I’ve been fortunate to be accepted into some things that I’ve wanted. College, clubs and organizations, graduate school and my sorority. These were all positive things. I was accepted into a club that not everyone was or could be a part of.

But, I’ve also known what it feels like to not be accepted. I’ve gone on interviews for jobs that I didn’t get. It depressed the hell out of me. I was always the girl that gets the job. How did they not want me? I learned to accept the disappointment that came with someone being more qualified.

Acceptance of the situation.

When the doctors wanted to do a biopsy on my thyroids because they saw something, I accepted that I would have to go under the knife. I accepted that I may have cancer. I prepared myself for God’s will be done. Thankfully, it worked out in my favor, but I accepted it.

This is life. Sometimes things will work out in our favor and other times they won’t. Do you accept that some things were not meant to be? Do you look it at your life and realize that this wasn’t the path you were supposed to take at that time? Do you keep pursuing your goals or do you just give up?

Don’t ever give up on your dreams! Accept that life will throw you curve balls and fast balls and balls that you can catch, but know that you matter. That your fate is something you can control.

If you believe.

Accept that you will win some. Accept that you will lose some. Accept that in the end that if you’ve done all that you can do then you have lived.



This post was inspired by the Daily Post. The word prompt was acceptance

Want to keep in touch? You can find me on social media at the following links:  Twitter @mskeeinmd, Facebook page A Thomas Point of View and my Instagram page

February is Black History Month

Black History is American History. We are all part of this fabric that makes up the quilt of America. However, the story of our history has been downplayed in the history books that it is pathetic. We have to teach our children the truth. If you don’t know your history you are bound to repeat it.


As evident as to the times right now in the U.S. I stand with everyone. I don’t play with Christianity and I don’t play with my love for this country. Which is why I have the right to criticize her when she’s wrong.

But, in the midst of all this drama that is occurring here in the U.S. I want to remind you that it’s never to early to start to teach our children about Black History. I started when Munch was 6 and learning to read. He did a report on black history and I wanted to try and fill in the blanks. Munch has an extensive school schedule but I wanted to spend time with him this month focusing on our history outside of his French and English curriculum. I want to fill in the blanks for him and allow him the opportunity to know what it means to say “I’m black and I’m proud”.


Pride and self-love are very important in any race. I’m teaching him to love the skin he’s in. You can’t change it. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful and wanted.

So, my black history month reading list for Munch includes the following 4 books:





What are you doing to teach your children about black history month? Do you have any suggested reading material for an 8 year old?

Why We Should Learn To Be Happy On Our Own

What a great post reminding us that we are in charge of our own happiness.


I’ve just finished watching a hilarious movie called ‘How to Be Single’ with Rebel Wilson & Dakota Johnson. Rebel stole the show as she always does, and despite the story being light hearted and entertaining it got me thinking.

When my second serious boyfriend let me just after University, I was devastated and hit an all time low. I didn’t go out, I stopped exercising, I lost a ton of weight, I couldn’t find happiness in anything I did anymore. I couldn’t stand the thought of being by myself, I hated my own company.

So I decided, to avoid being by myself, I would make myself super busy. I threw myself into my 9-5, then took on two extra jobs as a tutor and at my local radio station. My days would start at 7am and end around midnight. I would make sure all my weekends were fully booked months…

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Everything Changes

I closed the door on that relationship.

I walked out on someone that I thought cared about me. That wanted to build a future with me. That saw past my facade and wanted to know the true me.

But it was all a dream. A nightmare really. A boy pretends to love a girl and a girl falls for it. Pathetic huh?

But, I pushed forward. Determined to make him love me in spite of his resistance. Why? Because I needed love.Not necessarily his love. But, the love of a man who thought I was both beautiful and smart. A man with a career and security clearance.

No crazy stalkers. I needed security.

I changed. I became one of those women that did anything to keep a man. Sex was good. Not the best. But, not the worst. Conversations were okay. No depth. No real connection.

He had charm. He was a gentleman. He was a provider. I wanted more. He didn’t.

Our last time together was probably the best we ever had. Lots of kissing, alcohol and sex. We laughed. It had been too long.  I let my guard down and gave everything I had.

While he slept, I grabbed my clothes and sneaked out the room. I didn’t want to wake up here. With him. He didn’t deserve it. Truthfully, neither did I.

I blocked his number from my phone. I ignored his emails.  I acted as though he didn’t exist. Because he didn’t. He couldn’t.

It had been 6 months since I last laid with him. Physically, spiritually or emotionally. No contact. But, how long could I continue to ignore him? I rubbed my growing belly and sighed.

His seed was here with us. A reminder of our last night together. A girl. She angrily kicked me. I winced. She apparently wanted to know her daddy. Ugh!

I got up to go to the bathroom. My dang bladder could never hold more than eight ounces before the pregnancy and now I was just peeing every 10 minutes. Drink plenty of water they kept telling me. I did. All the time.

As I hobbled to the bathroom and sat on the toilet I felt a gush of fluid. I started to cramp. Painful cramping. Worse than my menstrual cramps. I screamed. I was bleeding. There was blood in the toilet. I kept cramping.

I grabbed a pad and put it in my panties.  I tried to wipe as much blood as possible and pulled up my panties. I went into my bedroom and grabbed my cell phone. I called 911.

I unlocked the door to the house. I sat in the wooden kitchen chair. I didn’t want to bleed on my new sofa. I waited for the ambulance. I remember hearing the sirens.

Tired. I was so tired. Someone was yelling for me to tell my name. Why are you yelling at me?

I woke up in the hospital. A tiny room. White and sterile. I felt my stomach. My baby.

I started to panic. I pushed the call button. The nurse came in. I asked Where is my baby?

She said the doctor was going to come in and talk to me. I started to cry. She begged me to calm down. She sat there rubbing my arm. The doctor came in.

I was in a daze. He said that I suffered a placenta abruption. Dangerous. Deprived the baby of oxygen. She’s premature. She weighs 4 pounds. Trying to stabilize her. He asked was there someone I could call. My husband? Any family?

I wasn’t married. I rubbed my empty ring finger. I was another statistic. I was going to raise the baby on my own. I felt alone for the first time in my life. My little girl needed me. I told him that I would make a few calls.

I asked the nurse to take a picture of my baby with my cell phone so that I can see her. Please I begged. She agreed.

I sat there wondering how I would tell him that I was pregnant and that I had a baby. What the hell do you say to someone that you haven’t talked to in months? The nurse returned and I saw her. She was so tiny. Beautiful, but tiny.

Wow! I’m a mommy. I sent him a text message that said. We have a daughter. She and I need to see you. Please come. I attached the picture of our daughter and prayed that he would show up.


This post is inspired by the Daily Post. The word that I selected was tiny



FBF: Self-Esteem

I found a book that I had created my junior/senior year of photos of me and my friends in high school. It was weird looking at the hairstyles and some of the outfits, but it was good. I was looking back at the photos and remembering how I thought I was fat at the time.

I was always the biggest girl it seemed but I really hated my shape. I had a big head, big nose and a big butt. I thought of myself as the odd girl out. The oddly shaped girl who wasn’t quite right. But, I was perfectly fine.

See at that time I just wanted to be invisible. To be seen as a beautiful girl to one boy. I smiled on the outside when many times I was so broken and damaged inside that people couldn’t see it. You can’t see the scars of the abuse. You can’t see the pain that I carried while trying to have a “normal” childhood.

Normal. What the hell was normal?

I guess it was boyfriends and dances. Dates and parties. Friends and fun. I had those memories. Hidden inside my size 12/14 frame.

What I learned…We are our own worst critics. Stop judging yourself and just love the person looking back in the mirror. You are beautiful just the way you are.

Living with Limitations

Munch’s dad is living with limitations. He’s disabled. He’s not in a wheel chair. He’s on a cane. He can still walk. I haven’t spoken about it. He has health issues that have caused a deterioration in his health. One in which he refers to as a “poor man’s Lou Gehrig’s”. He is almost 43 and has been living with this for some time now.

He falls. His legs give way. He has hurt himself because his legs gave way and he wasn’t prepared. There are some things that are quite difficult for him to do and some things he won’t be able to do in a few years. It is our new normal.

No matter how difficult co-parenting can be I’m always going to care about my ex-husband’s ability to take care of Munch. That being said, I’m an advocate for the acceptance and truth of a situation. He – not so much. LOL. My ex is not ready to accept some things. He doesn’t want his disability to define him. It doesn’t.

However, we can’t ignore his health issues.  For example, he was hospitalized last month. He interrupted his normal visitation schedule to send me a text to say that he needed to go to the emergency room and was going to go to a local hospital near my home and wait for me to get our son. Really? I’m at work a good 40 minutes away from my house during rush hour. The hospital would be another 1 1/2 hours away from my job during rush hour.

I sighed. I called my mother. She worked 10 minutes away. She met him and got my son. He went to the hospital. My life is about expecting interruptions. When you have a parent that has health issues you expect the unexpected. I’m not mad.

My mother has been a tremendous help with my son. I started a new job and I can’t take off as frequently and she’s adjusting her schedule for the unexpected. Our co-parenting is really not two adults. It is a triangle. His dad, my mom and me. We’re adjusting.


Neither is greater than the other. We just need to recognize the integral part we play in Munch’s overall development. Including backing up and supporting each other at all times.

Munch knows that his dad’s health is not like everyone else. He worries which is probably part of his anxiety, but his dad wants to keep that at a minimum. Which means he makes the decision to not tell his son that he’s hospitalized. I accept it and adjust. I don’t like it. I just evade any questions and say “Ask your dad”.

His health was of major concern when we finally got him in the Before and After Care program at the school. This was a great win because we found out a couple of weeks after school. It was at Back to School Night that I discovered that the school sits on a hill with the cafeteria on the top level and the only access is from metal stairs on the side of the building.

This isn’t going to work I thought. My ex and I share custody and he can’t park down a hill, walk up a hill and then to the metal steps to get our son. I explained to both the principal and vice principal that I needed an accommodation because the cafeteria is not ADA accessible from the side of the building. No other doors are opened accessing the school prior to 8:45 am. He can’t climb the steps.

They were very understanding and said that the Before and After Care staff must send someone down to pick him up and bring him out. I thanked them. The thing I’ve discovered in dealing with administration is that sometimes they are slow as heck. I wasn’t pleased. They finally confirmed that they would do that.

I mean really? It’s the law. My son is navigating his new normal like a champ, sometimes too much. When I dropped him at school last week and we got out of the car and walked up the hill and stairs to Before and After Care he said, “Mommy, you don’t need to do that. Just call them and they will come and get me.” I laughed.

The innocence of children.