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.

And then there's home....

We moved home. Back to Denver. Not into my mother's home. But home.
No job. No income. Home. Friends... rather "friends". Home.
We've been here 4, almost 5, months. And I've learned a bit.
1) Not every friend is a confidant.
2) Not every single mom is a fan of single moms.
3) Not every blood relation is worth the relation.

So, we're home. And that's about it. It's a different feel from New Jersey. But it's still quite foreign. But home, nonetheless.


Salahaldin crawled. Now he's working on walking. Somewhere along the way, my precious child became addicted to Cheerios. We keep a permanent "Cheerio Island" beneath his highchair. :( As soon as I get it cleaned, it's back again. And, since we have a "no floor-food" rule, the only way to get rid of it is to vacuum. Dog not withstanding. I've always hated Cheerios. They way they look when they get wet and then dry out is creepy. And they stink. So my child's addiction has me flabbergasted. He doesn't get that from his momma. Must be the donor! But, he eats just about anything, really. Tonight he's having asparagus. He loves it. He doesn't get that from me, either.

He'll be 11 months old this week. And I've learned. Single motherhood, especially by choice, is an act of faith. Rather, it is a lifestyle of faith. And a lifestyle of humility. Perhaps motherhood in general follows the same rules. I don't know. I just know that the blind trust and faith it takes to conceive, carry, labor, deliver, teach, rear and raise a child all on your own is monumental. Sometimes I laugh at my pre-mom self's insistence that I knew how my child would be raised. This comes, especially, after the frantic Google'ing of how to handle each stage of his development. The constant self-doubt is nerve wrecking. But the faith that, somehow, this child will turn out right - despite his mom - keeps me going. The humility to ask other parents advice, to request assistance when needed was all new to me. I used to say, "You know everything until you turn 30 or have a child. That's when you realize how little you really know." I wasn't wrong.

So, this is a journey of faith; an ever changing, dynamic journey.

Dealing with Folx.

People who have no intention of actually helping just should not offer to help.

I'm steaming right now about so much: Nadya Suleman and these Angels in Waiting scam artists, my own life, etc. It seems to me that so many people who offer to assist are doing so with very malevolent intentions or, at best, with a multitude of pre-conditions. "I'll help you, but" does not, to me, translate into real help. First, let's examine this whole Nadya Suleman thing.

A single mother with 6 kids who is very clearly pro-life, refuses to destroy her frozen embryos, choosing instead to have them implanted. Oops. All 6 of them took. Uh oh! 2 split. 6+8=14. The problem? Well, you see, she's single, a student who lives with her mom. Then they go and interview her. Right after she's released from the hospital, right after she gives birth, even though her babies are still in the hospital. Yeah. Who in the world would be lucid at that point? I was in the hospital for 4 days after giving birth to my 1 child, who came home with me. If you had interviewed me within the three days after I came home I assure you I woulda sounded completely insane: 1) My mom and sister hated me and were trying to kill me by starvation. 2) My child looked like Mr. Magoo and was, therefore, blind (didn't help that he wouldn't open his eyes!). 3) I was in excruciating pain, refused to take any painkillers (because I could do this!), couldn't figure out how to nurse, refused my mom's help (because I should be able to do this!), insisted that my son would sleep in the Arms Reach, even though I couldn't sit up or bend over to put him in or get him out of it...refused my mom's help (because if I can't do this, I'm not a mom). 4) I was convinced (really, until my child was 4 months or so) that everyone who saw him wanted to take him, including my Mom and Sister who were IN MY HOUSE at the time. Imagine what that would've looked like on the Today show! Anyway, back to Ms. Suleman.... after she's interviewed postpartum, and everyone decides she's mentally ill, the declarations of judgment pour out of people's (and mostly people who, for the most part, think just like her; you're pro-life, what should she have done with those embryos?) hearts and mouths. Then come the offers for "help". Gloria Allred and Linda Conforti offer Ms. Suleman and her family a home with round the clock nursing care. Sounds GREAT, right? Except that the day before that offer, Allred filed a claim with Cali's CPS to do an investigation and take Suleman's children from her. And, well, there's the whole, "Linda Conforti is a Foster Care provider cloaked in the guise of a charity" thing. See this blog: http://thehollytree.blogspot.com/2009/02/how-did-gloria-allred-get-involved-with.html. So, it's not really HELP, per se. Is it? It's more like, let us continue to exploit you and your children. More than that: You've got all these kids, you're single. Let us help. Let us take your kids because, as we all know, the best thing for a child is to be taken from their home and put in the hands of the state - carte blanche - and, well, to be honest, that's the only way the taxpayers won't end up paying for their upbringing. Right. Or, more apt: HUH!?

Okay. On to me. I need help. I'm 2000 miles from my closest family member and I'm struggling. I don't try to hide that and I have no problem admitting it. And, up until now, I take all offers of assistance because I NEED HELP. Okay. So, one offer was pretty much, "We'll help but only if you move into a tiny little apartment next door to us otherwise, you're on your own." Because 30mins away is just doing way too much. It's pretty damned amazing to me how people decide what it is a single mother needs and how their version of assistance is actually the best thing for them. I had one offer to help me get child support from my Baby Daddy. One offer to provide me and my Baby Daddy with relationship counseling. RIGHT. I don't HAVE one of those.

But I still need help. Nadya Suleman needs help. If the assistance you're offering to provide is not led by the true needs of the person but you judgmental and arbitrary ignorant assumption, well, shove it.

End of Rant. Going to Pack. I'm moving. Afterall, I need help. What better place to find it than close to family?

Things I Learned From My Son@3months

1. All meals should be interrupted with a brief nap. All naps should be followed by a meal.
2. If you don't like where you're placed, pick up your feet and use your head.
3. In the case of discomfort or pain, make as much noise as possible.
4. Stay in close proximity to those you love, touching them frequently.
5. When moving large burdens, make sure you have the proper leverage.
6. Never miss the opportunity to laugh.
7. Tummy time should happen 2-3 times a day, for 10-15minutes each, never less than 30mins a day.
8. Never miss the opportunity to drool on your mommy.
9. If you can't find the real thing, improvise.
10. Remember, when you're standing on your own two feet, that you're still standing on someone's lap/shoulders.
11. Never let anyone put words in your mouth; always speak up even if your audience won't quite understand you,
12. If you're not sure where you're going, wait to poop until you get there.
13. The best tasting things are often found at home.
14. Always look your toys in the eye.
15. If it sounds strange, stop what you're doing and investigate.
16. Make sure your hands are free at all times.
17. If you're not sure where you are, move your feet!

Everything Must Change

OMG! He's two months old! Time is flying by ever so quickly!
Motherhood is such a challenge. Everyday, every minute is about change - changing diapers, changing clothes, chaning spaces, an ever changing baby, even my own changing body. Funny thing is, I don't deal well with change....

We went to a lecture today. A scholar, with whom I'm merely barely acquainted, was visiting campus so we went to hear her speak of way making, ancestors who are immortal (which is, I will forever maintain, the wrong word for what she's attempting to say but, well, she's stuck in a particular framework that uses that word so...) and "creative transformation". In short, it's all about change. Quite a theme for the day, I think.

Transitioning from thinking, to planning, to trying, to being - the process of Single Motherhood by Choice - is replete with change. I can honestly say I'm not the same person I was when I was a Thinker or a Planner or even a Tryer. But it's on even a smaller level than that. My expectations have changed, my goals have changed, my fears have changed, my hopes have changed. Everything has changed.

That simple truth has caused life to be so difficult right now. I came to New Jersey to get a degree. That's it. A singular goal with 3 parts: Course work, exams, dissertation. I planned 4 years, maximum. I'm in my fourth year now, and everything has changed.
When I got here, I was so focused on my career. I had my career planned, my life planned. I knew how to be successful in the academy. I was focused and motivated. Then it all changed.

At some point I decided that the academy wasn't enough. Now I wonder if the decision I made was more like, "I'm not doing this at all" than "I need a real life". I wonder if I made a choice between family and this degree. I'm clear, to the core of my heart, that I made the right decision, chose the correct option. But I thought I was choosing to have it all. When did that change? Why does it have to change?


I'm trying to get my scholastic ass in gear. I need to propose exams. I need to write one simple paragraph for three different exams. That takes a focus that I just cannot seem to find right now. I blame it on the time issue, but that's not so much the truth. I just find it difficult to focus on violence and neo-orthodoxy and Schleiermacher when I have the most adorable infant I've ever seen. And I'm stressed because of it. Something has to change.
For the first time... well, in the last few years, I asked myself if or not I actually want to finish this degree. I don't really think I have any passion for it anymore. It's more of a way to make sure my child is fed. And that about it. I don't know if this is something you can do if you're not passionate about it. Did I choose a family in lieu of a career? Is that old axiom true? Can you really not have it all?
OMFG!
For years and years, women have heard that we have to choose between family and a career. I refuse to make that choice. At least I thought I did. But, by choosing single motherhood, did I, in fact, make a de facto choice?

Pitocin, Gray Eyes and Orange Poop

He's here! Finally!
Okay, I'm about a week behind. It's hard remembering to blog when you have a brand new baby!
My son was born on Friday, Aug. 22, 2008.

Here's my labor tale:
I went into labor at 2:30a. I thought I just had to pee. But once I stood up and made it to the bathroom... the contractions were 5 minutes apart. I never did get the luxury of contractions that were 20 minutes apart or irregular. Nope. I started at 5 minutes. I timed em, wrote down the times, etc. After a while, I had to pee again. I was bleeding. So, I called all my people. Once my doctor called me back, and gave me the go ahead, I called for an ambulance. They transfered me to the paramedics who told me to put some socks on and lay on my left side. Before I could do that, the police showed up. Two cops, four amblance people and two paramedics later, I - and all my stuff - was loaded into the ambulance. I got to the hospital about 4am. I wasn't dilated at all. My contractions were 6 minutes apart. They gave me an hour to progress or they'd send me home. After an hour, I was 1cm! Woo hoo! They admitted me. An hour later, I was STILL only 1cm with contractions 5-6min apart. My doc decided to augment my labor with petocin. I decided to get drugs; nubain to be exact. My Mom and Sis were MIA - I found out later their flight was delayed - and my breathing coach was trapped in traffic. It was just me and my videographer. We walked, chatted, laughed. Then the pain got worse.
Eventually, my entourage showed up. By then, the pain was almost unbearable. I had dialted to all of 2cm. I tried to walk. That wasn't happening. I wanted real drugs. I got an epidural. There is no more awkward feeling in the world than to have half of your body numbed beyond movement. By 5pm, I was only 3cm dilated and his heart rate was going down with every contraction. I had a c-section. Awkward legs turned into painful, painful, burning legs. I was miserable! And that was WITH the anesthesia! The section itself felt like someone pulling at my stomach. Then this marvelous little person was screaming. They showed him to me from across the room. I cried and cried. Then I got a headache and my heart rate soared. That's all I remember until recovery.


My little precious has the deepest, most beautiful little gray eyes. Looking into them brings so much peace and joy. He means the world to me. He was a bit jaundiced at first, but his color is slowly turning. Everyday is a different journey. My emotions, his growth... everything is brand new... CONSTANTLY. Radical Orthodoxites would cringe. Constant newness is the heart of modernity. But that's never here nor there.

Time for a shower!!

Big Girls Don't Cry. We weep.

36 weeks, 2 days.

That's how long they claim I've been pregnant.

38 weeks, 5 days.

That's how long I've been praying for and crying over my baby.

66 weeks.

That's how long I've been planning for this child.

312 weeks... 6 long years.

That's how long I've been begging God for motherhood.

They say you measure a year in love. But how do you measure love?

Today, we had our final ultrasound. My darling still-growing infant and I woke up sooner than either of us wanted, and almost made it on time to the appointment. We got there just as he decided it was time to brace against my ribs and push downward. That hurts. He's long, but we knew that. He's not as heavy as we expected. That's news. His kidneys. Well. Big girls do weep. My little boy's kidneys are still overly full, overly dialated, not working properly at all. And he, my love, is crammed into my abdomen on his way out. Nothing's ideal.

What I didn't expect, in becoming a single mom, is how people would respond to me ... scratch that, how male mechanics would respond to me. My truck needs a battery. One attempted to talk me into an alternator... $200 more than a battery. The next into an alternator AND a battery... add $300 to that last one. I get it. I'm a chick. I'm not supposed to know anything about cars. And I don't. But I do know that I need a battery. That's all I'm willing to pay for. So I drove around town for 3 hours trying to find someone who would be willing to do that which I requested: GIVE ME A BATTERY! Still didn't find it. Still need a battery.

There are still so many things I need to do to prepare for the birth of my child. Papers to write. Art to paint. Clothes to wash. Classes to attend. Furniture to move. Anxiety to release.

I want my son.

I want my dad.

The latter is gone; I can only long for his presence and mourn in his absence.

The former... Patience, apparently, is a requirement.

So... here I am. I'm constantly reminding me that I'm about to be someone's mother. I'm constantly reminding me that I'm a big girl. And moms and big girls have one thing in common: We don't cry. So what happens when we're overwhelmed? What happens when we have those types of days that Mama said would exist? What do we do then? What do we do when our backbones just aren't strong enough to carry the weight? What do we do when our minds just are fast enough to come up with the answers? What do we do when our resource for our faith, the source of our hope, is ignoring us? If we don't weep, what on earth do we do? What are our options?

I guess we weep.