Tatted Up

I've been thinking about getting a tattoo for a while, but couldn't quite decide what to get or where to get it. I knew that I was getting one on my trip to Indy because it was on my To-Do list, along with skydiving.

I made an "appointment" Friday with my friend K who was supposed to tell our friend C to hook me up. Well K told C we were hanging out. Luckily C is flexible and was able to do the tat.

I just decided this afternoon to get my horoscope symbol. I'm a pretty textbook Virgo. Yep, I'm critical of myself and others, dependable, loyal, etc.

So, I took a bottle of coconut rum to K’a to mix with his Lemon Strawberry Hawaiian Punch. S met me there and we sat around for an hour looking at tat mags, drinking our libations, talking and listening to music as I bought myself some time.

I was mad nervous. I'd heard mixed messages about the amount of pain to expect. K and C said if I had a baby I could handle a tat. The problem with that is I had a C-section and didn't feel any labor pains...and when I did have pain after the surgery I was too drugged up to care.

Once I sat in the chair in K’s kitchen (yeah, we're hood like that), I spent over 10 minutes asking every question I could think of: What's that? Why do you need that? How long will the tracing stay on in case I bolt? K cracked everybody up saying I sounded like the little boy in the Kobe and LeBron commercials.

After C clarified that even if I said stop he was to keep going, we got started. The pain was very minor for the most part. I think I had scared myself so much that it was a piece of cake. There were moments where I could feel more intense levels of pain, but they were few and far between.

C said he was proud of me. S said I made her want to get one (but she won't). K said I'd get another in 6 months because they're addicting. I reminded K that I'm stubborn and would wait a year just to prove him wrong.

When I got home, I told my mother I had a rash on my neck so she could look. She let out a yelp in surprise and said she never thought I'd get a tattoo. Once she found out that the equipment was sterile and that C was experienced, she was cool.

Son asked, "MiMi, what's that tattoo say?” "What you get that tattoo for?” and the dreaded, "Can I have a tattoo?" I guess he gets his inquisitive nature from his mama.

I have no regrets about getting it. The tat is small and can be covered in a business setting. It's kind of exhilarating and freeing, considering how square I've been for most of my life.

P.S., I'm not going to hell for desecrating my body with a pagan symbol :-D

4th of July Lessons

Sometimes, you don't appreciate your parents until you have a child of your own. Spending time with my son this past weekend made me see just how much my mother sacrificed for my brother and me.

As a child, I did not realize the tedium of standing in 2 hour-long lines in the middle of the summer at Great America for a 2-minute rollercoaster ride. I did not comprehend the pain one endures sitting outside in mosquito infested parks to watch fireworks among thousands of other families with hyperactive kids.

Over the weekend, I learned that parents stand on their feet when they don't want to and get bitten by random bugs because seeing joy in their kids' eyes is worth it.

So today, as I scratch insect bites and hope they are not from poisonous spiders, gingerly apply ointment to my sunburned shoulders and try to catch up on some much needed rest, I will not complain. I will focus on memories of my son's pure, unadulterated happiness and rest securely in the fact that I did not stand in his way.

Thanks Mommy for the lessons that you didn't know you were teaching!

Why I Do It

In a heated exchange with a family member, I was once told that I haven't been through anything and my life has been too easy. That short spiel, which was intended to offend and silence me, did just the opposite.

It made me realize that portraying a life of perfection while inwardly fighting struggles and battles was doing a disservice to the world around me. It made me wonder how much my younger niece and cousins were hiding because they did not think I could understand what they were going through or thought that I would judge them for the lives they were leading.

So, at the risk of being called crazy, silly or a Certified Loon (not to be confused with a lunatic), I share my story. This includes the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, the pretty and the ugly. I open myself to ridicule and scrutiny to show the youth in my life that I am not perfect and they don't have to be either.

I don't write for the over 30 crowd, although people of all ages can benefit from openness and honesty. I write for Natalie, Nayira, Jas, Jode, Michayla, Lauren, Tasha, Jessica, Quetta, Trina, and those who are going through, have gone through or will soon go through growing pains. If I can help just one of them, then my exposure is not in vain.

If I, a 32-year-old wife and mother, have body issues, then surely a 20 year old whose body is still undergoing changes may have them as well. If I look in the mirror and can't always see the beautiful face that others compliment, then it is my duty to share that.

I can no longer support the Ms. Goody Two Shoes persona. I have problems, insecurities and shortcomings. I am bitchy and short-tempered when I'm hungry, just wake up and periodically throughout the day. I have done a lot of growing and still have much yet to do. I also have a lot of wonderful attributes. If I don't share all of me, then I do a disservice to the younger generation who looks at me as a role model or otherwise.

All of Me is Created Equal

I have dimples in my cheeks and chin. I inherited them from my father and I love them dearly. I have dimples in other places, too. I inherited them from ice cream. Those I was not feeling so much.

I wonder what made dimples in one place superior to those in other locations. More importantly, why do I frown upon any part of my body when God created me as a faultless specimen?

I have stretch marks, which I cannot attribute to Deuce residing in my belly. So what? My thighs have always, and will always rub together. Who cares? My stomach will always be pudgy, my pinky toes will always have corns, my left eye will always be a little lazy (or is it the right one?), my calves will always be skinny, my elbows will always be dark, the circles under my eyes will never be lightened and my tig ole bitties shall rise to salute the sun nevermore.

That's just my reality. I accept these things and will not consider them flaws. I will acknowledge them for what they are: my perfection as seen through God’s eyes. Who am I to say that the creation formed of God’s divine hands is less than a masterpiece? Who are you?