amniotic fluid will come gushing out of your private parts or when some kind of pain you've never felt in your life will make you want to deliver the baby yourself...with your bare hands. So, in the meantime, I'm stuck at home watching TV and
I don't know what I was expecting from daytime TV, but it sure as hell doesn't deliver. In fact, I think I've forgotten just how horrendous it is between court tv shows and daytime soaps and Dr. Phil et al and their pre-packaged brand of counseling-it can be too much. I try to focus my time on three channels, TLC, HGTV, and the Food Network, but really how much Baby Story, cook-offs, and house makeovers can one watch before you're left singing along to Stacie Orrico's "There's Gotta Be More (To Life)"...
What would I like to watch though? That's the interesting question because I think we're so used to watching garbage that if someone asked us what we would want in a TV show daytime or 'prime time' I'm not sure we could answer. I like comedy. But I also like documentaries. I like to learn new things, but sometimes I just want to laugh. I want to see my life on television because that shit is funny, depressing, thought provoking, and anything but wholesome. Okay, so maybe not my life exactly, but something like it.
Even that is a post unto itself-the absence of Latina(o)s in the media-you know real ones with multidimensional personalities who struggle with more than just what to do when you're making rice and beans and realize you have no Sazon-THE HORROR!!! What about a show that focuses on a Latina trying to balance family and a career--with the Latina as the central character-not the supportive co-star who shines as the flawless matriarch who in the end knows how to 'put family first' or the spitfire who decides family and career are incapable of being intertwined and forgoes the former or the funny girl who's everyone's friend and secretly waits for the responsible, yet seductive man to make her feel whole (even if it means putting up with his infidelities). I guess realistically I know women like that, but I know a HELL of a lot more who aren't. Women who want to discuss sexuality with their daughters so that they're not duped into thinking sex is for men by women. Women who want to question policies in their workplace that obviously favor whites or men in general for that matter. Women who want to make noise and have their voices heard and be called bitches because after all, in our world, that seems to be the ultimate compliment.
BITCH= A woman who is assertive, strong, and unrelenting
BITCH= Woman unwilling to compromise on her principles
BITCH= Woman willing to call a spade a spade, an asshole an asshole, and a racist a racist
BITCH= Woman dedicated to defining-not being defined
I say all this after watching the season premiere of America's Next Top Model, re runs of Top Chef, and the new Kitchen Nightmares (on Fox with the guy from Hell's Kitchen). I say this after realizing that I probably lost very important brain cells in the process. I say this as I'm about to head back towards the TV because in the final days of labor-there's just not a whole heck of a lot to do. I say this as I hope (pray, plead, you pick) that in the LEAST, there's something funny on the tube that doesn't necessarily insult whole groups of people for the sake of cheap laughs--talk about setting low standards...
*sigh*
I've been home for almost 8 days and the truth is that most times it blows. I have a baby due in less than 6 days and frankly there's no way to prepare for that. Sure, the bassinet is up and the room is painted (though I still can't find any f*cking borders grrrr!) and he's got enough onesies to wear to high school, but otherwise, you're just stuck. Wondering if the next moment amniotic fluid will come gushing out of your private parts or when some kind of pain you've never felt in your life will make you want to deliver the baby yourself...with your bare hands. So, in the meantime, I'm stuck at home watching TV and
I don't know what I was expecting from daytime TV, but it sure as hell doesn't deliver. In fact, I think I've forgotten just how horrendous it is between court tv shows and daytime soaps and Dr. Phil et al and their pre-packaged brand of counseling-it can be too much. I try to focus my time on three channels, TLC, HGTV, and the Food Network, but really how much Baby Story, cook-offs, and house makeovers can one watch before you're left singing along to Stacie Orrico's "There's Gotta Be More (To Life)"...
What would I like to watch though? That's the interesting question because I think we're so used to watching garbage that if someone asked us what we would want in a TV show daytime or 'prime time' I'm not sure we could answer. I like comedy. But I also like documentaries. I like to learn new things, but sometimes I just want to laugh. I want to see my life on television because that shit is funny, depressing, thought provoking, and anything but wholesome. Okay, so maybe not my life exactly, but something like it.
Even that is a post unto itself-the absence of Latina(o)s in the media-you know real ones with multidimensional personalities who struggle with more than just what to do when you're making rice and beans and realize you have no Sazon-THE HORROR!!! What about a show that focuses on a Latina trying to balance family and a career--with the Latina as the central character-not the supportive co-star who shines as the flawless matriarch who in the end knows how to 'put family first' or the spitfire who decides family and career are incapable of being intertwined and forgoes the former or the funny girl who's everyone's friend and secretly waits for the responsible, yet seductive man to make her feel whole (even if it means putting up with his infidelities). I guess realistically I know women like that, but I know a HELL of a lot more who aren't. Women who want to discuss sexuality with their daughters so that they're not duped into thinking sex is for men by women. Women who want to question policies in their workplace that obviously favor whites or men in general for that matter. Women who want to make noise and have their voices heard and be called bitches because after all, in our world, that seems to be the ultimate compliment.
BITCH= A woman who is assertive, strong, and unrelenting
BITCH= Woman unwilling to compromise on her principles
BITCH= Woman willing to call a spade a spade, an asshole an asshole, and a racist a racist
BITCH= Woman dedicated to defining-not being defined
I say all this after watching the season premiere of America's Next Top Model, re runs of Top Chef, and the new Kitchen Nightmares (on Fox with the guy from Hell's Kitchen). I say this after realizing that I probably lost very important brain cells in the process. I say this as I'm about to head back towards the TV because in the final days of labor-there's just not a whole heck of a lot to do. I say this as I hope (pray, plead, you pick) that in the LEAST, there's something funny on the tube that doesn't necessarily insult whole groups of people for the sake of cheap laughs--talk about setting low standards...
*sigh*
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Facing the boogeyman
Today is my first day of unemployment-in some ways a blessing, in other ways a soon to be burden. I'm going to enjoy daytime TV again (because I've missed a whole lot these past few years), but in what I'll call two and a half paychecks a.k.a. a month or so, I will wonder whether it is worth it to keep my cable on.
It wouldn't feel so bad if I were on maternity leave
It wouldn't feel so bad if I were coming back to my old position in December
or a new one
that pays more
and garners slightly (just slightly) more respect ;-)
It wouldn't feel so bad if my old Exec. Director didn't create a new job for a white, male colleague of mine
who's been at my job...maybe 4 months...
whose day to day responsibilities are less than mine...
who has no proven experience in the area he will now enter...
THE BOSS says that my friend,
"seems to get along with everyone, is a schmoozer, reminds me of myself as a young man, and is basically charming as fuck". He was disappointed that he hadn't gotten to know him better in his time here (4 whole months maaaaaaaybe)-I guess my boss forgot that he doesn't know me either.
After all, I've only been there for over a year (15 months to be exact). I'm only one of two Latino(a) people in the organization. I only have breasts and a vagina (nice breasts too, but even that doesn't count). I can count the amount of times I've talked to the Head Honcho and the majority of them were during pregnancy and about? You guessed it-pregnancy. Because otherwise what would we talk about? The work that I do? What I want from my career? What I could provide our organization? Nonsense-I'm a pregnant Puerto Rican female...
with a master's degree at 23
who has worked since twelve (unofficially) and officially since 15
and was the first in her family to graduate from high school let alone graduate from undergrad and graduate school
*Tooot fucking Toooot* Yeah that's my horn-I toot it myself for all the white men who'll never toot it
who won't know I have a horn
let alone how nice it really is
who won't ask
and won't care
but will promote men "just like them" who are factually less qualified than I am for positions
I spoke to Jrnywmn and TS about this and initially didn't blame my friend for taking a more lucrative position he KNEW he wasn't qualified for (how do I know he knew? because he came in to talk to me to discuss why this promotion made no sense and how he didn't understand where it was coming from). Now, I do blame him. Because being complacent in unjust actions is wrong-Deep down inside one has to know there is something fishy going on when of all people, the one young white male who just started working in an organization (his first office job ever mind you) gets the promotion of a lifetime over any other woman (young and old), any other male (minority), and older staff. One might argue he would provide a fresh perspective-I would argue bullshit. What makes a perspective fresh? Under 6 months of experience? White male existence-because we know that's universal...
Hell, I also blame myself for not being more direct with my 'friend', but the truth is I've never stared white male privilege in the face like that before. It's like the boogey man, el Cuco, the thing you swear you can hear while you're sleeping in the dark, but can't honestly say you've ever seen.
and I'm angry
I'm disappointed
I'm hurt
I'm embarrassed
Because I don't want his job, it's not my interest per se-yet there is no way the Head Honcho would have known that. So he just didn't ask, didn't offer, didn't care and instead possibly set off a new current-a new trajectory for a young man who is nice enough, but doesn't deserve the big break yet.
I guess at least I won't miss the hypocritical emails about how "our organization" is dedicated to diversity and finding ways to increase it. I think we can continue to promote the 4/5 minorities we have (less than 10% of staff) into various positions after yearssssssss of stellar performance of course (much more than 4 months). We can create research groups to analyze, research, and study how race, ethnicity, and gender impact "our work" (this currently exists). And we can track the demographics of our applicants to make sure we're being 'fair' when we hire the white guy or the white woman instead of the ethnic other. But we'll continue to miss analyzing ourselves
our staff
our hierarchy
our leadership
those with the most power
who create the most harm
and don't even notice it in the process
Some call it reality
I say
You can keep that shit...
It wouldn't feel so bad if I were on maternity leave
It wouldn't feel so bad if I were coming back to my old position in December
or a new one
that pays more
and garners slightly (just slightly) more respect ;-)
It wouldn't feel so bad if my old Exec. Director didn't create a new job for a white, male colleague of mine
who's been at my job...maybe 4 months...
whose day to day responsibilities are less than mine...
who has no proven experience in the area he will now enter...
THE BOSS says that my friend,
"seems to get along with everyone, is a schmoozer, reminds me of myself as a young man, and is basically charming as fuck". He was disappointed that he hadn't gotten to know him better in his time here (4 whole months maaaaaaaybe)-I guess my boss forgot that he doesn't know me either.
After all, I've only been there for over a year (15 months to be exact). I'm only one of two Latino(a) people in the organization. I only have breasts and a vagina (nice breasts too, but even that doesn't count). I can count the amount of times I've talked to the Head Honcho and the majority of them were during pregnancy and about? You guessed it-pregnancy. Because otherwise what would we talk about? The work that I do? What I want from my career? What I could provide our organization? Nonsense-I'm a pregnant Puerto Rican female...
with a master's degree at 23
who has worked since twelve (unofficially) and officially since 15
and was the first in her family to graduate from high school let alone graduate from undergrad and graduate school
*Tooot fucking Toooot* Yeah that's my horn-I toot it myself for all the white men who'll never toot it
who won't know I have a horn
let alone how nice it really is
who won't ask
and won't care
but will promote men "just like them" who are factually less qualified than I am for positions
I spoke to Jrnywmn and TS about this and initially didn't blame my friend for taking a more lucrative position he KNEW he wasn't qualified for (how do I know he knew? because he came in to talk to me to discuss why this promotion made no sense and how he didn't understand where it was coming from). Now, I do blame him. Because being complacent in unjust actions is wrong-Deep down inside one has to know there is something fishy going on when of all people, the one young white male who just started working in an organization (his first office job ever mind you) gets the promotion of a lifetime over any other woman (young and old), any other male (minority), and older staff. One might argue he would provide a fresh perspective-I would argue bullshit. What makes a perspective fresh? Under 6 months of experience? White male existence-because we know that's universal...
Hell, I also blame myself for not being more direct with my 'friend', but the truth is I've never stared white male privilege in the face like that before. It's like the boogey man, el Cuco, the thing you swear you can hear while you're sleeping in the dark, but can't honestly say you've ever seen.
and I'm angry
I'm disappointed
I'm hurt
I'm embarrassed
Because I don't want his job, it's not my interest per se-yet there is no way the Head Honcho would have known that. So he just didn't ask, didn't offer, didn't care and instead possibly set off a new current-a new trajectory for a young man who is nice enough, but doesn't deserve the big break yet.
I guess at least I won't miss the hypocritical emails about how "our organization" is dedicated to diversity and finding ways to increase it. I think we can continue to promote the 4/5 minorities we have (less than 10% of staff) into various positions after yearssssssss of stellar performance of course (much more than 4 months). We can create research groups to analyze, research, and study how race, ethnicity, and gender impact "our work" (this currently exists). And we can track the demographics of our applicants to make sure we're being 'fair' when we hire the white guy or the white woman instead of the ethnic other. But we'll continue to miss analyzing ourselves
our staff
our hierarchy
our leadership
those with the most power
who create the most harm
and don't even notice it in the process
Some call it reality
I say
You can keep that shit...
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Because this can't be stressed nearly enough...
Yeah...5 weeks...not like i'm freaking out or anything or experiencing all sorts of weird and uncomfortable end of pregnancy symptoms...or extremely tired all the time yet trying to work crazy hard to horde (sp?) as much money as possible to survive during my unpaid maternity leave months...yeah unpaid because I only work 'part time' even when i work full time...because no one cares about young mothers...or old mothers...or mothers in general for that matter. Toss a dog a bone here-can't I get a subsidy? Promise to come back and sell you my soul for x amount of months/years in order to get a little money beforehand and if I don't do it you can nail my ass to the wall or my vagina for that matter, because I really wonder if it will ever work the same again...hope, but still wonder...
boy do i need to go to sleep, I think I know what TS was talking about when she decided against post midnight blogging, but that kind of felt good and I see why people do it...Later bloggers!
Monday, July 16, 2007
Corners
There's something about Harlem that drives me absolutely crazy
Not the cool air that moves through you if you step outside after sunset
Not the soul music that reminds you of an older generation unwilling to leave
Not the laughter from teenagers negotiating sex, love, and hip hop(or is it just sex?)
Not the bouncing of basketballs by young men just trying to survive and forget life's realities
Probably instead, it's a gentrification that just won't quit
Doesn't give a shit
Can't be bothered at all
Poverty just a corner away from comfortable wealth
Tree lined streets of brownstones
A hop, skip, and a jump from disabled homeless men sleeping on the street
Cute little trees and 'true diversity'
Professionals in various skin colors with the deep pockets to rent or buy
Old timers and natives need not apply
Garbage that flies around in the wind
Sticks to your ankles when you wear a dress
But never, never, never
Makes it around the corner
Somehow knows it's not wanted
Just like the homeless, disabled, drug addicted, and/or prostitutes
Who never, never, never
Make it around the corner
Somehow knowing where they're not wanted
Sometimes I think I'll scream
Tantrum and Fling
The nearest garbage can through a nice shiny window
Knock on the door of a renovated brownstone
And tell the occupants they're doing no one any favors
Reveal the secret inadvertently of course
That I am one of them
"Blessing" Harlem with my presence
A middle class social worker
Who's Latina at least, does that not count for something?
As I pay a rent that eliminates the possibility of that 'other' Latina living here
The one walking into the projects
Around the corner
With two kids, maybe one kid too many
Who isn't allowed to dream she can live in my apartment
We can both walk down the main street
Avoiding garbage
That never, never, never turns the corner
We can hold our breath as we pass the homeless men who have been lying in the sweltering heat
We can avoid the gaze of the police officer who's doing his best to keep 'us' safe from our own
We can pray for a neighborhood that makes sense
Instead of what exists
We can do and say as we please for as long as we want
But then we'll turn our respective corners
And realize that we live in two different Harlems
And the cool air
The soul music
The laughter
The basketballs
Can't make it around every corner
Not the cool air that moves through you if you step outside after sunset
Not the soul music that reminds you of an older generation unwilling to leave
Not the laughter from teenagers negotiating sex, love, and hip hop(or is it just sex?)
Not the bouncing of basketballs by young men just trying to survive and forget life's realities
Probably instead, it's a gentrification that just won't quit
Doesn't give a shit
Can't be bothered at all
Poverty just a corner away from comfortable wealth
Tree lined streets of brownstones
A hop, skip, and a jump from disabled homeless men sleeping on the street
Cute little trees and 'true diversity'
Professionals in various skin colors with the deep pockets to rent or buy
Old timers and natives need not apply
Garbage that flies around in the wind
Sticks to your ankles when you wear a dress
But never, never, never
Makes it around the corner
Somehow knows it's not wanted
Just like the homeless, disabled, drug addicted, and/or prostitutes
Who never, never, never
Make it around the corner
Somehow knowing where they're not wanted
Sometimes I think I'll scream
Tantrum and Fling
The nearest garbage can through a nice shiny window
Knock on the door of a renovated brownstone
And tell the occupants they're doing no one any favors
Reveal the secret inadvertently of course
That I am one of them
"Blessing" Harlem with my presence
A middle class social worker
Who's Latina at least, does that not count for something?
As I pay a rent that eliminates the possibility of that 'other' Latina living here
The one walking into the projects
Around the corner
With two kids, maybe one kid too many
Who isn't allowed to dream she can live in my apartment
We can both walk down the main street
Avoiding garbage
That never, never, never turns the corner
We can hold our breath as we pass the homeless men who have been lying in the sweltering heat
We can avoid the gaze of the police officer who's doing his best to keep 'us' safe from our own
We can pray for a neighborhood that makes sense
Instead of what exists
We can do and say as we please for as long as we want
But then we'll turn our respective corners
And realize that we live in two different Harlems
And the cool air
The soul music
The laughter
The basketballs
Can't make it around every corner
Sunday, July 15, 2007
"You can't disappoint me because I don't love you"
Such a simple, direct pronouncement by one of the main characters in We Were the Mulvaneys (Joyce Carol Oates, 1996) and the character,
Unfortunately, I can say now from experience that it's not true. People that you don't love can disappoint you and I don't know that it will always hurt less than disappointment from someone you love. Perhaps there's more patience when someone you love does it, yes maybe the initial anger and sadness is stronger, but eventually you let it go because you love them. Not so much for someone you don't love. In my last post, I talked about trying to create a relationship with my real father (aka the sperm donor). I've promised myself that I wouldn't push too hard, I would let it ebb and flow any way it wants. So i've called a couple of times and he's called a couple of times. Not too shabby I'd say. Anyway, my birthday was this past Friday (yes I'm officially 23 and hotter than ever as one guy said to me today, "You are a beautiful pregnant woman, you sure are." I knew that already but random reassurance is nice sometimes lol)...ANYWAY, getting back to the point, my "F" called the Thursday before and said, "I know your birthday is tomorrow and I was thinking maybe we can get together on Sunday before I go to work". I was not expecting the call or the invitation, but I received both happily. We agreed to meet Sunday around 6 or 7 in
And more than stood up, i got disappointed and I don't love him. I got disappointed and not in a way that happens when your friend cancels plans at the last minute, but disappointed in the way that happens when you tried to pretend that you didn't care about said 'date', yet went to do your eyebrows and got your hair done, and even put on a new outfit, why??? Because it did mean that much, because part of you was willing to take all anxiety and suck it up to face your 'maker' (not to be confused with your Maker-spiritual being who created you lol), because no matter what would have been said on that date, you wanted him to walk away thinking "she is amazing and I suck for having missed out on her life all these years". Because you can pretend that you don't care that he was around, but you did, even if it was just a little, because it left confusion in your heart and mind that you didn't even talk to anyone about for YEARS. Because you wonder...every so once in a while...what life would have been like with him-good, bad, ugly or indifferent.
In his defense, he finally called around
and I don't even love him.
P.S.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Late night thoughts
I have a midterm due tomorrow, perhaps, the last midterm I'll ever have to write, hand in, and forget about. I say perhaps because I plan to get a doctorate degree one day (at this point far, far away-i'm glad to be done with grad school at the end of the month) and i'm not sure how that works exactly. Call me a proud first generation higher education consumer...
Anyway, the real problem is I can't write it-I want to because I'm actually interested in the class and I enjoy the topic. Every class meeting, I enjoy the discussions, new information, challenging questions, so on and so forth...but as I sit in front of the computer, I'm blanking out. I don't want to do it, I don't care to do it, but I also get this obnoxious anxiety that I can't. A good friend of mine (and seasoned mom of two) says that pregnancy can affect concentration, memory, etc. and it's nice to know I'm not just losing my normally intelligent mind permanently, but...Sometimes it just feels like so much, pregnancy, everything feels like so much. This morning I cried in the shower because my back hurt so much and my boyfriend is usually really good at massages, but he was asleep and I was just so angry that he was asleep and angry that my back hurt and any other emotion that could have piled on just did.
Frustration
Anxiety
Anger
Hurt
One on top of the other and I just cried and lied in the warm bath touching my stomach wanting to scream and tantrum and whatever else...
and my baby moved
over and over again
and I cried some more
because it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever experienced
And i guess part of me felt guilty for being tired of being pregnant, but I think I also felt like my little man (it's a boy) wanted me to know that it's okay to be tired, it's okay to cry, and that it'll be worth it soon (very soon if you notice my pregnancy ticker from the previous post). And the truth is, I'm still scared, and I'm still frustrated sometimes, and when my back doesn't hurt it's my legs or my feet, but I'm going to be a mom to a real live boy who will have feelings, and thoughts, and desires and shit that makes the crying a little more bearable and the midterm feel like the least of my worries...
Anyway, the real problem is I can't write it-I want to because I'm actually interested in the class and I enjoy the topic. Every class meeting, I enjoy the discussions, new information, challenging questions, so on and so forth...but as I sit in front of the computer, I'm blanking out. I don't want to do it, I don't care to do it, but I also get this obnoxious anxiety that I can't. A good friend of mine (and seasoned mom of two) says that pregnancy can affect concentration, memory, etc. and it's nice to know I'm not just losing my normally intelligent mind permanently, but...Sometimes it just feels like so much, pregnancy, everything feels like so much. This morning I cried in the shower because my back hurt so much and my boyfriend is usually really good at massages, but he was asleep and I was just so angry that he was asleep and angry that my back hurt and any other emotion that could have piled on just did.
Frustration
Anxiety
Anger
Hurt
One on top of the other and I just cried and lied in the warm bath touching my stomach wanting to scream and tantrum and whatever else...
and my baby moved
over and over again
and I cried some more
because it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever experienced
And i guess part of me felt guilty for being tired of being pregnant, but I think I also felt like my little man (it's a boy) wanted me to know that it's okay to be tired, it's okay to cry, and that it'll be worth it soon (very soon if you notice my pregnancy ticker from the previous post). And the truth is, I'm still scared, and I'm still frustrated sometimes, and when my back doesn't hurt it's my legs or my feet, but I'm going to be a mom to a real live boy who will have feelings, and thoughts, and desires and shit that makes the crying a little more bearable and the midterm feel like the least of my worries...
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
I guess it was only a matter of time
before someone said, "if it wasn't for your situation, you'd be perfect for this job". By situation, he means pregnancy, by perfect he means...not pregnant, by he i mean late middle age, white, wealthy man who has never feared missing an opportunity because of maternity leave. Based on technicalities, I can't say he's wrong, it is hard to begin a job and then leave one for a couple of months, but I really, really, really didn't want to have anyone say anything remotely close to "you can't have this job because you're pregnant", especially when he says afterwards, "i mean, it has nothing to do with anything substantive because I've only heard excellent things about you" (in my part time work for the organization he means). I don't regret getting pregnant, i'm actually quite excited, and a little more focused than usual interestingly enough, but I guess as all (or most) first time mothers, I just didn't anticipate certain things. Maybe my timing wasn't as good as I had initially thought, but I didn't want to just start a job and then get pregnant and I didn't want to wait two more years or something, so as Katt Williams would say, "I made a pimp decision".
But honestly i feel stuck between a rock and a hard place, my current part time job was really only a contract position scheduled to end July 1st, which would have been perfect if not for my, what did he call it? Situation. Yeah. And my boss would like me to stay on for another year, but there has to be funding (which may or may not exist) and the truth is i'm not so sure it's what i want to do for another year and i don't want to settle just because i have a child. Children don't cripple your career trajectory, they just force you to be quite the salesman, convincing people you are worth a certain position, salary, rain showers of praise, etc. But i'm a social worker, not a salesman, and sometimes i'm tired of the pitch...
But honestly i feel stuck between a rock and a hard place, my current part time job was really only a contract position scheduled to end July 1st, which would have been perfect if not for my, what did he call it? Situation. Yeah. And my boss would like me to stay on for another year, but there has to be funding (which may or may not exist) and the truth is i'm not so sure it's what i want to do for another year and i don't want to settle just because i have a child. Children don't cripple your career trajectory, they just force you to be quite the salesman, convincing people you are worth a certain position, salary, rain showers of praise, etc. But i'm a social worker, not a salesman, and sometimes i'm tired of the pitch...
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