Give me a break

We are an amalgamation.

I'm completely tired of white/black/red appropriation.  Done with it.  White people can have dreads.  Really.  They can.  As far as SACRED costumes or clothing, then that's a different story.  There is honor in those threads.  Not everyone deserves to wear them.

But let me tell you a little story about my lunch time today.

My beloved grandbaby boy had an extremely swollen left side of his face yesterday.  His Mom shuffled him off to the ER.  The local ER.  The local ER sucks.  So she took him to Children's in the city.  So much better.
I went to see him at his apartment yesterday, and both his parents were there.  His dad was picking his hair with a pick.  Little Man wanted to play with the pick.  His Mom told everyone that I had a pick, too.  I use it on my bangs.  So I dug out my little blue pick.  Little Man and I took turns putting it in each other's hair.  I'd put it in his, and he'd grin and laugh.  Then he'd walk a few steps, pull it out, and try to put it in my hair.

I actually forgot to grab it before I left yesterday.

Went back over today to check on Little Man.  My blue pick was there.  So we played with it again.  Then he wanted to grab my sunglasses that slip over my eyewear.  I found his Spiderman shades, and we played with those for awhile.  Oldest child was watching Little Man.  Middle child came over a bit before I left.
I checked the time, stood up to gather my things, when Middle Chicken looks at me and says, "Do you know that's still in your hair?"
Oldest Chicken, hereby known as Oldest Asshat, falls out laughing and said, "I wasn't going to tell her."
The little shit.

Here my 44 year-old self would be, bipping back into work, with a pick hanging out the right side of my hair/head.
Absolutely no disrespect to anyone who does wear a pick in his/her hair.  I was simply playing with my grandbaby and having a good time.

There are ways to handle situations that don't alienate others.  And I'm not saying that we should disregard what some may view as theirs, and only theirs, ancestry/lineage/traditions.

But this world is made up of people holding tight to where they came from while also embracing the good pieces of others out there.  Other people.  Other regions.  Other traditions.
None of us is pure anything.
Sorry, not sorry, if that offends you.

We are an amalgamation.  I'm incredibly thankful for that.
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Three day weekend

I love three-day weekends.

Took off Friday but didn't rest.  Went car shopping.  Now I have a beautiful Honda CR-V something or other with a moonroof.  The process is incredibly exhausting.

Saturday was grandson's first birthday party!!!  Can't believe Little Man is already one.  We drove an hour and a half, one way, to get there.  All totally worth it.

Came home to watch Game 1 of the second round of NBA Finals.
Holy shit, the Thunder stunk it up.  Awful damn game.  Painful to watch.  Hoping they watch film, adjust, and come back to beat the Spurs' ass.
So that was Friday and Saturday down.

Picked up a few groceries this morning.  I've actually been awake since 6:45 am.  This is the highest order of horseshit.
gah
I HATE mornings.  Not so much mornings, per se.  I loathe WAKING UP.

Now it's the last day of the weekend with Monday looming like a zit on prom night.  And I'm tired as hell.  But I don't want to take a nap because then I'll feel as though I wasted the whole day.
Man, talk about a dilemma.

I'll work on the writing a bit and see what pops.  Maybe notes.  Maybe editing.  Maybe I'll amaze myself, and my grey matter will rebound with a force that is unstoppable.
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I kill myself.
Grins*

Milestones

My beloved grandson is walking now.  He'll be a year April 30th.
I remember the day he was born.  I remember holding him.  I remember the first time he smiled.  I remember the first time he held his bottle.  I remember the first time he crawled (that was to me, by the way).  I remember when he recognized his name.
His year has been filled with firsts, and I tuck them away in my heart for safekeeping.

Milestones are important.  They mark both beginnings and endings.
We tend to have a lot in our lives.

I'm absolutely horrid with dates.  It's an OCD numbers thing, I think.  But I remember experiences and feelings.

I remember the first time I had a piece of mine, a poem, picked for publication.  I remember being incredibly proud when my babies graduated from high school.  I remember their births.

It's funny.  I've had quite a few not-so-great things happen as well.  They tend to dim after time. While the good things continue to shine.

I only remember the blindingly sharp pain of childbirth if I specifically try to recall it. Otherwise, I skip right over it to when they little ones are in my arms.  I try not to remember my house burning to the ground and usually only do so if I smell smoke.  The pain of rejection or abuse fades into the background unless something crosses my mind as a reminder.

But all the milestones are there.  And they're each important.

We usually don't have beginnings unless we have endings.  I think we, as humans, tend to hold on to things that perhaps we should not hold onto as long as we do.  You can't grasp something else if your hand is already full.

While I'm not going to break out into "Let It Go" (a song, which I know all the words to even though my children are adults), I think it's appropriate to acknowledge  all milestones.

Appreciate your life for the ups and downs.  Dream big.  And if something doesn't fit you, or you've outgrown it...Let.  It.  Go.
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