Wednesday, June 26, 2019

A Mother's Love

My routine is the same every morning. 
I wake up, check the time, take a shower, get back in bed, turn on the Today Show and check my phone to see what happened in the world of social media while I was sleeping. 

This morning, Facebook delivered another set of memories for this date. 
On this date in 2012, I posted an update on an ongoing saga that began in August of the previous year. That was when my teenage son decided that he was tired of me and my rules and thought that he would be better off living with his father.
He was 18 and I couldn't force him to stay, but I did warn him that if he left, his father would come after me for child support because for ten years, his wages had been garnished and he would take great pleasure in gaining any opportunity to have me pay him.

Some of you are probably wondering how that could be, that the ex-husband was still paying child support, but the age of emancipation in the state we lived at the time is 21 years-old. 

I was served at work. The week of Christmas. 
I went home that night and got drunk. 
Fuming with anger, I called my father, ranting, "Daddy, you know how all creatures on this planet were put here for a reason? Snakes eat mice, spiders eat flies, bees pollenate flowers, but do you know what creature serves absolutely no purpose on this planet? A cockroach! Cockroaches do nothing! They're worthless! He's a cockroach, daddy! A cockroach!" 
My father just laughed, but I was dead serious. 

I was crushed.
I saw my son leaving as a betrayal. 

Private school, summer camps, trips, vacations - all things his father refused to fund.
I was at his school advocating for him. 

I was the one at his football games, track meets, soccer matches, waiting in the parking lot after practices, as all of the other boys piled into their parent's cars and my child was always the last one out. 
I was the one that comforted him when he was sick. 
I gave him the talk and taught him how to respect and honor women. 
How could he? 
All that I had done for him, I cried to friends. Many gave me advice and words of support, but the one thing repeated more than once was, "he's going to need you before you need him." 

And that's exactly what happened. 

Ten months later, my youngest child called me.
He was hurting and in pain over the passing of one of his best friends. His friend had been fighting a serious illness, but hadn't shared with those close to him how bad it really was.
His death was unexpected and came as a serious blow to my son.
He was asked to be a pall bearer at the funeral and he didn't know if it was something he could handle emotionally.
This was the second death within a year for my son. A childhood friend was killed in a tragic car accident the winter before.
Now, he was asked to carry his friend's coffin.  I told him that being a pall bearer was a great way to honor him and it was what he would have wanted.
"Would you go with me?" He asked. His voice full of pain. 

My child needed me and I was there for him to provide him with whatever he needed during his time of grief.
Most importantly, I was there to be the strength that he needed. 

Following the service, I took him to his favorite Thai restaurant.
It was a beautiful summer afternoon and we sat outside, catching up.
He shared with me how bad things were at his father's. I listened and although I wanted SO badly to say, "I told you so," I held my tongue as my son humbled himself and opened up to me. 

I had already been to court twice, both times the case was adjourned for later dates. Once, because the ex-husband failed to appear. It should have been dismissed, but the judge granted him another court date. 
A third hearing was scheduled for the next day and my son knew this.
He asked if he could go with me and talk with the judge.
I told him that I didn't know if the judge would allow him to speak, but he could go. 

That night, my child came home with me and slept in his bed for the first time in almost a year. 

The next morning we headed to court and I warned him that his father may not be too happy seeing him there.
He wasn't. 

The case was dismissed without prejudice and my child paid the price. 

This was my Facebook post seven years ago today: 
When my 18 yr. old son left my home and moved to his dad's last year I was devastated. I saw it as a betrayal, but my door was always open. We went to church, spent holidays together and I was there whenever he needed me... His father ultimately sued me for child support and my son went to court to support me today. Now his "father" is kicking him out... I guess a mother's love is unconditional.

I watched as my son argued with his father, asking if he was just a pawn in his father's plot to get back at his mother.
It broke my heart. 
I had nothing to say to his father. Our son was grown and I was no longer receiving child support from him. There was no reason for us to communicate. 

Mother's Day of this year, I received an inbox message from the ex-husband wishing me a happy Mother's Day and thanking me for being a good mother to our boys.
I have had no correspondence with him since 2012.
The Bible says we owe forgiveness to those who don't deserve it and I have forgiven, but I haven't forgotten.
I think it was Maya Angelou who said, "when someone shows you who they are, believe them." 
I chose not to respond. 
Today's Facebook memory brought back negative feelings, but it also reminded me that God blessed me with two amazing sons.
They may not always honor their mother as I wish they would, but I will love them unconditionally until the day I leave this world. 

Monday, June 10, 2019

You Can't Eat the Elephant in One Bite

          Growing up, I wasn't always the most neat or organized young person.  When I was in school, ADD was not something that was commonly diagnosed; especially in girls. 
In first grade, I wasn't reading, but the grown-ups who were trained to know better, didn't realize that I was simply bored with Dick and Jane books.
It wasn't until I was sitting at the breakfast table while my father was reading the newspaper across from me and I read aloud, "boy, seven drowns in lake." My father lowered his paper and asked, "who said that?"
My mother, with great pleasure and excitement, told him that it was his daughter.

Throughout elementary, middle and high school, my parents were told, "she so smart, she just doesn't apply herself." My life was chaotic and disorganized. My bedroom, school folders, bookbag and locker were reflections of my impossible struggle to maintain order and structure.
Most days, you couldn't see the floor in my bedroom and my school locker became a test of skill. I learned to open and close it quickly without having an avalanche of papers, books and clothing tumble to the floor.
I would complete assignments, but managed to lose them before handing it in or completely forgot that it was due.

Once I reached the point of being overwhelmed, I would throw in the towel and just give up.
My mother, the disciplinarian, was old school and her parenting technique was punishment, instead of helping me to learn ways to manage my life. 

I went to college, but dropped out because I allowed too many distractions to keep me focused on what I was there for. 
When I finally returned to college, I was the mother of an eight-year-old boy, who had been diagnosed with ADD. It was then that I realized why my early years had been such a struggle. 
I learned ways to manage my life and maintain order, while limiting chaos as much as possible. 

I have been accused of being a perfectionist and even labeled a control freak, but just brush the insults off my shoulders.
Sometimes, if I feel like it, I'll explain
why I am the way I am, but it's on a need-to-know basis.
I like to explain to people that I am pretty damn good at juggling!
I can have five or six balls flipping and tossing in the air, but if a seventh ball unexpectedly comes into play, they will all come tumbling down.  Sometimes it's easy to pick them up and start juggling again.  Other times, I may just leave the balls right there until I'm emotionally ready to take that challenge on again. 

Right now, I've got about six balls in the air.
I just moved to a new state, started a new job and learning my way while also searching for a permanent place to live. I'm finalizing a divorce and name change and all that comes with it (new ID, social security card, passport...), digging myself out of a deep financial hole that grew deeper during months of unemployment, and today I had to send a second nastygram to the moving company demanding status on delivery of my belongings that have to go into a storage unit until I move into my new place! 

Some advice that I have given to my sons over the years when they have felt overwhelmed by life is that they can't eat the elephant in one bite.  You have to decide which part of the elephant you want to eat first and then slowly work your way through it, giving yourself time to let what you have already eaten digest.  

I met with my therapist when I went back to my old state to pack for the big move and she reminded me of the elephant. She encouraged me practice what I've been preaching and to not be overwhelmed.
"I know," I said. "But I feel like I'm trying to work my way around the elephant and all I see is its big-ole ass! I try to move to the left and his ass moves left.  I shift to the right and there's that ass again. I've got elephant ass all up in my face!"  

"Well, get a nice steak knife and start with his ass then," she suggested. "It's probably the most tender!" 
We laughed, but she was right. I had gotten so focused on the elephant blocking my view that I started to feel helpless.
"Just keep telling yourself that it won't always be this way," she said in a reassuring tone. 

I paused, and took in her words. 
I was so focused on the elephant's ass, that I couldn't see that it won't always be this way.  
I started a new job, which means steady income, which means I can slowly start paying off my debt. I found a new place to live and can move in next month. The divorce and name change have been finalized and that nastygram to the moving company landed in the right hands and my things should arrive by the end of the week. 

So, when things are coming at you from different directions, just keep telling yourself that you can't eat the elephant in one bite. 
Do you like white meat or dark meat? Grab yourself a jar of barbecue sauce or some Frank's Red Hot (we put that sh*t on everything) and work your way through that elephant.
It's not an eating competition. 
You're not Joey Chestnut and you don't have to consume a whole elephant in sixty seconds.  

Take your time. Relax. 
Don't give yourself indigestion.
Sometimes leftovers taste better the next day.  

Friday, April 26, 2019

Starting Over

On Wednesday, March 27, I woke up with something in my spirit - that it was going to be a good day and I posted just that on Facebook.

I had been substitute teaching in an inner-city school to put a band-aid on my financial hemorrhage. 
The kids in this school were not like my nieces or my babies.
These kids have experienced and witnessed things that a child in elementary school should never-ever see.
Some of them carry themselves as if they are teenagers, or as we call them, "grown." Some are developmentally and academically delayed and with that comes behavioral issues.

I taught in the reading lab; working with students reading behind their grade level. On occasion, I was asked to fill in a classroom where a teacher was absent.
When I did, I would introduce myself and give them two options; the nice Ms. C or the not-so-nice Ms. C.  They could have a good day or a bad day. They also had the option of following my instructions or leaving the room.
This was a long-term subbing assignment and the kids in the school had gotten to know me. They began to respect and like me, often stopping to hug or fist bump me in the halls as they transitioned between classes or on their way to specials.
One of the full-time teachers came to me at recess with surprise in her voice, "they really like you," she said. "They said that you don't play, but you're nice!" That was actually music to my ears, considering some of them worked my nerves so bad, I questioned whether I was going to return the next day.

That Wednesday morning, the students had standardized testing and I was with a fourth grade class. I told an administrator that I was expecting an important call at 11 a.m. and needed someone to cover me while I took the call.
Shortly after eleven, my cell rang and I ducked into the copier room to talk privately.
"Hi Single Mom, as you know we interviewed several people and narrowed it down to two. After much thought and deliberation..."
I sat down on a chair in the copier room lined with shelves of elementary school workbooks and multi-colored papers and waited for, "we appreciate your interest, but we have decided to go in another direction." 
Instead I heard, "we would like to offer you the job, if you are interested." 
I dropped my head,closed my eyes and silently praised God.
"Yes. Yes, I am still interested and I happily accept the offer," I replied. I tried to maintain a certain level of professionalism and decorum, but on the inside, I was shouting and doing the Holy Ghost dance!
We talked about my start date, salary, relocation expenses and some other things.
I thanked him several times and told him that I needed to get back to my classroom.
He remarked at my broad set of skills with teaching elementary school students. I humbly responded that I had to do what needed to be done to pay my bills.

I hung up the phone and walked down the hall to the table where the administrator who was keeping an eye on my students was sitting in the hallway and shared my good news.
She had only known me in passing in the halls and our conversations had been limited, but she was genuinely happy for me.
I have a rule about crying at work and tried hard to maintain my composure, especially since I was working with twenty-one fourth graders who can smell blood and will attack without hesitation at the hint of weakness!
"You don't know my story," I repeated several times, holding back tears.
She and the student teachers had no idea what I have been through. 
How I moved to a new state for a man who promised to love, honor and cherish me, how I took a job paying almost $25,000 less than what I had previously been earning, and that it was also a lower level position, how I found a job that for the first time in a long time that was the perfect fit and gave me a sense of purpose, but someone came along and made the decision to take away what I enjoyed. 
They didn't know that I had been living paycheck-to-paycheck to make ends meet after I left my husband and that when I lost my job I had gone through all of my savings in order to survive.
Now, here I was, standing before them - strangers - the first ones to learn of my blessing, and they were celebrating in my joy.
Since then, I have been busy packing and preparing for my new life.
One of the teachers at the elementary school, a young mother, said with hopeful anticipation, "I can't wait until I can pack up and leave and go wherever I want." 
It hasn't hit me yet. 
I'm not scared. I can't be afraid of the unknown. 
I'm one of those people where it's not real until it's in front of me. I'm moving to a state where I once lived as a child, but hours away from where I grew up.
The closest family is hundreds of miles away and I'll be on my own for the first time in my adult life. 

I'll be subletting an apartment for three months until I can find a permanent place of my own. I have to find a new church, hair stylist, dog groomer, doctor, dentist, and favorite places to eat!
Major metropolitan cities are an affordable train ride away and I'm looking forward to weekend adventures. 

Most importantly, I look forward to getting back on my feet financially!
The past few months have been rough. 

I have only shared with a select few what I have experienced and how I've gotten along.
I've been called strong, resilient, resourceful and other adjectives.
Not sure if those words truly fit me. 

I just know that there were a lot of sleepless nights, weight loss, and a few tears shed on occasion. 

I can't say that I am grateful for my struggles, but I CAN SAY that I have learned and grown from it all. 
I am also grateful for the time that I spent at the elementary school. 
I was there to teach young people, but many of them educated ME! Their little faces will be with me forever. 

Everyone says that things happen for a reason and I am so glad to be able to move away and start over. 
Right now, my sights are set on my first paycheck and praying that I can hold on til then. 
Someway, somehow, I've made it this far. 
There is a target. 
A date. 
When there wasn't one before. 
I've come this far by faith. 

Sunday, March 17, 2019

What Happiness Looks Like

I've been a Facebook user since 2009 and enjoy the "memories" feature because it reminds me of so many great experiences and adventures over the past ten years.  
Unfortunately, the memories feature also reminds me of some very dark and painful times in my life. 
A friend was sad for me when I shared with her that I often look at the dates of my Facebook memories as B.D. and A.D. (before, during and after marriage).
I now read some of my posts between 2009 and 2012 and see how happy I was. 

Then I look at the date and year. My younger son was still in high school, I took my dream trip to Paris, my little man was born, and so many other special memories.
I shared my joys, pains, frustrations and successes.  

Sometimes it feels as if I don't even know the woman who wrote those posts.
That woman was working full time at a job that she enjoyed...most days.
She had financial stability and she looked forward to Friday nights with bubble baths, Netflix, wine and ice cream.  She traveled often and dated consistently.
Her love life was pretty much a dramedy, but entertaining nonetheless and provided great content for this blog. 

Ten years later, that woman... me... looks back longingly, wanting to go back to what I now see as simpler and happier times.
If I could go back in time and say anything to the younger me, it would be to not focus so much on "finding," "wanting," or "needing" a man. 

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the company of a man and I certainly enjoy the pleasures of a man, but the "me" now, realizes that I don't need a man to make me happy or to complete my life. 

Every now and then I get a yearning for someone to call and share exciting news or sit outdoors at a trendy wine bar, sampling Malbec flights. I watch Beth and Randall Pearson on my favorite Tuesday night drama and think they are relationship goals, but with a relationship comes work, and it takes the work of two people willing to fight for each other, not WITH each other. 

My Facebook memories showed me a pattern. For a good three years, I wrote posts asking God for strength. I wrote scriptures about hurt, pain, betrayal and disappointment. I shared quotes about marriage, partnership, not giving up and peace. Those Facebook memories showed me that on the same date, one year later, I was still battling the same demons. Nothing had changed, except the calendar.
I had gone into a place of darkness.
A place of sadness.

A place of pain. 
When I look back at posts prior to 2013, the things I thought were big problems, were really small. 
Yeah, I had a teenager driving me crazy, there were bills that needed to be paid, things around the house in need of repair and the other side of my bed was empty, but it wasn't that bad!

A friend recently added me to a Facebook group for single women. I checked it out and the first post I saw was a video instructing women on what to do while waiting for Mr. Right.
"Nah, I'm good," I said to myself and opted out of the group.
I'm not waiting, looking for, hoping or dreaming of Mr. Right.
I can't tell women what they should or shouldn't do. I can't stand on the rooftops and scream, "stop worrying about when you're going to get a man!" 

Who's gonna listen?
I remember years ago a Facebook acquaintance attacked me online. He berated me for being so singularly focused on having a man. I cussed him out and told him he "didn't know me," and unfriended him, but he was on the outside looking in and he was right. 

In 2017, I chose happiness and took steps towards it.
Things haven't been perfect and I have a LOT on my plate, but each morning when I wake up and Facebook has delivered me a new set of memories, I read them and I'm reminded that even though times are tough right now, I'm not hurting anymore. 

An old friend, the Corporate Thug, reached out to me shortly after I moved into my apartment.  I shared with him all that had gone on in my life since we last saw one another and that I had chosen happiness over pain.
"Is this what happiness looks like?" he asked. 

I sat there on the side of the pool, with my feet in the water, sipping on a glass of Cabernet as I spoke with him. I looked around at my surroundings, the freedom, the peace, and said, "Yes."
Yes, this is what happiness looks like. 

Friday, December 28, 2018

Proverbs 19:21

So, here I sit once again, nearing the end of another year and wondering WTF happened, while also praying, please God let next year be better!
I entered 2018 full of hope.

I was excited for the future. 
I had PLANS! 
But when we make plans, God laughs at us. 
God has a strange sense of humor though.  I mean, I can see him watching over me saying, "Silly child, don't you know by now?" Or better yet, "You gone learn today!"

I had moved into my new place a few months prior to the new year, work had me on the go and I was finally in a place where I was comfortably navigating my way through the job.
My salary wasn't the greatest and I was struggling to make ends meet, but I had hope that if I continued to work hard and show how committed I was, an increase wouldn't be too far off. 

I truly loved my job and what I was doing.  I felt I finally had a sense of purpose and enjoyed the people I worked with.
Then one day an email was sent out saying we would be getting a new boss and just like that, everything changed.
He was an outsider and came in with his own ideas.
He immediately set his sites on me and my coworker.  By summer, my coworker was the first to go and was transferred to another department, leaving me alone to handle everything by myself.  Things got really bad; to the point that I was so stressed, I was hospitalized.
Suddenly, nothing I did was right.
I went from having a perfect performance evaluation to being criticized for every move I made.
A few months later, I was told they were letting me go.
It hurt. A lot.
What hurt most (and still does) was knowing that I was damn good at what I did and I did nothing that warranted me losing my job. 
My position wasn't protected like my coworker's and I live in an at-will state.  
They didn't have to have a reason to let me go. 

While all of this is going on, I am still working my way towards a divorce while also digging myself out of a deep financial hole.
So, here I sit on December 28, looking at 2018 like, WTF?
Things didn't go as I had hoped, but 2019 is around the corner! 
It's a new year, right? 
I don't believe in that "new year, new me" crap, but I do try to enter the new year with hope and the belief that it's GOT to be better than the previous year.
I consider myself a very spiritual person, but also superstitious, which don't go hand-in-hand, but I kinda feel like the way my life is set up, I need all the good juju I can get! 

My New Year's Eve is spent at Watch Night Service in church, praying for better things in the New Year and letting go of troubles from the past.  
I also cook the traditional collard greens and black eye peas and place coins over the doorframes. 
This year, I'm hosting a burning ceremony and invited friends over.
There's a few things going into the fire this year, but mostly I'm making a list of things that I hope for in 2019.
I try to stay optimistic and not dwell on the negative.  Throwing myself a pity part does me no good.
When things are going bad, I try to praise God and celebrate the good in my life.
When things are good, I praise God and thank Him for all He's done for me. 

I've learned over the years that there's going to be struggles and even though mine come in bulk, I know that I'll get through them. 
I'm grateful for the challenges that I've had in life because it's only made me the strong  woman I am today.
One of the many values I've tried to instill in my sons is humility.  
It's important to remain humble at all times. No matter the level of success you may think you have accomplished, it can all be taken away from you. 
If you don't humble yourself, God will and it won't be good.
Your job, your home, your car, your relationship, your loved ones... whatever it is, can be taken away.
Just like that.

My problems won't magically disappear when the clock strikes midnight, but I have a new year to look forward to with new hopes, new dreams and new goals. 
Like I said, God has a strange sense of humor.
After leaving my husband, I said more the once that the only reason I was sticking around was because of my job. 

God said, okay and took the job away!
For the first time in my adult life, I don't have kids at home and I'm not someone's wife.  I can go anywhere in the country... hell... the WORLD! 

I don't like to make resolutions, but I promise you this; wherever this journey takes me, I will keep writing and bring you along. 
Here's to 365 blank pages. 
Happy New Year!

Friday, September 21, 2018

The Stress Diet

Some of you know that I have been dealing with some personal struggles lately.
Although my life is pretty much an open book and I generally share a lot of my world with certain people, there's a lot going on that I'm just not ready to talk about. 

In an old blog post titled, "Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop," I wrote about how I kind of walk through my life waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Things can be going pretty damn good, but I'm usually looking up waiting. 
Waiting for that shoe to come falling from the sky and knock me square in my head. I say this because it's true.  
It happens. All the time.  A lot. 
You can call it self-fulfilling prophecy or putting negative energy in the air or bad juju, but it is what it is. In my world though, it's not usually one shoe that drops. It's the whole damn closet. 

I've grown accustomed to it. Sad as that may sound. 
"It makes you stronger," they say.  Well, I'm so strong, I can bench press a damn Buick. 
"To get to the testimony, you have to go through the test."  I've taken so many tests, I have a PhD in Life. 
"It's always darkest before dawn."  I think I live in Antarctica. 

So, right now I have the entire inventory of DSW falling from the sky and I must have some Kyrptonite near me because I am weak.  I'm tired. I just can't dodge the shoes right now. 

A couple of days ago, call it serendipity, divine intervention, fate or whatever you like, God sent a wonderful woman my way. She reached out to me because the spirit told her something more was going on with me. 
We talked. She shared her life with me and I shared mine with her - a complete stranger.  
During that talk, she suggested I find ways to manage my stress. 
She asked what I do to care for myself. Does wine count?  I didn't have an answer.   

Right now I am so focused on all of the wrongs in my world and how to make them right, that I haven't been able to take the time for myself. 
I told her that I write and she asked when was the last time I did.  
Writing for me has always been therapeutic.  

I've lost a lot of weight. 
That stress diet ain't no joke! I'm a little woman, just barely under 5 feet, four inches and I've lost eight pounds.  
What pisses me off to no end is when people guffaw or scoff at me when I openly discuss my weight. 
I always compare it to ground beef.  Most of us cook and most of us shop for our own groceries.  Look at eight pounds of ground beef. That's a lot of meat, right?  Now imagine that eight pounds of ground beef on my body. 

So, on my way home today, I stopped at Popeyes, ordered myself a three piece - mild, dark meat, with red beans and rice and a sweet tea.  Hey, I live in the South. 
I got home, ate two pieces, half of a biscuit and half of the red beans and rice and sat down with my sweet tea to start writing, but before I pulled out my tablet, I owed my best friend Jelly Bean a phone call. 

I promised her that I would call today to finally share my struggles and also confessed that I had just polished off two-thirds of that Louisiana goodness in the orange box.  

"I'm trying to get my booty back," I bemoaned. "I lost my booty! Not like I had that much to begin with, but what I had, I want it back!"

"I understand," Jelly Bean consoled. "I'm shorter than you and losing five pounds is like losing two dress sizes." 

"Yes! My shorts are sagging on me and don't even get me started on Thelma and Louise! The girls are gone," I cried. " You know I love my girls. The three of us have had some adventures. They were my ride or die, but they just LEFT me!" 

"Not Thelma and Louise," Jelly Bean laughed. 

"I think they drove over the cliff," I whimpered as I pulled my tank top forward, looking down at what's left of my cleavage. 

Even though I've always been petite, I've always been curvy, but there's a cup size missing from the front, and the back - well Bell Biv DeVoe won't have any trust issues with me. 

Some people eat when they're stressed, but I lose my appetite.  I'm also taking thyroid medication, which I believe may also be a suspect in the disappearance of my booty and my girls. 

I'm thinking about posting lost flyers or putting Thelma and Louise on milk cartons. I miss them and I'm gonna be doing squats and eating a whole lot of red beans and rice. Sir Mix-a-Lot is an expert on the booty, right? If red beans and rice can bring the booty back, I'm down. 

Well, while I work towards rebuilding my life, I'm going to also take more time for self-care and healing. Writing is the first step and tomorrow morning I'm going back to the African dance class I once enjoyed. 
My problems aren't going to magically go away, but at least I have an outlet to help me get back in fighting form and instead of dodging those shoes, maybe I can grab a pair or two.
Hey, high heels help lift the booty, right?  

One of These Things is Not Like the Other

Before I get into my newest blog post, I have some housekeeping matters that must be taken care of first. 
Let me begin by saying that I truly appreciate the large number of followers that have recently discovered my page on Facebook.

At the urging of my friends, I started writing The Single Mom Saga because my dating life had become something of a dramedy. My friends said that I should write a book, but I felt like I wasn't capable of eating the elephant in one bite, so I decided on writing a blog. 
I have been writing the Single Mom Saga since 2007 and have been posting to Facebook since June 30, 2009 and no matter HOW much I begged my friends and family to share my blog, the numbers just weren't growing.

In 2014, I stopped writing and pulled my posts because I had gotten involved with an insecure and judgemental person not capable of accepting the fact that I had a life before them. 
But the STRANGEST thing happened! I slowly started getting Facebook notifications that I had new followers. 
Weird, I thought... 
Then the numbers started doubling and I posted my conrfusion to my page. 
A "follower" explained to me the situation and it all made sense. 
I'd just like to say THANK YOU for the follows, but I am not the woman you are looking for. 
The only thing she and I have in common - that I know of - is that we are both single women with two sons using the same blog name. 
I am a Black woman from the Northeast, currently living in one of THE REDDEST states in the south.
My sons are grown.  Hers are young. She has blonde hair.  Mine is purchased from the Koreans. 
I've seen the other blogger's posts and I can tell you, she's a woman, but she's not Black. 
We are two different people! 
Sooooo... if you want to keep following this page, welcome!
If not, no hard feelings. 

A Mother's Love

My routine is the same every morning.  I wake up, check the time, take a shower, get back in bed, turn on the Today Show and check my p...