devonly randomonium

Sugar-coated effery and shenanigans.

Mother Flunker

Baby with Weave

Source: Best Week Ever

There’s one thing that scares me to death. Ok, there are actually two things that scare me to death. One of those things is Deadly Women on I.D. The other thing is parenthood.

No, I’m not preggers and I don’t plan on getting preggers any time soon.

But I look at all of my friends’ Facebook posts of their cute kids doing adorable things and I can’t imagine myself being a mom. Don’t get me wrong. I love kids, but the thought of raising my own scares me to death. Sure, I’ve cared for dogs, fish, a hamster and plants. I even help take care of senior citizens. But keeping a miniature version of yourself alive and thriving for a lifetime is a huge task. You parents out there are probably thinking, “If we can do it, you can too.” I’m glad you have the faith that I don’t. Seriously, a couple of weeks ago, I ran over my cell phone. I can only imagine leaving my kid strapped in a car seat on the roof of my car because I’m in a hurry to get to ___(insert bakery, ice cream or fro-yo place here)__.

I’m just being silly. I don’t think I would be a terrible parent. A terrible parent is someone who lets their kids make twerking videos and post them on YouTube. A terrible parent is someone who has a kiddie fight club in their basement. A terrible parent is also someone who sends their starving kids to your house so you can feed them, and they can save their money for da club. So if I can automatically avoid those things, I’ll be off to a great start!

I guess my hopes are that I raise awesome kids who can handle whatever life throws at them. I don’t want them to wear helmets. I don’t want them to be pyros like their mother was. I also don’t want them to be afraid to try new things or to fail. But I guess my hopes and fears are the same as any new parent’s. But I still have time to brace myself for parenthood. And maybe when my feet are in the stirrups and I’m cussing my husband out because a small watermelon is coming out of my Virginia, it will all make sense.


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My Mama’s Mama and My Daddy’s Daddy

When I was a kid, I swore that I would never be like my parents. I would usually make that vow after being whooped, cussed out or grounded for the umpteenth time.

But now, it’s kind of scary because I find myself acting more and more like my parents. I can be stubborn just like my dad, but I also have his quick wit. I have my mom’s work ethic and her protective gene. Having the protective gene means that I’m always trying to look out for those close to me.

Lately, I’ve been spending more time with my grandparents. Because of this, I now understand why my ‘rents act the way they do.

Theresa Sr., also known as Grandmother, is my mama’s mama. She is 93-years-old, about five feet tall and super sassy. Back in January, I started visiting my grandmother on the weekends to keep her company. She’s on  a walker but she never stops moving. She worked as a housekeeper back in the day, so she is meticulous when it comes to keeping her house neat and clean.  She is also meticulous about pretty much everything else as well. I’m serious. She insists that her Neapolitan ice cream is scooped evenly, one flavor at a time!

After spending one weekend with my grandmother, I didn’t think that I was going to make it through too many more. I had a hard time understanding why it took 20 minutes to pick out a hat for church. I also didn’t understand why you need to turn down your bed at 4:30 p.m. when your bedtime is at 8:00 p.m. And we’re not even going to talk about the pooting situation. But I guess when you’re her age, you just don’t care anymore!

My grandmother has a habit of examining what I have on and insisting that I get it for her. The first week, she asked if I could take her to the MAC counter so she could get some makeup. I would, but I know good and well that she is not going to pay MAC prices. She won’t. She almost passed out when I told her that her Revlon Age Defying makeup costs $12 at CVS!

Another week, she looked at me and said, “What kind of bras do you wear? I need to get some because I want my breasts to sit up like yours.” Woooow! Mind-blowing isn’t it? All I could do was laugh and talk her down.

My grandmother and I have had our ups and downs, but I think I understand her a little bit better now. I can also see where my mom, Theresa 2.0, gets her mannerisms.

Clifford Sr., or Papa, is my daddy’s daddy.

Papa is 84-years-old and in good shape for his age. He’s now pretty much unstoppable thanks to Lasik surgery. (He’ll tell you that too.) Papa can drive at night, he still hangs out with his buddies and he likes to sit in his armchair and watch court shows. To him, life is pretty darn good.

My sister and I try to take Papa out to lunch once a month.  It gives us a chance to catch up with him and listen to his latest criticisms.

He likes to talk about how things have changed since he was growing up. It drives him nuts that “the young boys walk around with their pants sagging off their butts.” He also says that he feels bad for us because most of the men out there aren’t about anything. He says, “Men don’t realize that women can do things now. They don’t really need men anymore. Women are going to work and the men are staying at home with the kids. And the men don’t know what to do.”

Another thing that Papa doesn’t understand is why young black men are obsessed with becoming professional athletes. “All these boys think that they are going to play pro ball. But if they get hurt and don’t make it, what are they going to do ? You’d think they would go to school and get an eduction but they don’t want to do that,” he said the other day.

He makes a lot of valid points in his rants, but it always cracks me up when he closes them  out with, “Well, I’m just an old man so what do I know?” He knows a lot and we always enjoy listening to what he has to say.

And thanks to us, he now has an appreciation for the Cracker Barrel.

This post is dedicated to my friend Dana Little-Chambers. Dana has asked me to write a post about my grandparents for months now. So Dana, I hope you enjoy this one!

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Mom’s Makeover

My Mom is a phenomenal woman. As a principal, she is very devoted to helping her students succeed. As a daughter, she has taken on the role of being a caretaker for my 93-year-old grandmother. She is constantly on the go. And because of this, she often forgets to take time out for herself.

My Mom has degenerative disc disease and suffers from chronic back and hip pain. But she doesn’t let this get the best of her. She just started using a cane to help alleviate some of her hip pain. So my Mom wanted me to help her with her makeup so she could have a fresh look and be the “hottest woman on a cane.”

On Friday, I took my makeup bag over to the ‘rents house and worked my magic. It was kind of weird because I remember sitting in the bathroom when I was younger and praying that my Mom didn’t poke me in the eyes while she was lining them with that red, wooden Maybeline eyeliner pencil. And she was a pro with using lipstick as blush. She still does that today.

So I showed her some different looks for her eyes, gave her some new lip colors and knocked off about 10 years in an hour. When I was all done she said, “Wow, I look like I’m in my 40s again!”  But the one thing that really amazed her was when I filled in her eyebrows. She couldn’t stop looking at herself in the mirror. She was so happy and I was glad that I could help.

Who knew that a little bit of MAC, a little bit of Clinique and a little bit of L’Oreal could bring me and my Mom closer together? But the experience was fun and it allowed me to let my inner makeup artist out of the closet. And Mom has been practicing what I showed her. Now she can’t wait to get some brushes and new eyeshadow colors from Tarjay.

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