Life is a bit overwhelming in my little corner of the world at the moment.
These principles that have been so prevalent in years past, are almost non-existent this year due to how differently school and our classroom function this year. This is a realization I didn’t make until very recently and now vow to change for the remainder of our time together. We can no longer gather and drum (and really get close and talk) the way we would have in the past, but on this last day of Kwanzaa that recognizes Imani (faith), I have faith that I will ensure my students are not denied these foundational principles of being (specifically as Black learners but as members of humanity as well), independently and together as a community.
I like to joke and say that he’s mine, all mine, but I know that he’s not. He’s his own person, with his own purpose and place in this world.
They said 2020 was the year of vision, clarity and focus. They were right, and for this, on the 2nd last day of the year I’m grateful. I give thanks for 2020 allowing me to clearly see my Nia, my purpose. I know why I’m here, I know what I’ve got to do and I continue to be excited for my journey.
A dear friend who I don’t think I’ve seen all year long just dropped off a Christmas gift for me. In the gift was a handwritten note that warmed my heart. Despite the chaos of the year, thoughtful actions and gestures keep making their way to me. On this 3rd last day of 2020 I give thanks for thoughtful gifts. I’ve received all year long and I’m grateful.
My cousin brother, Chef Andre from MasterChef Canada Season 6, dropped off some freshly baked “Andre’s Hardo Bread” this evening and I’m so thankful. Like, it was still warm, y’all!
I spoke my gratitude for this years blessings out loud for the universe to hear my voice. It’s been painful and rough sometimes, but there’s a lot I’m happy and intent on leaving behind with 2020, but I won’t deny its also been beautiful.
My not so baby boy turns 3 in less than 2 weeks. When we were hit with the lockdown in March I decided I should try to potty train him. Potty training was something I’d been lowkey dreading about momming. I just couldn’t wrap my head around how you teach little people to use the potty without it being complete torture for all parties involved.Nevertheless, it was something I could no longer push to the side. The little guy and I were together, at home, all day long every day of the week.
One of the highlights of the 2019-2020 school year was being accepted into a leadership program with my teacher’s union for BIPoC (Black, Indigenous, people of colour) women in Ontario. Only 20 women are accepted for the program each year and I’d applied once or twice in the past, but wasn’t successful. Finally, it was my turn, my time. Or so I thought.