TRO

My baby is going to kindergarten. 

My baby.  The one I "just" gave birth to in November 2019.

My baby.

I mean, yes, she is five going on six, and by US public school standards, this is about the time when kindergarten commences.  But it really just came so fast!

Now, whether I'm feeling sentimental around the fact that she's growing up or unsettled because here's one more reluctant child I'll have to get up and ready to beat an 8 am tardy bell, one may never know.  

Nonetheless, the child is headed to kindergarten.  

Sometime in June, I went to the school to complete the registration process.  I was about 3 months late doing this than I'd been for my oldest 2 when they were preparing to enter kindergarten, but hey, I got it done.  

In the office, I handed over the registration papers and supporting documents to the receptionist.   As I stood there at the counter, she went through each one, verifying that all required forms were in the stack.  

When she got to the form that requested names of parents or guardians, she looked it over, pointed to the blank “Parent 2” section, looked up at me, and casually asked, “Do you have a TRO?”

I looked up from the stack of papers, staring at her, half puzzled and half intrigued by the question.  

"A TRO.  Hmmmm.  TRO. TRO. TRO. Is that something I have? Did I forget it at home?" I thought.

Then, about 6 seconds into my internal dialog about this dilemma, “Oh! No!” I exclaimed. My husband died about 4 years ago.” 

“Oh, sorry, sorry!” The receptionist apologized, looking flustered and a bit embarrassed. “I saw his name here on the birth certificate but not on the form, and we just ask...”

“..oh, it's OK. It's OK,” I interrupted, suggesting that I understood.  

But really, I didn't understand. A Temporary Restraining Order.  I wondered why that would be a default question for a missing name of a parent on a form.  

I do get it.  Relationships can be up then down.  Loving then toxic. Deep then shallow.  People who were once stable get volatile.   Things can get hectic when relationships deteriorate.  But whether or not I have a TRO against my husband just was not a question I anticipated.  Maybe something like “Is he not in the home?” wouldn't have caught me off guard as much. 

Perhaps it had something to do with the safety of a child whose parents indeed are experiencing conflict.  I get that the office staff and others at the school may need to know this information. Still, I was not ready!

What makes me laugh a bit about this ordeal (not about a person needing a TRO) is that I've gone through an evolution with what to do on certain sections of forms inquiring about the 2nd parent. 

When my husband died, our oldest child was 6. Her kindergarten year was interrupted a year prior due to the pandemic.  In March 2021, when he died, we were nearing the end of a fun year of independent homeschooling for first grade.  She'd return to second grade that August.

Whenever I needed to fill out forms for her and a question was asked about her other parent, I'd always write his name on the line and put “deceased” in parentheses.   Part of it was my denial that he was no longer here with us, and part of it was to notify the person or entity receiving the form. For this reason, I just took for granted that the office staff already knew.  The principal, assistant principal, and counselors have been aware for a while now. 

Somewhere down the line, when our second daughter went through kindergarten, then first grade at the same school (same staff), I started filling in such sections on forms with only the word “deceased”-- no further information provided.  

Now, our youngest is 5, and I've just been leaving second-parent questions blank on forms, allowing the receiver to do with that non-information what they want. At the school, I was apparently wrong in thinking it was understood.

It would have never crossed my mind that putting nothing in the spaces would lead to the question of a TRO. 

So much for that.  Not only will I go back to putting his name, I might go back to filling out all child-related forms that ask about a second parent just as if he were here like he was the earlier years of their lives, with his:

Name

Address

Phone number

Email

Then I'll write (deceased)  at the very bottom.

That oughta keep ‘em off me! 

Side note: A day after I started creating this post, my daughter had a doctor's appointment with a new pediatrician. During the meeting, the subject of her father came up, and I explained that he'd died. As the appointment was wrapping up, the doctor--who was filling out a form needed for kindergarten--asked for her father's name. I told her, and she wrote it on the form. Underneath the line on which his name was, she wrote "deceased." That felt like confirmation of some sort.

The Time Has Come

The other day I literally yelled out to my computer, "Do I really have to read a book about a darn VAMPIRE?!!"  

Except, I didn't say darn.

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Octavia Butler has me hooked.  For 20 years I avoided her books despite knowing/hearing regularly how important her work is in the sci-fi genre.  The importance and relevance are factors I never denied.  It was the sci-fi part.

While I've enjoyed a few movies that fall into that category (The Book of Eli, I am Legend, Avatar, Children of Men (wrote about it in 2010), etc.), I've always told myself that I don't read science fiction.  In a film, if the actors/animation are A-range and the storyline is good, I can get into what I'm seeing before me on the screen.  With books, I just never saw myself being able to delve into scenarios that I perhaps subconsciously considered...ridiculous.  Ok, I said it.  I couldn't see myself formulating the imagery for myself.  

But at some point in January 2025, Butler's book Kindred started whispering to me from my bookshelf (even more ridiculous, right?).

Kindred is a book I own.  I purchased it from a library book sale years ago--maybe 10.  As mentioned before, I knew her work was important, and at just a few dollars--maybe even just 1 dollar-- it made no sense for me to leave it sitting there at the sale.  Also, something about the book's cover intrigued me.

Well, it sat on my bookshelf for years on end until I was forced to read it.  It forced itself into my hands from the shelf, and I was hooked from the beginning.  I couldn't believe it had taken me so long to crack the book open!  And now I have so many questions/remarks.  That book had me on edge and engaged the whole time. 

Shortly afterward, I got an email from co-workers about joining a book club for the reading of Parable of the Sower. It was an invite.  My mouth fell open as I read that one-line message.  Still resisting sci-fi, I was taken aback that these people thought I'd want to read Parable of the Sower of all books! Did they not know that that's the one Octavia Butler book I'd really been avoiding? For years?  Did they not understand that I was already in the throes of fighting for my life with Dana in Kindred? Well, of course they didn't. 

But I had read the storyline of Parable of the Sower and knew it wasn't for me!  

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Well, anyway.  After accepting the invite, I got hold of the book and read it cover to cover. 

Parable of the Sower had me stressed, anxious, on the verge of depression, but I

could.

not.

stop.

reading.

it! 

Up till 12 am.  Up till 1 am, and looking for any spare moment in my busy life to get back to that book.

One Sunday I pretty much read it all day.  I found myself a tad bit irritated when the children needed me. Imagine them expecting a cooked meal while I was in that book trying to escape one disastrous reality after another. Ha!  

I was in deep. 

So that was two down: Kindred and Parable of the Sower.

With the determination of an addict, I asked the search engine on my laptop to show me all books written by Octavia Butler.  After looking over the results, I decided Parable of the Talents and Fledgling would be up next for me.

Fledgling.  I liked the title but didn't know what it was about. Then I found out.  Then the yelling at the screen commenced.

A book about a vampire.  Really? Is this what it's come to for me??

Yes. Yes it has. 

I consulted with the public library app on my phone for both books and had them both in my possession less than an hour later.  

My little collection of books by Octavia Butler, although only one belongs to me. 

I think I'm on course to read every book Octavia Butler left us, and I just might get it done within the first quarter or half of 2025.  Unbelievable.  

"When the student is ready, the teacher will appear."

I think that quote applies here. 

Considering All Things

Recently I was in conversation with my 2 oldest daughters—ages 8 & 10—and we started talking about the TV show Doc Mc Stuffins.  It was one that I’d let the watch when they were younger and all 3 of us enjoyed the show.  They were commenting about how they’re older now and have basically outgrown it.  They agreed on that and acknowledged that it is a good show for children that supports feeling of empowerment and general positivity.

I, as their mother, had a miniature internal conflict taking place as our conversation lead me to the realization that my children are not babies anymore.  Now, I’ve had these moments before, but in that moment, it was their assertion that a cartoon no longer suited their developmental position in childhood that almost made me cry. 

 

I love them. I miss them as babies.  That era, those times in the past decade when all three of my girls were literal babies and toddlers were some of the best of my life.

But in my moment of almost forced temporary sadness I had to admit something to myself and acknowledge a reality: The sadness I wanted to conjure up was misplaced.  I mothered to the fullest extent of my personal idea of motherhood during those times.  I was there. I was aware.  I was present. I was engaged. I missed nothing where their development was concerned. I was tuned in.  I was locked in. I was always learning.  And most importantly, I kept going.  We had fun. We had so much fun.

 

When talking to my girls on the day mentioned previously, I recognized that, although those times will be missed—and they most certainly are—we absolutely did that.  I really can’t be sad about anything.

Counting Time

I looked at the clock as I drove home one morning after dropping everyone off.  It was 8:39.  In that moment, I was really surprised, and it wasn't necessarily because the time was later or earlier than it would have been on any other day when I was wrapping up my morning routine.  I was just really impressed by how much I'd done between 7:50 and 8:39.  Maybe I hadn't intentionally considered it in that way before.  

Between the times of 7:50 and 8:39 a.m. I:

Got everybody into the van and started driving

Reviewed spelling words on the way

Talked briefly about haunted houses 

Jammed with the girls to a song on the radio

Reminded them (and myself) of early school dismissal

Dropped my two oldest children off at school

Ensured their faces were actually clean and also moisturized before they entered the school, since, despite checking this before leaving the house, there's always some dry mystery material that appears in the corner of an eye or mouth in the few minutes it takes us to get to school. (By the way, I'm doing this through my rolled-down window before they cross in front of the van and head into the school.)

Drove  to my youngest daughter's preschool 

Parked down the street and walked to the school as usual

Entered the gate to the playground and greeted people

Signed in

Talked to one teacher about bingo at the older girls' school as well as how, for the children, the school seems to be an extension of home

Talked to my daughter--as she flung herself off a bench and around a pole-- about whether or not she wanted to wear her jacket 

Again, discussed the proposed location of her jacket and also her giraffe stuffie and plastic Spiderman toy she'd won at bingo night (see above)

Followed her over to the swings (holding all items mentioned above)

Gave my daughter what must've been 100 pushes on the swing

Midway, retrieved the Batman toy--which she had now been holding on her lap--from several feet across the yard where she'd either flung it or it flung due to momentum as the swing went high

Talked to her other teacher --while pushing-- about parent-teacher conferences, costumes, spirit week, and forgotten almond milk

Chatted with other parents

Hugged and consoled my daughter when I had to go

Exited the gate and walked back to my vehicle

Started the van and began the drive to make it home by 9

Looked at the clock and saw that it was only 8:39

Thought to myself: 8:39???

And really, I didn't notice the time until maybe 5 minutes into the drive. 

It felt like I had done a million things, and I marveled at my success in getting it all done in various settings within the span of 49 minutes.  I know there are so many of us doing so many things on a daily basis.

Often when considering time, we think there's not enough. There's so much to do.  Where has the time gone? How can I get anything done!? Etc.  I certainly understand the sentiments.  For me, it constantly feels like there's so much to do and not enough time to get it all done.

It feels nice when I take a more optimistic approach and squeeze out a moment to just acknowledge the things I am getting done, even if they're the things I do regularly as an adult who's striving to be organized and on top of things. 

When I reflected on the number of tasks I had completed in a short time, it became apparent that--of course-- things get done.  Intentionality about acknowledging accomplishments no matter how big or small can help close the gap between the reality of accomplishments and internal feelings of not getting things done.  

It all counts! 

Falling Fruit and Juvenile the Rapper

"Why she be actin' like that? 

She get it from her mama."--Juvenile

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Y'all.  Life can be a lot.  People can be too much.  Yet, we're here and need to learn to navigate or block out.

Observations over the years as a parent interacting with other parents and their children have revealed so much.  

Rotten children often have rotten parents. 

Insufferable children often have insufferable parents.

Children who lack accountability often have parents who lack accountability.  

Etc. 

It's really that simple sometimes.  It also goes the other way.  

The parents--and I'm talking about people 30 plus/approaching 40—have not grown into the maturity it takes to make and/or sustain meaningful relationships or to even be generally cordial.  Although I hope this is not the case and that maturation will come to the parents, I suspect that their children will struggle in the same way. 

Mothers are the first teachers, and whether the child is learning to clean, do hair, or dance like mom or they're learning to be bossy, rude, or perpetually blame others like mom, she or he is learning.  We've got to get this right because they're watching, learning, and absorbing.

I've had to have discussions with my children following some social interactions we've witnessed or had to help them understand certain behaviors and attitudes, and as much as I want to just break down and tell it to them in a Southern vernacular consistent with my roots (e.g. "She act like that cause her mama ain't 'bout s*it. "), I do my best to make my explanations to them descriptive and comprehensible and not reflective of what I'm really thinking...and how I'm thinking it.   

I should add that the descriptive language has nothing to do with their accolades, status, or achievements.  This is about character.  

With all that said, people we associate with regularly and even irregularly are usually really wonderful and pleasant to interact with.  At 40+ with so much going on in life and with family, that's all I can tolerate.  

A Great Teacher

My middle daughter–-age 7--asked me why history is important.   

This question came as somewhat of a challenge to my ongoing quest to insert historical information into the lives of all my girls on a regular basis.  

About 18 years ago I was introduced to scholar, historian, and teacher Dr. John Henrik Clarke via a DVD given to me by an acquaintance.   After I'd watched that DVD a few times, I asked about others.  More were shared with me.  Then I got into one of his books. 

From the beginning, there was something familiar to me about Dr. Clarke.  He reminds me of elders from my neighborhood in Louisiana when I was growing up in the 80s and 90s. In fact, he reminds me so much of my maternal grandmother and would have fit right in as her older brother.  

The primary difference between him and them was that he'd sought to and managed to escape the back-breaking labor cycle that the South forced on him and those of his generation, color, and class. He broke free of the mundane system of oppression and injustice and went on a quest for knowledge.

Dr. Clark possessed and shared freely so much information.  The wisdom has greatly impacted my understanding and thinking.  His natural humor always had the best timing and has often left me in tears from laughter.

I’m very thankful to be a consumer of his various speeches and lectures so many years after his death and appreciate the legacy he left behind that allows me to be a better history teacher to my own children.

*****

History is a clock that people use to tell their political and cultural time of day.  It is also a compass that people use to find themselves on the map of human geography.  History tells a people where they have been, what they have been, where they are, and what they are.  Most importantly, history tells a people where they still must go, what they still must be.  The relationship of history to the people is the same as the relationship of a mother to her child.  –Dr. John Henrik Clarke

*****

I did not have children when I first came into Dr. Clarke’s teachings. Quite honestly, I had never even considered a context in which I would be talking to any children I might have in the future about our history, world history.  What I did know was that any information I shared would be based in truth.  The truth.  

Recently I’ve gotten back into Dr. Clarke’s lectures and am again experiencing a deepening of understanding.  My daughter’s question about the importance of history came at a time when I was well-prepared to give her a thoughtful reply.  That reply was the culmination of so many experiences over the years.  It was also a reflection of his teachings. The contributions of Dr. Clarke have been a great influence on my capacity to impart historically important information to my girls as they grow and come to an understanding of themselves and the world.  

Below is the first video I ever saw featuring John Henrik Clarke.   I watched it on a DVD. Many before me had it on VHS tape.  It’s good to see it online now.  

Here are a few notable quotes from various videos I've watched of Dr. Clarke speaking.   If interested in his work, you can find quite a few videos of him speaking on a range of topics. 

*****

I would be slow to criticize Dr. Martin Luther King.  He was brave enough to put his life on the line for what he believed.  We are still here talking.  That’s proof enough of his bravery over ours.

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All knowledge in the world belongs to everybody in the world.  

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When you don’t read history, anybody can tell you anything.

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Freedom is something you take with your own hands.  You do not inherit it from a will.  It is not handed down from one generation to another.  When you get it, you must resecure it in your own times with your own hands.  Freedom is never secure, and you can never take it for granted.  It’s a precious substance.  

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Do your best work. (A spiritual message to Dr. Clarke from Malcom X following Malcolm's assassination.)

Pick Up Your Shirt

My girls and I were riding home one day after running some errands.

One of my daughters, newly age 7 on the day this article is published 🎉🎊,  asked in the curious way she always does:

Mom, what does Pick Up Your Shirt mean?

I was confused. I asked her to repeat the question, and she said it again.

In my mind I was mostly trying to understand the context of the question but I was also trying to place what she'd asked.

I know Jazmine Sullivan sings Pick Up Your Feelings.

I know the girls need to pick up their clothes (including shirts) after a shower/bath or just in general from the floor of the house.

Maybe it had something to do with  t-shirt printing business, and people aren't picking up their orders on time??

My mind was computing, but solutions weren't being generated.  Pick Up Your Shirt. Hmmmmm...

Why had she asked that?  Before I could ask for clarification, she said:

"I saw a sign in someone's yard that said Pick Up Your Shirt."

My mind still computed for a second, then.

Ooooooooooh!! 

It hit me:

She had added an 'r' to the last word of the statement where there was none.😅

Without having seen the sign myself, I knew it was posted in the yard of someone likely frustrated with people not picking up after their dogs when said dogs relieve themselves on the homeowner's grass.  

Usually such signs are more friendly in their approach:

Please Pick Up After You Dog.

Please Be A Good Neighbor. Pick Up After Your Dog.

But apparently this person has had it.

After having a good laugh about it, I had to explain to my daughter what the sign is referencing and that...the word isn't shirt. 

We drive past the house on  regular basis, and now when we do, I always laugh to myself.

I'm not sure how I feel about such a sign being visually accessible to all. It reminds me of the anxiety I've experieced when encountering one of those F* Cancer car decals with my girls in tow.  

But I do appreciate the humor that's been generated from the sign geared toward dog walkers.**

PICK UP YOUR SHIRT!  🐕

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**I'm not making a judgement one way or another about dog ...matter... being in walkable areas, but I have told my girls that the whole thing of dog walking and plastic baggies isn't something I recall when I was growing up.  However, I grew up in a very rural area where houses were far apart and where dog's just did their business, maybe attempted to cover it, and no one had a second thought.  

Different times and different environments call for different measures, I suppose.