Raise A Well Balanced Child

A black woman will play with and entertain her children at her own expense.

During the hours of 9-5 pm, I am working on stories, poems, and blogs, amongst a whole host of other things including being a mother. This morning around 10:30am my son wanted to go outside and play. I had no "real" problem with this request except I was in the middle of constructing a great sentence for a great story.

So I did what most people would do. I jumped up after saving my story, and spent the next two and a half hours playing wall ball, dancing, drawing on the ground, laughing, and making a fool of myself with my son. I had a blast.

He's a really great dancer. He jumps up in the air, shakes his butt from side to side and looks back at me to make sure I am following suit.

"Come on, mommy!"

We played until it was almost time to pick up my daughter from school.

We played in the shade of 105 weather, within inches of a gallon of iced cold water. I took several drinks, my son preferred small sips followed by one large swallow. His mouth is not yet large enough to hold greater amounts.

He's pleasant too. I enjoyed our day out on my patio. In this photo here, he is making me work for this shot. I had a hard time getting him to stay still and not walk all over the place but you could never tell.

I eventually got back to my story. I eventually got back to that sentence and it turned out great.

A black mother loves her children. PERIOD!

Go! Be Free!

The black mother understands that her child must go out into the world. They can not stay at home forever.

So, she's going through the phase where she needs more responsibility but believes that she should be free to surf the web and watch television all day. I refuse to allow that to happen, so things have been pretty much hectic between she and I. I'd like her to continue reading and writing during her free time even though she doesn't understand my reasoning.

She's a good girl, but not immune to our society like I'd like her to be. Gosh, I hate the fact that her self-esteem is constantly being threatened at every corner and there isn't anything I can do. She has to learn all of this shit out on her own. No assistance, very little support. But right now she believes the world is huge, and open for the taking.

My heart hurts for her and this world. So I remain firm. I must remain confident in my raising of her. It is necessary. I will not always be here but what I leave with her is strength and my devoted love. That has to be enough because it is all I have to give her...my gift.

To sleep with well-wishes.

I would have to say that the black woman is extremely passionate about her children.

I find myself staring at my son more especially now that he is beginning to pick up more phrases. Last night, after we all had went to bed, he got up and spent an extra thirty minutes at the window with the blinds open staring up into the sky. I joined him.

He's MY two year old and I love him.

At first, he was interested in finding the plane that he heard just a minute before. Like any quick swift two year old, he made it to the window in time. I watched his eyes watch the fixed-winged aircraft until it was no longer in sight. I was certain he was going to lay back down after that, but he remained in the same position until I made my way over to the window, and asked him in my most sing-song voice, "What cha doing?"

He looked up at me briefly before making room for two at the window sill.

"Up?" he asked pointing to the sky.

"Yes, that's up."

"Sky?" he asked. Now he was showing off.

"Yes, that is the sky. The sky is all of that space up there." I position my pointing finger on the window directly beside his pointer.

Although he didn't stop looking at the sky to acknowledge me, I know he heard me. I take this time to kiss him directly on the top of his head. He's a really sweet and kind boy.

I spend the ten minutes with him at the window where we laugh, squeal and almost get hushed up by his father who is a co-sleeper by default.

"Let's be a little bit quieter." I whisper.

"Okay." he whispers back.

His voice is both innocent and honest. I know that I'll always feel as over-protective and passionate about him as I do at that very moment.

Eventually, I left him at the window with my well-wishes and climbed back into the bed with his father. The next time I opened my eyes he was laying right in the middle of us. Sleep.