Category: Uncategorized

Who’s Loving You?

nazie5 Comments

Is your child in front of you? Take a really good look at him or her. Did he just make you laugh? Did she do something that made you furious? Did you feel a burst of joy when he said something loving?

What if in fifteen minutes, the phone rings. You get up. You walk over. You pick up the phone. It’s your doctor. You went in for a routine checkup late last week. She has the results. You were expecting them Friday, and today’s Tuesday. Four days late but you’re not worried and so you hadn’t called to follow up. You’ve always been healthy. You’re almost always the last person to catch whatever virus is going around—if you catch it at all.

The doctor cuts to the chase. She says three words in quick succession: “It is cancer.” You hear the words but you don’t understand. It’s almost like someone is speaking to you underwater.

Then the walls crash in on you. In one instant, the decades you saw stretching before you are reduced to months. If that.

And the first thing you think is: What about my babies? What is going to happen to my babies? What are they going to do without a mother?

You don’t think it could happen?

I didn’t either. But it did.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in my 30s—two and a half years ago—I thought I had been handed a death sentence. It was advanced. It was serious. It had spread. All three typical of women of color at diagnosis.

I was so confused. I had nursed both of my babies for over a year each. I was still nursing my youngest. I had no family history. I had no risk factors. How could this be?

I was in such a fog those first few weeks.

Almost immediately I started beating myself up. This could have been prevented—or hugely mitigated—if only I had looked out for myself as well as I did for every single other person around me. If one of my babies as much as cried funny, I would run her to the doctor. Why had I ignored all of my own warning signs?

I had been so incredibly tired and run down for a few years. I assumed it was because I was a new mother.

I had felt something lumpy in my breast. I assumed it was a clogged milk duct.

I had been angry, furious, raging for a long time. I assumed it was a post-partum something or other.

I seemed to have a chronic yeast infection.

I was catching colds and flu constantly—not like me at all.

By the time I finally got a mammogram, it had been over a year since I hadn’t felt right. The mammogram showed nothing. I had to insist on an ultrasound. The ultrasound picked up a mass. They biopsied it and there it was. All 9 centimeters of it.

It is well known that women of color—and particularly black women—don’t detect their breast cancer until much later. As a result by the time they’re diagnosed, the cancer is much more advanced and thus much more likely to be deadly.

A few months ago at the CNN Heroes event, I had the honor to meet a beautiful angel of a human being—an African American woman from Florida—who, following a breast cancer diagnosis, made it her mission in life to go knocking on doors every weekend to make sure that every single woman who would like a mammogram but can’t afford it, can have access to one. For the obvious reason, I’m a bit hostile toward mammograms (it didn’t pick up my nine centimeter tumor) but I could see how they are of value in certain situations. And there are certainly many other diagnostic tools out there that can detect whatever may be wrong with great accuracy.

The one thing modern medicine is pretty good at is detection and diagnosis.

I’m now two and a half years out. I passed a major milestone at two years post-diagnosis and will pass another one in another two-and-a-half years at the five-year mark. I remember when they had put me into an MRI machine to see whether the cancer had metastasized elsewhere, just praying and visualizing myself dancing at my daughter’s wedding. “Please God, let me raise my children. Please give me the honor of raising my babies,” is what I repeated over and over again in my head those days.

My kids got me through some of the darkest times that followed.

I love my kids. I intend to be around to raise my kids. For that reason, I now take really good care of myself as well.

And I am asking in all seriousness: Are you loving YOU?

The Talk

Benee11 Comments

Last Friday, my soon-to-be ex had “The Talk” with my 7 year old step-daughter. “The Talk” meaning the “Benee and I are not married anymore” talk.

Without me.

We had previously agreed that we would sit her down and tell her together, so that we could both express our love for her and for our family, and reassure her that it was nothing that she did. He’d picked her up from home (I’m usually the one who does that since I have the car) and met me in Manhattan. Our plan was to pick up the boy and spend a nice family evening together.  When I called him to see where they were, he said, “I need you to get out of the car and give J a big hug because I had “the talk” with her.”  Immediately, I was angry. How could he do that without me? He explained that she was asking questions and he felt he had to answer them. He said that she was crying and asking what happened, why was this happening. My heart was breaking as he spoke, but I got out of the car and as they approached, I grabbed her and gave her a big hug.

In those moments, I held her close and I felt broken. All of the pain of everything that led to this point of having “the talk” came rushing back and I was hurt, sad, angry, bitter, and depressed all at once. But, I knew that I had to put on a strong front, a happy face, and be supportive of her needs at the time. I admit I was hurt and disappointed that he talked to her without me, but then I understood that he felt the need to ease his daughter’s confusion and I allowed him that.

We had a good family evening. She’d been asking why sometimes she stayed with her daddy at grandpa’s house and why sometimes she stayed with me and her brother, without daddy. It was time to explain and I think we put it off for so long because we had not yet tied up our loose ends. We didn’t want to confuse her until we were absolutely positive things we done with us.

And they are.

So now, the next task is handling the more sensitive task of ensuring that the 3 year old boy comes to some understanding of the situation. At least, whatever his 3 year old mind can handle.  He seems to have a confused sense of “home” and that troubles me. This past weekend, he called me “Abuela” at least 5 times. “Abuela! Ummmm Mommy…” was how he started several sentences. That troubles me because I already have issues with the choice we made to have him stay with his father and grandparents during the week and me on weekends. I don’t want to disturb his amazing development as a little intelligent, funny, precocious boy. I’ve read the statistics about the effects of “broken homes” on young people and we’re doing what we can to counter the negative effects by wrapping him up with the love of extended family.

But I’m still his mommy. And I’m still her “other” mother, as she has always known me to be. I over think the future, especially since her father is already focused on the woman he wants to be his next wife. I overthink how maybe, eventually, I will become obsolete to her. Will she still think of me as her second mommy? Or will his new wife replace me and that precious position I’ve held for the last 4.5 years? Will she even remember these early years and all of the love and attention I gave her? Will she remember who taught her how to shop and coordinate her outfits, who did her hair on the weekends, who took her to get her nails done? Will I just be her brother’s mother after this new woman has replaced my position as her father’s wife?

It hurts, at times, when I think of the effect this has and will have on our children. They are so young, so innocent. This is such a huge period of adjustment and I feel we have a lot of careful work to do to make sure they don’t lose their sense of safety and stability. I admit, I’m nervous… I don’t know what to do, how to be….

And that scares the crap out of me.

Good Fortune and Good Luck

ORJ39 Comments

Although “Mazel Tov,” a Hebrew phrase, translates literally as “good luck,” the expression really means “good fortune has occurred,” hence its use as a term of congratulations.  I had a baby girl 8 months ago: Mazel Tov to me! I have been lucky enough to be able to stay home with her since her birth, and with the exception of the nine hours a week that I teach and hold office hours, I will continue to be her primary caregiver until she is at least 15 months old.  At that point, I will need to take more hours out of the day for work.

I had it all planned out: at 15 months we would enroll her in the on-campus day care program, a mere 5-minute walk from my office. We live near campus, so there would be no commute; only a leisurely stroll across well-manicured lawns to her classroom.  I could stop by to have lunch with her, or stop by, just because.  She would never be too far away, and she would never have to stay longer than necessary.  At the end of the day, we’d walk back across lush campus greens together.

Well, you know what they say about the best-laid plans.  The on-campus daycare has elected not to renew its NAEYC certification (the gold-standard for child care facilities), it is losing its manager of over 20 years due to retirement, and faculty are starting to pull their children out, citing a decrease in the quality of care, insufficient “free-play” for the children, and an environment that is not as warm or nurturing as other day care facilities in the area.  I am no longer mapping out our walk to school together in the mornings.  Instead, I am now considering one of the best Jewish day-school infant programs in the city.  Although the program is described as secular, a non-Jewish colleague who enrolled her child fondly recalled that her child grew up singing “cute Jewish nursery rhymes.”  I now envision my daughter doing the same, using Hebrew words to tell me about body parts and manners.

I’m worried.

Jewish religion and culture are as beautiful and relevant as any other religion and culture, and have impacted my own life in both significant and superficial ways.  The problem is what consideration of a Jewish day care program has forced me to confront: I do not have access to a “Haitian” day care program; there is no “black” day care facility.  For much, if not all, of my daughter’s education, she will engage with a curriculum that will, at best, ignore her experience as a person of color, and at worst, focus only on the oppression of people of color in this country. As if to signal things to come, there is not one picture of a black child in the day care program’s brochures.

Raising a black child is not for the faint of heart.  A mere 8 months into her life, my husband and I regularly question the choices we make regarding the formation of her identity: is she playing enough with other children of color?; should we only hire black babysitters?; Spanish is nice, but maybe we should expose her to French or Kreyol…; does she see enough women of color?…does she meet enough women who look like me?  We are committed to creating an environment that will affirm the color of her skin, the shape of her lips, the texture of her hair: the artwork on our walls intentionally feature black women; her bookshelf is filled with stories about children of color; we will not be bringing the March 2010 issue of Vanity Fair into our home.

And now, we must start thinking about the educational environment that is best for her.  What does “best” mean?  Surely, it must mean a day care that meets the highest child-care standards.  It must also mean a day care that gives her a couple of minutes to stack the darned blocks whichever way she wants.  But does it also mean a day care that will celebrate the beauty and worth of her cultural background?  I am under no illusion that the on-campus facility would have taught her songs about Haitian independence, the words to “Frere Jacques,” or the accomplishments of black women in the Americas.  It is one thing, however, to be one of several black children in a mainstream day care program; it is quite another to be the only black child in a Jewish day care program.  Can I enroll her in this program without somehow undermining the sense of pride we are trying to instill in her regarding her own racial and ethnic identity?

We have officially entered the morass of steering a child of color through the American education system.  Good fortune has certainly occurred, but moving forward, I now need wishes of good luck.

Mommy, I’m gonna be a star

Guest CocoaMamas6 Comments

My youngest son is a natural entertainer. I remember when I was dating my husband we had a discussion about our favorite comedians. Mine is Martin Lawrence, his is Eddie Murphy. He then proceeded to tell me how Eddie Murphy’s teacher had to give him 5 minutes at the beginning of class to tell a story, jokes or whatever was in his heart. Well, at Jayden’s PT conference we found out that his teachers have had to do the same for him. So, at the beginning of circle time every day, Jayden, who is only age 3, has his storytelling, joke, share his heart time.

Our family was recently invited to be filmed for a documentary about African American families. Jayden was on. Talking to the producers as soon as they walked in the door. They really wanted to just film our family and interview me and Cliff. But, who kept showing up asking when it was going to be his turn? Yes, Sir Jayden. So, his charm overwhelmed the producers. They did not plan on recording him talking at all. But, Jayden had a different plan. So, they went off script and interviewed Jayden. And he was on.

So both of my sons love entertainment. Cliff and I have agreed to encourage and nurture their natural gifts. But, we have also told them how important it is to get an education. So, Tre wants to be a rock star. That’s fine with us. We then told him that he would need to go to college and major in engineering, so that he will know how the equipment in the studio works…or business, so that he understands the business of the music industry (I don’t want anybody cheating my baby out of his royalties)…or music, so that he can be a pure musical genius.

I don’t want anyone to look at my cocoa babies and dismiss them. I want them to run the show that they are starring in. I know that their talents will take them far. I want them to be able to call the shots, not sitting around waiting for the call. I want the best for them and will support them in whatever way I can. Isn’t that what being a mother is all about? What are your kids dreams?

Tre rockin out
The band

Yes, they changed their bed into a stage. Cliff and I were the audience. The entire bedroom was transformed. It was a great concert filled with original music.

Annie is a former CocoaMama who is married to her best friend of 15 years. They have two sons, a 6  year old and a 3 year old. She currently works at the Pennsylvania State University full time where she  is also completing her doctoral degree in higher education. She has worked and been a student for as  long as she has been a mother. So, she has had to learn how to simultaneously juggle all of her  identities. While she has not perfected this skill, she continues to assure that her family remains her  number one priority.

Losing the Baby Weight

Benee6 Comments

Ok, the title is deceiving, but maybe readers can relate to my current journey: weightloss.

I’m not losing baby weight. In fact, I lost about 45 lbs from the time I conceived until about a week after I delivered.

I’m just losing weight in general and have been for the last 7 years.  I thought about this post today while speaking with one of my subordinates at work. She is young, 23, no children, lives alone, and doesn’t have much of a social life. She is also a plus-sized Latina who, though beautiful in looks and personality, is on a dangerous path, in my opinion.

Back in college, I wish I knew what I know now. Believe it or not, I knew NOTHING about how one gains or loses weight. I just loved to eat and wasn’t interested in anything sports- or exercise- related because no one ever pushed me towards it and because I never had to do it. I was about her age when I was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes and had to learn an entire new way of living. So, I see her, and I have reached out to her to give her some encouragement and motivation to lose the weight NOW. I see myself in her and maybe I feel like I’m going back in time. I told her it will melt off and her skin elasticity is priceless. She’s never thought about losing weight because, like me, no one talked about healthy eating/living in her life. There are a lot of cultural issues involved with this, with Black and Latina women more likely to be overweight. But that’s not the point of this post.

Since my diagnosis, I have been up and down on this journey. I started off losing about 100 lbs in about a year, only to gain 75 back over 2 years, then I lost 45 with the baby, and in the last 3 years, I’ve gained 20 back. That 20 is net because I dropped low low and went high high.  I’m an emotional eater, so going through the dissolution of my marriage, I found comfort in my love of food.

However, today is a new day.

I’m no longer carrying the emotional baggage. I no longer have the “I have no money for a gym” or “I have no time to go workout” excuse. I’m no longer seeking comfort foods to fill the voids in my life. I have the time, I have the energy, I have the focus, and I’m putting my plan into action. For real this time.

I’m feeling better already. I’m sleeping better, I have more energy, and I feel like I’m finally buckling down and doing something for myself after years of sacrificing and giving up my time and energy to serve and please others.

So maybe it isn’t the baby weight that I needed to lose. Maybe it was the weight of a bad marriage, the weight of low-esteem, the weight of financial burdens, the weight of being a new mom, and the weight of being unfocused and out-of-sorts that I have had to shed to finally be able to achieve a long-term goal of mine.

I’m finally, as the young folks say, “Doing me”

🙂

Raising Princess

nazie10 Comments

I want to raise a child with character. I want my child to lead a life of service. I want my child to be of substance, to make a difference, to resonate with humanity during her time on this earth.

 Except my child is five.

 She wants to play princesses. She wants to dress up. She’s curious about high heels and makeup. And she’s so worried about disappointing me. I can see it in her eyes as she waits to see how I will react to her admiring one of those princesses, the ones she knows mommy can’t stand. And so I catch her watching for my approval (or disapproval) and I catch myself trying to twist my face to hide my dismay, to act like I’m okay with the blonde busty princess with the big gown and tiara, the one who obsesses about finding herself a prince and not much else. Both of us doing this dance, for the sake of the other.

“My mommy doesn’t like princesses,” I overhear her telling a friend recently.

“Why?” my friend asks. My ears perk up.

“Because she thinks they’re vain and shallow.”

I groan inside. I’ve done it! I’ve ruined the magic of princesses for my five year old. I’ve screwed up her childhood. She will be on some therapist’s couch in twenty years.

Later that night, I tell her I don’t dislike all princesses. I like some of them, the ones who do things for others, who are kind, who try to do service. I make a big deal out of the new Disney princess. I highlight the fact that she works so hard, that she has character and stands on her principles. “See? Mommy likes some princesses.”

I’m struggling! I’m struggling with trying to balance the whimsy of childhood and the need to teach character and spiritual qualities early on. I’m afraid that if I wait too long, it will be too late. I look around and see cause for alarm. I see girls bombarded night and day with images of women as sexual objects.  I see pre-teen girls wearing things I would expect to see on a thirty year old. I see women being rewarded for scandalous, immoral behavior. I see twelve and thirteen-year-olds whose milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. This makes me lose sleep.

I was no saint myself. I was no girl scout. But it seems like the situation has become dire for our little girls. They’re under assault, both explicitly and otherwise. They have become the playthings of the ignorant and they are cast in that role from an earlier and earlier age. And no matter how hard you work to stay on message, eventually they go to school. They make friends. Maybe some of those friends’ parents aren’t so bothered by the same things that bother you. Maybe during a play date, while you’re in the kitchen making lunch, you suddenly hear your daughter’s little friend teaching her some song about her “lovely lady lumps.” You feel a panic attack coming. You do your yoga breath to calm down.

And later that night you pray for guidance and wisdom … and balance.

I was created with intent

Guest CocoaMamas2 Comments

I was reading a post on this blog about teaching your children about their culture and race and it was so in synch with how I’ve been feeling lately.  As I watch the news (albeit a small amount) and respond to women’s concerns about marriage and dating, I am constantly dealing with my own feels about my race, my heritage, and its importance.  And its important to me that children go up feeling as positive about my heritage as I do, if not more.

I often ask myself the question, “Why did God decide it was important for me to be a Black woman?  What part of my ancestors had to be passed down to me so I could fulfill my created purpose?”  See, that’s how I look at being a Black woman.  I think about the great and powerful things our people possess inside them, and how I have the privilege of being one of that number.  It makes me want to read books, study my family tree, and draw from the people who came before me.  They were great and now I am a reflection that greatness in my own way.  And my daughters are great, with the same created intent as I have and as my husband has.  They are great children.  Greatness is their inheritance.

So, I think about the when and the how that I will begin to explain to my daughters that they are not just females, or daddy’s girls, but young Black daughters.  African-American women of the future.  (Boy, that has a great ring to it!)  I want to start with how awesome they are and how resilient their great-grandparents and their parents had been so they can continue to be great in their own lifetime.

I will tell them about the intolerance of others, but only so that they can withstand the sting of it as best they can, so that it doesn’t cripple them.  I want them to be able to handle it with grace, and forgiveness, but still from within them know how great they really are.

I draw my strength from the place that says I am perfect the way I am created, with all my faults and short comings.  I was created with intent, because it made sense to the one who knows all things.  And He looks at me with pride for what He has created in me.  And in Bob.  And in Robin.  And in Alecia.

I wanted to know how you ladies discuss race with your children, and if you feel a sense to want to pass on things to them.  If you don’t that’s cool.  You shouldn’t feel pressured.   I just enjoy celebrating all that I am, and the character flawthat challenge me to grow, so I wanted to know if you all felt the same.

I’m not trying to brag.  You know what I mean.  But there is nothing imperfect about my daughters eyes, her skin, her nose, her hair, her everything.  And I am shaping her mind to feel the same.

Christine is a wife, mother of two, and a business woman.

Dating While Divorcing

Benee10 Comments

Ok.

I am a reasonably attractive woman. I walk with confidence, dress well, try to smile when I make eye contact with people, and I even add a sway to my hips.

I am a plus-sized woman, 6’0 tall, and I have natural hair. And, believe it or not, I get hit on a lot. Pretty much daily. Always have, even when I was married.

I was with the same man for 4.5 years and I’ve finally reached the point where I am ready to date again.

Here’s my question: What now?

When you’ve thought you’ve found “The One”… the person you pledged your life to, the person you had children with, the person who promised you forever, you think “Hey, life is pretty nicely wrapped up. Now I can focus on other things.”  But then, when it ends, you are forced to re-evaluate, re-prioritize, and really figure out the next step.

I’m 30. I should say, I’m ONLY 30. By no means an “old maid”, by no means too old to think about the next one. Too young to resign myself to never finding love again. Yet, I have doubts, fears, concerns.

Will I be able to trust another person again? Will I be able to let my guard down enough to let someone new in? Do I even have the desire/interest to try this all over again? How will I proceed now, being a mom?

The latter is the biggest issue for me. I’ve seen some people bring all kinds of people around their children all willy nilly. I’ve also seen some people all but bar people from ever encountering their children. There has to be a happy medium. I’m trying to figure that out. I think I decided that I dont want to bring anyone around my kids until we’ve been “serious” for at least a year. Part of me wants to say until we’re talking moving in or marriage, but part of determining that is how the person interacts with my kids. Thats a key factor that wasnt an issue beforehand.

So, Ive been on dates. Met some interesting people. Trying to figure out who stands out. I see potential in one person, but again, there are some fears. I don’t ever want to end up in a situation remotely like what I experienced in my marriage. At the same time, I know I want companionship again. I want to have someone take care of my heart and soul. I want someone to come home to.

I’m being patient. Things are still new for me. The best part is the feeling that I’ve finally released myself from my marriage and the feelings therein, and I’m finally ready to move forward.

Wish me luck 🙂

The man of my dreams

Guest CocoaMamas3 Comments

So, I was going to write about something else today, but today is too special to ignore. Today is the day that my soul mate turns 32 years old. That may not seem significant to those of you reading this, but it is to me. You see, I’ve been with him since he was 17 and I was 16. March 2010 we will celebrate 15 years of being together. And in June, 8 years of wedded bliss (well it wasn’t always blissful, but that’s for another blog). We have literally grown up together and been through ups and downs together. What didn’t kill us, made our union stronger. I’m sure you are now asking what this has to do with being a Cocoa Mama.

To me, my union with my baby daddy has everything to do with being a Cocoa Mama. I couldn’t imagine, and try not to think about, what my life would be like without him. I often ask him questions about his childhood. He grew up with a brother 3 years younger. This is the same age difference between our boys. As I watch our sons interact I began to ask…Did you and your brother fight like this? Were you friends growing up? What type of relationship did you have? What did you think of your mother growing up? What did you think of your father? What was your relationship like with your parents growing up? Did you want to be like your dad?

You see, we have always communicated about our childhood experiences and what our children’s experiences will be like. But, I find myself constantly in awe of my in-laws, my husband and my children. Of course we talk about the things that our parents did that we swear we will not do. But, we also recognize the wealth of knowledge we gained through the unconditional love we both received. I consider myself fortunate to have this man be the male role model in the lives of my boys. If they are have the man their dad is, the world better watch out.

And as an educated Cocoa Daddy who puts his family at the forefront of everything that comes his way, I say thank you. To my best friend, thank you for allowing me to be your partner in life. Thank you for being the father who plays football in the basement, baseball in the backyard and reads to the boys every night before bedtime (well now our oldest reads to him every night). Thank you for encouraging me to pursue my dreams while picking up the slack at home. Thank you for getting upset when people congratulate you for “babysitting” your own children. Thank you for being my sanity and telling me, “Honey, go lay down. I’ve got the boys.” Thank you for allowing me to be the Cocoa mama that I am.

32 years ago, the Lord in is divine wisdom saw fit to bring forth into the world the best friend, confidant, baby daddy and lover (that’s right, I said it cause I can) a girl could pray for. Happy Birthday Clifton Holmes! I pray that God blesses you with many more. I love you!

Annie is a CocoaMama who is married to her best friend of 15 years. They have two sons, a 6  year old and a 3 year old. She currently works at the Pennsylvania State University full time where she  is also completing her doctoral degree in higher education. She has worked and been a student for as  long as she has been a mother. So, she has had to learn how to simultaneously juggle all of her  identities. While she has not perfected this skill, she continues to assure that her family remains her  number one priority.

Teaching God…I think

Guest CocoaMamas5 Comments

Part I

7:40 pm . Olivia, my soon-to-be -4-year old, is in bed but not yet sleeping. Her eyes flutter, and she yawns. I drag the comforter from the floor, its usual place at nighttime (my two-year-old son, 30 minutes earlier, climbed on top of Olivia’s bed, threw her pillows and stuff animals and comforter onto the floor, and jumped his little heart out. Olivia joined him, and this is the bedtime ritual I have allowed, and it lasts for several minutes.). I pull the comforter over Olivia’s chest, stopping below her chin, and then she startles me with: “Mommy, we forgot to say our prayers,” and she says this in a loud whisper but she does not make any moves to get out of bed because she is sleepy and tucked in so nicely. Part of me just wants to let her sleep because she’s had a hard day (um, pre-k?) and she looks so angelic in bed. But a voice in my head suddenly starts criticizing me for even thinking this heathen thought so I reach for my child, pick her and place her on the floor. She’s leaning over the bed, burying her head in her folded arms. I am kneeling. “Kneel, babe.” She does so. We do not recite memorized prayers, but I do ask her, “What are you grateful for today?” Tonight, she does a half-shrug and yawns. She usually does a full-shrug with a half-smile.  I remind her of all the “good” things that happened to her today: singing songs at school, playing with her brother, talking to her aunt on the phone, and the cookie her grandmother gave her when she thought I wasn’t looking. And then I tell her to ask God to watch over all the people that she loves and cares about. She does so. This lasts two minutes, and I pick her up and put her back to bed.

We pray because this is the easiest way to explain God to her. I do not know how to answer “Where does God live, Mommy?” without feeling like an idiot-hypocrite when I say “He’s everywhere” and then quickly changing my answer to “He lives in the sky” and then I’m thinking, “Oh, shit. I made God a male.” We do not go to church regularly (I never did when I was growing up), and I am not interested in forcing a religion on her, but I do want her to have a relationship with God. But what does that mean?  I could not even tell you. The only way I can articulate God is through prayer, and praying is spiritual for me. Praying is a time to be reflective and to help my child articulate her gratitude toward being alive and being surrounded by people who love her. Am I crazy? Is this too much? Is it too early to teach empathy and sympathy through prayer? Do I tell her about the earthquake in Haiti and the devastation and for us to pray for our brothers and sisters in Haiti?

Last fall, my daughter’s school held a can drive, and Olivia reminded me for days that I needed to give her cans to bring to school. Then one afternoon, after I pick her up from school and we’re in the car, she tells me, out of slight frustration by my forgetfulness, “Mom, we need to bring cans to school for the poor people. They don’t have anything.” I look at my daughter’s face through the rear view mirror, and her expression is thoughtful and concerned. I make a detour and head straight to the grocery store.

Stay tuned for Part II, where I go shopping for a church…

Martha has lived in New Orleans, Louisiana for 30 years (with a few years here and there in Princeton, New Jersey and Washington, DC), and is the proud Cocoa Mama of two children, Olivia and Abraham. She is also a doctoral student and writing instructor in the English department at Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge, and her research interests are women’s and gender studies and American literature pre-1900.