Category: balance

On Fire

Dr. Mama Esq.4 Comments

by Amanda Enayati

There is a pile here: two big boxes and three large envelopes. The boxes are stamped Penguin Random House and the envelopes are from Simon Schuster. The boxes contain my first book, due to be released in early March. The envelopes contain a book I contributed a chapter to, alongside a slew of well-known and bestselling authors.

They’ve been sitting in the corner for weeks now, unopened.

“Why won’t you open them?” My ten-year-old daughter has asked me more than once.

“I don’t know. I’m waiting for a sign,” I’ve said more than once.

Truth is, I’m terrified.

I spent so many years bum-rushing the gate that it never occurred to me to think through what would happen if it ever opened.

What if I made mistakes? What if it sucks? What if everyone hates my book? What if everyone hates me? What if what if what if what if …

I snatched my book, which is about stress and what it can teach us about how to live, from the jaws of time. I wrote it while taking care of two kids, dropping off, picking up, helping with homework, buying groceries, making dinner, washing dishes, cleaning toilets, vacuuming, working part-time at a consulting gig — and without hired help because, shit, that’s expensive and it’s either childcare or the kids’ music classes. I know most of you won’t bat an eyelash at any of this, because you’re doing exactly the same thing (and much more) yourselves.

So why don’t I feel like I’m enough? Why am I spending so much of what should be a glorious moment of triumph huddled in an imaginary corner, biting my nails, envisioning worst-case scenarios, fearing disaster? What if what if what if …

I suspect my stories. I do. I think we get these stories early on. They are handed to us by our parents, our families, our communities, our ancestors, our friends, our media. And we walk through our entire lives, sticking to these scripts. Often blindly. And if your stories are not good ones, if they don’t serve you, well …

At this point, I have a pretty good sense of my script. And in many ways I have managed to flip it. The past is just a story we tell ourselves. I have learned how to create better stories—great stories sometimes—stories that help me, that serve me. Being a child refugee from a revolution; living for years without a country or your immediate family; not fitting in; being called ugly over and over again because you’re too dark, too foreign; suffering from PTSD after 9/11; almost dying from cancer—in my new stories, all of these are strengths. They are superpowers. They make me special. They make me different. They make my book different than the scores written by the supremely privileged whose advice I just. can’t. relate. to.

But I also know that I have to remain conscious, in the moment, mindful, on guard, because the old stories, the toxic ones, are there, ready to kick me down and keep me there.

I think of how my kids move through the world sometimes. I marvel at them. How they own the moments; how they relish the joys and successes; how they examine the failures; how they don’t take any of it personally; how they keep a sense of humor about most things. I raised these two. I told them about the bad stories. Warned them not to believe the bullshit. To hand it back to where it came from and say: “No, thank you.” To write their own stories. I want so badly to be like my children.

The book, Seeking Serenity, comes out in two weeks. It’s time: the best of times, the worst of times. It’s now.

I am out there battling the dragons, quieting voices of defeat, countering them with new narratives. And I know I’m winning because these lands I find myself in are new. I have never ever seen them before.

Yesterday I had a companion. And as battle raged, she sang to me.

“She’s living in a world and it’s on fire,” she sang.

“She’s got both feet on the ground … She got her head in the clouds. And she’s not backing down.”

Yes, I replied, yes, Ms. Alicia Keys.

This girl is on fire, we sang together, she’s on fire. She is she is she is she is she is.

Today. Maybe today is the day I will open the boxes.

Amanda Enayati is a columnist, author and speaker whose essays about stress, happiness, creativity, technology and identity have appeared widely. Her book, Seeking Serenity, will be published in March 2015. You can find her on Facebook or Twitter.

Signing off . . . On Leaving the Navy and Still Feeling Guilty

Dr. Mama Esq.1 Comment

By Kia Dunbar-Harris

Guilt (n):

(1) responsibility for a crime or for doing something bad or wrong; or

(2) a bad feeling caused by knowing or thinking that you have done something bad or wrong.

For a long time I’ve struggled to find the words to describe how, on most days, I feel. Then I stumbled upon a great article describing a term I had never heard of before: “mommy guilt.” Everything in the article explained the feelings I’ve had ever since my daughter was born. I know I’m probably late, but, well, whatever.

My daughter is the most charismatic, energetic and pleasant little girl you will ever meet. She is wise beyond her years and has the biggest heart. I can’t imagine my life without her, but before I had her I didn’t even want her.

Let me explain.

As a college student, having a baby was the furthest thing from my mind. In fact, I remember telling my mother that I did not want to get married and I was probably never having any children.

As a young twenty something woman, I was well on my way to having a successful career as a nurse and a naval officer. I had dreams of traveling the world and being promoted up the ranks to someday being a Navy Captain, an Admiral even. My priorities changed when I met my husband, and at 27 years old, was actually married.

Soon after we got married, I found out I was pregnant. I wondered: Do I re-enlist for another commitment with the US Navy? Or do I get out with an honorable discharge? It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made.

You see, when I was four months pregnant, I was ordered to go to Guantanamo Bay to give chemotherapy to Iraqi detainees. I remember boarding the small plane thinking of nothing but the safety of my child. I had no idea what to expect when I stepped off the plane. What kind of danger or harm would come to my baby or me?

At that moment I realized that being a mom was more important to me than being a sailor, as much as I loved it. I owed it to my child to provide her a stable home and environment. I did not want to leave her on while I was on deployment or force her to leave her family and friends every four years. I didn’t want to do that anymore. I wanted to create a home for her. Somewhere safe and comforting like the home my mom created for me.

But although I resigned from the Navy, it did not stop my ambition as a nurse. I finished grad school and was blessed to receive promotion after promotion, my own version of the Jeffersons’ “moving on up.” But the higher the position, the more responsibility. And the more responsibility, the more time spent working.

Even though I’m not in the Navy anymore, I still feel guilty.

I spend many hours at work. Some evenings, I have to bring work home and it is not unusual for me to put in a few hours on the weekends. While I am trying to be a role model of a successful woman and make a better life for her, at times, I feel like I am missing out. There have been days when I’ve come home from work only in time to tuck her in at night. When I’m not at work, I feel like all of my time should be devoted to her to make up for all of the hours I am away from home. That time adds up, but yet I still feel like it just isn’t enough.

I’m sure some people, my husband included, feel that I over indulge my daughter. It’s probably true — it’s my way of compensating for the time I’m not with her. But is there really anything wrong with that? Am I wrong to make her think the world revolves around her when we are together because I want her to know how important she is to me? I want her to know that I am present in the moment.

Because no matter how many times she tells me she loves me and that “I’m the best mom ever,” I doubt the truth of those words.

It’s likely a part of who I am; I always feel the need to be better and do better. But, in the end, I always feel guilty because, in my eyes, I am still not doing enough. With each field trip I can’t chaperone, each morning I am not able to drop her off at school, each day I am not available to greet her after school, my heart sinks lower and lower in my chest.

I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. The article I read is a testament to that. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling bad. Because, truth be told, I still wish about “what if:” “I would be further in my career if I wasn’t a mom” or “I wish I was still in the Navy.” Of course, I love my daughter with all my heart and I love being a mom.

Still…

Sigh.

Signing off . . . and feeling guilty.

Kia Dunbar- Harris, RN, MSN, ACM, was born and raised in Philadelphia, PA and is a graduate of Temple University and Walden University. Kia is married with two children, one daughter and a stepson. Kia was commissioned as a US Naval Officer in 2004 and served four years active duty as a Nurse Corps officer and four more years as a reservist. She currently resides in Virginia Beach, Virginia.

Put on your dancing shoes

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by cocoa mama contributor rlb08863/mamatiti

I know that seems like an odd title given the events of the past year. We are coming fresh off the state sanctioned murder of Troy Davis. The anguish, pain, frustration and rage are still right under the surface. There was the trial and conviction of Raquel Nelson* who was senselessly charged with the vehicular manslaughter of her son despite the fact she was not driving and did not even own a car. There were the racist anti-abortion ads that cropped up in urban areas across the country, with a keen interest in black and Latino neighborhoods. There was the day of national shame when our President had to produce his birth certificate to the nation to prove he was in fact born here, a real American and thus fit to serve in a position that he was elected to. Across our great, post-racial nation, there are laws that seem to be in competition to see who can be the most xenophobic, the most anti-woman, the harshest against the poor and working class, the most draconian against sex workers, all in an effort it seems to prove who is the most American. The year started off horribly with the news out of Cleveland, Texas where an 11 year old Latina girl was gang raped by at least 20 black boys and men. The response by that community, in particular the women, seemed to confirm that the world was in fact going to hell in a handbasket.

So it would seem frivolous at least and idiotic at the most to ask any of you to dance. For many of us, myself included, dance brings to mind images of joy, abandonment, of lightness and exhilaration. We think of proms, weddings, birthday parties, and summer barbeques. It is a time of celebration and validation. It is more though than just a good time.

Our foremothers and forefathers understood  this. They knew dance, movement whether in harmony with other bodies or swaying on its own, was a way of communicating with their homeland. It was a way of connecting with the earth, sky, smells and sounds that had been so cruelly and irrevocably taken away from them. When they got together with a drum, all of the day events, the degradation, the pain, the suffering, the blood, the sweat, the anguish was expelled just for a moment. So long as their bodies were in motion, no matter the amount of time, the dance was the spike in the eye of those who thought they owned their minds and spirits along with their bodies. As arms, legs, torsos, necks, breasts moved, they became birds, antelope, fish, butterflies, and snakes. For that moment, they were free.  Lest you think this is trivial, think to many black churches who still understand the power of dance – yes “a shout” is a dance. The transformative nature of movement still has a place after all this time.

We need to dance by ourselves, with our children, our partners, and our families. We need to put the good foot down so that our sons and daughters will see that the world has not defeated us, has not taken away our joy. We need to throw our heads back and lift our hands while we shake our tail feathers so that we can get it all out. All of the disappointments, inequalities, the setbacks, the downgrades and the layoffs. If the sweat gets in your eye, wipe it away and keep dancing. The world, the Tea Party, Republicans, those on Wall Street, the rich and elite, want us to be defeated so that we can’t fight. They do not know about our ancestors and the power of movement. They forgot – or never knew that slave revolts were started by drums.

When you dance, laugh, cry, shout, twirl. Hold your children. Be silly. Jump on the furniture. Do a conga line around the kitchen table. Do a dougie in the family room. Hell, do the Macerna.  Just don’t be still.

After you are good and worn out, rest. Eat. Laugh some more. Snuggle or meditate alone. Call someone you haven’t in a long time and tell them you love them.  Take a nice hot bath or shower.  After you put your children to bed, if you are able make love to someone you love. Sleep as much as you can. In the morning, you will be clear-eyed, determined, steadfast and most of all, ready to fight like hell.

* Because of the power of  black blogs,social justice blogs, Facebook, Twitter, other forms of social media and ordinary citizens who were rightly outraged by her plight, Ms. Nelson was offered a chance for a new trial.

Is Anybody Home?

Dr. Mama Esq.3 Comments

It’s been a little quiet around here. For that, I take full responsibility. Things have been brewing in my life that have taken my attention away from here. Honestly, I have what I think is a pretty good excuse, but I need to keep that to myself for a few more weeks 🙂

What else has been going on? Well, my 5 year old started kindergarten and my four year old turned, well, four. My summer job with San Francisco Public School District ended, and I started a month long vacation of sorts which has been hijacked by a certain something. I’ve spent the majority of my days in my house, trying to save money and wondering about the future.

Wondering, but not worrying. Wondering what life will be like in a year, two years, three years. Wondering how my children are changing, not just the fact of it, but actually wondering about the process. Wondering about how their personalities are changing, if they are in the right schools, if they will excel in school, if that should be my focus. Wondering if I can do this, this mommy thing and grad student thing and eventually this moving away thing and becoming a professor thing. Wondering if I’m taking on too much, trying to be the black superwoman that kills so many of us. Wondering how to keep it all in balance.

This is not a long post. I’m in a particularly contemplative mood that I think I’ll be out of in a week or two. But I wanted you to know that I’m here. We’re here.

First day of kindergarten

 

Four years old

The Wealth Gap and our Children

momwifelawyer2 Comments

The National Urban League is an organization that attempts to aid in raising issues that plague urban residents, most of whom are minorities.  Marc Morial the CEO of the National Urban League addressed a major issue of the wealth gap at the recent national conference held inBostonthis past July.  According to Mr. Morial, Blacks and Latinos have been especially hit hard by the economic meltdown.  According their study, gains made by these two groups over the last 30 years have been wiped out by the weakening economy.  Blacks and Latinos have a lower net worth than whites inAmerica.  Much of this had to do with the fact that Blacks and Latinos have most of their wealth tied up in their homes. When housing values decreased, the overall net worth of these groups did the same.  The net worth of Latino households decreased by 66 percent between 2005 and 2009.  Black households saw a decrease of 53 percent.  According to their study, Whites have an average of 20 times the net worth of Blacks, and 18 times that of Latinos.  If we continue down this path, our children will be at even a greater disadvantage than our grandparents were as far as wealth is concerned.

Don’t misunderstand me.  Being rich is not my ultimate goal in life.  I do however want my children to be enterprising, self sufficient individuals who are generous and capable of serving their communities.  I do believe that on some level, they can focus on others a lot better if they don’t have to live paycheck to paycheck.  I do believe that if they have a cushion, they can focus on others more, and not be too fixated on money.  This led me to begin to think about my own money habits and how I can strengthen my children’s.

I began to think about my own personal wealth, and how I can make sure my children have good money sense.  Although I believe we have come a long way, it is still important as a parent of cocoa children that I do my best to insure I raise children who know how to handle their money.  I did not grow up learning how to save, and I suffered for many years learning how to fix my mistakes.  I don’t completely blame my mother for not teaching me, she had to survive as a single parent with 5 children.  I do however believe that if I don’t teach my children the basics of fiscal responsibility, they will learn the same poor skills I learned, and thus be at the mercy to the above statistics.

I don’t consider myself rich, but I realize that many of my past money sins continue to affect me.  First, I took out way too much debt while in college, and thus killed my credit score.  I have a few credit cards with low limits, and therefore I rely very heavily on my income.  Although I own a house, and own stock, just like many people, I am not sure how long we would survive if my husband lost his job, especially now that I am in school.

My 8 year old gets a biweekly allowance, and I do my best to personally discuss with him how he should divide his money.  I explain to him the importance of tithing, saving, and treating himself.  I realize each time, how cheap my son is.  If he wants a video game, he now says to my husband, that instead of getting it when it first comes out, he will wait awhile, and buy a used game.  He is beginning to get it, and I believe over time, he will have strong control over his assets.

Although I still struggle with my fiscal choices, I actively work on how I can help change the overall climate of wealth amongst African-Americans.  I talk to my friends, family, and acquaintances about how to make better choices.  I implore people to not do what I did, and before they spend money, think about the best way to manage it.  I believe that God will not give you more than you can manage, and if you cannot manage $25,000/year, you will not manage $100,000 any better.  I believe we have come far, but have a long way to go.  I am sure many of you who reading this are much better than money than I am, so none of this applies to you.  For anyone who is or was like me, I hope this makes you think more about your money habits and how to change them for the better, if not for your sake, for your children.

she’s always in my head

Dr. Mama Esq.4 Comments

The mommy wars are battling in my head. They sound something like this:

he's not really choking her...lol

I can’t believe you chose to work this summer. You hardly get to see your children. I enjoy working. The two hours I spend with my kids in the morning are really great. It’s true that I don’t always get to see them before they go to bed…What kind of mother are you? You don’t get to see them go to bed, read them that story, even tell them you love them? That’s just a shame. Well, yes, it is sad that I don’t do that during the week, but by working, I’m bringing in much needed income so they can have other things…What is more needed than a mother’s love and time? Money can’t…Yes, but, they spend the majority of their time in preschool anyway, where they are very happy, happier, I think, than if they were sitting at home with me all day. And they are really well adjusted kids, who have tons of friends but still are attached to their parents. I think we have a great balance…Balance? You think it’s balanced to have other people – strangers really – raising your kids? Haven’t you noticed some of the bad habits they’ve picked up from these so-called friends? Well, yes, but…But nothing! You’ve abdicated the responsibility of raising your children to someone else, who isn’t necessarily doing a good job! And you didn’t have to – you chose to! Didn’t your son just ask the other night if you could come home earlier so you could read him a book before he goes to sleep? How did that make you feel?? Well, awful…

The lady in red has a lot to say.

When I decided I wanted to go from my PhD and JD and become an academic, it was for a myriad of reasons. Primarily it was for the lifestyle – the ability to do what I wanted as a career – study what I wanted, make my own life. It was also because I’m generally not a good employee. I don’t respect authority the way I “should,” I don’t like bureaucracy, I don’t kiss a$$, I don’t like small talk, I don’t do face time.

But I also knew that I wanted to work. Being a stay-at-home mom was never an option for me. From the perspective that I grew up with, a black woman who didn’t work was lazy, no matter how many kids she had or how much money her partner made. “Leave It To Beaver”‘s mom was not our reality; Claire Huxtable was. And furthermore, if you didn’t work as a black mother, then you thought you were “better than” the rest of us, with your nose turned up and all. Truth be told, it was not until I moved here, to this very wealthy suburb, that I even knew black mothers who didn’t work. I did not know any black mothers who had nannies or au pairs. And for me, even if the money was flowing copiously, as fascinating as they could be, being immersed in little people’s lives constantly is not engaging or enriching enough for me. And planning charity events would not be either.

This summer, I’m working a 9-to-5 to get a sense of what I might be missing by only going academic. And while I thought I would really not like it so much because of the bureaucracy, face time requirements, and other general BS, it’s really been the lack of time that I can spend with my kids that has really been the largest drawback.

And that’s a huge surprise to me.

At least in grad school, I’ve been a quasi-stay-at-home mom. Working around my class schedule, I can co-op at the preschool, pick my kids up from school in the middle of the day, be available to pick up a sick kid, skip class if I really need to. While I know being an academic is more structured than my life currently, I still see that lifestyle as much more flexible than being an associate at a law firm or working a 9-to-5.

But I’m still working. And hence the mommy wars are constantly going at it in my head.

The mommy wars are partly about privilege, and I think no woman can see the gift and the curse of working and having children more than a black woman. For me, being in this profession as a huge privilege, a privilege that feels uncomfortable. There are very few female law professors. There are even fewer black female law professors. And there are even fewer black female law professors with PhDs. I am (or will be) a rarity. And being rare, in academia sometimes, is a privilege. It’s hard to admit your privilege, especially when you understand the structure of opportunity in our society. Especially when you do not come from a historical place of privilege, and most of your family is not there with you. Yes, I’ve worked hard and yes, I’m bright, but I also had opportunities that had nothing to do with who I am but everything to do with where I happened to be, the chance of being born to certain parents and interacting with certain people who gave me a chance.

It seems that sometimes the meme of being Black in America is that we have to live the life that’s been handed to us. Especially for black women, especially for black mothers, not working a 9-to-5, or a 8-to-6, or a 7-to-7, as I remember my mom doing, is not an option. We, as black women, pride ourselves on working, pride ourselves on doing everything, pride ourselves on not being indulgent or lazy – sometimes taking that to mean that we should be at the bottom of the hierarchy when it comes to taking care of needs. And at one point this was our only reality. We had no choice.

These messages taught me to believe that even if I wanted to not work, being able to live the life that I’ve fashioned for myself feels…wrong. That to decide to use my talents to make life a little easier on myself is somehow…lazy.  And being on the “side” of the mommy wars that favors being at home more than being at work, well, that just feels like being a traitor.

I didn’t write this because I have an answer. Five years into this mommy thing and thirty into this black woman thing, and I’m still just trying to ask the right questions.

From the Crates: These Are My Confessions

Dr. Mama Esq.3 Comments

originally posted January 2010

The following is an abridged and edited version of a post I wrote more than a year ago, but I thought it was fitting for a Mother’s Day post.

I am not a good mother. At least not by the standards that have been set up for the current generation of a certain ilk of  mothers. A generation who is expected to place their children at the center of their universe, and make all decisions about their adult life revolve around what is supposedly best for the child. A generation that is expected to sacrifice their own happiness to make sure their children are happy. A generation that has been fed the idea that having children is a choice, therefore if you choose to do it, you must accept all the self-sacrificing consequences that go along with it. Continue reading “From the Crates: These Are My Confessions” →

Single Mommy Blues

carolynedgar8 Comments

It seems we mothers spend a lot of time – and ink – talking about how hard it is to be a mother.

Numerous books, parenting blogs and websites are devoted to the topic. On playgrounds and playdates, mothers huddle together and talk about how incredibly difficult this motherhood game really is.

And yet the voices of some of us mothers mostly remain unheard.

The point of this post is not to compare notes to see which moms have it worst. Mothering is hard. It’s hard whether you’re single or married, whether you’re successfully co-parenting with a cooperative ex, or doing it all by yourself, whether you have the help of a village or only the help you are able to pay for.

But I want to talk about the special hardships faced by single mothers who are doing it alone. Really alone. Without the help of a reliable spouse, co-parent, or a network of friends or family members who pitch in whenever possible.

For several years after my divorce, I sacrificed having a personal life for the sake of my kids. Weekends were consumed by soccer, gymnastics, baseball, softball, tennis, golf, ice skating – you name an activity, we probably tried it. Dating? Hah! I wasn’t ready. Focusing on the kids was a great way to avoid thinking about how badly I’d flubbed the whole “picking the right partner” thing.

I didn’t become SuperMom because I wanted to. I did it because I lacked an alternative. I live in New York City. My family is in Michigan. My ex-husband was – and is -absent and uninvolved.

I had the help I was willing to pay for. I paid full-time rates for part-time babysitters to ensure I had someone to pick the kids up from school and care for them on half-days and school holidays. The extra expense killed my budget, but my work schedule was too demanding to enable me to rely on afterschool programs.

Recently, I tried co-parenting with my ex-husband, an experiment that now seems short-lived. His last overnight visit with the kids was New Year’s weekend. He is too unreliable to keep a regular visiting schedule, and I don’t have the energy to deal with the litany of excuses.

Although single parenting would be tough even if I worked at home, my demanding executive job makes the juggling even more difficult. Plus, in addition to my day job, I do speaking enagements and lectures. I write, for this blog and others, on my own time.

I even finally started dating again.

The writing, the dating, the lecturing, and some occasional exercise are things I do for myself. But they take away from the time I spend with my kids. I can no longer devote every weekend to their activities. And I feel incredibly guilty about it.

For example: my son is a natural baseball talent. Yet I don’t have time to take him to a baseball coach to work on his skills. I don’t have time – or a good enough pitching/throwing arm – to take him to the park and help him work on his catching, fielding and hitting. I haven’t found time to have him try out for a travel team – and even if he did, I’m not sure I would be able to haul him around from game to game.

His father, who played baseball in high school, takes no interest in his son’s baseball development. I get angry about this sometimes, and then I realize being angry is futile.

Well-meaning friends tell me to stop beating up on myself. They tell me to focus on the fact that, all by myself, I have raised smart, independent thinkers who are thriving in some of New York City’s most competitive schools.

I do acknowledge my blessings. But still, I’m tired. So please forgive me for indulging in a bit of whining.

Mothering is hard for all mothers. It is especially hard for us single women who are parenting completely by ourselves. And because we’re so used to doing everything all by ourselves, we don’t ask for help easily. Or always know how to accept it graciously, without constantly thanking the person who agreed to step in for us. Or apologizing for being burdensome.

So if you know a single mom who parents by herself, maybe you can offer her a little help. If your kids are friends, maybe you can offer to pick her kid up from school and host a playdate at your house. Or you can invite her kid to a weekend playdate or sleepover. Let her be the last parent to pick up her child from the birthday party. Because whether she says it or not, she values every single moment she gets to spend by herself. But she may not feel she has the right to ask for that time.

And try not to get too annoyed when she keeps saying “thank you.”

Do Black Mothers Raise Daughters, Love Sons?

carolynedgar16 Comments

I’ve seen and heard the saying, “black mothers raise their daughters and love their sons” repeated enough to know that some people actually feel this way. Sonja Norwood, mother of Brandy and Ray-J, even weighed in on the question for Essence last year.

My 14-year-old daughter has accused me, on many occasions (usually when being denied something she wants), of liking her little brother better, or loving him more. I would be lying if I said I never treated them differently. I never thought that saying applied to me, though, because I think that I treat each of my children in accordance with their particular needs. 

But a recent conversation with a woman I know gave me pause. My friend admitted that she does more for her son than her daughter “because he needs more from me.” She asserted that her girl is more self-sufficient, more reliable than her son, even though he is older, and that her son “needs her more.”

That may be true. But is it fair?

Maybe girls are just more responsible than boys, period. My daughter is more responsible than my son, but I assumed it was mostly due to their age difference. My daughter is almost 5 years older than my son. She’ll be a freshman in high school in the fall, and he’ll just be entering 5th grade.

Truthfully, my daughter was more responsible at 10 than my son is now. For instance, at 10, my daughter started riding the public bus to school by herself. She had paid close attention to how we got from point A to point B on the buses and subways. She didn’t need instructions on how to get to school. She needed instruction on how to avoid trouble on the bus. I told her, “Sit near an older black lady, in the front. She’ll make sure nobody messes with you.”

My son, however, freaked out the one time I thought I would have to put him on the public bus to go to school. His school bus didn’t show up, and I couldn’t take him to school because I had an early morning meeting. It’s a straight shot from our house to his school on the nearest MTA bus, just as it was for my daughter. I told him all of this.

He cried.

“I’m not ready!” he shrieked. I sent him to school in a taxi instead.

Because my daughter is more responsible than her brother, I expect her to be responsible all the time. When she’s irresponsible, I get angry because “she should know better!” When my son is irresponsible, I chalk it up to his immaturity. When my daughter is petulant, whiny, tantrum-prone and defiant, I can’t stand it. When my son acts that way – well, he’s still a little boy. My daughter feels and deeply resents the difference.

My daughter says I “baby” my son and that I “forced” her to do more at his age than I force her to do. I deny it. But maybe it’s true. I admit I sometimes forget she’s still a kid. Or that I, too, can be petulant, whiny, pouty and tantrum-prone. Maybe my standards for her are a little higher than they are for him. That’s a balance I need to evaluate and correct if necesary.

I don’t think I “raise” my daughter and “love” my son. I do make distinctions between them based on their age, what I perceive to be their respective level of maturity, and their personalities. I think it would be unfair if I did anything else.

I check myself to make sure I give them equal time and affection. And as my son approaches his 10th birthday, I am giving him more responsibilities, such as household chores. He is fast approaching his teens, and I know it’s time to stop treating him like the baby of the family.

Still, I suspect there always will be an imbalance of some sort. Imbalance doesn’t have to mean unequal or unfair. The burden is on me to make sure that even if I’m not treating them the same, that I am nonetheless being fair.

Move and Stand

Dr. Mama Esq.5 Comments

I used to think that people couldn’t change. I used to think that no matter what, when folks entered a “discussion” there really wasn’t a lot of true back and forth going on, unless it was just the back and forth of voices going in one ear and out the other. I used to think that either people were truly set in their ways because they really believed in them, or because they were too proud to allow another opinion to seep into their consciousness.

I think there was a time that I was both of those things. I took a stand – I didn’t believe in being equivocal. “If you don’t stand for something, then you stand for nothing” was my motto. Everything had a right side and a wrong side and I didn’t really care much for people who couldn’t pick a side and then stick to it. Wishy-washy-ness just seemed like the creed of the follower, the person who didn’t have opinions of their own but could easily be swayed one way or another. It also seemed like intellectual laziness, too – I thought that if you just thought long enough about something, the right answer would come to you.

And then I had kids. I changed. But other folks with kids….they haven’t.

It’s amazing to me how childrearing has been happening for thousands of years but yet there still is no right answer. But instead of just accepting that, we keep fighting about it. We take stands every generation on something only to have that stand be overturned the next generation, and turned back the generation after that. This morning I saw a story on potty training, and how it was the newest front in the mommy wars. The story says that moms today are being pressured to potty train their kids “earlier and earlier,” but I know that older folks were telling me that back in the day kids were potty trained at two. So this “new” pressure isn’t really new; it’s just a generation gap, a old war that’s being recycled.

Little A way before the potty training bug bit her

Back then the stand was that no child wants to be potty trained – who wouldn’t prefer to pee and poop as you go, not stopping your daily activities, and have somebody else change you? Of course you need to go hard on the training. In the 50s, 90% of kids where potty trained by 2. Then the next generation came in and said – “Hey, wait! That’s emotional abuse! Let kids take their time, do it on their own time. They’ll be more successful, and you’ll save their psyche in the end too.” So 50 years later, by the 2000s, potty training wasn’t achieved until 3 and later. (And the diaper companies cheered.) Now, with more and more kids in day care and preschool, the centers are like – whoa….3-year-olds in diapers? If the child can say, “Change me!” then that child can go to the toilet! When parents start putting the hard work of toileting and diapering 30 pound children on somebody else, that somebody else is bound to start complaining.  It’s also some of the backlash against this child-centered parenting.

It’s telling how rigid some folks are on these issues. I’m happy to say that many of the conversations we’ve had on this blog have greatly impacted my own parenting. I am one of those people who used to be rigid in my beliefs, because I thought taking a stand meant something about me as a person. I still do. But now I think that being able to be flexible in one’s views – not wishy-washy, but being able to move, and stand, move and stand – is the better place to be. When we’ve argued about spanking, I’ve cut back on my spoon action a bit to contemplate what my other mamas have said. Our homeschooling discussions have really made me reconsider whether public schools can – and will – ever properly serve black children. I’m glad I’m out of the potty training phase with my kids – finally – but if we ever have another one, I’m sure I’ll deliberate about what approach to take given my experiences and the experiences of others – instead of being dogmatic about one way or another.

I still think its fascinating though: How can it be that after all this time, after all these children, that we are still learning – and fighting about – “what’s best?”