Finally ... It's Down

The South Carolina capital ... without the Confederate flag.

A little over a month ago, I wrote a blog entry (see "Pardon Our Sensitivity") about the Confederate flag after some recent events that happened in North Carolina.  In that blog, I talked about growing up in South Carolina and how it had been made clear year and year and over and over again that the state government in South Carolina was never going to remove that flag.

A couple weeks after I wrote that blog, there was the shooting at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston.  And days after the shooting, there were renewed pleas and protests in getting the Confederate flag removed from the state capital.  After weeks of heated discussions, several rallies in favor of and in opposition to the flag, and many hours of debate on the state senate and house floors, the flag is down.  It's came down TODAY.

I never thought I would live to see this day.  Never.

But ... I'm glad the day has finally come.

The debate over the removal of this flag has gone on in South Carolina for as long as I can remember.  I never understood the debate because the flag should have NEVER been on the capital grounds in the first place.  For some people, the flag means "heritage".  For others, it means racial oppression.  How in the world could something so divisive be allowed to fly for so long on a state capital when it clearly isn't representative of all the state's people?

While I am happy, grateful, and thankful the flag is not on the state grounds anymore, today's removal is a bittersweet victory.  I'm still saddened that it took nine innocent people getting killed in order for lawmakers in South Carolina to realize the flag needed to go .., something many of us have always known.

Facing Facts - I'm Old

I will be the first to admit that when I turned forty a few years ago, I was all in my feelings about it.  I don't know if I was just going through a mid-life crisis or if I was just thinking too much about all the things I still wanted to do before my time here on Earth was up.  My bucket list was pretty long, and at forty, I had barely scratched its surface.

When I was younger, I was always under the impression that forty was old.  Ancient.  Over-the-hill.  Half-way to the grave.  I remember my Mother having a minor health scare at age forty.  I remember my Grandma Frances telling folks she was 39 my entire life.  I've been doing that, too ... celebrating the anniversaries of my 39th birthday for the past few years.

Well ... I've recently come to a realization.  I AM old.  Surprisingly, though, I'm at peace with it.  I am in good health.  I look good, as I am often told, "I never would have guessed you were THAT old".

Here's how I know that I am old.

1.  I find myself more and more these days starting off sentences to my kids like, "When I was your age, I ..."  My toddler daughter is still too young to care when I say that, but I get big eye rolls and hefty sighs from my son when I do ... probably because he knows he's in for a long story when I say that.

2.  I am a lover of music.  Always have been and always will be.  I find myself dissecting new music I hear on the radio these days and can quickly identify the songs that are sampled in them.  If my son is with me when I do this, I always hit him off with, "Lemme pull up the original song on my iPod."  He hits me back with more eye rolls.
 
3.  ... and speaking of music, some of the stuff that comes on the radio these days?  Straight garbage.  Seriously, anybody can have a hit record now.  No matter the message, if it's got a catchy beat, it's a hit.  If I'm not listening to my iPod or CDs in the car, the radio stays on my local R&B and classic soul station.  I don't even wanna know what a flick of the wrist is or what the hell a trap queen / king is.  Whatever it is / they are, it just sounds stupid.

4.  ... and while we're still talking about music, I know I'm old when I find myself watching music award shows (the Grammys, the AMAs, and especially the BET awards), and I'm on my tablet trying to Google people to figure out who they are and what the heck they are performing.

5.  I remember my grandparents and my parents keeping weekly pill boxes for all their medications.  And what do I use now?

Yeah ... that good ol' weekly pill box.  While I could stand to drop a few pounds, I am in relatively good health.  I am on no doctor-prescribed medications, but I take vitamins and dietary supplements so my body won't break down completely on me.  It's just easier to keep up with them all in a pill box.  So, I bit the bullet and bought one a few years ago.

6.  Just this past weekend, I did something I told myself I would never do.  I knew I was going to be outside for a little while, and ... well ... hot weather and ample breasts don't really go together.  So ... I used baby powder to help cut down on the wetness.  All I could think about as I powdered myself were all the old women (grandmothers, great-aunts, older cousins) who hugged me as a child at reunions and how I would always have baby powder on my shirt after we separated.  I could do nothing but laugh at myself and hope that if I hugged someone that day, I wouldn't leave them the gift of a white spot on their shirt.

7.  My husband and I will be needing to buy a new car in the near future.  While we both are of the same mindset that we will drive our current cars until they just refuse to move anymore, we do recognize that we are in need of another vehicle.  While we aren't actively shopping for a car, we have narrowed our list down to a few vehicles.  One of them is a ... (gulp) ... BUICK.  I swore on a stack of Bibles when I was growing up that there would be two cars I would never, ever buy.  One was an Oldsmobile, and the other was a Buick.  I considered those to be old people cars ... and here I am thinking about buying one.  Wow.

But those Enclaves, though ...

8.  The older I get, the more I sound like my parents.  The sayings I grew up hearing have somehow now made their way into my everyday language.  Just like my Daddy, I tell my son to turn off the lights when he leaves a room because he "ain't paying any light bills 'round here".  My sister and I were good kids most of the time, but on several occasions I remember my Mama saying she wished she could take "a slow boat to China" whenever she needed some down time.  Why does that boat ride sound so nice now?  And did you know that "Slow Boat to China" is a real song?

9.  I find myself thinking of and dreaming about retirement more often these days.  I've been in the workforce now for 20+ years.  I'm tired.  Between my full-time job, my side hustle business, and running around with two active children, I daydream about the time when I can sleep late, take leisurely strolls through my neighborhood or go mall-walking while wearing a fanny pack, and travelling the world.  At my age, I still have about 20 more years before I retire.  That seems so far away.  (sigh)

10.  Do old women still wear pantyhose / stockings / knee highs?  Because if so, then ... yep.  I'm old.

11.  Judging from the looks, side-eyes, and blank stares I get sometimes from my kids, I'm old.  A few months ago when we were playing music at home one evening, "Rollin' With Kid-N-Play" came on.  What?!?!?  Instant dance party.  My husband and I broke out dancing, and even did the Kid-N-Play.  I wish the cameras could have caught the looks my son gave us.  Priceless.  And afterwards, he asked us with hints of disgust and bewilderment in his voice, "What was that?"

12. I also know I'm getting old when my friends and classmates have children graduating from high school and college.  One of my husband's classmates just had a son graduate recently from law school.  How old are we?!?!?

And my niece ... Lord!  I remember when she was born.  She was the flower girl at my wedding.  I remember spoiling her rotten and taking her to Chuck E. Cheese when I would keep her on weekends when she was little and taking her shopping when she became a teenager.  Now ... she's my Sorority sister and is in graduate school.

And my nephew!  I remember burning up the interstate when my sister went into labor to get there in time for his birth.  I remember how not one summer would go by without him spending at least a week with my husband and me.  Now ... he's a 6 foot, 4 inch tall college sophomore.

... and my son!  He just turned 13.  THIRTEEN.  He's getting tall, he has pimples, and a mustache.  A MUSTACHE!!!  His voice went from El Debarge to Barry White overnight, it seems.

Where did my babies go?

My son, niece, and nephew ... in 2007 and 2014.

13.  In my younger days, I was all about wearing cute, fashionable heels.  These days, I'm all about comfort.  While I still have several pair of killer heels on my shoe rack in the closet, they are reserved for Sundays or special occasions.  Everyday footwear is now dominated by Clarks and sneakers.  I still haven't brought myself to buying a pair of Hush Puppies, but they are in my future.  Oh, yeah.  I even got my eye on a pair.

14.  I used to pick at my parents and grandparents for going to bed early and waking up at the crack of dawn.  Guess who does that now?  Yep, that would be me.  I'm so glad there's a 10pm news broadcast because the chances of me staying awake past 11pm are pretty slim to none.  And ... I find that I'm up early in the mornings, too.  Sometimes I'm up doing chores (laundry, cooking, or whatever).  Sometimes I'm up just because that's about the only time all day I get time to myself.

15.  I can't see a damn thing anymore these days.  I've had to change the font on my computer screen at work from medium to extra large.  When I read stuff, I do a Fred Sanford and move the book or papers back and forth to try to focus on it.  AND ... now?  Bifocals.  My Grandma used to wear bifocals, and now I do, too.  When the optometrist hit me with the B word, I felt some kind of way about that.  What's next?  The large print Bible by my nightstand?

16.  And of course the older I get, the more I hear about my old school, hometown, or former work buddies who have passed away.  It's happening more and more frequently in these last few years.  Sad.

There are still times when I feel some anxiety about getting older.  Some of that is because of my vanity.  I may be getting old but I'm not trying to LOOK old.  Some of the anxiety comes because of the unknown.  But ... I've learned to take it all in stride.  Waking up everyday pain free, with the activity of all my limbs, and able to have another chance to do something and to be great is a privilege denied to many.  I'll take it.

Prayers for Charleston

My heart is heavy today, and I just can’t seem to shake the sadness.

I went to bed last night to the news that someone opened fire at the historic Emanuel A.M.E. Church in Charleston, SC during Wednesday night Bible study.  Even though I heard and saw the breaking news story before I lay down, something would not let me believe that this had really happened.

I woke up a few hours later, turned on the television, and what I was hoping was a very bad dream turned out to be a reality.  Nine people killed as they attended Bible study.  Others were injured.  I heard a report that a 5 year old child played dead, and that’s what spared the child’s life.

When I realized this shooting in Charleston was indeed real, I thought of the church bombing of the 16^th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham of 1963.  Another act of hate carried out on sacred ground.  Innocent Black lives lost. 

But … my mind kept racing and wandering.

Unarmed Black men in this country are killed at an alarming rate, and rarely do their killers face any consequences … even when they go to trial.

Police brutalize our children in the streets … and at pool parties, too.

Many Southern states are trying to pass laws to restrict our voting rights.

There have even been recent stories of lynchings in South.  Remember hearing about Lennon Lacy?

People have taken to the streets in protest or have staged sit-ins to demand equal rights and opportunities and to take a stand against injustice.

And now this … innocent people are attacked and killed at a house of worship ... a place of refuge.

Remind me again what year this is?  The more things change, the more they stay the same.

These same headlines from 2015 could just have easily been ones my parents read about and saw on the news and lived through in the 1960s.  People fought, marched, and died so this generation – OUR generation – could have unmatched and unlimited freedoms.  So my rhetorical question of the day is this … why are the same things that happened decades ago during the Civil Rights Era recurring now with such frequency? 

It’s sad.  It’s disheartening.  It’s a shame.

Have we really overcome?

My heart breaks for these families, for this church family, for this community, and for our country.

God be with us all.

Pardon Our Sensitivity ...

Sometimes the best way to approach a subject is just to go ahead and put it all out there.  So, here goes …

It is 2015.  Why is the presence of the Confederate flag in the South STILL a big issue? 

If you know me personally or if you have been following my blog, you know I was born and raised in South Carolina.  Even today, South Carolina still flies the Confederate flag over its state capital.  And year after year it has been made abundantly clear to South Carolinians and to everyone else in the world that the flag ain’t going anywhere, either.

There was a story circulating in my local area a few weeks ago about some high school students who took a picture at a historical site in Gettysburg and posted the picture on Instagram with the caption, “The South will rise again.”  Later on in the comments, someone posted the remark that they had already purchased their first slave.  That comment was supposed to have been a joke according to the person who posted it.  Well … not funny. 

In another recent local news story, a student at Duke University hung a noose on a tree, forgot about it, and left it there for the entire campus to see.  That student later issued an apology that went something sort of like this.  My bad.  I didn’t realize hanging a noose on a tree in the South was a big deal.  (Yes, this is my loose translation of that “apology”.)

I was reading the comments on the pages of my local news stations and on social media, and I found the overwhelming sentiments on that flag incident I mentioned are that “we” (READ – Black people) just need to get over it.  The Confederate flag is a part of Southern history, and “we” need to accept its historical significance, stop being so sensitive, and basically shut the hell up.

Well, I can agree with one thing.  The Confederate flag is indeed a part of Southern history.  What I don’t agree with is that “we” need to accept the flag and all it symbolizes as being okay to wave, wear, or revere.  And here’s what baffles me the most.   Why is it so difficult for some people to comprehend why the Confederate flag strikes such a nerve with Black people? 

Supporters of this flag are quick to say that Black folks need a history lesson on the significance of the flag.  The flag symbolizes history and not hatred.  And here’s my favorite … “we” are racists if we get offended by the flag.  What kind of stuck-on-stupid reverse psychology is that supposed to be? 

When I think of the Confederate flag, I think of how it was present at every lynching of Black people by angry mobs.  When I think of the Confederate flag, I think of how it was waved after homes and churches of Black people were bombed and burned to the ground.  When I think of the Confederate flag, I see it being carried by hooded members of the KKK as they spread their doctrine of White supremacy and as they tried to strike fear the lives of Black people by leaving burning crosses for all to see.  When I think of the Confederate flag, I see it flying highly and freely by crowds of people attempting to block the doors of schools as National Guard troops escorted children to school during the times of integration.   

Clearly, the Confederate flag has a drastically different meaning for some of us.  So … dear kind sir or ma’am, please excuse us Black folks for being overly sensitive.  What are “we” thinking?!?!?  

Will There Be Justice For Walter Scott?

Well, it has happened again.  Another unarmed Black man is shot dead at the hands of a White police officer.  I am so tired of seeing these stories in the news over and over again.  The characters are always the same.  There’s the officer who supposedly feared for his life and had no other alternative but to fire his weapon … repeatedly … until the threat was removed.  Then, there’s the unarmed man (someone’s son, father, husband, uncle, friend, or neighbor) left dead and yet somehow made responsible for his own demise.  And let’s not forget the mother, father, or parental figure whose heart-breaking words and tears kick you right in the gut every time you see them.  I always cry right along with them.

When things like this happen, I find myself reviewing news sites and reading articles or blog posts on social media.  Every time, I get sucked in to reading the comments section.  And every single time, I find myself angered by some of the comments made about the victim.  He’s always a thug or a criminal.  He was guilty of something and had it coming to him.  He would be alive if he would have just listened to and obeyed the officer.  Rarely is the victim given the benefit of the doubt.  Rarely is any kind of sympathy extended to the victim or the family that’s left behind.  Rarely do you hear of the good the victim has done … only the bad things he’s ACCUSED of doing.

This latest shooting took place in my home state of South Carolina.  The officer, Michael Slager, shot Walter Scott in the back eight times.  Let me repeat that … EIGHT TIMES.  Scott was running away from Slager when the officer drew his weapon and fired eight shots.  Scott’s back was to the officer.  He was running AWAY from the officer.  Yeah, that’s threatening.

The entire incident started because the officer pulled Mr. Scott over for a broken tail light.  When he ran Scott’s information, the officer discovered Scott had a warrant for unpaid child support.  What happened after that is unclear, but somehow these two ended up outside of their vehicles.  Slager was left standing, and an unarmed Scott was shot dead.

The only fortunate thing about this incident is that there was a bystander who had the presence of mind to videotape this encounter between Slager and Scott.  The officer alleged Walter Scott was the aggressor and tried to take his taser.  What the video shows is Slager and Scott standing facing each other, Scott turning to run away, and the officer reaching for his gun and then standing flat-footed like he’s at target practice on the firing range as he shot Walter Scott eight times in the back.  This video makes it extremely difficult for police or federal investigators to clear Slager of any wrongdoing … but I guess time will tell.  In the meantime, Slager is in jail on murder charges and denied bond.  In jail … exactly where he should be.

I guess it’s obvious that I’m stuck on Mr. Scott being shot in the back eight times.  There was absolutely no reason and no excuse to justify Slager shooting Walter Scott in the back eight times.  EIGHT DAMN TIMES!!!

I was reading some of the comments on a couple of news sites since this story broke yesterday.  Over and over again, I saw people asking the same questions and making the same remarks concerning Mr. Scott and his role in his own death.

·         Why was he running away from the officer?  Innocent people don’t run from the police.  (Maybe innocent people don’t run the police, but scared people do.)

·         Sorry he died, but if he had done what the officer told him to do, he would still be alive.  (Correction … if the officer had done what HE was supposed to do, Walter Scott would still be alive.)

·         Why is this about race?  Guy does something wrong, he tried to take the officer’s taser, so he gets shot.  Sounds legit to me.  Case closed.  (When did driving around with a busted tail light justify murder?  And check the video.  Scott didn’t have the taser before Slager left it laying next to Scott after shooting him.)

·         He was a thug.  (Read … n-word.  Thug is just a code word.)

·         Was the car that he [Scott] was driving stolen?  (Ahhh … no!  If it had been, don’t you think the story would have a new spin … car thief shot dead by officer?)

·         He should have paid the child support and not run.  (Sure, Scott should have paid his child support.  But when did being delinquent in making payments become just cause for murder?)

·         There’s more to the story than we know.  Surely, the guy did SOMETHING wrong.  (Let’s see.  What did he do to provoke the officer to shoot him?  Was it the busted tail light or was it when he attempted to run away from the officer?)

·         He was probably a drug dealer.  (Sure.  Of course, he was.  All Black men are.  Right?)

When it comes to White officers killing Black men, why are some people so quick to blame the VICTIM for his own death?  Why do they automatically assume the VICTIM did something wrong?  Is it that difficult to believe that these cops overreacted because the VICTIM is a Black male … a boogey man … the aggressor … a thug?

Instead of questioning the victim, why don’t we question the motives of the officer?  I’ve got a few questions I would like to ask Michael Slager.

·         Why did you lie?  You alleged Walter Scott tried to take your taser, but the video clearly shows you dropping it beside his lifeless body after your fatal encounter.  So … you’re okay with planting evidence to bolster your fabricated version of the events that took place?

·         You showed no remorse after shooting a man eight times as he ran away from you.  To make yourself look even worse, you took the time to handcuff a dying man as he lay face down in the grass.  Are you even sorry this happened or am I safe to assume you are sorry someone videoed the whole thing and you got caught?

·         How does a routine traffic stop for a busted taillight escalate to you shooting an unarmed man in the back eight times?

·         Walter Scott was a 50 year-old man.  From the video footage, it is clear he was not a well-conditioned track star.  If you were going to make an arrest for an outstanding warrant, you couldn’t give chase after he turned to run from you?  You couldn’t call for backup before shooting and killing him?  You had his information with a physical address after the traffic stop.  You couldn’t go to Scott’s home to make an arrest later if he did manage to run away for you?

·         You shot an unarmed man eight times in the back as he ran AWAY from you.  Why?  Did you feel you would be able to get away with it like so many other police officers in the very recent news, or are you that much of a punk that you have to have a loaded gun in your hands to feel powerful and in control?

I’ve got an all-inclusive answer to my questions for Slager.  Why did he lie, show no remorse, and shoot and kill an unarmed man who was of no threat to him?  That’s an easy one.  He’s a lying, punk a** coward who had no business wearing a badge.

After the release of the video, the police department in North Charleston had little choice but to arrest and charge Slager for Walter Scott’s murder.  There is no dispute to what was seen on the video.  There’s been video evidence of police murder before (as recent as the Eric Garner case), but THIS time, I am hopeful the video evidence will lead to the conviction and swift punishment of Michael Slager.

My heartfelt sympathies are extended to Walter Scott’s family.  I pray for their comfort and healing during this difficult time.  I pray their loved one is given the justice he so rightly deserves.

Participation Trophies Annoy Me

A few years ago, my son played soccer in a recreation league.  He had never played soccer before and wanted to give it a try, so my husband and I let him. I’m just gonna be blunt here … my son’s soccer team was horrible.  Terrible.  Pitiful.  There was a point when the games were just plain painful to watch.  They went the entire season without winning a game.  Seriously.  They didn’t win one single game.  Not one.

Once the season was over, the coach had a small social gathering for the team members and their parents.  At this gathering, each player was given a trophy.  The coach’s reason for the recognition?  The players were given trophies for showing up and participating in every game.

This soccer trophy was my son’s first trophy ever, so he was very excited to get it.  I, on the other hand, was puzzled and slightly annoyed.  See, I’m old school.  My feeling is that when you commit to do something (In my son’s case, the commitment was playing on a soccer team.), showing up and participating in every game is what’s expected.  Why, then, would you get a trophy for doing something you’re supposed to do anyway?

At the risk of sounding like an old timer, back in my day, trophies were reserved for those folks who competed, who accomplished a major goal, or who WON something.  You worked diligently to reach a goal, and the fruit of your labor was a nice, shiny trophy.  The trophy meant something … that you worked hard and were rewarded for your achievement.  It was symbolic of your time and effort.  You were not given anything.  You earned that trophy. 

Not long after the soccer trophy, a parent at my son’s school complained about a quarterly program the school has to recognize the students who make the honor roll.  The parent complained the program made the students who didn’t make the honor roll feel bad, and the recognition should stop to spare hurt feelings.  I’m happy to report the recognition program still takes place, and the school didn’t give in to the parent’s request.

So … have we become a society that rewards kids for the smallest of things?  Are we sending the wrong message to our kids by recognizing and rewarding them for doing what’s expected of them?  And if that’s the norm, what do we do for the kids who go above and beyond?  And further, are some parents hurting their kids more than helping them by coddling them into mediocrity?  Borrowing and paraphrasing a line from the character Harrison of “Scandal”, are we raising gladiators or wimps?  (Yeah, I’m keeping it G-rated.)

Let me go back to the example of the parent who complained about the quarterly honor roll recognition.  I can’t believe the parent actually had the nerve to suggest to the school’s administrators to discontinue the recognition program because their child – ONE child in school of a few hundred children – didn’t make the honor roll.  Instead of complaining and trying to “fix” something for your child at the expense of others, how about encouraging your child to do better or work harder?  And if you see that your child is putting forth the effort but still not getting it, then how about paying attention to see what kind of help your child needs and getting him or her some help?  It never would have crossed my mind to ask the school to stop recognizing other kids to spare my child’s feelings.

Again, I am very much from the old school.  I expect my children to do well in school.  Period.  If they work and study hard and put forth some effort, their reward will be making good grades.  My daughter is still in daycare, but my son is in the fifth grade, so he knows the deal.  While I encourage him to do his best in school and in all things, and he knows I am very proud of his efforts, there’s no big production or song and dance for doing what I expect him to do.  Study hard?  Make good grades.  He gets a pat on the back, and we keep it moving.  Simple … and it works.

However, if I see my kids struggling or needing help with something, I will do what I can within reason to help them.  I won’t baby or coddle them.  I won’t let them sit back as I do their work for them.  I want my kids to be able to do things for themselves without having to rely on anyone else or without expecting things to be handed to them without them putting in some work.  And if they fail to do something, I want them to be strong enough to pull themselves up, dust off their boots, and get back to work until they do whatever it is they set out to accomplish.

Since the soccer trophy, there have been other “show up and play” trophies and medals my son has received for his participation in other sports, and I still get annoyed every time he gets one.  What I absolutely do not want to happen is that he and my daughter begin to expect praise and recognition for doing regular stuff.  I don’t want them to grow up, go out in the real world, and get slapped with the reality that regular is not even close to being good enough … and then left wondering how to cope when they don’t get a “show up and go to work” trophy. 

I refuse to raise spoiled, entitled children who expect much for doing little.  The Bigelow kids will not be show up and play kids.  No wimps allowed.  My prayer is that my husband and I will prepare them well for life.  In the words of the great Frederick Douglass, “It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.” 

Things I Miss Since I Became A Mother

If you have been following my blog, you know I have two children.  My son just turned 11 recently, and my daughter will be turning 2 in a couple months.  They are my world, and I love them both with all my heart.  They bring me much joy and happiness.  They make me smile and laugh.  They make me very proud.  God really hooked me up when He chose me to be the mother of these two.  Sometimes I stare at them in amazement.  I can’t believe I birthed these two blessings!

 

As much as I love my kids and as much as I love being their mother, every now and then I find myself missing and reminiscing about things I used to take for granted back in the day.  Simple things, really.  Here are a few things I miss from back in my BC (“before children”) era:

1.      I miss going to the bathroom all by myself.  I miss going in the bathroom for a few brief moments of downtime.  I can’t remember the last time I was able to take a long, hot bath.  It’s all showers now.  There was a time when going in the bathroom and shutting the door behind me would secure a few moments of “me” time.  Yeah … can’t do that now.  Either my son knocks and tries talking to me through the door or my daughter just bursts in bathroom, pulls up her step stool, and sits down to “chat” with me.  It’s cute and all, but can’t I at least pee without being interrupted? 

2.      I miss being able to sit down with a meal or a snack without being stared down with big puppy dog eyes that’s soon followed by, “Can I have a bite?”  I’m sorry.  Didn’t you just eat an entire plate / bowl of something already?  My daughter is at the age where she eats pretty much everything, and she most certainly does just that … eats everything.  And somehow, “everything” looks a lot more appetizing on MY plate.  She doesn’t hit up my husband or son nearly as much as she does me.  My son can still be a picky eater, and sometimes that works to my advantage.  I know he doesn’t like salad, so what do I prepare myself for dinner sometimes so I can eat in peace?  You guessed it … a big ol’ salad.  

3.      I miss being able to sit on the couch or climb in the bed to read a book or watch TV in silence.  When I was growing up, I always thought of things I wanted to talk to my parents about when the news or their favorite shows were on.  Well, I guess I’m reaping what I sowed because my kids do the same dang thing!  It’s all quiet and hush-hush when an episode of “Doc McStuffins” is on.  You can hear a pin drop when my son is watching his favorite shows or a baseball game.  Let me sit down and attempt to get comfortable and settle in to watch something I like in peace and quiet.  It.  Ain’t.  Happening.

4.      I miss always having a clean house.  Don’t ask me why I remember this, but when my husband and I first married and moved into our home, I remember the cable guy coming by, looking around and saying, “Y’all don’t have any kids, do you?”  I thought that was a strange question at the time, but I so get it now.  These days, my kids have the house looking like a sporting goods store, Game Stop, and Babies R Us collided dead smack in the middle of my living room.  Stuff is everywhere.  Stepping on a Lego or a refrigerator magnet is a pain like none other but is a near daily occurrence.  And really … why do I continue cleaning up when minutes later the house is all cluttered again? 

5.      I miss taking my time to get dressed in the mornings.  I remember getting up in the mornings and having time to apply makeup, style my hair, prepare and eat a leisurely breakfast before leaving the house.  Now, I’m not just getting myself ready in the mornings.  I dress my daughter, and doing her hair is a daily struggle because she hates sitting still.  Even though my son has been dressing himself for years now, he has to pass my inspection before leaving the house.  He can’t leave home looking any kind of way.  He has to pass the clothes straight / hair combed / skin lotioned / eye butter removed / Chapstick on lips inspection.   

6.      I miss being able to bump Biggie in the car.  I was born in the 70s, grew up in the 80s, and came of age in the 90s.  The Notorious B.I.G. is a big part of my life’s soundtrack.  But now, only G-rated music in the car when the kids are with me … which is most of the time.  The last thing I want is to be out somewhere and hear my kids rapping, “Who the f*%k is this?  Pagin’ me at 5:46 in the mornin’ …”  I save Biggie for my workouts now. 

 

Yep, life has definitely changed since my BC era.  And while I do miss certain things from time to time, I can’t imagine life without my son and daughter.  They make it all worth it.