She Almost Learned How To Say Goodbye


You’d think a place like this would feel more… Warm. Welcoming. Something. That’s what I thought when we walked into the office three years ago. I don’t know if I expected pillows and soothing music, but I thought the furniture should at least match. The… I just realized that I don’t know what her title was. What do you call people who’s mission is to make you sure you’re ok with pushing out a baby and handing it over to new parents? I don’t think she had a job title. I knew one thing for sure while sitting in that conference room; their supposed “safe place”. This is not what I was expecting when I moved home.

Living. Moving. Breathing.

 I knew that we were both in bad places and being together was the best decision. I knew that there was another kid coming. A little person. One that we could not afford. I knew that she was overwhelmed. She felt backed into a corner and adoption was the only way out. The promises of help weren’t falling on deaf ears, they were coming from mutes. So there we were. Sitting in that cold office on that hot, hot day.  Listening to a stranger explain procedures for her first hello and final goodbye. And then we left. There was supposed to be a follow up call. My sister never answered.

God knew what He was doing when He gave…

I started writing this after picking my nephews up from school and daycare. I fully expect to see my bedroom door open and a high-top of sandy curls pop in at least five times before bedtime. And tomorrow morning there may be a fit because I’m driving to daycare instead of Mommy. Or, like today, because I refuse to put miniature Nikes on the wrong feet. Yes, this little person works my nerves. Yes, two’s are TERRIBLE. But we didn’t have to go back to that office. Never have to sit in those cold rooms with mismatched furniture. She didn’t have to learn how to say goodbye.

Beautiful Life.

New Day’s Resolution

today_i_will_3__30059_zoomWhy wait?

There are less than 30 days until 2013. Now is the time when most people start thinking long and hard about their New Year’s Resolutions. Not I. Any day is a good day to make a resolution and stick with it. What’s the point of wait until the beginning of the year to make a healthy and necessary change?

My New Day’s Resolutions for Thursday, December 6th:

1. Be more financially responsible.

I’ve been working at this for a while now, but today is the first time that I’ve put my foot down and decided to make it a requirement. I can be a bit impulsive and am seriously lacking in the patience department. The “I want it now” bug is real in my life. As of today, no more buying now and dealing with the consequences later. I have to stick to my budget no matter how tempting the item/event/adventure may be. I have goals for 2013 and the only way that I’ll be able to meet them all is if I’m responsible.

2. Shut Up And Be Positive

This is such a general statement, I know. But I need to practice these things in more areas of my life than I’d like to share. So generally speaking, from this day forward, I will shut my mouth and be positive. I will chase away frustration, anger, and all of the unnecessary commentary that takes up far too much space in my brain with positivity. If I can’t seem to be positive, I will be quiet. There is too much power in the tongue and in my thoughts. I look forward to reaping the positive benefits of the thoughts and words that I sow into my life.

This feels great already.

In Case Of An Emergency….

I should put one of these in my purse.

I’m pretty sure I have one of the shortest contacts lists in an iPhone ever. I do not save numbers if I have no intention of calling the person to whom they belong. I never have. I also don’t answer the phone calls of unknown numbers. By unknown, I mean numbers that aren’t saved in my phone. I know. It’s just what I do. I wanted to give a little background on my telephone habits before I delve into what this post is really about.

I don’t have my mother’s phone number saved in my phone. Not my Gigi, the woman I call mommy. Why? Read the second sentence of the first paragraph. I know that some people will shake their head at me for this completely logical use of logic (hehe). Save your judgement. I don’t call her. I was waiting on the elevator and thinking, like thinking people do sometimes. I had a lightbulb moment.


Not having my mother’s phone number will save my life in the event of an emergency.


Feel me, people.

There are people that we call in case of an emergency. We put all of their contact information on all paperwork. These are the people that we call whenever anything bad/crazy happens. Our close friends/significant others are aware of who these people are and how to get in contact with them if ever necessary. I have these people. For most people, the emergency contacts are their parents. Perfectly normal.

I definitely need to add something like this to my phone.


If I were ever in some type of  accident or my health becomes compromised, it would make perfect sense for whoever is near me at the time (or the person that finds me in distress) to try to contact a parent after calling the 911 folks. If I’m out of it, more than likely the person who finds me will go through my phone looking for someone to call. Life/society/the fact that there are an abundance of single parent households has trained our brains to scroll straight to the M’s searching for “Mom” or an equivalent. This contact is non-existent. Such a good thing.

My mother would be not one iota of help in a bad situation. In fact, she would cause an entire tangent of  an emergency on her own. The dramatics would be at an astronomical level. Whatever information that needs to be obtained from a parent in an emergency, would not come from her. In fact, there would be no point of asking any questions because she would be too busy shooting questions at you to hear anything. These questions would have nothing to do with the situation at hand. No, that’s too much like right. Not having my mother’s number avoids any potential of madness.

If I’m ever in a predicament and a family member needs to be contacted, I’d say call my sister. A stranger wouldn’t know I had a sister though, so scroll down to “Daddy”. He may not answer the first time you call. Call back. His phone will probably be on vibrate, or he’ll see my name and assume that I don’t really want anything. If he still doesn’t answer, I hope I’m conscious enough to give instructions to scroll down to “Gigi”. They’re connected at the hip. She’ll be helpful, she’s a doctor. Call Brandi last. She’ll be a basket case, but she’s important.


The Right Words At The Right Time

Taking a break from The Bonnaroo Experience. I’ll be back with part 3 on Thursday. Today I had to share what was on my mind. 

How is that people know exactly what to say? Not just what to say, but they have the most impeccable timing. How? Where am I going with this line of questioning? I’m glad you asked. I want to know because it happens to me all the time. And I always want to ask the person speaking to me exactly how they knew that I need to hear the words.

‘After a great dinner and plenty of conversation, my daddy (the greatest man in the world) called my sisters and I into the front room of my Mama Nola’s house this past Sunday for a “talk”. I won’t lie, I was terrified. Our little family talks have a way of morphing into these overly dramatic tear and snot fests that Dr. Phil would give his left nut to have filmed in front of a live studio audience. This talk was no different. But before the waterworks and raised voices, my dad dropped a bomb on me.

That bald head man looked me square in my eyes and said to me every single thing that I’ve been thinking, well attempting to avoid thinking, about myself for the last few months. And I couldn’t do a thing other than nod my head. I can’t stand him.
After Sunday, I can’t act like I don’t know that I’ve been settling. I can’t continue to settle. I have to do something about it. Anything. Merely stating that I”m trying to figure out what that step is will no longer cut it.

A friend told me (on the very same day) that God places everything we could possibly need around us, but it’s our job to open our eyes and look for it. I haven’t been looking. At all. I also haven’t been asking to be led in the right direction. Not doing my part in the least bit. Expecting my purpose to be spoon fed to me instead of discovering it for myself.

So, thanks Daddy. Thanks Friend.

The Bonnaroo Experience Part 1: The Journey

A few weeks ago, I went to Bonnaroo. What is Bonnaroo? This simplest way to describe it is modern day Woodstock. Four days of camping out and walking from stage to stage to take in great music. It looks a little something like this:

huge farm full of people

Yes, I wanted to go. Yes, I was aware that I would be outside for almost a week before I signed up. No, I did not go alone. My buddy Jada was excited to be my partner in crime for this adventure. And let me tell ya, it was and Ad Ven Ture.

I’ll start with our journey to Manchester, TN.

My buddy (that’s what I call her in real life) lives in DC, and I live about an hour away from the 700 acre farm that is Bonnaroo. The plan was for her to fly here, and we head to the farm. And them my car died in The Middle Of Nowhere, TN while I was at work, a week before the festival. That’s another story. Looking back, I’m pretty sure this was the universe’s first attempt at trying to keep us from making it to Manchester. So I signed over my first born to pay for a rental. Why did it cost so much? Because the wonderful state of Tennessee schedules the Country Music Festival in Nashville on the the same weekend of Bonnaroo and the city is guaranteed to sell out of rental cars. Just wrong. Evil. The wound is still fresh, can’t you tell?

Fast forward past the rental car fiasco, it’s the morning of our trip. I wake up bright and early, ready to hit the road to pick up my buddy. I get a call. “Hey buddy I missed my flight. I’m going to see if there’s a later one. I’ll keep you posted.” Keeping me posted resulted us both thinking that all hope was lost. She wouldn’t be able to get to TN for less than all of her extremities, and there was no way that I was going to Bonnaroo alone. Enter, Jada’s mom who suggested her flying into Atlanta. It’s only a few hours from Nashville, and since I was already up a prepared to drive, she could hop on the plane and I’d meet her there. I’m pretty sure I heard the dramatic Hallelujah choir.

Four hours later, and I’m at Hartsfield-Jackson picking up my buddy. A pit stop at Walmart was necessary for snacks and water before hitting the road. We were on our way!! …And then we drove passed a Sonic. There was no way that we could just keep going, we were forced to turn around. Our lust for a slushie got us stuck in the parking lot of Creflo Dollar’s “church”.

The journey continues in the next post!

I. Write. Period.

One of my favorite places.


If I have something bothering me, I usually write it out. If I have SOMETHING to say to someone, I write it out first.  When I really need to talk to God, I write Him a letter. I work out all of the jumbled thoughts in my head by writing them down. That is when they start to make sense. When my pen hits paper, I enter my happy place.

People (read: various opinionated family members and close friends) always comment on how much I don’t communicate. I started telling myself that I need to start talking more and writing less. I said that I would practice, and eventually I wouldn’t need so many notebooks. I started trying, and it has not worked at all. I’ve been frustrated and confused. Oh, and I haven’t been talking. I’ve been spending too much time trying to work my thought out in my head for fear of saying the wrong thing. Nothing has come out right, at least I don’t feel that it has. I’ve been second guessing decisions and harboring doubt. I never feel this way when I write.

Today I picked up the journal that I bought with the intention of jotting down lists and started penning everything that came to mind. I felt better with every word. Then I picked up the journal that I bought for the sole purpose of writing to God and let the words fly. What started as one of the most ratchet letters of frustration that I ever did wrote, ended a something so much more than anything that I’ve been attempting to say with my mouth. And now I’m back here where I started. Writing. Writing about how I tried to ruin one of the “perfect” things about myself.

I write. If I don’t write, I”m lost. I don’t need to make a living from it; don’t need anyone’s approval. I need a pen and paper to communicate with myself, my emotions, my God and my dreams, my goals and the people who I love. I do not want to change that. Ever.