I Just Want to Be Superwoman

" Go outside and play with the other kids! " That's something I heard too frequently growing up. They are probably words I hated hearing the most. Way more than " You're grounded" or "No TV", nothing filled me with more dread than that horrid phrase. I was a strange kid I suppose. You see, on stage at a dance recital or in a play, I was at home, I felt good. I felt safe. But eight six-year-olds in Brownie uniforms could induce cold sweats and projectile vomiting. Needless to say, my first Girl Scout meeting was my last. I don't really know why, I suppose that's a question for a psychologist someday. I do know that I just preferred to be alone. I come from a big family that was very close, with lots of birthday parties, BBQ's and family reunions. I have literally dozens of cousins. So at least twice a month all the families would find some reason to gather all together. Food, Music, Family, sounds great right? Yeah not to me. Why? Beca

I don't know when or how it happened but I think my baby sister is my best friend. I know, I know, it makes me nauseous too. When I was little, and maybe not so little my mom would often have to break up my younger sister and I rolling on the floor, pulling hair and screaming and basically trying to kill each other. When I would try to rationally explain to my family exactly why she was evil incarnate and deserved to die, I would often be met with " One day she'll be your best friend". Let's just say I was pretty convinced otherwise. We had way more than the usual dose of sibling rivalry and although we aren't wrestling over the turkey at the Thanksgiving table anymore (well except for that one time), we still feel the after shocks of those early explosions today. Our journey from sisters to friends is a bumpy and cautious ride. We tread carefully. My baby sister on the other hand didn't really register on the sibling rivalry scale with me. We are 14 y

For the last three years, I have watched my first born daughter blossom from a child into a young lady. At thirteen she's strikingly beautiful and not in that I'm her mother so I have to say that way, but in that strangers stop me on the street way. And as I've watched her bloom, along with feeling proud I've also been fighting this irresistible urge to lock her in her room, block all technology and home-school her until she's oh, about 25. It's not because she is some problem child. She's on the honor roll in her gifted classes. She helps out at home. She is loving, affectionate and probably a little too innocent for her age. I bet you're saying if she's such a good kid, why then would I want to lock her up? It's precisely because she's such a good kid! I live in constant fear of someone or something corrupting her. Last week as is our daily tradition, she curled up in my bed after school to chat about her day as I work. After discussing

I know I'm married to a good guy. I know I have a good marriage. But sometimes in the crazy pace of life, I forget just how lucky I am. Thank God I am often reminded My good friend and business partner Felicia came to pick me up on a hectic morning, I was running late and we were behind schedule for an important meeting. As I gathered my things she made small talk with my hubby, who was making breakfast for the kids and starting some of our regular weekend chores. She praised him for being such a good husband and made a mention of how lucky I was, a comment to which at her I rolled my eyes. To my husband I simply reminded him that he forgot again to take out the garbage, and that I would probably kill him if he forgot again. I rushed out to my meeting without giving our exchange a second thought. However, my friend wasn't letting me off that easy. She is a single mother who constantly struggles with her son's father after a long relationship ruined by his inability to r

Like every Black mother who read or watched the story of Trayvon Martin unfold, immediately following the anger, sadness and outrage, I felt fear. That not-so irrational fear of "Will my son be next?". I watch my nine-year-old running around the backyard pretending to be the hero from whatever new cartoon he's obsessing about this week and I wonder how can anyone think he's dangerous, suspicious? Not my son. But every Black mom thinks, not my son, don't they? As the story continued to unfold and the media storm reached full crescendo, I knew a conversation with my inquisitive children would be unavoidable. This is unfortunately a required lesson for a male black child. How do you explain the what you cannot understand? How do you make sense of what isn't sensible? I debated on what to tell my very sheltered, very sensitive son. He's one of those children that insist on everything being fair and equal. After all nine is way to young to understand the co

Before Autism touched my life, I considered myself the kind of mother who pretty much had it together. Before Autism, I worked a full-time executive position, where my obsessive and control freak tendencies served me well. My three children were used to the daily routine of full-time school or daycare. Weaning, potty-training, bedtime issues, discipline, those were things  OTHER mothers struggled with, for me it never seemed like a huge deal. I managed to sail through the first 9 years of motherhood without wrinkling my designer clothes, mussing my perfectly relaxed hair, or chipping a french manicured nail. I could never understand what other parents complained about. I was so smug and arrogant. I could not imagine what must go on in the houses of the lady behind me in the check out line with the screaming, rebelling children. I would think to my myself "home girl needs to get it together". I thought I was done having kids, so my fourth pregnancy was a huge surprise in th

I have been debating on whether or not to write a blog for quite awhile. Trying to balance the  having an unrestricted creative outlet I desperately need, against the stress and time constraints of my already hectic life. I wondered, what would I write about? I decided I’d write about myself because it would be easy,until I tried to figure out which “self” that would be. What story would matter? What would my readers-to-be relate to? Which story could I tell? I have so many and that’s when it hit me! I’ll tell them all. So what will my blog be about? Love and Marriage. Friendships and Family. Parenting the Gifted Child and the Special Needs Child. My career and my home life. I’ll invite you to peek inside the madness, while I figure out the method. Let’s go……