Happy Thanksgiving!

Last night as I baked my pies (pumpkin and sweet potato), made my cake and prepped my ham, greens, beans and other stuff so I could get them cooked in an efficient manner today, I talked to my two grandmothers. They like to “help” me when I’m doing big meals.

Grandma wants to make sure I washed the greens good and got the smoked turkey to season them with while they are cooking. She reminds me that fresh turkeys can taste gamey and walks me through her secret for fixing that.

Granny likes to give me little tips when I’m baking. “Cut it with a little butter and it will taste better.” “I know it said a 1/2 cup, but add an extra 2 tsps.”

For my grandmothers, cooking a big meal right (right to them means folks can’t stop talking about how good it is, eat seconds and thirds, leave with plates and call making requests for specific dishes — so far, so good) is evidence that they trained me up right in being a good wife and homemaker.

My mother — who is very NON-homemakerish — taught me about being independent and strong. To speak my mind.

My dad taught me to “control those things I can control.”

And for all that and much, much more, I am thankful. Have a great day!

Facebook: SingLikeSassy Vaughan
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SingLikeSassy

A moment of silence for 9.11.2001

I thought about writing a post describing where I was at 8:46 a.m. on Sept. 11, 2001 (in the newsroom working the early shift).

Or a post about how my publication sent me to NYC to report in the days after the towers fell (I got overwhelmed and started sobbing on some random street in NYC and a crackhead asked me what kinda stuff I was on).

Or a post about how I fainted from heat exhaustion waiting in a long, long, long line at the Pentagon for press credentials.

But for real, the best thing we can all do today is pause for a minute to remember those lives lost and forever changed by the events eight years ago.

Let’s also remember the soldiers who lost their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Thanks.

Facebook: SingLikeSassy Vaughan
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SingLikeSassy

"And it’s deep, too!" — Richard Pryor

Last week when I first heard the Gatesgate story, I didn’t automatically think “racism.” As I’ve heard more and more of the details, I still feel like my first instinct was correct. My thought was, “OK two men playing the ‘who has the biggest member’ game” a la this Richard Pryor joke (I’m remembering this cause I couldn’t find a link to it via the Web so I might not have it exactly right. My version is also cleaner than RP’s).

Two men are walking along discussing who has the biggest member. They get to a bridge and one of the men has to pee. He pulls his business out to pee in the water, so the other man does, too. Man one says, “Damn, this water sure is cold!” Man two says, “And it’s deep, too!”

I talked to my parents about Gatesgate and they are convinced racism played some role in the incident.

And just based on the differing views between my parents and myself, I can understand how Gatesgate might have happened: perception is reality for most folks.

My parents grew up down South during the Jim Crow era. They have dealt with racism and discrimination firsthand. I have not. Have I somehow been affected by covert racism or subtle racism? Possibly. But I don’t live my life looking for the racism in a situation so I’m guessing it pretty much goes over my head.

Here’s an example of the perception/reality thing. At a previous place of employment, a black coworker decided a white coworker was racist because she didn’t say hello/good morning.

Now, as I have noted in the past, I am not a “good morning” type chick. When I suggested that maybe that coworker wasn’t a morning person either, the other coworker insisted it was racism and listed various reasons why. OK. That was her perception based on her experiences. My perception as an evil wench who *hates* to greet people in the a.m. before I put my purse down, get some coffee and generally settle in, was not the same.

Back to my parents. Based on their experiences, they are more sensitive to perceived racism. I suspect Mr. Gates’ experiences have also made him more sensitive to perceived racism and his perceptions and experiences are what he brought to the incident that has led to all this drama.

I think this article is a good summary of the situation. Give it a read.

Facebook: SingLikeSassy Vaughan
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SingLikeSassy

Dating, marriage et al

I was writing this as response to a post on another blog and decided I would just cut and paste the ish here because I’m really just tired of the whole “ain’t no good brothas/sistas out here” comments. Ya’ll know this is not true. You *know* it’s not true.

Now, this is my blog so I’m going to write from my female perspective, but this message is universal and can be applied to men and women: Husbands don’t look like boyfriends.

Now, before you run off half cocked taking my rhetorical statement literally, sit down and keep reading.

Is Mr. SLS who I envisioned when I dreamed of who my husband might be? No. I thought he’d be taller, darker, bigger, blahblahblah. But he ain’t none of that and is still just right for me.

What if I had fired him from the beginning because he’s not suave and I need a cool brother? Because he’s skinny and I need a brother who can push a plow? Because he’s a teacher/musician and I need a brother who can put me in a 20,000 square foot house?

I would have missed my man behind that BS.

I work in a building with a lot of blue collar brothers who are always very polite and respectful to me and I always think when I see them and they say, “Hello” and ask me how my day is or whatever, that surely one of those brothers has got to be a decent guy. But nary a one of my single say they wanna be married friends would date them because they are the maintenance guys instead of on the professional track.

I know women who would not have dated my husband because he is a teacher and therefore could not possibly be earning enough money for them. Which is fine, but, if I stopped working today, nothing would go off or fall short in this house because my teacher husband provides for us and my money takes care of what I had when we got married.

You’re missing your man behind some BS!

Here’s what I’m saying: take a step back. If you *really* want to be married, then take a good look at some of the folks you’re turning away. Some of them probably do need to keep it moving, but surely out of 10 people, one of them is worth a second look, or some more conversation.

Brothas, Beyonce is gone. Off the market. And was never available to you anyways! Move on. That sista walking in the Susan G. Komen race? She might be available.

Same to you sistas, Denzel/Will Smith etc.? Not an option. But the quiet brother with the glasses down in accounting? He might be available.

Facebook: SingLikeSassy Vaughan
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SingLikeSassy

What do we teach the children?

This post from THE INTERSECTION OF MADNESS AND REALITY about the Chris Brown/Rihanna imbroglio was one I thought I should pass along.

I didn’t really wanna write or speak upon the Chris Brown “alleged” beatdown on Rhianna. But I have two teenage daughters so I can’t help it; its all they’ve been talking about. As a matter of fact, the 14yr old who is often quite distant and in her own teenage world, came to me last night after I picked her up from the beauty shop, and it was the first topic out of her mouth for discussion.

When I was 21 I went to my (cheatin’ azz all the time) boyfriend’s house to get something and he left for a few minutes to go to the store. This girl I suspected he had been stepping out on me with called and I answered the phone and hung up on her and then sat there steaming and talking myself up to craziness until he came back.

When he came in the door it was ON. I was screaming and hollerin’ and fighting and he was trying to stop me and was pushing me away and we somehow ended up in the kitchen near the stove so I grabbed the teapot off the stove and started beating him in the head with it water splashing everywhere then I bit him in the arm and held on for dear life. WHAT IF HE HAD HIT ME BACK?

We were so loud the neighbor came over to see if I was OK, did I need the police or other assistance. I knocked some more stuff down and left. He still has my teeth marks in his arm. WHAT IF HE HAD HIT ME BACK?

Later we laughed about this, but what if he had hit me back? He was more than a foot taller and weighed at least 100 pounds more than me. WHAT IF HE HAD HIT ME BACK?

I was wrong — I knew he was cheating all along, I should have just broken up with him — but I let emotions and young dumbness get the best of me. WHAT IF HE HAD HIT ME BACK?

But I like what RIPPA’s post says and what he plans to teach his daughters. Check it out.

Facebook: SingLikeSassy Vaughan
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SingLikeSassy

Regrets and do overs?

I thought this was an interesting post from blogger 30 Something and it continues a conversation I’ve been having with some friends about dating and relationships.

Sometimes we hold out for something that’s not there. And where does that get us? Old and alone.

Think about it. What if you had married your high school or college sweetheart? What would your life be like now? Or what if you had stayed with the nice guy you blew off?

I am married to the right man. Not one man I dated before meeting Mr. SLS was anyone I should have been married to, so I have no regrets.

But it’s easy for me to say that while all happily boo’d up. If I were single, would I be rethinking and re-evaluating my past relationships and wondering if there were missed opportunities? Hell yeah.

However, the person I was in those relationships and the experiences I had are what led me to where I am right now and the person I am with today.

I guess what I’m trying to say is you can’t turn back the hands of time, so focus instead on today. Whatever cancelled that brotha or sista out, they are gone. But there’s a world of new folks out there to meet.

Facebook: SingLikeSassy Vaughan
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SingLikeSassy

A Valentine’s day confession

I hope everyone who cares is having a wonderful Valentine’s Day. I’m sitting here tripping about how little it means to me now. I used to be one of those people who on Valentine’s Day felt like everyone around them had someone to love them but me because I didn’t have flowers, candy and some grand surprise date with a beau. (My daddy would always send me flowers when I was single, which was nice, but not the same as getting them from say, Idris Elba. teehee).

I dreamed that one day I would have the love of my life and I would get wonderful romantic Valentine’s day gifts and celebrations and all the women who knew me would be pea green with envy!

Then I met Mr. SingLikeSassy and started getting “I love you” flowers because it was Tuesday. Or an “I love you” gift because you looked so hawt last night in those jeans. Or an “I love you” trip because you mentioned you had never been before.

Best gift of all is an “I love you” with a hug and a kiss.

That’s when I realized that I liked being loved everyday so much more than being loved just on Valentine’s Day.

In any case, Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!

Facebook: SingLikeSassy Vaughan
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SingLikeSassy

Facing the inevitable…

In the last 24 hours both of my parents have chided me about not calling my grandmothers more frequently. Now, I have talked to them recently (in the past month) but not as often as I should have considering they are both in their 80s (one is 81, the other is 87) and for one of them, I am one of two grandchildren and her only granddaughter.

But, it’s hard. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to them (though lawd knows they ramble on about folks I don’t know, places I ain’t been etc. and there is always the inevitable, “when will I get some more grandbabies?” comment), but I get a funny feeling in my stomach whenever I talk to them because I’m scared they will die soon. You see, I’ve managed to live all of these years and lose very few people.

One grandfather died when I was 7 and that was sad because he picked me up from school everyday and didn’t tell Grandma when I broke her watch by winding it too much.

My other grandfather died when I was 15 and that was sad because Granddaddy always told me stories about when he was young, made me slingshots, listened to baseball on a transistor radio, made me blackberry cobblers and shared his fig newtons with me even when Granny said I had had enough sweets.

My great-grandmother died when I was 19 and in college. It was a few weeks after we had a big mother’s day bash for her and we have a video of that celebration that I watch sometimes.

And, that’s it.

As a result, just *thinking* about losing my Granny and Grandma makes me feel nauseaous. And it makes it hard to call cause if I don’t call I don’t have to hear how old they are and how sick they are (sometimes) or think about them dying.

If I don’t call, then she’s always my Granny who took me out to lunch at fancy restaurants and let me play dress up in her clothes and laughed when I sprayed all the perfume out of her atomizers while coloring my face darn near clown white using her powder puff sitting at her dressing table.

If I don’t call, then she’s always my Grandma who showed me how to cut and cook collard greens and how to make a dollar snap like a whip and how to wash clothes and who told me she was so proud of me because I had done so much stuff, seen so many places she would never do or see.

I’m gonna call. Maybe not tonight. But I’ll call. Probably this weekend. I will. I promise.

Facebook: SingLikeSassy Vaughan
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SingLikeSassy

Infertile v. childfree by choice

I keep going back to read this post and this post on CreoleinDC’s blog.

This time a year ago I was doing tests readying for my first IVF cycle and wondered why women did cycle after cycle after cycle trying to have a baby going into debt and not just choosing to adopt and I was SO certain we would not do more than the one cycle and would not spend a whole bunch of money in a quest to have a baby and God’s will and all that…

What a difference a year makes. I *get* it now. Actually I started to get it before now, when I was sitting in the doc’s office and she said “less than a 1 percent chance of conceiving naturally.” I said nothing from that point on. Mr. SLS wrapped up the meeting and we left. I was in a daze. I knew we would have trouble and need help — hell we were fasttracked to IVF w/ICSI — and Mr. SLS had been clear about his medical issues, but a part of me still believed that we would go to bed one night, have some fun, the rabbit would die six weeks later and a kid would pop of out of my hinter regions a few months later.

No maam. That’s what the prognosis meant. No. Maam.

When I read the posts for the women who *know* they don’t want to have kids, I wish I could be that sure. Crazily enough, I think if I weren’t married, I would likely be fine. I wasn’t doing single momhood. I need help.

But looking into Mr. SLS’s brown marbles and snuggling up to him…well, it makes me want our twosome to be a threesome. And the thing is, the more we grow as a couple, the more the urge grows. I wasn’t anticipating that.

Anyway, there’s hope yet. We have at least one more IVF cycle ahead of us. Control those things you can control, my daddy says. I’m trying.

Facebook: SingLikeSassy Vaughan
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SingLikeSassy

Three years down, a lifetime to go!

Three years ago today, I met Mr. SingLikeSassy.

Since I wrote about our meeting and first few months of dating in an essay back then that I posted some months ago, I won’t rehash, I’ll simply link to that old post: Misty water-colored memories

I will say that everyday, I love him a little bit more. I’m surprised sometimes at that…

You know what else is interesting? Feeling like you know a person, but still learning about them at the same time. 

Mr. SLS has taught me a lot about how to love someone and how to be loved by someone. How to be open. How to trust. How to communicate. How to step out on faith. How to bend. How to share.

And he KNOWS me. He GETS me. A good example of that is when I came home from the baby shower last weekend, he had some flowers waiting for me. He had anticipated that I might be upset or sad (I was more nostalgic, actually) because we haven’t gotten pregnant yet. Now honestly, a hug and some woo woo wooos would have been enough if I *had* been upset, but he tried to anticipate my needs. You know?

Plus, it’s the little things. I mentioned recently that when I was a kid, “Snoopy Come Home” was my favorite Peanuts cartoon. When he got home in the wee hours of Wednesday morning after being stuck with the military for nearly two days, sleeping on a cot and up to all hours of the night rehearsing and playing for the inaugural ball (he saw Michelle’s dress up close and personal and said he liked it), “Snoopy Come Home” was in his hand. Completely made up for the snow day groceries. LOL!

Again, he’s not perfect, I’m not perfect. Nothing’s perfect. But this thing we got workin’ is great. On that note, I’m signing off. And I pray that every and anybody who wants love and commitment gets and keeps it. 

Facebook: SingLikeSassy Vaughan
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SingLikeSassy