The workshop that I presented; “I can talk about race in the classroom” was by all accounts a big success today. The post workshop reflections were 95% positive–which says as much about the audience as the presenter really. The educators were open, willing, and very present! I was prepared, passionate, and speaking from a place of truth. That is always a great combination. I’ll try to write more about the experience, and the work, when time allows. But the suitcases are trumping the keyboard here.

In the very near future I’ll be embarking on a journey across the country with my kids and my significant-other -person for almost a week. We’ll be in San Francisco witnessing one of my dearest friends’ twin daughters passage into adulthood in the Jewish faith: the B’not Mitvah (plural of Bat). Then we’ll be exploring the Bay area as a family, and with many Bay area dear friends as time and schedules allow.

This trip has been in the making for about six months. The last time Samantha (my son’s namesake) saw Sam he was 8 months old. It feels beyond surreal that we all will be in each others presence for a prolonged period. Just the thought of helping her to clear plates at the brunch the following day feels intoxicating. She has never met Marcel. She has never met Sam as a verbal being. Yet, she’s had more of an influence on my parenting than anyone else, period. We have always had ease in the advice arena- able to offer parenting and relationship advice without ever fearing being misheard or judged. Our friendship began the first day of high school, nearly 30 years ago.

Her parents (who will also be there, and whom I cherish deeply) were able to provide me with solid ground when my own family was going through some rather significant transitions. To be witnessed now by all of them, as a parent myself-and as a partner-all at once feels so, well, trippy. To not still be 16 when we are together–but increasingly grey, a little less solid around the middle, with our reading glasses in tow, and ready to share dietary restriction strategies feels crazy, and somehow welcomed simultaneously.

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On a slightly grief struck note, it will be the first time visiting San Francisco that I will not be seeing my Godfather who passed away when Marcel was a few months old. I can still hear myself telling Richard about Marcel’s first week of life over the phone, when I was walking (slowly) through the park. I can tell you exactly which tree I was standing next to when he answered after the tenth ring. How amazingly happy I was to know that he had lived long enough to know that Marcel had made a safe passage in, before he made his imminent passage out. I can remember clearly his scratchy and strained voice telling me that I was going to be a hell of a decent mother to two boys, just as I was to one. I can hear his voice rise as he cautions me to not; “..be a pain in the ass either. Let them make mistakes, just like you did.”

I can barely complete this paragraph without my breath getting short, and my eyes watering. Richard never had kids. He came out to me in his fifties. He was one of the bravest, most passionate, sharp minded, art appreciating, life loving, acerbic people I ever met. I still have his number in my cell phone. He died four years ago, and I can’t erase it. It’s a familiar comfort–a reminder–that he is still just a press of that button away–which actually in many ways is true. But going to San Francisco, and not seeing him, feels like I’ll be missing a limb when I get out of the airport.

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To honoring all of our life passages this week, and every week. To welcoming the girls into adulthood, the boys into travelhood, my relationship into staying with you in a hotel-for-six-full-days-hood, and to my anti racist ally-hood into all the spaces it belongs. Thanks always for joining us on the journey, and peace and blessings and ease as always on yours!

Cupid from the archives

Dear Sam,

Here are the first five things that come to my mind that I cherish and adore about you:

1. How you take in so much more than you let on-your depth.

2. How you can complement a friend’s artwork, seconds after they have insulted yours-your generosity.

3. The way every cell in your body works together when a baseball is coming towards you from the mound-your physical intelligence.

4. Your willingness to do something new-your adventuresome spirit.

5. Your forehead under my palm when we cuddle-how you receive love.

Cupid #2-from the archives

Dear Marcel,

Here are the first five things that come to my mind that I cherish and adore about you:

1. How you share whatever is on your mind-your truth.

2. How your hard mood can change so easily with a hug, or an “uppy”-your willingness to let go.

3. The questions. The constant questions-your search for meaning.

4. When you touch me on the nose and say; “I see sunshine right here”-your affection.

5. The way the world revolves around Sam, and then all of your people-your capacity for love.

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I am so ridiculously blessed to share this lifetime with you both.

Always, Mama

Classic Mama C and the Boys from the archives

And to all of my readers–thank you for all the love you share with us–the ways you hold and care for us–and the space you create for all of this to happen. To those of you who are waiting for the love (s) you will soon shower your adoration upon–I wish you ease and a moment of peace, that all is exactly as it is meant to be and it will unfold beautifully as it is meant to.

100 days with a spin!

I am all for celebrating math in school. I am all for celebrating school. I am just even more for finding ways to celebrate Black History today, and everyday.  So when Sam’s teacher sent home a blank piece of poster board with the instructions to create your own way to celebrate the #100 in honor of the approaching 100th day of school I realized we had hit the jackpot! I asked Sam who his favorite brown skinned athlete was–because he had already decided he wanted to do something about sports: Jackie Robinson!

How could we incorporate 100 in to a poster about him? Sam was all over the answer; “I bet he had at least that many home runs!”

We did a little research, and came up with the answer. Sam asked if we could use the poster of him that was over his bed. He was referring to the Kadir Nelson painting that came from a book promotion of We are the Ship: the Story of the Negro Baseball League that a good friend of ours went to years back. So we downloaded the image, and gave Kadir Nelson his credit too.

Here are just a few more ways I thought of too–you will have many more:

1. Favorite Black author that I have read 100 pages of/ read 100 times.

2. Favorite song by a Black singer, composer, musician I have listened to 100 times.

3. Number of reasons I have for celebrating Black history (could put 100x infinity there)

4. Number of shows Oprah Winfrey has done (100 x almost infinity here).

5. Number of lines of poetry Maya Angelou has written (100 x almost infinity here too)

Is your wee one celebrating #100 days too? What other ways could you bring in this message too?  I am learning as I go, that inviting Sammy to be a part of promoting a positive message is just as (if not more) valuable then me doing it. He was thrilled by the end product, and that he crossed TWO things off his list today! (He also finished his 25 valentines today! They are ready to go to school/mail!) I know that his teacher will celebrate his work, and appreciate the books he is bringing in to share this month too(including We Are the Ship).

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On another note–because this was so moving and I would love to encourage you all to create the time to view in its entirety-about an hour and half- as part of one’s own adult Black History exploration: a link to an amazing talk by Dr. Joy DeGruy Leary on Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome.  It details historically the pathology of race and the transgenerational impact of enslavement. Thank you Sage for bringing this to my and many others attention.

My little Basquiat in the making

What is your parenting platform? If you were asked to teach a mini lesson to a new parent on best practices in parenting in five minutes or less what would be the center of it? If I could be pinned down to one philosophy on parenting it would probably be modelling. Parents model choices, beliefs, possibility or lack there of to their children. Good teaching and good parenting both begin there. Am I reaching for the fruit or the cookie? Am I planning a day outside in the park (with a zillion layers on) or parking it in from of the tube? Am I reaching out, and bringing the neighbor a dinner, or talking about how annoying it is that they…Am I yelling, or asking in a calm voice for the behavior to stop? Am I reading a book in bed, or playing Words With Friends on my phone?

Sometimes I like to watch a DVD (we don’t have television-too much insane modelling there for now). Sometimes a cookie is just the thing. I’ll yell if you are about to hurt your brother, and I am exhausted because I stayed up too late on Twitter… (Wait-does modelling count when they are asleep?) Modelling is not an all or nothing: it is about choices, choices, choices, and being open to explaining why one over the other.

I also model that I mess up, cry, get annoyed, and struggle to make ends meet. Then I model that I forgive myself, pull myself together, and find ways to spend even less money and still have fun. They see it all. They soak it all in.

With Valentine’s Day for example I am introducing a new kind of modelling: talking about how and why we love. Loving your family, loving your friends, and just as importantly loving yourself.  The heart Sam painted is on this big white-ish plywood framed out thing that is about 3.5 feet x 3.5 feet. It was leftover in someone’s studio next to a writer’s studio I had for a spell in my youth (OK early pre kid 30′s). We stick stuff to it, like cards, and pictures, and art we make. The other day I got inspired thinking again about the commercialization of Valentine’s Day, and how I want to model the “showing your love  in February” love thing differently. It also came about in response to Marcel’s recent declarations that he “hates himself”.  I don’t think anything could be farther from the truth–I believe he picked it up somewhere-but I don’t want it to get anymore attention than necessary.  Having him stand in the corner and say “I love myself” as a consequence felt a little off.

So one night we went around the table and instead of saying what we are thankful for (our daily ritual–that happens 90% of the time because Marcel starts it off; “Mommy what are you thankful for today?) we went around the table asking everyone to say one thing they loved about themselves. The kids looked at me like I was crazy.  So I gave examples-I modeled; “I love that I have learned how to cook a yummy meal for my family. I love that I am able to write stories people like to read. I love that I know how to take care of my friendships.” Then Shrek shared that he loves that he is able to play songs on his guitar, and sing songs with friends. He asked if he could have a second turn. So we made several rounds. Marcel loved that he knows how to be thankful. Sammy loves that he is so fast and can swim.  He also loves that he can read books out loud too. Marcel loves that he can ask his brother to read to him.

This translated into the wall of loving. Sam painted it. Marcel and I cut out hearts. Whenever we think of someone we love, something we love about someone, someone we want to send love to, or something we love about ourselves we write it down and paste it up. We’re building a living Valentine in our home–and guests are invited to join in too. The goal–fill it up by the end of February. Maybe in March I’ll have Marcel paint a big Shamrock and send people luck?

Hopefully all of this models that love is everywhere, and omni-present. Hopefully this shouts that it is not just about getting chocolate, and counting the number of cards you got, but about noticing the abundance of love we have to share. Hopefully this models that sometimes you should paint on the walls as long as mom can photograph you, and turn it into a post?

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So what are you modelling to your loved ones today? What was modeled in a really memorable way to you as a kid, that made a huge impression?  And if you’re feeling really sharp today–what is your parenting divining rod? What guides you with the most reliability?

My very fine fellar with a boa

I am in a relationship with an amazingly generous, gentle, funny, socially conscious, caring, reliable and goofy man. He is pictured above. He wore that mask to meet me on a playground and be able to hug me in public. I said I wouldn’t hug in front of my students. I was being weird. He was being funny.OK, so the mask might seem weird to you. To me it was magic. It was about meeting somewhere in the middle, and laughing along the way.

We’ve been dating for nearly six months depending on who you ask. We’re traveling across the country together to witness a very important life event on the opposite coast, of one of my very dearest. We didn’t plan it that way. He went and wiggled his way on to every plane we had booked when he found out I was planning that trip on my own. OK, the truth is that I asked him if he’d be interested in joining us. OK, the truth is that I was thrilled when he managed to talk himself into the seat across the aisle from me on every leg of the trip. Marcel thought he was a magician for figuring that out. Sam just looked at us and smiled. He knew it was a good thing on some level, but when you’re the seven year old big brother it is your job to hold back and see.

I had to freak internally for about a month after he got the tickets. It was fertile climate for the what if weeds to grow all over my fragile certainty. What if we break up? What if I suddenly have to flee? What if he leaves us for the operator on the other end of the phone? Then what do I do with the guy in the Shrek mask across the aisle? (He offered to wear an Ewok mask actually–in case I needed some space.) Did I mention that he is unflappable? OK, not true. He has an occasional flap. But without them, the plane can’t land. And as high as he is most of the time when it comes to all things Mama C and the Boys, I also appreciate a man who is on solid ground.

An internet friend has recently written a very provoking post about single parent dating that had me questioning my own choice to include Shrek in my children’s lives from a pretty early on stage.  In her post she clearly explains her reasons for not wanting to introduce her son to a partner until a ring is at play. She then goes on to explain her thinking, and ultimately to state that it is a very personal decision, and one that she herself could shift on at some point. I realized that I had many of my own thoughts on the matter too, so perhaps it was time to put them to cursor so to speak.

In the past when I had dabbled in a little internet dating I very intentionally did not let the boys meet the folks I was going out with. I did not want to risk their disappointment if things didn’t “work out”. Then I was in a committed relationship for almost a year. It did cause considerable hard spots and confusion for all parties involved as the we’re-no-longer-dating-so-we-can’t-x-y-and-z boundaries were established.  Was it confusing when the boys suddenly lost a dear friend? Absolutely. But at least in my view the benefits outweighed the losses. The boys saw me work through a relationship on many layers, and have witnessed different ways to establish clear boundaries, and to practice self care. They were held in their grief, and allowed to voice their feelings about it. In the end, I feel it allows them to have many aspects of relationship modeled–including the losses. They saw my grief, and they saw me enter into a place of readiness to try again.

Now that I am in this relationship, they are seeing that life moves and shifts, and that Mama does too. I’m actually quite confident that this relationship has serious longevity potential, as is he.  I mean I even changed my Facebook relationship status for the first time in my life. Having raised five kids, in some ways single handedly, Shrek knows kids. Since they are all grown and in their own nests just about (including college) his availability to be with us is tremendous. Because my kids do not have an “other parent” to balance out their time with–it allows them to come to this version of a new family model unencumbered relationally. A donor or a first parent is not at any risk of being displaced by him is what I mean.

I did worry about how Uncle would take all of this in–but because he is so secure in his relationship with his nephews–and in the fact that an Uncle is always UNCLE, it seems not to be an issue for him.  And all of us talked about that, when questions came up. “Is Uncle still our uncle if you decide to marry one day?” And so on.

What am I getting at here? I feel like my relationship with Shrek is not just my relationship with Shrek. He is being welcomed into all of our lives as a part of a larger whole. When the flu hit quite suddenly this week, he was not only willing to buy groceries (and bring flowers) but to make sure no one here was going through it alone. And when Marcel was willing to be left with him, even while still slightly feverish, so I could go leave my sub plan I wasn’t even surprised. When Shrek and Sam spent the day snowboarding last weekend, leaving Marcel and I alone for our own spontaneous adventure to the museum, the bowling alley, and the island walk, it seemed oddly familiar to divide our family this way for the day. When Uncle came to get Marcel from the parking lot at the park when my keys got locked in the trunk (OK, please don’t ask) Shrek and Sam arrived home, put out the dinner in the oven, and texted me every 15 seconds to make sure the locksmith was there, and on task. As much as he wanted to come get me, he stayed with the kids, because it made more sense for their ease and rhythm.

Almost daily we hear things like this; “So when you guys marry will we have five new brothers and sisters?” And, “When you guys marry can we bring the rings to you in a canoe or a row boat?” Or “What if Mommy doesn’t know if she wants to put the ring on her  finger or her toes?” At first I wanted to disappear when they would bring up that word. Shrek was all about smiling, and answering the questions. Now I take it as the boys trying on more language, more understanding of relationship, courtship, and even marriage.Today when I asked Marcel why he asks me every few hours if we are getting married he said; “Well I think it would be cool to have him as a Daddy. And, he makes you so happy. And I want to be in a married couple.” Would he be beyond crushed if this never happens? I don’t know. I tell them we may not get married all the time. I explain that you don’t leap into a marriage, and that you wait until you are absolutely certain of some things first. So far they have lost interest in the conversation before I have had to answer just what those things are. Because what do I know?

Did you catch that dinner in the oven part earlier? Where I wrote that I had made a casserole for our dinner-and it was ready to go? It was my first one ever. Shrek noticed that too. When I got home from the locksmith ordeal he had invited Uncle to join us for dinner and they were at the table playing a game. At the meal we all celebrated safe returns, snow board firsts, museum treasure hunts, and this present and potential way of being a family.

I’ve been trying to find the words, the time, and the emotional space to write about the shattering and remarkable show I saw last week. It was a one woman performance of Dr. Melba Beals Pattilo’s memoir Warriors Don’t Cry. I was invited to chaperone a group of students who have been immersed in a Civil Rights expedition for months to the event. The timing of this performance coming here to their work could not have been better. Many of the students had read the memoir, others had read excerpts. I was in the latter category myself. But like them I felt semi prepared for the content. Of course I knew it was going to be rough.

Hours after the performance I was alone in my classroom, with my eyes puffed out, crying again.

I felt completely worn out, and wildly alone.

I felt like I was coming undone.

What I experienced witnessing these horrific assaults and continuous threats of unfathomable violence in Little Rock, Arkansas during the desegregation of Central High was borderline traumatizing for me. Watching her bending over with raised fists screaming the N word out at us (in one of the 21 the parts–as a segregationist) was shocking and sickening.  Hearing teachers, and administrators (in the play) do the same thing cracked my heart. Watching her flee in terror from a mob of high school boys bent on hurting her at the very least-was more than anxiety producing.

Imagining either of my children in one of those hallways, ducking from a stick of dynamite being thrown at their head, or being nearly blinded when bleach landed in their eyes made me dizzy with rage.

Feeling all that hatred and guilt in my body at once was almost too much.

Almost.

Then back in my classroom, I felt myself shifting.  I recognized that the way in which I was able to take in, and hold that story was so much different than even a year ago. I was holding it–and not pushing it away. I sat with it and cried. I embraced the self loathing-in the bigoted teacher, the hateful classmate, and the racist administrator. I marveled at the friend who reached out to help her in a moment of desperate need (the one redeemable white character in the play). The way the actress grabbed and held us on stage with her, through all of her own transitions from the young hopeful, almost naive girl, to the emotionally closed down warrior determined to make it through the school year was inescapably riveting. She pushed me deeper into our shared history-and gave me permission to really see it in all of it’s deplorable ugliness. What a gift.

I was in the audience wanting to stand up and scream GET OUT OF THAT SCHOOL BEFORE YOU GET KILLED. I had no idea what it was like to be her, or her grandmother who insisted she” stop her crying, and be the warrior God intended her to be”.  But I know what it means to parent in the hue, and teach and see children of color. As tears streamed down my face, protected only marginally by the low lights, I knew what it was to witness such ignorance and hate, and be powerless against it. As a transracial parent I have the capacity to hold it all, and that is in itself is both a necessary and extremely hard act. As a parent period it was just too much to imagine.

A few hours later my colleague and I processed what had to happen the next day. I felt even more confident in my own work, purpose and path. She and I navigated  another layer of the reflection that had already been designed beautifully. A layer that was crafted to allow children of color to say how horrifying that experience might have been, both anonymously and to each other. A layer that was crafted to allow white children to say how horrifying that experience might have been, anonymously and to each other.  I sat across from the teacher and cried. I told her that had it been my son in that audience I would be so hopeful that his teachers had the courage and ability to say out loud; “I can’t imagine what it would have been like to have been in that audience with brown skin…” I felt totally heard.

The next morning I checked in with a few of the kids of color that I was concerned about. That night I had called one of their parents to check in. He said his kid had been very moved by the show, and had so much to say about it. The students were all fine, but also very ready to talk more about the show. It may have taken place “back then” but what we witnessed was today. They were absolutely on stage with her in the present, not fifty years ago.

Later that day, while doing my own work with another group who had seen the play, I had an opportunity to help a young man work out his own feelings about how “wrong” the experience felt to him. As a young white male he was I think in a state of complete disbelief at how vicious other white boys had been to Melba.  His disbelief took the form of “hating the lies” in the play. When I admitted how much I hated seeing parts of the play too he was shocked. I explained that I hated my connection to the characters. I hated the ugliness and hatred I had to sit through. But, that did not mean I hated the play. I told him how much I loved seeing how unlike all of us are compared to all of the people back then. How I loved how much change her work, and that of the other students created in the world.

At the end of our conversation he whispered to me; “I had no idea how much hate was in the n-word before. I didn’t know that’s where it came from. Did you?”  When I agreed that experiencing it like that rather than in a song, or casually between friends on a basketball court really shook me upside down he paused and said; “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hear it again without being really grossed out. I can’t say it again either.”

I smiled so wide, and told him that now I loved the play even more than I did when it was over. He had a big smirk on his face as he left, because he knew exactly what I meant.

Winter peace/ Mama C and the Boys 2012

Three things that bring me peace today:

1. How well Sammy seems to have adjusted to his new school.  While he misses his friends and his teacher deeply, he reports that he is “doing great”. He is making new friends, loves his new teacher too, and just seems to exude self confidence and ease with himself and his world.

2. Meditating daily (for twenty minutes).

3. Accepting all the love in my life.

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What’s bringing you peace today? What are you doing to take care of you in a gentle way?

Here is my easiest plan yet.

Step 1–draw a huge heart, on a piece of white construction paper.

Step 2-Have your kids pose with it, and snap away.

Step 3-use an app like “Toon Paint” to turn the picture into something easy to reproduce in black in white. Pick a few of the images, so that the kids can pick which one they want for different kids and teachers and grandparents.

Step 5-Print the images out, small, so you can get many to a page. Print on any color paper.

Step 6- Cut them up, and let the fun begin. You can add glitter, or just write the recipient’s names in the heart. On the back Sam can include something he appreciates about that person.  Last year he wrote things like; “I like the way you play soccer with me at recess.” We try to do 1-3 a day. Then he can really focus on each person. I got the names of the kids from a calendar his teacher handed out for show and tell. I learn a lot about his friends by what he chooses to say about them, and what size card he picks!

Sam with heart Take 1

Here is another:

Mr. Valentine Take 2

Last year I missed the point entirely when I put all this effort into, and was disappointed when he didn’t get one “hand made” card back from his friends. What this is about is Sam having the opportunity to put himself into the exchange. What he learns from that, I hope will serve him well when he may not have the choice to opt of something he doesn’t want to do. Perhaps he will see it as an opportunity to make it have meaning for him, even if the circumstance doesn’t always dictate that. Or maybe he’ll just complain to his kids about how his mom always made him make cards…

The cards--printed and ready to inscribe

If you participate in the holiday–do you make cards? Buy cards? Mix it up? Avoid it entirely? Do you send them out to family too? OK, and what about the whole candy thing? Include or not? In the past I have insisted on no candy. But now it seems that everyone buys cards with loli-pops and what not. Maybe I’ll be really annoying and send ours with little boxes of raisins! I am so becoming that mom.

getting the pieces ready

after the buzz down