I Was Just Thinking

It's all Mike all day on TV1. In celebration of the legend, I watched The Jacksons: An American Dream for the 25th time. I don't know if I noticed this before, but Billy Dee Williams is playing Berry Gordy. I respect Gordy and what he has done, but isn't it a stretch to have Billy Dee playing him? That makes as much sense as Blair Underwood playing Russell Simmons. Wait. . . that happened. In Krush Groove.

Jason Weaver is so talented. And cute. Why didn't his career take off?

Jessica (from The Jeffersons) and Terrence Howard are in this movie. Did I know that?

They make Joe Jackson seem like an egomaniacal lunatic. If I were him, I'd be mad.

I love the scene when Katharine discovers Joe cheating and she goes off on him. That Angela Bassett is an excellent actress. She was so robbed at the Academy Awards.

Sigh

In the cool light of day (well, it won't be cool here for very long, but . . . ) I'm trying to figure out how the deaths of two people I've never met makes me feel. Farrah Fawcett did have a beautiful smile and seemed to be a zesty sort of lady. Clearly, Ryan O'Neal loved her from his guts. And "The Burning Bed" makes me cry every time. And isn't it awful that after the creepy death watch people have been keeping for months, she's now just fading away under the shadow of MJ?

And now, Michael. Dear Michael. The "tributes" being relentlessly played on television are a sad testimony to the country's relationship to MJ. What occurs to me now is that I didn't know him. And he was weird. My only real relationship to him is his music, in all it's brilliant glory. I remember watching the "Thriller" video at my childhood skating birthday party. It was a mind blowing experience. And my head and hands automatically do the "Thriller" dance as soon as I hear the first note. So, instead of having clueless 20 year olds acknowledge the well-known fact that they all stole from MJ, I'd really rather just hear his music. (My husband asked me not to get second rate statisticians to comment on him if he passes. Ha!) To quote Country Fried Mama, "Spare us the inarticulate commentary and play the man’s videos like you did back in the day." That's all I need.

Tearfully, She Hangs Her Head. . .

Mike.

Baby Girl

Top Three Reasons My Daughter Rocks:

3) She almost glows when she talks about her pink toolbox. Isn't that fabulous?! A toolbox for a girl--and it's pink! We went to buy paint and she was soooo exciting about all the tools she could put in her toolbox. My gender anti-conditioning is working!

2) They spilled milk in their bed last night and, while I was fussing about "you kids spill all the time . . . " she pointed out that "Two kids didn't spill Mommy. Only one kid spilled. Brother didn't do it; only me." Isn't that a wonderful display of character? When I said that I was taking away their cups for the night, she said that he should keep his." Please, oh please, oh please stay loyal to each other and committed to ethical behavior--forever!

1) She went to a father-daughter dance on Father's Day and behaved beautifully with her father. And the first, most important detail she wanted to report was riding the elevator over and over in the hotel. And eating chicken and salad.

I get all excited when I imagine the kind of woman she'll turn into. She's just great.

Happy Father's Day

I grew up in a two-parent home, and although I knew on some level that everyone didn't live like me, my world was populated by people who did. So, it was a little amazing to me when I married DH and came into contact with so many people who grew up without their father (DH being one of them). There were so many that I began to just assume that men did not stick around (my daddy being the anomaly).

When my friends began getting married and starting families of their own, my faith in men was renewed. So many men were not only sticking around for their families, but they were also excited about them. And at a time when Black families are especially notorious for being without the father, these men stand out even more for their commitment, their involvement, their sense of family. There's my husband, my brother, my cousins, SM's husband, SM's father, my good friend from junior high school, DH's best friend, my father-in-law (who stepped up to the plate and took care of children that weren't his) and countless other friends.

To all of these men, Happy Father's Day. You serve as an example of all that is good and right and we are honored to have you in our lives. And to my own father, I love you. You were the first man who made me feel special and I know I am the woman I am today because of your love and influence.

Not guilty, but not quite innocent

In general, I have decided that the whole mommy guilt thing is a bunch of crap and that I will get angry instead of guilty whenever someone tries to make me feel bad for working or wanting time to myself or feeling less-than yippy-skippy about being a mother. I figure, I'm still a human being and I'm doing the best I can. But the thing is, sometimes I'm pretty sure that I'm not doing the best I can. I was reading another starkly insightful post on Bad Mommy Moments and had this pang of guilt. Maybe it was more like sadness.

My daughter has been having a serious issue with yelling. I make a big deal about the children not yelling at me. I think it's disrespectful for children to yell at adults. In case I haven't mentioned it, I'm from the South and coddling children ain't what we do here. But she keeps telling me that it scares her when I yell and her face . . . . Man, she really seems to be in pain. It's as if I'm changing who she is. And my son just cries, but it's real tears instead of that dry whining he does when he wants something. It's beyond awful.

So, when I think about how hard I'm trying to be the loving, kind, whole, trust-worthy mother that I believe they deserve, I'm so sad that I'm short-tempered and distracted more often that I should be. And, if I'm being honest, I just give myself permission to release the frustration. I'm tired most of the time; I do more than my share of the childcare; I have to get things done; first-time obedience is the rule!; I have my own emotional stuff going on. But I know that these facts probably won't color their memories of their childhood or make them feel less lonely or unattended. It's my job to give them what they need to emerge whole from their upbringing so that they can create happy lives.

Before we started trying to conceive, I prayed for patience because I knew that I couldn't be the kind of mother I wanted to be if I didn't work on myself in that area. Sometimes I'm impressed that God has changed me so much, but when the grits hit the fan, I still resort to less than thoughtful behavior.

It's hard, but I'm going to take a cue from Bad Mommy Moments and step up my mommy game.

Won't Touch This

I don't think it is a secret how I feel about reality tv shows (except Tori & Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood--that show is the shiznit!). Even so, I am annoyed anew by A&E's new reality show, Hammertime. I liked Hammer in the 80's, but why in the world do I want to watch a show about him and his family? I liked Hammer in the 80's.

On the preview he's dressed like 90's Hammer with the tank and the bandanna. That manufactured gangsta persona was so cheesy. I wonder why he is recycling it. Or maybe it's just the look since apparently the show is anything but gangsta.

Everybody and his mama don't need a reality show.

Somebody, please, write a decent sitcom already!

Useless bit of info

In case it ever comes up in a trivia game or something:

I just realized that on "A Different World" Colonel Taylor (Glynn Turman) played former professor/mentor to Dwayne's friend Zelmer (Blair Underwood), who was being deployed in the military. Turman then played Underwood's father on "In Treatment" last season. Underwood's character was a fighter pilot.

Thought it was interesting. I love these kinds of connections. (*And this is probably another indication that I watch too much TV, but--whatever).

Holding it together with questionable effectiveness

So, I'm still dealing with the crisis. Not fun. So, part of what I've decided to do to help me stay in my right mind is to crochet. When you can't adequately fix the problems in your own life, help somebody else, right? I've completed a baby blanket and burp cloth (see the picture here--I'll post a picture of the one I actually made as soon as I can) for a local charity that gives handmade items to babies, and a hat for cancer patients.

I can't wait to take the stuff to the charity. I smile when I think of the comfort and loving kindness the recipients will (I hope) feel. It's a good thing. (And so is crochet itself--anybody want to join me? The Diva?)

What The Heck?

I try to avoid most music videos like the plague. And as I'm driving my children home today, politely listening to the benign NPR, what do we hear? A story about "Stanky Leg"! Somehow, my daughter already knows what it is and how to do it. I can only guess some child at school doesn't know how little I care to have my child engaged with hip hop at age 3. And then this "stanky leg" pops up on little ole NPR!

Have mercy!