Onion ring and a small Pepsi

The people close to me tease me about my obsession with the grocery store. I’ll go in and spend two times the amount I planned to. Bread, chicken, ground beef, do NOT forget the noodles. I like to eat. I like to cook. And until I just realized we are down to our bare necessities did I understand why.

There was once a time in my young life we had nothing in the house but onions, corn meal and Pepsi. What a combination. Until that point in my life, maybe 11 or so,  I wouldnt touch an onion ring. But when there was nothing but those ingredients….ha. I grew to love them.

I still don’t even know how I knew how to make them, but I remember being in that kitchen, slicing onions, battering and frying them, then eating them slathered in ketchup. And gazing at moms Pepsi. Frosted flakes and Pepsi…Off. Damn. Limits.

Those days are long gone and didn’t last as long as they felt,  but every now and then that despair I felt back then hits me. When I go to plan our meal and realize we don’t have shit. No rice? What? We are out of what? Off to the grocer I go.

  I realized just now, my obsession with full cabinets and freezers is because I don’t want my kids to ever feel that they have to eat something they hate. While not a bad thing, I cook most days in the week. We collectively JUST became privy to the “leftover struggle”. When I spend.my last, it’s making sure everyone has at least ONE thing they like to eat. My trauma is spoiling my children’s culinary choices by GIVING them choices.

But….they can’t have my Pepsi though. Traditions are those for a reason.


Too much Iyanla, not enough ratchet TV

One of my dearest friends always tells me, “Kia, you are such a sweet person. You are too nice to people. Even people who have wronged you.” ( If you’re reading this, I paraphrased..sue me) I agree, I am a sweet person, at least I’d like to think so with regards to being supportive and things of that nature. If I can, I do. If I can’t, I still try. I believe heavily in karma, having reaped her wrath several times in life. So I try live by the Golden Rule of old and treat people how I’d like to be treated.

Let me tell you how many times THAT has left egg on my face and a bad taste for humans in my mouth.

Nonetheless, I still try to hold love for people in my heart. Those who have hurt me, those who have betrayed me and even strangers I’ve met on this crazy thing called cyber space. While people may not THINK I know it, even the people who have wished ill upon me I STILL LOVE AND CARE FOR. Why? Because it will hurt me more to hate you than it does to love you. Looking back, in many instances it has hurt me more to love people who didn’t hold the same love and respect for me as I did them. I am fine with that because out of that came a good thing; I learned that everyone won’t love me the way I love them and that I will survive that too.

As of late, I have been trying to delve into my spirituality to calm the storm going on in my head and personal relationships. The wounds of wrong doings past have begun to show themselves again and it’s frightening. Just when you think the stitches  healed the wound, you realize the scar is probably forever. So you start investing in “cover ups” to help your self-esteem about this scar that you are sure everyone sees. The scar probably will never go away. And if it fades, it will always be there because you know it’s there. Others may not see it, but you lived with it for its duration and you will never forget it exists. And people will probably think you’re crazy because they have forgotten about the damn thing.

I kind of went left there, as I’m known to do. What I’m saying is, when people hurt you and you continue to love them , you will ALWAYS be concerned with their lives, the lives of those close to them etc. There are people who remain in my life who have hurt me to the point of me seeking vengeance, but realizing it is really hurting no one but myself. Many will call it stooping to anothers level, and in a sense that is what it is. I don’t desire to find humor in the hardships of others as they may have for me. I don’t desire to seek retribution for a broken heart. I don’t want to wish harm, hurt or anything on ANYONE who has run afoul of me but have never been able to grasp why anyone would want to wish it on ME??? And that is where my conflict  begins. And subsequently ends. Kia is not for everybody. The end.

I have had tangible items stolen from me and things not so tangible. I have been hurt physically, emotionally and mentally by people who claimed to have loved me. I have been betrayed and mislead by people who vowed to never do those things. Does that mean I should do it in return, especially following the Golden Rule? Because if that is how they treat ME, aren’t hey asking ME to return the favor? Nah…they are asking for Karma to roll her fat ass around to their crib and pay a visit. I hated when she came to visit me, she always overstayed her welcome like shit. When she left, I was always broken, defeated and hungry.

As much as I dislike that broad ( Karma) for what she has done to me, or really what I have done to myself, I can’t find humor in her taking camp with someone else how someone would if it were me. Try as I might, that “sweet person” in me always feels a twinge of guilt/remorse/sadness. I care too much about people, even if they don’t care for me. On the surface, it’s one way, but deep down, it hurts me.

I’ve been watching a lot of inspirational videos and most are about forgiveness. What a word. What a feeling. I’m learning that that is REALLY what I have been trying and failing at for so long. The biggest part of  this dilemma I’m having. I’ve moved on from all of these situations and forgiven others for wronging me, but not forgiving myself for allowing it to continue. The epic “fool me once..” line. The sooner I learn to forgive myself for being foolish; forgive myself for forgiving others; forgive myself for being so damn “sweet”…the better off I may actually be.

Fax and eggsamples

If there is one thing you can’t ignore, it’s facts and examples. You can, but that would make you a fool. By definition, a fact is : 1 : a thing done: as a obsolete : FEAT b : CRIME c archaic : ACTION 2 archaic : PERFORMANCE, DOING 3 : the quality of being actual : ACTUALITY 4 a : something that has actual existence b : an actual occurrence 5 : a piece of information presented as having objective reality — in fact : in truth

Wow. And an example is: 1 : one that serves as a pattern to be imitated or not to be imitated 2 : a punishment inflicted on someone as a warning to others; also : an individual so punished 3 : one (as an item or incident) that is representative of all of a group or type 4 : a parallel or closely similar case especially when serving as a precedent or model 5 : an instance (as a problem to be solved) serving to illustrate a rule or precept or to act as an exercise in the application of a rule synonyms see INSTANCE, MODEL — for example \fər-ig-ˈzam-pəl, frig-\ : as an example

Can you differentiate? Do you live your life as a fact or an example?


Lifes Greatest Treasures

I never had the privilege of meeting my maternal grandparents. My mom’s mom died when my mom was young and her father before I was born. The man whom I grew up calling “paw-paw” was not biologically my paternal grandfather, but was awesome all the same. My father’s mother is still around, but we’ve never had “that” kind of relationship.

Paw-paw and I did though. Sensei Moody was the most awesome white man I’ve ever met. Seriously. Being a shy little kid who wanted to do nothing more than read and be alone, having a grandfather who taught KARATE was the best thing to ever happen to me. Not only did he practice and teach martial arts, he taught US LIFE. I can’t lie and say I remember every lesson he taught me. Most of them I hear second-hand from my uncles and aunt and then I remember. The one I remember most first hand is LOVE.

I mentioned before, he was not my fathers bio-dad. Have no clue who that man is and seemingly never will. But he loved my father and his children like his very own. Up until the point where he began to forget who I was, but that’s not the point. (smile) Aside from my dad, he was the only other example of a man; a father; a caregiver in my life for a while until my uncles became more involved. Right now I am overwhelmed with gratitude to have had MEN in my life.



Paw-paw left this earth in an accident that still breaks my heart 7 years ago. I think back on all of the times I missed out on spending with this wise man too busy living my life. It took for me to see his impact on the lives of others;some family, some strangers, to fully grasp how much this man who didn’t have to love me really meant to me. I remember “the call” like it was yesterday. The sorrow in my dad’s voice that he had to deliver the news to me that the man who helped shape him into the man he was had went to meet his maker. The way I collapsed on the floor and howled like a banshee. Grandpa who had always been  “old” to me, was now gone at 81 years old.  Time waits for no one.


Overcome your fear of death and you bring about the death

of your fear, at which time you come to life.



Which brings me to my reason behind my journey down memory lane. Soon after my grandfather passed, I was introduced to another wise old man, who was introduced to me as “Grandad”. He is my fiancee’s (hate that word) grandfather. So much like my Paw-Paw in so many ways; tall enough to be intimidating, fair-skinned, wise far beyond his years with a , lets call it, charming way with words. He was just what I needed after losing the patriarch to my own family. Watching the love and respect his children and grandchildren had for him warmed my heart. I remember telling him how I had lost my grandfather recently and it was a pleasure meeting him. He smiled. I was in there like swim-wear.


He is ill now. As I recall all of the stories I’ve heard from him over the years and those from my guy and the rest of their family, I know when he goes to Glory, there will be a void in the lives of so many, just like the one that was left when my grandfather left us. Long ago are the days of men like these two. Family champions, role models for the young men in  the family and heroes for the young ladies. That saddens me.

While my children don’t have the relationship with my father that I would like, I am thankful for my step-father filling in and doing an awesome job, just like Paw-Paw did for my siblings and I. I am thankful my children know our parents and have memories to enjoy like their father and I have of our own grandparents. Now that the distance is what keeps my children from their grandparents I only hope and pray that they get to experience summers with grandma and grandpa like their father did. Memories of that caliber are most definitely life’s greatest treasure and often we don’t realize the value until it’s too late.



Life changers

Ten years ago from this date, October 1, 2002, I was 20 years old. A young mother, already parenting one child and expecting yet another. A high school graduate who had only 1 month earlier at 8 months pregnant, signed up for accounting classes. On this day, I gave birth to another life changer; my youngest son, Davion.

October 1, 2012, I realize how ill prepared I was to parent two young boys at such a young age. I was mentally unstable, for lack of better terms, unsure of myself, my relationship or even what direction I wanted to go. I just knew I had 2 children, one of whom was fresh to the world who made me look at every aspect of the world in a completely new light. And on this day, I am GRATEFUL, more than any other feeling to have raised my sons, and subsequently my daughter, with a little bit of sense. Sometimes I question it, but then they show and prove like the AWESOME children they are.

Davion was born at the height of my ignorance, and I can admit that.

I know you may be shocked to hear such, but hear me out. I was not a horrible mother, but I honestly had just left my teens 30 days prior to his arrival. I still had teen attributes and definitely had teen views on the world. Yet, my son, now 10 years old, is VERY bright. If he applied himself more and not taken on those qualities of his father and myself, he would’ve made those few points required to be considered Gifted and Talented at his former elementary.

My son at 10 years old has a heart and compassion for people that I PRAY he carries into adulthood and teaches to others. My son at 10 years old is one of the greatest gifts I could ever receive.

Of course, children will give their parents grief. He’s no angel. His temper is one to be reckoned with and his attitude isn’t much better. But given his circumstances, the alleged “chips stacked against him” being born to young parents who hadn’t yet figure out THEMSELVES, he turned out great.

Now that his parents have entered their respective 3rd decades on the planet , and have tucked away their lifes lessons in to their belt and purse, I can only seeing this wonderful child magnifying in greatness. We’ve come so far in 10 years.


I love you son, Happy 1st decade.


I remember 4/12/00, 10/1/02 and 5/11/07 down to the moment. The moments I locked eyes and introduced myself to 3 separate people. And this says a lot, because I don’t remember much, let alone meeting anyone. And making eye contact is equally as rare.

These 3 dates I met my children.

And when we made eye contact, moments after leaving the most sacred place in my body, I made them a promise. It started non verbal, but as they began to understand some speech, I reaffirmed the mantras ” I will always be here” and “I love you so much” as often as I could.

They are now 12, we will call him 10 since its less than 2 weeks away, and 5 yrs old. And I’ll body them all. Then bandage them and give them brownies. Being a parent is so much more than I expected the first time in 2000. I’ve improvised and attempted to perfect my method for 12 whole years on 3 different kids. Wow.

They are individuals now. Well, I guess they always have been. Each pregnancy was different than the others. The characters who danced in my belly for the human incubation period are the same characters that run through my house like their mother didn’t raise them right. Watching them go from the babies I snuggled and cradled, that I cried over every night checking to make sure they were breathing, into these young people is scary.

Will I have taught them enough to survive in this world? Will they be receptive to my lessons? Will they respect me as a parent? So many fears go through my head as by nature I worry about any and everything.

At this point, all I can do is have faith and reminisce on the love we had……


It’s a wrap…..


I want to go home. I plan to go home. I don’t know when or how , but I can’t do it here.


All of my kids hate it here. I hate it. I still feel like a single parent because the reason I came is always at work or sleep.


I can’t do it. I’m going to lose my mind here in Fuckville, KY. I gave if a go, but I don’t have the support I’m used to and when you relocate, that is vital.


I’m formulating my plan as of right now. Yeah, yeah…there was a wedding happening but 1) it was in MN anyway and B) Fuck that. I want to go HOME.

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