All posts filed under: Pandemic Parenting

We Three Were Water

July 13, 2013 I: Khari Before today’s protest at Union Square about Trayvon, I sent one of the coordinators a Facebook message: “My son wants to attend the march you announced. Under the circumstances I do not want him to go. Terrified for him, living in Amerikkka.” Please let him come, he wrote. Please. Does your son do any public speaking? He should speak today for a few minutes about what he is feeling. I replied: “He is 19 and swears he is going despite my objections. How do I know the NYPD won’t crack heads? I am so scared. Black people aren’t respected anywhere. I am a black mother of a son. Don’t know what to do anymore.” He did not answer. What reassurance could he, a Black man, offer anyway? My mother, my sister, and I surrounded Khari as he laced his sneakers. “No! Don’t go,” we cried. The cops are already feeling some type of way. We three were water, corroding his steely will. II: History Lesson Children younger than he, the …

Psalm 5 for Black Boys

  But let all black boys take refuge in you. Let the confounding black boys the nerdy black boys bookish black boys playful black boys boisterous black boys shy and quiet black boys athletic black boys tech-savvy black boys empathetic black boys the righteous black boys the spiritual black boys the rebellious black boys the searching black boys poetic black boys truth telling black boys prophetic black boys sing and shout, rejoice in you. Surely, LORD, you will bless them and keep them Surround them with your favor, gauntlets vambrace and shield. Thanks for reading! If you enjoy Raising Mothers, please consider making a one-time or recurring contribution to help us remain ad-free. If even a fraction of subscribers signed up to contribute $1 per month, Raising Mothers could be self-sustaining!

Election Time: When a Country Births a President

Four years ago, Election Day was exactly one month before my son’s birth on December 3. He was floating in fluid inside my uterus as we waited anxiously for the results of the 2016 presidential election that would slap us completely in the face. He probably wondered what else besides his punches and kicks could be making my stomach turn as my hopes of America electing the first woman president were eventually extinguished. Like the outcome, his sex was unknown to us and the rest of the world since we had chosen to keep it hidden from all until his arrival. With the exception of the unexpected and upsetting result, the days leading up to the election and the election itself seemed fairly uneventful, much like my son’s eventual birth: I did my best to prepare for the birth process while people did their civic duty and voted for their preferred candidate. Contractions began and continued, increasing in intensity, mirroring media outlets who kept track of the counting as the votes came in. Finally, after …

On Prophecy in Imaginations

In the afternoons, the Texas sun, an unforgiving lamp in the sky, my firstborn and I would walk to our neighborhood park to blow dandelion heads into the wind and run in the wide field. My mind was its own enemy. My anxiety about motherhood, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and fears for what the country was becoming colluded together to create a walking daydream of a dystopic future where my daughter and I had only each other. A place and time where we scrounged through the rubble of our neighborhood for survival. Where I, inexplicably blind, needed her maple-syrup colored eyes to help navigate the hellscape around us.  In different iterations of this daydream, rust red clouds suffocated the sky and other survivors laid traps on the road to ensnare, and later, harm us. The more this dream appeared to me, the more I recognized it as the sum of its components—the aggregate of so much worry and sorrow. I used it as a stepping stone, and began to prepare myself for the possibility of a future …

Backscatter

Feedback 1. Ooooooh, girl. I don’t know how y’all parents of small children are managing all this right now. Work. Homeschooling. Loving on your boo. All your creative endeavors. There isn’t enough time in the day! Hell, I’m super stressed juggling the full-time job and two side hustles I’ve got going. My teenagers? Oh, they handle school and the chores without me having to do too much. You’ll see. Ain’t nothin’ like this independent stage. Tuh! I know one thing. I am glad as fuck that mine are older! I couldn’t imagine chasing forty and some little ass kids. If you need anything, just let me know. I’m here for you, but I’m super busy during the week so if I don’t answer, just leave me a message. 2. I’m so sorry, babe, but I can’t have open-door meetings. I just can’t. You do want me to keep my job, right? I’m the only one on the team with a child, so it’s probably best that I save the FFCRA until we really need it. …