I’ve been on somewhat of a sabbatical—out of the office on social media and no new blog posts. I needed to relax, relate, release. And if you don’t understand the reference of this 3-word mantra, then your life is tragically missing the imprint of quintessential black television of the late eighties, early nineties. So please refer to the episodes of A Different World in which Whitley Gilbert is in a counseling session with her therapist (aka the legendary Debbie Allen) hilariously trying to ingrain the concept. Jasmine Guy and Debbie Allen put us on the “self-care” game before it was a trending social phenomenon.
But no matter how mucked up my headspace is, or whatever emotional turmoil I’m in, or those times when I’m cynical about “self-care” being nothing more than a catchphrase, the thing I try to pour every ounce of my heart into every day is being a good mother. Because the older I get and experience life and people, the more I realize everyone just wasn’t so fortunate to experience child-rearing at the hands of someone invested in it. Thank God I have a blueprint embedded in memories.
We are now in week three of kindergarten, and I think the jitters are officially out for all of us. Ash now walks to the school door without hesitation. My new absolute favorite part of the day is picking him up and listening to him unload the happenings of his day for the rest of the evening. It’s just the best. Imagine me sitting there, all ears, asking, “and then what did you say?” The social life of a toddler is its own Netflix series.
Last Friday, on the tenth of the month, Ash turned five. A whole hand as my sister articulates it. Earlier this year, I had put in a reservation to Disney World—back at the resort we stayed at for his third birthday celebration. But Brian insisted we cancel because COVID would put a damper on the full-blown Disney experience. Of course, I didn’t agree because there is no dampening Disney, even if you experience it at half-mast. But I obliged his reservations and gushed to work on plan B. Ash had been asking for a Nintendo Switch for a while. He loves playing Super Mario. He has even asked to be Luigi for Halloween. So, a Nintendo Switch and Super Mario U game is what he got. All wrapped up in a Super Mario themed birthday party on my mom’s cozy patio–complete with a flower power veggie tray, strawberry and grape piranha flowers, a Mario cake, jumbo-sized Mario balloons, and a big blue, green, yellow, and red balloon garland arch successfully executed by yours truly and his TeTe (thanks sister).
But first, he had to get through the school day! So, I bought fruit popsicles for his class to celebrate. They made him a “birthday book,” with all the kids writing their name, drawing an original piece of crayon art for him, and filling in the sentence, “I want to wish Asher a happy birthday because….” It was a 22-page tear-jerker. Page one is a picture Ash drew of himself. One of his new little besties wrote, “I want to wish Asher a happy birthday because I always play with him outside!” She drew a picture of the two of them playing, with a sweet, yellow-colored heart off to the right of the page. Another kiddo wrote,” I want to wish Asher a happy birthday because he wants to meet my puppy.” I couldn’t really decipher the little boy’s picture art, but I can imagine him and Ash having a social discussion on puppies and Ash telling him about my sister’s white Maltese poodle, Yo-Yo. The “birthday book” is now stashed in his memento box because it’s no way he shouldn’t reminisce on it when he turns thirty.
After school, he headed to granny’s house with his birthday book in hand for his second party. During his popsicle soiree at school, he apparently bit into a tangerine flavored ‘sicle, and “pop” his second loose tooth came out! “Pop,” that’s the word he repeatedly, and I do mean repeatedly, used to describe the whole affair of it. We ate grilled hamburgers and hot dogs and drank cold lemonade from super Mario cups. And as the evening drew nigh after everyone was satisfied off delightful chocolate cake layered with white chocolate mousse and scoops of ice cream, Brian lit the tiki torches around my mom’s patio, and Ash sat opening gifts and cards with five-dollar bills slipping out, surrounded by family. His happiness was as warm as one of those torches.
He loves to paint and play basketball. But some things haven’t changed. My baby still calls my name three hundred times an hour, or something close to that. And he still tells me he loves me several times a day. He still has the cutest prayers before bed. He still loves dinosaurs, and he still loves his Hot Wheels!
I just want to be a good mother to him.
