Don’t sweat the small stuff! (by Husband)

That’s what the wisest of women said to me this morning. My grandmother rolled out stories of a true lifetime that helped put my little woes into perspective. Don’t. Sweat. The Small. Stuff. Okay! That’s my new motto! In Bible Study last week, my Pastor told me specifically to not focus on the drab, grey skies behind it, but on the sun which illuminates the grey bodies that glide across the horizon. Okay, so it was my dramatic interpretation of what she said, but every blog needs a little Hollywood magic in it from time to time. Or maybe just mine do. My wife’s sweet words are always so transparent, so purposely un-punctuated to emphasize the unplugged nature of her confession, that it’s hard to rival on a blog that we share. She can make the simplest of moments magic. But I digress.

Okay world, today, I’m taking these words to heart, from a young woman and a sage grandmother, I’m taking these words to heart. And guess what that means for me, since I’m applying these words to my life today? Well, I’ll end with a joke to fill you in. One day, a man realizes his temperament is far too short. So he prays, “Lord, please grant me patience.” So the following day, he goes to the grocery store and gets stuck in the longest line ever. Every line he jumped to ended up taking longer than the line he left. After 40 minutes of hearing the scan sounds of other people’s groceries, he finally put his melted ice cream and other goods on the counter. And then He hears God’s voice softly say, “You’re welcome.”  I won’t sweat the small stuff, so small stuff, bring it on!

"How Quick Are You Gonna Get Up…." (by Husband)

One thing I’ve learned lately is, at work every day is a new day. Deadlines pile up, time runs out, people are disappointed, victories are won, decisions are made. And the next day, you start over again. That sounds refreshing. Like a universal windshield wiper shoving the day’s remains into a galactic gutter. Only, as Stephen Covey says, “With people, slow is fast and fast is slow.” I reckon myself to Kobe. Though not even a Kobe fan, some work days produce flawless performances. Magic fingers on the Xerox machine. The perfect key strokes and mouse handiwork to create the perfect design on time, on dime. The subtle combination of witty words necessary to woo a giant room (or a room of giants) into the palm of my hand. On these days, I am Kobe. And the rim is an ocean. And everything I throw up swishes the nets and yanks down on that corporate rim to the sound of cash registers. Or another biweekly check.

Then there are days where the “calls” are not in my favor. The computer wants to play one on one and posts the spinning beach-ball of death (mac users) with seconds left on the Close-Of-Business clock. I’m open for the shot, but the coach called another play, one where I’m the decoy, and the ball gets thrown in another direction. Or the defenders are extra precocious this fine day, and I have to struggle for even the simplest of tasks that would otherwise be routine. Yup, on these days, I too am Kobe. Fighting to win a game that has variable odds, angry opponents, and sometimes unfair circumstances. 

And I have to decide, am I going to burn through another lunch working, stay late yet again, phone my wife once more with the far too familiar words, “I’m working late again?” Or do I decide to wipe the slate clean and start again the next day? Each has its own set of consequences. Ultimately, however, the “home” team never has as many timeouts, jump balls, commercial breaks, or opportunities to switch angles in game play. So I’ve worn out my metaphor. In plainer terms, every new business project “could make or break our company.” And requires overtime. Weekends. “Extra” effort. As if my all were not already extra enough. Yet, after that day closes, the next day or the one after that requires the same ingredients. Stir and repeat. Not so at home. There is one birth. One grand entrance. One Chicago Bulls Announcer, and one opportunity to watch the fruits of husband-wife teamwork enter this world, and bond. There is no start again tomorrow, or watch a re-run and make up for working late, or try harder next time. There is not even a rehearsal. So every moment has to be “in the moment.”

Thus, (I pause to clear my throat on my soap box) I have learned, albeit the hard way, that nothing is more important than being a champion at home. A raise or bonus at the expense of marital bliss is a mouthful of curse words and a vein-full of high blood pressure. There are no second chances for a championship. Well, there are. Even my own wife has given me second chances. And second second chances. But certain moments of our lives are like game-winning shots that echo into eternity. Defining moments in history that cannot be repeated, recast, or postponed. Honeymoons. Childbirths. Weddings. First moments. And I am choosing to rise to the occasion of being a star on a much smaller court. Playing for an audience of 1, soon to be two. No matter how large the crowd, or how high the fame, if I suck as a Father, as a husband, then my talented efforts will all be in vain. My “championships” will count for someone else. And my closets will be filled with trophies instead of family memories. Oh, what world. 29 trips around the world, and I still haven’t learned a thing.

"Let's Get Physical, Physical.....I Wanna Get..."

I wrote this entire blog 90mins ago but my computer had a brain fart and lost it…. So let me try it again… please forgive if some of the original flavor was lost…

anyways the last 10 days have been great… we took a walk in the park and witnessed a mixed culture wedding that made me cry…we celebrated week 22 of prego-ness in the baby’s new cleared out bedroom after selling all of the old furniture on craig’s list…I went to the movies to see two new, excellent black cinema flicks… which means I am now able to stay awake past 9 pm without turning into a pumpkin… Taraji’s hair was the freaking bomb but unfortunately Chris Rock made me want to protest my perm and burn my weaves… I mean I am thinking about going natural just so I can look my daughter in her eyes one day and say “baby your hair is beautiful naturally.. just the way God made it”… plus I visited a few of my students at their colleges.. this means that I am now able to go out of town & back in a car without vomiting or falling asleep.. it was so great seeing my students fulfilling the academic dream… but let me just say that Baby Best might have it a little tough… all this practice with youth is making me very sharp… can’t get nothin’ past me, boo…

So physically I have been feeling just perfect… I am loving my new big belly and my new nipple-look-alike belly button… plus the bonus of no longer being afraid of physical intimacy has now freed me to enjoy life again!!! So life is good and being prego is fun… wait wait wait.. there was last night when I had horrible heartburn… I mean it was so bad I thought my eardrums were sweating and that my chest was going to explode… my hubby had to be on back-patting duty for 30 minutes until I burped out enough acid to go back to sleep… but other than that I’ve been fine… wait, well, oh yeah, I did have to go to the hospital…

The hospital… THE HOSPITAL… the hospital… WHAT??? Yes it is true, after 36 hours of excruciating, unfamiliar pain, I broke down and went to the hospital... the freaking arch-nemesis to my commitment to the world of natural living… but the pain was so strong, so frequent, so weird, I had to make sure all was well… not with me so much but with my precious cargo… plus, it hurt so bad I could not cry, my hubby kept asking me all these questions and singing/praying all loud, and I could not find the symptoms in any of the three thousand pregnancy books we have beside our bed… so I went to the hospital.. “dun, dun dun dun”… that is the scary dilemma music… I was being sucked into the world of social norms… I mean the pepto pink colored walls weren’t that bad after all... and the nurse was really nice… plus the sound of my perfect baby girl’s heart beating, feet kicking, and hands punching was hypnotizing me… and to top it off they showed me an ultra-sound and I could see her cute face hide and her body jump from the hiccups… awwww it was the sweetest site ever… perhaps I could learn to love this remote control bed…


But I snapped out of the delusion when the nurse came in to tell me that all the tests were normal and Baby Best was super great… and then she handed me a pain medicine that I had to take right then because I was unable to take it out of the hospital because it was a narcotic… A NarCotic… WHAT??? My hubby said that I instantly sprang up out of pain-curl position and said “get that shit out of here!!” lolololoolol I didn’t say that of course but I did ask for a Tylenol instead… I swallowed one and hid the other pill under the covers like the James Caan character in the 90’s flick Misery… then I hobbled myself out of there… came home and just thugged it out, embraced the growth

After researching the internet, I realized that my attempts to handle prego-ness like I an all-American White housewife, minus the cute dog, backfired on me… turns out that exercising 4 days in a row was good for the body but came at a high price… yep, the total was a full serving of pain – and the copay from me visiting the hospital of course.. it appears that I was just having round ligament pain… umm yep that’s right round ligament pain… I didn’t even know I had round ligaments… I thought they were all straight and rectangle-ish.. but it appears that my uterus is using the ligaments that surround it to bully my organs out of the way in order to make more room for Baby Best.. well it seems that the muscles/ligaments that have been holding my organs for the last 28yrs were like “hold up wait a minute” … this sparked a terrible internal conflict which caused me serious PAIN… but after another day of rest I was A-okay… and home is now more than ever where my heart is and where my baby girl will be born….