My mind literally runs all day. 

Not your normal daily thoughts, but incessant intrusive thoughts that can derail any progress I planned on making for the day. It's like I constantly have to be stimulated, so I'll jump online and then there is an endless rabbit hole of thoughts and questions, and I'll google every single one, and next thing you know...it's time to go bed.

There's a name for this: Attention Deficit Disorder.

I've known that I had this problem since at least high school, but with the stigma surrounding it and the over-diagnosis of people, I decided "I don't need medication for this." Plus, like many people with ADD, I AM able to focus in intense short bursts. My job is perfect, it's deadline driven and there is some type of euphoric feeling I get when I finish last minute.

However, a few months ago, I realized that I truly had a hard time focusing, it was to the point of frustration, and at times felt debilitating, seriously. I started a medication that really helped change my life, and that's when the idea of starting a blog really took shape. I could center myself and quiet my thoughts, and then words would flow...

Right after launching this blog, the hurricane happened, and I was working on a project for a friend. Life got really busy, I was really tired, and writing a post seemed overwhelming. I'd also stopped taking my medication. Motivation dipped down to ZERO.

I'm back to trying to find that quiet place, and will start back with my pills because that helps me to be a better "self." I didn't start this post with any intent at all to share this part of my journey, but I'm a semi-open book. Thought I'd let you know why things have slowed down so quickly. I plan on getting back on the grind, and can hopefully share my endless loop of thoughts at least a couple times a week. Thanks for joining me...

Any parent will tell you that every child is different. 

My 7-year-old Samara came into this world, a force to be reckoned with. She is extremely smart, mature, kind, giving, she loves extremely hard. She did EVERYTHING fast. She had started using sign language by 5 months, repeating words and started walking at 8 months, was completely talking by 1. Reading simple words at 3 years-old. Samara is my star, a perfect firstborn. She is also shy, not one to draw attention to herself and holds her talents close. Samara is the complete opposite of Abram.

Abram, my 3-year-old, came into this world, cool and in his own timing.  While he is also extremely smart, he may not outright show it. The boy didn't walk, or shall I say REFUSED to walk until he was 15-months, had me worried at 2-years-old when he still wasn't saying words, and JUST decided that he was willing to start pooping in the toilet. I kid you not. He is also funny, really funny. He KNOWS he's cool, and likes to show it off.  His being a little more difficult has given me a treasure chest of stories that I share on social media, and now I'm going to share them on this blog, call them moments of comedic relief. I'll share stories about Sam too, because that's baby number one! But, admittedly, Abram gives me a little more material to work with, lol

So this happened today:
Was dancing around with the kids...
Abram: "Mommy, I need to go get my pants."
Me: "Why? What's wrong?"
Abram: "My pee-pee is jiggling too much."

​Boys. So much talk around those parts. Things that I don't even think about. #AbramChronicles
​

It's Sunday and I'm sitting at home. I might stream a church service, and blast a couple gospel songs, but Bedside Baptist is my ministry today. A few years ago, a new job, a complicated city, and sheer exhaustion kind of disconnected me from the church. I was also fed up with western Christianity and, and couldn't find what my soul needed at the time. But, that's a different, longer story for another day...

Recently however, I've been starting to realize some of the things I'm missing out on by being passively involved in church.  This comes from someone who grew up in the church, my parents are ministers, and honestly a lot of our livelihood revolved around what was happening there. I have gone to service enough for everybody, and genuinely enjoyed it. However, I still somehow  kind of slid out of the Sunday rotation, attending church mostly to give the kids a foundation, and because I still felt it was needed, even if I wasn't always getting much. My Sunday's have consisted of going to church, sitting in a pew, and immediately walking out. I can't tell you one member's name at any church I've attended in 3 years. Honestly, unless they saw me on TV, no one probably even knows who I am, or that I even go there.

You cannot rush it.

Growth
Healing
Pain

You cannot rush it.

It's a process, a pruning, refining. You cannot wish or hope it away, pray it away, or skip past a part. You cannot rush it.

Life has a way of catching up with you and making you face demons of the past. I admit, I was one who thought that I could just push forward. It was with sincere heart.

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I am not a cook.

Save me the domestic talk about women in the kitchen. It is 2016. I work 45+ hour weeks, while tending to children, and saving the world. Not to mention, men aren't quite handling business like the '60s anymore either. But, I digress...

As much as my mother and grandmother tried persuading me to help out, learn those coveted mac n' cheese, sweet potato, and caramel cake recipes...burnin' in the kitchen wasn't quite my forte. Why cook when someone else can do it for me? Hello, restaurants? Grocery shopping and meal planning have always been completely overwhelming. Plus, I married a natural born kitchen slayer, my husband went to culinary school.

Eventually though, children will make you feel like a failure, and eating out gets expensive. Not to mention, my 7-year-old is all of a sudden hungry 24/7. In stepped meal delivery service Hello Fresh.

Ain't I a Woman?
Heart
Laid bare at your feet
It already knows your footprint

Broken

Ain't  I a Woman?
Hips
Giving pure life
And opening up to your demons

Consumed

Craving dysfunction, paralyzed by pain
Rather be walked on, than walk away

Woman

I am going to point out the elephant in the room that no one wants to admit.
In our disgust, and for many pure concern over the events happening in our cities all across the country, we turn away, angry and frustrated.

All over, I read statuses saying, "violence isn't the answer, it's not going to solve anything." There are cries that "this isn't our city" and "why would you tear up your own community?" 

Trust me, I understand that frustration. No one wants to see the blocks that they love and care for in flames. Corner stores that families have put their heart and soul into building up are looted, shattered windows. It can literally stop your heart as you see protestors scream, as they pour milk on their faces trying to wipe away the stinging pain of tear gas, and pepper spray. Officers who may have good hearts, and sympathy for what is going on, are forced to strap up in intimidating gear facing off with people who may very well be their neighbors.

This isn't our America. Or does history tell a different story?

I imagine if my baby boy could write, he'd scribble little love notes to mommy, so I can read them at work. It might say, "I miss you" or something like that.

Children have the cutest ways of showing love, and maybe they can't always verbalize their feelings, but they know how to hit you right in the heart.

For the past few days I've noticed a "gift" in my work bag. Abram loves his "little guys" as he calls them, a collection of tiny superheroes and other figures. He plays with them every single day, won't leave the house without them. But, lately he's been taking one of his newest little guys and slipping it in my bag before he goes to sleep.

I'm not with my babies in the morning. I finally convinced my job to give me a different schedule, nights were grueling for my family, I wouldn't really see my kids until the weekend.

​But maybe my little man misses his morning wake up's, he'd slide next to my bed and say "Mommy, it's morning time. It's light outside." In my fog, I'd usually tell him to lay next to me for a minute...just a few more minutes.

My baby boy can't write love notes yet, but I imagine his little guy is one more simple way he could express his love to me. My heart is full, not because everything is right or perfect, but because I have pure love living right outside of me.

​

"Promise me you'll never stop writing."

My godmother was just days away from her last breath.  Pancreatic cancer had hit her once, she beat it. The second time wouldn't prove as promising. I was young and strangely experienced with death, I knew what those final days looked like, the slow decline, labored breathing. Pain. I tried preparing myself. Death sneaks up on you, even when you know it's near.

She held my hand, or maybe I held hers. She was weak and frail.

I promised her.

The years following her death would be a whirlwind. I learned that I had a way with words, gifted even. I chose a career that would highlight that. I took pride in crafting stories that sparked emotion.  I had a knack for channeling the voiceless.

Still, her voice haunted me, "Never stop writing."

"I am," I thought. I've built a whole career around writing.  However, I knew her final plea was not about what I did for money, but what I did for soul. And then life hit.

Without going into too much detail, yet, it took some painful experiences, isolation, and an overall feeling of despair to convince me to pick up a pen again.

I didn't need convincing, rather, it was all I had left. I wrote with a fervor and desperation that honestly, kept me sane. It was in those moments, where I scribbled out years of frustration, that I began to hear God again. Where I started to understand my purpose again.

Writing connected me back to the creator. He's given me a lot to say, and admittedly sometimes I come up with some wild things to say on my own. But, now I'm channeling that gift. I'm doing what I've promised. I know this is just the beginning.

Anything you've been putting off that you know you're destined to do? Talk to me...