As a child I was very concerned with other people. I still am.  I see the same trait in Isaiah and it freaks me out. I tend to take up my grandmother’s mentality as my own: “I am happy as long as those I love are happy.”  She taught me that you just take care of people, and therein lies the will of God. I think she is right about that. There is something good about seeking to meet the needs of others. This has meant many years of asking others what they want/need and working very hard to make that happen for them. I don’t do this begrudgingly… I truly find contentment in helping other people get what they need.  Just like anything other life maxim, though, this has to be tempered with balance.  Balancing this characteristic hasn’t been something I am good at. It has created a really uncomfortable trait in me. It is the same trait my grandma has too. She will make a plate  for everyone and forget to eat, buy other’s new clothes and ignore the holes in her own, and things of that sort.  I have watched as my grandmother was exploited by folks who didn’t mind taking from her, but wouldn’t pour into her- and, today, I have to safeguard myself from those same kinds of people.

So when it came time to figure out this whole home birth system I had to come to a rock and a hard place. With the medical model of birth you just do what hospital protocol is or what the doctor wants. Although you can make choices on if you receive drugs or not and things like that, you are still put through a system… when I signed up for home birth I found that  my midwife and her apprentice started asking me nonsense: “Jasmine- what do you want to make you comfortable…” I swear I answered, “whatever is easiest for you.” She chuffed at me and calmly patted my hand. She explained, “Jasmine. This is ALL about you. Every moment is about what is happening to your body and what you need to facilitate that.” Can I admit that it freaks me the hell out that something is ALL about me? I am not OK with that. Lets talk about YOUR problems, what YOU need, how YOU are doing. My best friends have annoying habits of asking me what I need from them and I rarely have answers. “Uhhhh? Friendship? Make me goulash? I dunno!” Like my grandma, IF I answer their questions I have to admit that I NEED something. This translates into I need other people and can’t do it all by myself! But who has time to admit that! Certainly not ME!

Garrett and I sat down and thought about what we wanted (with the most weight going to what I wanted) and made a game plan. During this time of planning I’ve had to chant to myself, “I will not feel bad about wanting things my way, I will not feel bad about wanting things my way, it is okay that this is about me, it is ok that this is about me.” I don’t know if I will get used to this fact. I don’t know if I will ever get to the point where I can unabashedly proclaim, “Stick sucka! I am doing things how IIIIIIII want them, forget how you feel…” Because the truth is, I care about how people feel (a little too much sometimes), and frequently when I do what I want I second guess myself for weeks afterward. I do the whole, “geez Jasmine, you are selfish and bratty” lecture in my head. But  this home birth experience is teaching me how to take care of my personal needs, how to fill myself emotionally so I can better give to others (like Isaiah and Garrett) without being totally drained, and how to receive love and care without feeling guilt.

Pssh! And I thought I was  JUST signing up to have my baby at home *guffaw* things are NEVER that simple in my world!

Over at home… I am pretty much just complaining about life. We all have those days, don’t we?

The other day I got a call from a friend. She said, “Hey Jasmine, I have a confession for your Bad Mommy Monday. You ready? Here you go….”

I braced myself and she continued, ” You are a bad mommy when you tell your kids NOT to open the package that is coming in the mail today because it is a Christmas present….when it is really just your new sex toy!”

I almost dropped the phone and died with laughter. I can’t top that. Ever.

Can you?

Happy Monday Readers!

As a young African American girl I loved Salt N’ Peppa. They were some of the first crossover pop icons that my generation loved. I remembered being in the school yard with my Wonder Bread, childhood, best friends Paige Wheeler, Emma Rippee, and Lauren Champlin. We would go to the farthest end of the field and sing “Shoop”. No one wanted to be Spinderella… she never sang. It was Salt or Peppa. I was the darkest of group, so I would be assigned singing Pep’s part. Emma had shorter hair so she was Salt, and Lauren and Paige would take turns therein.

 Lauren was from a prominent and affluent family in Enid, Emma’s mom was an organic chef, and I don’t remember about Paige. Needless to say, it was a very funny scenario to have this motley of little girls spouting lyrics like, ” here I go/here I go/here I go again/girls what’s my weakness….?” And as I spit the lyrics my three counterparts would scream “MEN!” finishing the line to the song. What did we know about that topic? Nothing! We knew that Zac, a kid in our GT group who was always weird during our French lessons, was a boy and thus he was the enemy.

Years later I think back on how formative music can be. Isaiah’s current favorite song is Dolly Parton’s song “Jolene”. He hops around screaming the lyrics and “raising the roof” although I have informed him that maybe you are just supposed to raise the roof to Kanye West’s songs. But Why? Jay-Z, a rap artists, is famous for saying that rap heals racism.He says that when you love a person’s music, when you find yourself singing it and relating to it, the color of the person’s skin becomes secondary. It is hard to look down on someone you admire because of their skin color. Furthermore, there is no “there’s” and “our” music. Music relates to everyone.

 Lauren, Emma, and Paige had no real concern about the color of Salt N’ Peppa’s skin. They didn’t even connect that the name of this band told something about what these women’s classifications were in the Black community (light skin versus dark skin). The most interesting part of this memory is that though the girls were not worried in the least bit about these women and their “blackness” I was, at every moment thinking and feeling about it. Iassigned myself to the darker singer- because I knew I was different from these girls. In my culture African American children are taught that they are Black. My Grandma Annie Pearl would tell me, “Child! Remember you are Black because those White folks’ll never let you forget it.” From an early age I was taught that I would be considered less… so I should expect, well, less. I have several other races that are prominent in my genetics . My mother is Belgian and Cherokee and my dad was Samoa-American, African- American, and Spanish. My birth certificate says “Black” and nothing else…and my grandma never let me forget it. But my pack of friends never even questioned it. They knew my hair was different, and they marveled that I could fit THAT many beads in my hair, but there was never any line drawn. They never requested to see my birth certificate to authenticate my race before playing with me. In fact, I was the leader of the pack. Racism is taught from both sides. Sometimes, racism is inherited- as it has been in my family. Minorities can be raised in a culture that preemptively tells them to hang their head low (as I was). Dr. Bill Cosby speaks to this point (loosely paraphrased) that, children should be taught their histories, but that their skin color doesn’t determine where they go in life- their sense of self, community, and drive determine that.

I am sure you are wondering what my point is. I don’t know exactly what my point is. Maybe my point is that my son is African American (among a million other things) and these are things I have to think about. I have to consider how I will raise my son. Garrett and I have to decide which direction we will take. We certainly want him to respect his history and identify himself as part of the African American community… but certainly not in the way I was taught. It was taught to me as a handicap that I must endure. I don’t want to go down that path. Isaiah is a creative and beautiful individual and his race is of little importance to his success (to us). So for now, I suppose I will teach my toddler that if he wants to, he can raise the roof to Dolly Patron and line dance to Kanye West songs, because the color of your skin choice of musical selection shouldn’t make a difference.

Jasmine

We are inundated with so much: BUY THIS! GET THAT! IT IS NEW! IT IS IMPROVED!  So I know the last thing you ladies (and gentlemen) need is another blog giving a review of more products… and that isn’t what this is.

When you find something amazing, worth talking about, you are supposed to do just that—talk about it. So here is an, unpaid and unsolicited, review of a great Etsy shop that deserves your attention. I have watched some of these mosaics being constructed and I can say, with confidence, that you get nothing but creativity and quality.

Vanessa Ryerse is a Northwest Arkansas resident who happened upon creating mosaics as a means of channeling her creativity and love for all things forgotten. She is someone whom, from the moment you meet her, strikes you as a being who infuses beauty and creativity in all she does. Her approach comes from a belief that, “too many beautiful things are discarded.” Vanessa has an amazing selection of vintage items as well as handmade mosaics. Please stop by her Etsy Shop and view her selections. You can also find her HERE and HERE

A couple year of years ago I was walking with some friends of mine. We were on this path that was shaded by huge and beautiful trees. The conversations were asinine and I was tuning out; I kept glancing at the way the sun pierced through the emerald and garnet leaves.  Just as we walked by a low hanging branch, a little brown pod caught my eye. It was swaying back and forth. We had slowed our walking pace and I was stunned to see something so small thrash so violently. A small pieces of orange color shot out of the pod. I immediately realized what it was, what was happening, and I tried to communicate. “Look,” I commanded my friends. They attempted to follow my finger and make sense of what I was now only shouting garbled words about, but they failed. I couldn’t form words and they couldn’t understand what astounding thing I was seeing. It was so amazing to see this beautiful butterfly struggle out of her cocoon and alight on the branch next to her. She waved her wings in and out, slowly, to dry them off. None of my friends ever saw the butterfly. They tried. They stood there looking for several minutes trying to figure out what I was “ooooohing” and “awwwwing” about. It was a beautiful moment, between me and that butterfly. The ironic thing was that the butterfly seemed just oblivious as oblivious of us. It seemed to not notice me or how beautiful it was.

Today is Sadie’s birthday. As I looked back at our friendship I am reminded of that day on the walking trail. She is, very much, the butterfly I saw that day. She has overcome great adversity to birth, in herself, something so beautiful and complex that it renders me to only shout garbled words (in an attempt to get the world to notice). Everyone should know or love a Sadie, just as everyone, at least once in their life, should see the miracle of a butterfly being birthed into the world.

Happy Birthday Sadie!!

♥ Jasmine

Some people say don’t knock it before you try it… but I know for me, I don’t want to date over the Internets. Um, what is that? I am married? Well! You know what I mean! If I wasn’t married I’d not want to meet someone over the net. Now… I am not knockin’ it for everyone, but for me… it just creeps me out. I have a few friends that met and fell in love in the virtual world… and by all means, good for them…. but it freaks me out. I am a bit too, “what if it is all a lie…” I am a conspiracy theorists (much like my husband) and I have a hard time not believing that way too much creepy stuff can ensue over meeting via the net. My life has a way of making a joke out of me. A couple of days ago Sadie and I were invited to have dinner with one of our blog readers. Sadie had met her once before, and I had just stalked her blog, and she mine, and so we had never really met ‘in real life.’ So an invitation was extended over the bloggasphere. When I read the invite I was all, “aw that was nice….” Then my eharmony fears crept in and I started to feel like this was a strange chat room experience. We met over the Internet. We fell in love. He secretly makes dolls out of living women. Man! My imagination is wild! Too many made for TV movies!! So tonight was D day… My husband and I got lost on the way to our dinner date’s home. We were horrifically late, we said a couple of curse words during a card game, we giggled at sexually inappropriate “that is what she said…” 

I have to eat crow. I have to, at least partially, retract my statement about creepy internet relationships. I have to say this was one of the most pleasant, laid back,  and sociable dinners I have ever been to all thanks to the Internet. It involved chocolate covered strawberries  and  a beautiful baby…. who can hate on that!? So here is to the Internet. It brings people together who would otherwise never know one another. I can’t say that if G kicks the bucket I am ready to troll the inter-web to find the next lucky bastard… but for now I can say I am bit less skeptical of using the Internets as an avenue for initiating relationships.

Here is to you Internet!!