Wednesday, August 24, 2016
He is a bully. And before anyone gives me the who spill about him teasing her because he likes her, I've heard it and it doesn't reassure me at all.
Couple of problems with the nappy statement:
1. We (Parents of kids with natural hair) hear that word ENOUGH in our own community. I can't tell you how many times people run up to the medium person, touch her hair, and then ask me when I'm going to relax it.
2. The boy is white and often makes fun of other ethnicities. (He makes tribal sounds whenever he sees the CONTINENT of Africa.)
So, as a parent, I'm stuck with a few choices:
1. I could teach her the Kim Graham method of revenge. I haven't used it in years but let me give you an example: Let's say your words are bb bullets. Well, my words, are like atomic bombs that return to later salt the earth to make sure that your descendants will never live off the land again. It's an effective method but also HURTS people.
2. Kill them with kindness. (This is the dumbest advice my parents ever gave me.) Something about turning the other cheek, blah blah blah. I'm not doing it. My dad used to try to quote some pacificist and say the way to lose an enemy is to make them a friend. (Insert gagging sound here.)
Typing that statement made me miss him so much. He had no enemies. Sheesh. People loved that man.
3. Turn him into the school and possibly have him tease her more.
4. Equip her with human life skills that will help her deal with him on her own. (The aforementioned skills will need to be from her father because I have none.
5. Slow my car down every time I see him in the neighborhood and stare at his little smug face, while playing rap music, of course. (I would never do that one, by the way.)
Guess who handled it on her own!!!! The medium person!
She was presented an opportunity in class to speak about having experiences with people treating you differently because of the way that you look. The medium person got up, stared at that little b........ , I'm not going to call him that, and said, yes, "Someone constantly calls my hair nappy and it hurts me." She never said his name. His face fell. Now, he's been complimenting her on her art work and she is ignoring him like she always did. No friendship here slug. Keep it moving.
Sighhhhhh, the husband is raising such a great girl. My suggestion would have landed her detention!
Let's see what else has happened: started 8th grade; looking at a boarding school for high school; and wearing colored lip gloss with mascara!!
She has sweet friends and the husband person and I are getting more and more alone time these days. *****Bomp chicka wow wowwwww***** Is anyone else finding their significant other sexier these days? Ok, I'm done. The medium person would be upset when she reads this. :)
I'm a jogger ya'll.
at 5:35 PM
Tuesday, July 5, 2016
Is that not the most precious thing ever?! Baby skunks stamp their precious little paws when they offer a warning. Potential predators usually take heed and back away because they're afraid of being sprayed.
As a woman, who must complete day to day tasks in public places, I decided to incorporate the baby skunk method of warnings.
Let me preface most of this post by saying that I don't consider myself to be any more attractive than the next person. I have nice eyes and great lips. I have an average body that I've learned to love. I don't think the experiences that I'm going to describe are unique to me. If you ask any friend, they all have a story about the guy that wouldn't leave them alone in the grocery store, gas station, auto parts store, doctor's office, or even church! For some reason, men feel very comfortable approaching me. I don't have an approachable face. I've written about it before. So, I've decided that my height must be what makes people comfortable. Me being under 5 feet, seems to give men a confidence that they've never had before.
I went to the local Dollar Store to pick up cobbler mix. (Yes, I used a mix. I didn't make it from scratch this time! Don't judge me.). I can always tell when a man is going to approach me. Something tingles on the back of my neck and BAM, it happens. Now, I'm not talking about the nice guys who say hello, hold the door and keep it moving. Noooooo, these are the guys who follow you down several aisles and stare at you, like you're for sale. Anywho, I see creepy guy with empty basket follow me down two aisles. He asks me if I know where some horrible detergent is located and I point him in the general vicinity. 2 minutes later, he's back. He tells me how pretty I am. I smile and thank him and continue shopping. A minute later, he explains that he is newly single and doesn't know where things are in the store. (Insert sarcasm here.). I wish him well and continue grabbing items because I can't wait to get home and have one of my husband's delicious, juicy burgers. He sees that I have a grill pan and says, "Can I come home wth you?" I reply, "I don't think my husband made enough burgers for extra guests." His answer: "Oh well, he doesn't have to know everything." Usually, I would be annoyed. Instead, I was excited. It gave me an opportunity to try out the baby skunk stamping method. I put my purse in my basket, turned around to face him, stared intensely at him and hit my legs 3 times rapidly. I continued to stare. He walked swiftly to the next aisle. When I got ready to check out, I noticed that he had abandoned his basket of items. Check and mate, rude sir.
I think I'd like to start a series on deterring men after you've said no. Next week, I will combine skunk stamping with making myself large like a brown bear. I'll let you know how it goes. I'm kind of still a runner, ya'll. KG
at 8:05 PM
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Let's catch up.
This is our second birthday without him. I've made it a full year. We all are still breathing and walking the Earth as God intended. We have come a long way. I haven't really allowed myself to grieve, so when those moments of sadness enter, I don't ignore them anymore. I embrace them. Sadness is a valuable emotion. You feel clean after a cry.
Work is work. Lots of changes, constantly. I've come to a good place of understanding with myself and that has made all the difference.
The medium person is excited to start summer with a fancy new hair style. She's volunteering at two
Awesome places. I'm jealous. Insert swoon. Sweetest little sweet pea ever. I'm worried that she'll realize what she looks like one day. I hope it doesn't change her views of the world. Heavy is the head that wears the pretty crown, huh?
Let's see. Romance is in the air. Skip the last paragraph, Brayden.....
The 30s are where it's at! Bomp chicka wow wowwwww. 😘
We've had several thoughtful mini vacations and very special birthdays. Just fun. This man is the best. I smile when I think about how proud my Dad was of him.
In old business, can I just tell y'all that I have a bully? At 33 years old, I have a bully. He knows he makes me uncomfortable but just HAS to try to engage me in some type of joke or off color comment about me drinking. It infuriates me! I will say that I'm glad he doesn't have to know the Kim of 2001. I would have beaten him up by now. Seriously. Hands. No words.
Alas, that was pre Brayden. I'm "civilized" so I can't slap him when he opens his stupid mouth. Which smells like freaking cat vomit and fish heads. And he spits when he talks. And he's a close talker! Ok, I'm done. Nothing will ever be resolved with this beast, so I'm just going to keep avoiding him as always.
My medium person wants the experience into something positive, so she's turning my adventures with the bully info a graphic novel. The working title is Bully Goat Jones: True American Butthole Here's a sample:
at 7:12 PM
Sunday, June 21, 2015
I've been fighting off my sadness for quite a while. Replacing it with work stress, moving madness, or a glass of wine or two worked for a while. It's been two months and it seems that life's hills seem a little tougher to climb without him.
Yet, as I lay in this bed with a wet pillow, I know my Dad wouldn't have wanted me doing this. What he'd really want is for me to honor the husband person today. My father adored him and often "protected" him from my wrath. (😄)
So, rather, than trying to tell people how awesome my Dad is, I'm going to instead tell you what makes the husband person such a great Dad.
2. You're the fun parent. Sighhh, I can't compete with you. You know how to have a good time. Sometimes your fun can be aggravating to the medium person, but alas, it still counts as fun.
3. You show the medium person what love should look like. I'm not the easiest person to get along with but you show the medium person what loving someone like me truly means.
4. You're a sap when it comes to the medium person. Enough said.
5. You're a feminist. This makes me so proud that you made a daughter with me. You believe in equal rights and would kick anyone's butt who tried to pay your daughter less money for the same work than that of her male counterparts. You instill in her so many values about her self worth as a human being.
7. You're smoking hot. I know this has nothing to do with being a good Dad but it did help you become a dad. (Wink wink) :)
On this Father's Day, know that I love you and appreciate the amazing care you take of our daughter. You are as much her parent as I am. (To be frank, if it were a contest, you'd win, hands down.) In a society, where the role of the father is often diminished, you are a bright light and a beacon of hope for young men and women.
You think before you act. You think before you speak. You choose kind words and refrain from speaking if you can't think of any. You're a wonderful example of what parents, including me, should strive for.
Thank you for all that you do.
at 1:50 PM
Sunday, June 7, 2015
Today is Confirmation Sunday!!! Woohoo, we made it! :) My medium person will be confirmed and baptized today. She's being baptized because she wasn't born United Methodist.
At the forefront of our thoughts is my sweet, departed father. The medium person has mentioned him twice since he passed away a little over a month ago. My heart aches for her.
Her faith has been rocked since my Dad's diagnosis and especially after his death. It's understandable. So was mine. It wasn't my faith in God but my faith in humans that I love.
As we move forward, I'm very aware of words that are spoken to my daughter while she grieves. I just pray that whatever God people choose to serve will guide their tongue. Telling a 12 year old whose pawpaw died on her birthday that it was God's will is NOT comforting. Sometimes, the best words are none at all. The beauty of silence is often taken for granted.
So, on today, pray for my sweet medium person as she affirms her faith and love of God, who can be confusing and even seem a little mean, even to us adults.
I'm hopeful that she'll see that the God who called her Paw Paw to heaven is the same God who gives us all the beautiful stars we love staring at and naming.
at 4:58 AM
Sunday, April 19, 2015
I just look like this. When I'm walking down the sidewalk, shopping, watching tv, or just pondering the universe, I use this face. I have this face right now. See?
I recently celebrated 32 years of owning this face. For some reason, men (and one holy roller woman who felt like she needed to remind me that Jesus loved me at her hot wing place. The wings are delicious but I'll never go back. That's another story.) find it necessary to tell me to smile. So, I thought it'd be fun (and by fun, I mean the complete opposite of fun) to share reasons that you should not tell me or anyone else to smile.
1. It's rude.
Barking commands at someone is NEVER polite. Much like my dog, I don't respond well to verbal commands, without treats. By treats, I mean money. I take orders from my employer.
2. It's creepy.
Why would you want to see someone walking down an aisle grinning like the joker? No thanks.
3. It's sexist.
This one grinds my gears the most. If you aren't telling other men to smile, don't you dare say it to me!
4. It's lame.
I'm on to your game. Don't tell me I'm to pretty not to smile. Apparently, it's working for me, just fine. You're just using it as a way to strike up a conversation with me and attempt to find out if I'm married, happy, or a willing cheater.
5. It's annoying.
I'm usually doing things when I encounter other humans outside of my family. My stop at any location is usually to check off another item on my to do list. I'm focused when I'm out. I don't have time to entertain some buffoon thinking he's helping me by telling me to smile.
6. It doesn't work.
If your goal is not to date or bed me and is indeed to make me smile, know this: I'm not going to smile when you tell me to. I'll probably scowl.
7. It's my face and I don't want to.
This is the MOST important of all the reasons. I own my face, not you. I'm not here to make you feel comfortable with my face. If I feel compelled to smile, it's because I want to. So, stop it, okay.
I've decided that I'm going to start saying uncomfortable things to people who tell me to smile. Here's a list, feel free to use it.
1. The system's broke, yo. (I know the English is horrible but it's important.)
3. You, first.
4. Tell me a joke.
5. Tell me two jokes.
6. I've only been given 50 smiles and I'll age 10 years if I smile. It's kind of like the Benjamin Button thing but with smiling.
7. Have you seen Benjamin Button?
8. Pffffffffffttttttttttttt. (That's a raspberry.)
9. No words (Insert finger in nose)
10. Shhhh, they'll hear you.
11. Did you know as we speak, the ozone layer, is depleting itself? Who can smile?
Let me go ahead and clear up a few things. I'm a happy person who doesn't hate men. I LOVE men. I'm married to one. My dad is one and my brothers are also men. That was my attempt at humor. See, I'm funny! I also have a male cat, named Mark Anthony, who never tells me to smile. Well, I guess he doesn't count because he can't talk but if he could, I know he'd never say that to me. He's a gentleman. He knows how to treat women.
I know this off the subject but look at that precious face!!
Also, I've been told that I should feel flattered when men talk to me. Contrary to popular belief, sometimes, we aren't attempting to attract a mate. Sometimes, we just want to buy a box of tampons. Sometimes, we just want to be left alone. Sometimes, our Dad has been in the hospital. Sometimes, we're just tired. I know you can't know all those things. I know that it takes a lot of courage to approach a woman. I get it. But, that doesn't entitle you to any part of us, not even our smiles.
at 7:44 PM
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Today, I'd like to address a silly, goose question, that we're often asked. I don't think the people who've asked me this question read my blog, or anything else, for that matter, so there's a slim chance, they do, but again, they have an option to press the magic x in the top, right hand corner. (I kid, I kid.)
We go to a United Methodist Church. It is predominately white. As, many of you know, we're not white. (Cue dramatic music. Wait, let me find a clip. Here we go: )
We go to a United Methodist Church. It is predominately white. As, many of you know, we're not white. (Cue dramatic music. Wait, let me find a clip. Here we go: )
I'm sorry. I had to take a moment to stop laughing at that hamster. The interweb can be hilarious and scary at the same time for someone like me.
Back to my story, a few years ago, a church sponsored an amazing camp that encouraged girls to explore engineering fields. I happened upon one of the church's leaders and we started chatting. I mentioned that I went to blah blah blah church and his face went limp. This is a TRUE story. So, when I say these words, know that I was just as shocked as you are that he said them. He said, "I don't think different races should go to church together." I stared across the table. He hands me brochure to the school that the church owns and continues talking. They'd love to have an amazing child like the medium, person, and blah blah blah. (I know I've given to much away about the place. But oh, well. People need to know what they're endorsing.) Needless to say, a certain family member of mine, (My bossy preacher brother, hahahahaha) just LOVES this church and encouraged my family to go there for a visit. I simply stated, "I'm good." We tease each other often about me being a Methodist because I grew up very, very Baptist. Hahahahahaha.
So, that brings me to the silly goose question I get about my church. I often post photos of my daughter and her confirmation group. They happen to all look nothing alike. (I'm just being silly.) The medium person is the only brown person. We're one of a few, brown families, at a large church.
I've had at least 9 people ask the same questions. "What brought you to a white church? There are so many black churches and there's two black United Methodist churches in Jackson. Why didn't you go there?" The short answer, "Because I do what I want to." The nicer answer, "We walked into the doors and felt a reverence for God that we've felt no where else. Our church isn't judgy. They're not making a list of all the times we miss. (Which is more often, these days, because Sundays are sometimes, the only days, we just get to look at each other, with no interruptions.) We can wear what we want. I felt like I was among friends. It sounds morbid but I knew that I wanted to grow old with the people in my Sunday school class. I want to tell them about my arthritis.
Now, I'm sure we can get those same things at a black church. But, my church happened to be on tv. I thought one of the pastors was beautiful (that sounds horrible once I type it) and the content was always amazing and spoke to me.
One day, we went to vote for governor, in a church near my home, and my daughter wanted to know why we couldn't visit churches closer to home, instead of driving 20 minutes to get to the other United Methodist Church (the black one) that I mentioned earlier. My mom, who happens to love when my daughter asks uncomfortable questions, chuckled. "Well, aren't you going to answer her," my mother asked, barely able to contain her laughter.
I didn't answer. I didn't want to tell her that I'd never set foot in a white church. That churches were still very segregated places. Defacto, unfortunately. So, that Sunday, we loaded into the car, put on our Sunday best, and went to our church. I found the perfect pew in the middle. I've been sitting there since. (I mean, I get up to go home. But, you know what I mean.)
We haven't looked back. Our church is far from perfect. Neither are we. Sometimes, they make me mad, when they don't do things my way. They plan things to make stuff convenient for everyone, and usually, that isn't convenient for me. Sometimes, I make them mad when I don't read the emails and call and ask questions that were clearly in the email. I also, forget the dates that they take hours typing in different calendars and mail to me. (Actual, paper mail!) I still forget. That, sounds like a perfect match, right? It is. Perfect for us.
The level of pastoral care we've received throughout my Dad's illness has been amazing. They've done an amazing job of showing God's love for us. I rarely cry. It's not my thing. Can't explain it. It's kind of weird but the first true tears I shed about my father's illness were with my Sunday school class. They're my family, as much as anyone else is.
So, I guess that's the answer. Maybe, I'll start handing out business cards with a link to this blog when I'm asked again. Haha.
I'm still a runner, ya'll. And a biker, now! Whoohoo!
I just have to play that hamster, one more time.
at 4:18 AM