Don't You Forget About G

I can now dress vicariously through my daughter.  She literally looks good in everything.  Everything.  And her hair, dear Lord.  I love it.  I wish more folks would embrace the versatility that is the kinky-curly hair.  Sure, eventually she could iron it straight.  We can scrunch it up into a short round afro.  We can do pigtails and ponytails, braids, twists and knots.  But my fave is the big Afro.  I love it.  Love it, love it, LOVE IT.  And paired with the right outfit, it makes my day.

I mean come on, haven't all Moms of daughters, when putting together a particularly cute outfit thought, "Oh my gosh, I must be a good mom because my daughter is so friggin' cute.  Her cuteness may actually be dangerous."

I wish I'd taken a picture with my Nikon instead of just my phone.  This was church on Sunday.  She was strutting around a missionary send off party like she was da bomb.  Because she was.  Her 'fro was rocking.  Her kicks were pumped up.  Her sweater vest had a faux fur collar.  She was FIERCE!

So...for the first day of church school this morning, I decided to up the fierce ante.  With the FRO-HAWK.

Don't be hating on the style and ask if she is wearing a banana clip.  That's hairbows and clippies holding up her rocking hair.  (Bonus that this style does not require detangling or more than 5 minutes!)

Is it me, or does she look like she is about to star in a John Hughes film?  Seriously, she could be Molly Ringwald in either Pretty in Pink or The Breakfast Club with that stare and hair do. 

And when she walks, the fro-hawk bobbles.  It is killer.  

So raise your fist and cue up Simple Minds.

Blessed by cornrows

It’s not every day you get to experience God’s love anew by playing with somebody’s hair. But that is EXACTLY what happened to me today.

T and L before church.

My friend Tracy has a 4 year old foster daughter, T. Tracy is an interim care parent for Bethany Christian Services, which means she and her family bridge the gap between the time a birthmom relinquishes her rights and the ten days waiting time required in the Commonwealth of Virginia. Some agencies don’t use interim care parents, but Bethany has found it to be a blessing for all parties. Typically, this means that Tracy and her family love on babies from the time they get home from the hospital until they are 10 days old. Sure, there are sleepless nights, poopy diapers, and pediatrician visits, but by and large it’s a simple gig that assures Tracy meets her baby snuggles quota. (If you know Tracy, you understand that her baby cuddle needs are great. This is why she keeps nursery so often.) So when the case worker at Bethany called her to keep T, it was unusual. In fact, if you knew all the facts of the situation, your heart would break. And then you’d be mad. And then you’d kiss Tracy and her family for opening their home to T. You’d buy her daughter, L, a pony. L is also 4 years old and hasn’t minded sharing her toys, her clothes, and her bed to her new sister.

T has been with Tracy for 2 weeks. Before T can be adopted by her forever family, she has to visit a dentist, a pediatrician, and psychologist, and, I believe, an educational therapist. When T first arrived, she was quiet. It quickly became apparent that T had, at the very least, a speech delay. So while Tracy had hoped T and L would be playmates, T really is more similar to a 2 year old in speech and temperament. It also became clear that she’d never been really loved before. She’d never had limits set or consequences followed through with. And as T has grown more comfortable in her surroundings, she has struggled with learning that you can’t say “Shut Up!”, you must share, and that growling at people is not an acceptable way to say “No, thank you.”

But she has thrived in Tracy’s family. Within 48 hours, Tracy and her husband were called Mommy and Daddy. She has begun to uncross her arms. It no longer takes standing on your head to get her to smile for the camera. She’s gained 3 pounds. And so when, yesterday, Tracy attempted for the second time to take her to the Pediatrician, the Doctor could hardly believe that it was the same child.



At the start of the detangling process.



That’s what love does. It uncrosses our arms so we can take another’s hand. And I’ve been blessed to pray for her. And watch this transformation. And this morning, to participate in teaching her what it means to be loved.



Her hair was a mess. T came to Tracy with ragged box braids. Upon removal of the braids, it became apparent that T’s hair was VERY damaged. And her scalp was dry. And flaky. When Tracy first approached me helping T, I was overwhelmed. I decided my first priority would simply to be to work towards scalp health. And then moisturizing. Because I don’t care what type of hair you have—be it bone straight or kinky and coiled, brittle hair isn’t healthy hair.



Tangle free and ready to style!





As I’ve delved deep into the world of AA hair care, I’ve learned a lot. And most of what I learned is that all of us with typical Caucasian hair are idiots when it comes to AA hair. Even hairdressers. Even some African Americans. People are surprised when they touch Gracie’s hair and it is soft. It’s not because she’s biracial. It’s because it’s healthy. I put a sheaf butter and coconut oil on her scalp and hair every night. I spray a distilled water and jojoba oil mix on it every morning. And when it looks dry anytime during the day, I moisturize it. I only wash her hair with shampoo every 10 days or so. The rest of the time, I wash it with conditioner. Sometimes I don’t even rinse the conditioner out. And I put food oils in it—coconut, olive, grape seed, jojoba, and avocado—NOT petroleum based products. Petroleum products do not get absorbed into the hair, they just rest on top. Natural oils get absorbed and actually changed the texture of the hair and reduce the amount of water that evaporates from it, thereby increasing moisture content and decreasing breakage. So that’s why, AA lady who asked for my advice, you don’t understand why your daughter’s hair looks greasy and Grace’s does not. Your daughter’s hair IS greasy.



T came over this morning, while Henry was in school, for a hair party. We began with a bowl of pretzels, a sippy cup of juice, and Princess and the Frog on the TV. She was sitting in Henry’s chair in front of me while I had lined up detangler, my oil/water spray, a shea butter mix, and pure coconut oil all lined up. Her hair was washed last night. I was also armed with clips, a detangling comb, and a Tangle Teaser. I set to work in simply sectioning off her hair, clipping it, coating it in Kinky Kurly’s Knot Today detangler and then using my fingers to detangle it. I’m so accustomed to working quickly on Grace’s shaking head that it was a welcome change to work on a girl who was setting still. Every now and then she’d tell me "Thank you" for doing her hair.

It took roughly 40 minutes to detangle her entire head. I think it took so long because a) I’m a novice, b) I had to refill the pretzels, and c) it hadn’t been done in awhile. She shed A LOT of hair.



You can see the breakage on this side,
but I think the braid helps disguise it.



I decided to go with a quick and simple style that should hold up a week until hopefully she’ll come over for another Princess Hair Party. I gave her simple two-strand twists in the lamest part pattern ever known to man—the box. Because there was SO much breakage along her hairline, I opted for a large cornrow along her hairline to both disguise the breakage a bit and to protect her hairline from further breakage. I think next week we may try to trim her hair some to even it up. I doubt she has ever had a haircut.

By the time she left, her hair was soft and shiny. It soaked up the butters and oils. Her scalp was already remarkably improved.







Here you can see the parts and the twists.
Sorry it is wobbly; we were laughing.

Here she is at lunch.  Where she and Gracie
had an eating contest.  T won by half and apple and
a peanut butter cracker.   You know, after they both ate
a hot dog, some cheese, and pretzels.



I cannot tell you how much this morning with T meant to me. It confirmed to me that when my stint on the Bethany board is done we will sign up to be a Foster Family. Loving her gave me a glimpse of what Jesus sees and does every day. Gently with his hands undoing the damage. Working out the kinks and knots. Anointing and massaging with life giving oils. Creating something new. Something healthy. Something pliable to His touch. Something glorious.

No. I'm not dead. I'm intentionally not calling you back...

You may have noticed I’ve been blogging less. I’d like to say it is because I’m on vacation. Or that I’m busy living life. Or that I’m too busy writing the next great American novel. But that’s just not the case. There are some logistical reasons why this is happening and also some intentional ones as well.
Logically speaking, Henry gave up his naps in the fall. This was like a death to me. I no longer had three hours in the afternoon to blog, facebook, eat bon-bons, and ignore housework. I tried making Henry have quiet time, but this always resulted in a backslide of the potty training and let’s face it—pee pee pants and pee pee carpets add work. And I’m the poster girl for working smarter, not harder. So we read books, play with little Legos and tinker toys, and other things that prove difficult when Gracie is awake.

Gracie has begun to give up morning naps as well, so this has robbed me of the time to myself while Henry is in preschool. When this began happening, I resolved to use that time to go to the gym. Thankfully, she has been sick several times during the winter, so I’ve been unable to put her in gym childcare, thereby giving me a “Get out of going to the gym without guilt” card. At present, she is back to 2 naps a day, but that is because she has RSV.

We’ve also had a sicky winter. Puking. Coughing. Nebulizing and the like.

And Sloan got a promotion, which means he is travelling less and I’m getting to spend time with him at night more. I used to use the nights when he was out of town to catch up on blogging and reading, but now he is only gone two nights a week. And I like the fact that I like being with my husband more than I like typing on the computer.

However, I’ve also realized that with my getting a laptop and an Ipad, I’ve become attached (maybe addicted?) to technology. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing; it is not the technology’s fault. It is not facebook’s fault I now think in 140 character bylines. But it is MY fault if my children’s memories of childhood are ones of them playing by themselves while Mommy is on her laptop. Sure, I’m in the same room with them, but I am not with them. So I try to limit the amount my attention is divided.

I’ve also been getting more involved with Bethany Christian Services. I’m editing their monthly E-newsletter and writing articles for it. Some months it takes more time than others, but as I type this, I realize that I need to go ahead and write my “Letter from the Editor” blurb so we can email that puppy out. Nerts…But that busyness has confirmed to me that I’m using my talents for something that I’m passionate about. And more importantly, something I’m certain God is passionate about and so it is not a busyness that makes me weary.

I’ve also been taking this year to access and realign my priorities. My buddy Law-Momma often writes about the juggling act of being a working mother. But the juggling act, I suspect, is part of being human and not unique to working moms. We all juggle different roles, different dreams, different responsibilities and relationships. And the truth of it is, we can’t have it all. I don’t even believe we are supposed to have it all. We may want it all, but I’ve found that as I’ve stepped back from a few things (leadership in my women’s bible study, blogging less, saying No to some ministry opportunities I would’ve normally saddled myself up to out of duty, my goal of reading 52 books in a year), the experiences and relationships I am tending have grown deeper. Have been richer. I’ve become more intentional. And this, perhaps, is the point.

I want to not only accept the place God has me for now, but to cherish it. To stop looking across the way at the greener grass. To see that the grass is green where it is tended.

I don’t want to be known for being a great blogger. I don’t even want to be known for being a great writer. (Okay, I don’t HAVE to be known for that. But I won’t lie; it’d be nice if a couple people other than the folks related to me thought that.) I have the ear of the Creator of the world, the heart of the best man on the planet, and the teeny tiny hands of the best kids around. Do I really need any more adulation? Really?

My greatest desire is for my kids to know they are loved. By me and by God. Period. I believe that our self esteem can be traced back to the one who matters the most to us. For me, that’s God. And God thinks I’m worth moving heaving and earth for. He thinks I’m worth bleeding for. So I want that for my kids. And right now, I’m who is most important to them. So that’s what I want to be known for—loving my kids.

And yeah, I can do that through blogging. And working on my novel. And by diligently serving orphans to say, “See Henry and Gracie, you know how much I love you? That’s nothing in comparison to how Jesus loves you. And loves these kids. And loves me. So we have to let them know. We have to stand for them.” Because pointing my kids to what is right and good and true is loving them as well.

But I do have some posts in the works. I think about it a lot. For example, I’ve been thinking about and may just blog about the following in the near (or distant) future—

*How my son has “decided to be fwiends with” a kid in his class who “doesn’t talk good and doesn’t have any fwiends.” His teacher even told me about how she has seen Henry be intentional to befriend the Chinese boy for whom English is a second language. He does this by holding his hand on the playground and always picking him to be the goose to his Duck, Duck.

*The bonus of sick kids when it means lots of cuddles and Pixar.

*How my facebook newsfeed looks like a Planned Parenthood rally alternatively being protested by flash mobbing pro-lifers. And how I’ve never known anybody whose heart has been changed by being shouted at. And that what I really wish is that our culture would change its view on adoption, thereby making the issue null and void. That in the US alone, there are 140,000 orphans and perhaps we should stand with them. And shout for them. Or, here’s an idea, shut up and adopt them. (And, oh yeah, you buy a pet. Could you please stop comparing how you got your dog to how we received Grace into our family?)

*My continuing relationship with Gracie’s hair. Current RSV afro notwithstanding, I have begun to style it. This amounts to wonky parts, alien looking box braids, messed up coils, all ending up with me just saying FINE and putting it in toddler puffs because she won't sit still no matter how many goldfish I throw at her. She has more hair lotions and potions than I do. She sleeps on satin crib sheets. I keep all of her hair goodies in a purple and green tackle box. And, according to Sloan, there are anglers with their own ESPN shows whose tackle boxes pale in comparison to Gracie’s three foot tall behemoth.

So if you’re bummed that I’m blogging less, sorry. I’m going to try for twice a week, but just know that schedules and deadlines and self-imposed goals and the like make me itchy.  Any routines I adhere to are solely to keep my children happy and pliable to my every whim. (HA!)

White Woman rants about subtle racism...

Every month Henry's preschool hands out those wonderful Scholastic book club flyers.  This month I was looking forward to ordering some kids books about Black History month and Martin Luther King, Jr.  I thought for certain there would be a couple of board books. 
There was one.  ONE. 
There were loads of books about Valentine's Day, President's Day, and even several for 100th day of School celebrations.  First of all, is 100th day of school even a thing?  Really?  But only ONE book having to deal with Martin Luther King, Jr?  Not even the President's book to his daughters?
Now let me say that I understand that every flyer has only so many books it features.  (100 to be exact)  And that having every book being about Black History month or Martin Luther King, Jr would niether be appropriate or good marketing for the book company.  But I refuse to believe that preschool parents aren't interested in race relations.  There are black kids in preschool.  There are biracial kids in preschool.  There are white kids in preschool with parents who want their kids to understand history and black culture.  And certainly there are parents of every shade who want their kids to like the skin they are in.
So I went on Scholastic's facebook page and basically said, "What gives?"  They pointed me to the fact that they have a catalog just for African American children's books and culture called Voices.  So I countered back, "So you are telling me the book are segregated?"  They quickly responded and sent me an email address to discuss it privately.  (Also, I looked at the catelog and am soooo excited.  There is a series of chapter books for 2-4th graders about these little AA ballerinas and they look super cute!)
Basically, I have to get my preschool director to request the Voices catalog so I can order from it and my school still get freebies.  But still I say, "What gives?"  Does that mean that somewhere there are teachers who only receive Voices for their predominately African American students?  That doesn't seem quite right either.  Certainly they deserve to celebrate the bogus holiday of 100th day of school like their white counterparts. 
I think this is just one of the countless little things we white people don't get.  The subtle racism of our culture.  Yes, we are appalled by the obvious things.  We teach our children what words to not say and to value all people.  But saying the right words and believing the right things are two different things entirely.   
Like have you heard they are publishing an edition of Huckleberry Finn that removes the n-word and replaces it with slave?  What?  The publisher said it repulsed him to read that word so many times.  Correct if I am wrong, but wasn't that sort of the point?  If Tom and Huck start out politically correct, how will their characters evolve?  And how will teachers lead discussions about the use of that word to enlighten their students?  And if you say that having kids read the n-word in Huckleberry Finn will only lead to intolerance, I say this--show me the hate crime that can be traced back to reading Mark Twain and I'll eat my shirt!
Before Christmas, I heard an African American mom complaining to customer service at WalMart that there was not a good selection of black baby dolls.  And she's right.  Sure, you can find them.  But you have to look for them.  Or pay an arm and a leg for them.  In the American Girl franchise, they have a black doll.  Her name is Addy and she is an escaped slave.  And you can buy a doll with dark skin and curly hair or medium skin and curly hair.  But she's $100.  I also love that the 2010 American Girl doll of the year is named Kanini.  She's Hawaiian.  And by Hawaiian I mean to say she has light brown eyes, fair skin, and light brown hair.  But she wears a lei, so I guess that makes her authentic. 
Or just look at how much aisle space African American hair products get at your grocery store.  And I've never even once seen a satin crib sheet even sold at a Babies R Us or Pottery Barn.  Oh, what's that you say?  Yeah.  Most people don't even know that cotton can be killer to fragile tightly curled hair, so AA girls need to either use a satin pillowcase or wear a satin hair bonnet when they sleep to protect their hair and hair styles.  Try finding a satin lined snow cap in a mainstream store.  You can't.  I've also looked for something to put in Gracie's car seat, but cannot find it.  So I'm going to fashion something myself and maybe even set up shop on Etsy with my own little Satin Car Seat thingys.  Because I'm guessing that the reason Gracie's hair is shorter in the back is from the car seat friction causing breakage.
And another thing white people don't know is what to say.  I'm even at a loss here.  I understand that race and ethnicity and culture are often interchangable in some people's minds, even though, in reality, they are three different things.  I don't even know if it is wrong that I sometimes say black instead of African American.   Actually, most of the time I say brown, as in my son is pink and my daughter is brown because her skin is that of a black person, but ethnically she is also Caucasian and Japanese.  And culturally, she's the same as me.  And her hair is silky but curly.  Not tight coils, but loose curls.  There is even a technical grading system for curly hair.  I am a 3a--think Debra Messing and Taylor Swift.  Gracie is a 3b--think Heather Headley or Alicia Keyes.  (For comparison, Joss Stone is a 2 and Macy Gray is a 4a.)  And if you have a couple of hours to kill, you should totally watch YouTube videos on how to style AA hair.  Seriously.  Addictive.  Can't wait until Gracie's hair is long enough to rock some Bantu knots or two strand coils.
I try not too worry too much about political correctness.  You can be politcally correct and still harbor hate in your heart.  Perhaps the main thing is to simply think about what you say before you say it (admittedly, not a strength of mine).  I figure when Gracie is old enough, knowing she's my daughter, she'll tell me what to call her.  For now, I call her mine.