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In honor of Emergency Happy Black Girl Day, today's video seeks to uplift Black women across the country and balance the effects of Tyler Perry's new movie on black relationship morale. In the words of Sister Toldja, "You should have happy plans for after the film, including, but not limited to: birthday cake, puppies, kittens, a hug from a small child, dinner at your favorite restaurant (comfort food suggested), drinks and or/some quality time with a boo." It's that depressing. On a side note, I almost needed an ice cream cone myself after I typed in "Black Women" on YouTube and looked at the list of videos. *Blank Stare*

I'm obsessed with mixed tapes. And owls. And lime green. Okay, I have obsession issues. Anyway, I thought these were cool holiday finds in case you know other eighties or nineties babies, who like to sport old technology. Also, to help you earn a little extra cash for the holidays, trade in your old gadgets for instant cash on Ebay.  You no longer have to worry about properly disposing of old gadgets with Ebay's Instant Cash program.  Send it to Ebay and let them take care of it while depositing some dough in your Paypal account. Iphone/Ipod Sleeve Laptop Decal Cassette with Headphone Pendant Holiday Cards

I was going to write a blog about writing a blog, but I figured that would be a little too meta for my Wednesday readers. So, I'll briefly update you as such: I've been editing footage for another person's reel. I've also been designing t-shirts, logos and sippy cups (don't ask). I'm still teaching at LWDT and UCLA, and I will be performing with Mooch this Saturday evening in Granada Hills. Given that I'm getting a little more sleep, things should go well. I've pretty much planned the meals and activities for our annual "Thanks But No Thanks" dinner and our Kwanzaa celebration. I'm excited about those and anxiously stashing money everywhere I can think of, because I'm paranoid about overspending. That's it for now.

Mechanical spiders were suspended with fishing line, orange lights adorned bushes and even R2D2 was tucked away on a yard covered in faux cobwebs. We weren't at Universal Studios. We were trick-or-treating in Pacific Palisades with Mooch and her classmates. Despite frozen fingertips, I felt like a kid again this past Sunday. Hannibal and I donned the seventies outfits from my recent birthday party and took the girls to Mooch's friend's house. We were invited for soup, pie and good old fashioned door-to-door candy begging. That neighborhood really put their heart into it. The pumpkins were carved so precisely, and vibrant voices answered each door. That was a wonderful finish for our Halloween weekend. Two days prior, Mooch's school had their annual parade, so I went a little early to dress her.  She decided she wanted to be a sandwich this year, and it was my job to figure out how to make that costume.  She really stood out.  A lot of the children's costumes were creative, though. There was a boy in an older class who dressed up as laundry. One little girl was a flamenco, and an administrator was "the old woman who lived in a shoe." Here are a few pics: [gallery columns="4"]

Every human life is dynamic. Each experience, new challenge and lesson brings about change. We rise to some occasions and we fall short of others. In marriage, we do this all alongside a partner, who is also on his or her own journey. To grow together, each must be along for the ride -- even on the twists and turns -- even when a partner is making U-turns and hitting donuts in the middle of Crenshaw Boulevard. In order to sustain a shared life like this, communication is key. Listening is actually a more appropriate word. It's deeper than hearing. It involves body language, tonal shifts and eye contact. It takes courage -- sharing parts of yourself that you haven't allowed anyone else to view and places within yourself that you may have never visited. Then you throw in children. They are on their own journey -- only you're in charge of guiding them. Their development shifts almost month to month phasing in and out. First they have to establish the vocabulary to share what's going on with them (crying, talking, mood swings, etc.), and then we have the job of exploring their psyche as well -- inviting them into the family communication structure. All of this work is on top of the day-to-day grind. Somewhere in between paying bills, making lunches, combing hair and working, we're supposed to find the time to make sure the family journey is going smoothly. In order to get any information from checking in with each person, all family members must first be in tune with themselves. So that's where I am. I'm somewhere buried under lasagna and holiday plans trying to figure out how I feel about things -- where I am. Mooch seems to know what's going on in her life and how she feels about it all. She keeps a journal, she speaks to us about her day at lap time, dinner time and cuddle time. Hannibal sends me a weekly marital status update and we check-in via the phone a couple of times per day. I thought I was using this blog to stay in touch with myself, but I'm so busy that it's become just another task. Sometimes I write just to honor my commitment to myself and there's no real self-discovery involved at all. I'm fine. I guess.

I don't eat dairy. I don't eat eggs, poultry, beef or pork either. There's really no name for what I am. I'm not technically vegan, because I wear leather and I eat fish. I'm not a pesco-vegetarian, because they eat dairy. The easiest way for me to explain it quickly is pesco-vegan. Whenever I say that, people respond, "Huh?" I guess I sort of made it up. I got sick of saying, "I don't eat anything that contains dairy, eggs or meat, but I do eat fish." People are confused about why I don't have a problem with their eating meat, or why I was fine with eating meat during my pregnancy. My diet is really specific to my needs, and my dietary choices are all health related. Dairy, smoke and incense give me horrible sinus headaches. I, therefore, don't eat dairy. I use almond milk on my cereal and we use rice cheese or soy cheese when we need a substitute. Sometimes I buy soy yogurt, but we've been cutting back on soy lately. I don't eat meat, because my research has found that it leads to heart disease, various cancers, hormonal imbalances and food poisoning. Many of these things run in my family. Diabetes is no joke! I don't want to ever get to the point where I'm banned from eating chocolate chip cookies. Most of my reasons for being a vegetarian are not ethical ones. While the farming industry is screwed up with its cramped conditions and overprescribed antibiotics, I've said it before and I'll say it again: You won't find me hugging any cows or trees. I'd much rather hug an oppressed person. Sorry, animals. With that said, I am concerned that world hunger is increased by meat consumption. The grains it takes to beef up one steak could be feeding 45 kids in Somalia. That's not cool. The last thing I want to address is why my kids are "pesco-vegan." The mucous caused by dairy consumption is ridiculous and eating meat weakens the immune system. I prefer not to spend every waking hour at the doctor's office. Mooch hasn't been sick, and I attribute that to her diet. Your mileage may vary, but she's only been to the doctor for checkups and I'd like to keep it that way. Today's blog was inspired by this: At first, I thought it was funny, but then I thought it was sad. There are so many alternatives to all of these things. I read the labels when I buy food. It's pretty simple. My diet isn't about maintaining a state of absolute purity. It's about making informed choices to refrain from using animal products, so that I remove myself, as much as possible, from the cycle that perpetuates a demand for the continued exploitation of non-human animals. That system is not sustainable, it is not eco-friendly and it is contributing to world hunger.

This was a light work week. No new clients -- only a couple of ongoing projects. I feel kind of lucky, though, because I'm totally under the weather. My nose is dripping like a faucet and my head is pounding. This was a non-stop weekend, and I get the feeling Halloween weekend won't be any different. I'm going to cut this one short. Good night.

This Sunday we went to my brother's house to hang out with him and his wife. They hadn't seen the kids offline for a while, so they invited us to lunch. We had a great time solving math puzzles and carving a pumpkin. We ate chard, tilapia and quinoa. There are pics below! Prior to that Mooch's school friend had a birthday party at the Santa Monica Pier. Their staff does everything!!! There were detailed decorations in a theme of the child's choosing, bagels/fruit/coffee for the adults and water and lemonade for the children. That was just for the time period before the actual food was served. They provided all-day wristbands for all 21 kids in Mooch's class! After an hour of riding, the kids were starving, so the staff brought out individual pizzas for them. They also had regular-sized pizzas for the adults. All the parents had to do was show up with the cake and relax. Speaking of cake, we had to leave before it was cut to make it to my brother's house for the aforementioned lunch. Rites of passage is also back in full swing, so after hanging with the family, Mooch had etiquette, where she learned all about initiating conversations and making others feel welcome. We're looking forward to Halloween! Tune in next Tuesday to find out what Mooch dressed up as. [gallery]

A Navy blue Snugli bearing a cooing baby is strapped to his chest. He's carrying a Caribbean skirt, cloth diapers and car keys. The six-year-old, that we love so much, is darting around his legs, in all white clothing, looking for socks and shoes. I'm already across town teaching tap, and they are headed to Capoeira. This is an average Saturday morning for us, and Hannibal's involvement means so much to me. My childhood Saturdays were mainly spent with my mother, while my father navigated the thrift shop circuit looking for doodads and doohickeys. I loved my mother and was most comfortable sharing space with her, but my dad and I also had a lot of fun together, when it was just the two of us. Sometimes I wanted to be able to look over during tap class and see my dad sitting there. Other dads were there almost every week. Mine just wasn't interested. "I don't like dance" he would say. In my head I would always ask, "But don't you like *me*?" I honestly don't think it would have been any different if I were a boy. He's not into sports either. I recall times when my mom would watch Football (she was a huge sports fan), and my dad would call out "Interruption!" when it was actually an interception. I doubt he would have been in the stands at his son's events. He just wasn't supportive in that way. He worked all week and considered that his contribution. Well Hannibal does that, too, but it's the distance he goes beyond that -- making bottles at 1am, rubbing my feet, reading bedtime stories to Mooch, cleaning the kitchen -- which makes him exemplary.

It's not 'Twon with his shirt tied up showing off his six pack at auditions or Chante busting that mean jazz walk with her layered bright clothing on. It's DivaBot! This dynamic dancing device is just the first generation. When she perfects her mechanical moves, she may be dancing backup for Beyonce in a few years. It's not that hard. ;)

Just when I almost decided to ditch cloth diapering, because it's quite an investment for two people who aren't having any more kids to pass them down to … Those brightly colored, cushy butt covers produced by renowned cloth diaper company, Charlie Banana, are now available at Target. According to a press release on prweb.com, the eco-friendly luxury line is placing its One Size 2-in-1 Eco Diapering System, Swim Diapers in the Butterfly and Orbits prints and Reusable Double Organic Wipes with Target. Warning: Cloth diapering can become addictive. I tried to quit last week to avoid buying the next size in diaper covers, but I ended up ordering three more. They're softer. Our baby prefers them. Everywhere we go, people say, "Those are so cute." They don't leak, and each time you snap one around those cute little chubby thighs (the baby's -- not yours), you're reducing your family's carbon footprint. The number one reason I ended up continuing was the ease into potty training that cloth diapering offers. No toddler wants to dawdle around with a wet cloth between their legs, so they tend to train faster than kids whose pampers absorb the urine. Let's just say I'll be avoiding Target for a moment out of fear that I'll end up with as many cloth diapers as I have scrapbooking supplies.

This week I'm designing a couple of logos that I'd rather not share. It's not my work, but the concepts of the businesses that I'm not too excited to promote. All money is green though, and I do operate a green business. *chuckle* Anyway, tomorrow marks my fourth week teaching at UCLA, and things are going great there. The performance is in six more weeks. I'm sure the audience will be thrilled. So far, I've gotten the IABD Conference up and running on Eventbrite. The website is up to date, a logo was created, and I have a few t-shirt designs on the table for them to choose from. I also finalized the copy which instructs dancers on submitting their choreography via YouTube. That ought to be fun. Mooch and I have been so busy that we haven't had time to finish creating nor practicing for our mother/daughter act, which takes place in November. We have to get on the ball. In the mommy department, my night time work with Fuss has decreased. She's always gone to sleep at 8pm. I started pumping more, so Hannibal gives her a bottle at 1am and she doesn't wake up again until 7:30am. This has given me more time to be productive and less urges to pass out in public.

Last Wednesday was picture day at Mooch's school.  We decided we'd use it to get a pressed hair shot in her acting portfolio (she already has pics with twists, afro puffs and an afro). Well that plan backfired when the Santa Monica air hit her head. She went to school looking like this: Her pictures may turn out like this, though. We'll see.

I promise this is probably the last time I'll write about my 30th birthday. Actually, Mooch wrote this blog for me, because it was my birthday and I said I didn't want to. Seriously. There are pictures, though!! Written by: Mooch My birthday was really fun. My daughter made me a wonderful card. It was awesome. My husband said, "Haven't you always wanted a box?" and when I opened it there was an ipod Touch! It was really really cool, and I was so surprised. Then I had two awesome cupcakes, and I had a seventies party. At my seventies party, all of my friends were there, and they wished me a happy thirtieth birthday. I didn't eat the cake there, because we were having so much fun that Hannibal forgot to bring it out of the restaurant's kitchen. Me and a couple of friends went to Jerry's Famous Deli afterwards and ate it there. I was so surprised. I didn't expect my birthday to be so nice. My birthday was better than pie and pizza and cake and donuts and every other sweet! I love my family soooo much. Ooh, and I got a Coach bag from one friend and gift cards from others. I went to dinner at Wokano with Hannibal on Saturday and I had pizza on Sunday. My best friend and I went to the Korean spa Saturday morning and we were totally amazed. After brunch, I went to see Mooch perform in Taste of Soul on Crenshaw. I saw The Social Network with Hannibal, and it was good!! You should go see it. That's it. Here are some pictures: [gallery columns="3"]

[caption id="attachment_765" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Myshell - 6 months old"][/caption] I remember fearing becoming an adult when I was a six years old.  I thought I wouldn't be able to figure out how to make right turns because I was left handed, and even sitting on the other side of the car seemed strange.  I just knew I'd never understand taxes and where I should go to pay them.  Now here I am, with my adult self, packing the lunches, planning the funerals and making sure the bills are paid. On the one hand, thirty just means ten more years of doing things except now there's a three at the beginning.  On the other hand, it signifies the adult phase of life.  I'm not a teen or young adult.  I'm just a plain adult.  I still have five more years before I stop shopping at Forever 21, though. Each birthday is a time of reflection for me.  Thirty years ago, my mom and dad conceived me on New Year's Eve.  This past New Year's Eve, I gave birth to my second child.  It's kind of creepy how fast time is moving me from one thing to the next.  I feel like I'm flying.  It's like I can gaze down at forever happening thousands of miles beneath me. "If at age 20 you are not a Communist then you have no heart.  If at age 30 you are not a Capitalist, then you have no brains." -George Bernard Shaw As I turn thirty, idealism gives way to practicality.  I'm still a dreamer.  My dreams are just more realistic.  I can't express the humility that seems to come with it.  It seems like just yesterday I was reading Franz Fanon and dreaming of the revolutionary I'd become.  I'm not saying thirty is where activism goes to die, but there sure is a lot less time for it between pouring milk on your kid's cereal and scheduling doctor's visits.  I keep telling myself that one day I'll have time to get back into acting classes, so that my passion is fulfilled.  Until then, I steal an African dance class when I can and wait out Fuss' first five, while reciting Macbeth in my mirror. When I was twenty years old, I felt as though I could do anything and accomplish everything, while living on nothing.  I would become a renowned personality -- educating and inspiring, leading and acting -- all while making love and eating several packs of Oriental flavored Top Ramen noodles per day.  With the twenties under my belt -- jobs that brought little enjoyment, relationships that were difficult to maintain and friends that were a source of friction -- I have become much more cynical about the world than I once was.  I'm still progressive, but I've accepted that many things aren't going to get any better and that's okay.  A lot of things will. Thirty will mean making better choices.  It will bring me even closer to friends I've had for over fifteen years.  Thirty will come and go like every other age did.  I'll have more opportunities to shine.  The best part will be the nearly thirty teeth showing when I smile at people who can't believe I'm thirty.