Growing Family

Braids, Take 2

This morning I dug in and gave cornrows another go. I've started and stopped a couple times. This is the first time I actually got a successful row. And by *successful* I mean it has a start, a finish, and some definition. I realized today that I am not going to be able to produce show-worthy rows in my first couple tries. If I get a couple rows down and they are loose and uneven and work their way out during nap time, well, at least I got to practice.

Here's what I got (sorry the images are not all upright - I can't figure out why typepad doesn't have a rotate option):

First I tried a couple rows on Sprout (my birth daughter) to get a feel for the braid without adding in the curl and short length factors. As you can see, they're lumpy and bunchy and frizzing out after only a few hours in.

 

 

I decided to try a horizontal pattern instead of front to back to see if it would be any easier, and it was. Don't laugh at my pattern. I was totally inspired by Ra'mon-Lawrence Coleman's swoon-worthy style and thought I'd at least try the overlapping horizontal row idea...I don't need anyone to tell me that his hair and what I accomplished aren't even related!

I also did really wide rows because I really struggle to pick up the hair when it's narrow. So, I'll need more practice before I can do small rows. Before I've wet and moisturized the hair in effort to make the rows tight and smooth but I really had trouble holding the hair. Today I did it dry, with a little bit of stiff cream at the parts. It was much easier to hold, but there were many more frizzies.

This post is a "hi, I'm Kohana and I'm flunking "doing my black child's hair". I've always felt that white parents raising black boys *should* be able to manage it long. They may choose to cut it short, but they should at least be somewhat proficient with longer styles. I have been really bumming that I'm not more successful at this. If I can't figure this out soon, I'll just have to cut his hair because I can't have him looking less than great just because I've got a thing to prove (to myself and others).

At this length I am only happy when I have moisturized, combed out, and single twisted his hair. That will look good for one, maybe two days before it loses all definition. It doesn't take THAT long, but when it comes to getting three kids out the door for preschool days, it doesn't always get done. If we're home I don't mind letting it go a couple days, but when we're out I want it to look nice.

The Captain and I have "different levels of sensitivity" when it comes to Small Sun's hair. He doesn't really mind if Small Sun's hair doesn't look "done". I do. So I do it, and he doesn't. I'd be interested to hear how hair works out in other families raising black children (adopted or otherwise). Or really, children in general. How many men in two-parent households are doing their children's hair? I would imagine that hair care largely falls into the realm of "women's business" and we are the ones caring for all heads of hair. 

We only got five rows in. Five rows of squirming and crying "I DON'T WANT BRAIDS!" while we did playdoh and lunch. I think movies work better but we'd already had enough screen time before I started. After five rows I took a deep breath and realized that the rows I'd done wouldn't last, so if he was totally over it, I might as well call it a day and let him go play. We'll see how far we get next time.

Do you all cover your boy's hair at night? I don't know where to buy a do-rag here. Maybe someone wants to mail me one?

Okay, enough about the whole thing. At least I got five rows in...it will go better next time.

Just a Bit

I'm in just a bit of a funk. Yep, I'm probably more than a bit funky. If there was a funk-o-meter I'd be in the orange zone this week. Not fully in the red DANGER zone, but hovering around next to it.

After dragging around feeling weepy the first half of the week, I had a big break-down ugly cry talking to the Captain and I feel much better today. Much.

The logical side of my brain is telling me several things:

1. Finch just started solids and has been nursing less. My hormones must be scrambling, trying to find a new normal. And girls, we all know what those hormones do to our moods - roller coaster! Wheeeeeeeeeeee!

2. I haven't had proper time or space to grieve my Grandfather's passing and so the grief keeps gushing out from unexpected cracks. Mostly when my (wonderful 3 year old) daughter brings it up. Example:

Sprout: Why are we throwing those flowers away mommy?

Me: Because these flowers are dead now. We'll put these in the compost and cut some new ones from the garden.

Sprout: Yes, the flowers are dead. The flowers are dead like your grandfather.

(I gulp and push back tears.)

3. When I am struggling with one thing, I tend to get the avalanche effect going. Like this week when we found out our landlord is raising the rent (within reason), I felt angry that we don't own our house, which led to looking at houses on line, then the upset that we can't afford to buy the kind of house here that I would want to own, and dissatisfaction with my at-home-ness, and upset that we're far from family because if we had family support I might be able to work AND give my kids the home stability I want for them, and.....well you get the picture.

At the same time there is just so much that I am thankful for. A healthy gurgling baby who sleeps like a dream and hugs my br*east with his arms when he nurses. Two precocious children who make me laugh out loud with their shenanigans and their tender protection of each other. A husband who listens to me - really listens, and rubs my feet when I'm worn out. Health, all of us robust and strong. Finances, enough for everything we need. A garden exploding with green and tiny swelling tomatoes and buds on squash plants. Beautiful, hot summer days that uplift my soul. Iron supplements. Friends.

It's hard to talk about what I'm struggling with, without sounding like I'm not thankful for all that I have. I have a good life. I am happy. I am well off.

I am also grieving, lonely, conflicted, and sad.

One of my very favorite bloggers Rachel, aka Journey Mama wrote about asking for help. Go read this post if you have time. It's brilliant truth for those of us who like to do everything ourselves just to show that we can. She talked about holding back from accepting help because of the fear that if you use up the available help when you really could do the job yourself, that you might not have the help available should you ever REALLY need it.

Like today in the grocery store when I'm wearing a baby, have a 3 year old in the cart, and am trying to unload the cart onto the belt. The sales clerk offered to help me unload the cart and I gave me standard answer, "no, I think I can do it myself, thank you." Thank God she had the good sense to come help me anyway. There are a lot of things I can physically manage myself, true, but life would be so much gentler if I just reached out my hand for help once in awhile. I'm learning.

So maybe that's what this is. Me saying "I'm a strong person, and I think I can figure this out myself, but actually, yes, I'm in a bit of a funk."

Props to my friend Hugie who got me thinking it over by taking the time to ask me "How are you doing TODAY?"

Lost for Words

I'm at a bit of a loss, knowing how to continue from here. I'm not usually a person that is lost for words, or that experiences writer's block, but I keep fumbling when I think of what to say next.

I guess I'll just do this: sit down and potter about until the blockage is dislocated.

I was never close to my grandfather. In fact, I can't even claim to have had a meaningful relationship with him. At the funeral, as cousin after cousin stood up to share a memory with Granddaddy from the week before, two weeks prior, the day before his death, and all of the wonderful and special times they'd shared together, I sat as an onlooker, and observer, on the outside of that experience.

My mom and dad were the only ones of mom's siblings to move away. From Pennsylvania to Michigan, and then Michigan to Tennessee. I have holiday relationships with my grandparents, not after school stopping over, weekend sleepovers, special outings relationships.

Oh, I feel it, there's the first thorn that is pressing into me that I need to draw out.

A couple of months ago my dad fell very ill. He was in the hospital, unresponsive, all hooked up to IVs and oxygen and who knows what. It all developed rather suddenly and I had to decide if I would fly to the States to be with him, or stay here and see how things went. I had a very young baby and the swine flu scare was in full swing. I decided to stay and wait for more information. I was always watching the clock to see the time in the southeast, waiting till I could call and get news. It was agony.

After a few days my dad was able to speak again. When I heard him on the phone I was shaken. He hardly had the strength to deliver a couple of sentences.

My dad is much better now. But when I saw him he had changed. He lost a lot of weight, and tired quickly. His face showed the ordeal of his sickness.

When I ask my mom about her and dad's decision to move away from their families, she said at the time they never really considered how it would affect their parents and us children. It was just what they thought they should do. It's not been until we moved away that she started to understand the impact their choice may have made on their parents and our potential relationship with out grandparents.

Losing my grandfather so suddenly hurts and the violence of the accident startles me again and again. Feeling the vulnerability of life, and seeing my dad weak, for the first time in my life, frightens me. And seeing the huge divide between what I experienced with my grandfather, as a grandchild who lived far away and saw him once a year, and what my cousins had who lived nearby and spent time with him, well it sobers me. While we feel like we're where we are supposed to be for the time being, I can't deny that this choice affects my parents. It affects my children. It limits the potential for them to have real relationship.

I miss my dad especially right now.

I think I'll let that be the first stick I'll pull out of the dam. We'll try some more later until I am able to get back to talking about the lighter things happening around me that bring me joy.