Authorities confirm ship was involved in child trafficking

I would like to say a resounding

THANK YOU!

to whomever it was that sent my baby some books from the wishlist. I never even thought anyone would actually do that! You are so cool!

Found a great place to have a cup of fairly traded coffee: Urban Blend Cafe in Jack London Square. I had an Almond Joy mocha, Jayden had a banana and the whipped cream from the top of my coffee. Gave him a lesson in dominoes - an ongoing process. No child of mine is going to be lacking in bone-slammin skills.

And yes, I am aware of the irony of my last few posts juxtaposed with the ad you see above. Go ahead, click here, and you might help us get some laundry money.

I happen to be quite vain about my grammar skills, but "juxtaposed" and "juxtaposition" give me headaches. I love to use the words, but they always end up sounding awkward, forced, or just plain wrong.

Hey, at least I tried...

And oh yeah, HipMama coffee is fairly traded.

I recently learned, via a discussion on the hipMama boards, about Fair Trade products. These products - most notably coffee - are purchased from small, usually family-owned farms, at a price that adheres to certain standards, to allow the producers to support their families and help strengthen their (usually poor, "third world") communities. And fair trade does not support large, plantation type producers, who are often guily of child slave labor, which has gotten some press recently.

When I'm working I drink coffee several times a week. I own a coffee maker and when I can afford coffee I take the machine out the cabinet and hook it up. I enjoy buying a mocha and sipping it while I read the Express or Guardian. While I knew about mega-producers and how agribusiness kills farming communities, I guess I never really tripped off my support of it all. Now that I'm a mama I've found that my social-justice senses have heightened and I feel that it's time to really support this kind of movement.

As a teenager and young twenty-something I was active in protests against apartheid and rallies for divestiture in South Africa. I like to think that I played a teeny tiny role in helping to bring down apartheid. Maybe, if enough folx support fair trade, we can send a message to the giant agribusinesses and they will begin to pay attention to human rights in the countries they are exploiting. The things that us spoiled, lazy Americans want, like gas for cars and coffee and chocolate and other products that we import, are going up in price no matter what we do. Why not pay a little more to ensure that the quality of life for a Costa Rican or Kenyan farming community start to improve? Huh? Why not?

I'm not savvy about business, trade, economy, and so on. I don't understand all of what the whole free trade thing entails. But, instinctually, I know that big countries like the US screw other smaller, poorer countries, all the time. I know that I agree with much of what the protesters in Quebec City are saying. I know that US corporations consistently violate human rights in other countries to make money on importing goods to the States. I intend to educate myself as well as I can on this and see what else I can do, in my own little poor private citizen way, to help to possibly make a change in the way we do business with the rest of the world.

That's my sleepy, confused, semi-literate political ramble for tonite. Off to dreamland I go, now that Jayden's changed the pitch of his snoring and it's more peaceful 'round here...

If I ever had, like, money to pay bills and go to college, I'd take lots of anthropology & archaeology classes. I dig reading about shit like this so fucking much. This is just fascinating to me.

My baby is snoring. Like a grown ass man. It's kind of funny, but I think he inherited my mom's snoring gene. Of course, I realize that there prolly isn't a snoring gene, but he sounds like her. She's the loudest snorer I know.

I take that back, because I remembered something. When I was pregnant with my daughter, I was with mybabydaddy at his brother's house. It got hella late, and we spent the night. We were sleeping in his brother's spare room. And I heard his brother snoring through the wall. Yeah, through the wall. He's married, and they have kids now, and I wonder if anyone gets any sleep in that house (besides him). He was that loud. Sounded like he was in the room with us. I asked G if he always was like that and he said yeah, even as a kid he snored hella loud.

I hope Jayden doesn't end up being a loud ass snorer like my mom or G's brother. I'd have to wear earplugs at night for the next 15 or so years.

Rain, rain, go away
I wish that I could smoke today
But I'm broke
And that's no joke
And I ain't got a babysitter anyway

As if I didn't have enought guilt...this Salon article comes very close to how I feel about the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development's latest Early Child Care Study.

If the care of anyone but mom really hurts kids, why don't researchers propose reform? And if it doesn't, why don't they shut up?

Guess there's a good reason our government spends $$ on prisons while schools are falling down. We've got to have somewhere to put these rotten daycare kids when they grow up...

I need a job.

My unemployment insurance ran out. For seven months I've been out of work, on food stamps, being really picky because even though I've been poor & broke, I've been spending some priceless time with Jayden. And I refuse to work at night anymore; it's unfair to a 3 year old with one parent. But computer operator jobs, the kind I'm qualified to do, are done at night. The few that are day shift don't have much turnover - no one wants to leave those jobs.

So the reality I'm faced with is taking a pay cut of $10k a year.

I can be poor. Recently my mantra has been I can be a good mama with no money, but I can't be a good mama with no time. And swing or graveyard gives me no time to be there for my kid.

So I can be poor. But, dammit, it's harder to be lower-mid-income than it is to be poor! There are no services or subsidized ANYTHING that I'd be eligible for, but the lower-mid-income won't pay for everything, especially since the minute I go back to work there's an extra expense of $500 or more for childcare.

If I wasn't such a wimp, I'd beat my head against the wall...

Questions Without Answers

Who do you think you are?
Where do you think you'll go?
How do you think you'll get there?
Do you even know?

What kinds of things do you dream of
When you have time to dream?
Will you ever be able to find out
Just what they could mean?

Are you afraid of learning
Exactly who you are?
Are you too scared to stand up
And reach for that distant star?

And what if you never make it?
Would you give up in despair?
Would you bemoan your existence
Crying that life isn't fair?

Or would you just take it lightly
Shrugging it off with a smile,
Laughing as if it were nothing
But crying inside all the while?

Will you keep trying and trying
'Til finally the deed is done?
Will the defeats make you stronger?
And will you, then, have won?

Who do you think you are?
Are you someone you know very well?
Are you comfortable with your existence?
Or can you even tell?

I'm always one to bite good slam lists or memes or whatever you'd like to call 'em. This one I saw on Cecily's and George's blogs. Did it a week or so back, but Mommy's been in the hospital and I've had a lot of stuff to deal with. Mommy's getting better now and I'm able to exhale and think about non-essential stuff for a few minutes here and there.

I see. . .a really old computer, a tube of Softlips, my closet doors, the vacuum, an overflowing dirty clothes hamper, Brandy sleeping on the foot of my bed, a Monet calender, a framed photo of Jayden at 10 months.
I need. . .a job, surgery to fix an incisional hernia, a shrink, a maid.
I find. . . Hot Wheels cars everywhere!
I want. . . a man, an income, someone to come over & play Scrabble.
I have. . .the most wonderful, beautiful, inquisitive, happy, amazing little boy.
I love. . . Jayden, Mommy, Daddy, Danny, Mala, Brandy, my play-sisters & nieces & nephews, and my godbabies Jofonz, Kenisha, & Xavier
I miss. . . Samantha Elizabeth Tirey-Guy, every minute of every day.
I fear. . . growing old alone, bitter, and penniless.
I feel. . . lonely and unloved.
I hear . . . Bob the Builder, coming from the living room; and in my room, The World on NPR.
I smell. . . the Night Queen incense burning on my altar.
I crave. . . love, attention, company, and a big fat spliff.
I wonder. . .if I'll ever make love again.
I regret. . . flunking out of high school, not seeing college as an option, and running up idiotic debts so that I now have to live in that shadowy persona-non-grata kind of world where phones get cut off and banks won't let you open accounts.

When was the last time you. . .
Smiled? About ten minutes ago, when Jayden said "I yuv Mommy".
Laughed? This afternoon, reading an email from a friend in Arizona.
Cried? Last night. Every night.
Bought something? Today I bought a mocha at the Jahva House & incense at Africa By The Bay.
Danced? Jayden and I dance every day; the last time I danced in public was August 6, 2000, at my brother's wedding.
Were sarcastic? The last time I talked to a really dense, irritating person that I won't name because I'm too kind. I think it was about a month ago. It was lost on him.
Kissed someone? The last time I kissed someone who was not my son or my mom or my dad or my new baby niece was in June 1997.
Talked to an ex? Yesterday - I still stay in touch with Kayla's daddy.
Watched your favorite movie? Two years ago - The Wiz. I really need to buy it.
Had a nightmare? About a month ago. But nothing is worse than pregnancy nightmares. Glad I don't have those anymore.

Do You. . .
Smoke? Not since June 21, 1997.
Do drugs? No, but I'd hit a joint passed my way.
Have sex? No, and I really wish I could.
Sleep with stuffed animals? Just a real one...Brandy sleeps at the foot of my bed.
Live in the moment? No, but my son does, and that helps to ground me.
Have a boyfriend/girlfriend? No, but I'm taking applications...
Have a dream that keeps coming back? Not a dream, really, but since childhood I've dreamed of a place I've never been, a city, in great detail. The dreams are different but the locale is always the same. Sometimes it's in a downtown, sometimes at the seashore, different neighborhoods and everything; but I'm always aware that this is all in the same city. I just don't know if this is a place that actually exists.
Play an instrument? I played clarinet very well, for years; I don't have one anymore. In my youth I learned to play piano, recorder, and harmonica, and I can't wait to see which instrument Jayden will want to learn (right now he wants to play them all).
Believe there is life on other planets? Outside our solar system, sure, why not?
Remember your first love? Yes.
Still love him/her? HELL Naw!
Read the newspaper? No, but I will again, once Jayden starts to read.
Have any gay or lesbian friends? Yes, always have. Raising a very LGBT-friendly child.
Believe in miracles? Yes. My son is a miracle.
Believe it's possible to remain faithful forever? I believe I can remain faithful forever. Based on my experience and the experiences of every woman I know, I doubt a man could.
Consider yourself tolerant of others? In many cases, yes. In many others, no.
Consider love a mistake? Not usually.
Like the taste of alcohol? No, which is why I mask it with Coca Cola or Ginger Ale or Grenadine or pineapple juice or ...
Have a favorite candy? Gummy grapefruit slices.
Believe in Astrology? With a grain or two of salt, yeah I do.
Believe in magic? I believe many things are magical.
Believe in G-d? Yes, although I have issues with the Judeo-Christian representation.
Pray? In my fashion.
Go to church? I have taken Jayden to the local Unitarian Universalist church, but I have no history of church- or temple-going. I plan on attending church with a friend, a non-Christian congregation that sounds appealing. I'll blog about my experience, I'm sure.
Have any secrets? Many.
Have any pets? Yes.
Talk to strangers who instant message you? I would, if any did. Try me on AIM at "morfetona".
Wear hats? Sometimes. Mostly they make my head too hot.
Have any piercings? Three in each ear.
Have any tattoos? No, I'm far too capricious to put a permanent picture on my body. Besides, I don't consider my body worth looking at anymore.
Hate yourself? Most of the time, yes.
Have an obsession? Food. And a frightening fear that my house is on fire.
Collect anything? Dalmatians, since I was 4. Masks from all cultures, fine art prints, books.
Have a best friend? My best friend died June 30, 1999. I suppose you could call my play sister Debb my best friend, although we're much more like siblings than friends.
Wish on stars? All the time. It's just like praying.
Like your handwriting? It's one of the few things I'm vain about these days.
Have any bad habits? Many.
Care about looks? Yeah. I hate mine, and mostly envy everyone else's. Really hate the way skinny, hungry looking people are revered. Happy to see beautiful large people in the real world.
Believe in witches? Not in the fairy tale, Hollywood ones.
Believe in Satan? Nope. Humans can be evil, and evil is a force in our universe, I believe; but I don't believe in some evil being trying to undermine God's plans for humanity and blah blah blah.
Believe in ghosts? I believe that some people leave energy, or a spirit, when they die. I'd like to think that Samantha is watching out for the kids she left behind.
Believe in Santa? Nah. But I did try to hold on to that belief even after I knew better.
Believe in the Easter Bunny? Never did. I don't celebrate Easter as a Christian holiday, and it wasn't a big deal at our house growing up, aside from the prerequisite egg hunt.
Believe in the Tooth Fairy? She was very, very real to me until I was about 7.
Have a second family? Yes, my dear friends who are a family to me. I didn't meet any of my extended family until I was an adult.
Trust others easily? No. But I do seem to have an unrealistic assumption that most people I encounter are good, kind, manners-having folx. I'm usually quite disappointed when most people turn out to be the opposite.
Like noise? I like many noises. As the mother of a toddler, I have a talent for tuning irritating noises out.
Take walks in the rain? Me & my baby both. The world is different, magical, during & after a shower. Don't believe me? Check out a spiderweb in a juniper bush just after a rain.
Kiss with your eyes closed? I don't remember how I kiss.
Sing in the shower? All the time. In the shower I am a diva, worthy of the most intricate Puccini arias...
Own handcuffs? Yes, with faux leopard fur padding.
Have any scars? A few, including a very long c-section scar, and a line in my scalp where no hair grows, from smashing into a corner when I was five. Plus assorted emotional scarring...

NOTE: If you're thin, fit, or average sized, you probably won't relate to the following rant. And if you're a fattist, fuck you.

Who the hell decided to sell stretch clothes to fat people? You know, those stretchy fabric tops & dresses that were all the rage last year. I don't know what's in the stores now, since I haven't shopped for clothes since August. But I wouldn't be surprised if the stretchy shit is still in the fat-lady stores. Along with slinky dresses, short cut (not cropped, but damn near) tops, boot cut and capri pants, and all that you-can-look-like-a-teenager-too shit.

When I was looking for an outfit to wear to my brother's wedding last year, I couldn't find a damn thing in my (very, very large) size that didn't stretch, cling, or fall far short of my various fat-roll areas. It pissed me off, made me very depressed, and I ended up buying one of those damn stretchy tops instead of an outfit suitable for a wedding.

Now don't get me wrong, I am completely aware that there are thousands upon thousands of fat folx with fit, sexy bodies. Hell, I was one for years and years. Up until size 22, I was FOINE. All the curves the men like, to paraphrase Carl Carlton. I worked the little miniskirts, tight jeans, and hootchie dresses. I had big, sexy legs that didn't quit, that got me at least one phone number a day.

But for the last four years, I've been fat and deformed (a deformity separate from the fat, but that is exagerrated by it), and haven't seen the inside of a gym since the day I learned I was pregnant with Jayden (no emails about pregnancy workouts, please, I had a scary high-risk pregnancy and was forbidden to excercise beyond mild stretching). I don't have the kind of body that should be shown off, but one that should be covered up. Yet when I went into the fat-lady stores I could not find ONE TOP that was long enough to cover up my abdominal deformity, or that didn't cling to the rolls of fat in various places on my torso. None of the dresses were full and flowing in the trunk & tummy area. They were all either clingy or straight sheaths that gave me no room to move and looked horrible on me.

For the wedding, I ended up buying a top at a thrift store that sort of fit, and a skirt I wear all the damn time. I was not happy. It was the only wedding my parents will be able to attend - since ain't nobody trying to get with me. I was in the portraits, and hated the way I looked. I suspect my sister-in-law didn't think too much of me being in the pix, I love her to death & don't blame her at all, if that's the case. I wouldn't want me fucking up some expensive keepsake photos either.

So I wonder if The Avenue & Lane Bryant & those other stores are still selling all that sexy clingy stretchy stuff. They probably are. I hope at least they've got some coverup clothes in the biggest sizes. I mean once you're a size 26 on up, chances are you ain't lookin like Emme anymore.

And I won't say a thing about all the big size 26 & 28 & 30 chicks I've seen actually wearing that shit. 'Cause they're out there, and it ain't cute.

Aspirations ambitions
falling to the wayside
picked up by no one
faith restored by nothing.

futility looms
failure threatens
giving up won't work.
but still...

if you can't depend on yourself
then there's no one else
and if no one's around at all
you're really alone.

how do you pull yourself
up out of the depths?
I mean from a really deep place.

can you do it alone,
is what I want to know.

can you do it even if
there's no one around?
even if not one person
calls
or comes by
to see that you're okay?

or, since no one can be bothered,
do you just accept
that shit is really bad
and feel sorry for yourself?

what do you do
when you hate who you are
and how you are
and no one is telling you
that you shouldn't?
that you're worth giving a fuck about?