"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..."

The Bourgie Tooth that Went Boo or Noodle Goes East

My little bourgie baby has become a bit of a travel maven and social butterfly. The Little Family That Could recently traveled to Charleston, SC for the 5th Biennial Conference of The Toni Morrison Society and yours truly (not the baby) presented a rather unsexy paper on some existential ideas in Morrison's Song of Solomon. Scholars and lovers of Morrison from the US and even to the far stretches of Japan "jumped for the sun" in the beautiful Charleston and instantly, Ms. Noodle was the jovial flower that she is and became "the baby at the conference". Papa Bear also garnered some admiration who added to his chest armor the baby carrier the entire weekend. I preferred our travel stroller that have the best maneuverable wheels since EVER, but hey, he's got the strong back. Me so delicate...

Anywho, the TMS was so great and so energizing, I didn't want to come back. I tend to suffer from mental dentritis when I come back from trips like this and then return to work which lacks that "engagement" that any scholar needs to survive - and not just thrive. Now let me talk about stuff that may not interest 90% of the traffic that comes through here. It was so great to be around scholars like Houston Baker, Judylynn Ryan, Stephen Conners and to have Toni Morrison walk past you, be in her presence, hear her giggle, to see her up close, spill her water while reading from her new book 3 rows away...and the lovely and graceful Phylicia Rashad! Such a beautiful time we had. Though my bourgie baby won't remember any of it, but we have pictures to archive this fabulous and historic occasion.
So on our journey back, our Noodle who was angelic on the plane there and the entire time at the hotel and the conference decides to go riff raff crazy on the plane. Right as the plane is about to board, she decides to have a BM, so I"m running to the bathroom to do the change. Then she goes into the hysterical cry and I take her to the plane's lavatory to calm her down and to check her diaper again and she freaks out in there. We became "those people with the crying baby". Eventually, a stuartess came over to ask if she could do anything (I'm thinking, "Like what?") but I kindly let her know that I got it. Then Papa Bear hands me a bottle and I was like she just ate before we got on the plane but as soon as I stuck it in her mouth, BAM, three ounces down and she's fast asleep. I felt my blood pressure go down instantly. Somehow, I had drew up my butt cheeks because of the tension and pressure I was under because of the glares of our cabin mates...Wow! Traveling with a baby was an intense and eye opening experience. When we arrived in Atlanta, Noodle was a new and improved bourgie baby. She was smiling, squirming, eating Cinnabon, drinking water and juice, and taking regular naps all the way home. As we sat in our airport recliners across from Cinnabon in Hartfield airport, we heard over the intercom how a Delta flight to Bloomington, IL was oversold and they were willing to give yadda yadda to them in exchange of giving up their seats. I asked Papa Bear what he would do and he smilingly stated, I have no idea.

Somehow, I have these magical powers of bringing thoughts to reality and sure enough, our flight started out oversold and they were offering $400 travel vouchers to anyone who would give up their seat. We both looked at each other and that was such a no brainer! We got pushed to a flight that would fly into Mobile, AL and they would provide taxi service to GPT and we would be leaving in 45 minutes. So we had to haul ass to a distant concourse on Jackson Hartfield's fabu bullet train. Mind you we have baby, 2 carry on bags, diaper bag, golf umbrella, and our own bodies to haul in a hurry. We made just in time as they were boarding. Another passenger had also made the trek with us and she went into a damn asthma attack right as we're taking off. We later find out that our initial flight to GPT had been delayed because of mechanical errors and they were expecting to leave around 8:30pm! So that was our first and perhaps future experience of giving up our seats for what's behind Door #2.

I am glad to say, we made it home safely and Noodle was tired. We all climbed into bed and didn't see the light of day for the next 2 days. We had taken her out of day care for two weeks and in just that time alone, she has went up a shoe size, is comfortably wearing her next size up (9-12 month apparel), and can sit up on her own unassisted minutes at a time.

But as our summer vacation wanes to an end, our most surprising shock happened yesterday morning as my husband was playing around with her as I got ready for work and he asked, in disbelief, "Is that a tooth?" Sure enough, Bourgie Noodle Bean had sprouted out a tooth while she was asleep. Lord knows we have been on a roller coaster during her pursuit of teething, but never would I imagine she would have teeth coming out, and at the top for that matter, so soon! Literally overnight...but something strange, maybe even foul, is amiss...the tooth has went "FIND ME!" It is gone, reabsorbed back in her gums, AWOL as of 7:29 pm yesterday evening. This is what I believe may be afoot.

Overall, I just wish the kid would stop kicking her shoes off when she rubs her feet together. She absoluately obsessed with gumming her toes. I mean, when you have some the kickingest (yes, kickingest) pair of butterfly Airwalks, this bourgie baby would rather be like her country mama and roll barefoot.

Just Stop the Madness

I came across this on Facebook and thought it was hilarious. This is obviously a conversation that needs to happen! So many times we try to define what is Black, and what is a particularly Black name...nowadays, its just too hard to say or admit to. But what is also interesting is now I'm seeing more and more white women with typically "Black" names, i.e. Kesha...is this the browning of America that they've been predicting?

After Judge Cabrera's historic ruling, little Clitoria Jackson will likely
undergo a name change.

( DETROIT ) In a decision that's expected to send shockwaves through the
African-American community-and yet, give much relief to teachers everywhere-a federal judge ruled today that black women no longer have independent naming rights for their children. Too many black children-and many adults-bear names hat border on not even being words, he said.

"I am simply tired of these ridiculous names black women are giving their
children," said U.S. Federal Judge Ryan Cabrera before rendering his decision.
"Someone had to put a stop to it."

The rule applies to all black women, but Cabrera singled out impoverished
mothers.

"They are the worst perpetrators," he said. "They put in apostrophes where none are needed. They think a 'Q' is a must. There was a time when Shaniqua and Tawanda were names you dreaded. Now, if you're a black girl, you hope you get a name as sensible as one of those."

Few stepped forward to defend black women-and black women themselves seemed relieved.
"It's so hard to keep coming up with something unique," said Uneeqqi Jenkins,
22, an African-American mother of seven who survives on public assistance. Her children are named Daryl, Q'Antity, Uhlleejsha, Cray-Ig, Fellisittee, Tay'Sh'awn and Day'Shawndra.

Beginning in one week, at least three white people must agree with the name
before a black mother can name her child.

"Hopefully we can see a lot more black children with sensible names like Jake
and Connor," Cabrera said.

His ruling stemmed from a lawsuit brought by a 13-year-old girl whose mother
created her name using Incan hieroglyphics..

"She said it would make me stand out," said the girl, whose name can't be
reproduced by The Peoples News' technology. "But it's really just stupid."

The National Association of Elementary School Teachers celebrated Cabrera's
decision.

"Oh my God, the first day of school you'd be standing there sweating, looki ng at the list of names wondering 'How do I pronounce Q'J'Q'Sha.'?" said Joyce Harmon, NAEST spokeswoman. "Is this even English?"

The practice of giving black children outlandish names began in the 1960s, when
blacks were getting in touch with their African roots, said historian Corlione
Vest. But even he admits it got out of hand.

"I have a niece who's six. I'm embarrassed to say I can't even pronounce her
name," said Vest, a professor at Princeton University "Whenever I want to talk
to her, I just wait until she looks at me and then I wave her over."

She has quite the big head

Clearly not of ego...can that even develop in infants?

This kid really has a big noggin though. My hubby swears its from my side. Well maybe that's a bad example. Not flattering at all. But this was her first social outing with her hair in actual bands. I think I did a "banged" up job.

Anywho, my lil bourgie baby is growing before my eyes even more so. I'm having to pack away her teeny tiny newborn clothes, while she stretches out her 3-6 month attire, all the while shopping 6-9 month clothes, already looking ahead at 12 month clothes. I was looking at her last night stretched out in the middle of the bed as she drifted off, her legs all sprawled out, in what was supposed to be a long sleeve pajamas but looked like a summer jumper. She quacks, yeps, babbles, and screeches, full of energy, constantly being mistaken for a 9 or 12 month old baby. I'm just getting used to the fact that she doesnt fit comfortably in one arm. I have to carry her around like a sack of potatoes now.

And she is quite the milk monster. We've already introduced spoon fed cereal and baby food and she adores juice! Just like me! What would the world do without juice? Check out that fiend!

Tim Russert - A Political Medium RIP

It only makes me wonder about the future of serious political discourse in our media and how our children will receive it in their time of conscious political interest: