The salvo of emails stacked up in my “inbox” faster than I could read them. “Helene Got Engaged — Let’s Go for Drinks!”*  One after another, each member of my work group (about a dozen of us edit three magazines and a Web site) weighed in with increasing wit and irreverence. Giselle offered to come dressed like the groom on the wedding cake. Someone else demanded that we go to a bar that served stiff drinks. It seemed that no one could agree on a single day for a tamer, more respectable celebration, like a lunch. What made me chime in on all the hubbub, finally, was the proposal that we all go to a local bar right after work:

“Because we’re all here now,” said one editor. 

“Yes, but that excludes the working mom who has to get on a train back to New Jersey. Not enough notice, if I’m to be a part of this.”  

My argument fell on deaf ears, although it mattered little in the end, because an immediate jaunt out to a local bar didn’t seem to strike everyone as the best idea. But it was for their own reasons, not because the only person in our group with a baby at home needed more notice before socializing after work. One by one the crowd thinned out as people left to go home, or go on dates or whatever it was they had planned. I returned to my computer and checked my personal email account. I pulled up an invite for a local networking event for young professionals – it was being held at a funky new coffee bar a few doors down from my hair salon.  I hatched a quick plan: I would go home, breast feed baby, change her, cuddle for a bit and get her settled with Hubby, then walk in for a touch-up at the salon. Afterward, I could walk into the networking event all professionally done up! Now, this was my speed. Alas, when I double checked the date and start time for the event, my plan seemed improbable. It started at 9 p.m., that night.

They’ve done it again!  Those smug singletons have failed to give everyone — and by everyone I mean young married people with babies who don’t see why their careers and social lives ought to be abandoned on account of having a baby — ample notice before staging of a social/networking event that seemed inviting. 

If I were single, I might still have wanted a couple of days’ notice before taking that celebratory trip after work with my co-workers. That’s because as a single person living off of an associate editor or senior writer’s salary, I wouldn’t have dreamt of paying Manhattan prices for a little studio! It’s chic to be solvent. And as for that networking event for young professionals — it’s fine that it began at 9 p.m. My city is trying to pull off a transformation of its downtown, and it makes sense for professional networking events to be staged on an up-and-coming trendy street after work hours. But less than one days’ notice? Not enough anymore, I’m afraid. 

I think my attitude has some cultural underpinnings. Black women have always had to balance work and child rearing, mainly because their families needed the extra income. I have to make an effort to count on more than one hand the number of black women that I know who are stay-at-home moms. Obviously they exist, but the numbers are very small. For a lot of black women, choosing to continue working after having children is a luxury. And anyway, I’m from a very matriarchal family, where the women are always on the move in one way or another. When the winter weather breaks, I envision popping Baby into her Bjorn carrier and bringing her along to just about all of our outings to cultural and civic events in the future! 

Anyway, that evening, I went home with a tentative plan to nurse Baby, change her, get her settled with Hubby and take off for the networking event. Maybe one hour of glad-handing and passing my business cards around would do. Instead, Baby worked her charms on me and we ended up doing several rounds of tummy time and singing nursery rhymes until she was tired out. Considering that I hadn’t seen her during most of the day while I was at work, I think it was time well spent.  

Ah well, I guess these things can wait until after she is six months old, and her diet is more varied beyond breast milk. But after that — shape up, Smug Singletons! There are working moms who want to stay in the game and get ahead!

* Actual life events have been changed to protect the privacy of smug singletons.

Ladies and gentlemen gather ’round, gather ’round. This is a first-time event in the history of my relationship with Hubby. Red roses on St. Valentine’s Day! What a treat. I think I’ve mentioned before that Hubby doesn’t go for lots of fluff or marketing-driven pursuits like St. Valentine’s Day. This year was an exception, at least in terms of the flowers. In past years, Hubby has gotten me, for St. Valentine’s Day, fantastic gifts like a leather jacket, a Motorola Razr and nice dinners out. Hubby is not a superficial person. Nor is he a spendthrift or sugar daddy, so these gifts sort of underscored how he feels about me. It’s nice to know that he’d stretch himself past his curmudgeonly parameters to get me colorful, fun gifts on such a holiday.

For singletons, there are other major signs that a guy is into you. Perhaps playing off of the feature film “He’s Just Not That Into You” and St. Valentine’s Day, the editors of Betty Confidential dropped this fun list into my mailbox. Sending the opposite message as the one in the film and book, it gives women six telltale signs that a guy is interested. Whether it is scientific or not, I cannot tell, but #2 made me laugh!  I knew Hubby was serious about me when set aside his abhorrence for national retail monoliths and willingly came along with me to Target. And Costco!  The list makes for fun reading — so enjoy!

And Happy belated Valentine’s Day!

The images flickering on my television and the news reader’s words seemed out sync. There was a clip of Rihanna twirling a staff during a dance number in a music video, while the newsman said something about Chris Brown having been arrested and Rihanna hospitalized.
I immediately thought that the two, who have been dating for some time, were involved into a car crash. Maybe Brown was arrested for reckless driving or driving under the influence. But as the details of this situation unfolded the next day, it began to look like Chris Brown was under allegations of domestic violence, that he apparently beat Rihanna so badly that her injuries had to be treated at a hospital. As far as I know, there has not been any solid confirmation that the woman Chris Brown allegedly beat up was Rihanna. But all available evidence point to that conclusion. 

This is tragic. A successful, handsome young black man with a promising future might very well have thrown his life away because of a violent temper. Worse still, yet another woman — and a black woman at that — had to suffer physical brutality at the hands of a husband or boyfriend. I decided not to read all of the news accounts of Brown’s alleged rough treatment toward his girlfriend, because I felt like doing that would have made me really angry. Instead, I mourned the loss of any hope for the hip hop and R&B genre of music. Not only is the music becoming more and more vapid and trifling, but a lot of these stars seem to think that the only way to exist, much less excel on that music scene is to be a whore or a thug. With his talent, charm, smile and wholesome handsomeness, Chris Brown had as pure an image as one could have on that scene. Who knew he was capable of beating a woman so severely that she had to be hospitalized. And I cannot accept the argument that the music scene turned him into that kind of monster. If the allegations turn out to be true, then this young man would have shown us that he is capable of terrible violence. Even if he were a regular, workaday guy, he might one day be arrested for beating his girlfriend or wife. Horrible. 

The only other “good man” left in the genre with the same prominence, charm and appeal  is Usher. And he better not lay a hand on his wife, because she looks like she would hit back. Hard. 

If this were a one-track-minded blog, this is the point at which I would launch into a poorly worded diatribe about the evils of worshipping black male celebrity figures. If this were a blog that actively encourages black women to consider dating outside their race, among other forms of empowerment, I might carry on about how horrible it is that the health and safety of yet another black woman was sacrificed, just so that she could continue in a relationship approved of by the black community. If this were a “Go Get Yours, Girl!” type blog, I might go so far as to say that Rihanna should have stuck with former sweetheart, Josh Hartnett, who would never have done this. 

I might say all of that, but for the complication of Christian Bale. He is a rich and famous actor who is beginning to get a reputation as a hot head, unfortunately. Apparently, he was part a major ruckus involving his mother and sister, which got so heated that the police were called. No charges of battery or domestic violence were filed, if I remember reading all those stories correctly. More recently, celebrity news outlets ran a story saying that he lost his temper with a production worker on the set of the latest “Terminator” film. Question: For the Terminator film, is Bale playing one of the evil unfeeling robots from the future? I’m just saying … if he has a nasty temper … it might be a comfortable role for him. If it is true, then there goes the argument that black women like Rihanna might have been better off with a white guy. 

Readers, I hope you don’t need me to tell you this, but in case you do, here goes: Never let a man beat you or heap verbal abuse on you. Whether it’s a black man’s fist or a white man’s full-blast obscenities, abuse is abuse, and you shouldn’t tolerate it. At least hit him back if he does hit you. If he cannot learn his lesson, will not reform and cannot bring himself to treat you with respect, then you need to leave him alone and move on to a better life.

Let’s all pray for Rihanna’s speedy recovery, and that young Mr. Brown reforms and redeems himself before becoming this generation’s Ike Turner.

This is the Bridal Cup of Nuremburg. It is a wine goblet designed to allow a couple to drink from it at the same time. The lady’s skirt serves as the main cup, and when you turn it upside down to fill it up, the bowl that she’s holding over her head swivels, allowing the second drinker to share in the experience. Hubby and I got married in Jamaica, a location that was perfect for its obvious beauty, but also because my family is originally from Jamaica. In an effort to incorporate Hubby’s German background, I found and purchased this cup.  Not only does it look like a showstopper, but it has an endearing back story, too. 

Centuries ago in Nuremberg, a noble lady named Kunigunde fell in love with a goldsmith. Kunigunde’s wealthy father did not approve of this match, but she rejected all other suitors. The nobleman even imprisoned the goldsmith and watched Kunigunde pine away for her true love. The wealthy nobleman finally said he would allow his daughter to marry the goldsmith if he could make a cup from which two people could drink at the same time without spilling any wine. The skillful goldsmith, inspired by love, created his masterpiece. He sculpted a girl with a smile as beautiful as his own true love’s. Her skirt was hollowed to serve as a cup. Her raised arms served as a bucket that swivels so that it could be filled and then swung towards a second drinker. Having done the impossible, the goldsmith was finally permitted to marry the nobleman’s daughter and the Bridal Cup became a romantic and memorable wedding tradition. — from First Dance Impressions.com

I asked my cousin Len to tell the story at our wedding reception, and when he did, he said the couple had to “come up with a system”, to overcome obstacles and make their relationship successful. 
Readers, a marriage is built on a promise to stay. There are no guarantees of prosperity, perfect health, model children or domestic felicity each and every day until death parts you. When we make promises in other areas of our lives, we go about figuring out how, exactly, to get to the end, right? The commitment to “come up with a system” is critical if you want to turn your fledgling relationships into something your grandchildren envy. In fact, the whole reason I started reading blogs about interracial relationships was because Hubby and I were arguing a lot at one point, and I wondered if our different cultural backgrounds had something to do with it. Hoping to find some insight about it, I went looking around online. What I realized was that although some things about our upbringings did influence our marriage — it was normal! All families have different traditions, personalities and leanings that might make bringing a stranger into it somewhat challenging.

Since Hubby and I have been married less than five years, I won’t presume to give anyone advice about marriage. But I am an insightful person, and a pretty solid judge of character. I’ve learned several important lessons in the last five years.

Don’t run away from arguments. Choose your battles, and when you do argue, come up with and stick to humane rules of engagement. Momentary anger is not an excuse to be plain mean and hit below the belt. Remember, you love that person and want them to enjoy your company for years to come. (Men have an especially hard time with this one, sorry. They fervently believe that a wife’s raison d’etre is to be a stabilizing force during their inexplicable mood swings and beastly social behavior.)

‘Listen’ is an action word. It involves thinking about what your beloved has just said to you – whether at full blast or a soft tone – and making any and all reasonable changes to behavior that had them slamming their head against the wall in the first place. 

Take an anniversary night to relive your engagement and wedding. I’m not suggesting that you recreate wedding planning drama with an expensive, time-consuming recommitment ceremony. Simply look through your wedding photo albums and remember all the highlights of that day. Read all the greeting cards that came in from your friends and family congratulating you and telling you both how lucky you are. And laugh out loud – I mean beat your kitchen table – about all the things that went wrong. 

Be selective about your confidantes. Now that you’re married, restrict complaining about your relationship to either very wise single people, or other married friends. I’m very serious about this one. Your relationship is not tabloid fodder, but if you play fast and loose with the details of your money and sex problems (heaven forbid that the two are related), then your business will become so warped that by the time it comes back to you, you’ll think the speaker is recounting an episode of “Gossip Girls”. Or “Cops”.     

Keep writing the story. Stay on top of scrapbooks and photo albums. You can get a real kick out of fun times, and going back to look at your handiwork can help calm your mood on tempestuous days.

Did you all see this story? It is absolutely horrifying and shocking. I was cruising through Penn Station on the second leg of my morning commute today, when I passed one of the newsstands and the front page of the Daily News stopped me in my tracks. Looking up at me was a picture of five siblings: the eldest girl, her sisters, a set of twins, and her brothers another set of twins. These children were tragically shot and killed by their father in what appears to have been a murder/suicide. Their mother was also killed. So there you had an entire family wiped out because the parents lost their jobs and the father was apparently so distraught over it that he took everyone’s life, including his own. 

“After a horrendous ordeal, my wife felt it better to end our lives and why leave the children in someone else’s hands,” Ervin Lupoe wrote in the note he faxed to a Los Angeles TV station.

After typing his name, Lupoe printed an anguished postscript: “Oh Lord my God is there no hope for a widow’s son?”

The letter, which appeared on the KABC-TV Web site Wednesday, reveals the writer clearly did not think so.

It also shed more light on why Lupoe shot his wife and kids execution style in the heads before shooting himself.

I can’t describe my feelings to you, dear readers. Those children looked healthy, happy and they were gorgeous. How could their father look at them and shoot to kill? He must have been insane, or at the very least, severely emotionally disturbed. And to say that it was all the wife’s idea? I think we all know who was responsible. When I got to work and pulled up the story on the newspaper’s Web site, the details of the situation made me angry. He planned it, folks. 

He was distraught over the loss of his job, but the story gave no details of a worsening financial situation or gave any indication that the whole lot of them were facing homelessness and abject destitution. Instead, it said something about a dispute with the hospital administrator stemming from a childcare issue. In what appeared to be a suicide letter faxed to a media outlet, he grieved over the possibility of leaving his children with strangers. Wha??? I’m not sure what the hell was on this man’s mind. 

In the first place, there had to have been several very good solutions to the family’s problems, instead of shooting and killing everyone. Downsize from the house. Relinquish the children to a trusted relative for a while if things get really bad. But no, in this man’s mind only he knew, and only he could ever possibly know what was best for his kids.

Apparently not!!!  

What the %$#@ is wrong with certain people? Parenthood is not a priesthood, ‘k? Loads of adults in this world are moral, nurturing, caring and responsible individuals who would guide another person’s child safely through adolescence without molestation, beatings or taking any other tragic twists. Just because you gave birth to or sired your children, it doesn’t always mean that you have what it takes to be the very best parent, or that you always know what is best for junior. But in yet another stunning lack of the ability to think rationally, this man thought that handing his kids to ‘strangers’ — spooky dirty strangers — was a fate worse than death! It’s awful. And now five beautiful children — and their mother — are gone. I just want to puke. 

And it reminds me of the narrow thinking that people of different races, tribes, nationalities, etc., bring to the table when it comes to relating to each other. Can’t intermarry because that guy/woman is from a group of ‘strangers’. Don’t want your child dating someone from another race because they are ‘strangers’. So what do they do? Commit murder in another way, by perpetuating hate and derailing another person’s chances for happiness. Ugh. It makes me mad sometimes. 

People, please get it together!! Stop the bone-headed thinking that leads you down a path of destruction and start to see the possibilities for good in other people and in the world. And for goodness sake, if your circumstances take a turn for the worse, whether over a job loss or illness or something, please don’t take it out on your babies. Find another way out.

I think Mrs. Bojanowski off the mama’s boy reality show is in love with her own son jojo. I think her love for him goes way beyond the motherly kind. Any woman would be crazy to get tangled in that mess. Its sick! Just sick — Submitted by: marymarymar

Although I’m not sure I agree that Mrs. B is unnaturally attached to her son, I do think her cultural attitudes offer really good insight into why some interracial relationships fall apart under the pressure of divergent cultural values. I thought that in her profile video, she said something about being from Iraq. Am I right? I’ve noticed something about people from certain countries outside Europe and the U.S., including Jamaica, from where my heritage is derived: older people are physically incapable of seeing members of the younger generation as anything other than their personal property and when it comes to respect, they refuse to reciprocate. It goes way beyond expecting young people to have respect for their elders, an idea that I generally agree with. 

People of Mrs. B generation and older, and who are from old-world countries or any other place that values older citizens, believe that they are to be revered, placed at the center of everything and that securing and maintaining their happiness should be the goal of every young person with whom they have contact. Mrs. B felt that Mindy should be kissing her butt in order to gain acceptance (which she would never give), and she threw a tantrum because none of the young women wanted to make a traditional Iraqi dish during the cooking challenge. I rolled my eyes as she huddled on a set of nearby steps and wept about how her feelings were hurt. She must have forgotten that in a few short days before that she freely and without remorse trashed Asians, blacks, Jews and a host of other types of women in that house. Their feelings were not taken into account while Mrs. B was running her mouth. Nothing more than manipulative b-s, something that I’ve seen over and over from old school matrons who think young people ought to worship the ground under their feet. 

An attitude like that is too extreme. It goes beyond what is reasonable in terms of how young people should treat their elders, and it would make life hell for any young woman to accept, especially an independent and accomplished American, British, French or other modern woman from one of the more affluent or ‘white’ countries. Imagine being married in that environment — until death parted you and your husband. (If Jojo had picked someone like Vita Alexander, death might very well have visited that family.) The expectations would be crushing and a woman would be in for a lot of abuse if she failed to live up to those impossible expectations. 

Of course, I do think that Mrs. B is a racist, no doubt. She made that fact plain and clear when she became physically violent at the sight of her son making out with a black woman. And when the helicopter landed, she made a show of sitting on the side and dry heaving in disgust. And calling Misty all kinds of nasty names usually reserved for prostitutes and the like.

This website certainly is not a defacto “Momma’s Boys” recap site, but given some of the interesting twists that the show is taking, I thought I’d continue to keep you up to date. 

So the romance between Rob and Camilla continues. He selected her to go to the U.S. Virgin Islands, while his mom — playing the matchmaker — keeps on pushing the issue with Lauren. I haven’t actually seen the episode whose highlights I’m now relating to you: I just gleaned what I could from the NBC Web site, which is not very well done, I might add. Anyway, I think that the Rob & Camilla story line will end up with him choosing Camilla, and them breaking up after three or four months, once they realize that without all the contrivances of a major network, real love in real life can be very challenging. Let’s not forget that Camilla will never win over Rob’s mother — Esther feels that it is extremely important to continue the religious lineage, and no matter how much Camilla learns about Judaism, she will never be authentically Jewish and raise her grandkids in a way that faithfully carries on their traditions.

As for the other two? Michael does not impress me at all. He obviously came on this show to make out with as many surgically enhanced, bottle-blonde tarts as he possibly could. And poor Jojo Bojanowski. No matter the outcome of this show, his romantic life will be a struggle. He will have to confront his mother at some point about the way she constantly interferes with his efforts to find the perfect woman. Get it through your head Mrs. B: YOU are not the perfect woman for your son!    

But like I said, there is entertainment value in this show — even if it is to shake one’s head.

I’ve got to make this one quick, folks. Baby is latched on to my left side and I’ve got a shepherd’s pie heating in the oven. My latest guilty pleasure, NBC’c “Momma’s Boys”, took a couple of interesting turns in as many weeks.
Jojo stood up to his mother twice: last week he chose an Africa-American woman, Misty, for his daylong date, an interesting twist considering his mother;s outrageous ideas on interracial dating. That event was capped off with a steamy kissing session in a hot tub.This week he chose a fairly wholesome-seeming Southern blonde who should fit Mrs. B’s description of a suitable daughter-in law, unless Mrs. B happens to be crazy.
Meanwhile, Robb and Camilla seem to be getting along very well. Their relationship just might beat the odds of these reality/exhibition/dating shows and last until the next equinox or solstice! 

We know how these things turn out, but maybe we can suspend disbelief and enjoy the ride for 40 minutes a week.