charlotteburbie-blog

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A Crowded Room in Charlotte

It was the party of the century--at least for these group of elementary school graduates. Can you blame them for bubbling with excitement? A DJ spinning their favorite jams on one side and a decked out camera booth on the other end of the decorated gym. Pizza, donuts, and other goodies were flowing--what more could you ask for at 11 years old?

Yet, my son Myles was tucked away on the floor in a corner nearly in tears.

I attended the party to chaperone but of course, I couldn’t help but notice that Myles was not having a good time--at all.

“Myles, why don’t you take a picture in the photo booth?” I suggested.

“Nobody wants to take one with me,” he replied. “When I approach them they walk away.”

“Myles, they can’t all walk away. There are more than 100 kids here,” I answered. “Ask someone else. Or, take one by yourself.”

Myles opted to take a picture alone. While I was glad for his bravery, I could see the pain in his face. He was incredibly lonely in a room full of people--a feeling I've had many times. For Myles, it got so bad he left the party entirely. When I found him, I urged him to go back in.

“Myles, if you want a friend you have to be one,” I said. “Think about the qualities you like in a friend and be that person. And try getting advice from one of the popular people. Find out how they do it.” “I will do that,” he said finally.

I don’t know what happened but by the end of the evening Myles had connected with two other pals and they were snapping it up in the photo booth. I was relieved and it made me reflect: those friends were at the party all along but it was up to Myles to be open to their friendship--a lesson for me too. “Hey Myles, the party is almost over. Do you have time for a pic with mom?” I asked. “Of course!” he smiled broadly. And we marked our memorable evening with the final photo of the night.

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Pro-Choice: What it Means to Me

It was October 22nd and I was determined to take my baby-bump photos. Throughout the day, I continually called the studio to push the time back because things were hectic. It’s no wonder, I was scheduled to have a C-section early the next morning and there was a lot to do--too much to do! I was torn between getting the boys set up for the week, cleaning the house, preparing the baby’s room and just getting my head straight--my two prior C-sections were hell. So while I was excited about my little bundle, I was panic-stricken about having a third Cesarean delivery.  

     To make matters worse, Jaime and I were not speaking. What else was new?

     This time, he was livid because I’d be having my tubes tied after the baby was delivered. No more kids! He wanted a minimum of five children. In fact, he’d felt so strongly about this that during premarital counseling, this issue--the number of children we would have--almost put our relationship in jeopardy.

     “Jaime, how do you expect me to have five children and work full time? It’s too much,” I argued. “Plus, I’m not a spring chicken.”

     “Well, my mom had 12 kids and worked,” he responded. “She had my sister at 47 years old.”

      “Well, I’m not your mother,” I shot back.

       The pastor intervened offering a compromise. We would have two children (assuming I could even have children with my fibroid issues) and then we’d make a decision about having more. The wedding was on again!

        Fast forward five years later: the doctor recommended I have my tubes tied and stop having children. I was relieved!  Even still, I tried to be considerate of Jaime’s feelings--or at least I wanted it to appear that way.  

        “Jaime, after three c-sections and two procedures to remove fibroid tumors, my uterus looks like cottage cheese. The concern is that my uterus would rupture from another pregnancy and I could die.”

        He shrugged. “I don’t believe in doctors,” he stated firmly. “I believe in God.���

         Now, I shrugged as his last statement hung in the air. It was funny to me how God was being brought up at this point in our marriage--at the breaking point. From my perspective, we were clearly headed for divorce. Had God been in the midst, perhaps things would have been different.

          “Talk to the doctor yourself,” I offered as we headed to our final photo shoot as a family of four.

           “It’s a girl!”  Jaime screamed so loudly he nearly shook the delivery room. It was the special delivery we were all waiting for after having two boys.

            Immediately, Jaime began his line of questioning regarding the tubal ligation. The doctor lifted up my uterus (yes, my goods were on display) and showed Jaime the scar tissue, restating his recommendation. Despite this, Jaime opted against the surgery--he wanted more children.

           I had the final say: I chose to have my tubes tied.  

           Was it the right choice? Who knows? From a physical perspective, pregnancies were tough for me. I felt my age played a factor. I’m no Janet Jackson nor do I claim to be. Beyond that, I just don't think adding kids to a broken marriage was the right recipe. Even still, I am glad that I am the one that made the choice since I live with the results--daily!

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Bad Hair Day? No Way!

In the Urban Dictionary, the term “bad hair day” describes a day when everything is going wrong and the phrase has nothing to do with how coiffed one’s hair really is. Not! When I say I’m having a bad hair day, that’s exactly what I mean.  My “do” has become undone—either because of bad weather, an overdue hair appointment or a hairstyle that just doesn’t agree with me. From my perspective, if the hair isn’t right, the look is just all wrong!

So what’s does this burbie do between beautician stylings? Here are a couple of my secrets…

Rock-a-wig: You remember back in the day when your mom used to pull out that church wig? Or, when she went on vacation and wanted to look super-fly with a super-fro. Fortunately, times and wigs have changed.  Today’s wigs can be fun and well—sexy. Now I know there are a lot of sistahs who spend big bucks on a custom-made wig. Personally, I can’t justify spending $400+ for some hair but that’s just me. I think you can get some pretty nice wigs in all shapes, sizes and colors for a fraction of the price that can at least tide you over until you get to the hair salon.

Hair Pieces: Maybe a wig is just team-too-much for you, I get it. They can be hot, itchy, and just not be the right look. If that’s the case, try a hair piece. I love them. I wear them with braids and without. I find that if you put hair ornaments around them, they look less artificial. As long as your hair looks neat, who cares if people know that the pieces aren’t your “real hair?” Although, I think you’ll probably be surprised by the response. One woman said to me, “Girl, you have got to tell me how you get the top of your hair like that.” I told her, “Come with me to the beauty store and I will pick you out one just like it.” She was stunned.

Keep a Stash: When I was at Black Enterprise, we’d sometimes have to go to events after work. Sometimes we got notice, other times we didn’t. The joke was, in a pinch, you could go to the Robyn Clarke hair salon. Robyn was the Career’s editor and she kept a curling iron, hair products, and some other beauty agents in her drawer. She could transform the worse hair into a masterpiece by adding some nice clips and a little heat. Now, I keep my own little beauty stashes in my desk and in my car.  Just yesterday I was invited to two after work events. Did I fret? Nope. I tapped my stash and was ready to roll.

Keep It Simple: Simple styles work best from a time perspective and a branding perspective—especially if you’re in need of a hair appointment. A pin up works well if you touch up the edges with a curling iron or flat iron (see pic 3 below). Alternatively, I sometimes wear my natural hair in a wash-and-go using Cantu’s Shea Butter Coconut Curling Cream and Eco-Styler Olive Oil Gel. If my natural hair is at the end of a blow out, I will sometimes put braids in the night before and take them out in the morning for a spirally natural look. I did Kyla’s hair like that the other day—very cute! I try to stay away from the single ponytail look. To me, that screams I didn’t have time to do my hair so “here” it is. But, that’s just me.

Alright my No Bad Hair Day Secrets are out. There’s no excuse for a bad hair day, there are too many tools and jewels to keep that “do” nice and poppin’.

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Donald Trump in the Classroom? You betcha!

So Myles comes home upset last week because a boy in his class hurt his feelings and he wasn’t quite sure how he should respond. After hearing the events that lead up to Myles’ bad day, I needed a minute to think about how I should respond. I also wondered if this would be the first of many times my children would be “trumped” at school.

Apparently, this 11 year old thought it was his role to spread President Trump’s rhetoric about various racial groups among his peers. First, he spewed out inflammatory language about Mexicans. As a reminder, our President referred to Mexicans as rapists, criminals, and killers--insisting that America needs to build a wall to keep them out of the country. It seems President Trump has made Myles’ classmate quite a believer of these lies.

But wait, there’s more. Myles said the boy then started spreading negativity about black people. To further underscore his cruelty, he found a picture of a black person with a painted face and proclaimed, “And that would be you Myles!”

The other classmates, who were just as upset as Myles, asked the kid outright: “Are you a racist?”

And that elementary student faced his peers head on admitting that indeed--he was a racist.

I wrote the teacher and the principal the very next day, recounting the events as they were told to me. The teacher responded today stating that she spoke to the student and his parents and that Myles would receive a written apology.

A forced apology is better than nothing but will that punishment really change the heart and mind of the boy who hurt my son so deeply? Probably not.

I wonder if President Trump knew that when he said those irresponsible statements that those words would one day be used to crush a little boy--an elementary school student who on his worst day is the sweetest person I know.

I wonder if our President knew that.

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Hoop Dreams!

Think all black boys can jump? If so, you’re wrong… DEAD wrong. Sometimes I think the McKenzie Boys (AKA my sons) have boulders in their shoes. They have no flight. As a result, we’re constantly bumping heads because when I direct them to take an opponent to the hoop, they look bewildered. Of course, they think I’m clueless as well as they argue, “Mom, all black boys don’t play basketball!”

But they don’t understand: I don’t want ALL black boys to hoop—just my two!

I have tried everything to help my sons develop a wicked jumpshot (ok, just hit the rim for goodness sakes!)  Thus far, airballs!

When they were ages 5 and 6, I hired a basketball coach (see video). Myles—bless his heart—was slipping and sliding all over the court. At one point, I think he got hit in the face from a simple pass. Though Tyler gave it the college try, he also had a hard time. "Time for another plan," I reasoned.

For the last few summers, I put the boys in Ricky Price’s Game Ready Skills and Development Camp. I thought meeting celebrity basketball stars and playing with other African American boys their ages would get them pumped. It had the opposite effect. The other kids were shooting for the pros while my boys—who hadn’t even mastered dribbling—just resided to the bench for the week.  Miss!

I then concluded that a more basic course would boost their proficiency in the game. So, my next play was to put them in a CMS (Charlotte Mecklenburg Schools) sports camp. This option was for Beginners so I figured Ty and Myles would be paired up with other kids of similar skill levels. No net!

So what’s a wanna-be basketball mom to do? Throw in the towel?  You bet!

I’ve finally accepted the obvious—basketball just isn’t their thing. The truth is I leaned on basketball because it reminded me of my childhood. My male peers practically grew up on the court. It was where they developed friendships, talked smack, gained confidence, got exercise, and learned teamwork. Beyond that, basketball was a large part of inner-city culture. It was what black boys did!

That brings me to my last point; I secretly hoped basketball would help my sons develop camaraderie with other black boys. Don’t get me wrong, I love what our suburban life offers.  The elementary school, for example, has great resources, enthusiastic teachers, and delivers high test scores. But, fact is—it’s only 6% black.  At one time, my boys looked like a fish out of water around other black kids. I believed that that basketball would close the gap. But, that wasn't reality.

My kids strive and thrive in a host of other activities--both in and outside of the classroom. Aside from excelling in academics, Tyler competed on the Science team and Myles does stand-up comedy and pens his own comic books. And who says the majority of their friends have to be black? Friendships are where you make them and they come in all colors. Admittedly, I was putting my old school ways on them.

Sure, my kids will never know what it is to hang out in Foster Avenue park with a cup of shaved ice (topped with condensed milk) dripping down your arm as you watch the neighborhood boys battle on the b-ball court. But, they'll have their own memories. I can’t relive my past through their futures. They need to be free to take their best shots—even if the extracurricular activity is outside of basketball.  I just hope they’ll put their game controllers down long enough to listen to me reminisce.

In the meantime: Kyla, it’s time to get the double-dutch rope out!

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Another Mommy Thing I Thought I’d Never Do

So this was the third week of my new job. And it was as smooth as silk. Why? Because of this “mommy thing” I never thought I’d do... I hired a nanny y’all. Well, I wouldn’t exactly call her a nanny. She’s a mommy’s helper or maybe I can refer to her as my “wasband” -- you know the substitute for the helpful husband that never was. Bottom line, she makes my life easier and sweeter. Yay!

Yes, Grace comes in smiling before the crack of dawn, makes the kids’ breakfasts, lunches and does whatever else that needs to be done to ensure we have a peaceful morning. Then she gets the kids off to the bus so I can get an early start at work.

Did I tell you I absolutely love her? The kids love her too.

Now, I know hiring a nanny or a wasband can sound like such a bougie thing to do. I mean REALLY, all the mothers I knew growing up made their own kids’ lunches and if the mamas left early for work the kids let themselves out. I get that. But you know what? I like the idea of my kids having someone wave goodbye to them when they get on the bus. I like that our mornings have become stress-free and delightful. 

G-O-O-D m-o-r-n-i-n-g - Good Morning, Good Morning! That’s my morning chant and now I actually have time to sing it. And we laugh and we hug!

Burbees, I have another confession to make. I actually enjoy answering the door in the morning. I’ve been living adult-free for a very long time and I like having another grown up (well, almost...) in my space--just in case I want to talk about CNN or something. Plus, when the doorbell rings, I know there is someone that will greet me with a smile on the other side--that’s a nice way to start the morning.

I don’t know how long this nanny-thing will last as Grace may have to take early classes at some point. But, for now, it’s working for our family.

And isn’t that really the point? Life is about selecting the choices that work for you no matter what other people think or do. I am my mother’s daughter but I can choose to do things differently--and that’s ok.

So Yes, I have a mommy’s helper, nanny, or wasband to help me with my morning mommy runs-- and our family is better because of it! 

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Mommy-Son Date Takes a Turn

I was really looking forward to a nice evening with my two sons. Post separation, I take the kids on solo dates. It gives each of us the benefit of having each other’s undivided attention. I try to select things that are special to them. For instance, I took Kyla to see the Nutcracker last year. A few months ago, Myles and I hung out at the Monster Truck competition--ear plugs and all. While Tyler and I will sometimes steal a lunch date. They love it and so do I.

Tonight, mommy was going to hang out with the boys while Kyla would be watching Beauty and the Beast with her ballerina buddies. Our feature was Boss Baby. It wasn’t our first choice, but we were under time constraints. Plus, it was more about spending quality time with my boys. 

I dressed up--make-up, nails, and hair. I wanted my sons to know that their mama thought they were important. I even ordered the tickets in advance to ensure there were no delays. It was my first Fandago experience. Thus, when we arrived at the Regal Theater in Stonecrest to find other folks in our seats, I wasn’t sure if I’d processed everything correctly.

I looked at my tickets and down at the two blondes who played on their phones as if I wasn’t standing there. Before I addressed them, I wanted to be absolutely sure I double checked my tickets.  

“Hmmm,” I said to myself. “Maybe the order processed incorrectly or maybe there was some confusion.”

 The boys took their seats behind me and I walked down to the attendant.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said to the attendant. “Do you mind checking my tickets? I believe someone is sitting in my seat but I just want to be sure.”

When the attendant and I returned to the seats, the girls were gone. 

“I guess they made the mistake,” I whispered and hurriedly took my seat. 

I plopped my purse down in the seat next to me. Then, a few minutes into the movie, I noticed food on the seat with my purse. I picked up my purse only to find that food was creeping up all around me. Those seat snatchers had mashed food and butter everywhere. There was food on my purse, clothes and shoes--did I say everywhere? I smelled like the worse butter-flavored hot dog you can imagine.

I spoke to the manager who offered free tickets and said they’d get back to me regarding the ruined clothes. I looked broken and teary-eyed....

“What else do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Some judge dictates when I get to see my kids, it’s not as simple as coming back tomorrow,” I responded.

He shrugged. “I appreciate your composure,” he said. “You could really set it off in there.”

Now, I shrugged.

Of course, there was nothing he could do. Yes, I could take the clothes to the cleaners and the free tickets were an ok consolation but this was precious time that I’d planned to spend with my two sons. Fortunately (yes, I said fortunately), I didn’t see the ignorant females that ruined our date.

So, why did those girls do what they did? Perhaps, it was a poor April Fool’s prank. Or, maybe it was--as we’ve experienced on a few occasions--a cowardly racist act rearing its ugly head.  

Whatever the reason, I had lost time with my precious sons and that was all that mattered to me.

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What’s Good in the Hood?

Hair Salons, Heart-Attack Food and a Hallelujah

 This weekend Jonita plans to swoop down to the Queen City to catch up with her girl—me! But before her arrival she insists that I find her number one hangout spot—church!

         “No matter where I go,” she declares. “I must go to church.”

“I get that,” I respond. “But, I’m probably not the best one to ask about this one.”

“Why is that?” she asks pointedly­­.

“Because I’ve started taking the kids to this new kind of church,” I explain. “Not like the ones we grew up in.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” she responds. “What’s the religion? Baptist? African Methodist?”

“No, it’s non-denominational.” I respond. “It’s one of those places to be kind of churches. I sometimes go there with the kids because they love that new kind of music and the diverse crowd. But, I’m sure it won’t be the kind of church you’re used to.”

Jonita pauses.

“I’ll select the church,” she says.

In a few minutes, I get a text with a link to a church. The pastor is from her hometown back in B-more. Jonita had already listened to one of the sermons.

“Got your text,” I say. “But, you know that church is dead in the hood—right?”

“It is?” she laughs. “Then, that’s the spot!”

We both laugh as we exchange our lists of all the great things we miss from our old neighborhoods. For example, I love Charlotte but it’s a pain to have to go to Target or some other department store to get my knickknacks—where’s a bodega when you need one? And why is a manicure so expensive down here? You can get a manicure—pedicure for $15 back in Brooklyn, or at least you could when I lived in Canarsie.  I also want to know why the Dominican Beauticians in Charlotte have gone absolutely mad—a wash and blow is nearly $50. Y’all know a roller set is a $15 “do.” I also yearn for a beef patty and coco bread from Allan’s Bakery, a slice of Dominican cake, shaved ice with condensed milk, and a ride on the #2 train--yes, from the Bronx all the way to Brooklyn.

“I have to drive way across town to get the boy’s haircuts,” I add. “It’s a hike to get my hair done too.”

“Yeah, some folks don’t appreciate what the hood has to offer but I do,” she recalls a visit to a local seafood joint. “I remember taking a friend to this place back in my neighborhood but he kept looking around in fear. I couldn’t believe he was serious.”

An idea pops in her head, “By the way, when is the last time you had crab cakes, Monique?”

Before I can answer, she reads my mind. “I will sneak you some on the plane.”

“Maryland crab cakes,” I reminisce. “How awesome is that!”

“Church services starts early Sunday morning,” she reminds. “I think we’ll have quite a weekend.”

“Yes, we will,” I smile. “I can’t wait.”

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Solo Mom n’ Son Score (and Soar) in Science

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Smilin’ and Scouting with my solo mom

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Smilin’ and Stylin with this Solo Mom in the Suburbs

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My daughter, Kyla McKenzie, loves to hula hoop and often finds herself the center of attention with this activity. Now, if I only I could teach her double dutch.

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Moms Flying Solo in the Suburbs

Here are 5 ways you can still soar in suburbia after divorce

If you’re familiar with the stats then you know that black women are far less likely than their white counterparts to get married and when they actually do marry, 7 out of 10 of them will divorce. Eek!

There’s an upside, however. Divorce doesn’t have to mean your life and the well-being of your children is forever doomed. As J.K. Rowlings stated, “Rock Bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.” In simple terms, you can rebuild.

Let’s get started:

1) Count your blessings. Full disclosure: I can count the number of things in my life gone wrong quicker than a New York minute. I am naturally a pessimist. But I keep that side of me at bay. Instead, I remind myself that God has blessed me with three healthy children, an education, a nice home, a working vehicle, good health, a 92-year-old grandmother, and family and friends that love me! What’s on your list?

2) Spend your time wisely. Prioritize activities that contribute to your personal or professional growth. If an activity isn’t beneficial, consider eliminating it. Schedule a specific time to answer emails or return calls--otherwise these activities alone can eat up your day. Also, limit your time on social media. Finally, delegate everyday tasks like laundry, house cleaning, and running errands for big time savings.  

3) Be honest with yourself and your kids. As a solo mom, there’s a temptation to shield your child from all the effects of divorce. But that’s not reality, there are very real consequences to divorce. While solo moms can be awesome parents, they can only do this by being honest. That might require finding a grandmother or trusted friend to be your stand-in at a school event if you’re working or passing on an activity that is not in the budget. Kids need to know that parents have limitations too--they might be more understanding than you think.

4) Fall in love with YOU! When we’re married, the focus is always on our spouse but our first love affair needs to be with ourselves. Try writing yourself a love letter, reciting daily affirmations, participating in a photo shoot, or finding some unique way for self-recognition. When you treat yourself well, it will be hard for you to lower your standards for anyone else.

5) Let go of the past and make room for the future. You can’t change your past mistakes, so why dwell on them? Instead, learn from past errors so you make better choices for you and your children. As the media mogul Oprah Winfrey states,“Every day brings a chance for you to draw in a breath, kick off your shoes and dance.”

Now, get to stepping...