Ever Thankful

There’s much to be thankful for today.

I am thankful for the courage to take risks in the pursuit of happiness. Two life-altering decisions in one year is at least one too many, but I am also thankful for friends who support rather than judge. I’m thankful for all God has blessed upon me and to know His love will never forget me.

I don’t know who will read this, but I am throwing it out because I miss writing. It’s one more thing I’m thankful for despite how I have neglected it in recent months. While I’m being honest, I miss the interaction with others who share their thoughts and words with the world this way.

If I make no promises then I tell no lies. So, I may post again tomorrow; I may not. Happy Thanksgiving even if you’re not celebrating it today. I hope you enjoy time with your friends and families, not shopping.



Happy Mother’s Day You Blood Sucking Parasites

051I bet you already know this is Becca writing from the title.  It does happen to be Mother’s Day weekend.  It also happens to be the weekend that I went to the doctor for an unknown rash on my neck.  Well, really it because I had multiple lymph nodes swollen and I couldn’t figure out why.   I remember when my kids were pre-school-aged.  I was close to one mom who would practically have a panic attack if anyone’s kid got sick.  She would get so mad if someone didn’t tell her that their child had been ill.  Then when her kids would get sick she’d most often “forget” to tell everyone.  I used to get quite the kick out of it.

Nothing makes you feel more like a dumbass than having the doctor pick though your hair like your elementary school nurse did.  I was the one to suggest it though.  I said, “Well, my first thought is I got lice from helping out on a few school field trips.  I didn’t see any, so now I don’t know.”

She said  she would take a look really quick.  After about five minutes of digging though my afro, she asked, “What school do your kids go to?”  When I answered, she said, “You might want to give them a call and let them know your family has lice.”  I swore under my breath, and then thanked God that Web MD was wrong about me dying of cancer.

liceNext, I texted my spouse asking him to start washing sheets and to inform him I wasn’t dying.  I quickly rushed home to kill the blood-sucking parasites residing in my afro and in my daughter’s mane.   Then we sat in the bath tub together combing the nits out for an hour.  I then called my beloved sister to pass along that the de-stressing visit she made to my house may have caused more stress in her life.  Later, I emailed the kid’s school.

During this process, I was laughing about it being Mother’s Day weekend.  What says happy Mother’s Day more than picking the nits out of your kid’s hair?

So happy Mother’s Day to all of you: moms of one or more, stepparents, foster parents, stand-in moms for those whose parents are lacking, aunts, and sisters.  Most of us have been a mom for at least a moment.  Blessings to you all.



Lady or Not… Here I Come!


Jason made a post on my blog this week.  Please take a moment to read and comment.  I would love it! http://wp.me/p2BLLc-YT


I had a wake-up phone call from my sister this morning.  Basically, she needed me to lend my ear to her so that she wouldn’t explode.  She immediately launched into a rant about  her husband’s grandparents hoarding watermelon.  To make a long story short, they wanted to eat an entire watermelon in front of the children and give them none (She was the “friend” I was talking about in this post).


Five of the eight of us. I’m in the red, The sister I am talking about is next to me.

I love all seven of my siblings, even the three I don’t really know.  We’ve all been through the ringer a time or two, but the love is there.  Today, though, I am focusing on the one that has always been in my life; the one that was with me once I was adopted.  Our relationship has been on my mind today.

Parents, other siblings, children, and friends have been in and out of my life; she has remained the constant. She has been by my side from the darkest part of my youth to the brightest part of my adulthood.  She has been hungry with me, she has been hurt alongside me, she has been homeless with me; she knows.  I have held her while she gave birth, and we held onto my mom while she took her last breath.  We have been though thick and thin.

The thing about my sister is that we are so similar and yet so different.  We are biological sisters, but look very different.  She is athletically built without even having to exercise; I am hourglass built and become very round without exercise.  At one point, we were both in size 4.  She was 105 lbs and I was 137 because our bodies are not alike.  She is very conservative and I am very liberal.  I talk a lot and she talks more.    She loves to clean; I don’t.  I love to cook; she doesn’t.  She likes to collect stuff; I collect nothing.

The thing I love about us is that no matter our differences, we love each other.  We have one another’s back.  If she were to rob a bank, I would be there to hold her hand in prison.  She has made countless trips to visit me since I moved away from home, because she loves me.  We are almost like twins.  If one of us is having a problem, the other knows about it without a word or a call.  We support one another.

I have raised my children, daughter (11) and son (9), to be best friends.  I want them to have the same sort of relationship as us.  So far they do.  Of the five beds in this house, they sleep with one another every night.  They take care of each other to the point of ganging up on me (which I approve of).    There is love, and I am proud to say that they understand it by example.

So this is to my sister that loves me, no matter my choices.  That loves me despite disapproving of (while laughing at) my blog.  That loves me because I am me and doesn’t want to change my spirit.  I will love her until the day I die.




Lady or Not… Here I Come!



P.S. Jason wrote his Gentleman or Not post on my blog today. It’s about how you should erase your iPhone before you sell it! Check it out HERE.

O is for…

O is for One, the Only One. Not the One Who Got Away, because if s/he was meant to be the Only One, would you let that person slip through your fingers? No, the Only One is the One you fight for, risk it all for, never, ever give up on, because s/he will never, ever give up on you. The light in your darkest hour, the kindler of your brightest dreams. The One without whom you are not One yourself, only half of what you are meant to be. The One who you didn’t know you were missing, only because you could not conceive of any One person bringing so much joy to your life; you would not have thought One human being could make another so happy, until you experienced it for yourself. May the two of you find each other and be each other’s Only One if the One Above so wills it.

K is for…

K is for Kindness, one of the most essential of human qualities, which has come to be in short supply.  It seems people have become more self-absorbed in this age of pervasive technology and the ability for anyone to “market” oneself. The result is that people who think first of others before themselves become more uncommon. Perhaps it was always this way. There were no “good old days,” no time that everyone was nicer to everyone else. Half a century ago we were still in the throes of segregation and expectations of women to stay barefoot and pregnant, so I wouldn’t say that was a kinder, gentler age. But I will still argue that technology has eroded common civility. In the end,  I contend that true beauty is shown by how one treats others.

K is for Kisses, one of my favorite things, when they are available from the right person. Of course it’s also for KISS– Keep it Simple Stupid, which is sound advice in almost any situation.

internet_white_knight_colored_4350K is also for KISAS. If you’re not familiar with this disease, I will elaborate. It only strikes males, typically straight men in their 20s, though it can target others. It stands for Knight-in-Shining-Armor Syndrome. It manifests itself as a psychological delusion in which the victim sincerely believes that he can “rescue” or “save” women who are troubled by past (and/or present) traumas. Having suffered from KISAS myself, I can speak to the debilitating nature of this disease. My early twenties were marked by a quick succession of three such damsels in distress, and all these relationships did for me was wreck my finances, friendships, and college education. It also managed to drive a dagger deep into my decaying heart, dashing my once ebullient romantic idealism. On the plus side, I suppose, it inspired much of my poetry. I didn’t “save” any of those three, or the one I later married for that matter. I don’t think I still suffer from it, but I have to be wary of KISAS still rearing its ugly head. Everyone has their baggage, including myself, but it’s not healthy to expect that you can permanently relieve a partner of it– or, if you’re a woman, to expect a man to rescue you. At best you can lighten the load, and you can understand each other. Your past is part of you, but it doesn’t define you; for as long as you allow your past to define you, it will hold your future hostage, no matter what knight or damsel you may pair with.

Keep Your Friends Close

I have many quirks that are as much a part of me as my hair and eye color.  So when Jason asked me to write about my friendships, my mind went to my strange little habits.   I am pretty sure that part of what my friends love and hate about me is the little things that make me unique.  For that matter, anyone that is close to me knows I hate to be pigeonholed.  I am pretty sure this is why Jason wants me to write on his blog.  He thinks I am going against my grain by writing in one genre, humor.  He wants me to show my many facets.

One thing that has always fascinated me is how everyone sees me a little differently. If you ask my friends to try to define me, they will ultimately get into a debate about who I really am (it really happened and a friendship broke up over the argument).  Those that know me best know that trying to pin me down is futile.  People see what they want to see in me; some even see themselves.  Most people think I have a bit of their ethnicity in me.  Often, strangers will walk up to me and start speaking to me in various native tongues.   I have been asked if I am everything from Asian to African American.  More people than not think I understand them better than anyone else.

I used to spend time trying to figure out why everyone sees me differently.  Ultimately I decided that it isn’t the color of my skin, race, gender, or body.  It is my spirit.  I try to love everyone.  If I am in a car and I see a stranger on the side of the road, I will smile at and hug him or her with my eyes.  Why?  Because I might be the only one who remembered that person is as important as everyone else.  I have been the only one in a crowded room to help a hooker who fell.  I know that a cashier at a grocery store has every bit as much reason to be loved as I do.

So with these thoughts, I start my day with a smile, even if I don’t feel like it.  I make others laugh with real life issues but I will never have malicious or cruel intent.  All people I meet are important to me, if only for the second they are in my presence.  Everyone is equal and if I feel myself start to judge, I step back and reevaluate myself.  With this attitude, friendships are forged.  Bonds are strengthened.  Forgiveness and understanding are given as freely as love.   I have many people who call me their best friend and I hold that in the highest of honors.   Today I offer my friendship to each and every one of you.


Now that is true love and friendship.



Lady or Not… Here I Come!



Poetry Time: “More Than Love Itself”

For those not in the mood for romantic sentimentality, I suggest you go read something else. This just came to me… In time I will bring all my poetry over here as a page, but for now, you get my new one:

Not exactly what I was looking for, but I like the message, so here it is.

More than Love Itself

If Love walked this earth,
It would not beam as an angel.
The beggar’s rags would be its guise,
For humans show it little reverence.
In its name they speak of trifles,
Hold hearts hostage,
Abuse, mislead, keep no promises.
But if I came upon this poor stranger
Trodding amidst the ungrateful,
I would kneel and bow my head
Confess my own sins in its name
But then, looking up to meet its gaze
I will say, Love, be proud
Your power is not forfeit
For I have seen it manifest within
Invulnerable in its purity
Transcending its very self
I know love greater still
Than Love itself can conceive,
And so may you.