In light of my last posting I thought I would add this picture before I really do go to bed...really.

A political bit about raising my beautiful black son

I have a zillion pictures to post and big dreams of doing them up in fancy configurations with all the new photo software that I now know how to use, but it is 9:00 and I am ready to go to bed. I think that I am coming down with something. So my ideas of grandeur will have to wait until tomorrow.

For now, I am going to write my first political piece of this blog. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

A couple of days ago I was innocently working away at my job trying to make things better for children in Portland. I was feeling very focused, hopeful, and productive. I was certain that I could put one foot in front of the other and carry my little family over all the obstacles that face us. It didn't matter that every time I turn on the radio all I hear is war, war, war and death. It didn't matter that drought, AIDS and poverty was ravaging the whole continent of Africa where my beloved husband and father to my child was born. I was doing a good job with one little child and with a job that was going to change things for children in Oregon, and I have done all I could for children in Kenya for many years.

So there I was in this meeting facilitating a discussion with a lot of people who are far, far more educated than I am but feeling quite self-confident despite being of course the poorest person in the room and the only person of color.

"So what are your concerns about children in Portland? " I ask. There is a long dialogue about the state of Jefferson High School and several other topics. I turn to another person. "You, have not spoken yet, what are your concerns?" "Well, the statistics are quite shocking." He says. "Only 1 in 4 African-Americans graduate from high school in Portland." I had never heard this statistic before so after I think successfully bluffing my way through the rest of the discussion I verified his source. It was true. I had heard this about certain schools, but not the city as a whole.

What about my beautiful little Kenyan-American child? I just wanted to rush back to him, put my arms around him and tell the world "You can't have him! He's mine! He's too perfect, too pure. He's too brilliant and he loves every one of you too darn much! You can't hurt him, can't crush him. He's mine."

Malcolm is doing so very well, and loves everyone and I am so very afraid of school. I expected him to be a girl which would have been easier. I can arm a young black girl for womanhood, but Black men in this country are so hurt and wounded and so often demeaned and imprisoned. I feel that I have brought someone wonderful into a place where he is doomed, and I just want to hug him and hold him and hope that war and racism and global warming will just go away while we are too busy watching the leaves or the sunset to notice that everything just got better.

Everything Changes, first food, first teeth, and moments from crawling

Malcolm is going through so many changes right now I can barely keep. In fact, I am not keeping up. I am totally panicked. In the span of this past month his first tooth has starting cutting through his gum, he has gotten ready for eating, mastered rolling (now he rolls off our bed in the night, good thing I child-proofed that a long time ago), and he is just about to take off. He is really close to crawling. I am freaked out. The whole idea that my baby will be eating food that did not pass directly through me first, that he will be going places on his own accord makes me proud but sad. I think that I will end up crying the whole school day on the first day of school!

I gave in though and gave his some organic yo baby yogurt today. He was already trying foods here and there and Debra Lynne still tells me how much she loved yo baby and it is healthy stuff. Here are pictures of his yo baby experience. He liked the yogurt, but I am so relieved that he loves mama's milk more than anything else. We will be nursing for a long, long time. I just can't tell you all how much I love this child!

All About a Boy and a Dog Name Mo

The first day that we were in Colorado, I had a really hard time with Mo, my mom's dog. I am not really a dog person and Mo kept stealing Malcolm's toys. I guess you could say that my protective inner mother wolf kicked in and I kept advocating keeping them separate. However; halfway into our trip Mo came up to Malcolm and started licking him and stuff. Malcolm thought he was just about the funniest thing in the world and started laughing hysterically. Then I started letting them play together a little which is what you see in these pictures. By the end Grandma, Mama, Mo, and Malcolm all took long naps together. My stepdad would come in, take one look at the very full bed which was only missing him and the cat, let out a sign and resign himself to the TV downstairs!

Malcolm watching leaves and the leaves themselves

My mom wanted me to add a picture of the leaves that Malcolm was watching from his point of view so here is the photo. She actually took this picture with him when she visited us in May. We all went to the park together, and had a lot of fun. I have spent more time in parks since having a baby than I did in all my years in Portland combined. Having a baby makes me spend more time being a part of the earth instead of spending all my time saving it. I think saving the earth has something to deal with healing it anyway, and I think that healing it has something to do with healing ourselves also and I have a lot of work to do in that department. Malcolm is a great teacher though.

Mama Love

Here is a picture of Malcolm and I last month when grandma was in town. I just got the pictures back when we went to Colorado. Recent pictures from our trip to Colorado are coming soon along with clever stories about Malcolm and grandma's dog, but I am having technical difficulties so this will have to do for now.