Outrage

The first time I heard about Trayvon Martin I was completely and totally in a state of raw emotion and outrage. This was before the trial and before the acquittal, but my eyes were open and I was paying more attention. Then came Jordan Davis. Now it is not only at the hands of certain fearful white men with guns, but the police with the murder of Michael Brown. I have now seen a borage of articles about the clear discrepancies with which unarmed black men are killed by police in comparison to white men. In certain communities it is astounding. All this time there have been statistics that have been clearly swept under the rug regarding these incidents.

When Obama was elected, I had a rush of emotion as a white woman who loved a black man that if we were to one day have children I could look them in the eye and tell them they can be anything they want to be just like I could if I had married a white man. Recalling tears of joy streaming down my cheeks and taking a deep breath and embracing with hope the new world we lived in. I believed times were truly changing and I like to believe they still are and this time it is for the sake of the two sons I have had since the election in 2008.

Not knowing what to do with my anger and frustration that has been bubbling since Trayvon Martin’s killer was acquitted as the murders continue and more mothers bury their young sons, I have chosen to do my best to keep my sons safe. We moved from a place where I worried they may be in danger of experiencing racially motivated incidents. I do not wish to shelter them, but I certainly do want to do all I can to ensure their safety. In our new town they require police to wear cameras on their uniforms. A measure that should be applied everywhere, but until that happens we will have to explain the realities of being a black man in America.

Also we will have to have conversations with our children that in some ways are almost more complex than the children of parents of the same race. Not only do we have to explain they may face bigotry, prejudice and perhaps overt racism and fear for their lives or perhaps lose their lives, we must explain that this could happen at the hands of someone who looks like me. This powerful realization has brought me to my knees with the force of a punch to the gut.

I have always been open and honest about my fears about intolerance and racism and willful ignorance toward the existence of both. Not knowing how they will impact my children is very difficult. I am struggling a lot with my emotions as tensions escalate in Ferguson, MO after the murder of Michael Brown. I am compelled to speak out and ask for people to pay attention to these events. Mostly I am asking white people, my family and my friends, to read articles or to look at video of these events with empathy. Saying things like if this was your child or something similar to induce understanding and concern. Instead I feel a push back from white America where they would prefer to not be faced with these issues. Some go so far as to deny their existence overtly, but others simply prefer to turn a blind eye because it is simply too painful to believe that someone who is unarmed could be gunned down without some sort of reason.

I do not have that luxury to ignore. In this awareness I am compelled to find other mothers who have an understanding similar to mine. I know black mothers and white mothers primarily, but I do not know any white mothers of black children. I say they are black only because the world will regard them as black. No one looks at Obama and refers to him as interracial. To the world he is black.

Lately I am seeking out mothers who share my experience in a way that is deeply personal. I look for them in articles, in blogs, and on Facebook to see them speaking up in a way that makes me say…yes that is exactly how I feel. So far I have not found them, but I will keep looking. The truth for me still remains I am a white mother to black children. I am afraid for them, saddened by these events and most of all outraged!

Big Beefy

Emerson is even bigger than Brenton was at the same age thus he has been donned with the nickname Big Beefy. He is simply big and beefy and therefore it fits. He has also been called Smiling Tiny Man II. Because he is very smiley.

Baby nicknames are so much fun and Brenton had so many. Some stuck others did not. For Emerson Big Beefy suits him. When we say ot and bounce him he smiles a big toothless smile and almost gives a nod that says yes I am Big Beefy.

Big Beefy is so many things aside from big and Beefy and it is miraculous just how much personality a four month old can have. He has a smile that starts at his toes. He pulls it all the way from there almost wiggling it out of himself as it spreads through his body all the way across his face. It is bold and lights up the room. I can't help but smile with him.

He is always on the move. He can do baby sit ups and he rolls back and forth and scooches all around the floor or the bed or the crib. He bats and grabs. He has an incredible grip. His strength is amazing.

He babbles nonstop. Talking seems to come naturally and he is very vocal. Ah goo is his favorite but he also has chirps and wookie sounds as well that continue into his quirky but infectious laugh. Just like Brenton his voice is music to my ears.

My heart melts as I watch him jump in the jumper, play on his gym mat or sleep in my arms. When he nurses I catch that look of satisfaction and sometimes he even flashes me a smile. I sing his big beefy song and bounce him. I just can't help myself. He is so lovable and huggable. Even Brenton loves to hug him. We all play on the floor together and they snuggle and giggle with each other. I am so surprised how well they get along. Brenton's favorite chore is to make his brother happy. If he cries I say go make him happy and he does. Big beefy also returns the favor and makes Brenton happy as well. Brenton never laughs so hard as when his brother gets him going. Big beefy and B have a special bond already. I think it is because Brenton is empathetic, warm and kind and Emerson is as well...even his heart is big and beefy!

Overwhelmed

As a working woman and financial provider, wife to a wonderful man who is a stay at home dad and the mother of two young children, I find myself almost constantly overwhelmed in some way. First I am overwhelmed by the amount of love I have for these two beautiful creatures born from my body. Taking nothing for granted in each moment, I know that this love is the most powerful thing I have ever experienced. It brings me to tears regularly. Emotion is raw especially in the first few months post partum. I am overtaken at times by the power of what I am feeling.

Throwing changes into the mix has been emotionally overpowering as well, but in many different ways. Giving birth. Moving. Renovating. Going back to work. More renovating. Organizing. Settling down. Finding routine again and feeling some relief even as the changes continue. I am overwhelmed by the changes in my surroundings and my circumstances.

Being the mother of two is different than being the mother of one. There is a sense that there is less of me to go around and it is irrepressible at time. Worries about my divided attention not only between them but throw in work and other tasks, the feeling can be enormous in the moments when everything feels like it is crumbing before me into a heap. The other day as I was on a conference call for work in my home office while the baby screamed through the wall with my husband attempting to comfort him prior to his nap and the workman were nailing down our master bath sub floor. It was a constant borage of activity that left me reeling. In the memory of it I still feel panicked and exhausted by the uncontrollable enormity of the moment. All I wanted was for it to stop and to be alone, but it was impossible.

No longer free to pick up and go without worries about the last nursing session or pumped milk, a stocked diaper bag, a change of clothes, snacks or toys. Losing some of the independence I once knew and realizing the trip to the grocery store when I am alone can be a liberating experience is a compelling notion. I am bound to the ways of tiny humans with my once flowing long hair pinned in a pony or bun to avoid the grasp of tiny yet powerful fingers. I would not change it, but I cannot deny that it has changed me.

Even when I am alone I am reminded that they are the most important people with each step as I shop. Carefully remembering the squeezies and the soy milk and bananas and raisins, I forget the reason I came to the store in the first place was to get something for myself. Remembering the probiotics for my husband and the sweets, I still search the aisles for something that I can no longer place. This is the reason moms make lists, but in my rush to get out and back before the baby woke again to nurse the list was not a priority.

So I wandered the aisles and somewhere I found what I was looking for. It was a moment of peace and solitude. Taking a deep breath I slowed my pace and began to enjoy the moment. And then I remembered…avocados!

This is what I now know about being overwhelmed. When I am overwhelmed I need to stop. Just a pause because that pause can allow for things I never imagined to happen in just a moment. I can breath and I can relax and I can see why what seems so large isn’t large at all but rather fleeting. Taking that pause, that breath, is essential because if I don’t I am worthless to those around me, but also to myself.