Little girls in grown up bodies

I moved in with my mom. That meant moving in with my sister, too. I don't like my sister. She's selfish, spoiled and very immature. Just talking to her is a challenge. Even the most benign conversations turn into arguments. Why? Hellifiknow. She's very, very bossy and ignorant at the same time. I hate having her around my son. It's just hard.

When we were smaller, we were friends. Then we were on and off again as teenagers, depending on the hormone level. Then, for a minute there, we were friends again. But the person she has decided to be is just intolerable. I keep making excuses for her. She's not used to change. She's still getting used to us living here and is behaving in response to that. But she's almost 30 years old. It makes no sense that she's still behaving like an upset teenager. I honestly wonder if she has Aspberger's Syndrome - she's that resistant to change and becomes that angry when you tell her no. We have the same argument every other week. The food I cook on Sunday night is for my child. No, you can't have any. Yes, it is fair. You are a grown woman, you can make your own food. He's a toddler, he can't. No, it's not selfish for me to prepare food only for my son. He's a toddler. He needs to eat. I don't have time to cook during the week so I cook it all on Sunday night. No, you can't have any. I can't understand why she can't understand that. She can't understand why she can't get what she wants.

My son eats a banana every third day. In any given week, we may eat 3 bananas between the two of us. Little sis eats 3 in a sitting. She's incensed that she has to buy bunches of bananas every week. "It's time for someone else to buy bananas." Responds Mom, "I just bought $8 worth of bananas." They were $.49 a pound. That's a lot of bananas. She ate 6 a day. "Not you, the other someone else." Why? Because you feel the need to have someone take care of your needs? If your pocketbook can't support the outrageous amount of food you eat, that's not my problem.

She has a sense of entitlement that I cannot begin to understand. It would make perfect sense for a 15 year old. But once you're over 25, it's nonsense. On the outside, she's grown. But...internally...not so much.

Race, Religion and Family

Loaded. So completely loaded. But by necessity.
I'm Black.
I'm an Ordained Elder, a Christian, a preacher.
And I'm a single mom by choice.
All meshed together.
Sometimes I wonder what comes first: my family? my religion? my race?
It's not just theoretical. Very practical.
With no sleep and a tired, cranky child with a tired, cranky mom on a Sunday morning, do we go to church?
A blue eyed, ever-blonding baby on my hip - do I leave his hair loose and curly or lock it up? If I lock it, is it an attempt to prove his Blackness? To somehow cover up his identity?
Oh shit! I'm a Black single mom!

That one hit me early. I'm a statistic. Hell, now that I'm unemployed and have bill collectors looming, I really am a statistic.
Rev. Single Mom.
One guy actually called me that.
I think he thought he was flirting. But he had (at least) 2 problems: 1) That ain't cute. 2) He wasn't either.
Rev. Single Mom.

And, yet, here I am, up at midnight for a month contemplating just what I want to do.
Race is inherent, ingrained by societal labels based on the shade of my skin.
So they say.
But my child is beyond light, bright... he might as well be white. And he's a little Black boy.
So, is race just skin deep?
I'll have to remember to ask the scholars.
Religion can be changed.
Family, too.
Those are my stress spots.
My God! I love my God!
I am a theologian afterall. If all else fails, theorize about God.
That's my mantra.
The thought has occured to me on more than one occassion that it may be time for a change.
When I had a newborn and was trying hard to look presentable as I left the house, I envied Muslim women.
Then I got over the need to look presentable. And wondered why the hell anyone cared what I put on my body.
I figured out how to wear the Hijab.
Woulda worn it outside, too, except my child thinks it's a sheet. And sheets are, thanks to Gramma, toys. Kinda hard to do the Hijab thing when you have a giggling child crawling behind you pulling it off with every step.
But still.
Change is thick in the air.

My desire for number 2 is no secret. I want Salahaldin to have siblings. Money. Health care. Job. Obstacles.

Change is thick in the air.

Every religion has its issues.
Precisely because every religion has its leaders.
And as much as Revelation is central to my theology, the Resurrection is the heart of my faith.
Otherwise, I'd figure out how to teach my kid to leave my hijab in place.