Posts tagged ‘memoir’
Cute Kid Story: The Cat is My Mom!
“In Our Hearts” is meant to be not only a record of our family history and genealogy but also a way to preserve our memories, and what makes our family special. If you would like to share something to the blog or add a story (or something else?) of your own, please leave a comment with your e-mail. Your info will be kept confidential. I will reply with details on how you can contribute to the blog.
Blessings ❤
Sharing a funny story from my family…
Cute Kid Story:
So today my Lil Guy did not want to finish his breakfast. In fact, he wanted to splash his spoon in the bowl and watch cereal swim across the puddles that belly flopped onto the table. So I told him to sit in quiet time, for a few minutes, until he was ready to eat. He was not very happy with me.
Next thing I know, Lil Guy is running out of QT… I follow him to the living room where he has his arm around the cat and is whispering in her ear.
Me: “What are you talking to the cat about?”
LG: “You are not my mom anymore. The cat is my mom now!”
Me: “The cat can’t drive. Who is going to drive you when you want to go some place?”
LG: “MY dad (he works on cars) will get me some parts and I will build a special car for the cat to drive.”
So I agreed…the cat can be your mom today!
Lil Guy was not too impressed when Cat Mom made “dinner” and served him a bowl of beef liver soft cat food.
Lil Guy did not like that Cat Mom makes him nap all day just like she does.
And he certainly did not want to change Cat Mom’s litter box!So after some careful thought.. my Lil Guy tells me “I want you to be my Mom again.
I’m sorry. I love you Mom.”
Awww.. my heart melted! I have since learned that play is actually the best approach to get my child to eat, and if I make food interesting or fun he will eat. We now enjoy International Cooking once a week and try food from around the world. We also learn about the country on the menu’s respective culture, and enjoy music, games or activities from that country. The cat sneaks up to the table, and has to sample too!
~ In Our Hearts, 2015
It Takes These Things to Heal (Poetry, Memoir)
Public Domain Image: abstract.desktopnexus.com
This poem is inspired by my beautiful and amazing daughter who came to visit me in the hospital when I was sick… her love is all the medicine I need.
I love you, Sissy! And thank God for you every day ()-:) xoxox Mommy xoxoxo
__________________
My daughter and I lay side by side
On a narrow hospital bed,
Her brown eyes gaze into mine
As she solemnly presents:
A carefully colored get-well card,
An old picture of my Dad,
The latest news about Taylor Swift.
A picture of my Dad
Posed next to the Christmas tree…
Looking supafly in plaid bell bottoms,
Did Dad know I was the surprise in his stocking?
That next year he would be a father for the first time—
To a rebellious daughter
Who sang out of tune on purpose,
And sang in tune when no one was watching—
Who tested patience, and flunked
That daughter that grew into a young woman…
Who stood under a wishing star,
The flickering light reached a dark spot
I closed my eyes, and threw my heart into the heavens,
Just off a meandering trail
Someone else was wishing too..
And caught my rebellious heart,
Together we would begin a life,
Have a beautiful baby…
My baby girl came into the world laughing,
She was born unafraid—
Her antics kept me racing
The floorboards shook with large feet chasing after smaller
The tired sigh of exhaustion,
The sail of black hair would collapse against her narrow shoulders,
And almond shaped eyes would finally shudder
Giving way to sleep, thumb hanging from rosebud mouth
My daughter and I sing together,
When angry we crescendo,
our voices hammer to the beat
Then reunite over tearful ballads
Wondering what Taylor Swift song we are living out today.
But right now, there is only the hush of breath–
I am recovering from surgery
An IV snakes through my arm,
A small hand winds through plastic tubing
Squeezing my larger hand, lending strength..
It takes these things to heal—
A carefully colored get-well card,
A picture of my Dad
The latest news about Taylor Swift…
The love of my daughter.
In Our Hearts, © 2013.
“Missile Toe”: Cute Kid Story
My nephew was playing with his Iron Man truck that he got for Christmas..on an important mission to stop the “bad guy” from destroying the world.
He tells me the truck has “Mistletoe”.
I give him a funny look and ask what is that. He says “Missile Toe is what you use to blow up the bad guy.”
So cute!
In Our Hearts, December 2011.
Ancestors Approved Award: What I Have Learned
I’ve received the Ancestors Approved award from Footsteps of the Past. Thanks for thinking of me, this is an awesome idea!
I’m suppose to share 10 things about my ancestors that have surprised, humbled or enlightened me and share this award with 10 other bloggers…(deep breath) so here goes!
1. I found the ancestor of the slaveholder online, and our paths crossed doing genealogy… We shared alot of the same curiosity and love for our families. She apologized for her ancestor’s role in slavery and it came to me so strongly, it’s not your fault–you weren’t even alive then. It was an amazing place to be, coming from two very different families, but both standing together in this moment in time as equals, and being able to answer questions for each other.
2. I am always humbled, touched and heartened to meet with or speak with the Elders in my family…your life stories and memories are precious. Thank-you for taking the time to share with me ❤
3. Surprised to find traces of my ancestors in the faces of my children..and enjoying watching our family grow and become more diverse
4. Absolutely blessed to connect to my cousin Nile, she is my sister and my friend. I enjoy our conversations and adventures digging up family history.
5. Humbled to visit Moundville, Alabama, and learn about the Indians who once lived there, and what life was like long ago. My uncle said our Indian ancestors were farmers and lived between the Warrior and Cohabee (Cahaba) Rivers…close to this area. http://moundville.ua.edu/
6. Really proud to share our heritage for nationality day at my son’s preschool! I dressed him up as a farmer with blue jeans and a straw hat, with a boll of Alabama cotton tucked in the front pocket.
7. Always surprised when a small tidbit of information turns into a huge lead where I find a lost relative or uncover a hidden story
8. Still wondering about my mysterious Ford relatives in Perry, Dallas and Jefferson Counties (AL). Have not found one trace of my great-grandfather, Pettus Ford…one day I hope to meet more of my Ford relatives!
9. Open to learning more..and I love to hear about other families and their stories.
10. I want to encourage my relatives to contact me if you would like to share something or post here.Some ideas: photos, favorite memories, favorite verses/song lyrics/Scripture, recipes, your hopes/dreams, what you would want future generations to know about you…this page is for you!
Many Blessings, In Our Hearts
Visit Footsteps of the Past: http://footstepspast.blogspot.com
Big Bird and the Jungle Underwear (Poetry, Memoir)
To Dad, Happy Father’s Day
To a six year old, the 12 foot statue of Big Bird
Towering in the middle of the department store
Looks as fearsome as any prehistoric beast
I am terrified of his massive size,
His eyes are black as hornet stingers.
I have nightmares about Big Bird coming to life,
The linoleum quakes beneath his massive orange feet
The classical music they play in the store, is lost
In the high-pitched furor of his tweet
Big Bird plucks me up as if I am a worm,
Opens his razor-sharp beak
Then hurls me into a tunnel of blackness…
I wake up kicking my legs against Big Bird’s fleshy tonsils
It was just a dream or was it?
A yellow feather escapes from beneath the covers,
Tickling my toes.
I don’t care if I wear the same socks and underwear
‘Til all that remains is a few stretched threads—
I am not going in that store
Until Big Bird is roasted and served with gravy!
Then one day, the inevitable happens,
“Time to get you some socks and underwear”
I begin to tremble from head to toe
Big Bird stands guard over the pink polka dotted panties,
He’d wait until Dad announces my size
Then decide I have grown just right, my stick thin body filling out
My clumsy feet now tearing holes through my socks
Yummm, tender morsel…
In one gulp, I’d be done for!
I am not going. No way.
I will wear my brother’s underwear if I have to!
Dad can’t understand why I am being so stubborn,
He thought little girls like to go shopping,
That he could bribe me with an ice-cream cone
I am not going, no way!
Well, I really like bubble gum ice-cream…
How about the cone with the chocolate chips….
Maybe I will dangle one toe into the store,
Squeeze my eyes shut and make a run for it.
As Dad and I walk into the store,
Big Bird’s massive head turns towards us,
His eyes fix onto me like poisonous stingers
A booming voice fills the room
“We’re going to get you some jungle underwear today.
You know, like Tarzan wears. How about size ‘gorilla’?”
I did not know anything could be worse than Big Bird,
Now Dad is embarrassing me in front of everyone
Talking about “jungle underwear”
I wish Big Bird would swallow me up!
I dash into a rack of clothes as Dad loudly proclaims
“You know Superman wears jungle underwear…”
When I peek out, Big Bird is laughing at me.
Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?,
I beg, I don’t think Mr. Hooper sells
Socks and underwear in his store,
I will be safe there.
Dad starts to whistle as he walks down the aisles,
Big Bird winks at me, opens one yellow wing wide
I hide in his downy softness,
While Dad picks out my “jungle underwear”.
Then Dad and I leave the store walking side by side,
I run to keep up with Dad’s long stride
The plastic bag of “jungle underwear” and socks
Bang against my hip with every small leap
I imagine the ice-cream cone that will soon be mine,
Topped with banana, popular in the jungle.
In Our Hearts, © 2010
______________
I love you, Dad!
I inherited my gift of storytelling from my Dad, who is always making up funny stories and jokes.
Dad never knew how terrified I was of the Big Bird statue in the store (as a child), I would never admit it… I lost that fear when Dad started talking about “jungle underwear”. My Dad is always cracking jokes but with a straight face, so you tend to believe him until you are caught up in one of his tall tales!
My Dad is a wonderful grandfather to the kids. He sneaks them ice-cream for breakfast when he is babysitting, and lets Nora read to him all day (she is like a school teacher, ordering Grandpa to sit on the couch then piling up the books!). He plays board games with the kids and takes them to the library or garage sales. When I get home, the house is a mess, and everyone is pointing fingers at everyone else… It is the best feeling to sigh really loud, and act all stern (hiding a smile) and feel the sense of “home” surround me — worn in all the right places with love. Kids clean up. Make Grandpa a lunch for work (and put a cartoon inside his lunch bag just as he did for me as a child). Ready for another adventure?
I pray my kids will be able to see Grandpa, and the rest of the family soon. Circumstances have kept us apart but God will bring us back together (Isaiah 49). Happy Father’s Day Dad! And to my children, I love you always ❤
The Lively Circus: A Day in the Life of a Single Mom
“God can jumpstart any battery!”—Pastor Moore
As a single mom, I have learned that an ordinary day can quickly become a lively circus.
I begin the morning tripping over Nora’s toys; my son D.P.’s shirt is growing moldy on the bathroom floor… Cheetah Girls are bumpin’ in the CD player. As I reach for my cup of coffee on the counter I unexpectedly slip across the kitchen floor. A shimmering pink surface of Wonder Bubbles was invisible until I am ice-skating across ceramic tile! My children are laughing at my wild antics, arms and legs flailing. Both children are pouring Wonder Bubbles into a toy with a built-in fan that was made to shoot plastic balls into the air. My kitchen is boogie wonderland, with bubbles flying in all directions.
I sigh, add maple syrup to my coffee. Raooow!My children are squaring off at the table. My daughter is bouncing in her chair, squealing, “Jelly face! Jelly face!” D.P. crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at his little sister. He ate a croissant with blackberry jam that is now smeared on both sides of his face like sideburns. I do my best to regain my composure, while holding my sides, “Honey, you have jam all over your face—go look in the mirror. You really are a jelly face. And I’m a jelly belly all full of these rolls!” Tension is released as quickly as it comes, in peals of laughter. My son runs to the mirror to inspect his new look. He “shaves” blackberry sideburns with one finger, running it across his face then licking it clean. Just as I am about to relax, I glance at the clock—we have to move if we want to be on time for church!
Coffee half gone, better top it off. I ask D.P. to hand me the syrup and next thing I know he is dumping the bottle in my cup! My coffee has turned to sticky maple sludge. I breathe a sigh of relief when both kids are finally out the door. As I am locking the door, Nora is running down the hall, waddling like a duck. She has decided to my sandals, obviously too big for her small feet, proudly asking her beloved big brother, “Am I cool?” With each step she is loudly flopping against the pavement. Not even halfway down the block, we see our bus pass by.
I grit my teeth…then look across the street at my neighbor’s beautiful yard. Pastel flowers greet my eye from afar. Thick bushes in radiant shades of emerald shine in the sun. Marigolds gather beneath the bushes, lining a cobbled path. My children and I stop over to say “hi”. The beautiful Himalyan cat with ice blue eyes purrs at our feet then rolls on the sidewalk, begging to have his back scratched. The children are fond of the cat and dash to the ground, ready to indulge. When we leave, both children resemble the Abomidible Snowman of the Himalayas, shaggy with cat hair and neat church clothes now rumpled. They couldn’t be happier, racing down the sidewalk towards the bus.
My children and I arrive at church and are greeted with hugs. When Pastor Moore begins to sing, my son is excited to play the “shaker” he made in school—two Styrofoam plates decorated with banners made of crepe paper. Inside the plates is dry rice. My daughter accompanies him, shaking a penguin shaped tambourine. Pastor’s bellowing voice fills the chapel, “…You’ve got to move, But when the good Lord gets ready, you’ve got to move…” It takes but a moment for my daughter to dash from the pew, to the front of the chapel. Once reaching the front, she begins to dance. Pastor, an imposing man standing well over 6 feet tall, with hands the size of bear paws, gently takes hers small hands in his. Together they dance. My daughter stands barely the height of Pastor’s knees but excitement keeps her steps in time. My son raises his shaker, cheering loudly. This is a memory I will always cherish.
As a single mom, I have learned that an ordinary day can quickly become a lively circus. I have learned how to be the juggling bear—balancing work, children and long bus rides. The ringmaster keeping everything in order. The clown indulging my children in stories or play. And my favorite—the magician, awaiting a surprise.
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Children, I thank God everyday that he blessed me to be your “Mommy”. I love you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes… (you finish the rest)…
xoxoxo Mommy xoxoxo
In Our Hearts, ⓒ 2008.
The Heart Speaks: Lessons from my Grandmothers
By In Our Hearts, 2008
In a memory, my family is enjoying my son’s Christmas program at school. The theme of the program was “Christmas Around the World”. The program began with the children circling the room, waving flags that represent various countries. I made cornbread for the potluck—using a recipe that had remained in my family for generations. The children celebrated by dressing in costumes that represent their heritage. My son was dressed as a farmer. He wore a straw hat, overalls and a plaid shirt with a boll of cotton in the front pocket. Designing the costume became a time to reflect on family stories, passed down through generations of women.
I closed my eyes to imagine the life of Momma Judge, the earliest ancestor I had traced in my family. Momma Judge was the daughter of slaves, who were bought at auction in Virginia, then shipped to a plantation in rural Alabama. The first and last impression in the life of Momma Judge was of brittle stalks of cotton, the red earth staining the hem of her skirt. Amid the familiar line of her family, she hummed spirituals as she stooped over the prickly bolls. She’d live in a cabin heated by a pot-bellied stove with rags stuffed in the cracks to keep out the cold. Meals cooked over that stove would become recipes passed between generations of women, sharing a connection in the food that brought our family together at mealtime.
I thought of Big Momma, the granddaughter of Momma Judge. Shortly after Big Momma gave birth to my grandpa, she returned to the same fields her ancestors worked, her baby snug in a burlap sack slung at the hip. Big Momma had her first child, Grandpa Bud, when still young and raised him alone after her husband disappeared. Disappearance was a way of life back then. The threats of violence against Blacks, the migratory seasons of sharecropping, the poverty and debt perpetuated by cropping and the hope for something better fluctuated between leaving and coming back–or not being seen again. Big Momma raised six children on her own. She saved up for a house in the city and managed to get a job out of the fields. Faith and determination saw her through.
My thoughts turn to Grandma Dee, the wife of Grandpa Bud. She was a beautiful woman who was devoted to her family. Grandma Dee met Grandpa Bud at a juke joint in the hollows of Bibb County. Together, my grandparents made a dazzling couple; twirling to a rhythm only they shared. Grandpa Bud was a handsome man with a honey colored complexion and wavy hair. He was quiet, and when he spoke he was known to be nobody to fool with. My grandparents were passionately in love, even when they fought there was a spark between them. At my age Grandma Dee would have three children and was preparing to move up North, where Grandpa Bud landed a good job. She was proud to give her children a better life, where they wouldn’t have to work the fields and could go to school. The lives of my grandparents would end in tragedy; they died before I was born.
When I remember stories of my ancestry, I am grateful to the grandmothers whose determination and faith provide a well of strength to draw from. My grandmothers were born into a world where their bodies were worth only a few coins. They gave birth to children whose lives were limited by slavery and racism. My grandmothers were denied an education; they knew only a life in the fields. In deprivation, they gave birth to new life—they prayed until the church shook, they fought for change even if it meant they had to do a man’s work or move to a distant city, and they reminded their children that they are loved, precious and worth so much more. In hardship my grandmothers not only persisted but also thrived. One day I will stand among my grandmothers, and my children will know that I never stopped fighting to provide something better for them, that I never stopped loving them.
I am blessed to be a daughter of a lineage of such intelligent, determined and spiritual women. Women whose ability to love was not diminished by loss. Women who infused their faith, creativity and love into the little they had to create a better future for their children. Women of deep faith in God. Women, who, despite all challenges, impressed a sense of hope that was passed down to the next generations, to me.
In Our Hearts: A Family Tribute & Scrapbook 