There’s nothing more comfortable than a hardwood floor. Sleep like a toddler this weekend.
Have a good one. Lights out.
I am an equal-opportunity parent. Again, no names have been changed to protect the innocent.
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I recently consulted the Mommy Handbook. The handbook is a multi-volume work and is under constant revision. Still, I pulled it out and desperately searched the table of contents, chapters, and the index, looking for this entry:
As a Mommy, you will purchase a swimsuit and attempt to coverup as many after-birth flaws as possible. Despite your embarrassment, you will wear said swimsuit in public so that you and your child can attend Mommy and Me swim lessons. Finally, and most importantly, you will shrug off all stares when your child screams, wails, hollers, and releases other guttural sounds you’ve never heard in her short life for a full 30 minutes because you told her she couldn’t get out of the pool midway through the lesson.
Ken and I had been splitting the lessons. He went on Mondays, and I took Nadia on Wednesdays. On Mondays, she asks to get out, is told no, and continues the lesson. Not on Wednesdays. During the most recent lesson, she worked herself into such a frenzy nothing could calm her. Even Simone, who is pretty gifted in this area, couldn’t get the tears to stop. So, swim lessons will be a Daddy and Me affair from now on.
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Barbie is launching a new set of African-American dolls called So In Style, or S.I.S. There are three full-size dolls, each with a smaller sister or protege doll. Designer Stacey McBride created the dolls with full noses, full lips and plenty of attitude. Each doll has a theme — a girly girl who is a drill team squad leader, a funky and fun girl who enjoys art and journalism, and a sassy and smart girl who loves math and music.
I applaud the themes, which show black girls they can be fun and smart. I do take issue with the hair, though. While it is darker, the texture is a lot like the original Barbie, and I couldn’t help but notice some of the hair colors remind me of Beyonce’s golden tresses. At a time when so many black women and children are sporting teeny weeny Afros, braids and twists, none of the dolls has such a ‘do. Only one appears to have natural hair.
I’ve never been a big fan of Barbie. So, it’s no surprise Simone and Nadia don’t have any. For now, I will give this new Barbie a temporary green light. If any show up unannounced — I don’t always have control over these things — I’ll try my best not to hide them under a bed or in a closet.
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On the way to preschool recently, I tried to play a Luther Vandross CD.
“No,” the protest came from the back seat, “not that one.”
“You remember this one, don’t you?”
“Noooooo.”
“Okay, what do you want to hear?”
“The funk one.”
It took me a minute to figure out what Simone was saying. After all, funk does sound a little like a certain four-letter word. I grabbed the CD, put it in the player and we bobbed to “Brick House,” “Love Rollercoaster,” “Dazz,” and “Tear the Roof of the Sucker.”
Simone sang along; Nadia clapped. I beamed. For once, I didn’t have to listen to all that happy music made by those annoying kid groups, and there was peace in the back seat.
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I was taking Simone and Nadia out of their car seats when a black woman in the car beside me rolled up with her two children and a cart full groceries.
“They are so pretty,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said, continuing to unbuckle Simone.
“Are they mixed?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Well, they sure are beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Tell me,” said the woman, tapping into my friendliness, “what are they mixed with?”
“White,” I said.
“Really?” she asked, looking like she didn’t believe me. “Because they don’t look white.”
“Oh, we get that all the time,” I tried to reassure her. “Some people think they are Asian.”
“Black children who are mixed with white usually have sandy hair,” the woman said, as if she were some kind of expert.
“Well, their father’s hair is brown and my hair is brown, so they have brown hair.”
The woman didn’t respond and I took the opportunity to tell the girls to say bye-bye. They waved their hands, and we went inside.
***
Later, I gave our conversation a little more thought. I think this is what the woman was really saying.
Translation:
I was taking Simone and Nadia out of their car seats when a black woman in the car beside me rolled up with her two children and a cart full groceries.
“Look at those high-yellow girls. They are so pretty,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said, continuing to unbuckle Simone.
“Those kids look exotic and they don’t look like they belong to you. Are they mixed?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said.
“Well, I knew that. They are beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Their father must be fine. Tell me,” said the woman, tapping into my friendliness, “what are they mixed with?”
“White,” I said.
“Well, they sure don’t look white. Are you sure you know who the father of your children is? I’ve seen white and black kids and these kids don’t look like they are mixed with white.”
“Oh, we get that all the time,” I tried to reassure her. “Some people think they are Asian.”
“Perhaps you should have a paternity test. Black children who are mixed with white usually have sandy hair,” the woman said, as if she were some kind of expert.
“Well, their father’s hair is brown and my hair is brown, so they have brown hair.
“Look, you can say that all you want to, but I am not buying it. You got with someone Asian and you know it, passing these kids off as black and white when they are clearly black and Asian. You should be ashamed of yourself. Hmmpfff.
A version of this post originally appeared on Singlikesassy.
Nadia once fell asleep while sitting in her crib. I’ve wanted to do the same thing many times this week. Thank goodness the weekend is finally here.
Have a good one. Lights out.
