Questions And Comments From The Nuthouse

I receive lots of questions. I suppose because I'm a questionable person? I've decided to exact a little damage and answer some of your questions.*

Why did you start blogging?
Because there wasn't quite enough terror in this world.** Actually, my mama and hubby were the instigators. Blame them.

How old are you?
Young enough to still think cuss words are funny and old enough to grumble about disrespectful little punks. 

Will you adopt again?
More to come on this topic in the coming months. For now, suffice to say that we will stop when God tells us to stop. So, stay tuned. 

You're so fun to read! I wish you'd write a book!!
Thank you! I did, but it's not a funny book and it's unpublished. And unless you're a kid you're not my intended audience, and if you are a kid you're not old enough to have an e-mail account, so stop it and go clean your room!

Aaaaaaand...

What's your go-to dinner for your larger than average family?
Pfft. I love experimenting in the kitchen, but my go-tos are quesadillas or spaghetti or popcorn, apple slices and cheese. I just lost all respect from you didn't I? 

Lastly, is quite possibly THE SWEETEST comment I have ever received from a reader, which is found on this post:


Hi Cynthia,

i'm a friend of your friend the puppetmaker. she shared this post with me. i thanked her and now i'll thank you, too. this was beautifully written and totally made me think about my thought process. and sophia is adorable and very obviously loved (which is most important). 

a chocolate mama with a chocolate daughter go through a lot of experimentation too. my mom tried more things on my hair than i can even remember. we learn together. :)

You, my dear, blessed my socks clean off my feet.*** 



Traumatizing My Readers One Post At A Time,
Cynthia




*I'll apologize in advance for bursting your image of me.
**And I think it's actually a sign of the Apocalypse...?
***And, yes, I have a puppetry friend who is the best of the best in the puppet biz. 

Hair-Raising Conversations

Usually when I leave the house with the girls, we resemble a three-ring circus. By the time I get to our destination, sometimes I don't feel like answering nosy questions from strangers. Selfish, I know. I try to be courteous and assume people truly want to be more knowledgeable of the ins and outs of adoption. Sometimes people begin by assuming all those children are mine. That's good. That way we get to skip a slew of awkward questions:

Are you a nanny?
No.
Babysitting?
No.
How many times have you been married?
What?!? I don- Oh forget it. She's adopted.

If you assume she's mine we can advance to the second set of awkward questions:

So is adoption expensive?
Yes.
*crickets chirping*

How do you manage her hair?
Well, mostly trained monkeys, but sometimes I actually give it a whirl. 

And that's where I'm camping today, folks. Hair. Pitch a tent, and get a fire blazing, because this is going to be a doozy of a camping trip.

First of all, I am aware that I'm white. I am also under no grand delusions that at the moment of adoption my fingers were infused with a special afro intuition. Any knowledge and skills I possess are the culmination of years of research, months of practice and a good dose of trial and error vigorously stirred together with persistence.

Unfortunately, there are times that I am judged based on my daughter's less-than-perfect hair style. There are sidelong glances, critical stares, obnoxious glares and even opinions voiced. I can handle the glances. Really, I can. I don't pretend to know the motive behind furtive appraisals from black women. I imagine any number of thoughts run through their minds: How does she know how to do that? I bet she had someone else do it. That looks terrible! That is downright impressive given her stick-straight hair. Whatever. I don't care. What truly bugs me are the not-so-subtle critical eyes and tongues. Partially I want to protect my own pride. I don't like feeling defensive around someone who happens to have more melanin than me. But, mostly I want to protect my daughter's confidence. God created her with tiny coils all over her head, and I'm in love with every single strand. One day soon she will begin noticing the disapproving eyes and taking notice of the negative comments. My response will play a large part in molding a tenacious love of her natural locks.

So, to the black woman in the grocery store, I know sometimes I don't strike the right moisturizing balance in my daughter's hair, or have the neatest, tightest cornrows. But out of love, I will continue to unpack this mysterious world (along with its bazillion products on the market, thank you very much). I realize I do strike a defensive posture and I'm sorry. I'm sure I come across haughty. Perhaps a warmer response on my part will encourage kinder words on your part?

And, to the black mama at the library, encouragement goes such a long way and I could have smothered you in hugs until we looked for all the world like a soft-served swirl ice-cream cone. Your sweet words were (and continue to be) a precious balm to my confidence as a vanilla mama to a chocolate daughter. I loved commiserating about the woes of misplaced silk caps, new hair growth that sticks out no matter what and the effects of dry winter weather on kinky hair. You offered a rare and far-reaching gift to my daughter and I: A soft place to land and grace to welcome us there.

Finally, to white folks near and far, my skills are rudimentary and I'm winging it 95% of the time. I am not an impressive white woman who has cracked the sacred hair code. I know we are used to running a brush through our hair and calling it good, so anything beyond fifteen minutes seems criminal. I do not feel that Sophia's hair is a burden. No, I don't enjoy every moment of detangling. Yes, it is wildly beneficial for attachment. Every style is an adventure and every product an experiment.* I am a mad scientist and loving it! There's no need to feel sorry for me.

To end on a high note, I'll share the latest hair lesson I have learned: Baubles at the end of the hair provide the perfect activity center on the go for a certain baby who-shall-remain-nameless. Also, a laundry basket + hair clips = a picture-worthy kerfuffle.**

Yes, her hair beads got caught in the laundry basket, and yes, I took pictures.

Learning As I Go,
Cynthia



*Eat your heart out, Indiana Jones.
**I wasn't fast enough on my feet to catch a photo of my oldest, who (somehow) managed to get her hair wedged fast between the seat and back of her dinner chair. Never. A. Dull. Moment.

Did That Really Just Happen? (Parenting Edition)

Welcome to another installment of *trumpet fanfare*

Did That Really Just Happen? (all-new Parenting Edition):

1. I spent 45 minutes detangling knots from a precious little noggin...and it wasn't Sophia's.*
2. I washed my face with hair butter.**
3. Timothy caught me scarfing a chocolate muffin out of a cereal bowl (I used a spoon and everything -that's an elaborate guise). The girls, however, were none the wiser.
4. I have horrified my children as only a mother can. At their insistence, I tried on skinny jeans. That'll teach 'em.***
aaaaaand...
5. Last night was "Presidents Night" at AWANA. I slapped a tie on my daughter and told her to hold up bunny ears. She was the only kid who went as Nixon.

Keepin' It Real,
Cynthia


*What exactly do nine year-old girls do to their hair?!?
**Now my chin hair should be silky and lustrous. Thank you for noticing.
***In other news, we're accepting donations for future therapy sessions for our children.

You Know You Have A House Full Of Girls When...

A house filled with sugar and spice makes for some unique adventures:

1. We have an entire bucket dedicated to various combs and brushes.

2. Hair bows, flowers, clips and ponytail holders require their own zip code.

3. The decibel level gets exponentially louder at the sight of a harmless bug.

4. The decibel level gets exponentially louder every time Daddy arrives home.

5. The decibel level gets exponentially louder for no apparent reason.

6. Basically, girls are squealy.

7. Pink is it's own laundry load.

8. We get lots of sympathetic talks about what we're in for during the teenage years.

9. We get lots of sympathetic talks about wedding costs.

10. We get lots of sympathetic talks about boys and answering the door with a shotgun.

11. My husband gets sympathy no matter what.

12. Sparkles, dolls, and dress-up oh my!

13. Two words: Toilet Paper

14. American Girl and Nancy Drew books comprise half of their bookcase.

15. There is a steady stream of sewing or jewelry-making projects.

16. Their closet holds more dresses than their drawers do pants.

17. Painting nails is an outdoor sport.

18. Lip gloss, jewelry and purses are standard gifts.

19. We have a lot of lip gloss, jewelry and purses.

20. Amidst braiding hair, painting nails and playing with make-up, we make some of the funnest memories and have the best talks on the planet. 

I wouldn't trade this season of all girls for anything. Someday boys will enter this crazy family, but for now we are entrusted with these precious girls. We are called to guard their hearts, have awkward body talks and train the next generation of wives and mothers. We've enjoyed every season thus far and prayerfully look forward to the stages still to come.

Loving My Girls,

Cynthia

P.S. While writing this post, I got asked to do rag curls.