"Rocky Bomma, Mama"

My friend Ashley told me how her 2 year old son pointed out Barack Obama on TV, calling him "Rocky Bomma". All she could do was laugh but at the same time wondered how did he know of this man, someone she had never talked to him about...? Perhaps his babysitter had told him, but in his 2 year old mind, he knows that Rocky Bomma is important. If that is not a testament of his impact that a child of 2 year old can get...can we continue to let fear mongerers distort his image and character?

Tonigt, Obama dominated television with his 30 minute ad, and even my little bourgie baby toddled around and batted at the TV and jibber jabbered and eventually went into a calm as both of her parents were engrossed in this historic moment. Of course, the talking heads will say that he has done all he can as a "Black man" to show that he can be trusted and that he is safe...or the fact that in the background all we saw were presumably "White middle class/working class voters"...or that the entire broadcast was "too polished"...or that his message is too inclusive when Obama states "Hello, America"...or that he didn't look into the camera correctly...or that the office in which he spoke from looked "too presidential"...or that its all just propaganda and that "change" is as superfluous as equality. Give me a break!

What I saw tonight was not about Obama, but about the people who are struggling, like so many of us out there. Yes, I am bourgie enough to keep it real! What really hit home was the elderly couple who are trying to make ends meet when their promise for retirement is not what it should be. These are REAL stories. Even with my mother, I have seen her own struggles to maintain health insurance and deal with a company that is not willing to pay for her basic expenses. And to think that at her age, she would have to go out and find a job in order to make ends meet...that is disturbing but a reality for many.

Here's the full video of tonight's broadcast:

Overwhelmed but not Ostentatious

As I drove home yesterday, as soon as I was outside New Orleans East, I became disgustingly agitated. The music could not soothe me, the traffic was irking me, and all I really wanted was a damn hug. I didn't want to hear Mz. Kitti cuss anymore, I couldn't stomach anymore of Wolf Blitzer and friends' spin on the days news...
I turned off the radio, cracked my windows and let the cool zoom of a southern autumn come into my car. As the days drag on, I am thinking more about my little one and how she has grown into a little ball of energy...how she happily shrieks and jumps when she sees me at the end of the day; how she will wake up out of a coma to greet her daddy sometimes when he comes in late.
My fellow bourgiecrats, I am overwhelmed. Working full time, taking on additional employment, being a mommy, cook, maid, washer woman, commuter, daughter, coach's wife. I'll let that fragment be an attestation.
Last week, the bourgie baby was sick with an ear infection, and I didn't give it a second thought about staying home from work. Family first has new meanings for me. Before I thought it was some overly cliched statement cooked up from the folks at Hallmark.
While home, I was watching an episode of Oprah about a mother who was overwhelmed and unawaringly left her little baby in the car for her entire shift. She was later found dead. How could people blast her and say she's the most hated mother in America. Being a mother has changed my life in so many ways: physically, mentally, sleepily. I give this woman kudos for just sharing her story without completely losing it. To lose a child that young and because of the overwhelming distraction that WORKING MOTHERS have to deal with...Working moms, we understand this all too well.
Just the other morning, I was running in our usual morning sprint. Fix my lunch, pack baby bottles, change a poopy diaper, grab all the bags, load the car, load the baby, crank the car, turn to Oprah and Friends to hear Gayle's monologue for my morning commute, drop baby off at daycare all under 10 minutes (I'm not lying)...wait a minute...forgot something. Yes folks, I forgot to strap the baby in with the seatbelt and didn't notice until we were halfway there. I felt my heart race and almost leap out my throat. I immediately thought of Janet Jackson's character in Why Did I Get Married?.
Lord knows there are other mothers who've done worst or even more humorous stories of their morning routine. But mothers do not share their stories of being overwhelmed just to inure empathy from others. "Oh that poor mother" is not the reaction we want. We just need help and understanding.

Mommy Rockpots and the Quest to destroy Thanatos

So, I was chatting it up with my friend Ashley the other day and I may have mentioned some new recipes or some jizz I've been working up in the kitchen and she told me I was like "Better Crocker"; I corrected and said maybe Melonee Rockpots.
"I don't think I would buy food in the store with the label 'Rockpots'."
"Why not? Don't you get it? 'I be rockin' pots...'" That's me getting all colloquial. It comes naturally.
I had to sit back and think about all the meals I have cooked since the bourgie baby has been here and I must say, I have toned it down some and go more for meals that can be accomplished in 29 minutes or less. Beat that Rachel Ray! I may need that extra minute for like, you know...wiping noses, steering her walker away from some inevitable death trap...shit like that.

But what is even more challenging, I cannot promote my full prowess in the kitchen like I used to now that I have a wheeling and dealing baby who aspires to walk more than a blind man wants to see. She scared me the other week while I was preparing her clothes for bath time and I set her in her bed to play with her stuffed lamb we lovingly dubbed Wallace (she also has a chew toy that is some unrecognizable blue monster with gum friendly appendages that we dubbed Gromit - get it?). I hear her gibber jabber something and from the tone of it, I could tell she had did something miraculously mischievous. I turned around and this is what I saw:


She has holding onto the rails and bouncing up and down. What is wrong with this kid! From my studies in philosophy and literary theory, it is quite clear that being a mommy is more about suppressing your child's death drive than actual nurturing...or is that what nurturing is all about? Think about that folks.
Once I got her out of her bed to make myself more comfortable with her desire to stand up and hold up and pull up and topple things, she got down on all fours and acted like she was turtling away from the scene of the crime:

Now I make it my business to create a mountain of pillows on our bed to blockade her roving path of destruction as she juts for the remote, goes on the lam with the jar of vaseline, or perceptively peers over the side of the bed looking for her pacifier that she has jettisoned. The only thing that can keep her in place during the morning as I get ready for work is Blue Clues, the Steve years. We love Steve! I bet you're wondering where he is these days. "Now it's time for so long..."