So we're at Andrew's birthday party in Houston last Saturday, and it's hotter than a fat woman at a picnic in the dessert.  I mean it's Africa Bambada and the Zulu Nation hot. Shawn's sweating so hard looks like somebody is pouring water on his head. Andrew looks like he has the measles because he's got a heat rash... but we're outside, having the time of our lives--cause my momma and daddy threw my son a kick ass two year old birthday party. 

I'm talking those folks, Grandma and Grandpa had water slides, pools (several) swing sets, slides, teeter-totters--you name it--they had it.  Food, drinks for kids and grown ups--oh my goodness--the fun was off the hook for all involved.

Usually, at birthday parties, the adults have to supervise the kids--but Saturday--the kids were having so much fun--they forgot they had parents--they were off in the pool, on the water slides. They were having too much fun. I told my momma they should set up like that every week and charge admission, call it 'Granny Land' and charge extra for food and drinks.

It was good to see all my kin folks and relatives!  I was especially happy to see my cousin Nikki.  She and I were raised like sisters and we don't often get to sit down and hang out.  She's got teenagers--and for some CRAZY AZZ reason--she let her husband talk her into getting pregnant again--so now she's got an 18 year old, a 17 year old and a damn 4 year old.  Now what kind of sense does that make? She was home free!!!

Now Nikki is the type of cousin that will fight somebody if they mess with you.  She's also the cousin who will bust your man in the mouth if she catches him out talking to some other woman--even if it is his sister--they'd better be both wearing the family reunion t-shirts--and have a DNA sample available for her inspection. Nikki is straight up old school--ready for a fight--looking to kick ass and take names later (ala Uncle Kathy in her prime)!

And Nikki is older, she has grown kids--and this 4 year old--is stretching her nerves a bit thin.  She's gotten over the toddler stage once--and now to be going through it again at her age--she's on some heavy medication--and some (il)legal marijuana to help her cop with the drama of a 4 year old daughter.

And Janice, her baby girl is cute too. Looks just like her momma and cusses like a sailor (Remember the old blog "That's Fucked Up Josh"?  That was Janice being real "honest" with her older brother).    Hey, in our family, that's what you do when you're 4 years old, you cuss folks out!  It's what makes us who we are...

OK, so it's taking me a long ass time to tell this funny story, OK, I'm getting to the good part.

So the kids are playing in the pool and me and my cousin Nikki are sitting there talking and all of a sudden, her 4 year old runs up to her and then, out of no where, Janice starts screaming. I look down to see if one of those Texas sized mosquitoes has taken a chunk out of her leg--and I see brown stuff sprinkled on her thigh. 

I look at Nikki and I'm like "What's going on?"

"That girl," Nikki yelled out in frustration, "she done ran into my cigarette."

Nikki was sitting there, puffing on a $6 pack of Newports when her daughter darted out of the water looking for a piece of candy.  Nikki wasn't even half way finished with her cancer stick when Janice bumped into it and got it all wet.

Instead of my cousin tending to her daughter who had just been burned by a cigarette butt, she jumped up and tried to dry of the remaining part of the cigarette that hadn't been wet up yet!  And girlfriend was cussing the whole time, "Damn, I wish these kids would watch where they are going. Cigarettes ain't cheap you know.  Hell, they cost $6 a pack. I just bought these! I'm going over on the other side of the yard under the shade tree to finish this one."

And she got her happy a$$ up and walked to the other side of the yard, lawn chair and cigarette in hand to finish getting her puff on.  Never mind that little Janice was standing there, leg could have been on fire, it didn't even matter.  Thankfully, she caught the side of the cigarette and only got a few ashes on her thigh! 

Funny thing is, Nikki sat over there, all by herself, trying to smoke that wet a$$ cigarette--the whole time she was scowling at Janice!  Me and one of my girlfriend's Fanchon picked up on it and had a good laugh.

"Girl, is she still mad because that baby bumped into her cigarette?" Fanchon asked me.

"Look at her. Janice done gone off to play on the slide--it's been a good ten minutes--and Nikki is still rolling her eyes at her." I responded.

Nikki picked up on the conversation, "Hey, I hear y'all talking about me over there." she yelled across the yard, "And the answer is yes. Hell yeah I'm still mad."

We all busted out laughing...

OK, so when I was growing up, I have vivid memories of a man named Mr. Williams coming to the house once a month, the first Saturday of every month actually, to collect money.  We called him "The Insurance Man"--cause he worked for a company called Golden State Life Insurance Company.  He drove a Cadillac and had a briefcase.  He'd knock on the screen door and ask "Is your mother home?" And we'd run to get our momma.  She'd give him $100 and he'd issue her a hand written receipt.  Mr. Williams repeated this at just about every house in the projects--which housed bout 200 to 300 families. 

And these were people who most of 'em, couldn't afford a car. Were on the bus using public transpiration.  Most of 'em were living "next" pay check to pay check.  And these insurance companies knew that--but they had these folks convinced that instead of planning for their kids' futures, they should plan for their deaths!

The agent would use fear tactics, telling these minimum wage earning single mothers, "Well, if something happened to your children and they didn't have coverage, you would have a way to bury them.  You need life insurance to protect them."  No you don't! And they knew that when they told these women that $hit!  Experts all agree, the worst investment you can make is putting your infant child into life insurance.  Take that money and put it someplace useful: COLLEGE SAVINGS!  Or if you got a little juvenile delinquent, instead of a college fund, get a BAIL FUND!

My momma, the moment we were born, got us into life insurance!  Not a college savings fund, not a mutual fund, a life insurance policy!  Why? Cause these damn insurance companies like Golden State preyed on poor black folks in the projects and had them thinking "What if your child dies? You don't have any money to bury them. Pay us for life insurance and we'll take care of you."

So everybody had life insurance. Nobody had a damn savings account, but e'rebody had life insurance!  From the 4 month old cousins to the 99 year old auntie--and Mr. Williams was everybody's insurance agent.  And most of the time he was the only man any of the single mommas would ever see.

He'd smile and flash that southern charm, collect his money, pay off his Cadillac and keep going. Dishing out the worst hustle known to man: THE LIFE INSURANCE GAME!

I found out just how fowl Mr. Williams and Golden State were last week when I talked to my momma. She and I were discussing wills and I told her about our situation with insurance policies and beneficiaries--and she told me "Well, I have an insurance policy for you with Golden State."  So I asked her, "How much is it for?" And what she said astounded me... my momma said "It's for $5,000!" 

My mouth flew open and I was instantly pissed off at her.  I asked "Momma, are you for real?"

"Yeah!" she told me, "I've been paying $50 a month since you were born for you and your brother to have insurance in case you die!"

"Momma, do the damn math," I yelled, "You paid $50 a month for 36 years for a $5000 insurance policy.  You done gave them damn people $21,600!"

She wasn't even phased about being ripped off, "Well," she told me, "if something happens then you'll be covered! If you don't need it, I'll just give the money to Andrew."

"What I don't need is for my momma to continue to be ripped off by an insurance company who preys on black folks who think a funeral is more important than a college fund.  Cash out the policy and buy yourself something nice with it!  I'm a grown a$$ woman, my momma don't have no business keeping an insurance policy on me. I can handle that!"

My goodness.  Had she put that money into a college fund, my black a$$ wouldn't be having my wages garnished right now by Texas Guaranteed Student Loan Company. College would have been paid for with money to spare!

I'm just dumbfounded--and my momma and her momma and her momma's momma ain't the only ones who done been dooped by these insurance companies.

When my grandfather died back when I was in college, my father's daddy in Louisiana--my dad and his brothers and sisters went to their family home to help their mom sift through papers and figure out where all the assets were.  What they found was the biggest hustle since "pimpin' hoes"--the "black insurance game".  My grandfather had paid $35 a month all his adult life on a life insurance policy for him that was worth, get this y'all FIVE HUNDRED DAMN DOLLARS!  You can't dig a hole in your yard and bury a pet bird for $500!  He died in his 80s--he probably got that policy when he got married to my grandmother in his early 20s--and had been paying $35 a month faithfully until his death!

So y'all, do me a favor this week--call your parents and grand parents and check their insurance policies.  Cause it can't just be my family--I'll bet there is somebody right now whose grand-momma is living in Wisconsin who is about 103 years old who has been paying $20 a month all her life on a $1,000 life insurance policy. 

My momma's momma just turned 70 years old, but she thinks that she's a spring chicken.  Either her doctor is giving her too much medication or not enough pills. Cause girlfriend is trippin'!

I went to Houston just recently so I got a chance to spend time with my family and friends. And before I went over to my grandmother's house, my cousin MeMe gave me a stern warning "Girl, grandmother is trippin!"

I was like "Child, what are you talking about? She's been tripping since we were little girls, she's gonna go to the grave trippin'!"

"But not like she's doing," MeMe informed me, "either she is taking too much medication or her dose is off."

I laughed it off and headed northbound on I-59 to Humble to see my momma's momma!  When I got there, my cell phone was buzzing. It was MeMe, "Girl, I almost forgot to tell you," she was out of breath, "Grandmother got a weave."

"Get the hell out of here," I laughed her off, "A weave? How she gonna get a weave at 70 years old?"

"Well, she got one.  And it ain't even no gray in it and to make things worse, it's black!"

Now my grandma is a thick, light skinned lady, hazel eyes with freckles on her face. She's had blond hair since she was born and it's always been that way.  She's one of those light skinned black people who can "pass" if you ain't looking at 'em closely enough--like old school Thurgood Marshall type light skinned!  I ain't never seen her with black hair. 

I go in the house and Uncle Kathy, who lives there and takes care of her--is hanging out on the computer. And my grandmother is sitting there with a head full of curly fries.  She's got that spiral curly weave that all the project girls got--and it's black like midnight black.  I don't know if I wanna laugh or cry!  I walked over to her and gave her a hug.  Andrew looked at her hair and said "Finger, finger..." my baby thought she had a head full of curly fingers!

She is trying to recapture her youth--and I don't quite blame her.  Cause she's getting up in age--and all her friends are either dying or going to the old folks home (AKA "The point of no return")... so I'm guessing she figures the black curly hair will turn back her aging process. 

I should have seen this coming though. A couple of years ago, me and my best friend Marty from Louisiana were hanging out at my grandmother's house and she was sitting in her room working a puzzle book and watching The Price is Right (there are only two white men black women love: Bob Barker and Victor Newman).  So I walk over to my grandmother and give her a big hug and kiss. She tells me all the crap she needs from the store so I make a list of my shopping items.  Marty is standing there--being white--looking all confused!

My grandmother told him "Baby, come over here and give me a kiss."

So Marty waved her off like "Oh hell no. I ain't kissing you!"

And I was all put off, I told Marty "You get over there and kiss my grandmother!  Right now!"

So he tip toes over to her recliner which is next to her scooter which is on the other side of her walker behind her cane--and he leaned down to give her a smack on her cheek.  My grandmother--who claims to have "back problems" reaches up, grabs Marty's face (he's gonna kill me for telling this story), overpowers him--pulls him down--and plants him a kiss on his lips.  But not just any kiss, my grandmother tries to wiggle her "old lady" tongue in Marty's mouth.  I sat there--in amazement--as my best friend tried to pull out of her grip--but he couldn't!  She was too strong--she kept pulling and kept tonguing or trying to tongue my friend!

Finally, somehow, by the grace of God and with the "jaws of life" Marty was able to escape her clutches.  He wiped his mouth off with his sleeve and looked like he wanted to spit!  He yelled, "You know you put your tongue in my mouth!"

My grandmother started batting her eyes at him and smiling real hard like she was flirting.  It reminded me of that cartoon where Bugs Bunny was flirting with that "momma bear" and when he tried to get away from her--she was stalking him like crazy.  I laughed so hard, I think I peed on myself. It was way too damn funny!

I remember clearly when I was about 10 years old... my great grandmother Freddie had just had a fight with her boyfriend (yeah, my great-grandmother had a boyfriend named Mr. Antoine--they dated for about fifty years before his Alzheimer's set in and he forgot where she lived at.  When my grandmother had to call his wife to come and pick him up--I believe that ended their relationship--I'll have to do a blog about that later.) and she was riding in the car with her daughter, my grandmother Anna Dean. Me and my cousin Nikki (who was 8 at the time) were in the back seat.

Now, Nikki and I (this was before they made kids wear seat belts) were down on the floor of the car playing Uno when we heard them talking about Mr. Antoine.  I was soaking up the entire conversation--nosy as I was... I wanted to know what was going on.  So I yelled up to the front and asked my great grandmother Freddie, "Are we mad at Mr. Antoine? What did he do?"

"Damn it momma," my grandmother told her momma, "them chil'len is listening to everything we're saying. We gotta wait until we get home to talk."

But my grandmother couldn't wait--she had all this pinned up frustration inside of her and she had to let it out--so she started spelling the words instead of saying them.

Well, that blew me out of the water--I was educated at one of the poorest schools in the Houston Independent School District and they ain't teach us how to spell until we were damned near ready to exit Junior High School.

So all the way home--they were spelling and getting their points across--I caught on to words like "the" and "fuc&" (cause of course, I couldn't spell my own name until I was 8--but I had the cuss words on lock)--but they lost me completely on everything else.

But the funny thing is, another time, my Aunt Danita and my Aunt Mary Joe (both my momma's sisters--and neither of them are Harvard Road Scholars) were talking about their boyfriends in the car--and again, my cousin Nikki and I were in the back seat playing--this was years later--I must have been about 12 or 13 years old.

Well, they ain't want us to pick up on what they were talking about so they started spelling their words.  And they were going back and forth for a minute before I had to jump in, "Aunt Mary Joe," I told her, "that's not how you spell bullshit, it has two "L"s in it, not just one!"

They both busted out laughing and realized that both Nikki and I were old enough to spell any word they could come up with--and spell it correctly!

This all came to mind the other night when I called to talk to my momma... she was babysitting my brother's kids--his  youngest son and daughter duo by his third baby momma--when she wanted to give me the scoop on some juicy family gossip--but she ain't want the kids to pick up on it.  She tried whispering at first--but the oldest kid was like "Granny, what you talking about? I can't hear you! Who is that on the phone? Auntie Sheletta?"

My momma was like "Damn, these children are right here but I gotta tell you this now!"

So she went in the bathroom and pretended like she had to go "potty"--well, that didn't stop the kids from being within ear shot!  So we still couldn't talk.  So, my momma decided to do the only thing she knew--to spell all the words to me that she wanted to say--so the little ones wouldn't know what she was talking bout.

Except my momma can't spell.  So she was trying to tell me that she needed to get a new refrigerator and by the time I tried translating I thought her radio was broken!  Then, she is upset at my father for changing from local cable television to the dish network--but when she finished with her broken spelling--I thought she was talking about getting breast enhancements!

I just said "Momma look, with that Wheatly High School 5th Ward education you got--just send me an e-mail or call me later--cause I can't understand $hit you're spelling!"

My grandmother called me from Wal Mart the other day screaming in the department store phone from the cashier counter (she ain't got no cell phone) "I see Andrew. He's on the pampers at Wal Mart."

"No grandmother. That can't be possible.  Andrew ain't never posed for no Wal Mart pictures."

"Oh yes it is him." she assured me, "I know my grandson when I see him. He's sitting there with the little girl and he ain't got no shirt on."

I tried telling her that he had pampers on display at Target, but that was it.  But it all fell on deaf ears.  She swears up and down that was my son on them pampers and she even made the people at the store get her a box for free.  She put them in her scooter and went on home--going about 10 miles per hour in the middle of the street in a bright red buggy with a bell on it.

Then, a few days later, my uncle Timmy went to my momma's house to get a plate of food and something to drink. He told my mom and dad that he saw Andrew on the side of a bus.  My momma told him "Brother, I don't think Andrew has done any modeling in Houston.  All his stuff is in Minneapolis--at least the companies that are headquartered there--the busses in Houston are local with the public transportation system."

But Uncle Tim was absolutely sure that was little Andrew on the side of that bus. He was just as sure as the girl on Maurie Povich who was sure that this fifth guy was her baby's daddy!

Ever since Andrew started modeling--my family swears they see him in ads.  Our voice mail is always filled with calls from wells wishers saying "Hey we saw Andrew in an advertisement for Coppertone tans."  It could be a little white girl on the jar of Gerber's foods--and they'd be like "Look, there is Andrew.  They put a little make up on him, but I know that baby anywhere."

My girlfriend Bereatha called the other day from Brookdale Mall and asked me what I was buying Shawn for Christmas. She was shopping for her boyfriend James and wanted some gift ideas. 

When I told her Shawn wasn’t getting anything, she nearly flipped her lid — girlfriend went off on me. “As much as Shawn does for you and his family, all the sacrifices he makes, I can’t believe you ain’t getting him nothing for Christmas.”

“I ain’t saying he ain’t a good man,” I said, trying to defend myself. “It’s just that—”

She quickly cut me off: “I’m calling your momma! I’m gonna tell on you.”

“I ain’t five years old,” I quipped back. “I don’t care about you tattling to my momma. But — please don’t call her…”

Truth be told, my momma is mean as a two-headed snake, and Lawd knows you don’t want to cross her or get on her bad side. But my plea fell on deaf ears, ’cause two minutes later my momma was blowing up the cell phone. “Sheletta, have you lost your damn mind?” she yelled in my ear.

“Hello, Mother,” I responded sweetly in an effort to diffuse the situation. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“I just heard that you ain’t buying nothing for Shawn for Christmas. That’d better be a lie and vicious rumor, ’cause if it’s true, I’m gonna walk up to Minnesota from Houston to whoop your—”

“Momma, I thought you gave up cursing.”

“I gave up drinking, too, but you are going to make me pick up a bottle of Crown and go back to my old ways.” She gradually calmed down and offered to help. “If you need some money…”

“No, I don’t need any money. Andrew ain’t getting nothing either,” I smarted off.

“Now I know you’re crazy. Have you taken your medicine today? Did your brain get frostbite in all that snow?”

“Momma, Christmas is Jesus’ birthday, and He’s the only one in our house that gets celebrated. When it’s Shawn’s birthday, I’ll get him something. When it’s Andrew’s birthday, he’ll get something. But Christmas is Jesus’ birthday!”

I thought I was making perfect sense, but Momma wasn’t really hearing me. “Don’t try to get all religious on me!” she snapped before hanging up in my face. (Momma is off the hook, ain’t she?)

Too many times — especially us Black folks — we go into debt trying to buy gifts for our friends and family that we know we can’t afford. We get to the mall at six in the morning the day after Thanksgiving and spend up both our December payroll checks on Nintendo Wiis, Fisher Price play sets, diamond jewelry and electronics. Then, when January rolls around, we’re eating fried bologna sandwiches until our income tax checks come in!

Y’all know that ain’t right! We gotta do better, ’cause we know better. It’s all a scheme by “The Man” to keep us from remembering the true meaning of CHRISTmas.

I watched a football game with my husband Sunday, and before the first quarter was over, I saw at least 20 Kay Jeweler commercials — and the little White ladies were so happy to get that $199 diamond pendant. They are pumping out images of happiness found in material things when we all know that true joy comes from the Lord.

Don’t get sucked in from the advertisers, ’cause after you buy all those gifts, all you got left is a busted bank account and not even enough to put $5 in the offering plate at church. 

A funny thing happened yesterday when the mail lady passed by: I had a special delivery box. My momma had gone out and bought Christmas gifts for Shawn and Andrew, had them wrapped, and put my name on them as if they were from me.

I had never worried about putting my wishes down on paper before--but with the birth of our son--Shawn and I know that we needed to do something right away--because if anything happens to us, we want Andrew to be taken care of.

So we got good life insurance policies (I'm worth about 1000% more dead than I am alive. I'm bout to kill myself and collect the money)--and we're working out the particulars for our will.

I told Shawn that I wanted to be cremated and if I'm brain dead, don't worry about pulling the plug. I don't wanna even linger in a coma. I told him "Look dude, God came down and got up Jesus and brought Him back to life after being dead for three days.  Leave me there for 3 days--in a coma--on machines--on whatever--after three days, pull the plug."

"Cool!" Shawn said, rubbing his hands together as if he had won the lottery, "We'll call that the Jesus Resurrection Plan. If you ain't up in three days--you get to meet Him personally!"

I was gonna get mad at my husband--but I was too busy laughing at him cause he's so silly!

So we got everything down on paper and then the big question came up "What are we gonna do with Andrew?"

I felt like I couldn't say "Well, he needs to go to my momma if we die." because Shawn has parents too and they would be left out.  Besides, all four of 'em are too old to be trying to raise a little boy. By the time Andrew is 10, my mother in law would be 145 years old!  And when he turns 15, my own dad would be grandfathered into the AARP Gold Member Club!  No way they could keep up with a teen-aged boy!

So Shawn thought about his brother--and they would be wonderful--Todd and his wife April are good people.  But he has another brother too, Mark and his wife Christine are wonderful folks!  So are we saying one brother would be better than the other?

After hours of going around in circles, we decided we'd will Andrew to his God-parents.  That's why you pick God parents, right? To have someone for your children to be raised by in case something happens to you!  We agreed. God parents are wonderful folks. Couple who would provide a loving Christian home for our son. And that was important too--a couple who were grounded and rooted in the principles of Jesus--

Then Shawn looked at me and said "Well, you gotta tell your momma..."

I was like "Oh hell no. You do it. You're the head of our household."

"Not today I'm not." He informed me, "That's your crazy a$$ momma!"

So I reluctantly called my momma and I tried to start off cool like "Hey momma, just wanted to let you know that me and Shawn are doing our wills and there are some things I want you to know about.  I don't wanna be buried and stuff, I want to be cremated--and I don't want to be hooked up to a machine if I'm clinging to life--just let me die."

"Whatever you want Sheletta." She said calmly, "That's your decision to make."

"And one more thing," I took a deep breath before continuing, "we're gonna will Andrew to his god-parents in the event that anything happens to both me and Shawn."

My momma snapped: "Don't call here with that bull$hit Sheletta!  You know if something happens to you--I am going to get that baby.  I will sue your a$$ in the grave for that boy.  You must be off your medication."

"No momma, I'm not." I told her, trying to stand firm, "we picked good God fearing Godparents so that Andrew would be provided with a loving--"

"Bull$hit" she kept saying, "Andrew got grandparents. I'm his grand momma!"

"Well what about his other grand momma?"

"That woman is on oxygen and old! Besides, the girls' mother comes first. Everybody knows that."

Then she had a suggestion: "Shawn's momma could take him for six months and I could take him the other six."

"So each year he'd change schools and states, right? That provides no stability."

We went around and around in circles and got no where except frustrated. So needless to say, if Shawn and I do any traveling in planes, we'll be going on separate airlines!  That way if one plane goes down, then one of us will still be alive!

I love my family but sometimes they have these big a$$ ideas and grand plans without thinking things through all the way before they act on them.

Case in point, the other day, my aunt Mary Joe called and said she was going to open her own restaurant.  She'd been scouting buildings looking for someplace to house "Mary Joe's Chicken & Waffles"!  That's great that she wants to be her own boss and has been bitten by the entrepreneurial bug.  But I got a hint that my wonderfully talented Aunt needed to do a little more research before starting this project when she asked me "How much should I ask the bank for when I go to get my loan?  I was thinking $50,000 but I might just ask for $100,000."  Now mind you, my Aunt's phone has been in my name since I was 12 years old. (I didn't find out until I tried to get a student loan for college.)  My aunt ain't never even worked in a kitchen before--she can cook now--makes a mean cobbler--but knows nothing about the restaurant industry.

I wanted to encourage her, but I didn't know where to start. I was like "Well, Aunt Mary Joe, perhaps you should shadow someone who owns their own eatery and work there with them for a few months--so you could see how the business actually operates."

"Yeah, you right." Aunt Mary Joe agreed, "Then should I ask for 50 or 100--thousand dollars from the bank?"

So anyway--I'm at home the other day and my Aunt Judith calls me. Now I'm terrified to death--cause Aunt Judith never calls.  I answer the phone--thinking my momma must be dead if Judith is calling "Oh hello Nanny Judy, what's up?"

"Hey, I need a favor," she tells me, "from you.  I want to do a Red and White Ball for Christmas for our family next year."

"Oh you don't have to ask me to come, I'll be there with bells on." I told her.

"No," she informed me, "you're going to organize it."

"How can I organize a gala for the family in Houston when I live in Minnesota?"

"You can find a way. I need you to make this happen. And I need for people to pay their money now so we can hold the room."

That's when she lost me!  You want people in OUR blue-collar-working-living-pay-check-to-pay-check-pay-day-loan-getting-bad-credit-having-family to invest money in a Christmas gala that ain't happening for an entire year when they are struggling to buy gifts in 2007 RIGHT NOW for their kids?

I didn't say that, but I thought it.  I ain't want Aunt Judith to slap me through the phone. She's mean as a two headed cobra snake with extra teeth in his mouth.  You don't sass her, no matter how "grown" you think you are.

So I tried to be diplomatic and put it this way: "Well, Auntie, I think that people might have a hard time donating $100 to an event that's happening next year when they're struggling to get Christmas together THIS year."

"Well, if they wanna make it happen," she quipped, "they need to pay up."

"This is your vision," I said cautiously, "and it's something you want. Nobody else even knows about it. So YOU might have to pay the deposit and be reimbursed on the back end.  Or find a location that doesn't require such a large deposit."

"That's a good idea," she agreed, "you call around to some hotels in town and find something we can afford and update me in a few days.  Don't make me have to look for you and make sure you stay on top of it."

Then the heffa hung up the phone!  I was shocked. She left me with my mouth open. Surely, she ain't expect me to sit up and call hotels in Houston long distance from Minnesota trying to find a hall for a ball that's more than a year away.

But true to form, she called back in a couple of days--and she's still calling. I ain't answering that phone.  I'm treating her like Woodwinds Hospital--the place where I delivered Andrew and ain't paid for it yet--she gets the Mexican lady with the accent: "No, me sorry, no Sheeelita live here."

But finally, today, I picked up the phone. To my dismay, she spent the first four hours fussing that I hadn't "done my job" (which I thought was to be a stay at home mom and in between pampers and feedings--try to come up with blogs that are funny enough to keep y'all coming back day after day)!  But my Aunt informed me that my job was to have a hall booked without a deposit being required.

Then I asked her, "Why are we calling this a Red And White Ball?  All these big a$$ women we got in our family don't need to be in either red or white.  And besides, white is a summer color. We need to be wrapping our fat a$$es in some black or royal purple or chocolate or something. White is last thing somebody needs to see on these hips.  And I y'all--y'all will think y'all are foxy and put on red crushed velvet cat suits with a belt around the stomach with Christmas ornaments hanging from it--and the smallest one of you is in a size 22!"

So she agreed and it's now the black and gold ball.  But still, I've got work to do. I have 14 hotels to call in Houston to find a venue that will host the annual family get together that we're starting in 2008.  I can see me talking to the hotel now, "Yes, half the family is on probation so it can't be outside the city limits otherwise their ankle bracelets will go off, no, we can't give you no credit card to hold the room, cause all of us have bad credit and all we got is those pre-paid joints."

Every time I look up, my momma and daddy are buying something or doing something new.  Big screen television, vacations to far away places--construction at the house--redoing the restrooms, pulling up carpet--putting down tile.

None of this stuff is cheap--and I'm wondering how they can afford it. My parents are blue collar workers--they work hard for their money--but somehow, they are living real lucrative lifestyles.

Dad drives a jeep and momma has one too--then they got a few cars to spare.

Shawn has a white collar job--I'm pulling in three or four nickles to add to the pot--and we are 'bout living from pay check to pay check.  We're trying to figure out how we're going to bless Andrew with any savings other than his modeling money--cause what we got is being spent on the here and now!

The other day my momma was like "We've gotta make our will. We have so much money that we need to disperse between our children. I don't want anything to get lost."

I'm like "How in the hell were y'all--with two children, a house note, two car notes and everything else that comes along with it--able to save money to leave to four children (me, my brother Brian AKA the Hiram Clarke Hustler, and my step sisters Deidre and Darcia)?"

"Oh," my momma laughed at me, "and we got six grandchildren. We got something for each of them too."

I got off the phone mad, trying to figure out how my momma nem were able to put a few bucks away all these years while Shawn and I struggle to get by. And my husband makes GOOD money!

Well, I was able to wrack my brain and put two and two together: my daddy is cheap as hell. That's how they've been able to save money all these years. See, we're spending dough on extra stuff that we don't need--that my dad would NEVER pay money for.

For instance, we drink 100% orange juice with our breakfast.  That's running us $5 a gallon! My dad prefers orange drink, with out .5% of vitamin C in it. Over the course of a lifetime, he's saved a bunch of money that way. Now he's probably vitamin C deficient--but he's got a few nickles to rub together.

We use Charmin 2 ply toilet paper with the Aloe Vera lotion in it.  My daddy uses that Scott toilet paper--one ply--might as well call it 'sand paper' cause it's gonna scratch your a$$ every time you wipe. Now mind you--he's got killer hemorrhoids--but he's saved up enough money with the cheap toilet paper to be able to afford the Preparation H.

We use Reynold's Aluminum foil when we're storing food or bar b quing--not my father--he got something called "Wrap"--it's silver and looks a lot like aluminum foil--but actually it's about a sturdy as clear cling wrap.  You'd better not use it to cover something you want to actually keep for a long time in the freezer--cause it'll get up and walk outside on you--cause it surely ain't gonna protect the integrity of the meat product!

My dad goes every Saturday morning to the barber college for a hair cut.  Doesn't pay but perhaps $4 or $5 to get one of the guys trying to get their license to take a few inches off the top for him. Each week, my husband forks over $20 to his barber--price recently went up cause Day-day (yeah, a barber named Day-day--go figure) done bought his own shop and went up on the price.

After you throw in the imitation butter my daddy uses, the refusal to buy brand named chips, bread or canned goods--and his monthly visits to the food shelf to see "what's left over"--it's now easy to see how he got all that money stashed away for his chil'len and grand chil'len. 

And I gotta say--I never realized it before (cause he was buying me Kadidas instead of Adidas), but I appreciate my dad being frugal with his finances--and because of that--if he goes ahead and kicks the bucket before Andrew starts his freshman year of college--my son won't have to be in debt to those student loan folks like his momma--cause Paw Paw Larry got him taken care of!  Good old dad!

Y'all know as well as I do, Anna Nicole Smith's funeral is gonna be off the chain. It'll be just like black folks' funerals... somebody gone throw a blow, somebody else gonna be cussing, and there is always one person who will talk too long during the Expressions part of the service... and because her momma is fighting her husband whose fighting her baby-daddy, police will surely be called in.  I'd pay money to see this drama unfold.

I wish I could be there. I hate missing a good action packed funeral. It's better than an episode of Maury Povich or Judge Hatchett. 

I got a friend, Raquelle who lives in Louisiana, we call her The Funeral Hopper... all girlfriend does is goes to funerals on Friday and Saturday afternoons.  We never understood why, so one day somebody asked her and she said, "Child, there is more hooping and hollering at funerals... more drama going on, undocumented kids, outside women... it's better than watching The Young and The Restless."

She ain't lying! When my grandfather died, he had two families, my grandmother and her kids and his girlfriend and all her chil'len.  And baby, it was a hot ghetto mess. Weave was flying everywhere; press on nails popping off... the preacher stood up and screamed, "All right, we ain't gonna have this shit up in here!  Now choir, go one with your selection of Nearer My God to Thee"

And you know, SOMEBODY at Anna Nicole's Funeral will be hanging on the casket, right? It ain't no real funeral if somebody ain't trying to tip the body over.  And you know, it is usually the one who gave the dead person the most  problems when they were still alive.  It's easy to spot them before they get started too, cause they are crying from the moment they step into the church and they are the loudest ones during the service.

That would be my grandmother y'all, she is a professional "casket climber".  She is good for some drama at a funeral I'm here to tell you.  "Lord Jesus, don't take him, take ME Father." I had to tap her on the shoulder at Mr. Johnson's grave site, "Grandmother, you don't even know this man, he just started going to our church a few weeks ago." She looked back and cut her eyes, "Hush, don't you see I'm working here."

I promise, this is the truth, one of my aunts tried to jump in the grave after Big Momma's casket had been lowered.  She screaming and wailing about how she didn't want Big Momma to leave the earth... and she ain't know how she was gonna get along without her.  Mind you, she is the same one who robbed Big Momma of her social security check just two weeks before she passed away.  This is the same aunt who took the title to Big Momma's old car and tried to sell it!  "Borrowed" Big Momma's prescription pain medicine and sold it for money on the street to pay off her VISA bill. But yet, she's the same one who climbed her ass in the casket, jumped in the grave and wet the whole front of her dress with tears.  She fell out during the service like she was slain in the spirit.  Four ushers, two deacons and the lady who cooks the chicken had to pick her up and carry her to the back.  Slip showing, ass out, bra hanging... yeah, she loved Big Momma all right.  Oh, and let's not forget, she was the first one back at Big Momma's house taking all her valuable jewelry while the entire family was back at church for the funeral after party eating leg quarters, green beans and playing spades.

to write about on the blog today--but NOTHING could be as funny as what my cousin DeMarquis told me over the phone today.

OK, so my grandmother-she ain't one of them grandmas who hides the fact that she has favorite chil'len and grand chil'len.

My son Andrew ain't one of her favorites, Mrs. Anna Dean prefers the "lighter" kids over the "darker" ones.  I ain't never noticed the difference until I became a grown a$$ woman--and birthed a dark brown baby!  Cause hell, I was always one of the lightest around--so I ain't know she was playing "favorite"--I just thought I was special.

But she's always done that--and it breeds contempt in our family.  It's been going on for generations--and I always wondered why my aunties ain't never get along--hell that's cause the dark skinned ones are fighting the light skinned ones cause they been treated like red-headed-step-chil'len all these years--and now it's pay back time.

But thankfully--the second generation of project kids from this dysfunctional family have learned that we gotta get along to move along. We are only as strong as our weakest link--so we help each other--pray for each other--and always look after one another. No matter what the skin color. 

All this could just be a southern thing--or it could just be that my family is crazy--or a little bit of both.

Anyway, going on with the darn story. So when Andrew started baby modeling--my grandmother was so surprised, "Well," she quipped, I'm surprised that Andrew is modeling seeing as he's prejudiced and all.  He only likes certain people. I don't know how y'all get him to smile mean and hateful as he is."

I didn't say anything--because I know she wanted to bait me in for an arguement, "Well, Mrs. Anna Dean," I told her, "I'm not sure how you could call my baby all those names--seeing as how you've only been around him for about a total of one hour since he's been born."

Now I love my granny, like I said, I was the lightest of all the grandchildren, so I was her favorite--but since I married this black a$$ man and f)(&ed up the color line (OK, for those white folks who are reading this and can't follow along--down south, it's a good thing--according to some people--to be fair or "light" skinned. Meaning, as close to white as possible.  Our family, my family, for generations would only date people who were a certain "color" so we wouldn't breed darker skinned babies.  This is generations and generations ago--but some of that philosophy and teaching has kinda stuck with us somehow.) I ain't so much favorite no more. 

And my brown baby don't even make the top 10 on the all time favorite great grandchildren list. 

My cousin DeMarquis (his momma and my momma are sisters) has the cutest little 10 month old baby girl named Serenity (yeah like the disposable diapers for old folks) and she is as white as a cotton ball. So my grandmother loves her. I mean just gobbles her up like gravy! And she should, she is a cute little fat curly head angel with a smile that would light up a room.

So anyway, it's taking a long a$$ time to tell this one damn joke--so anyway--I called my grandmother to tell her that Andrew's ad was in the paper and she goes on and on about how "surprised" she is that old black a$$ Andrew with his mean self is smiling and is posing for photos when a baby as cute as Serenity isn't even modeling.

"I want to get Serenity in some of those Target advertisements." she told me.

"Well, just tell her momma to get an agent--and they'll send her out on jobs." I instructed her.

"Because if Andrew can be modeling--then Serenity would be perfect for something like that--she's cuter than Andrew and a lot friendlier."

"Well," I said, trying to maintain my composure, "I'm sure Serenity will do fine."

I had to hurry up and get off the phone with her before I said something that would cause me to pray for forgiveness.

So a couple days later, after I talked to my grandmother, my cousin DeMarquis calls--and DeMarquis is a loner--he never calls.

"Hey, what's up cuz?" he asked.

"Oh nothing, just chillin'.  Heading to take Andrew to tumbling class."

"He tumbling?" DeMarquis asked, "How can he tumble but he can't walk?"

"Easy," I explained, "the class costs $300. They don't care whether you walk or not--long as your check clears."

"Oh I see." he laughed, "Hey, grandmother said you wanted me to call you."

"For what?" I asked.

"I don't know," he replied, "something about some pictures for my baby to do something at a store... I'm not really sure."

"Well, I think she wants Serenity to do some baby modeling like Andrew is doing." I explained to him.

"Man--I'm on the job--she called me for that?" he asked, "I work for a living--I ain't got time for no baby modeling stuff."

"I don't know what you're talking about negro!" I quipped, "I work too. I work hard all day spending my husband's money--laying up at home--being a stay-at-home momma and getting fat and gaining weight and eating ice cream and cake and cookies all day.  That's my job."

"Well," Demarquis told me, "you'd better not gain too much weight--otherwise Shawn is going to lay you off and put an ad in the paper to fill your position!"

i'm typing with one hand--cause andrew is cuttin' the fool this morning and won't let me get my "blog" on--so ain't gonna be no caps--and no punctuation--and i ain't got time to spell check.  he's already erased this whole blog twice--kicking the computer while he was sitting in my lap and he's typing right along with  me by sticking his little chubby fingers on the keyboard and hitting the "delete" button.

i just had to tell y'all this--i just got off the phone with my grandmother anna dean today--i always just call to see how she's doing. 

i talk to her once a week--i can't take no more than that.

as soon as we start talking, she asks: "what is andrew doing?"

and i tell her: "he's sitting here eating breakfast."

and she asks "do y'all let him watch television?" (a bait questions--she's so negative most of the time--always looking for something to criticize--always looking for something to scrutinize--we never get off the phone with out her calling me a "bad parent"). 

so i answer carefully: "we watch a little."

she persisted: "does he have a television in his room?"

i responded: "no, he doesn't. we have a family television." 

she wanted to know "well, how  much television is he getting a day?"

i told her "about 40 minutes of cartoons on noggin--the kiddie educational cartoon channel--then we do play time and story time. mostly books... and we have our outdoor activities."

she was like "you and shawn are such bad parents. i wish i was there to raise that baby. he needs to watch more television. sit him in front of the t-v until he gets ready for his nap--and when he wakes up--put him back in front of the television. while he's eating--sit his high chair in front of the t-v so he can hear people talking. that's how he learns how to talk." 

i couldn't believe she was saying this ignut mess... i asked: "really? cause i heard it was from adult interaction."

she was like "hell no-those books don't know nothing. i raised all of my children and grandchildren--and now great grand... all of y'all learned to talk by watching television.  you don't remember sitting in front the t-v all day?"

hell yeah i remember sitting in front of the t-v all day. at 10 in the morning, it was the price is right. and at noon--our stories came on--me and my cousin nikki would watch young and the restless then all my children with erica cane. we'd have lunch and take a nap. after that and we'd wake up just in time to see general hospital.  yeah--at 5 years old--i could tell you who victor newman was and point him out of a line up--but i couldn't spell my name!

Me and my cousin Nikki were raised like sisters.  If you saw one of us--you saw the other one. We used to even dress alike.  Little multi-colored mini skirts with head bands--like the kind LaToya Jackson used to wear (Lawd, at one time in my life I thought LaToya Jackson was cool--I must have been smoking crack at a young age).

Anyway--when I left down south to live in Minnesota with Shawn--I mainly lamented the fact that I'd be away from my cousins.  I love 'em, I miss 'em and I talk to them often.

I called my cousin Nikki the other day--just to check and see how she was doing.  She's a single mom--two teen-aged boys--and a brand new two year old daughter (why she started over after her boys are getting ready to go to college is beyond me--'cause once I get out of pampers--I ain't going back).

Her little two year old daughter is a whip--but she gets that from her mommy. Nikki was a little stinker--used to pull her pamper off when she was younger--run around the house naked! And she LOVED music--that thing would dance all day and night! Just loved to get her boogie on all the time!

And her daughter is just like her!  In church a few months ago--the choir was singing a real fast song and little momma jumped in the aisle and dropped it like it was hot!

And Nikki has always been a cusser--we all are actually. We learned how to cuss before we could spell our names!  Likewise, Nikki's daughter can cuss you under the table--at least that's what I've been told.  But I heard it for myself for the first time when we talked over the phone!

We were chatting when her older son Joshua, we call him Josh, was going to the store to pick up a bag of chips and a soda--just some snacks!  He probably wanted more to get out of the house and away from his baby sister than anything else.

Well, Josh was trying to sneak out while his momma was on the phone--he thought he was slick--but his two year old sister stopped him dead in his tracks.  As he tried to pull the door close--she ran toward the front of the house screaming "That's f)*(&ed up Josh!  Hey, that's f()*&ed up Josh!"

"Who is that?" I asked.

"Oh girl, that's the baby," Nikki responded, "let me go and take care of this--cause I ain't having it."

Nikki promptly put the phone down while walking to the other side of the house. I thought to myself, "Good, she is gonna stop that little girl from cussin'--cause that ain't cool!"

WRONG! Wrong--I heard Nikki tell Josh, "Hey, come back here! That is f()*ed up Josh--you don't do your sister like that!"

She made Josh wait on his sister to get dressed--and he was forced to drag her to the store with him.

When Nikki got back on the phone she was like "Yeah girl... I don't know what's wrong with that damn Josh---that was f(*&^ed up what he tried to do--leave his little sister--I ain't having that kind of stuff going on in my house!"

"I hear you girl," I told her, "that's why I ain't having but one baby--I don't want none of that f()*&ed up $hit in my house either!"

Y'all don't ever let my daddy get drunk again--when he gets to drinking he has all these grand ideas about what we should do as a family--and he makes these proclamations about things that he wants to see happen.

Case in point--before Andrew was even born--during my wedding--when I was about 8-months pregnant--we had a big party--and er'rebody was here.  My dad, my mom, Shawn's parents and our family and friends.  Sippin' on Crown Royal and Coca-Cola--my daddy decided he wanted to start a new family tradition.  After drinking about a half a gallon of the good stuff--he makes an announcement.

Standing, or wobbling, in the middle of the living room he declares, "I'm having so much fun with y'all--we should do this again soon--how about we celebrate Andrew's first birthday in Warren, Ohio with Shawn's parents and all the family.  Mr. B and I can go fishing together on his big boat and our wives can have cook outs."

Everybody (except my a$$) was in agreement.  I understand the fact that Warren is a small hick town--used to be a steel mill factory worker headquarters until the mills closed down.  Now it's an old rust bucket has been hole in the wall.

And you would NEVER know it by looking at my husband--he is so cosmopolitan--always dressed up in JoS Banks suits and Kenneth Cole shoes.  You would think he's from New York City or something--and he from the sticks of Ohio.  Lawd have mercy...

Anyhoo--so my dad makes these grand plans for Andrew's birthday and gets everybody all excited. We've taken off time from work--Shawn's parents are making plans--putting up extra beds--his dad even installed an additional bathroom for all the company that he was 'posed to have.

A week before we get ready to leave for Ohio--I called my dad and asked him about his flight plans. He tells me that he don't remember making no plans to go to Ohio for Andrew's birthday.  Then when I got pissed--he turned around and got mad back at me... talking about "You should have known I was drunk and didn't remember what I said. You know not to listen to me when I'm wasted."

So I tell him it's not too late--he can rent a car and drive to Ohio--cause everybody done planned to be there.  Well, my father informs me that he and his wife are going to Vegas for their vacation--they won't be there for Andrew's first birthday.

Well--two monkeys don't stop no show--we hit the road and took the 12 hour drive to get the party started.  When we got there--we ain't have to do nothing--cause Shawn's cousin Connie from Cleveland had planned everything.  Girlfriend assigned every member of the family a different item to bring and folks showed up on time--with their assigned dish--and we had food, cake, fun and family!

Now that's how family 'posed to do.  We show up with the birthday boy--and that was our only responsibility--cause Connie took care of everything else--or at least delegated it so we ain't have to be running around at the last minute like a chicken with our heads cut off trying to get it together.

My mother in law was assigned to get the cake--and of course--the day of the party--she informed us that we needed to go to the store to pick it up.  We ain't look inside--the cake was ready when we got there--a huge sheet cake from the local grocer.  I assumed--just cause it's a baby's first birthday cake--that it would have like a Dora The Explorer or Bob The Builder theme--child PALEEZE! 

My mother-in-law got my one year old son a cake that looked like it was for someone who was 101 years old.  It had those standard colored flowers on 'em--you know--like the cakes that are sitting out there waiting to just be written on with a note that says "Happy Birthday Whomever". 

I must have had a crazy look on my face--cause when she saw my nose turn up the moment my eyes saw that Church Usher's Anniversary Cake--she spoke up and said "Well, I guess I probably should have told them to put some trucks on it or something."

"Yeah," I responded--trying to choke down my own saliva, "something other than these old people roses on the corners would have been nice. And seeing as how we expecting 'bout 15 people--a sheet cake for 50 is a little bit over the top."

My disappointment ain't last long--cause about three minutes after I was 'bout to pour lighter fluid on the cake and start it to blaze--Connie, her sisters Cathy and Candy--and their brother Michael and his wife--along with their mother Carol pulled up in the driveway.

They came down from Cleveland--an hour's drive--(as expensive as gas prices are) to Warren just for my little baby's birthday. And they were excited to be there. Not only did they come to keep us company--they brought food--gifts and stopped to pick up some nieces and nephews--so Andrew wouldn't be the only baby at his own damn party.

That's another thing I gotta fight my dad about--it was his big idea to have the party in Warren when all of Andrew's cousins are in Houston--at least cousins that are his own age.  There are NO chil'len in Warren under the age of 65 years old.  The youngest person in the damn town turned 64 the other day--and she don't even qualify for the discount coffee at McDonald's!

I told my father--for that reason alone--when he gets old and needs to be taken care of--I'm putting him in the community old folks home. You know the one--in the middle of the ghetto--ain't no air conditioning and if you wanna watch television you gotta go in the "community room".  That's where all the former pimps and hustlers go--cause they ain't got no insurance or chil'len to take care of them.  He gotta share a television and a bed with somebody too--I ain't paying for deluxe accommodations after this stunt.

Anyway--back to Connie 'nem!  If it weren't for them--I swear--I don't know what we would have done. We sat around and laughed and talked and had a good ole' time. They brought my baby gifts--them was the only gifts he had from his party too!  Cute little ghetto tricked out G Unit outfits that we can't find here in Minnesota--these white folks ain't that black yet.  When folks look at my baby in his b-boy gear they gonna be like "You must got kin folks from Cleveland..."

I loves Connie 'nem cause they just good people.  We all big girls--you know--a little thick in the hips and dragging a wagon--so we traded recipes--they gave me the phone number of the sweet potato pie lady--that damn Connie got a peach cobbler lady on speed dial in her cell phone.  They laughed at all my jokes--which is good--cause I was throwing 'em out left and right!  We talked about which girdles are the best ones to hold your fat in--which company has the best cup cakes and how we don't like to exercise!

It's wonderful when big girls can get together and be ourselves--we had a great time.  We came up with a Big Girl Manual--a guideline for all women our size to follow--so that nobody won't be breaking no laws--fashion or otherwise--to make us look bad! 

And everybody pitched in from beginning to end. My father-in-law cooked the food.  Shawn's cousin Judy brought green beans--the Hollingers came with chicken and potato salad and pound cake.  Shawn's cousin Poosums (I told y'all it was a country town) passed out ice cream to the kids--his cousin Dawn took some video--it was a total family affair!

Some of Shawn's friends from high school stopped by and stayed for a minute--they stood out there near the swamp pool in the back yard and told some lies...

So all in all--it was a good day for Andrew--he had a wonderful birthday--he enjoyed his cousins and played in the cake and made a complete mess of himself and me!  Other than that geriatric cake--I wouldn't trade that day for anything in the world.  The smile on his face when he was opening his gifts, playing with his little cousin and passing out kisses to the ladies says it all. 

Oh and don't ever let Shawn talk about my kin folks Never No Moe'--cause he had a cousin who showed up to the party in a polyester suit--with sandals and electric blue church socks to match!  I took one look at him and told Shawn "I need a photo for the blog--and if you ever say anything else about my Aunt Darnitha, Aunt Mary Joe or Uncle Kathy--I'm gonna remind you of this very moment!"