A Womanist Mommi's POV

Let's be real, the primary concerns of the average black woman are not that
closely aligned with those of white women.

Black mothers fear for their sons who, if current statistics prove true, have a higher chance of ending up in jail than in college -- or of being victims of violence.

Black mothers wonder if their daughters will marry or have children, now that black women have the lowest marriage rates in the country and, if they are professional
black women, also the lowest birth rates.

Black men have the highest level of unemployment in the country.

And black women are contracting HIV at unprecedented rates.

With so many pressing issues bearing down on our communities, is it any wonder why gender has yet to trump race?

Marjorie Valbrun wrote these words in her article for http://www.theroot.com/ in regards to the Hillary/Barack competition for the Democratic nomination for President.

I couldn't have said it better myself. A resounding "Amen" I heard in my head as I read this article. It's the same resounding "Amen" I heard in my head when I read the Alice Walker definition of womanist (womanism) in regards to a black woman's feminism. It's the same amen I heard in my head when I read Nat Irvin's definition of Thrivals. It's the same resounding Amen I hear in my heart when I see the "Yes We Can" video. It's the same resounding Amen I hear to the beat of Jill Scott's "I Keep" or Common's "Be."

Those Amen's and How do I's go hand in hand in my life. How do I balance my income to live within my means, save, create generational wealth, and be philanthropic now? How do I raise my children to be multicultural, yet hold on to important cultural specific traditions? How do I walk my own journey of growth, while teaching them growth? How do I balance a career and entrepreneurial pursuit. How do I remain hopeful in the face of hopelessness? How do I continue to live and love with an open heart and protect myself, my children from the heartbreaks of life?

I can truly say that the differences of my experience as a Black mother are rooted in my conscious way of life. I am conscious that the choices I make for myself and my family affect the larger Black community. So those choices are made with a little more thought.

I can't say that I make all of the right decisions. But, I can say that there is thought - sometimes too much - in every decision that I make. And, all I can pray is that the good decisions affect all of the Black Mommi's, fathers, children and families in a way that elevates a people.

This Woman's Work!

India.Arie's Acoustic Soul plays in the background as I type this entry. Her soundtrack reminds me "why I do it all." Not that I feel that I am doing any of it well because of all that I choose to do as a - mother, wife in a struggling marriage, daughter, role model, transitional woman . However, I come to you today with a renewed sense of vision and purpose for my life's work - Being Family media.


I started this blog with the intention of creating a space to share my thoughts, feelings, ambitions, frustrations as an african american woman and mother. Giving voice to my specifics, I hoped would inspire others to take a clsoer into their own and ultimately create the beginnings of a universal voice told for the women living it, by the women living it. And, although it's been difficult to do this through all that goes on, I am committed to it.


This Saturday morning, I sit in my bed writing, while my two little ones take in some TV and my husband does whatever his Saturday morning calls him to do.


I am able to get today's entry done because I have said no to taking the kids to see Alvin and the Chipmunks movie. But, not before I checked the movie times to see if we could squeeze it in before Gabbi's 2p basketball game. Believe me, negotiation were fierce between me and a determined 8 1/2 year old.


"Gabbi, the movie startst a 12:20. We won't be able to make it to the game on time."
"Well can we go tomorrow?"
"No, we can't go tomorrow because we have the Peace Celebration (a annual school program honoring the idea of peace - big and small) at 3p and that's too much to do in one day."
"Well can we go next weekend?"
"Yes."
"Can Jarrid and Laci (my niece and nephew) come with us?"
"I don't know about that." (I'm thinking: I don't even want to begin thinking about the logistics involved - the 45 minute drive - and energy involved to host a sleep over).



She's not completely ready to let it go. But she sees that I am standing my ground and backs off.

The negotiation was so worth it though. My weekend can now include the me time that was intended when I started planning it last weekend amidst the overcommitted family time of the past two weekends. I can finally enjoy "my" weekend, which will consist of an entrepreneur meeting after the 2p basketball game. Then some solitude time - provided by daddy-duty to keep them occupied to bedtime and through tomorrow morning. We'll all go to the Peace Celebration - if Daddy doesn't find a reason to back out. And, then onto the Sunday evening befroe the work week grind.


One could look at that my weekend actvity list and see that there is still quite packed. But, there is a difference in this schedule and the one it could have been. There is actually time that's not all about everyone but me.



This new resolve for my time is important to find fulfillment in this woman's work.

I challenge you to do a little rearranging this week too. See how much you can move out of the way to find time do do whatever you want.


Maybe then we can all find time to formulate thoughts and opnions on the many things - world issues and community issues, recession, politics - happening around us, affecting us. But, we don't have to to affect them.


Let's take time to plug in, weigh in, be in.


Can I get a witness?

Mama's Bling

Wednesday, November 16, 12:15.

I signed my name on the time slot. But, the feelings involved were a mixture of fear, dread, pride and protection. I was bracing myself for what I thought would be my daughter’s teacher telling me how I needed to work with my sassy, active, sensitive, emotional, smart, beautiful, high-energy, brown child.

Those feelings were the result of my prejudgment based on daily observation of her new teacher, Suzanne, of whom I had decided was abrasive and judgmental. And, even though we had already had one conference - three weeks into my daughter’s introduction to her class - that resulted in me ending it with a hug because I was so happy with what she said; it was also after the two or three day interaction she had with my daughter that prompted her to ask me about her last school, because “she is waaaay behind.”

Oh, no she didn’t just question my decision, my parenting, my work! Now I know I don’t do everything right. But, if she didn’t know that I take my title as parent seriously, she’d better ask somebody! Because for me, parenting is political. Parenting is my contribution to the evolution of African Americans. And, questioning my choices, was like questioning the motives of the civil rights movement. Being born my child allows my children access to civil liberties like thoughtful education choices and spiritual grounding. And, having to defend my pre-school choice for my child, left me put-off by this white woman, her tone, her words and everything else about her for that matter. But, of course, there is always room for mother-guilt if someone makes mention of anything perceived as a shortcoming.

The day of the conference came. And, I was ready to tell her what I thought of her opinions, especially any criticism, constructive or not, suggestions or anything else I perceived as a negative comment on me as a parent or a negative assessment of my child.

And, as I rushed around, dropping my husband off at work (we were down to one car at the time); then double backing to my neighborhood to drop my daughter at school (we usually walk); then stopping at the bookstore to check out the latest magazines (they come out on the 15th); then onto to Target to get some desperately needed things for the house (once again because we are down to one car and I don’t know if I’ll have the energy to do it another evening after my husband comes home from work); then meeting my girlfriend to drop my son off as she does an 11:30a pick-up, I didn’t have much time to think of my response to any questions about my child’s lack before the conference. But, I knew one thing, I was going to keep a straight face and listen before I spoke. And try my best not to go off on this white woman of whom I had decided was a bit to callous and abrasive and judgmental for my taste. I don’t care about all of the other parent warnings that she is a great teacher. But, she’ll be the first to admit that she isn’t good with parent interaction.

But, to my surprise, the conference was the blessing that I needed just at that time in my life. I couldn’t believe my ears as her teacher talked about how my daughter was the ideal Montessori student. She’s an independent worker. She is a leader. She is pretty. She is smart. She’s nurturing. She respects the environment and others. She thinks she could be the first African-American woman president. And, she needed to hurry up because she would be at least ninety and she wanted to get to the white house when she was there.

With all of that complimenting, I had to ask, "You don’t think she’s too bossy." I can’t believe I’m the one bringing up criticism. To which she said of course she’s bossy. But, she’s not overbearing and she can get what she wants without being hurtful.

I knew it was all true. And, even talking about her perfectionism which leads to frustration when she can’t get something done right the first time, brought a mutually admiring smile to both of our faces as we talked about instances where we’d seen it rear its ugly head and how we each handle it. I shared with her that I think the problem is the genetic workings of my husband’s type A personality and my high emotions to which she said she could definitely see the combination in my daughter’s personality.

Those comments were more than enough for my ample bosom to stick out more that day. But, the icing on the cake was when I asked her if she thought there was anything that we needed to be doing at home to support what she is doing in the classroom. The response to that question is one I’ll cherish for the rest of my life. She said “No, you are obviously in tune with what’s going on with her; and with what she is demonstrating in the classroom, you guys are perfect parents.”

After that, my eyes were a little brighter, my voice a little friendlier, and my heart and blessing cup a lot fuller. Because for once, my hard work was being acknowledged - by a professional none the less. (How quickly my opinion of Suzanne changed.)

The bottom line is those words are the reason I do what I do. And, today I can feel good about leaving a successful career almost seven years ago. Because as much as I would love the home I dream of; and the money to do all the things I want to do and buy all the things I love, it's OK that I sacrifice material comfort. I can handle the financial stress my marriage is under. And, we all know what that can do to any marriage, but a Black marriage is even more fragile under these circumstances. I can handle it all because my son, my daughter, my husband and my family matter that much more. And as much hard work as it is to pour into them, into us, I do it so we can SHINE out in the world.

And, their SHINE is all the BLING that I need.