Sometimes these walls seem to cave in on me but when I look in your eyes, I feel alive. Some days we say words that don’t mean a thing, but when you’re holding me tight, I feel alive”

Blue obviously has an undistinguishable language that
even her mother Beyonce cannot always understand, but the heart understands it as love and somehow that makes it alright. Beyonce professed this, as well as her love in the newly released song, Blue feat. Blue Ivy Carter. Clearly, mom loves her daughter. I don’t know the Carters’ but, the love seems pretty apparent to me. However, common angst amongst the viewing public, mainly the watchful, hating our naturally nappy hair, eye of the black woman suggest that because Blue’s hair is unkempt,  uncombed, or missing barrets, bows or hair ties, her mother must not love her. Her mother must not care,  some even have gone as far to call it neglect. Comeon people. Neglect?
Really?
Some of you are reaching a bit far with that. Don’t cha think.

Mommy obviously isn’t bothered by Blue’s natural hair doing whatever it chooses to do and baby doesn’t mind either.  The nerve of some women. Projecting their own self image issues on to Blue’s hair. Why do you care? Why is it bothering you? What, you know them?

I was on instagram and someone posted a picture of baby Blue’s hair.  All kinds of slander and hate was up under that post. And then, out of nowhere, the #beyhive buzzed into action. Y’all do know about the Beyhive right? Well its basically Beyoncés social networking mafia. I’m not a member,  and I haven’t quite figured out how they always swarm into action at precisely the right time.  What I do know is this, whoever posted the picture of Blue’s hair is no longer on instagram. Case closed.

You won’t find the picture, or any other picture of Blue’s hair in this here post. If  you’d fancy yourself on seeing it, try google. Flatout, I ain’t the one. Case closed.

I’m not going as far as to have debates about the baby’ hair. As I’ve said before, I don’t know the Carters and I really don’t care. I think Blue is a beautiful baby and her natural hair should be celebrated. I do wonder though, how Beyoncé must feel. Even if you have the thickest skin,  it’s hurtful. As a mother, I will fade to black about one of mines in 0.0 seconds. You don’t come for people’s kids like that. I will go off about mines. Case closed.

The bottom is this, Blue is just a baby. She is not your child, and her hair being “unkempt” as you call it, is her mother’s choice. Now if you want to sound off about something concerning children, why not sound off about these babies making these twerk videos. Nasty! Oh, but y’all think that’s cute though. Em hmm.

My daughter showed me a video uploaded to Vine for the world to see, and this baby, who couldnt have been any older than two, was obviously taught to curse. Yelling out profanity better than any sailor I ever heard of. Why can’t these same group of women get disgusted by that. Instead, we ignore the twerk videos, the cursing baby videos and we put our attention on an innocent babies natural hair. I mean really. Wake up people. We have to do better.

Peace and love
Dee

“Just because I’m single, that doesn’t mean I’m desperate”

I speak to myself in soothing tones, “They really don’t mean to be annoying to your soul. Right? Family, friends, coworkers, the receptionists at your doctor’s office, they couldn’t possibly mean to irk your nerves when they play the cupid magic wand game”. Right?

This is my confession:
It’s a fact, I’m a single lady. I haven’t met “the one” yet. I use the word, YET with great optimism. I do plan to marry, and yes, being single does frustrate me at times, but I’ve mentioned in previous post that I have standards and have chosen to wait for a particular guy minus wasting my precious little time chile. I’m just saying.

Its jarring to me, that being single somehow equates to desperation. Allow me to explain because folks be trying me.

No, I don’t want to be fixed up with your cousin Jethro, your brother Melvin, your father in law Rufus, or your next door neighbor Wallace. These people never stop waving the wand, and somehow get offended when you tell them you aren’t interested. It has to be something more than the fact that you think he’d make a great guy for me or that I should meet him just because I’m single. No thanks. I don’t need your help. I’m good. And trust, your girl can turn heads. My life is pretty full, it’s almost always occupied, and busy. Plus, did it ever occur to them that I’m happy? When love comes, and trust me, it will, just as it has before. But when love calls there won’t be anything that can keep us apart, and we won’t need your cupid wand of approval.

Now, If you are the type that whines all the time about being single, or to ask friends and family to help you secure a significant other, then this post isn’t for you. But..If you feel like me, then I feel for you. And if you are reading this and find yourself being guilty of this offense, shame on you. (Smile) Leave your single friends alone.

Sure, I’m single, but I’m not desperate.

Peace and blessings,
Dee

image

“Seasoned bloggers aren’t always the friendliest group of people. And let me just say, I found out the hard way”

I love exploring the blogger community within WordPress and beyond. A key component to being a good writer is to read as much as you write. I also believe inspiration can be drawn from anywhere. I’ve followed five new blogs as instructed in today’s Zero to Hero challenge. I connect with these readers and I invite others to read and possibly connect with them as well.
Goodness Graciousness
mentalnotes1
WordPress News (for obvious reasons)
Booksandsandwiches
Giorge Thomas

These are all great blogs to read, no matter if it’s a new or seasoned blog, it’s worthy of a read and a follow in my book.

One of the things I remember when I first started blogging is that, fellow bloggers weren’t as friendly to me as I thought they should be. Seasoned bloggers aren’t always the friendliest group of people and I found out the hard way. I would comment on post and ask questions and never get a response. I would follow other blogs genuinely interested in them. Not only weren’t they following my blog, but I doubt they even checked it out.  I was so lost and asking advice and certain individuals just weren’t willing. Following my blog is not a requirement, but atleast be kind and thoughtful enough to answer a question or reply back with something. I am so thankful for the few bloggers that embraced me and really showed me love, advice and encouragement during that time. I would also like to include a link to those bloggers below as they were instrumental in my blogging experience. 

So She Writes
Minister of Style
PoutPerfection
Spoon full of Sugar
Swoon

Be sure to check out the blogs mentioned and any others you may find on your blogging journey. I have a nice neighborhood now, and it’s growing into a pretty good community.

Peace and love,
Dee

image

It seems ironic that my blog challenge would be about the very thing I’ve been struggling with for quite sometime.

When I first started this blog, I had no idea the direction I would take. What I knew for certain was that I wanted to write. As I looked at other blogs and began to follow them, I discovered similarities in our interest in terms of fashion, shopping, and beauty. And since they were all writing about it, I thought I should too. It was thrilling at first, and the feedback was phenomenal. But then, it become a bit intimidating with the photo taking. I’m a simple girl as it relates to technology. Although my pictures weren’t blurry, or bad, they also weren’t taken with professional equipment. The quality of the pictures mattered some, but not enough to make me run out to buy expensive equipment that other bloggers deemed almost as a staple. Chile, I was just as happy snapping it up with my camera phone. That went on for a while, and then I noticed, a shift was taking place. It was more writing, and less picture taking. I’m a writer, not a photographer so it makes since. Then, life happened. I was busy doing life stuff and the blog mattered less. I couldn’t figure out why since writing was after-all, my first love and it was that love that led me to blogging. Writing the blog gave me a way to express myself more openly and honestly and that was cathartic for me in a way. In my first year of blogging 2011, I had about thirty-seven written and published post. In 2012 it was twenty-seven. Not bad, and I felt quite accomplished. Last year I blogged a whopping six times. Pick up your lip, you heard correct—-SIX TIMES. (wowzers, pathetic).

Immediately,  I identified this as a problem. I knew the blog was there, but I ignored it like an overdue bill that I didn’t have the money to pay. It was something that was keeping me from blogging other than time management. And recently, I figured it out. The title of my blog. “Cheap and Fabulous Mom on a Nickel”. I picked the name. And yet, I hated it. The part that bothered me most was the word “Cheap”. It seems completely psychotic to me that I hated it so much, yet it was what I chose. Totally insane right? What was I thinking? Calling myself cheap. That spoke volumes to me. Surely, I could have found other words to describe my bargain shopping, and my gift for catching a deal. So why did I settle on that. Hell no, I’m not cheap. I can’t identify with that. That name began to haunt me. I sensed signals being sent out to the universe,—She’s cheap, she’s cheap. Oh no, pump the brakes. It’s time for a change. So, today I stand in my truth and openly admit that I subconsciously hated the blog because of the name. It is not a representation of my authentic self, so I stopped associating with it. Bingo! There, I said it. Something so simple, yet it kept me away. I’ve decided, I have to change the blog name. I don’t know if it will hinder anything because at this point of not blogging for so long, the audience I began to build, drifted away. That settles it, I’m starting over. The name must change. Now I feel free in continuing to reveal “who that girl” is. I’m a mother, a writer, a poet, and in many ways, an activist.

image

photo by: MichaelLawson

I’m passionate, deep thinking, loving, no nonsense, sensitive, difficult, transparent, complicated, yet easy to please. I’m fashionable, hip, reserved, quiet, introverted, spiritual, inquisitive, and so much more. Actually I’m so many things, its hard to pinpoint definitively, “who that girl” is. And I’m ok with that. Frankly, the blog is about me and my journey and the ways it may connect with someone else’s journey. I’ve seen alot, I’ve done alot. Some I’m proud of, and some not so much. But it is my hope that I gain freedom in telling a little bit more of my story, and if its moment by moment, or week to week, or even month to month, I’m hoping someone will come along and travel with me on this journey. Maybe you can help me, perhaps I can help you. Just know, it’s all love, it’s all me, and I do it first with the love of Christ and the ambition to help others with my truth.

Signed,
Whose that girl—–
image

— the blogger formally known as *insert sigh* Cheap fab Mom is now DeeJourney of a fab writing Mom *insert giggles*

Ok! Get ready for my last rant of the year. It may be TMI for some, and if it is, I dont apologize, because this is really an issue and I need to sound off.

Firstoff, I realize its been almost a year since my last blog post (I can’t even begin to explain why at this moment).
In what is my first blog post in nearly a year, not to blog about fashion,thrifting, shopping or anything like that. What brings me here is something that isn’t new under the sun, something that has been around since women have been women, and something that has consumed my life since the age of 14. Oh yes reader, women in particular, this “thing” I speak of, that has brought me back to my blog to sound off after nearly a year is my monthly cycle.

Since it’s very existence in my life this thing has literally been a pain to me in more ways than one. From the fevers,to the vomiting, to the back pain, to the earth shattering cramps,and not being able to function, this thing has always shown up and showed out. I’ve had jobs jeopardized, I’ve had very important life events that I’ve had to miss all because of this thing. Nevermind the painkillers, which by the way don’t work for me anyhow. Nevermind the home remedies, the herbal teas, the birth control pills, the heating pads, nevermind it all as none of this has truly helped me in this quest to make this monthly painfest end. The only comfort I feel is when the cycle ends. Ain’t that a blip? I can literally feel my insides doing a violent dance for seven whole days. Boi, that’s a helluva dance! I can truly feel every fiber of ovulation as well as my eggs dropping into position I want to scream at this thing, “Sucker, I have 4 kids you can keep your aches, your eggs, and your ovulation because I don’t need you anymore. Cycle, monthly, mensuration, mother nature, unwanted guest, I don’t need you anymore—- go away. I have earned my stripes, I have slothed off the years and tears and shedding enough for 45 thousand lifetimes. AND today, I’m mad as hell. Its new years eve, and I always spend new years eve in church and this, is nothing new, it’s what I do every year. But as always you show up at the wrong time. And I will instead spend my New Years Eve shaking in pain, damn near overdosing on motrin, rocking back and forth, and moaning in agony over the first day of my cycle. You woke me up bright and early this morning, I mean you came in with a bang and already this pain is too much to bear. I’m so sick of you, and I don’t want you anymore. Your purpose has been served. If I had a dollar for every time you’ve done this to me, shown up and showed out, I’d be on the cover of Forbes magazine rich beyond belief. but you don’t give dollars, you only give excruciating pain, and make me weak until I’m dizzy from anemia, blood count always on the low. And even more, you make me mean! You have messed up Egyptian cotton sheets, and more panties than one can own in a lifetime. And the only option which really ain’t the option I want to rid myself of thee is a Hysterectomy? Chile, you are something else. In all the misery you’ve caused me, you are consistent, even I will give you that. First thing in the morning with this pain though, really? Oh well, all this ranting aint gonna change a damn thing. So, I guess I’ll stop whining now, good morning heartache, sit down”.

image

20130131-030419.jpg

Does prayer offend you?


This was the question I posed to a group of ladies after witnessing a few become annoyed by a prayer. Let me start from the beginning…

I often pray with and get encouragement from a fellow coworker. She doesn’t work in my department, but her job puts her in close proximity to mines. It’s amazing how certain individuals are drawn together. This powerful woman of God, whom for the sake of this story I’ll call “Deborah” (later I will explain why I call her that). “Deborah” is highly spiritual and without a doubt carrying an awesome anointing. There were three older ladies in the waiting area. Think of these women as the “church mothers”, “the big Mamma’s”, the Sister Sarah’s and nem. All of a sudden, I heard them speaking with “Deborah”. Within seconds, I felt a huge surge. A force so very strong that I had no choice but to go and see what was beckoning me. Those church mothers and “Deborah” were holding hands with bowed heads. Clearly, prayer and reverence was taking place. They were barely speaking above a whisper, but I still managed to hear and recognize a holy language being spoken between them. I walked into the hallway, and was nearly knocked off my feet. Behold the surge. So strong and so high. Lord almighty!!!! I felt it through every bone in my body. I walked around that circle of women and I had no idea what they were praying about, I just made a quick
decision to touch them all, and I said out loud that I was touching and agreeing on whatever it was they were praying about.
That power, the surge, the Holy Spirit that flowed through that hallway couldn’t be denied. Again, I stress that their voices were barely above a whisper. Also, no other “customers” were there. Then, it happened. Four other coworkers walked into the hallway and began to project a look and a feeling of pure disdain. They began to shuffle around and whisper. They rolled their eyes, they shook their heads, and they scurried about some more. The seemed to become unhinged.
THEY WERE OFFENDED!!
But why?
As a believer, I couldn’t wrap my mind around exactly what part of this minimal demonstration, lasting 2-3 mins, tops, offended them!
Was it prayer in and of itself?
Was it the coming together of individuals in mind, soul, and body that they saw?
Was it the holy language that they heard?
Was it because it was happening in the workplace?
Are they non-believers?
I mean what?
A myriad of questions invaded my thoughts. All of a sudden now, I was offended. Offended from their immediate display of disdain. Offended because they were talking about it negatively. Offended because they spoke about my friend. My sister in Christ. Perhaps talking about getting “Deborah” banned from our floor. Hold up…
Say what now..
Ok, that’s it, I’m fading to black.

I went around asking, does prayer offend you? I couldn’t get one person to tell me yes. Not one person. But they continued to hush and scurry amongst each other for the rest of the day. One person told Deborah, I wasn’t offended, but others were. Humph! She was too. Just unable to admit it when confronted. We don’t all have to agree, and people are free to believe whatever they choose. Free will, we have that choice. If you don’t agree with prayer, don’t participate. But to go that far, when this is what the church mothers were about, it was what they wanted, I mean you could see that. You would think that it was praise dancing, tambourine banging, hooping and hollering going on. Their voices were barely above a whisper. I was just, blown. I’m trying to write this with an open mind, to be objective in my approach and all that, and I guess I have failed miserably with this post. I am totally subjective and I have to admit, the way they behaved, it bothered me. It awakened in me a deep hostility. It reminded me of racism, sexism, and all the other isms I can’t find right now in my mind, but please say you get my drift. It just took me to a weird place. Am I overreacting? Is this my stuff? Naw, it can’t just be me. Now, could “Deborah” had moved along elsewhere and not felt the disapproval of the others.
Sure.
Although they weren’t loud, could she had been more discreet?
Absolutely.
But, she told me, “The Lord told me to pray, right then, right there so, I couldn’t disobey. I will not cower and hide. I will not deny my God”. Hallelujah!!!
She moves about doing her job and while doing that, she is witnessing, she is giving a kind word, a warm smile, a positive way of thinking. She is speaking into your life, and you are just drawn to her spirit. If you know the biblical story of Deborah which can be found in the book of judges, you’ll understand why I call her this.
In the bible, Deborah was such a strong woman, a Prophetess and the only female judge mentioned. Deborah helped bring a great victory for God’s people. I’m saying all this to say that sometimes everything that has the ability to shake will be shook. I get that. We all have our assignments, and others have theirs. To me, it was an appointed time. The “church mothers” were like a breath of fresh air. Like angels on assignment. “Deborah” was in the right place at the right time. I found the whole experience beautiful and humbling. It still saddens and frustrates me, that people are often too quick to judge that in which they don’t understand.

Oh well, at this point I’m probably about to start rambling, so I guess I should close out this post. I just really needed to get this off my chest.
And..
I honestly want to know, does prayer offend you? Is there a right or wrong time and or place for this? Please share your thoughts and thanks for reading.

Peace and Blessings,
Dee