What a Difference a Year (and a lot of reflection) Makes

Time is an amazing phenomenon. When we were young time was an exercise experienced with tremendous agony. Everything seemed to take an eternity, and anything that lasted one second longer than we expected was absolute torture. As we age time speeds up and we long for the ability to squeeze more moments out of every second.

What’s Cooking

Entering into 2020 I am trying to figure out what I will be writing about moving forward.  I was talking to my best friend aka Latrice, she asked what is it about cooking that makes me light up.  She stated that she observed the way I write about my 14-year-old daughter when she cooks and how I…

Happy New Year

So once again, I fell off with my posts. Writing about my past almost sent me to counseling, thank God I have a best friend that I can work my shit out and talk through some stuff. But I still ended up with a major writing block. I really did not want to finish my…

Repressed Memories

My last post “Things that Go Bump in the Night” shook me to my core. It unearthed a suppressed memory that generated a conversations with my little sister, best friend and husband. I have always suspected that I had suppressed memories of sexual abuse, but accepted my body’s defense mechanisms. These unearthed memories did however…

Keeva

The foster care system in this country is a necessary evil. Me and my siblings are blessed, we eventually were reunited and over time our mother regained custody and jumped through the hoops needed get us out of the system. Not all children are as fortunate. There are children who stay in the system until…

Trash Bags

One night before bed, Ms. Brown came into the girls room with a large black trash bag. We looked around to see who was leaving. You have to understand, being a foster kid at Ms. Brown’s isn’t perfect, but it’s almost as close you can find in Chicago. The hope is to stay here until it’s time to go home.

Pickled Pig Feet

Being a foster kid at Ms. Brown’s was almost like living at my grandparents’ home with a bunch of cousins, except ghetto. We had rules, she was strict, but we were allowed to be kids and have fun. For the rest of the summer, I almost forgot I was in foster care. I shared a…

Pocketed Change

After two weeks with Ms. Brown, I was informed that a social worker was picking me up in the morning, so I pack my bag.  Packing my bags was basically a black trash bag stuffed with the clothes I had received over the last two weeks, my tooth brush and a brush that a neighbor…

Spare Change

I started by putting on the clothes from the previous day.  And tried to brush my hair back into a braid with my fingers being my only grooming tool. Once fully dressed and somewhat presentable, I emerged from the room hoping to see a bathroom before anyone saw me.  No such luck.