Month: February 2013

Competing to be June Cleaver

If you knew me way back when – you may not recognize me now.

Some days I feel like Martha Stewart: baking, taking care of our daughter, keeping up with housework…truly domestic. Other days, I wish I could call on my French au pair to go where I go so I could do the simple things in life that we all take for granted…like go to the restroom without fearing I’ll have to jump off to save my daughter who may have fallen in the other room, even though she’s just fine and asleep soundly in her crib.

I mechanically begin working on dinner around 5:30/6 so by the time my husband comes home, something is on the table. Numerous things fall by the way side and I have the most fun after midnight – writing. Sleep comes when I need it, but my candle is certainly burning at both ends…. And why?

Because I can’t just be a mother. I can’t just plan play dates and obsess over what nursery school my baby will go to in 2 -3 years. I try to do it all and end up in a race with myself. Every time I take a breather, I regret it- I try to stay one step ahead and end up feeling like I’m one step behind trying to please everyone (especially myself).

I am certainly not alone (I sure hope not) as mothers like me around the country figure out how to have “it all”. Some have more help than others, with an au pair or family member – others, like me, do it alone during the day while the other spouse works. Others have no other spouse and do it all alone.

Help or no help, the June Cleaver competition is always in our subconscious.

But June Cleaver had it easy – if all I had to do was clean the house and have dinner ready, life would be a breeze… Instead I think about a career and my own personal happiness as a human on this crazy planet – never mind my husband and our happiness in life as a couple and family (which is of course a constant on my mind).

But how did I – How do we get this way – wanting everything to be perfect – or just right… trying to juggle motherhood and wife-Dom like we’re going to get a badge at the end of this raceto add to our sash – like we’re going to move up in the rankings.

I mean … sometimes It would be better if sleep were optional…

… And who is all of this for? Maybe we want to win one of those network tv “Mother of the Year” contests, and be picked over thousands of other deserving mothers…. Is that what our mothers wanted?

Are we recreating their lives in a google age?

My 1st year into this life as wife AND mother sent me into a homemaker mode many never knew existed or thought I would enjoy (myself included). But I was no longer “playing house” as I did as a child. This was real!

At the end of the day, June Cleaver’s life seemed perfect, but that sort of perfection has a dangerous price. If you find that you are driving yourself crazy over the minutiae and need a break, take one! Afterall, June Cleaver had commercials…
——-
If you are wondering what this has to do with “being black”, it has everything to do with Identity which is what I gained when I “discovered” my blackness… A sense of self that could be carried throughout the different avenues of my life.

Competing to be June Cleaver

If you knew me way back when – you may not recognize me now.

Some days I feel like Martha Stewart: baking, taking care of our daughter, keeping up with housework…truly domestic. Other days, I wish I could call on my French au pair to go where I go so I could do the simple things in life that we all take for granted…like go to the restroom without fearing I’ll have to jump off to save my daughter who may have fallen in the other room, even though she’s just fine and asleep soundly in her crib.

I mechanically begin working on dinner around 5:30/6 so by the time my husband comes home, something is on the table. Numerous things fall by the way side and I have the most fun after midnight – writing. Sleep comes when I need it, but my candle is certainly burning at both ends…. And why?

Because I can’t just be a mother. I can’t just plan play dates and obsess over what nursery school my baby will go to in 2 -3 years. I try to do it all and end up in a race with myself. Every time I take a breather, I regret it- I try to stay one step ahead and end up feeling like I’m one step behind trying to please everyone (especially myself).

I am certainly not alone (I sure hope not) as mothers like me around the country figure out how to have “it all”. Some have more help than others, with an au pair or family member – others, like me, do it alone during the day while the other spouse works. Others have no other spouse and do it all alone.

Help or no help, the June Cleaver competition is always in our subconscious.

But June Cleaver had it easy – if all I had to do was clean the house and have dinner ready, life would be a breeze… Instead I think about a career and my own personal happiness as a human on this crazy planet – never mind my husband and our happiness in life as a couple and family (which is of course a constant on my mind).

But how did I – How do we get this way – wanting everything to be perfect – or just right… trying to juggle motherhood and wife-Dom like we’re going to get a badge at the end of this raceto add to our sash – like we’re going to move up in the rankings.

I mean … sometimes It would be better if sleep were optional…

… And who is all of this for? Maybe we want to win one of those network tv “Mother of the Year” contests, and be picked over thousands of other deserving mothers…. Is that what our mothers wanted?

Are we recreating their lives in a google age?

My 1st year into this life as wife AND mother sent me into a homemaker mode many never knew existed or thought I would enjoy (myself included). But I was no longer “playing house” as I did as a child. This was real!

At the end of the day, June Cleaver’s life seemed perfect, but that sort of perfection has a dangerous price. If you find that you are driving yourself crazy over the minutiae and need a break, take one! Afterall, June Cleaver had commercials…
——-
If you are wondering what this has to do with “being black”, it has everything to do with Identity which is what I gained when I “discovered” my blackness… A sense of self that could be carried throughout the different avenues of my life.

Post-Grad School Blues

We’ve spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on degrees that are packed in boxes we rarely unpack in between the annual apartment moves.

The time spent educating ourselves would lead one to believe that post-graduation would be a breeze.   Right….

But with an MFA in Playwrighting, Directing or Acting… job applications are not always “submit your resume and list your special skills“.  It’s not quite so black and white for everyone.

While a fair amount of our other friends are buying homes, having children or making their comfortable livings as doctors, lawyers and … there are many of us out there becoming what we’ve dreamed of since we were children, not because it will necessarily make us rich (although we’ve never complained about a couple dollars), but because it makes us happy and truly “rich”.

Upon exiting graduate school, I believe there is a cloud that follows – it’s hazy and colorful – one believes in the mirage of dreams from this cloud and then one day, you’re down, the lowest you’ve ever been and who’s there to help you?  Not help you in a little way – but help you in a way where you can be honest… we’re not talking, “did you finish the play?”.  We’re talking head-hunters and job interviews at non-profits, waiting tables, corporate resumes and working at the GAP…

Post-Grad School is full of this extra stuff that has nothing at all to do with how many beats are in this scene or what is this character’s objective.

Driving through this mess can seem hazy until you realize it’s not only you out there.  But it can all mess with your identity.  If you get caught up in “What size sweater were you looking for”, how long until you begin creating the schedule or doing things you’re good at to pay the bills.

A healthy balance is hard, but necessary.  With the right people surrounding you – totally possible.

To all my post-grad school graduates, keep driving, surround yourself with good people and don’t forget what you always wanted to be!

Post-Grad School Blues

We’ve spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on degrees that are packed in boxes we rarely unpack in between the annual apartment moves.

The time spent educating ourselves would lead one to believe that post-graduation would be a breeze.   Right….

But with an MFA in Playwrighting, Directing or Acting… job applications are not always “submit your resume and list your special skills“.  It’s not quite so black and white for everyone.

While a fair amount of our other friends are buying homes, having children or making their comfortable livings as doctors, lawyers and … there are many of us out there becoming what we’ve dreamed of since we were children, not because it will necessarily make us rich (although we’ve never complained about a couple dollars), but because it makes us happy and truly “rich”.

Upon exiting graduate school, I believe there is a cloud that follows – it’s hazy and colorful – one believes in the mirage of dreams from this cloud and then one day, you’re down, the lowest you’ve ever been and who’s there to help you?  Not help you in a little way – but help you in a way where you can be honest… we’re not talking, “did you finish the play?”.  We’re talking head-hunters and job interviews at non-profits, waiting tables, corporate resumes and working at the GAP…

Post-Grad School is full of this extra stuff that has nothing at all to do with how many beats are in this scene or what is this character’s objective.

Driving through this mess can seem hazy until you realize it’s not only you out there.  But it can all mess with your identity.  If you get caught up in “What size sweater were you looking for”, how long until you begin creating the schedule or doing things you’re good at to pay the bills.

A healthy balance is hard, but necessary.  With the right people surrounding you – totally possible.

To all my post-grad school graduates, keep driving, surround yourself with good people and don’t forget what you always wanted to be!

Happy Belated Black History Month

I was remiss in not mentioning the start of Black History Month in Friday’s “Oreo” post. One might think that with a blog entitled, “The Day I Found Out I was Black” that I might be the first to take note, but motherhood distracts me from most of what made me who I was before having a baby and priorities are shifted…. sometimes drastically.

In my case, having a baby thrust me back to the days when I accomplished a lot in little time AND excelled (however I’m stilling working on the excel part).

So while my degrees and focus on black identity and culture in America and the Diaspora were 1st on my mind once upon a time, these days I’m most likely thinking about what I should make my daughter for lunch and if I should go to Whole Foods today or tomorrow…. before or after she naps.

However, my experience as an “Oreo” is exactly what led me to work on my MA in African American and African Diaspora Studies. So maybe it wasn’t a bad introduction after all.

Happy Black History Month!

Happy Belated Black History Month

I was remiss in not mentioning the start of Black History Month in Friday’s “Oreo” post. One might think that with a blog entitled, “The Day I Found Out I was Black” that I might be the first to take note, but motherhood distracts me from most of what made me who I was before having a baby and priorities are shifted…. sometimes drastically.

In my case, having a baby thrust me back to the days when I accomplished a lot in little time AND excelled (however I’m stilling working on the excel part).

So while my degrees and focus on black identity and culture in America and the Diaspora were 1st on my mind once upon a time, these days I’m most likely thinking about what I should make my daughter for lunch and if I should go to Whole Foods today or tomorrow…. before or after she naps.

However, my experience as an “Oreo” is exactly what led me to work on my MA in African American and African Diaspora Studies. So maybe it wasn’t a bad introduction after all.

Happy Black History Month!

Oreo - The Day I Found Out I was Black, Garlia Cornelia Jones-Ly

A Shout-Out to all my OREOS!

1 Comment

Happy Friday!

In honor of the end of the work week, let’s keep it light… with a poem….

This poem is from “The Day I Found Out I was Black” – which was performed in 2004 at Indiana University.  I haven’t read it in quite some time, so looking at it now made me chuckle  a little.  While I seriously had those feelings, it’s nice to have gotten past them, but I know I’m not the only one who felt that way or who feels that way.  I have encountered many “oreos” since high school… had I known more, we could have bonded… but not all “oreos” make friends…you smile at one another, wave, have polite conversation, but that’s pretty much it.

Last week, there was a re-tweet by playwright Katori Hall of a link to young woman’s play “Life as an Oreo” by April A. Jones (@aprilreign91) – I have been thinking of this since then and dedicate this post to April and all the other Oreos out there!

 

 

oreo1

 

 

 

 

 

oreo poem

 

A Shout-Out to all my OREOS!

1 Comment

Happy Friday!

In honor of the end of the work week, let’s keep it light… with a poem….

This poem is from “The Day I Found Out I was Black” – which was performed in 2004 at Indiana University.  I haven’t read it in quite some time, so looking at it now made me chuckle  a little.  While I seriously had those feelings, it’s nice to have gotten past them, but I know I’m not the only one who felt that way or who feels that way.  I have encountered many “oreos” since high school… had I known more, we could have bonded… but not all “oreos” make friends…you smile at one another, wave, have polite conversation, but that’s pretty much it.

Last week, there was a re-tweet by playwright Katori Hall of a link to young woman’s play “Life as an Oreo” by April A. Jones (@aprilreign91) – I have been thinking of this since then and dedicate this post to April and all the other Oreos out there!

 

 

oreo1

 

 

 

 

 

oreo poem