This is six

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Favorite color blue
Favorite food fish sticks
Favorite book Lightening McQueen
Favorite TV show Spongebob
Favorite team Falcons
Favorite activity chess… uh, Hot Wheels… no, reading… ok, drawing pictures.
Wears size 1 shoe, size 6 clothes
Current School Grade
One
Favorite subject math
Future career goal dump truck driver
Quote “Mom, I’m hungry.”
Favorite Song Everything is Awesome
Favorite Movie Robots
Clothing style mismatched socks
Favorite sport to play football
Favorite sport to watch football
Favorite toy Lego

Fifteen plus 6

Favorite color green
Favorite food everything except for Mac & Cheese
Favorite book Trip to Heissman Trophy
Favorite TV show Modern Family
Favorite team Team Rico
Favorite activity other than football? to mess with Ri
Current School Grade ten
Favorite subject technical drawing
Future career goal ball out (play football)
Quote “Chill.”
Favorite Song Rico’s Story
Favorite Movie Gridiron Gang
Clothing style jackets
Favorite sport to play football
Favorite sport to watch football
Favorite past time sleep
One wish: make everyone’s life peaceful

I miss it

Last weekend I lamented seeing my sister in law. It wasn’t really about her. I just knew she’d be in that glow that pregnancy brings. Rosy cheeked, plump-faced, and happily expecting the wonderful firsts a new baby offers. Her curvacious fullness prompting attention and well-wishes for the blessing of this little boy – my nephew.

Pangs of emptiness in my core were certain.

Just a few months ago, hubs and I lay in bed. He caressed my stomach as though he could feel the swell of life – as though he were ready. We chatted about “fin” – the pet named (and yet to be) last child of our brood. I’d been feeling odd for days, similar to the way I’d felt just before we discovered Cinco’s impending arrival. We talked of potential names, rattling off those we loved, scrunching faces at those we’d never really consider, thinking of meanings we’d like to envoke. We contemplated baby’s looks – hair in soft light-colored curls, alluring eyes, skin of birchwood. We laughed about how each sibling would react to the new edition. We skirted around the obvious issues of financial strain created while giving the best we can to each child.

Days following, I picked up a test, followed the instructions and waited in my cramped toilet closet. I had closed myself in, locking the door to avoid the usual visitor. As she patted on the door – first timidly and then with more vigor, the first blue line emerged quickly. She called out “Mooommmmmmy? Mah? MOM!!!” as I silently waited behind the door. But that extra line never appeared. Fin was still merely a dream.

I miss being pregnant. I miss those first flutters of baby’s movement. I miss that initial moment of my husbands joy at first feeling a kick of his unborn child as he rests his hand against my stomach. I miss the days of counting down, of wondering if baby will look like the visions conjured in my dreams. I miss planning for the hospital, the visitors, the homecoming.

My baby isn’t really a baby anymore. Next week, she’ll be two. She’s already a personality. She’s already got her own ideas, has conversations, creates. She’s growing more independent with each passing day.

And soon, like her siblings before her, she’ll be lost in her own activities, interests and a world I don’t quite fit into.

**This is inspired by the Just Write meme – an exercise in free writing your ordinary and extraordinary moments.

NaNoWriMo (No.)

Failed.
Miserable would best describe the effort to write a vignette a day. I think I accomplished, perhaps, ten of the thirty. A new personal low?  Probably.

In my head,  however,  swim countless little scenes waiting to be written. Sometimes I wish there were more time. Someday – soon I hope – I’ll officially pen them.

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Ya and I collaborated on this little owl. He’s a continuation of my artistic efforts of the day. I miss painting.

Earlier,  Chi and I were gifted an awesome opportunity today. We had two hours together to paint ballet slippers. “No experience required.” “No mistakes, it’s art.” Those were the two consistently chimed mantras of Cheers Art Studio. And indeed, looking at the diversity of talent in the participants of our class, this held true.

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Though I think we both found ourselves frustrated with our painting,  the results are nothing to be sad about.

Thanksgiving aka “Happy Thank You!”

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I figured I’d skip posting the usual “here is our spread” and “here we are stuffing ourselves” photos and just share the ones from the morning.
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NaNoWriMo #25 (Rambling to do)

Racing through my head are hundreds of disjointed thoughts. It’s like a to do list that needs prioritizing.

Remember, teach your young son how to handle authority ASAP:
Never run. Don’t make sudden movements. Show your hands, palms toward the officer, all fingers visible.
Don’t walk with your hands in pockets.
Don’t look menacing (even when it’s painful to falsely smile).
Don’t laugh – – presumed mocking is dangerous.
Avoid unfamiliar neighborhoods, and never linger in your own.
Obscuring your face for fashion could get you confused with another black boy. Flashy clothes, accessories could be seen as weapons’ metallic flashing.
Be careful.
Let’s face it, it’s safer to stay inside.

I think: Justice is not blind. It wears magnifying glasses that see color, but blur other factors of consideration – of common sense.

I pray: My black child won’t be seen as a threat to peace, to society, to the institution, to life. Thrive. Dream. Reach. Achieve. Become. It’s what every mother clasps hands together and asks of God.

I wish: Things weren’t always so hard. It doesn’t have to be easy, just not so seemingly impossible. Is this test ever going to end? Don’t I deserve a chance to see the results?

I wonder: When will I find the time to complete this project? Finish that book? Start that dream?

I want: to feel fulfilled. to be appreciated. to find affirmation…

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