Bars! Back in The Days When I Was Angsty and Poetic

Soooo all over the interwebs it’s throwback thursday. In the spirit of this weekly holiday I’ve decided to go back to the archives of a young Raki, back when I used to spit bars. Sort of. Not really. I just used to write a lot. Writing has always been the best way for me to express myself and it’s usually the most honest version and most vulnerable side of me that I can show. After digging around a bit I found my folder of poems. The one below was written many moons ago. My son could only have been a few months old if that. This poem gives you a big peek into what I was going through, from discovery to delivery.

FLUSH

Remembering that night,
Tossing and turning,
Thoughts were churning,
Something just ain’t right.
Felt a little uneasy,
Stomach feeling kind of queasy.

Now I remember that day.
Just as clear as water is blue.
1 line means you’re not
Another line means you’re through.
I saw two.
Then Flush went the E.P.T.
And all my hopes and dreams.
My pride was pushed aside.
That second line,
Had changed my life.

Tumbling,
Stumbling,
Humbly,
I came to you.
Had no one to turn to.
If I had only known,
You were a wolf
But sheep’s clothing you owned.
I cried out my soul,
But your eyes were so cold.
And
Slowly I began
To feel the crush
Then Flush
Went my sole support
You wanted to abort
Mistakes were made
Now the price has been paid
And then came that day…
All those months I’d spent crying
Emotionally dying,
My shame the whole world could see,
My protruding proud pregnant belly.

In the morning,
So early it was dark,
At the door to my womb
I felt a knock,
Then another
And another
3-4 minutes apart
This is the start of the end.
It is finished.
It begins.

The Darndest Things…

This sweet child of mine had the audacity to form his lips to ask me:

Ha, Mom can you believe you’ve been living on this earth for 32years?? IF THAT WERE MILK YOU’D BE SPOILED!!!

 

 

Whatever dude. What. Ev.Er

Nike’s are for …

Nike’s are for Action, Toms are for protests

My son is the most Toms loving boy ever! I TRIED to force some Jordans, Lebrons, KDs even Roshe’s on him and he was NOT having it. He only wants his pseudo ninja shoes. I have nothing against Tom’s but they have about as much traction as the inside of an Oreo Cookie. Actually the soles of them look like Oreo cookie cream topped by fabric wrapped feet. Anyway they’re cheap so who am I to complain?

tom t tom tom tommmms

 

Inconvenient Tr…

Do Over

Inconvenient Truth #5762: “Your Kids don’t care if you’re a single parent, neither does dinner”

In Honor of Michael Jordan turning the big 5-0 today, this Seemed like an appropriate time to reblog “Fake Jordans and That’s What You Get” enjoy and comment! Have you ever had to learn/teach a lesson the hard way?

30and11

Let’s just file this one under “Trying to be slick”. So my son decided he wanted some Jordans. Every time we went to the mall he wanted to take a look at the shoes, he’d point them out on other people’s feet, he’d even print pictures of them.  Subtlety is not his strong suit. So finally he asked me to by him these kicks. They’re not cheap and since I KNOW my son really isn’t the kind of kid that’s pressed to have the latest sneakers, I knew it had to be a couple of other driving forces behind his request. 1. Some kid in school must be stuntin (styling) on the rest of the kids with a fresh pair of J’s or 2. Dave just really likes these and thinks they will help increase his cool factor on the playground. I told him I’d get him the shoes if…

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FACT: In public…

FACT: In public, A well behaved yet ashy child, reflects worse on you as a parent than a loud mouthed lotioned one.

i didn’t say it was fair, but it’s true. 

How To Beatbox

“Hey mom if you don’t know how to beatbox, all you have to do is say BUCKAROOS real fast a lot of times.”

30 Booty

My best friend and I have “coined” many terms and phrases that have over the course of our almost decade long friendship, have become a regular part of our vernacular. One of those phrases is “Thirty Booty.” This describes the gradual lowering and fanning out of the derriere in an east-westerly spread where the behind resembles a soft cube. For some unfortunately high hipped ladies, 30 Booty tends to look like some one dropped one of the table tops cocktail waitresses used to flip over during prohibition raids down the back side of their shirt and got caught between the elastic of their Vicky’s PINK jogging pants. This phenomenon tends to begin in our 30’s

Thirty Booty will show up if unchecked. It seems like in the past couple of weeks I’ve been doing everything to hasten it’s coming out party. I was in Cali for a week and had Belgian waffles every morning, add to that last week I pulled trucker’s hours on the road taking 4 seven hour trips over the course of 7 days. It’s little wonder I look like Sponge Bob Square Pants. THIRTY BOOTY showed up TODAY of all days! I thought I’d grab this flirty skirt that’s been an easy go to for the past couple weeks…I throw it on, I roll out, quick and easy just like that… only this time I didn’t just roll out. I trumbled out. Is trumble a word? I don’t know, but that’s the only way I can describe the equal parts tremor rumble rolling thunder effect created by my thighs made as I pulled my skirt up over my newly plumped legs and angular behind. This ain’t cute! It’s probably not as bad as i’m describing it but still, It’s time to reign it in. But in the mean time (another ism of the homie’s) “I still got Face!”.

ring ring

THE HOMIE>>> DUUUDDDDEEE, I want a boyfriend today!

ME>>>> What, It’s nice outside?

Explanation: My homegirl called me, and the latter was my reply. Why was that my reply? What does the weather have anything to do with wanting a boyfriend? Well, in my mind apparently, it has EVERYTHING to do with “Wanting a boyfriend today”. Some days are just boyfriend weather. 

Musical Interludes: Bohemian Rhapsody

So the other night I was cleaning up which is usually accompanied by singing and me intermittently rocking out. Dave has accepted my behavior as wacky but tolerable, and on occasion he sometimes joins in. This particular evening the song of choice was Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. I’d gotten through the first few overtures and had noticed Dave in the living room doing some kind of air guitar kung fu hybrid pantomime in time with the song. PAUSE and WAIT… when did he learn this song? and why does what he’s doing look kinda cool because he’s a black kid rocking out to Queen not withstanding the fact that he’s doing this in his underwear and a backwards t-shirt. So I finally get to my favorite part of the song that goes:

“But I’m just a poor boy and nobody loves me
He’s just a poor boy from a poor family
Spare him his life from this monstrosity”

Apparently this is Dave’s favorite part too because at some point in my 2nd or 3rd repetition of this stanza he had gotten himself into a standing position in his sleeping bag and calls out to me:

“MOM LOOK I’M DANCING IN THE SLEEPING BAG OF UNSUCCESS!!”

…looking like a glow worm inching around doing the centipede standing up in the middle of the living room floor. 

Inappropriate Texts During: Middle School Orientation

The Scene: Last friday I chaperoned a trip to my son’s future middle school. I’d been STOOPID sick all week and was just getting over it. During the orientation we had a break for lunch and were all in the cafeteria eating lunch and becoming further “oriented” with school staff. I was doing a good job at being the upstanding parent until THIS… (as relayed via texts to my homegirl, referred to as “The Homie”)

Me (10:18am) >> Ooooooohhhhhhh DAYUM!

THE HOMIE (10:18am) >> Huh?..lol

ME (10:18am) >> I’m chaperoning a trip to Dave’s future middle school…and the Basketball Coach just showed up

ME (10:19am) >> This. Could. Be. A. ~praaaahblem~ 🙂

THE HOMIE (10:20am) >> Haaaaaaa!.. somebodys about to need extra practice

ME (10:20am) >> OOOH YEAH (kool-aid voice)

ME (10:20am) >> And his name is Mr. Diggs

THE HOMIE (10:21am) >> Lmao

THE HOMIE (10:22am) >> Oh he gon get dug alright

ME (10:22am) >> DUG OUT!

THE HOMIE (10:23am) >> LMAO

ME (10:23am) >> OHH my gosh I’m only 98%[better] and I just laughed OUT LOUD forreal

ME (10:23am)>> There was snot involved

THE HOMIE (10:24am) >> Lmao… i need u to Be cool..cuz snot has never been attractive

ME (10:25am) >> Um yeah snot aint never cute

Girdle My Loins

My mom wants kids. She wants a husband too. The only problem is she wants these things for ME! I know she only wants me to be happy and secure, but if the skin to hair ratio on my legs is any indicator of my lethargy towards snagging a man, I’d have to say my mom’s wish is looking more and more like a dream deferred.  And Kids?! NO WAY, not when I’m more than halfway out of the woods. In 6 short years I’ll be home free, pre-premenopausal and ready to exhale.

The Essence Of Aunt Jemima

Keep cooking a secret! Especially breakfast foods. Even more especially eggs, and DO NOT EVER EVER EVER show your kids how to make pancakes, don’t even let them observe you making them, and when they get old enough to read MARK OUT THE INSTRUCTIONS on the back of the box. Matter fact, just put the mix in a ziplock bag. Heed this warning or you too will suffer. The first things I learned how to cook were scrambled eggs. My cousin and I figured one day that we were grown enough to do this, they were horrible and mostly stuck to the pan but we ate them proudly, and triumphantly. My son’s first real foray into chefing was eggs as well (Kid’s Cuisine doesn’t count). The eggs should have been a red flag, but I thought maybe this is good for his confidence and independence. The first time he decided he was going to (without asking) just go into the fridge and cook him up some eggs, I let it slide. Then he graduated to Pancakes! You see it was all fun and games until someone decided PANCAKES = SNACKS! So this kid starts whipping up pancakes with reckless abandon! It was to the point where he wasn’t even plating them! He’d be just strutting around the house with casual pancakes! I couldn’t even take a nap without waking up to the Essence of Aunt Jemima and the Spirit of Hungry Jack wafting through my house!! Parents you’ve been warned, don’t let those little jokers learn how to cook until they can contribute to the grocery bill.