Fourteen Sixteen Seventeen Twenty

No, I haven’t forgotten how to count by 2’s. Those are the ages of the young men that live with me. I affectionately call them “The Boys”. They are awesome kids who I have had the privilege of parenting in whole or in part.

Meet Capt. Kirk - the twenty year old college sophomore. My brother and the oldest of The Boys. He’s Kirk because he writes beautiful lyrics like Kirk Franklin but can’t sing a lick, save for the choir where his voice blends in. He also used to “kirk” out at random times throughout his pre-teen years. You should have seen it; it was amazing and not in a good way. Very smart kid who drips of sarcasm, attitude, determination, vision, humor and sweetness. I spoiled him rotten as a kid and am probably mostly responsible for his love for all things candy. I’m not proud of this accomplishment. He doesn’t have a driver’s license and I wish he did. He’s creative, loves music and is a preacher - not in the “he lectures everyone all the time” way, but in the “…and God said He loves you” while standing behind a podium/pulpit way. A very inspirational fellow who definitely has a special calling on his life. But, he’s also a twenty year old college male. Yeah.

Next up is The First – my oldest son. Smart as a whip and stubborn as a mule. He’s been known to be the clown, most times to his detriment. He’s getting better with being mature and making momma proud. He has a heart of gold and is the first I call for help with anything. He says “yes ma’am” and “yes sir”, opens the door for females and is known to help old ladies with their bags. I must’ve done something right. He’s the self-proclaimed fashion guru of the house. He knows the hottest male fashion trends, refuses to buy cheap and could be known as a label ho. Champagne taste on a kool aid budget. He likes what he likes and won’t settle for less in anything. I love this and hate this about him simultaneously. Remind me to tell you the story about Easter suit shopping 2009. He taught himself to play the piano and is pretty good at it. He’s deathly afraid of cats and neither of us knows why. He loves all things food, except for potato salad. This kid will be 18 at the end of the year and is smelling himself. If you didn’t know, 18 is some sort of magic number. I’m pretty sure I heard him say something about being and man and doing what he wants. We all know how that goes, right? Right. He used to want to be a chef (and can cook really well) but couldn’t figure out how to be a millionaire within the first few years of graduating culinary arts school. He’s now going to be an entrepreneur who makes boat loads of money. I believe him because he’s a hard worker and determined.

Then we have The Last – my youngest son. There will be no more unless God wants me to be the virgin that brings the second coming of Christ. I’m not a virgin. So yeah, shop’s closed. He’s a cool dude. Very unassuming and off-the-cuff hilarious. He’s my affectionate kid. I picked him up until he was seven years old. Judge me if you want, I don't’ care. He’s mature for his age, very logical and very matter of fact. There are no cut cards with him. He hates that I follow him on Twitter because he can’t say what he wants (read: cuss). I don’t care if he does, by the way, because I’m pretty sure I cussed at his age. But out of respect for me he won’t tweet a curse word. But he has no problem re-tweeting a curse word. There’s more than one way to skin a cat. He’s clever and loves animals (except for cats) and the guitar. Taught himself how to play and I’ve been told that he’s actually as good as I think he is. He’s unconventional. Loves rice and potatoes, hates biscuits and is the laziest boy to walk the earth.

And last but certainly not least there’s Sly. My nephew. Tall, skinny and cute as a button. Very sensitive and very lovable. He’s the quiet type that you have to watch out for because well…he’s sly. He’d convince an Eskimo to go out and buy ice cubes with the money they made from building igloos. He’s got that pretty boy swag and I’m pretty sure he knows it and will use it to his advantage. He’s the baby of The Boys and they remind him of it - and treat him like it - often. When everyone is chipping in to complete a task, he’s the one that slipped away to use the bathroom 5 minutes into the task and never returned. You don’t realize this until you’re about 15 minutes from finishing said task. He’s a wrestling fan. Not the real professional sport, but the WWE type stuff. He thinks it’s real. o_O He loves the drums and also plays the piano. Self-taught, like the other ones. He’s also into that weird spooky stuff like those paranormal-type shows and horror movies. I am anxious to see his personality develops in the next couple of years. Should be interesting.

So, these are the men that sleep in my house. They make me happy, mad, frustrated, worry, laugh out loud, cry, pray, be thankful and love. They are so much more than the few lines that I’ve written about them here. But don’t you worry, I’ll be writing about them again.

Starting Over...the Obligatory Natural Hair Story

Natural hair seems to be all the rage these days. Folks are denouncing perms left and right and regaining “freedom” and “power”.

Hair’s my story.

I stopped perming my hair about 2 years ago in an effort to be all natural. I didn’t document my journey in words and there are few pictures. My decision to go natural was solely because I didn’t want to be bald-headed. Improper perm applications, lack of money to get my hair professionally done regularly and sheer laziness lack of good hair knowledge were taking me down the road to a thinning hair line and broken off, crunchy hair. I’m pretty sure I got on the bandwagon at the beginning of the natural hair wave and boy did I let the world know.

Random Person: You’re hair looks nice!

Note: I transitioned using flexi rod sets to hide the new growth

Me: Oh thanks, I’m going natural! (insert swole up chest with pride >here<)

Question: Did the random person say anything that would even lead me to offer the natural hair journey story? You don't see it? Yeah, me either. Moving right along…

Since there are quite a few nice random people on this earth, the conversation continued as such:

Random Person: Oh really? Interesting. Good luck with that.

Me: Insert conversation about how perms are breaking my hair off…I really want to see my true texture…this is so much healthier for the world me…every time I re-do my hair, I cut a little bit more straight ends off…blah, blah, blah >HERE<

Yeah, I was becoming THAT person. Looking back, I can’t believe: 1) how much I was embarrassing myself, 2) how nice people were to indulge me and 3) how much I was embarrassing myself.

I was knocked got off my high horse pretty quickly because my love for “going natural” was waning because…well…I was going natural and MY nappy natural hair was not THE acceptable natural hair that is portrayed in commercials and print ads.

The more those silky straight ends disappeared and the kinky coils appeared, my confidence began to take a hit and not in a good way. But the easy thing about “going natural” is that you can “go UNnatural”. But before that, I got all the permed ends cut off, got a decent cut and…

Enter: the perm texturizer. I had heard that this practice – texturizing – would “loosen my curl pattern” and give me the coveted “wash-n-go hair” (see above pic). You see, I got tired of the manufactured curl pattern that was achieved by washing, conditioning, detangling, flexi rodding, and sitting at least 1.5 hours under an uncomfortable, hot hair dryer. It would take no less than 4 hours from start to finish once a week to achieve this look. And because it took so long I either had to save the routine for the weekend (which meant I had to sacrifice social activities) or I had to stay up ‘til the wee hours of the morning because I decided to do it on a week night…starting at 9. o_0 Well, the texturizer didn’t work. Just because I refused to fight the power of my naps didn’t mean that my hair didn’t have to continue in the struggle. Wash and go’s didn't work without the help of a couple of VERY expensive products. I know y’all natural ladies know the magic that is Kinky Curly Curling Custard . I loved the results but my bank account didn’t love spending $50 on 2 products to achieve the look, so…

Enter: the ceramic flat iron and my holy grail, the Maxi Glide. I told myself I would only straighten my hair every 4 weeks. And that worked for a while. But I could do so much more when my hair was straightened: pin curls, bantu knots, twist-outs were my styles of choice. See?

Plus the Maxi Glide used the “steam puff technology” to protect the ends. I was still natural, right? Right. But then I came into another problem…

Heat damage and straight ends. Ugh! I don't think the “steam puff technology” was deceptive; methinks I went a little heavy on the straightening and a little light on the hair care in between straightening. It was like battling the permed straight ends again. But this time, there was too much natural hair and not enough straight hair to mask the problem. I had long since given up sitting under that God-awful hair dryer so flexi rods were not an option any more. I vowed not to use heat on my hair for the summer and try to get my straight ends to revert. No dice there. So last Friday, I took the plunge and did what in my mind is a Big Chop. I got about 3-4 inches of hair cut off to reveal all of my naptural, kinky coily goodness. I love it!

Here’s to starting over.

Time

I was in a play in the 6^th grade and ended up with the lead role. I thought I was reading for a small speaking part.

It’s amazing how many lines and songs I remember from a play I was in almost 25 years ago. There’s a phrase from a song in that I play that often pops in my head.

Time keeps ticking away, keeps ticking away first tomorrow becomes today. Then snap, it’s yesterday because time keeps ticking yes, tick-tick-ticking, yes. Time keeps ticking away.

And that’s one of the main reasons that I don’t write.

Time.

Not because there’s a lack of it, but because I don’t dedicate any of the time I have to writing. As busy as I think I am, I’m not so busy that I can’t find the time to do something that I enjoy.

I know I read a statement similar to this while trolling the Internet to find out how to get over a writer’s slump.

And I know I put that principle to practice…in my head.

Guess it’s time to put words to action.

Lost

Long before I ever created a blog I used to write to clear my head. I never thought I was any good but I loved it nonetheless. Writing was cathartic. But it never came easy. Not the entries in my personal journal and definitely not writing assignments for school. Even those quick 500 word essays for school were torture.

Even though I love to write, I lament about it each and every time. In school I wouldn’t put pen to paper until the night before a due date. My procrastination was never due to lack of preparation, most times; it was just always a disconnect between putting what was in my head (which was a perfectly crafted piece) on paper. But I’d manage to sprawl some incoherent words (to me) on paper and pray for a passing grade. Nine times out of ten the paper would return with an “A” with some supporting commentary that what I had written in angst and turmoil was actually good. And I’d re-read what I had written and reluctantly agree.

Since I created this blog, unfortunately, nothing has changed. I thought it would. Creating a blog was supposed to hold me accountable so I could diligently hone my craft. It hasn’t. What this blog has done is place this self-imposed mandate on me to not only
”just write”, but to eloquently string words together that are relevant, fresh, thought provoking, soul-stirring, life-changing, awe-inspiring and witty…all at the same time. Each and every time. And did I mention that the disconnect…is still connected.

I KNOW I have something to say. I’ve exhausted all of the “how to’s” that I’ve read about to try and get past this rut so I can say it. I totally just lied. Forgive me Lord. I haven’t tried them all. And the ones that I have tried, I only tried them my head. But you did just read that part about the self-imposed mandate to be perfect every single time I put hand to keyboard (or pen to paper). It applies here too.

I’m so pathetic.

Help!

What do you do to get passed the rut?

Want a chuckle? My cousin just saw me tapping away on my computer and noticed that I wasn’t on the Internet and asked, “Are you writing a book?” Bwahahaha If only she really knew.

Side Part, Under

I know it’s still the year 2009, but the New Year came early for me. My New Year’s Day came some time around the second week in November.

Over the last few months, I have been uncomfortable with myself. I really can’t put a finger on just how to explain it, but something was not quite right. That nagging feeling, coupled with a very eye-opening incident, left me wondering about myself. So I began to take steps to get to the root of my comfort, or lack thereof, with me. I first started a prayer/self-reflection journal. In it, I deliberately didn’t ask for anything for myself. I petitioned God to move in the lives of those who I felt were affecting me. You see, I tend to carry the burden of others unbeknownst to them. I stress and fret and try to figure out their life’s problems and strategize how I can fix them without them knowing it. Sounds crazy as I type it, but it’s the God’s honest truth. I can’t carry that burden anymore and I needed God to move on their behalf so that I could focus putting me first. That’s so passive-aggressive but…baby steps.

Let me tell you something, journaling is.the.biz-ness! Writing all of my random thoughts coupled with some of my favorite praise and worship songs, ending with my thanks was the remedy for many a RESTFUL sleep-filled, worry-free nights. I felt great, but…

How was I going to start being the star of my own show? Because I realized that if I wasn’t happy and productive – doing what I want to do with my life, then my interactions with the people I love was not going to be “colored sprinkles on top of soft serve vanilla ice cream”. And then…

One afternoon I watched a marathon of The Game and…screech – halt…I saw the “Side Part Under” episode. The scene below, reached out, grabbed me and took a hold of my attention.

Freaky, sessy-time drama aside (because that is not what this post is about) it’s time to live my life! I need to dust off those dreams and move the stuff that’s in my way to attain them. Now I ain’t about to drop my kids off at the nearest police station because I don’t want them no more and move to another state to start my life over, what I’m saying is…

Y’all better get in where you fit in because Lisa is doing what makes her happy not now, but right.now! I’m not starting January 1, 2010, not once the kids are off to college, not once everybody else’s needs (wants) are met first. Some folks ain’t gonna like the brand new me but, oh well.

Are you a side part, under?