Finding Nemo


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I honestly feel like the blue fish in that story at times,  as though my brain is so far up my ass that some of my days feel London “can i have some tea” foggy. I mean, I don’t feel like that constantly but when the feeling hits, it drives me insane.

I’m still learning how to adult successfully, I don’t think the learning ever stops and frankly some days I’m just winging it, but aren’t we all?

I have/had all these plans and goals and ideas of how this and that should be, and most of it doesn’t match my reality. Some of these goals are, undeniably attainable, but the rest of them are plain old ” you’ve watched too much TV as a kid Kela, and you need to stahppp”goals. Just goals that I probably based around the “Huxtable’s”. That perfect family, with the black and white issues that aren’t too perplex. Well although that sounds nice, no part of me is ” black or white”, heck I’m probably a mixture of maroon and mustard (yes they say I’m complicated). When you figure that color out let me know.

Anyway that’s my focus moving forward. Not to find Nemo, not even to find myself (if you met me, you would know, I know who I am) but to find contentment in my here and now. To be okay with letting go of some of those “perfect” plans I had and not have it cause me anxiety. To not expect my kids to be well behaved always, and for Chris, (do remember him?) to come home early sometimes and for me to ignore the urge to sweep my floors for the 4th time today ( ok baby steps, I need to sweep 4 or 5 times in the event I missed  a spot the third). To just be. I mean really be.

To reflect on my yesterday, my today and have the same feeling. Not wanting to change any steps that I’ve made along the way, but to be thankful that all those steps built me up, to make my steps tomorrow.





Me and the Morgue


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For some years now I’ve considered forensic science as an alternative career field to get into. Realistically at my age, with my stress level, a consideration is probably, all it will ever be. What I may have an easier time getting into, is, the morgue. Well I guess we all are going to pass through there at some point, but I’m actually talking about going there alive, as an employee of some sort.

I’m not afraid of the dead, as gruesome as some deaths can be, it’s a beautiful thing when you think about it. There you go thinking I have serial killer tendencies, keep reading, I’ll clear it up, I promise.

Death when it occurs, leaves people most vulnerable, the purest they’ve probably ever been since birth. No add ons, no untruths, nothing left behind except, a body, a lifeless body. Unable to tell stories, or give hapless explanations, leaving only memories, good and bad hopefully more good than bad.

I love funerals, isn’t that morbid? I mean I feel sad that love ones move on and leave us here to worry about all the things that may come if Donald Trump becomes president. Despite the grief that we the survivors feel, death brings a certain type of peace.

I remember the first funeral I went to. I was a toddler and yes the memories I have are my own, not stories I’ve heard. My cousin Michelle died, we were the same age, it was simply awful. Michelle looked like sleeping toddlers do, but her mom was, inconsolable. I felt sad because her mom was sad, but even then I wasn’t afraid.

Then as a child, couple grandparents and then a friend. I was 5 when my friend Susan died, she was hit by a car. We missed Susan at school, and again she looked like sleeping children do in her pretty blue dress. Well my memory says it was blue, or maybe a blue hair tie. But again, I wasn’t afraid, I wondered who did her hair for the last time and if she missed us like we did her.

I don’t know what about the dead and death gives me reassurance and in some ways hope. I like the idea of having those final connections with the dead, overseeing their final “get ready” moments. In some cases it maybe giving dignity to the undeserving and love to person who society says should be hated.

People may not view death as I do, but I hope those who struggle with coping take comfort in knowing that a possible after life awaits us all, and maybe our dear loved ones will be waiting for us as well.

I drafted this blog 6 weeks ago, and never posted, now it seems right. To you Ali and Kurt in your time of sorrow. Stay strong.



When Opposites attract.


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Every little girl dreams of that one prince charming, that rides up and sweeps her off her feet. That has never been my story and since I’m supposedly “locked down ” it  probably will never.

Christopher aka Chris is a handsome, sexy, one in a million man, well if he was writing this himself, I am sure that’s what he would say, to me, he’s ok. Nobody is perfect, he has lots, lots, lots of room for improvement, nonetheless, he’s my Chris.

I am hard on him, I rarely cut him slack, because in the beginning I saw endless potential and I expect that, even if it’s not today, he’ll continously strive for better. He’s an old soul, he thinks like those 1950’s men, he wants to be my world, unfortunately 2 other people already hold that position, but I’m trying to at least make him feel like the sun, or my moon or at least a weed, in a lawn, somewhere. Just yesterday he was so upset with me over toe nails. No, it’s not that mine are like long claws and scratched him, it’s that he wanted me to cut his and I promised to do it as soon as he lost both arms. (He couldn’t be serious right).

I’m a tough cookie to love, it’s not that I’m difficult (well maybe I am), it’s just that I have an idea of  what I want, and when I want something, I get it. I hate to compromise, although I do and it’s always been that way. He’s more laid back, sometimes I wonder if he’s of this planet, he’s so unbothered and unfazed by situations, while those same situation would cause me to turn an entire 16 strand plot of hair on my head gray.

He’s a good man, you literally have to be a Godsend or comatose to have experienced half of my stories and not head for the hills. I’m not here to boast that we have the a perfect relationship (I’ll probably give him a telling right after this) or to say he’s the perfect guy but we make it work. Two babies, a lot of tears and history and we make it work.

I pick a fight with him he ignores me, I nag him, he ignores me some more, I get furious and threaten to leave and he absolutely acts like we don’t speak the same language, then when he believes I’ve calmed down, he comes, tries to touch my parts, says “yuh meh wife inno” and then pretend it was a “duppy” (Jamaican word for ghost).

I know what drew me to him,and what drew him to me but at this point only Jesus has kept us solid. You know life is hard enough, relationships/marriage is harder and if you add that, to today’s antics and a hot head, then divine intervention is definitely  necessary. Yes everyone talks about Jamaicans and their known “not so nice attitudes” but the Jamaican in this story isn’t the hot head.

We’ve been to hell and back and I’m not the mushy gushy type but somewhere, after you peel back the hard exterior shell of my heart, you’ll find that he holds a big piece of it. Now I’ll go remind him again, about putting down that darn toilet seat!


The Bored and Restless

Lately I’ve been all wrapped up in my feelings, about everything and nothing, all at once. Not excited by anything in particular, but bored with everything under the sun.

I have been feeling like an old goat, honestly, an old fart is probably more accurate. Stuck, trapped, stifled, in what has now become my “normal”. My day to day life beats on one rhythm, no variation, no bass, no treble. I get up, deal with the babies, open my home to therapist, clean and clean again (toddlers are messy), feel exhausted, then I go to bed and do it all over again the next day. Monotonous isn’t it?

This is where a few people, the senseless few, will consider me lucky. In a way, I am, I don’t have to worry that my sitter might be the “boogeyman”, or that my boss is a pain in the seat aka the rear aka the ass. But in many ways luck is not enough, I want more, I need more.

The life I live, is far from any housewife chronicles you’ve seen, or read about. There is no sexy pool boy to entertain me, while Chris is at work. In fact there is no pool and if there was one, I’m sure I would be cleaning it myself. The mailman is sexy but not so much of a man, in fact he is a she, no, not a he/she, just a she. There is no play group or stroller club or other dammed housewife to keep me company. So my days are generally spent, speaking in high tones and saying “time out”.

This isn’t the life I chose, this life chose me. I am not where I planned to be at this age, undoubtedly  for reasons I would never trade. My girls are my world, but, that feeling of discontent is real. It’s real and I am not alone. In the past 2 weeks, I have asked 9 people the simple question “are you happy and content ” and I only got a straight forward answer from one, and it’s quite possible he did not take the question seriously.

I am not sure when it became a trend to want and want and want more. Apparently so many people have numerous aspirations but those aspirations seem to be never ending. People, including myself, have this list of endless goals from teenage years. To go to college, a good job, get married, marry rich,  a house, a big house, cars, great intimacy, a flat gut (or is that only on my list), kids, a boy, a girl, a pet, paid vacations, early retirement, to win the lottery, to meet him (jesus or whoever ) and the list goes on and on.

I don’t have an answer, as to how these things can be acquired and accomplished with ease, but I have a good feeling that no life is perfect. I probably am exactly where I should be in this lifetime, at this age and stage. I have most of what I need, so why should the “wants” matter. My new goal is to enjoy the moment. It’s so easy to fixate on the things we want, that life goes by and we never get to truly embrace and enjoy what we currently have.

My life may not be glamorous and I may not be busy with social activities. But it’s my time to be exactly where I am and I’m going to attempt to enjoy it and you should  to.


The Tea: Part deux


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My friend, was now in a 400 level adultery course, (no judgement zone). Anyway, talk about higher heights, this was a new level of drama, that I wasn’t use to. Her lover had her doing all types of stuff, she was on a high, almost like a meth/crack/glue high or whatever.

My friend was keeping it a secret from me too. Laughing a little more, blushing a little more and people were probably thinking it was the weather or allergies or something.

Now if you are thinking this was only outside dinners, you’re wrong, it wasn’t dinners, it was so much more. Straight out of the movies, stuff. Spouse would leave, her lover would come in. I mean I don’t know, maybe once her spouse was in and her lover was under the bed, she didn’t say that, but that would have been really juicy.

Anyway, so I’m not sure how long this was going on for, but then it happened. Her spouse came home unexpectedly and caught them. The woman was ready to fight. No, not my friend, her lover! Yes my friend’s lover was a woman. A breast having, ovary toting, no standing peeing, woman (go on sip that tea). It was a huge scandal.

The husband called me told me everything, he packed up everything, he was losing his mind. That probably would have been a lot of men’s fantasy, but for him it was the unexpected, and the unacceptable. All the shit came flying, I mean the husband did everything but kill her.

Then the worst thing of all happened, the husband shot the lover. No no, that didn’t really happen, in fact I won’t ever know what happened exactly because it was all a dream. My friend was dreaming, ask her, she’s reading too. It was one big messy dream or maybe it wasn’t, guess you’ll never know.

The Tea 👀:part un

j2serenity's Blog

As I’ve gotten older and had more experiences, it has, and is still getting easier to accept people, for exactly what they are, not only for what I think they should be.

Growing up a certain way, with certain values, forces you to have some views. Then you become a rebel, or, if you are rebellious by nature like me, you reject certain things as a teen and even more as an adult. But then a shit load of things happen and it shakes your belief system right up.

One of my friends, even more in the church than myself (I’m not a church girl), had years of rebellion as well, in fact she’s still rebelling. Anyway she did the “what would Mary do” somewhat, got married, moved away from her parents home, had a kid, you know the (what is expected of a woman) rights of passage.

There she…

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The Tea 👀:part un


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As I’ve gotten older and had more experiences, it has, and is still getting easier to accept people, for exactly what they are, not only for what I think they should be.

Growing up a certain way, with certain values, forces you to have some views. Then you become a rebel, or, if you are rebellious by nature like me, you reject certain things as a teen and even more as an adult. But then a shit load of things happen and it shakes your belief system right up.

One of my friends, even more in the church than myself (I’m not a church girl), had years of rebellion as well, in fact she’s still rebelling. Anyway she did the “what would Mary do” somewhat, got married, moved away from her parents home, had a kid, you know the (what is expected of a woman) rights of passage.

There she was, living a perfect little life, off in a perfect little world, till things weren’t as perfect after all. The thing about going through all those “passages ” too young is that,  at least for many of the people I know, you turn around after a while and notice you have not lived. You were so busy wrapped up being a “grown woman” that being a young woman never came. So this was the case for my friend and I think she started wanting more.

Got a job, had her own money but still needed more. Then the more came. She met her soul mate in the oddest of places. At first she didn’t recognize it, she tried to deny it, but I saw it coming from miles away. She fell and fell fast, I don’t think even she, could have imagined it.

The only time she could spend with this special person, was while she was at “work”. Her time off quickly became non-existent, the more she worked, meant more time spent together. I think the person on the other end knew my friend was hooked and in deep, but my friend didn’t see it.

Before she knew it, before anyone knew it, she was having a full fledged affair.



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Talking about Village, I have met some people who won’t think twice about help, they’re willing to take  it from whoever, wherever, whenever .

Once upon a time, I was in a popular department store, browsing through some high-end bra section, to see what I could find on clearance. If you know me, you would know I have a CHEST, and bras for these girls are not cheap. Anyway, while I was  in that section,  I saw this chesty girl also looking. Our eyes met and instantly we knew the struggle was mutual.

So we got all deep in conversation and she told me, she was actually looking for new bras in a smaller size. Well what she actually said was “me a look pon dem yah, cause meh titi dem bout fi be good up, good up”. I love me some Jamaican patois like I love Chris but that’s another story.

So Miss Jamaican, told me, she was about to go under the knife. Tummy tuck,  breast lift and she was also doing her arms. I was fascinated, seeing that I also want to lift some things, she told me about the doctor and we exchanged numbers, you know, so I could see how she looked after.

So her surgery day came and I decided to do the nice thing and shot her a text. My phone started ringing soon after, it was her. I answered, asked how it went, she sounded extremely groggy and told me she was in pain. I tried to lighten the mood up, told a joke, she chuckled dryly. “I look like Beyonce” she said, and me, like an idiot started singing “oh oh oh, oh oh oh, oh oh oh”. She paused, she didn’t get my humor and repeated the statement. Only that time I heard “are you coming for Beyonce”, me confused, started thinking, “that trick lost her mind or really high on morphine”. I told her to go rest, as if she said nothing, she, repeated the statement again. I asked her what she meant, then she said “my daughter, Beyonce, are you coming to get her till I feel better”. “Bruh” daughter,get her, what?

I only met this girl 2 days earlier and the pain got her so bad, she was willing to have me, a random stranger, help watch her kid. Insane, I didn’t do it, I couldn’t, I knew nothing about her or “Beyonce” and I couldn’t take the chance.

But now that I’ve had my own kids and 2 c-sections, which I assume must be similar pain, I can look back and know she wasn’t that “insane” after all. She just needed a little help. Maybe one day I’ll run in to her again, and be open to being with Beyonce for a day.

A Village for $1000

So here I am with two toddlers, 2 and under, semi sane and tired. I mean kettle popping, wood chopping tired. I mean I literally have not had a good night’s sleep since 2012.

Sleep deprivation is serious, you can snap because of it. I’m so irritable and it’s basically because I need sleep. Now people make the assumption about people who stay at home with kids, “oh you’re so lucky”. I mean, with a different scenario maybe, but in my case and in other cases, not so much. My girls don’t sleep at the same time, it rarely happens and when it does,  I’m so excited I can’t wind down enough to close my eyes.

That old saying “it takes a village to raise a child”, it’s true. I need a Village, heck I need two. It’s tough having a kid who has doctors appointments multiple times per month. Two children with multiple appointments is a killer. Appointments out the house, therapy sessions in the house 6 days a week, the scheduling is crazy. The remembering, the forgetting. I am basically scrambled all the time.

I have some family, but the way modern life is, everyone is so busy. I mean I never planned on wanting help,1 but then again I never planned on having kids who need a little extra attention. The people who aren’t busy, I’d rather not be around far less to have them be around to influence my babies.

So with the New Year and all, I’m on a mission, not to lose weight or anything, well, that too, or (win the lottery to nip and tuck everything) but mostly to build my own village. So with that said I’m taking applications.

The Blind One


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That day we left with a diagnosis, was a good day for me. The guessing and speculation was over. “I have a blind child and she was going to be amazing”, was what I told myself. Like Andrea Bocelli or whatever and I was going to be like Ray Charles’ mom, the world wouldn’t pity her and neither would I.

I have yet to shed a tear over her diagnosis, many people including my mother and friends who knew, expected me to fall apart and I didn’t, not even in private. I instead, was on YouTube, looking at how to teach her to use a cane.

The stupid questions came in scores, people sometimes don’t think before they ask questions, but I tried to be patient, after all, who else could answer them if not me.

The doctor wanted her in surgery immediately, he wanted to preserve her eyeballs, at least she could be blind with her own eyeballs right. The insurance gave me a hard time, the doctor and hospital were out of network. The doctor offered to do it for free, there are angels everywhere and I swear he is one of them.

She had what is called a Vitrectomy in the beginning of the summer, a 3 plus hour surgery on her eyes. They were swollen shut for days after, bloody and it took weeks of fighting her to insert drops everyday, before they were back to her “normal”.

Then the miracle happened. The miracle that her angel doctor said might be almost possible. She started seeing. See Jesus lives after all and he saves more than just eyeballs. My blind child was now only partially blind, she had vision in one eye, “the good eye” her left. I mean it still dances in different directions, slightly crossed, but she can see through it and we’re happy.