I Wish I Could Be Every Little Thing You Wanted All The Time

Last night Z nearly broke my heart.

I was washing her hair, which could be considered a full time job, although we do it on average once a week if I’ve had enough coffee and sleep, when she made the comment that she doesn’t like her hair and wished it was like all her friends hair, which is in her words ‘smooth’.

Z has the most fantastic Afro, which I’ll admit at first I didn’t at first know the first thing about dealing with for obvious reasons, the main being I never had hair like that so why bother learning right? But over the years as her hair grew I realized it was getting more curly and thick and I would need more insight on how to care for her crowning glory to do it full justice, I started researching what the better quality products would be to use. I learned all about a wash n go and wet plopping and deep conditioning which to be honest were all very helpful for my hair as well since I also have curly hair, although not to the extent of Z’s 3c/4a curls. I learned not to use drug store brands that contain sulphates and other harmful chemicals that will further dry her hair out. I learned how to trim her hair myself to maintain it and get rid of dry, split ends on my own without spending a fortune on a hairdresser. I will admit though that I still cannot plait her hair, but I have learned twist outs and how to lay her edges so I’ll just take that as a win for now. One step at a time. 🤷🏻‍♀️

But when she was upset last night because her hair wasn’t ‘smooth’ like all her friends at school my heart fell into my gut. I can only be so much of a roll model for her in this area. I wear my hair as big, full and curly as possible, because I honestly feel the bigger the better, and I truly think natural hair is better. I’ve straightened my hair maybe once a year since finding out all this information about hair for Z. Little E wears his hair pretty close cut because he just has no interest in keeping a style and prefers it practically shaved, and even when he does grow it out, it’s not as curly as Z’s, it’s more of a thick bigger curl. Her dad maintains a bald head although they don’t see him often (as my regular readers know 3 visits when we went back at Christmas and before that it was February last year). So I guess my point with all these “examples ” is that she has no natural hair role models as far as her hair texture. I’ve shown her on places like instagram woman with beautiful hair like hers and how they wear it even bigger than hers. For reference, her fro averages between 6-10 inches but I don’t fluff it out on the bigger side often. She prefers to style it pushed back with a headband or with a few clips or two pigtail afropuffs. Which is for the best because those are the only ones I can pull off half decently.

Anyways this is a very roundabout way of saying I hurt for her. I want her to be proud of every part of her, but this is a way I can’t directly be a role model for her. Yes, I can wear my hair naturally and I do, but her hair is distinctively different, not only from mine, but from the streets of Kelowna and even where we were before and heck even in a Kenya because of the mix, and others notice. I think it’s fantastic and beautiful and many others do as well. We constantly receive compliments while out about how nice her hair is of which I reminded her last night. I told her that her hair is original and beautiful and she should never want to change who or how she is. I was detangling it and showed her how long it was while wet and stretched out and she was so impressed, since it reaches to her elbows. So after the bath, I did one long braid for her down her back and she was much happier and kept mentioning how long and smooth it looked. Albeit it only lasted about 15 minutes until it was completely dry and shrunk up to her neck but it made her happy in that moment.

I’m just wondering how to move forward from here. I’m WELL aware that my kids should have strong black role models in their life, but if there aren’t any around… I can’t just produce them out of thin air.

My in laws are not an option, her dad is out of the question. The black community in Kelowna is to be honest practically nonexistent (trust me, I’ve looked). But I know that it will be something they need to become the fullest version of themselves they can be.

I guess that’s the most frustrating aspect of this experience. Knowing I can be the best mom I can possibly be. I can make all the healthy lunches and arrange all the play dates and study up on all the hair care and do all the sex talks, to name a few examples, but facts are facts, and facts in my situation is that my kids are half black, there’s no denying that, and I would never want to. And that culture is not something I can provide them, and they desperately need it.

It makes me feel so inadequate.

Knowing no matter what, I’ll never be enough. And I can’t do it on my own.

And what’s worse it that the right people are not offering to help.

***update***

Just stopped at Walmart and saw this ironic and timely display showing Robert Munschs books on display

All had been picked through except the braids book (which Z owns). It’s a book about a girl with hair like Z’s and how she doesn’t like to have it braided since it takes a while and hurts. Etc. But anyways it’s literally just shows how no one in Kelowna has that culture in their life nor is trying to pass it on to future generations here and I’m on my own with my kids. 😑

*Z with morning bed head for reference*


-Dishwalla / Every Little Thing –

Pull Me In, Hold Me Tight, Don’t Let Go / I Want To Step Into Your Great Unknown With You And Me Setting The Tone

So today I teared up when I went for a pedicure. All because the guy doing my toes took off his gloves near the end and touched my feet with bare hands.

It was the first skin to skin touch I’ve had in months and it almost made me cry.

It’s beautiful here. Sunny and hot and people are friendly, but I crave intimacy.

It’s gotten to the point that I’m pretty much going to resort to my old behaviors of online “dating.” Although why they call it that I’ll never get. Not one of those boys ever took me out on a date. But anyways, I signed up again just to maybe feel someones arms around me again. However fake.

I haven’t been with a guy since K. But… well just but.

I guess I got hurt so bad, and maybe thought that we might end up together, that I’ve held off. But reality is harsh. And the reality is he’s moved on. So far on… at least I assume he has. We haven’t been talking and I don’t know why he wouldn’t move on. And it’s time I do the same. It’s past time I did the same… but I kept hoping.

So I made my ridiculous profile this weekend and got my ridiculous messages. And now I find myself in the position of having a guy about to come over tonight.

He seems fine. But all I can do is compare him to K, which I know I have to stop doing. My only saving grace at this point is that I got my period an hour ago… so that’ll help restrain me.

I’m honestly so looking forward to the possibility of a man holding me though.

Pathetic, I’m well aware.


-Adele/I Miss You

I Got Just One Life In A World That Keeps On Pushin’ Me Around But I’ll Stand My Ground

My Grandpa has been calling.

I haven’t answer the phone because, well because I didn’t want to talk to him. He first left a voicemail maybe 2 weeks ago now.

FullSizeRender

But this morning when my phone rang, I didn’t recognize the number so I picked up. Turns out, he had got in touch with his friend and had managed to get his hands on a ‘package’ for me.

I guess he’s coming down this weekend for Thanksgiving but he was worried about how he was going to get it on the plane (good call). So he wanted to get my address from me.

I could tell he’d either been thinking it through or he’s done this before, because he was explaining how his post office has special packages he can use to wrap it and he’ll use a fake return address, all this detail. So I’m leaning towards this not being his first time doing  something along these lines/sending drugs through the mail.

He also said this one’s on him, and all I could think was it’s the least he could do. Well that and not expect me to offer to roll one with him… Ever.

That being said. I’ve been waffling back and forth between telling my sister R about what happened with my Grandpa. I don’t want to make a big deal about it for my sake, but I want to make her aware of it for her kids safety. I have 4 nieces, and I would be horrified if something happened to them that I could have prevented by letting R know. But on the other hand I don’t want to cause issues if this was a one-off situation… like I think to myself how far would he really go? My nieces are YOUNG!?!

So for now, I’m not officially decided, but since there’s been no talk of my nieces visiting him any time soon, I at least have some time to make the decision. Although if I find out my sister is considering sending them there for a visit without other adult supervision… like next summer for a vacation or something, then 100% I’m telling her.


-Tom Petty/I Won’t Back Down-

I Never Lose Nothing But Damn I Done Had It I Ain’t Never Strike Out They Can’t Average What I Batted No

So thanks to E constantly delaying the divorce, today is officially my eight year wedding anniversary. And I’ve spent 3.5 of those years trying to put E in my past. It’s a work in progress.

August 7th, 2009. The seventh day, of the eighth month, of the ninth year. E didn’t care when we got married but to me it was important and plus it looked aesthetically pleasing on the invitation. 07.08.09.

But now, 8 years later and it’s all a moot point. 8 years of life with him that, to be fair is almost done. The divorce papers (like I’m sure I’ve said before, and will probably say again) are almost signed. We’re just waiting on E and hopefully he doesn’t find something else to comment on and ask to change last-minute again.
But that’s not the reason I’m writing today.

When I woke up this morning, on my ‘anniversary’ I found myself reflecting back at my life not so much during the past eight years, but more just the past 1 year, and at how much has changed, and I just wanted to do a recap. Mostly for myself. To remind myself, that yeah C, you continue to make shitty mistakes but you also are growing as an individual. And that’s what’s important.
So, without further ado, here’s my year in review.

  • I bought and moved into my very own house with only my name on the mortgage.
  • I quit a high stress job for an equal paying position but I work only 4 days a week now, receive bonuses and my boss is way cooler.
  • I tried marijuana for the first time this year and now take edibles almost daily. They’ve helped so much with the headaches I used to get from my seizures.
  • I got my empty birdcage tattoo to represent that there are no bars holding me back anymore as well as replaced two piercings (one on my wrist and one on my ankle) I had to remove a long time ago for an MRI..
  • I went to a shooting range and shot a gun for the first time, doing quite well at it.
  • I bought tickets for my first couple of concerts. Jay Z in December, and also I’m taking my Dad to see Guns and Roses this month for his birthday… to be honest I’m actually most excited to see Our Lady Peace who’s opening for them lol, they were the first CD I ever bought and Innocent is my jam!
  • Had my Grandma pass away.
  • Stopped attending church to take some time and figure out what I truly believe.
  • Went to a psychic for the first time for a palm reading and chakra clearing.
  • Started my first official diet (Jenny Craig), that I chose to do on my own not because my mom was pressuring me to. And have lost 15 pounds on it so far (about 1.5 months).
  • Heck I even went on a couple of firsts ‘dates’! Lame ones but I got out there.
  • Bought a guitar (I owned 2 as a teen but I sold one and the other was stolen when E and I had our house broken into) yesterday. I realized if music is my passion, and I love it so much, then do something about it again. Make a way to enjoy it more in my everyday life.
  • Started this blog 😎.

So maybe I am growing as a person. Maybe I have learned from some of my mistakes. Maybe I am becoming a better me. Oh trust me, I know I’m still making stupid choices. But maybe… just maybe, they are becoming fewer and farther between?

So for now, I’m for real going to go buy myself some “anniversary” roses. Because I can. And I need them. And I’m the only one whose gonna do it.


-Future Ft. Nicki Minaj/You Da Baddest-

I’ll Take A Breath, I’ll Take Her By My Side We Stand In Awe, We’ve Created Life

With Little E’s birthday yesterday and Z’s coming up next week, it’s really been hitting a chord I didn’t even know I had. I want another baby. My kids are growing up and soon I’ll have a 4 & 7-year-old in my house and I won’t even be able to pretend I have a toddler anymore. I’ll officially have two children. Kids who are growing up too fast for me and I don’t like it. I heard something years ago, after I left E, that bothered me. I can’t remember where I heard it, but I think it was some fairly reputable therapist, regarding step-parents. They said (paraphrased) that if a new partner enters a child’s life in a parenting role before the age of 6, then it’s easier for that kid to adjust to them as a parent, and accept them. But any later than that, and basically the parenting, in particular the discipline should be done mainly by the birth parent only.

That resonated with me, and has stayed in the back of my mind all these years. I wanted SOOO badly for Little E to have a solid connection with a male role model in his life. He has nothing with E. Nothing. And just the thought that by now the opportunity for a meaningful bond to form between him and any potential ‘dad’ is heartbreaking. I know, I know, that thing I heard was just one mans opinion (In fact I think it was Dr. Phil lol) and there are plenty of scenarios that prove otherwise, but the thought still lingers.

I never wanted Little E and Z to be fatherless. It was obviously never my plan. But life happens. Shit happens. And now I’m just so disappointed with the path my life is on in this regards. I feel like a failure to my kids in that I haven’t been able to provide them with the home environment that I always envisioned. The “perfect” family.  Or at least a family that looked half decent to outsiders looking in, since no-ones perfect.

You know, the typical mom, dad, son and daughter…. But now it’s just the three of us. With Little E apparently at an age where he will have trouble connecting with a new father figure.

And yet I still want another baby. But by the looks of things, it could be years before that happens if it ever does, and do I really want that kind of age gap between my kids? Plus will I be able to carry another baby to term by then?

Maybe I’m being selfish, since I want the experience of being pregnant with a man who supports me during the pregnancy and just to see how it would be like to have him love the baby from the start. But is that fair to Little E and Z, who have never experienced anything even remotely similar?

I’m from a blended family, with my little sister N being born after my mom got re-married, and R and I could 100% tell the difference in the way my step dad treated her in comparison to us, which is something I never want Little E and Z to feel.

So now, I have this desire for a baby. To experience the joy I see couples have when they do it together. Something I’ve never had. I know I was married, but I’ve been single parenting it since day 1. E never once woke up at night to change a diaper or do a late night feed, or even to bring the baby to me so I could nurse them. He wasn’t there to help teach either one of them to walk or talk. He’s never driven the kids to school or daycare. He’s hardly ever attended a school function or play. Hell even K came to one of Little E’s school events. E’s been pretty absent since the get go.

So, maybe I’m being selfish, but these last few months I’ve been really thinking about another child, and the feasibility of it all. I want it so badly I’m tearing up right now, but I know I can’t just go randomly and get pregnant “just because” I want it.

I won’t ever put another child through what Little E and Z have gone through. A childhood without a father.

So until I find a man who’s in it for the long-LONG term, I’ll just have to shelf my desires and focus on the kids I already have.


-Creed/Arms Wide Open-

Happy Birthday To You Happy Birthday Dear Little E, Happy Birthday To You.

Today is Little E’s 7th birthday. And I have so many things I’ve been wanting to post about, but decided to write about the day he was born. Because that’s a story of its own!

My pregnancy with Little E went great. Absolutely no morning sickness, none of the uncomfortable sleeping at night, just a tiny bit of heartburn near the end which I’m pretty sure can be attributed to all the hair he was born with. I’m very lucky to have had such a good pregnancy because E was no support. Throughout the 9 months, he would often suggest that the baby was in fact not his, and that the night of my failed housewarming ( https://shewassetfree.wordpress.com/2017/04/12/house-warming-it-was-cold-as-fuck/) I had slept with S, and therefore who knows how many other men. As you can imagine this was difficult to deal with while pregnant, and I didn’t feel very supported, so it was nice to at least feel like the baby was working with me.

The only thing that really changed for me was that I craved steak like nobody’s business. I could eat steak for breakfast, lunch, dinner and still want more, until some blood work revealed that it was amazing I was still up and walking since my iron was SO depleted. Once I got on some iron supplements, the cravings slowed and then the only that bothered me was smell.

EVERYTHING stunk to me. Especially E. He would get home from work, I’d have to ask him to shower. He’d come home from rugby practice, where he just showered, and I’d make him do it again. Before we left anywhere, I’d ask him to reapply deodorant, or shower. I know he didn’t actually stink anymore than before, but to me? Oh god the smell was awful. At one point we went to my parents for supper and I actually apologized to my mom for how E smelled and she’s like ‘honey, he doesn’t smell, it’s your nose/hormones’ … didn’t matter to me, I still needed him to shower 3x a day if not more.

So, anyways as we neared, and then passed Little E’s due date, I found myself doing all the preparations for the baby. E didn’t put together one baby item. He didn’t purchase one particle of clothing for our first child. He was barely interested in conversations about the name even. Except of course to throw in the lies about the middle name “tradition” and confuse the shit outta everything. But as far as first names go, it was basically up to me, which I’m so grateful for! At least now I don’t have to say my kids names every day and have regrets about them. I picked them both out and love them thoroughly.

Since apparently my womb is so comfortable, Little E stayed 10 days past his due date and I had to have an appointment to be induced. E decided he didn’t want to come with me, so I drove myself to the hospital. He basically said let him know how it goes and if anything happens, he would come later.

So I was on my own. 22 years old. About to give birth to my first child. And my husband chose work over supporting me.

I went through the process and stayed for about an hour when the nurse came to check me out and said there was no signs of labor so I could head home for now, but to come back if anything changes. So I drove myself home. I had some slight back pain but since this was my first time, I kept waiting for ‘contractions’ and yet had no idea what they would feel like. My back pain kept getting worse and I had no way of relieving it, so I took a shower. E was home from work by the time I got out of the shower but my back was in so much pain all I could do was sit on my towel on my bed. This ended up being probably the best thing for me, since while I was still on the towel, my water broke and I finally clued in that my back pain was actually contractions. #idiot
I told E we had to go now, and his response was that I had to wait since he needed to eat since he just got him from work and was hungry. So while E did whatever he did in the kitchen, I got myself dressed and hauled my hospital bag out to the car, all while in the beginning stages of labor.
E finally moseyed his way to the car and we went to the hospital where I was admitted ASAP.

My mom met us at the hospital since at this point I knew E was going to be probably not too much help and to be honest I was scared and needed someone to actually be there as a support. Most women have their husbands for support, but well, I had E soooo, mom was like my plus one.

My mom came into the room and then E left! I was like what the? And he told us that he didn’t think he was going to stay in the room because where he’s from the men don’t stay, it’s more of a woman’s thing. I was like you get your ass in this room right now! You got me into this! You are going to help me through it! I don’t care if you just stand there silently or even faint! You stay!
So he did, although he just stood there quietly, he stayed in the room.

Meanwhile, because everything was happening so quickly, my room was buzzing with people. My maid of honor from my wedding is actually a labour and delivery nurse and was working that night, which was the only thing keeping me sane. She tried to make sure I had the best Dr. and nurses and when the actual delivery came she was right there helping out too.

I didn’t have a big ‘delivery plan’. I never went to prenatal/Lamaze classes  I knew I was all for the drugs though. I mean if I can do this pain-free, then load me up. So they started with the laughing gas (which did nothing to help) while my MOH/nurse tracked down an anesthesiologist. The anesthesiologist came and did his poke, but for some reason, the epidural didn’t work either, and this baby was coming NOW.

I remember the Dr doing that dumb counting thing, like for your breathing, and everyone’s saying oh you’re doing great, good job, keep going, and I just snapped. I yelled ‘SHUT UP’ at everyone. In my mind I just wanted quite so I could focus on my own thought in peace, plus their words were doing nothing to help so I just wanted silence. After I yelled though I felt bad so I kept apologizing, and trying to explain how I just needed quite, and everyone’s like no it’s ok, you can yell all you want.

So, the pushing is going on and there’s so much happening in my room with me and E and my mom and about 6-8 staff (I don’t even know for sure) because something is going wrong…. as I’m pushing, the baby gets stuck. So my MOH/nurse gets a stepping stool and stands on it, holds her arms out like she’s about to perform CPR and then literally JUMPS off the stool and pushes onto my belly to push Little E out. Who let me tell you, WAS NOT LITTLE!

Little E was 9lbs 7ozs and a short little sucker. He looked like a sumo wrestler no lie. A cute sumo wrestler. The Dr who delivered him felt the need to comment saying ‘Oh if I had known he was this big, I would’ve done a C-section’. Oh thank you for that. Thanks for saying that NOW! When there’s no going back. Thanks for talking about the huge new life I just pushed through my vagina while you use a dozen plus stitches to close me up. Yeah, thanks. Real professional.

But, aside from having my genitalia ripped open, the drugs not working, and E not being interested at all in being there…

It was the most beautiful day of my life. No I didn’t cry. But that’s because I was very broken at the time. I did cherish it though. I remember Little E had no problem starting to nurse and the feeling of having a new life, a human, so small yet fully functioning, look into your eyes while feeding off of the life you bring it? Priceless.

I stayed up all night just watching him. Making sure he was ok. Changing diapers that didn’t need to be changed, but just to do it. Waking up E so he could bring me the baby in my bed. Holding him. Touching him. Stroking his hair. Looking into his eyes. Singing to him. Just loving him. And I would do it all again.
Everything I’ve been through with E, I would do again just to have the amazing experience of Little E’s life it has brought me.

7 years ago today.


-Patty Hill&Mildred Hill/Happy Birthday-

Wake Me Up When It’s All Over. When I’m Wiser And I’m Older. 

As we were preparing to get married, E shared a “tradition” from back home that he wanted us to partake in. This might be difficult to explain as it’s regarding names and I try to avoid using real name here for anonymity sake, as well as the fact that the “tradition” turned out to be 100% fake, and we did something that I’m, to this day, trying to remedy because E felt like making up some random story just for shits and giggles.

Anyways the tradition he told me went something like this… and keep in mind at this point, I’d never yet been to Kenya, and I had no reason to doubt anything E was saying, because quite frankly I never thought anyone would be capable of making up stuff as extreme as this just… well just because I guess, normal people I’d met up until that point never lied like E did. I’ll never actually know why he did it.

So, he told me that when a man gets married, at least in his tribe, it was custom for him to drop his last/surname and have his middle name became his new last name. So from that point on, he’d only be known by his first and middle name=his new last name.

So if I was dating a Billy Frank Smith, when we got married he would still be known as Billy, but our new last/surname would be Frank, and Smith would be out of the picture making my new husband only Billy Frank, and me C Frank. He said then as a man, you would be starting your own family and be more removed from your Dads ‘tribe’. Also, to make it even more complex (as everything with E was), the middle names when choosing a baby’s name were to be chosen from a limited group of ‘family’ names. So that the man could still be recognized as part of this certain tribe. He said they do it this way so that as a man gets married it is his way of starting his own tribe/family.

I hope I’m explaining it well, because trust me it was confusing as heck to me. Probably because it’s not a tradition that his tribe had been following for centuries or has ever done. It was something E made up in his mind. But I trusted him, because this was the man I was going to marry so I figured he was telling the truth, and I had no reason not to believe in him. Plus it was so absurd, how could it not be true, right?

Therefore at our wedding we had to make it known during a speech to explain how we would be known as Mr and Mrs M. instead of the expected original Mr. and Mrs. S that everyone was expecting, being that it was the name everyone had known E by. Since E was still dealing with immigration issues though and both of our names were on so many of those documents at that time as our maiden names, neither of us changed our names at that point, which was for the best. The person it has affected most though, is Little E.

When I became pregnant with him, more about this whole name thing was ‘explained’ to me by E. About how the middle names should be chosen from selected tribe names etc. At this time, our plan was that we would be moving to Kenya and living there on a more permanent basis, and I really wanted my kids to fit in as much as possible and was counting on E’s advice to make that happen. So E supplied me with a list of about 5-7 male names from his family tree that we had to choose from for Little E’s middle name, that, according to E would one day be his last name once he married. We settled on a name that sounded good when said start to finish “Little E, then the chosen middle name (also started with M) then the last name M’ that we would all have one day once we finished our paperwork. So it was decided. I thought.

Until literally 5-10 minutes after I had given birth to Little E and I was drugged up and totally out of it and E decides to ask if we can change everything we had previously decided on.

Instead of the original E.M.M, for the newly born baby boy, he wanted Little E to be named E.S.M. So that little E’s middle name would be E’s current last name starting with S. So that when Little E gets married and drops the last name of M, he will have E’s family name of S remaining. Confused? I was too.  I said yes, because I just didn’t care at the time, I was just glad my baby was healthy and I had successfully brought forth life. Plus I had JUST given birth, and was in no position to argue.

So Little E now had the initials E. S. M. Not to bad eh? Well, it was fine, until we flew with our little boy to Kenya, where lo and behold, his family and pretty much everyone else in the entire country told me that E was full of crap. They’d never heard of that tradition before. I was mad. Now E has gone and messed with our kids names! And for what???

I confronted him about it and all he could say was that he must’ve been mistaken, and that oh ok, we’ll keep the original S last name like usual. I couldn’t believe it. Did he not realize that now Little E has the S middle name and now E says it should be his last name too!?!? Like are you kidding me? Your want our son to be called Little E then Smith Smith for example? No thanks.

So I bring it up today because Little E has finally chosen a new middle name. He understands that his middle name of S will now be his last name so he can match Z and Dad and Mom and all share the same last/surname and since I am too stubborn and did not want Little E to just have his middle name and last name switch place, mainly because I don’t want E to have that small pleasure of having his family name remain after all the chaos his lies caused. So we’ve been taking our time deciding on a brand new middle one. And Little E choose it today.

We’ve read through many names and meanings and Little E choose the name Theo. It means divine gift and he loves it and although there are others that I might prefer, I don’t mind giving him the lead on this choice as I can see the confidence it gives him. Plus it’s a step up from last summer when he wanted to change it to Tyrannosaurus. Plus if it was that awful I would always veto it. But I think he choose well and I’ll be working on the legal process to change it throughout the coming weeks. Oh and yes, it’s already been documented in the divorce that I can change his name without consent from E, because of the exact reasoning above. So we’re in the clear. Although I did inform E of Little E’s choice and he is fine with it.

So, I guess all I can say is I’m not a fan of fake tradition.


-Avicii/Wake Me Up-