A Silly Love Song

I am a music lover. I am not a musician. I am not a singer. I am just a woman who appreciates "good" music. "Good" being defined solely by me. My sons were raised in a house filled with "good" music. I have proudly raised music lovers. (Well, except for one. Boy 3, could careless if there is a radio, CD player, Ipod, jukebox or an eight-track cassette player, for that matter, in his life.) For the first decade of their lives, the Boys listened to what I listened to. After that, they began to develop their own likes and taste in music. Ok, in all fairness, maybe they developed it prior to the age of 10 and I just forced them to suppress it because I refused to listen to anything other than what I deemed "good". That should only cost them one session of therapy when they become adults and complain about their controlling mother. That's not so bad. 

Nevertheless, today is Valentine's Day. "What your favorite love song?"  I decided to do an extremely unscientific empirical analysis of my Boys based on their choice of song. Does their favorite love song correlate to their personality? If in fact, Marianne Williamson is correct when she wrote,  "Love is the essential reality and our purpose on earth. To be consciously aware of it, to experience love in ourselves and others, is the meaning of life" then surely I should be able to extrapolate some analysis about who my sons are based on their choice of love songs. I made it very clear that this had no scientific merit, didn't I? Moving forward, let's see how this unfolds. 

Boy 1

Oh, Boy 1, "What your favorite love song?" I just sent him a text message. He is away at school. Insert Jeopardy music. He replied, "What?"  I don't know that song. Did he just reply to my question with a question? Major pet peeve, but I digress.  Let's try again. "Can you just answer the question?" Insert Jeopardy music. "Cupid. Why?" Ha! I could have guessed that one and I don't have to explain anything to a non-income generator, so I won't be responding to his "Why?"  

Cupid by 112

Cupid. A very straight forward, no frills, non complicated love song. It's well put together and the type of song that is easy on listen to. I enjoy it in my ears. It has a certain appeal. When I hear it, I sway gently, I sing along gently and I'm happy to have had the listening experience.   It's not complex or overbearingly intense. It's simply pleasing. It makes you happy. It's the type of song that is hard not to like.  Yep, just like Boy 1. So far I am an empirical genius!! 

Boy 2.

"What your favorite love song?" 

"You know that answer to that question." As he walks away looking like the Black teenaged version of Lurch from the Addam's Family. 

Boy 2, every morning before school.

Well, he is right. I do know that answer to the question. The WHOLE house knows the answer to this question. See, Boy 2 is the music lover and singer in the family. He has been obsessed with this song since forever. Literally, his forever. The song is older that he is and I've never known him not to sing it. 

Kiss From A Rose by Seal

Ok, what's the point of this study again? Oh, yes, to see if my children's favorite love song reflects who they are. (For all of you who actually know Boy 2, all the Aunties and Uncles out there, you can stop laughing now for the obvious reason.)

Ok, make no mistake, this is a beautiful song. It is masterfully arranged and sung to perfection. This is a "stop what you're doing and turn up the volume" type of song. It is impossible not to get caught in it's rapture. It is captivating. It's a two time Grammy winner. This is no obscure B-side song. This is legitimately a power house of a song. However, what the hell is Seal talking about? A tower. Snow. Kissing flowers with thorns. Addiction. Power. Pleasure. Pain. And what the heck does "on the grey" mean? No, I'm not going to google it. In general, I guess, I get it. I mean, it is a song about love, right? Surely there has to be a simpler way of stating it. What's the need to be so complex? Oh $&%*! This really IS about my son!! That's totally him. I am LOVING this experiment. 

Boy 3.

Oh boy...I already know how this is going to turn out. 

"Boy, what's your favorite love song?"

Silence.

"Helllllllo! What's your favorite love song?"

"I don't like music like that."

"Seriously? Can you just answer the question?"

"Stevie Wonder. The dolphin song."

(And just so you know, his eyes were closed during this entire conversation.)

So, for all you Stevie Wonder fan's out there, you will immediate note that Stevie never recorded anything called "The Dolphin Song." Because he belongs to me, I happen to speak Boy 3. What my child is referring to is a particular lyric. The song that my child is refer to is titled As. 

As by Stevie Wonder

"I'll be loving you always...until dolphins fly and parrots live at sea" If you need the reference.

 If we have ever met, you know that I am a Stevie Wonder fanatic. Given that Boy 3 could care less about music, I will argue that this may be the only song that he needs to have in his life anyway! Pure genius. An incredible piece of brilliance with powerful lyrics about unconditional, everlasting love. It speaks of individual love, spiritual love and the love for all humanity. It is a celebration of love, as well as a demand for us to spread love. It's a get up and move your ass love song. As is about loyalty. As is about eternity, a love that continues beyond our time on earth. As is a cornucopia of intensity, power, tenderness and sincerity. Hot Damn! I done did it again! That is Boy 3. He, too, is a cornucopia  of intensity, power, tenderness and sincerity.

Caveat: Boy 3 would have given the same answer if I asked him "What's your favorite pre-football game hype song?" He really doesn't listen to music and this really is the ONLY song he likes. 

Boy 4.

"Hey, Little Bit, what's your favorite love song?"

And this is where my entire experiment blew up in my face.  I refuse to offer an analysis. I am walking away from the data in shame. I am an absolute failure as an empirical scientist and I dare say, even as a parent. I will not skew the data. I will present my findings. However, please note that I am deeply troubled and I questioning where did I go wrong. I asked Boy 4, my sweet, youngest child, what was his favorite love song and with a big, wide grin and energy at Level 10, this is how he responded.

Gold Digger  by Kanye West and Jamie Fox. 

The White Boy Pass

Ok, I am a fan of words and I have no problem using them as weapons when faced with conflict. Boy 1 is the exact opposite. Boy 1’s toolbox in which to argue/debate is damn near empty. He has two responses to any form of confrontation. The first level response is "yeah, iiight.” That translates into "Yeah. Alright" for those of us who don't speak 15 year old boy. You also have to throw your head slightly back to make it authentic. If "yeah, iiight" does not suffice and his opponent continues the attack, the next and final level of response is "Ayo, Ima punch you in your face.” Which he quickly follows up. He is a bit of a Neanderthal, but he is mine!

So, he tells me that there is this thing at his school called "The White Boy Pass". The White Boy Pass is when a Black kid gives a White kid permission, a pass, to use the N-word. As the story goes, a White kid called another White kid the N-word in front of Boy 1. Boy 1 immediately looked at the kid but exchanged no words, of course. Remember whom we are working with here. That's when the White kids explained The White Boy Pass. Boy 1 responded "Yeah iiight. Nah.” That extra "nah" is very important. "Nah" translates into "try that @#$% with me and see what happens." It’s an elevated form of his first level response that let’s you know that the second level response will not come with a warning. Fortunately, these boys speak 15-year-old Boy too and understood the message. From there it became known on their small campus that Boy 1 does not condone The White Boy Pass and one should not use the N-word in front of him. Additionally, Boy 1 “confronted” the distributor of The White Boy Pass. “Ayo, The White Boy Pass? Nah, son” is what Boy 1 said to the Black kid who was the authorized dealer of The White Boy Pass. That translates to “I can’t believe you have created something called The White Boy Pass, thus condoning racist rhetoric amongst our teammates. You are dishonoring our past and our present. You are willing to be belittled for acceptance amongst these kids. I am ashamed of you. You will no longer grant The White Boy Pass. Do we understand each other?”

I was spared all the details, but apparently a White teammate assumed that his close knit sports-based relationship with Boy 1 would supersede my son’s stance on The White Boy pass. In the locker room, this child decided to refer to the opposing team as a collective group of N-words. In Boy 1’s world, he had already used his first level response for confrontation and did not feel it necessary to repeat himself. In fact, he had used the elevated form of his first level response and included the “Nah.” Therefore, there was no need for the verbal “Ayo, Ima punch you in your face” and he immediately clocked the kid. It didn’t escalate into a locker room brawl or a race riot. In fact, it wasn’t a “big deal” at all in Boy 1’s world. As far as all parties were concerned, “Yeah, iiight. Nah” was a full dissertation on Boy 1’s stance on the N-word and all he did was keep his word.

So, how did I come to learn of this story? Remember, Boy 1 is not a talker. I was dropping Boy 1 off on campus. As we enter his hallway, I see a young man look at Boy 1 and immediately go in his room and shut the door. I noticed this odd reaction, but I didn’t question it. I think all teenage boys are odd. Boy 1 realizes that he forgot his key to the storage area. He went to knock on the door of the hall-mate that had just shut his door moments earlier. As he walks toward the young man’s room he says to me “Watch this, Ma”. Boy 1 knocks on the door. The voice from the other side says, “I’m not letting you in”. Boy 1 says, “Yeah, iiight. I just need the storage key.” The voice from the other side says, “I’m not letting you in. You’re gonna hit me. Go ask somebody else.” I am completely bewildered. Boy 1 is cracking up. Boy 1 says, “Ayo, my mother is right HERE. I’m not gonna do anything to you. Just lend me the key.” The voice from the other side says nothing and slides the key under the door. I need an immediate explanation. And that is how I learned of The White Boy Pass. The voice on the other side was the teammate that tested Boy 1’s stance on the N-word.

So, there is no moral to the story. I will not be providing a summary or a final analysis as a mother or as a Sociologist. There will be no opinions expressed on violence, non-violence, racial pride, communication, assimilation, entitlement or anything else. This is just a glimpse of a page in the daily life of me. Till the next episode, walk good, iiight.

From "40" to "INTO MY 40s"

I've been doing this 40 thing for 11 months now.  If wisdom is truly represented by gray hairs than I am slowly becoming quite the sage.  Allow me to share 40 pieces of my wisdom. Agh, the caveat, I am a Scorpio...most of the wisdom shared will be purely introspective and relative to MY 40 year journey and not a universal truth. In no particular order and no editing. Let's go:

1. Natural childbirth is for the birds.
2. Never smell clothes left on the floor of your son's room to see if they are clean or dirty. In the best interest of your nasal cavity and lungs, just assume it's dirty.
3. It all boils down to Love or Anger. I feel all emotions deeply. However, I am only capable of expressing two emotions comfortably: Love and Anger. All other emotions must be transformed into one of those two in order for me to express them. Prime and actual example: My best friend is rushed to the emergency room. As soon as I am able to speak to him, I am on a tirade of expletives scolding him for getting sick. My toolbox is not equip to properly show fear, frustration, disappointment, blah, blah, blah. Love or Anger. Period. (Yeah, yeah...I'm working on that. Catch me at 50 years old and I'll let you know if I made progress.)
4. If you ask Mr. Softy to put sprinkles in the bottom of the cone before he adds the ice-cream as well as on top...you'll never run out of them.
5. Being lied to deeply offends me.
6. When I get to the point when I am about to explode if I don't express what's on my mind, is the same exact moment that I need to stay quiet.
7. Summer is made for dresses.
8. Every woman with freckles deserves to have each one kissed and counted.
9. I am a concrete child, but at least once a year, I must be near sea and sand outside of my local area.
10. If I love a book, I will hate the movie. Never fails.  As dear friend explained it this way: When I read the book, I am the producer. When I watch the movie, someone else is the producer. I am left to witness their interpretation and they never get the damn thing right!
11. Beautiful penmanship is artistry and plain ol' sexy.
12. I love deeply.
13. Never hold an infant while your son scores a touchdown.
14. Don't confuse a compliment for flirting. They are two different things.
15. Worse things have happened to better people. Be thankful. Trust me, there is something in the midst of the madness to be thankful for.
16. If you can afford to spend a portion of your career at home with your children and can only do it once, do it when they are pre/teens. As infants, we need to be around them more than they need to be around us. Let's face it, my sons have no recollection of who feed them, sang to them or rocked them. As teenagers,  it's us versus friends and pop-culture. We need to be there to answer questions, provide clarity, show examples, and listen! It's one of our last chances to make an everyday meaningful impact before they are off on their own.
17. Regardless of team or group affiliation, grown men should never wear red pants.
18. In all relationships, know your non-negotiables and protect them.
19. Judgment based giving is an insult to the Creator.
20. Thread count matters.
21. Practice makes perfect is a damn lie.
22. If you teach your sons that mixed-matched socks are a sign of creativity, you will drastically cut the time you spend doing laundry.
23. Have a family motto, a family song and a secret code.
24. No matter how many times God tries to tell me something through his/her beautiful whispers or gently nudges, I don't get it till she/he hits me over the head with a brick. The good news, The Creator will never stop delivering the message. How long we wait to receive it is up to us.
25. Nutella from Paris is the best in the world.
26. Make your home your sanctuary.
27. Have an intimate private relationship with the arts. I need to be surrounded by visual art, live music and the theatre.
28. Cancer sucks.
29. Children singing, expressions of love and the witnessing of goals achieved make me cry.
30. I love me some Aquarius, but they are so bad for me. I'm addicted to Cancer men, yet Cancer women are way too much for me to bare. I understand Pisces but their vanity/insecurity issues irk me. Libras frustrate me, but boy are they fun to be around. I can spend all my days and nights with a Sag  and they make up the bulk of my ride-or-die girlfriends. I admire the strength and integrity of Capricorns, Aries and Taureans. Geminis are the worst drivers. I think I need a Leo in my life.
31. Never lie to your children. Betrayal by a parent is a vicious hurt and I believe, the hardest pain to recover from.
32. Vacationing by myself is a necessary for my well-being.
33. Critical thinking is critical.
34. Have a theme song.
35. Everything ain't for everybody.
36. Have a source of wisdom and inspiration in someone older and someone younger.
37. Apologize, mean it and never do it again.
38. Be spontaneous. Some of my greatest adventures came without planning or notice: skydiving and cliff diving, as example. Oh and for the record, hot air ballooning is not an adrenaline rush. Floating in the sky in a wicker basket with flames shooting out the middle was not the thrill I was looking for.
39. Have a least one hobby.
40. Never treat crazy like it's sane.

The Celebration Service of the Life Of Lubabat A. Scotland

I guess I feel a sense of obligation to bring back to my MBHS brothers and sisters the details of the Celebration Service of Lubabat Alabi Scotland’s life. I know you all wanted to be there in body and I can confirm that you were all their in spirit.  Exhaling…no editing…just writing…here we go….typos and all…

I walked through the door and up the brief staircase to a regal man on my right greeting everyone as they walked in. I extended my hand and said, “How are you, Sir? I am Cazzie.” He took my hand and pulled me into a hug. He said “Oh, Cazzie. I’m Scotty.” Scotty, Lubabat’s husband.  He said thanked me for coming. We had a brief conversation in which he said, “Lubabat always said that that 12^th grade year was one of the best years of her life.” I don’t remember all else that was said, but I remember looking over his shoulder at a young man slightly taller than me with Lubabat’s cheeks. Sylvian, her son.  He stood tall, quiet and strong.

Gislene, my sister Gigi, and I went into the chapel and listened to Louie Armstrong playing in the background.  The chapel was bright, sunny and filled with hues of peaches and cream. A visual metaphor that, indeed, everything would okay.  At the center of the chapel was picture of Lubabat in her wedding gown.  What a beautiful bride! That Lubabat smile that showcased those Lubabat cheeks invoked a sense of comfort but also a sense of longing to want to see them again in person.

The video screen had a beautiful picture of Lubabat in a blue dress with that great smile, again. As the service was set to begin, the music began. The first note of Angela Winbush’s  “Your Smile” started and so did my tears. 

When in your eyes shine pictures of 
a time for us. Lubabat’s mother, Deloris entered the room. I still haven’t managed not to get angry when I think of a mother losing her child.

I melt with love 
When your lips kiss, silent words 
Move the earth and shake my world.  Scotty and Sylvian  walked down the center aisle. The strength in each of their steps was amazing to behold.

But nothin' means as much (Your smile) 
Nothin' seems to touch (Your smile) 
Your smile (Your smile) 
Oh, if anything I miss (Your smile) 
Never could resist (Your smile) 
Your smile. Lip biting tears that left no track marks thanks to the brilliance of water-proof mascara.

The Director of the funeral home was the first to speak. He welcomed us and assured us that this was going to be a celebration. He instructed us to be happy in our thoughts and to hold back our tears. Already I had failed to follow instructions. Thankfully, Scotty began to guide the celebration and gave us all permission to cry, as long as they were tears of joy. I cannot honestly say that each tear was a tear of joy, but I was relieved to know that my tears were welcomed…as Gigi moved the box of tissue from her side of the bench to tiny space that separated us from each other.

Scotty.  How do I even find the words to explain Cowinton Scotland aka Scotty? He led us through a beautiful tribute through the life of his wife, his love, our friend, Lubabat. He openly joked about how he would one day see Lubabat again and shake his fist at her for making him wear a suit.  He laughed at how she will look down at him from heaven and call him “silly” if he got overwhelmed with emotion. He choked back tears and words as he tried to describe his wife’s love for their son.  The greatest comfort I found, was in Scotty’s love for Lubabat. It brought me great joy to know that in her lifetime, Lubabat, a woman so filled with love, was on the receiving end of a love as powerful and strong as her own. A love that she deserved.

He shared stories of how Lubabat would get him to hand out lollipops, stickers and treats to random people wherever they went. He spoke of this transformation from slight resistance to the point where he wouldn’t leave the house without a stash of Lubabat’s smiley faces to distribute throughout the day.  Lubabat’s loving and giving heart was infectious.  He spoke of how she would not leave Publix, their local grocery store, without placing quarters in each of the gumball machines so that a child could be granted a treat that would solicit a smile.  He spoke of her dreams for making the world better and her actions that actually did. 

Scotty led us through a video tribute to Lubabat. It started with Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.”  I found myself relying on the lyrics to guide me through the visual.  It was a display of wonderful pictures of Lubabat, at various stages of her life. As a picture of Lubabat appeared as a little girl playing with what looked like a pot about the size you use for spaghetti, I heard the agony of her mother’s cry and turned to see her folded over in tears. I watched Lubabat’s brother hug his mother and woman who looked a lot a like Lubabat walk forward and hug Delores Alabi. The next song was Stevie Wonder’s “Smile Please”.  That was an immediate comfort for me as I had been playing it daily since hearing of Lubabat’s transition to the eternal world of peace. As various pictures appeared, Scotty would comment and make us laugh. He assured us that he received permission for Sylvian to show a picture of him as a baby walking around in diapers. He walked us through his various stages of weight gain during his 20 years as Lubabat’s love. Stevie Wonder’s “These Three Words” was next.  I was pushed back into the upright 90 degree angle of my pew when the picture of what seems like a 2 foot diameter circle with a 1 foot height of the most beautiful mound of dreadlocks and hair piled on the floor. Lubabat choose not to wait for or agonize over the inevitable hair loss that would come with chemotherapy. She removed all her hair. The following picture was of Lubabat with no hair, holding a picture of a heart…smiling with those cheeks inviting you to do the same. 

Lubabat’s friend Audra spoke next. She shared a story that touched me deeply. Audra’s 8 week old daughter had passed away and Lubabat read about it in the newspaper. Without knowing Audra, Lubabat found a way to contact her via email and sent her a letter. In the correspondence, Lubabat offered to make memorial pins from photographs of the baby for the family to wear.  Audra accepted the gift and forwarded pictures of her daughter to Lubabat, a stranger. Lubabat, made about a dozen assorted pins and left them on Audra’s doorstep on a Friday. The same Friday that Audra received the pins, she and her family proudly wore them to synagogue for service.  After service, Audra and her family stopped at Publix to pick up cat food. As she was in the aisle, she heard and saw a boy pointing and yelling her way “Mommy, she’s wearing our pins.  She’s wearing the pins we just made.”  Sylvian had spotted the pins that his mother had made for Audra in honor of her daughter. They were strangers no more.  Dear friends evermore. Divine intervention.

The last to speak was Jibrail, Lubabat’s older brother and MBHS graduate, Class of ’86. He walked us down his memory lane of being the protector of the little sister. The little sister that did what little sisters were created to do, get on their big brother’s nerves! He too brought joy to the ceremony. He spoke honorably of having to hand over the reigns of caring and protecting for his little sister to her husband Scotty. He called Scotty “his brother and a true man”.  He said, “As we look through the window of humanity, we have the option of taking or serving. My sister was about service and serving humanity.”  I can still hear and see him as he spoke those words in tribute to the woman Lubabat was while here on earth.

Scotty returned to the pulpit and  informed us that it was extremely important to Lubabat to be respectful of each individual’s spiritual and religious beliefs. To honor her, Scotty called for a moment of silence, for each of us to call on our spiritual strength in the manner in which we were most comfortable.  The service closed, with Scotty inviting us to listen to Lubabat’s favorite song by her favorite artist.  Micheal Jackson’s rendition of Smile.

By the end of the service, I had only 10 minutes left before I needed to head to the airport to return home. I went into the reception area to give my condolences to Lubabat’s mother.  She spoke of the difficulty of having to start “my life without my daughter.” As I spoke to her, she asked me how did I know Lubabat.  I told her that I graduated from Bergtraum with Lubabat and that my classmates all loved Lubabat and wished they could have been part of this celebration of her life.  She looked a bit shocked and asked, “You came all the way here?”  I said “Yes, Ma’am.”  She immediately pulled me in and hugged me. She said “Thank you” three times straight in my right ear as she embraced me.  Then, she something that sealed the fate that I would indeed leave the service with a smile, as per the mission of our sister Lubabat. She said to me “Do you know anything about that music thing they sent her. A whole bunch of them got together and dedicated songs to her. Oh she loved that music. That’s where we got the music for today from.”  All I could do was smile and say “Yes, Ma’am. I know about it.”  I hugged her once more.

I jumped into the passenger side of Gigi’s truck and my sweet sister got me to the airport in the knick of time…only after she yelled at me and insisted that I switch my heels to flats so I could navigate through the airport in a hurry with ease.  I made my flight and I smiled. I will continue to smile and find way to keep Lubabat’s legacy alive.

Smile, though your heart is aching

Smile, even though it's breaking

When there are clouds in the sky

You'll get by...

If you smile

With your fear and sorrow

Smile and maybe tomorrow

You'll find that life is still worthwhile

If you just...

Light up your face with gladness

Hide every trace of sadness

Although a tear may be ever so near

That's the time you must keep on trying

Smile, what's the use of crying

You'll find that life is still worthwhile

If you just...

Smile, though your heart is aching

Smile, even though it's breaking

When there are clouds in the sky

You'll get by...

If you smile

Through your fear and sorrow

Smile and maybe tomorrow

You'll find that life is still worthwhile

If you just smile...

That's the time you must keep on trying

Smile, what's the use of crying

You'll find that life is still worthwhile

If you just smile 

Day 7 of 29: Pardon the Interruption

I was traveling Day 4-6 and had all plans of coming back on Sunday and simply filling in the gap. Well on Day 6, by 6:30am I was in tears reading the words Scotty wrote as he prepared for Lubabat's transition to eternal peace. I excused myself from those around me at that early hour, because I am a person of action and needed to process my helplessness alone. By 10am, I was filtering through my Facebook status updates and saw update after update that said "RIP Lubabat". I immediately got angry, because that's how I am wired. I said to myself "Scotty didn't say she passed. He said he was preparing! She is still with us." But then I kept scrolling and I saw the update from Scotty. I am a very self-reflective person. I know myself well. The good and the bad. The truth is, I only deal well with expressing two emotions: Love and Anger. I don't know how to process or express everything else in between. I don't know how, in this case,  to express fear, disappointment, grief, surprise, or sadness. With those foreign emotions, I either deny their existence or I transform them into the only two emotions I am comfortable with: love and anger.  I know that our sweet Lubabat would not endorse me being angry and would not want any thoughts, feelings or emotions regarding her life to be wrapped up in angry. I know this, but I am not there yet. I am working to change my internal pain over the loss of my inspiring friend to one of love. When I get there, I shall return. Wish me luck. Till then, walk good and smile.

Day 3 of 29

What I Gave: 

I live in NJ. Despite  being (in)famous for the Jersey Shore, Sopranos, and Jerseylicious...it is also one of the few states (I believe 1 out of 3) where gas stations are full service...no extra charge...all the time. Today was a rainy, cold night. "Fill it up regular, please".  The young, probably college aged, gas attendant took my debit card, filled my tank, handed me back my card and began to walk back to the center island. I called for him out the window and gave him a tip. He looked at me like I was crazy and laughed. I laughed to. Nothing big...but fun and a surprise.

What I Received:

Now these are better stories!!  I received WAY more today than I think the total of all things I gave in a year's time. 

1) My 11:45am Facebook status:

Cazzie Antoinette just saw the most beautiful thing. A man in roughly his 80s was walking down the street with a cane and a full brimmed rain hat. A young woman and her male companion were walking his way. As they neared him, he stopped, tipped his hat, smiled and said Good Day. HOW WONDERFUL! What a gift to see!

2) The picture is hard to see here. Sorry. I thought the notebook on the floor was another one of the typical messes made by a house full of boys. When I picked it up, it was a letter written by Boy 4, 8 years old. Here's what it said (I am not correcting any grammatical or spelling errors. To me, it's perfect as it is).

Dear Ms. Lubabat,

I heard you had cancur. I pray for you everyday I wish you as you are in the bed.  I think about you. I love you and wish you the best. :) I will ask friends and aldults to try to donate to you. Made this picture for you.

Love, Cazzie's son Jonah

And he drew a picture of Lubabat in a bed. The word "Florida" was written above it. The words "You are the Best" were written below.  Underneath that picture, was a picture of Jonah in his room. He drew a caption bubble which read "I wish her the best."  Then he drew a smiley face with long hair and wrote the word "Smile" and drew an arrow pointing at the picture with the word "you".   I will mail this to Lubabat in the morning. 

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Day 2 Of 29

What did I give: I gave Ms. Cazzie-time. Ms. Cazzie is what I am called by my students and friends of my four sons. Boy 1 (my oldest son) is currently playing AAU basketball. Today's game was at 8pm, over an hour drive away. By 4:30pm, two of his friends had sent me text messages asking I could take them to the game. I pulled out my driveway at 6:30pm to go to two different towns to pick up a total of four extra boys to take to the game. The car ride with five teenage boys discussing everything from the 2007 NFL draft to how best to comb their hair in the morning, was to say the least...interesting. In the end, my "boys" won 40-10.

What I received: I received confirmation that at least one person in the world appreciates my pony-tails. (That may not seem like a lot to you, but it made me smile and laugh till my eyes hurt!) Long live Ms. Cazzie's pony-tails!