Brand Nu Words

News One: Witnessing Dorothy

2010-04-30T08:00:00.002-04:00

Read on News One

“Big Sister Dorothy Irene Height, 1947-1956,” I shouted in unison with my line sisters. That was how I first learned her name. As an 18-year old sophomore at Lincoln University pledging Delta in 1985, I had to recite, quickly and convincingly, the names of our founders and past national presidents. It was as if calling forth their names would call forth their spirits to embody those of us striving to be like them. For our efforts went beyond rote memorization; we had to learn and even internalize our history, as we strove to follow in the footsteps of our Big Sisters and become Deltas.

Of all of the wondrous women I learned about, Dorothy Height stood out most who – at that time and still today – was the longest serving president of our sisterhood. Maybe it was because I noticed, right away, that she was my “birthday twin” since both of us were born on March 24th. I immediately wanted to know more. I learned how she had walked with giants. I learned that she, herself, was a giant. I learned how this incredible woman had witnessed history and, in fact, become history in a way that made my imagination scream, “Hallelujah!” But what I also learned was how unfortunate it was that I could grow up writing essays about Martin, reading books about Malcolm, and not even knowing her name.

Twenty years later, when I really did grow up, I came to grips with the sad reality that few of us learn little more than four “oft-repeated” lines from the “I Have a Dream Speech” and whatever tidbits of our history we cram into special celebrations during the shortest month of the year.

These are the reasons why, in the middle of a busy work and school week, I dragged my daughter down to Shiloh Baptist Church in Washington DC to share and celebrate Dr. Height’s amazing life. I wanted to make sure that, just as Dr. Height had witnessed history, my daughter would experience the watershed moment marking the passing of this remarkable woman into the annals of a new history. We were blessed and determined, so we made it into the sanctuary – supposedly reserved for the VIPs – to witness history, in person, with our own eyes.

The first person I pointed out to my daughter was the angelic Susan Taylor, who hosted the service, as I shared the transformational impact that Essence Magazine had on us all. And then we heard from Eleanor Holmes Norton, Charles Rangel and Al Sharpton, Bill Clinton and Hillary Clinton, as well as the current National President of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Cynthia Butler-McIntyre. How could I explain to my daughter, in one night, the reverence that all of these giants had for Dorothy Height? Of course, this task was not possible. However, when my daughter heard Stevie Wonder play the harmonica – someone whose musical genius and social impact we’ve shared with her from a young age – I saw in her astonished eyes a glimmer of the respect for the import of this special moment in time.

The big names kept rolling in: Soror Alexis Herman, Vernon Jordan, Rev. Bernice King, John Lewis, Andrew Young and Jesse Jackson to name a few. But it was really the stories that made the evening special. There was the one about Dr. Height being accepted into Barnard, but being denied admission upon arrival because the college had suddenly reached their quota for Black women – two! There was another, recounted by Rev. Sharpton, about a recent meeting with President Obama that the persistent Dr. Height could not attend because of a blizzard. Apparently, her assistant had to wheel her to the edge of her building, fully dressed in her hat and suit, to actually prove no taxi could take her. Nonetheless, it didn’t stop her from badgering those who could attend by cell phone since she was reluctant to let the conversation take place without a strong woman in the room. Ultimately, she was relieved to learn that Valerie Jarrett was there.

There were more stories about big, colorful hats, about building wells in Africa, about hard work, the Harlem Renaissance, the YWCA, and the modern feminist movement. There were even ones about how Dr. Height knitted during heated civil rights meetings, and how “the boys” relented when she was forced to put down her needles and put the boys back in their places. At Charlie Rangel’s prompting, I imagined what I would have said if I’d had the chance to tell my Dr. Height story about the last time I saw her at the National Congress of Black Women’s breakfast six months ago. I sought her advice and counsel because, at that time, I was under attack by Fox News and right-wing bloggers for allegedly “indoctrinating children” through my work as a children’s book author. It was a difficult time for me, and surely this accomplished and iconic woman who had counseled world leaders could offer some poignant and comforting pearls of wisdom to inspire me and lift me through my struggles. After listening to me detail my predicament and drone on for what must have been five minutes without taking a breath, this towering figure squeezed my hand, pulled me close to her, and whispered, “Baby, I can’t hear a thing you just said… but call my assistant, Christine, and maybe we can help you!”

Perhaps the most poignant story was delivered by the legendary Cicely Tyson who described how Dr. Height loved and had faith in her. She had once asked Cicely to deliver her famous speech from her role as Ms. Jane Pittman for her… “Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair. It’s had tacks in it, splinters, Boards torn up, places with no carpets on the floors, bare!” She performed it again for us right there at Shiloh. Maybe it was because we’d recently watched Sounder, but Cicely certainly got my baby’s attention. It was an awesome moment when my daughter agreed with me on how beautiful both Cicely and her performance was.

The evening wasn’t without its challenges. In the truth-telling cries of a 10-year old girl, I frequently heard, “Why is this taking so long?” And it really wasn’t the time or place to explain to a child growing up in this must-have-it-now, attention-deficient world that some things, my dear sweet child, just take time. At one point, I even caught her Googling on my cell phone, but she was looking up photos of Dr. Height and Langston Hughes, so I pretended not to notice. Quiet as its kept, sometimes our folks can be a wee bit long-winded when given a microphone in a church full of wonderful women in hats, sharp brothers in suits, and glorious gospel music filling the air.

Even so, my daughter persevered until the fascinating yet seemingly-endless evening was over. And despite the customary impatience of childhood, I’m positive that one day I will look into her eyes and see Dr. Height’s undying spirit flying high. For, like Big Sister Dorothy, she now was an in-person witness to history. And because of Dr. Dorothy Height, she has now learned that history itself is hers for the making.

Charisse Carney-Nunes is a Washington, DC-based publisher and author of children's books. Visit her online at www.BrandNuWords.com.

News One: Is Nappy the New N-word?

2010-03-24T23:59:00.001-04:00

Read my News One blog post: Is Nappy the New N-word?

By Charisse Carney Nunes

I recently watched a television show about standards of beauty around the world. I sat in awe as little Chinese girls went ga-ga for White Barbie, and their mothers and sisters stood in a drive-thru line to have a surgeon slice away the fat from their eyelids to make them more Euro-chic. On one level, it felt good to know that African-American women are not alone in the emotional struggle to love ourselves enough to call ourselves pretty. But that feeling quickly vanished as the show then focused on Nigerian women who loathed their natural locks, opting for lye to straighten them out and a needle and thread to weave in wigs of women’s hair from places like India.

Nappy Narratives Week 4: Mary McLeod Bethune

2010-03-24T07:52:00.000-04:00

Nappy Narrative_Mary McLeod Bethune from Brand Nu Words on Vimeo.

Nappy Narratives Week 3: Ida B. Wells

2010-03-15T08:43:00.000-04:00

Nappy Narrative_Ida B. Wells from Brand Nu Words on Vimeo.

Celebrating Remarkable Women During Women’s History Month

2010-03-09T18:15:00.000-05:00

By Charisse Carney-Nunes
For News One March 9, 2010 6:00 pm

This week marks the 35th commemoration of International Women’s Day (Monday), celebrated by the United Nations. This year’s theme is “Equal Rights, Equal Opportunities, Progress for all.” As a woman, I am grateful that for one day out of 365, women are recognized for our achievements. But outside of this special day and month – March is also Women’s History Month – I find myself humming Sojourner Truth’s tune, asking Ain’t I A Woman and questioning where I fit in popular culture, and even in my own community.

Read more.

Nappy Narratives for Women's History Month: Week 2 - Rosa Parks

2010-03-08T08:00:00.002-05:00

Nappy Narrative_Rosa Parks from Brand Nu Words on Vimeo.

Nappy Narratives for Women's History Month: Week 1 - Sojourner Truth

2010-03-01T08:05:00.000-05:00

2009-10-13T19:28:00.000-04:00

School kids singing Obama song are inspired, not indoctrinated
By Charisse Carney-Nunes
9:00 AM on 10/13/2009

Charisse Carney-Nunes is Senior Vice President of The Jamestown Project and author of the children's book, I Am Barack Obama. She was the invited guest at the Burlington, NJ school where the kids sang for her a song about President Obama. A popular YouTube video showing the schoolchildren singing is currently at the center of the national controversy on alleged "school indoctrination."

Much political hay has been made over the video of the New Jersey school children singing about President Obama and I have since found myself at the center of this firestorm. Conservative commentators and media outlets have labeled this "indoctrination by schools," fueling their listeners recently to conduct a politicized protest in front of an elementary school while in session. Contrary to this position, I believe the song - which was initiated by the school's children, not by me - represents a refreshing example of civic expression, creativity and engagement that is sorely needed in our nation's schools.

Civic education is the teaching of knowledge, skills, values, and character needed to grow into a responsible and active participation in American democracy. It is an effort to instill the values of civility, understanding and respect. Through the civic education of elementary-aged children, I have found that they not only begin to understand their place in the world, but also begin to comprehend their power and potential to make a difference in their own lives, their family, their communities, and their country.

Read entire article...

In Today's Viral World, Who Keeps a Civil Tongue?

2009-10-11T20:06:00.000-04:00

By Ann GerhartWashington Post Staff Writer Sunday, October 11, 2009

Late last month, Charisse Carney-Nunes fired up the computer at her home in Northeast Washington to check her e-mail. Her brain already was on morning drive time: breakfast for the kids, her day's work at a government agency. She glanced down at her screen, then froze.

Read full article with picture here.

Charisse appears on Inside Edition

2009-10-04T03:24:00.002-04:00

On Friday, October 2, 2009, I appeared on Inside Edition to set the record straight and to discuss the so-called school indoctrination issue.

C-P Editorial: Burlco school video isn't indoctrination

2009-09-29T03:17:00.001-04:00

This is an Op-Ed by the Courier Post Online
Published on 9/29/2009

Those who are trying to make a months-old school project into something sinister need to get over it.

It's clear a faction of Americans are dead-set against ever accepting Barack Obama as president of the United States.

But do these people really need to take a simple song or two -- sung barely a month after Obama's inauguration and sung, logically enough, during Black History Month -- and try to cast the project as some kind of organized attack against the nation?

Really?

Read the entire article here:
http://www.courierpostonline.com/article/20090929/OPINION/909290305/-1/newsfront2/C-P-Editorial--Burlco-school-video-isn-t-indoctrination

Right-Wing Slinging About Obama Hits Author

2009-09-29T03:08:00.001-04:00

By Felicia Pride
Published in The Root, 9/29/2009

Charisse Carney-Nunes writes children's books. Her books, which are published through her company Brand Nu Words, include titles like "Nappy" and "I Dream for You a World: A Covenant for our Children," and are designed to empower kids.

Committed to justice and equality, Nunes, whose books I've covered before, is one of the last people you'd expect to be in the middle of a sloppy smear campaign by right-wingers Michelle Malkin and friends. OK, I take that back. She is exactly the type of person who the Malkins of the world prey on.

Click here to read full article:
http://www.theroot.com/blogs/right-wing/right-wing-slinging-about-obama-hits-author

President Obama Needs to Continue to be a "Ray of Sunshine Symbol of Hope"

2009-09-12T03:03:00.001-04:00

Published in The Los Angeles Sentinel, 9/10/2009
http://www.lasentinel.net/President-Obama-Needs-to-Continue-to-be-a-Ray-of-Sunshine-Symbol-of-Hope.html

There is a lot of noise in the media today about whether it is appropriate for President Obama to address our nation's children. Not only is it appropriate, it is necessary.

I have known for many years how inspiring President Obama is. I knew him as a student at Harvard Law School in the early nineties where he was a high achiever and a gifted orator.

When he burst onto the world stage at the 2004 Democratic National Convention, his awesome speech was no surprise to those who'd known him at Harvard. Three years later, I learned of his Presidential bid and, though surprised by the timing, I immediately signed on because I knew that this man would inspire the nation. I felt like the rest of the world would now become privy to a secret that those familiar with him had been aware of for years.

However, what I didn't account for was the extraordinary impact that Barack Obama would have on children. As a children's author, I frequently traveled to schools nationwide promoting my work and talking to kids about child civic engagement. In late 2007, I began to notice that the promise and the example of Barack Obama was infectious among our youngest citizens. And by no means was this sentiment limited to children of color or to children of partisan parents. For children in general were interested in democracy -- interested in what they could do to make their homes, schools and communities a better place.

In the urban districts the fever was undeniable. I heard stories of little African-American boys pulling up their pants, wearing belts and shunning the prevalent, prison-inspired fashion statement known as 'sagging.' In my mother's school, there was a young African-American girl who made the honor role and openly gave the credit to Barack Obama. Before Barack she was uninspired and deemed unreachable, refusing to ignite the potential inside that all of her teachers knew was there.

Meeting these children, educators and parents gave me hope and sustenance. So I set about to collect some of these stories. This process made me understand that, as much as I may support Barack Obama, this moment is really not about Barack Obama; it's about so much more.
It's about the multi-racial child from Wisconsin who told me, "When I saw him in a magazine with the other candidates, I knew right away I picked him. It struck me like thunder. He made a good effort, followed his dreams and won... When I grow up I want to be an astronaut. Now Barack showed me that I can do it."

It's about the little African-American girl from New Jersey who told me, "When I see Barack Obama I see a ray of sunshine. I see a symbol of hope. Seeing Barack Obama makes me feel special and unique in my own way. I realize that a young girl like me can grow up and become President of the United States!"

It's about the mother in DC who told me that, even though she was not a Democrat and disagreed with President Obama's policies, she wanted her children to be inspired by President Obama's example.

As the mother of two young children, I spend a lot of time thinking about the media messages my children are exposed to. I wish that Disney or Nickelodeon would commit to publishing the scripts of Hannah Montana or iCarly in advance. While I allow my 9 year old daughter to watch these shows --which I find generally acceptable-- an occasionally risquŽ episode can run dangerously close to disturbing the values I am instilling in my child. I wonder if the parents who are so upset about the President's speech to school children have voiced similar concerns to the networks and advertisers who exert so much control over the messages our children receive on a daily basis.

My first presidential experience was meeting Ronald Reagan as a teen. Though my parents had not voted for him, I was still proud to shake the hand of a U.S. president as he congratulated me for receiving a White House award in Science & Technology. His message was inspiring and simple. Education is the key to success. Stay in school. Work hard. You can achieve the American dream.

The signed letter I received from President Reagan continues to decorate the foyer of my mother's house today. And even though I am at the opposite end of the political spectrum from this late President, his letter still inspires me. And yes, we should allow our children the opportunity to be inspired by our President as well.

Charisse Carney-Nunes is Senior Vice President of The Jamestown Project and author of the children's book, "I Am Barack Obama."

Martha's Vineyard Tea

2009-09-10T02:41:00.000-04:00

We had tea at Atria on Martha's Vineyard in honor of the First Family! What a great event.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/charissecarneynunes/sets/72157622335111306/

Charisse at Woodridge Library's Preschool Breakfast Club, NE DC

2009-08-04T21:55:00.001-04:00

View my new photos and meet my new friends from the Woodridge Library, DCPL.

Have you bought a book today -- preferably by a Black Children's Author??

If not? Have you visited your LOCAL LIBRARY and checked one out?? DON'T LOSE IT!

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=2216231&l=cbd4edb796&id=608868120

CNN Black in America 2

2009-07-22T16:54:00.003-04:00

Getting reading to watch. I can't believe it's been a year since the last one. I blogged about that on the Jamestown Project website at http://www.jamestownproject.org/index.php?option=com_mojo&Itemid=134&cat=10 Let's see what tonight brings!!

Literary Obama - Book Review

2009-07-21T11:48:00.002-04:00

One might easily mistake the beautifully-illustrated book, I am Barack Obama by Charisse Carney-Nunes and Ann Marie Williams, for a traditional children’s biography. But it offers, in my view, a more innovative strategy by portraying our 44th President’s life simply as the story of a young boy and his extended family: the obstacles he faced as a bi-racial child with a single parent; his love of basketball, of learning, and of helping others.

Guided by the philosophy that “inspiration and optimism are the first steps” to children’s achievement, Carney-Nunes’s poetic second-person narrative speaks directly to young listeners through the life story of Obama:
You’ll travel far and wideAlong the journey of your lifeYou’ll know joy and happinessAnd you’ll know sorrow,you’ll know strife…

Parents and teachers who are already familiar with Obama’s background will recognize “Toot” and the landscape of Indonesia along with iconic images of his life and career. Additionally, the book contains an appendix with a brief bio, teaching resources, and personal essays by several children who have been inspired by the President. (”The same year Barack Obama won, I won,” writes 10-year-old Morgana, “I am currently the youngest president ever elected in my middle school…”) Their words suggest that Obama’s story can begin with any child and this is exactly point of I am Barack Obama.

Carney-Nunes is the author of several children’s books and CEO of Brand Nu Words publishing. She and Obama are also former classmates from Harvard Law School.

Making Moves in Philly

2009-06-20T17:12:00.001-04:00

The School District of Philadelphia presented Brand Nu Words with a $12,000 check to help support the efforts of educating our youth through reading!

Read All About It!

2009-06-15T14:00:00.000-04:00

I Am Barack Obama is showcased on the front page of The Savannah Tribune! Copy & paste the following link to read more: http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.savannahtribune.com%2Fnews%2F2009-06-10%2FFront_Page%2FCommunity_and_Boule_Salute_Young_Men_of_Honor.html&h=f4f5ce876a4bca5324811b7a164f524e

Los Angeles Boys & Girls Club Visit

2009-05-25T14:21:00.001-04:00

On the afternoon of May 12, 2009, I visited the Boys & Girls Club of East Los Angeles. The visit was facilitated by the Afterschool Alliance (http://www.afterschoolalliance.org/) an awesome organization that works tirelessly toward the goal of quality afterschool programs for all children. The children of this club are almost all Hispanic and were inspired by I Am Barack Obama. They welcomed me with open arms and love and even performed a special cheer for me. :-)

Power Lunch!

2009-05-22T16:34:00.001-04:00

May 2009: Harvey and I had a Power Lunch with Power People Mario and Maya Van Peebles. Ready to take over the world?

Celebrity Read Aloud @ Oak Street Elementary School

2009-05-15T13:00:00.004-04:00

In the photo above from left to right: Jorge Pallo, me, Haley Ramm, and Sam Jones III

On May 12, the Jamestown Project co-sponsored a Celebrity Read Aloud event in conjunction with the Stephanie Starks Hope Foundation. The event took place at Oak Street Elementary School and featured a literacy pep rally and a mass book donation for hundreds of students! The children were wowed by:

- Jorge Pallo of Secret Lives of the American Teenager (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0657903/)

- Haley Ramm of iCarly; Ben 10: Race Against Time; and Skateland (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1391252/)

- Sam Jones III - Smallville (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0427389/)

The Jamestown Project donated 100 copies of I Dream for You a World to the Stephanie Starks Hope Foundation in connection with this event and in an effort to promote child civic engagement. Haley Ramm who plays Missy on iCarly read this book to the students. Jorge Pallo read I Am Barack Obama.

Charisse's May 2009 Newsletter

2009-05-02T00:57:00.002-04:00

Click here to read my newsletter!

http://www.brandnuwords.com/May2009Newsletter.htm

Includes:

Latest news
An update from me
An explanation of exciting new awards and accolaides
Announcement about a NEW BOOK
A summary of past and upcoming speaking engagements!

Skipping Stones

2009-04-22T17:51:00.003-04:00

I just received news that Skipping Stones Multicultural Magazine has chosen I Am Barack Obama for its 2009 Honor Book Awards. Skipping Stones is an award-winning multicultural magazine that recognizes outstanding authentic books and teaching resources each year with the Annual Skipping Stones Honor Awards. The honored books, published by both large and small publishers, promote cooperation and cultivate an awareness of our diversecultures. Read more at: http://www.skippingstones.org/2009SkippingStonesAwardsPR.pdf

Author of Obama book was president's classmate

2009-03-25T17:37:00.000-04:00

View online

Wednesday, March 25, 2009
By Randall Clark
rclark@sjnewsco.com

SALEM - From the hard wooden chairs of the Salem Middle School auditorium, children shouted gleefully "I am Barack Obama!" here Tuesday, prompted by the renowned author who penned a book of the same name.

Charisse Carney-Nunes, a former classmate of the president's at Harvard Law School, spent her birthday reading some of her collection to the third-grade class, the colorful pages emblazoned on a big-screen projector above her.

Her stories are of a hope that often finds confinement within the poverty-stricken city.

"The most important thing I think, and the reason the book is called I Am Barack Obama, is because I like when children say I am Barack Obama," Carney-Nunes said. "They understand that there is a little bit of Barack Obama in all of us."

Her latest endeavor captures the journey of Obama from childhood to the White House steps, offering that the power to change the world lies with all of us.

For Carney-Nunes, 42, who is an attorney, the story has been a catapult to a writing career that began with her daughter's hair.

She said her first book, "Nappy," was a poem she wrote as her then-3-year-old daughter was hiding from getting her hair combed several years ago. It illustrated that some of the country's most influential black women had tufts just as tough, though it was nothing they couldn't handle.

Her work went on to win Independent Publishing's Most Outstanding Book of the Year award as the most inspirational book for youth in 2006.

As an outspoken voice of the black community, the Washington, D.C.-based mother adds her written work to a long list of civic involvement, including the Jamestown Project and Sistermoms, Inc.

Middle school Principal Syeda Woods was able to snag Carney-Nunes through the help of a sorority sister who knew her, Woods explained. The author had spent Monday in Burlington City.

"I was so excited when I heard she was able to come," Woods said. "I think the book has a powerful message."

Woods said her third-graders had shown a keen interest in the presidential election and first heard of the book on the president during the Read Across America event earlier this month.

In the back of the book is a series of children's essays about what Obama's presidency means to them. The book will soon take digital form, encouraging youth from across the country to write their own essays and submit them online.

It was the endless series of questions about Obama that Carney-Nunes received during school book tours last year that led to her latest venture, she pointed out.

"They just wanted to talk about Barack Obama," she said. "I decided you know what, it would be easiest if I just wrote a book."

At the end of the program, each child received a copy of Carney-Nunes publication. At least one was signed with a message to keep looking for that inner-Obama.

Stephanie Robinson & Ogletree Speak About I Am Barack Obama

2009-03-04T00:39:00.001-05:00

Speak Up! Interview of Charisse Carney-Nunes

2009-02-14T00:34:00.000-05:00

Charisse Talks About Digibooks & I AM BARACK OBAMA

2009-02-01T18:00:00.003-05:00

Charisse's Inauguration Day Experience - A PROUD PURPLE TICKET HOLDER

2009-01-22T01:04:00.001-05:00

Everyone said it would be cold on Inauguration Day. I was ready. My dear friend Mirian had armed me with hand warmers and toe warmers. I had on two pairs of pants, had doubled-up up top, and wrapped myself soundly in my brand new Obama scarf, hat and thermal gloves. I was right to be concerned, as I’d later find out, one of my cousins got hypothermia from the elements, his body temperature dropping to 90 degrees.

But somehow, I was not cold on Inauguration Day. My body temperature rose, I’m sure, beyond its obligatory 98.6. My spirit was on fire, my heart pumped voraciously, my soul warmed like babies’ breath, in fact my hands were so toasty, that I took my gloves off.

Perhaps my sweltering disposition was the culmination of the seemingly endless mind tripping I’d be experiencing. Not only does it boggle the mind that this country had put aside the nightmare of its racist past to elect the first African-American president, but also to think that this incredible man was someone who I actually knew from my little piece of the world, from my circle of friends and acquaintances.

I would have never forgiven myself if I had not stopped my world for a week and given myself permission to take it all in.

My inaugural experience began on Thursday with an impromptu book signing and appearance I did as a fundraiser for Hoop Dreams. It was the first time I sold and signed my new children’s book, I Am Barack Obama. My cousin Susan came along to help me out, and we were truly amazed by the awesome reception. Dick Gregory spoke about this moment in history contextualizing it for us. I hadn’t realized that he was the first African American to have run for president. I met Kellie Gauf, an up and coming author and political commentator and she purchased several of my books, which humbled me.

On Friday, my mom and sister Lisa arrived from New Jersey. They made a “getaway” from their jobs, left my nephew Jordan with his Auntie Dawn, and made their way to experience history first hand. As soon as they arrived, I whisked my mom away to a reception given by the National Congress of Black Women honoring Black Women for Obama at the National Chamber of Commerce. We arrived to a small but elegant dinner, and we sat at the table with Melody Barnes, a senior Obama advisor and her significant other. I’d never med Melody in person, though she is a dear friend of my friend Stephanie from Jamestown, and I knew how great and down-to-earth she was. My mom and I were so moved by the love and admiration that her man showed for her when the NCBW honored her. This event also drove home the point for me, that my new children’s book was doing really well. I showed up with 8 copies that fit into my giant purse, and I was “sold out” in minutes and scolded for not bringing more. The surprise of the night was that I was recognized as a grassroots volunteer for Team Obama for the work we did in Northern Virginia, helping to turn that state blue. Black Women for Obama took lots of photos, and a great time was had by all.

My mom and I took a cab home. It was frigid cold, but I was kept warm by my mother-in-law’s mink coat. As an eighty-something year old woman who has witnessed history by immigrating to this country more than forty years ago, Mrs. Nunes could not attend but she wanted me to be there in her MINK COAT!!! I had to oblige! 

When my mom and I returned home, Lisa had decided to stay in for the evening, and I was glad that I wouldn’t have to accompany her out in the cold (even if DJ Hass/Harvey Nunes was spinning his old school mixes at the Peoples Inaugural Party). But Mom Carney was having none of it. She literally pried Lisa out of bed and forced me to take her down the street to the Historical Society. It must have been meant to be because I got a parking spot right in front, and in no time we were doing “Obama” party chants and jamming to Doug E. Fresh like we were in high school. Too bad we’d miss Kurtis Blow, but luckily Lisa snuck into the “green room” area for a photo-op. Needless to say Harvey rocked the house, and I purchased some great Obama-gear from the living mannequins that were modeling that evening.

Saturday was again nonstop. We spent the day reconciling book money and receipts, cooking up kale and other food, and most importantly planning our outfits for the HOPE Inaugural Youth Ball. Someone had the bright idea to brave the downtown crowds and go down to the Waterfront for some famous Chesapeake crabs! Despite the fact that we had little time, my crab-greedy mom, husband and friends were all for it. Oh well. Nothing that a bit of lemon juice wouldn’t cure so we wouldn’t light up the HOPE Ballroom with the smell of fish!

Before going to the HOPE Ball, my mom, Harvey and I stopped by the Kiddie and Teen Inaugural Balls at Shiloh Baptist Church. Church members had turned Shiloh’s gym into a majestic scene of red, white and blue for their teens. They even transformed the elevator into a vessel, complete with a sitting attendant, to transport their party-goers to an evening of elegance. The Kiddie Ball had a bit less fanfare, but I was blessed with the opportunity to read for the children and welcome them to their first-ever inaugural experience. I was also interviewed by Voice of America, and sold an entire case of books to the church, donating of course part of the proceeds to Shiloh.

Finally, we ended up at the HOPE Ball – a family-friendly ball where I had agreed to attend and donate 400 copies of I Am Barack Obama to the children in attendance. The venture began when we had promising sponsorship leads who would do this. However, when they all fell through either because of Obama money-fatigue, the economy or both, I decided to donate the books myself.

Organizers had transformed the ballroom at Trinity University into event themed with food representing America’s diversity. Hosted by Jermaine Crawford (who played Dukie on The Wire), the evening was full of entertainment, magic and fun. I was recognized for the 400 book giveaway. It was like I was Oprah for a moment (without her bank account or TV show!) In the end, the children were so appreciative for the books that they received, some waiting in line for an hour to have me personally autograph, and I of course autographed every book that was presented to me. Lisa, my mom, Damien, and my nine-year old stayed with me until the bitter end. It was all a bit too much for my four-year old. Although I’d spent much of the early part of the evening dancing with him, the boy was truly annoyed by the fact that I was signing books rather than taking him to the bathroom. At one point, he actually hit me! And with that interesting comment on my parenting skills, my wonderful husband took his overtired-behind home.

The rest of us danced, signed books, and took pictures until late in the evening.

Sunday was a new day. Though we’d long planned to relax at home in the morning until it was time to attend the Harvard Law School Inaugural Brunch at noon, we’d met a lady the night before that loved the book so much she wanted to get it to Malia and Sasha Obama. The woman was in charge of volunteers at Sunday’s Inaugural Concert on the National Mall and explained that if we could get to a certain spot on Sunday morning, she could usher us in to present special autographed copies to the Obama girls. My friends Damien and Brian whisked me to the appointed location, but as you might expect there was too much madness and mayhem for me to get anywhere close. Oh well. Maybe next time.

Disappointed but not discouraged, Damien and Brian dropped me off to the Willard Hotel where I was greeted by scores of well wishers and old friends excited about the news of the day. The HLS Brunch was to be an important part of my inaugural experience. Several Black alums eagerly planned it and had optimistically convinced ourselves that one of the Obamas had to attend. After all, they were both alums with a special relationship to us all. They knew where they came from and knew that each of us helped in our own way from DAY ONE to get them to this point. Many, like myself, had been supporting Barack since his days as a state politician. Even when we received the official word that they’d passed up our invitation for a concert with Bono and Beyonce, we still couldn’t believe it. But alas, no secret servicemen came knocking. There was no high tech sweep of the premises. No Barack. No Michelle.

But we still had a great time! We listened intently as HLS Dean Elena Kagan, our next Solicitor General of the United State – the FIRST WOMAN – gave humorous but touching remarks. We also heard another perspective on the story of how Michelle & Barack got together from a partner in the law firm who was partially responsible for the matchmaking – the father of one of our HLS professors. We heard greetings from the esteemed Charles Ogletree and embraced Professor Derrick Bell who was with his HLS family for the first time since I was a student when he left the faculty in protest over their lack of diversity. Professor Bell joked about how when the media asked him if had known Barack he said, “no, I hardly knew the guy” (he said the Jeremiah Wright controversy was nothing compared to what they might have found in Bell’s writings). But having one of his former Black students ascend to leader of the free world was truly the realization of his life’s work, and it was wonderful to watch Professor Bell enjoy it.

My mom and Harvey were there – all the while – telling my friends about my new book and in the end we sold over 2 cases right there in the lobby until I had no more books left. I also had the opportunity to reconnect with Hill Harper and get a great “video sound byte” for the book. In the end being with all of my HLS friends in the context left me weepy but humbled. It seemed as though so MANY were there I can’t name them all. I protested incessantly about the school when I was there due to the same mindset that compelled Professor Bell to leave, but ultimately Harvard Law School gave me the gift of these wonderful relationships with people about whom I care deeply, complete my life, and also happen to be having a hell of an impact on the world. Go Barack!

I really needed to get over my weepy reflections, however, quick fast and in a hurry because I was now a bit late for my next event – a storytime reading at the Every Child Matters Children’s Inaugural. I jumped in the car with Harvey, my Mom, and my friend Nicole and my husband whisked us through downtown to the event. About halfway there, between my laughing and loving Nicole, I realized we had SOLD EVERY BOOK I’D HAD. What? An author showing up for a book reading with NO BOOK!! I could NOT believe it. Mirian and Lisa were waiting for us at the event. I called them but neither of them had any books either and it was 15 minutes til showtime. Frantically, we realized that there was a store selling the book about 3 blocks away but awful traffic. Harvey dropped Nicole and me off and somehow made it to the store and back with the book just as I was being introduced. I think he must have donned his Super Hass cape and tights and run through the streets while my mom sat in the car. Things were crazy, but I somehow knew that one day my story of being an author who showed up for a book reading with no book would make for amusing conversation.

Anyway, the reading went well. I’d partnered on this one with my new found friend Jan Buckner Walker, author of an awesome, family friendly series of crossword puzzles called Kids Across, Parents Down. We shared the time, and seem to have entertained the small audience of kids and families who were present. I gave away free posters to all in attendance. And I was happy, in the end, that my four-year old had been so entertained by his Auntie Lis and all of the children’s activities at the event, he was much more well- behaved than the previous evening! We all made it back to my house and conked out. Only 2 more inaugural days to go!

It turns out that Sunday was a light day as compared to what Monday had in store. What??? My only real, official booksigning had been planned for that morning at 9am at Clyde’s in the Verizon Center, sponsored by the National Congress of Black Women. My mom couldn’t get up and old, so believe it or not, my normally sleep-obsessed sister Lisa came with me to the early morning affair. My fabulously talented illustrator and artist Ann Marie Williams also joined us. From the time we walked in, we noticed that people were really taken with the I Am Barack Obama children’s book. After enjoying a delicious (and for us complimentary) brunch, I spoke in front of the now-large crowd. Okay, normally I am no Barack Obama. Harvey has had to seriously edit video tapes from a bunch of public speaking that I’ve done cutting out the “ums” and the “you knows” that can do any public speaker in. Of course, this time there was no video taping, but somehow the words rolled extemporaneously off of my tongue, including an impromptu recital of my poem Nappy. I just think it was the inauguration, the moment, the history, and my little tiny place in it that brought everything together. Lisa and I had 2 cases of books (this time we left 1 in the car for the next event). By the time we finished, I’d sold through both cases, a copy of Nappy (even though the book wasn’t there and I’d have to send it), AND two people followed us to the car for more. It was amazing. I also got to meet MC Lyte and share my book with her and her manager.

We then raced to the next event, which was the Howard Law School Inaugural Brunch at the J.W. Marriot Hotel 7 blocks away. Now, we were risking the DC street closures beginning for tomorrow’s inauguration, but we braved the traffic anyway. My mom and Mirian started off the event, and by the time Lisa and I arrived they had not sold a single book. Upon arriving, I bumped in Martin Luther King III, and I had the privilege of signing a book for his new baby daughter. The luncheon crowd, however, was WAITING to buy until the end of the festivities, which incidentally would have left us with about 15 minutes to spare before street closures would begin. Ultimately, Mirian and Lisa left to get the cars, my mom and I stayed to sell a few books, but we were all nervous about getting stuck so we left. Lisa came and scooped us in the car and whisked us up 14th Street to our next event – a reception for the Daily Voice.

Harvey was supposed to attend the Daily Voice reception with me, but he was walking up and down 7th Street selling books to passersby. No, we had not planned this, and it was pretty funny to imagine. 7th Street had been converted into a virtual OBAMA STREET MALL, and my husband was right out there with the street vendors vying for the crowd’s attention and business! I wish I could have seen it. I think he sold about 10 books in an hour.

So my mom and I went to the Daily Voice reception where we had a blast. It was a one-year anniversary celebration for the Internet magazine launched by my friend, classmate and partner-in-protest from Harvard, Keith Boykin. Keith is a former LBGT activist turned political commentator extraordinaire. Every time I have something to say, Keith publishes it without a second thought. For the occasion, he honored Sheryl Lee Ralph, Cory Booker, Charles Ogletree, and Isaiah Washington to name a few. I signed one of my books for Mr. Washington’s family, which was a great honor and of course for Keith. My mom and I enjoyed 2 slamming cosmopolitans, and on the way out with a group of my friends ran into author Teri McMillan. My friends tried to get me to go introduce myself but I froze up (yes, my shy nine-year old gets it honestly believe it or not). But I mustered the courage (or maybe that cosmo had taken off some of the edge) and she was AWESOME! We all met her, hung out a bit longer with her, took pictures, and I signed a copy of my book for her. Thank God for that bartender and my pushy friends.

While all of this was going on, I was SUPPOSED to be connecting with Nicole to pick up the children’s concert tickets that she was able to get for my daughter and me. MYLIE CYRUS and THE JONAS BROTHERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A NINE-YEAR OLD’S DREAM! I’ll skip the details of how we were able to connect, but just know the story includes a taxi, traffic, an unhelpful concierge at the Washington Hilton where the bi-partisan McCain Dinner was held, my Super Hero husband and our around-the-way handyman Donte, and a series of three-way phone calls through jammed cell phone networks between Harvey, Nicole and me. But we got the tickets!

My mom and I made it home from the Daily Voice, I changed my shoes, grabbed my daughter, and my husband and I drove us as close to the Verizon Center as we could get, which actually wasn’t all that close. We jumped out of his truck, held hands and ran through the streets until we made it – we had 10 minutes to spare! We joined Nicole’s father-in-law and her two kids and jammed with Mylie Cyrus (aka Hannah Montana) and the Jonas Brothers, as well as the other child-friendly stars who were there. And we had GREAT SEATS only 7 rows up from the floor!!! Michelle Obama and Jill Biden spoke and we got to see Sasha and Malia dancing on stage looking so cute.

When the concert ended, I put Nicole’s family on the Metro in one direction, and my daughter and I took it in the other direction home. We exhaled, and crashed. WHAT A DAY! Tuesday was almost here.

Maybe we should have woken up at 4am to brave our way through the DC streets to the Mall. But somehow, we were convinced that a 7:30am start would be enough. After all, I was the holder of a coveted purple ticket (the same as many National Finance Committee members), a silver ticket, and had the promise of at least 9 Newseum Tickets, which would allow my family members to watch the festivities from a premier INSIDE location overlooking the Parade Route. I drove a few blocks to pick up my friend Rhonda and 2 of her children, and then my family and our crew walked to the Columbia Heights Metro. Along with Harvey and me, we had my mom, my sister, my nine year old daughter, four year old son, Damien, Brian, Rhonda and her eight and five year old daughters. We dressed warmly, but my son could keep his gloves on as they were too big.

The feeling on train was electric. We rode in a car with hundreds of folks in red hats from such faraway places as Alabama and Tennessee. As the train inched toward downtown, however, it became clear that control over our situation was fleeting. Cell phone service was sparse, and I could not connect with my friend who was holding our Newseum tickets. Metro then closed down many of its stations because of the crowds so we all jumped off blocks away from our intended location. I gave Lisa my silver ticket (as my ticket was for a much closer area) and told her to stay on the train to the Waterfront and walk back in to the silver gate. The rest of us jumped off of the train and walked through the streets listening to the kids complain about keeping up, being cold, and buying “Obama Puppets” from street vendors all within the first 10 minutes of our adventure.

Finally, we found some friendly police officers who directed my family in one direction and me in another with my purple ticket. For a moment I thought about ditching the ticket to stay with my kids, but my mom and husband told me that that was crazy. We split up, and they tried to make it to the Newseum; I walked down 3rd Street with my ticket. I later learned that after an hour of trying to get in touch with my friend with the Newseum tickets and trying to find their way through the maze of people and closed off streets to get ANYWHERE near the Newseum, my family smartly bailed out, and found 2 friendly taxi drivers to bring them safely home. They were so grateful to find those cabs, I heard, they almost sent him off with the children in a car alone, yelling “Go!!!” to the driver, forgetting that there were no adults in the car. They made it home by 11am or so and I heard that my four-year old was hugging the couch, the chairs, his bed, his toys, and even kissed the floor in gratefulness.

Meanwhile, I had walked down 3rd Street and been pushed through a security screening point only to learn when I was on the other side that those friendly police officers had had no clue about which they spoke. I was in the wrong location! I was directed back from whence I came, around the corner and on foot through the Third Street TUNNEL going south.

Also in the wrong location after having been pushed around and slightly trampled in the crowd was an older Black woman in a wheelchair. The very nice volunteers tried but were unable to obtain permission for her to enter anyway.

I finally got to the tunnel. It looked different from a pedestrian’s vantage point. I made friends but most of us were going in different locations with different color tickets. When I finally made it to the end of the tunnel, the volunteer at the end looked at my ticket, shook his head and sadly told me I was in the wrong place … AGAIN. I wanted to go home. My sister Lisa sent me a text to tell me that she was OK – chilling by the reflecting pool in front of the U.S. Capitol, in position to witness history. Instead of quitting, I decided I’d come too far, that this minor trial and tribulation was nothing as compared to what it took to get this far in history so I persevered.

I walked back up the southbound tunnel and up a ramp. I found 2 other purple ticket holders in my same situation. We now had to CLIMB over a concrete median to get to the northbound side of the tunnel to find the purple line. One of my new traveling partners had trouble, but we helped her make the climb. She and her friend then went to the left, but something told me to go to the right. I saw two 20-something year old White guys who looked exactly like the Obama campaign worker types with whom I’d spent so much time. They reassured me that I was finally in the right location, but warned me that if I stayed, I’d miss the inauguration. They’d been in the purple line since 7am, and saw no chance of getting in. It was still only 10:30am; they couldn’t be right. I decided to forge ahead anyway. I ran back, screamed to the lady who I helped climb the median so that they’d know where to go, and then quickly took my place in the purple line.

The line was endless. Thousands were there. I couldn’t even see the starting point. I know that people wouldn’t like it, but I’d been at this game since 7:30am and I was by myself, so I just kind of merged in without going all the way to the back. At that point I’d felt like I’d earned it whether I was right or wrong.

The energy in the line was electric. People were shouting, “PURPLE. PURPLE. PURPLE.” We shouted, “O-BAMA; O-BAMA; O-BAMA.” We did the wave back and forth through the line. And we inched along toward Nirvana – the purple gate. We had no idea what was going on during the festivities, because we were LITERALLY UNDERNEATH THE NATIONAL MALL … THE ONLY PLACE IN THE WORLD, it seemed, WHERE YOU COULDN’T SEE WHAT WAS GOING ON!

When I finally made it through, it was almost 11:30am. The gate had not only been chained shut, but there was another fence erected in front of it. I stood there in disbelief next to people who’d been there since 7am and even met someone who’d been there since 6am. Again, there were handicapped people, mixed into the craziness of everyone else with no accommodations. I ran into my soror, Patience, who was red hot steaming mad. Later I heard the story of a man who’d been there since 5:30am. Rumors swirled through the crowd. They moved the gate; they might open a new gate before 12 noon; there was some kind of security breech inside.

In the end, it was not to be. The crowd locked outside of the purple gate constituted a sea of mass disappointment. I zeroed in on an older, petite African American woman who was crying. I realized I knew her! It was one of my best friend’s mom … a woman who is normally full of fire and brimstone and who would never ever CRY. Suddenly, everything was put into context for me. I’d had my time with Barack. I had my experience years ago, and I had a picture to prove it! Maybe somewhere deep inside what would one day be. I’d also already had a wonderful Inauguration experience. I’d met hundreds of people promoting my book, and had the opportunity to touch and inspire so many.

But for so many of the people in that sea of disappoint, this WAS their Inauguration experience. Locked outside of a purple gate. And for a president who has inspired unprecedented levels of civic engagement and promised unprecedented transparency and accountability, this was a most unfortunate start.

I separated from Patience, picked up my friend’s mom and her family and we ran to Union Station at 5 minutes to noon, hoping to see the Inaugural event in the Great Hall. It was not playing. Ultimately, we tuned in at 11:59am, watching it on mute in the Amtrak section of the station on tiny little TV screens next to the digital train schedules.

Later we went back to my house, reconnected with the family, got a boat load of food and champagne, “rewound” the DVR, and sat back and pretended we were watching live TV!

(I hear that purple ticket holders were supposed to get some kind of penance from the Inaugural Committee, but I’m still waiting for that and my 40 acres and a mule).

All’s well that ends well. It’s all good!!!!!

Mario Van Peebles Visits Virginia (Day Two)

2008-11-05T18:34:00.000-05:00

Mario Van Peebles Visits Virginia (Day One)

2008-11-03T18:32:00.000-05:00

Charisse & Harvey host Democratic Party Platform Party

2008-08-06T18:28:00.000-04:00

An Appeal for Action (Thoughts on CNN’s Black in America Series)

2008-07-25T18:21:00.000-04:00

Read this post on the Jamestown Project's Blog, the Democracy Spot.

I have received several emails and phone calls from friends and family who have been moved to tears of sadness (laced with hope) by what they saw on CNN last night. The program made me reflect on an exchange I had with a colleague a few years ago when my son was less than two years old. My colleague was an older White man for whom I had unyielding affection and respect. Despite his political leanings, which were opposite from mine, we actually shared common values and principles including a love of justice and fairness and a commitment to education and hard work. I called him friend.

On this particular day, we were discussing my career choices and the impact on my young family. I remarked about the challenges that confronted me raising a Black boy in today’s society. To my surprise, he was taken aback, shocked that I would be so pessimistic to have even voiced such a concern. While I know that there is a gulf in this country between the Black experience and that of the average White American, I was surprised perhaps because I’d never judged this particular colleague to be “average.” In addition to his personal challenge of living with a disability, through countless conversations over the years, he’d consistently demonstrated a keen thoughtfulness on and compassionate understanding of the social ills that plagued our society.

So when my friend and colleague expressed his gall at my remark, when he interpreted it as a sign of weakness or pessimism, my spirit shrank, but I tried to explain. I tried to explain that I was committed to nothing less than a mother’s hope, faith and optimism for the life of my son. But that my reality, growing up Black in America, taught me that sometimes these commitments were not enough. I told him that my family was full of folks who had the same opportunities but ended up oceans apart due to life’s circumstances. I tried to explain that when I turned on the evening news to the constant bombardment of crime-ridden African-American images, my reality was that the star of the show could be my childhood friend, neighbor, cousin, uncle, brother, or even my son. I tried to explain that I was not pessimistic, I was realistic, that this was a war for the souls of my son and daughter, and that I was simply an activist mother that knew I had to put on my armor and do anything and everything possible to fight the battles and win the war. I wonder if he heard me or if the gulf that divided our realities was simply too vast, despite our common values and principles.

The CNN focus on Dr. Michael Eric Dyson and his brother Everett highlighted this reality for America. Two brothers, same parents, same opportunities, two very different outcomes. When I saw these two beautiful brothers sharing their story, I wanted to scream to my colleague and to so many others and say, “See, this is what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Though I am a hawk on the issue of personal responsibility in our community, it simply doesn’t go far enough to explain our collective condition. Everett Dyson explained his situation by highlighting the poor choices he’d made in his life. But the consequences of his “poor choices” and the consequences of those of the average American are vastly different. For a Black man, the unforgiving nature of our society is stinging.

But it is what it is. So this brings me back around to my role as the activist mother suiting herself and her children with armor. My experiences have taught me that for my children, there is little room for error. No pardons for pitiful choices they may make in their futures. So what is a mother to do? What is our community to do? What is America to do?

Last year, through The Jamestown Project I worked tirelessly on a campaign for the American family that largely fell on deaf ears. Perhaps because it was not highlighted on CNN. Perhaps because it had no champions like Soledad O’Brien, Bill Cosby, or D.L. Hughley to lift it up.

It started with a document entitled An Appeal to the American Imagination calling for the need for a radical change in direction – for the Black community and for all of America. It called Black America to a renewed commitment to 1) self-love, 2) family, and 3) education. It challenged all of America to renew its commitment to racial and economic justice, with a focus on strengthening the Black family, and to take steps to strengthen all families and to reform its poisonous media culture. Now that CNN has called the conversation, I encourage you to take the time. Read it. And sign the Appeal petition.

In addition to simply watching the CNN special (we all should) and signing onto the above-referenced Appeal (we all should), you can do more. The Jamestown Project designed three simple Checklists for Action for individuals, community organizations and churches and religious institutions. Read these Checklists. Incorporate some of the suggestions into your life, your church, and your community organizations. Urge your family, friends and networks to do the same.

The time has come for a fresh nationwide commitment to healing, renewal, and transformation. The CNN special, the historic candidacy of Barack Obama and the fact that you are reading these words right now all speak volumes. You are the leader that you have been looking for. You can take steps right now to help reset the moral compass of Black America and all of America. You can help to bridge the gulfs that divide us, setting the stage for our common principles and values to shine. None of us can do it alone. It starts today. And it begins with you.

Charisse Carney-Nunes, attorney and social entrepreneur, is Senior Vice-President of The Jamestown Project and the author of two children’s books, Nappy and I Dream for You a World.

Barack Is More Electable

2008-02-03T18:09:00.000-05:00

Read this post on The Daily Voice

When my friend Keith Boykin asked me to reflect on my feelings on race and gender in the presidential campaign, I was reticent to add my voice. For one, I am thoroughly exhausted - as well as annoyed - by the 24-hour news cycle perpetuated by the media and political pundits who project their views on the American people while rarely speaking to ordinary Americans.

Secondly, though I am undoubtedly a strong and proud African-American woman (and have decades of friends who can vouch for that), I simply did not want to talk about race or gender. I didn't want to add yet another verse to the tired chorus of "Say It Loud, I'm Black and I'm Proud" or to "I am Woman, Hear me Roar." In the end, no one remembers the verses, but the ugly hook of "race vs. gender" plays endlessly in our minds.

I decided to write not only because I adore Keith, but because upon reflection I've concluded that I really didn't have to talk about race. Not directly anyway. To the contrary, I now believe that the fundamental issue of concern here is electability.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have been a long-time fan of Barack Obama. An "adopted" member of the Harvard Law School class of 1991 (I was actually '92), my friends and I were awed by his intellect, strength, leadership, vision and possibility - even then, it was clear.

Still, like many loyal Democrats, I felt torn during this primary season based on the incredible field of candidates. I like Hillary Clinton, and have a great deal of respect for much of the work she has done in the Senate and in general. And while I never considered Bill to be "the first Black president," like many Americans I had affection for him, much of which was rooted, no doubt, in his innate comfortableness with my culture and his evident understanding and ability to articulate our pain. As a student of politics and policy, I was well aware of the former president's occasional missteps on issues of interest to me (recall the demonization of Sista Souljah, the complete abandonment of Lani Guinier, welfare reform without real job creation or childcare reform, and much of his crime policy), but like many, I gave him the "family" pass, excusing his actions as "political."

But in recent weeks while those of us obsessed with politics were watching yet another cable network news show, something happened. Something happened while my friends and I were reading Gloria Steinheim's New York Times op-ed proclaiming gender as "the most restricting force in American life" and noting that Black men got the right to vote "a half century" before women of any race (irresponsibly overlooking the ensuing decades of lynchings and murderous suppression of voting and other civil rights as many of Steinheim's beloved suffragettes stood by enjoying privilege). While I was standing in front of an inside-the-beltway water cooler trying to explain to colleagues that my race and gender were inextricably intertwined, and that I often believe that the insidious nature of racism and sexism combined may be greater than either in isolation, something happened.

The rest of America said, "enough!"

I first noticed it when my father, a 68-year old retired African-American man in Florida (and loyal Democrat who at the time fit Hillary's demographic) announced to me that he was so offended by the Clintons' race-baiting that he would vote Republican before he'd ever vote for Hillary. (And this was well before Bill Clinton's Jesse Jackson comparison). Perhaps I have been in Washington too long but I was struck by the depth of his anger. So I reached out to others of different races and gender - including diehard Hillary Clinton supporters; I also asked about their family and friends. The results of my informal anecdotal poll were more powerful than any Gallup or media poll I'd read. While Washington pundits were drawing cartoons opining that both Obama and Clinton were equally to blame for the nasty tone in the Democratic primary, in conversations and emails across the country, ordinary Americans - Black, Latino, White and others - were becoming increasingly fed-up with Bill Clinton's (now obvious) racial attacks as Hillary stood by enjoying privilege. Sound familiar?

So all of this brings me, quite simply, to the issue of electability. To be sure, I support Barack Obama because he is experienced (he actually has more legislative experience than Senator Clinton), and because my personal experience knowing him authenticates the reasons that Caroline Kennedy and Toni Morrison so eloquently penned in their beautifully written pieces. To be sure, it would take volumes of drafting to explain the pride, power and inspiration that a "President Obama" will bring not only to my son and daughter, but also to my father who never thought he'd live to see such a day in America.

But what I now know for sure is a stone-cold hard fact. The polarizing strategy pursued by Bill Clinton (and acquiesced to by Hillary) has angered ordinary Americans. It angered not only African-Americans like my father who have lived and breathed the vile stench of racism for much of their lives, it also angered millions of younger African Americans, Latinos, Whites and all Americans who desperately want to move beyond the 20th century divisiveness that the Clinton strategy exemplified to a new day that is not about Black vs. White, Male vs. Female or Red vs. Blue. These Americans are craving something different, something better, something inspirational and have appealed to the better angels in our leaders and in all of us to create it.

I am gravely uncertain that these forward-looking Americans will forgive the Clinton tactics, abandon the Dream and simply support a Clinton Democratic nominee, rewarding the kind of behavior that they abhor. And sadly, that would only benefit the likely Republican nominee, John McCain, who for some reason is seen as a Republican maverick and is able to appeal to moderates, including African Americans like my dad. This is unacceptable to me. We do not need to take that chance. It need not happen. We don't have to abandon the Dream. We can answer the appeal to the better angels in all of us. We can hold on to the audacity of hope and ride it through to a clear victory in November. We can support Barack Obama. It is time for Obama. Now.

Charisse Carney-Nunes, attorney and social entrepreneur, is the author of two children's books and senior vice president of The Jamestown Project.

Giving Thanks for Our “Covenant” Children

2007-11-19T22:59:00.001-05:00

Read this post on the Jamestown Project's blog, the Democracy Spot

This past Thursday millions of Americans paused to give thanks for the multitude of blessings in our lives. As we gathered around our dinner tables amidst the turkey, stuffing, and sweet potato pie, I hope that we did not forget that the annual ritual of appreciation is about more than a feast or the harvest, or even simply reconnecting with family. From the earliest recorded Thanksgiving celebrations in 1619 in Jamestown, Virginia and in 1621 in Plymouth, Massachusetts, Thanksgiving has always been about the future – a celebration that boldly embraced hope, generations to come, and optimism for tomorrow.

As we move into this holiday season, it is the perfect time to celebrate our children. One of my favorite sayings is that while children are less than 50% of our present population, they are certainly 100% of our future. History has shown us time and again that social movements can rise or fall on the shoulders of youth. An inspired child who dares to dream and even more daringly chooses to believe in that dream can, and will, change the world. Yet children are likely the most overlooked, undervalued of all citizens in our society.

The Covenant with Black America inspired a movement. When The Jamestown Project was asked to help move The Covenant goals into action, I was determined to ensure that we officially extend the “call to action” to children. We must keep our arms as open to children as their hearts and minds are open to love. We must embrace them as partners, nurture their souls, and inspire them to action, but also remain willing to learn from their idealism and commitment to simple truths.

I wrote I Dream for You a World: A Covenant for Our Children because I am inspired by my daughter’s simple questions that uncover truths that do not have to be: “Why do healthy foods have to cost so much?” “Why did the city allow lead into our water fountains at school?” and “Why do we keep so many Black people in jail?” I wanted to give her the guidance, inspiration and the tools to do her part, even at her young age, to create her own answers and to erase the ugly truths that her questions reveal.

In Memory of Ndome Essoka: February 1970 – July 2007

2007-07-30T22:43:00.000-04:00

My sister’s best friend!

Some of us have many friends. We have friends from elementary, middle, and high school. We have friends from college, work, and motherhood – the circles go on and on. I am one who chooses to live life that way. I network. I connect. I care. I keep in touch. My circles of friendship are expansive. Like the slinky toy that fascinated me so much when I was 10, my circles connect but the ones at the end are so far from the beginning they have little or nothing in common.

And then some of us have few friends. My sister chose this path. She has no time and no inclination to entertain my endless circled slinky approach to friendship. Instead she’s narrow and deep. There are few friends, but those friends have been there through elementary, middle, and high school. Through college, work, weddings, and motherhood. Like the lighthouses we used to worship at the Vineyard, these friends are omnipresent and stoic – they’re her guideposts in deep oceans. These friends are so few and deep, that they are also lighthouses in my life, ever present through it all.

Today it rained in my life, and the storm was not my own. It was my sister’s, it was the family’s, it belonged to other hearts and minds. Yet when you loose a light so bright, a guidepost in your ocean, a foundation that you thought would be ever present, the storm affects us all. Our ships can veer off course, until we finally see that if concentrate on faith despite the fear of the darkness, then maybe, just maybe, we will guided by the lighthouses in heaven’s ocean.

Mothers!

2007-06-01T22:50:00.000-04:00

As the legendary civil rights leader Dorothy I. Height has said, “We have survived because of family.” But what I know for sure and what I can add to that is that “families have survived because of mothers.”

Imus!

2007-04-12T22:51:00.000-04:00

First and foremost, the stories of the scholar athletes were OVERLOOKED. I watched the footage of those 10 young women, and listened to their coach tell their stories. Stories about scholars, hard work, perseverance, and brilliance – one of these young women is even an accomplished classical pianist. I looked at their faces and saw my 7-year daughter – a buffed aspiring athlete – and I cried for them, for my little girl, and for all of us. I cried for their ugly introduction to race in America at a time when they should have been celebrating an accomplishment so outstanding most of us will never experience. I promised myself that I would not open my mouth to speak about this MESS without first honoring these young women and their incredible stories of accomplishment. Mr. Imus’s unconscionable and despicable remarks, as well as the media circus that has followed, have had the distressing effect of diminishing these incredible stories.

My second thought is as the old African-American saying goes – Imus cannot steal our joy. To me, this is not really about Imus, and quite frankly I could care less if he is a racist. He probably should lose his job, but quite frankly I have thought very little about that. Whether he is suspended, loses sponsors, viewers or is fired: this will happen again. Either Imus or someone else will do it UNLESS THERE IS REAL AND SUBSTANTIVE CHANGE IN AMERICA.

The REAL issue is deeper, more important than Imus. What does this say about racism in America ? Is it permanent, as my dear Prof. Derrick Bell argues in Faces at the Bottom of the Well? Is it in the air, do we breathe it in w/o even knowing or feeling it? What does this say about the need for us to TAKE ACTION yes AFFIRMATIVE ACTION toward real inclusion, real solutions, and real democracy in this country. And most importantly, what are YOU AND YOU AND I going to do about it?

Finding peace (for now)

2006-03-04T21:44:00.000-05:00

Mom is off duty!!!

My husband and dear children were supposed to be leaving last night, but got stuck in the Door Zone until 12:09pm this afternoon!

But finally, they emerged from the Door Zone in Jersey, and I emerged in peace on the other side.

Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!

Exhaling,

until tomorrow.

Today, I begin again

2006-03-04T21:25:00.000-05:00

Today, I begin again. My online journal. This time it's called the Brand Nu Journal, but it's the same story with a different day.

There's also a different location. www.brandnujournal.blogspot.com

My original online journal is still accessible at www.brandnuwords.com/OnlineJournal.htm

Happy Reading!!

Archived Confessions of a Pregnant Book Peddler

2004-11-24T17:42:00.000-05:00

Confessions of a Pregnant Book Peddler

November 24, 2004

Okay. I admit it. I'm cheating. I'm not writing this on November 24, 2004, but who cares. When I started keeping this journal, I said that the only rules were that there were no rules. So "yesterday" began as regular day. I was soooo tired of being pregnant, but I dragged my butt into work anyway. While my bosses could not be more supportive of allowing me to take as much time off as I need, my ultimate boss, Uncle Sam, is a good ole boy sexist slob masquerading as someone who "cares" about family values. If the federal government really cared about family values, they would value their female employees who give life and support to American families by giving us some damn maternity leave. But I digress. And since it won't happen in my lifetime or my daughter's, let's just say, I had to drag my tired pregnant butt into work yesterday morning to conserve my sick and annual leave for use after baby arrives.

The day went okay; didn't quite finish everything, but that was cool b/c my goal was to finish everything by today (Wednesday). I went home after work as planned. But then one problem arose. God had other plans. You'd think since I was a 2nd time around mom, I'd have enough experience with "Braxton Hicks". Those are those fake me out contractions, that all the books tell you aren't real. Well, I learned the hard way that that is a BAD description. The REAL STORY is that the ONLY difference between Braxton Hicks and the real thing is that real contractions result in a baby. Come on!! I didn't have to slave through 4 years of med school and drop over a hundred k to learn that. I just had to birth 2 babies? So anyway, BEFORE I figured out the real deal, I'd been having these so-called Braxton Hicks, but didn't take them seriously b/c there was no real pattern to them; plus, I'd already been thru one false alarm and had to face the nurses telling me to go home - I was just having Braxton Hicks. This time, I did what any self-respecting martyr - I mean mother - would do … I IGNORED them. I watched What's Love Got To Do With It (Lord knows that my little Braxton Hicks pain was NOTHING compared to the pain of those whippings Ike was putting on Tina). And by the time the movie was over, viola, my mom and 2 sisters had arrived early for Thanksgiving.

When my mother saw me on all fours, she said she knew I was in labor. Why the hell she didn't drag my butt to the hospital, I'll never know. Anyway, by 1am this morning I finally woke up and smelled the coffee. These so-called Braxton Hecks may have no pattern, but they were hurting like HELL. All of a sudden, I felt like I had to poop; Hass tried to help but the whole epidsode was spiraling out of control. We tried timing the contractions while I was in the bathroom, but thought we must have been mistaken because the second one he timed came only about 3 minutes after the previous one. Nooooooo. That couldn't be right, could it? I FINALLY decided I'd better get checked out, when my DH turned into a pumpkin, suggesting that maybe I just need to lay down. Of course, his eyes were beet red, and his face had that I'm a good man but I'm tired can't we do this in the morning expression on it. While he'll never admit it, the look I shot him across that bathroom made him leap into action.

Unfortunately, by this time it was already almost too late. Hass helped me get into some clothes, grab my bag and walk out of the door. Luckily because my family had driven up a few hours earlier, I did not have any babysitting worries regarding my DD. As I gingerly walked outside of my kitchen toward our car, I felt the force of Niagra Falls between my legs. Since my water hadn't broken with my DD, I had no idea what it was at first, but as soon as I realized, I yelled in a panicked state, "I want my mother. Mommy!" In that moment, I truly wanted DD to disappear. Prayerfully, he did not. I was frozen in the middle of my backyard, and Hass picked up all 240 pounds of me, threw me in the car, and pulled off. Though on a good day the hospital is 25 minutes away, on this night, I glanced at the clock when we pulled off, and it was 2:00 am. When we pulled up to the emergency room, it was 2:07am! Whoever said you don't remember the pain is a liar. I remember every scream of pain on that 7-minute car ride. We called my OB's answering service and gave them my name and all of the info, but in the confusion, we were disconnected, and later found out that they opted not to relay the message to the doctor!

When we pulled up to the hospital, I screamed for the nurse with the wheelchair to call AHEAD because I wanted my epidural to be waiting for me. She, of course, ignored me, and so did my Dear Son's head, which I could feel trying to make its way through my birth canal. Still, I was determined not to let THEM lie to me. I knew that despite popular myth about alleged "epidural windows," I could have an epidural even up to the time I was ready to push (ahhh the benefits of being an "experienced" mom). The problem was, however, that no one told Dear Son about that plan and he was already ready to push by them time I got into the elevator. Ever persistent, as soon as I reached the Labor & Delivery floor, I insisted that the nurses send a 911 page to the anesthesiologist! Ever wise, the nurses simply went along with my delusions of potential pain relief, telling me that they would call the pain doctor (who I later found out was doing a C-Section), but that they just needed to check me first.

The saga continued as the nurses wheeled me into a room for my check. When she looked "down there," her jaw dropped nearly as far. "DON'T PUSH, DON'T PUSH, DOOOOONNNN'T PUSHHHHHHHH!!!!!" I tried not to ignore her, but Baby Nunes apparently did because he was pushing his way into this world faster than Marion Jones could run a 100-meter sprint. In a panicked state, she called the other nurses into the room, and told them that baby was coming, and that there may be no time to wait for a doctor. Someone had seen Dr. Reiter, the head of my OB/GYN practice, a few hours earlier on the floor with another patient. At that point, my Dear Husband took off out of the room and down the corridor in search of my Dear Doctor. By happenstance, Dr. Reiter was leaving a patient's room when my hubby accosted him, dragging him into my room. In the end, we learned we'd learned that Dr. Reiter's service never informed him that we were on our way to the hospital, and that he was only there because he was hanging around for another patient who he wasn't sure would go into labor.

We had made it with little time to spare. I'd left my home at 2am; pulled up to the hospital at 2:07am, and baby was born at 2:42am. How's that for timing? The doctors told me that if I have #3, they will have to schedule a near-term inducement because of how fast my body spit out my first two kids. I, on the other hand, blocked out that cogent advice, disregarding everything I heard after "if I have #3." Such clamor was replaced by my resounding pronouncement, "DON'T WORRY ABOUT #3!!"

Anyway, all's well that ends well, and I ended up with an absolutely perfect 8 lb. 8.4 oz baby boy! Despite my UNPLANNED natural childbirth, despite my Dear Son's total disregard of MY birthing plan (which consisted of epidural and early), I'd made it down a childbirth path that billions of women before me have traveled. As a bonus, we were blessed to learn that though we had been afraid of sickle thalassemia disease, our Dear Son tested free and clear of that complication. He has truly been a bundle of blessings from the Lord.

If you want to see a big blissful picture of Baby Nunes, Big Sis and me, click here.

October 22, 2004

The last few weeks have been so incredibly hard. I've been nesting, as they say. Nesting like crazy - trying to get ready for baby whatever that means. Ready for baby? I don't think I'll ever really be ready for baby, but I suppose I should have thought about that eight and a half months ago. Since I've been feeling so overwhelmed, I think it would be helpful to list my accomplishments since July/August. Maybe seeing them in black and white will help me get the hell off of the treadmill of ridiculous expectations that I've been riding.

1. Redecorated and organized my dining room. Thank you LucretiaBullock@dezignerstouch.com
2. Redecorated and organized my living room and foyer. Thank you LucretiaBullock@dezignerstouch.com
3. Purged my attic of junk that went back to the early 1990's and reorganized it (thank you LesleyJAnderson@designedtoorganize.com
4. Organized my kitchen, including cabinets, shelves, pantries, etc Thank you LucretiaBullock@dezignerstouch.com
5. Completely redecorated my powder room bathroom off of my kitchen Thank you LucretiaBullock@dezignerstouch.com
6. Converted our deck into a beautiful new room on the back of our house
7. Planned and executed, along with my sister, a fabulous 90th birthday party for our nana - complete with games, prizes, favors, etc.
8. Participated in several book events and crossed the 800- books-sold threshold with my book, Songs of a Sistermom
9. Co-authored a large portion of a national publication on affirmative action in science & math education (written for educators)
10. Taken on approximately 3 new subject areas at work
11. Negotiated a telecommuting and work at home agreement with my bosses at work, so I can get more credit for the time I work at home
12. Continued to serve Sistermoms, maintaining its website until we're able to complete additional infrastructure building
13. Solved a major "health mystery" in my life after 2 pregnancies of being sent to doctor after doctor and being told I simply have to "grin and bear" EXCRUTIATING pelvic pain; I finally found the right OB doctor to diagnose my condition, which after my own research, led me to the right chiropractor who within only 2 weeks has decreased my pain level by about 80%!!
14. Continued to serve as bookkeeper for Nunes Productions
15. Worked through a LARGE series of ugly details with my accountant and finally got my 2003 taxes filed
16. Worked with my financial planner and secured a better savings plan and finally adequate life & disability insurance for Hass and me, and figured out somewhat of a retirement plan for Hass
17. Helped Hass with many details of organizing his 20th year class reunion
18. Planned a birthday party for my dear daughter (not executed yet, but I found a really cute entertainment idea and got my church to allow us to have the party there)
19. Continued to serve in my church nursery and type the quarterly calendar/schedule for the head of the Nursery Department
20. Planned and executed (with help from one of my co-workers especially) a baby shower for my boss
21. Posed as a "plaster model" for a local artist/sculptor who is creating a sculpture of a pregnant woman to honor African American mothers and our bodies
22. Got signed up in NIH's sickle cell cord blood program, where a research nurse will attend baby Nunes' birth and collect a sample of his cord blood and store it for research and possibly a cure if he ends up having sickle-thalessemia due to Hass and I both having the traits for the disease
23. Continued to offer time, support and advice to my sister and her husband in their business venture www.firststepsgym.com
24. Continued to offer support and research to my other sister as she navigates through her current situation as a single pregnant mom with special needs who is not working

You know, looking at the length, depth and breadth of this list, no wonder I feel overwhelmed. I suppose a few anxiety episodes or crying bouts should be expected in light of all of these things that have passed through my life in only a couple of months. Now that should help you get off of your treadmill, Ri. Next, let's figure out the list of things to finish to finally get you all the way off.

September 2, 2004

So I'm reading Sheryl Cashin's book about the Failures of Integration. It's putting into words (words of strict legal, socio-cultural and political analysis in fact) the "mushy" feelings and emotions I'm struggling with everyday. The decisions I need to make but can't - due not really to procrastination, but more explicitly due to my lack of satisfaction with my choices.

I know we don't live extravagantly. We hold a modest mortgage in a "transitional neighborhood" in the District. But I am so stressed and tired of feeling suffocated. So what my house has tripled in value? I'm "equity rich." I still can't send my child to my neighborhood elementary school … let alone middle or high school. Some of my neighbors are working to lower class families - many on subsidized housing - struggling to provide the best for their families in spite of DC's ailing schools and their own personal situations. Other neighbors are childless yuppies - many of them gay and without children - who moved in to reap the benefits of the re-gentrification process and a transitional neighborhood. The f***ed up schools are simply not a primary concern for these neighbors, and the proximity of the big and beautiful houses in my neighborhood to established "yuppie hoods" - like Adams Morgan and Dupont and Logan Circles - makes putting up with rats in the alley, garbage on the street and the brothas on the block well worth it.

But what about me? That is not my reality. Seven months pregnant as I look into my 4 ½ year old's eyes, I am dreadfully torn about what to do. Who knew that with a physics degree from the most historical of the HBCUs, 2 higher education degrees from Harvard, a six figure (albeit a low six figure) income as a government lawyer, and a wonderful husband who loves me, I could end up as suffocated as I feel?

Less than 90 days before another baby Nunes arrives, I have no idea what I'm going to do about childcare, nor do I know how I'm going to pay for it. I also don't know how much maternity leave I'll have - if any at all! Why does that make sense for a U.S. federal government employee in 2004?

My husband's entrepreneurial spirit, while exciting and inspiring at times, also engenders impatience as I wait for the proverbial pay off that may or may not come. My own entrepreneurial spirit can be equally frustrating, as I already do not have enough time in my day, and publishing, marketing, promoting and performing add more "things to do" on my list. Most of all, my anal tendencies frustrate me because I know all too well what I'm capable of if I had the time but I don't so I do the best I can with what I have which is assuredly well above the average working pregnant primary breadwinner running her own company while helping her husband with his and raising a 4 ½ year old, but not enough to live up to my own expectations, which if I am to remain sane must remain MY yard stick.

So what do I say to my precious daughter's searching eyes? Don't worry, mommy will continue unhappily half addressing her own personal dreams so that you, your mom and dad and your new baby sibling can live in our beautiful house in our "transitional neighborhood?" Don't worry, one day the schools might get better, and if not mommy will work hard but essentially go broke to send you and the new baby to private school or move our family to a suburb that MIGHT have better schools and MIGHT not have homeboys, garbage and rodents to step over? Don't worry, I think the schools will be better there?? Don't worry, one day our family business might take off and we might make enough money to move to a suburb where we're REALLY sure that we can send you to the free public schools - you'll be okay being the only Black student in your classes, and mommy won't mind a 60-90 minute daily commute. You won't have to worry about ability-tracking, political and racial isolation, or possibly living in a state that celebrates Robert E. Lee Day along with MLK Day; mom will have enough energy, time and money to protect you from such trivial worries!!!

What, please tell me, what do I say to my baby's truth-seeking precious eyes?

Friday, July 23, 2004

Laying In Wait

Usually, we equate waiting with boredom. Space. Silence. Nothing to do. Like so many others, in the past when God's given me a respite, I think that that extra space in my life has to be filled up with something, some project, some activity to do. But recently, I've started thinking, what if God gave me this space, this wait, this respite, to do nothing with it, but to enjoy it? What a radical thought!

The OB claims I am only 21 weeks pregnant. The problem is that nobody shared that tidbit of information with my body. My so-called due date - December 4 - is based primarily on the date of my last period, but for the life of me I can't understand why a FEMALE OB would base any important date on such a whimsical quirky thing as my menstrual cycle. I don't care what the medical textbooks say, any woman should know that when you have a period with a mind of its own, it comes whenever it comes, and true to any uninvited guest, it stays as long as it pleases. So, according to the textbook, which was undoubtedly written by a man, I am 5 months pregnant. But the truth of the matter is that my body thinks I'm about 6 or 7 months. This kid has been kicking me and doing backflips on my bladder for at least 5 weeks now. My normally inward belly button sticks out so far that you could trace its protruding shape through even the thickest of summer clothing. And worst of all … I have been so swollen. Last week my ankles and feet were so swollen that I had to buy new shoes that were a size and a half bigger than my size. My rings didn't fit; I was fatigued; and I felt, just generally, FAT. I knew this feeling from my last pregnancy showdown, but I'm sure I didn't experience it until 7 or 8 months in. When I called the OB to ask what to do, I received a warning that I'd better get it together or end up on bed rest.

Bed rest? Me? Fat-chance. So, I figured I'd better get my pregnant self together. Now is finally the time. It's do or die. Even though I am trying to appreciate my wait, my respite, my moment … I am damn sure NOT trying to do so on bed rest.

So I'm going back to basics. Started moving my fat butt and exercising, drinking a ton of water, drinking my "Fat Flush" mix of water pure cranberry juice, and flaxseeds. And, believe it or not, I added cod liver oil. 50-100 trips to the bathroom later and Walla!!! My swelling is gone.

Since my body doesn't lie, I'm quite certain that the latest my baby will arrive is the end of November. That gives me August, September, October, and part of November to lay in wait … AND to enjoy it. I'm avoiding my urge to make a list of things to do during my respite, so I'll try to think about it as a narrative, instead of as a list:

I want to have at least 175 really detailed conversations with my daughter while looking in her eyes. I want to ignore the fact that several people who I deal with on a daily basis irk the hell out of me; I want to smile at them and mean it because they really don't much matter in my life anyway. I want to get several pregnancy massages, and fabulous pedicures. I want to stop thinking about changing the world and concentrate on making my world a better place to dwell for my husband and daughter, and a place that my unsuspecting newborn won't be sorry s/he had to enter. I want to read several books with my feet up. And I want to start somewhat of a pregnancy scrap book. It won't be nearly as extensive as when I was pregnant with my DD, but I don't want my poor #2 to think that I'll love him/her any less! Later!!

Monday, July 4, 2004

Act II, Scene 4

Sometimes in life you just feel okay. Not good, not bad. Just okay. I guess the most important thing to learn about feeling okay, is that it's okay to feel okay. I mean feeling good is good and all, and we should definitely savor those days when we're feeling good. Feeling bad is, of course, a drag, especially because as superhuman mothers when we're feeling bad we tend spend our time feeling bad about feeling bad. Now, why would we waste time feeling guilty and feeling bad about feeling bad? Wouldn't it just be easier to let ourselves feel bad for a while about whatever it is we feel bad about, and then simply just move on? But when we spend time feeling bad about feeling bad, chances are that we end up forgetting what we felt bad about in the first place and sinking lower and lower for no good reason at all. So really, it's not only okay to feel okay, but it's also okay to feel bad sometimes. In fact, let's EMBRACE THE DOLDRUMS! It's the only way to move beyond them.

So, here's a list of the reasons why I felt bad a couple of weeks ago, followed by a list of the reasons why I feel okay today. While I'm at it, I might as well think of some really good reasons why tomorrow will bring a brighter day - a day when I will feel GOOD!!!

1. Clutter, clutter everywhere.
2. No time for "Mommy Time."
3. Tired all the time, and got NO EXERCISE.
4. I'd been running on a treadmill and I couldn't get off.

Why I feel just "okay" today:

1. Clutter, clutter, everywhere - except for my living room and dining room where I worked with a fellow Sistermom with her own interior design business to help me out of my rut. She was really reasonably priced, though I was at the point where I would have opted for her services over groceries. Who knew how much of an impact on my psyche it was having!!!
2. Made a little time for "Mommy Time" though not nearly enough.
3. Still tired all the time, still behind on my marketing plan for Songs of a Sistermom, still no exercise, and now TIRED OF EVERYONE ASKING ME IF I'M HAVING TWINS!!!!
4. Slowed the treadmill down - a little bit.

Why tomorrow will bring a brighter day - a day when I will feel GOOD!!

1. Because I always did like that song - the Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow.
2. Because I have a decluttering plan.
3. Because I promised to demand Mommy Time from myself and my family.
4. Because I really am going to start exercising again (really!)
5. Because I plan on slowing the treadmill down enough for me to clearly state to my friends and family that I need someone else jump on with me when I can't keep up.

Monday, June 7, 2004

The pattern of my life is that about once every 18-24 months, I have these blackouts. Meltdowns. Life altering rock bottom experiences. The kind of experiences where it seems like someone took your brain to Kilamanjaro, dropped it to a canyon below under a piercing bright sun, and then laughingly asks if you're okay. No, you idiot, I'm not okay, okay? My head hurts, my heart hurts, my soul aches, my spirit's sunk about as low as it can descend and still be above the depths of hell's inferno. But it sure is hot there.

So, like I said, I have the (mis)fortune of having this happen once every 18-24 months if I'm lucky, but I'd be lying if I said it hadn't happened more than that. Sometimes. In fact, I dare say it took years, no decades, to notice the cycles at all.

So, last week it descended on me again. And while it was characteristically bad, I will say it was somehow so very comforting to eat ice cream and hot apple pie at 3:30am in the morning in McDonald's parking lot, rubbing my impregnated belly, telling myself, "Girl, God didn't give you nothin' you couldn't handle." (Though my nappy 'fro had been seeming like a cake walk compared to my life as of late). Still we'd have never perfected flight without a crash or two!!

Anyway, prayerfully, this time I grabbed my Purpose Driven Life book and CDs that had been collecting dust in my cluttered dining room, which set the stage for "Sojourner Peace" to actually draw a life lesson or two from the Crash of June 2004:

1. I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me. The old Bible verse had become no more than a cliché to me. But after meditating on it over and over and over, after speaking it over and over and over, the cliché fell aside and reality stepped in to guide me toward the light.

2. Sojourning for peace will be a never-ending journey if you don't begin with God. Peace is unattainable without Him.

3. The Mom who cried wolf. I've learned that a prolonged over-the-top attitude will compel you to be seen as over-the-top. Duh! And then, even when you feel that you have actually found some success at attaining peace deep in your soul, when difficult situations or conversations arise, your closest family and friends will NOT believe that you are really at peace. They'll just assume you're going to have another over-the-top reaction. Makes sense to me. I guess I brought it on myself over the years. But the $64,000 question is how can you remain calm and let them know that you really are calm without their preconceived notions of your probable reactions pissing you off right back into your over-the-top behavior? (I'm still working on this one).

Thursday, May 27, 2004

Between the end of March and Mother's Day, I moved at a frenetic pace. But, since Mother's Day, I've been, shall we say, stuck in the mud. It started, actually, on the day before Mother's Day, when I was blessed to spend a relaxing childless, husbandless day at Soul Day Spa. Of course, the child within still prevented me from enjoying the service that I most needed - A MASSAGE!!!!!! Still, I had a fabulous time there and afterwards, I went home and went to sleep. What? Sleep in the middle of the day?

Between Mother's Day and just a couple of days ago, I don't think I sold one book! How's that for a pregnant book peddler? I went from averaging almost 10 books a day, to nothing! Zip. Nada. The big fat zero. See, stuck in the mud.

And speaking of big and fat, during my hiatus, all I could do was sleep and eat carbs to keep my nausea at bay. Yes. The queen of low carbs, high fiber, low sugar, showed up at the OB/GYN a mere 4 weeks later with every extra net carb gram that I ate, translated to yet another extra pound on the scale. In fact, the doctor who was least concerned about weight gain during my last pregnancy and told me to tell all of the other doctors who complained then to go jump in a lake, this time told me to put the brakes on it if I could. So I did. For about 2 days. But then the carbs came back. Oh well. At least I get to see I different doctor next time. Stuck in the mud.

But, I'm not really complaining about being stuck in the mud. Mud, if applied properly, can be good for your skin, its nutrients replenishing your body and soul. Really, I embrace my time in the mud. Even though I needed to start moving again (this weekend I was back to peddling books and wah-lah 22 books sold), my time in the mud gave me a gift. No reading. No writing. Definitely NO BOOK PEDDLING. No traveling. No nothing but working (well, I didn't want to, but the mortgage DOES have to get paid), and enjoying eye to eye, heart to heart, deep conversations with a four year old.

Four things I learned while in the mud:

Embrace the mud or it will swallow you whole. If you embrace it, you will know when it's time to rinse off.

Don't live your life by clichés. For example, even though "life moves on" truth be told, when you embrace the mud and then emerge from it, you'll probably find that the same old people in your life are doing the same old things. Basically, don't worry, you won't miss much while in the mud.

Stay in tune with your life and make up your own real life clichés, such as "embracing the mud" or "While I've realized that I cannot be all things to all people, I'm tired of spending too much time being things that I don't want to be, and not enough time being who I am."

Follow your passion (not necessarily your dreams, but your passion). Speaking of not spending enough time being who I am… About a week ago, one of the teachers in DD's school suddenly fell out on the playground during recess, and later died. She was only 45, active, young children and husband. Unbelievable. I know it happens. But when it happens right in front of you… Anyway, just follow your passion while you can.

Sunday, May 23, 2004

While I've realized that I cannot be all things to all people, I'm tired of spending too much time being things that I don't want to be, and not enough time being who I am.

Sunday, May 9, 2004

Mother's Day seems an appropriate day to begin my online journaling journey. Like so many others, I've been journaling or keeping a diary on and off for my entire life. As soon as it gets good, needless to say life takes over and I drop the ball. I figure if I attempt to do this online in front of all of you, then maybe, just maybe the pressure will keep me keeping on.

Course, I should've started this on my birthday back in March. No, not because it was the beginning of my 37th year of life. But it coincided with the birth of my second baby - Songs of a Sistermom. Well, woulda, coulda shoulda but didn't - that's the story of my life and the lives of so many others. But one thing I've learned is NOT to dwell on that, but to keep moving forward.

So, that brings me to establishing the 6 cardinal rules for my journal:

1. No wouldas, couldas, or shouldas allowed.

2. No pressure to write everyday, or even every week.

3. No using my beautiful daughter's name. We'll just call her DD - Internet slang for Dear Daughter. Those of you who know me know it anyway, and Lord knows she didn't ask to be the public subject matter of all of my fodder for thought and writing. But hey, we can't pick our parents, right?

4. Any format is acceptable. Prose, poems, random thoughts, or lists. Lists are quick, easy and reflective, i.e. "things I learned this week."

5. Don't worry about grammar. I graduated from Lincoln University in Pennsylvania. That means that I PASSED THE WRITING PROFICIENCY EXAM, ya'll. (Believe me, as my fellow Lincolnites can attest, it is a much stronger endorsement of my writing skills than my TWO Harvard degrees). I know how to write a grammatically correct sentence, okay. Usually, I do. But if I need to drop a comma, use a fragment, or an improper spelling here or there, it's cool. Ya dig?

6. This list of rules can breathe and grow or whither and die, because I said so, and it's my list.

April 2004 - a whirlwind. A blur. A blur of readings, signings, meetings, parties, trains, cars, boxes of books, storage facilities, post offices, labels, boxes, shipping, Internet hell, computer hell, invoices, 2 a.m. nights. But mostly, a blur of blessings. Who knew, when I started this venture, I'd be peddling books pregnant. Not only pregnant, but pregnant in my first trimester when your body and the new life emerging within it conspire to hijack your energy and hold it hostage for months to come. There's nothing to do, but surrender, and make it work the best you can. That's what I have done. That's what I'll keep on doing. About 3 months ago, DD's pediatrician told me, "Girl, where do you find the time to do all that you do? You need to slow down. What you need is a tranquilizer … or another baby. That'll slow you down." No sooner did she speak those words, did I get my tranquilizer.

So, as my poem goes "Don't Question a Blessing." But I must say, I respectfully asked God, if I had to receive this blessing right now! After all, I'd been working on the "birth" or the release of my book baby for an entire year. I had bravely - no audaciously - ordered 2000 books!! I had no idea where I'd even store them. I just knew that 1000 books would cost me too much money, and I just knew that despite the admonitions of all traditional notions in book publishing tugging on my progress telling me that no one will buy poetry, that MY poetry book would be different. MY poetry book was marketable and would sell. All I had to do would be to get it "out there." Now, that Songs was finally born - on my birthday no less - just as I am firming up my marketing and PR, which is truly a bigger challenge than the book writing and production process (hey, who cares if you have 2000 quality books collecting dust in your basement) … okay, just as I'm moving to this phase, here God comes with my BLESSING!! You have to understand that it was only reasonable to ask Him if I had to receive this, right now?

But, what's a mother to do? Keep moving forward. That's what "We Women" do. So, I surrendered to my God, my family, my body, and my baby inside. I surrendered to my BLESSING. Course, as I reflected in my poem, "I Used to Be a Poet," I knew that I could surrender to and accept new definitions in my life without completely losing myself in that new definition. I have to hold on to my soul, ensuring that I retain a reflection of my former self inside that new definition. Prayerfully, I'd been through that one before, and had written a "note to self" about it.

So, I forged on to become a PREGNANT BOOK PEDDLER!!! And now, this is my story.

5 Things I've learned (or re-learned) between the end of March and Mother's Day:

1. Rely on your friends and family. We women tend to give too much and ask for nothing in return. If you're clear that you're trying to handle a situation that even Superwoman can't handle alone, ASK FOR HELP.

2. Create synergies with those you love. Interdependence is a state that results from two or more independent people creating synergies with one another. There's no greater state to catapult you to success than interdependence. When you rely on your friends and family, try to do it in such a way that each of you benefit. You will all raise each other to higher heights than any of you could have done independently. Using this concept, I was able to get my books shipped out with the least amount of stress possible. My website was designed and is being maintained because of the same principle.

3. Let it go. There are only 24 hours in a day. Some things are not going to get done when you want them to. God wants us to sleep (at least sometimes). You know you're in trouble when you've seen every episode of Oprah in a season at 1am in the morning.

4. Multitasking with DD is a no-no. DD needs you to look into her eyes with your undivided attention. With our ridiculous work/school schedules, we only get a few hours a day together anyway. Save the multitasking skills for everything else.

5. God gave you money to spend it. That's not to say we should be frivolous. But if you're tired, pregnant butt needs to get to NJ or NC for a booksiging, and you can't drive, buy a damn plane or train ticket.