Addicted to the "Creamy Crack"

This week, I gave up on my intent to let the girls' hair grow out all natural and nappy to the max (but healthier and safer for sure) and decided to tame the woolly mammoth. Lest you think I jest about the true nature of their hair, let me show you some pictures of them after I take out their hair for the week and get ready to wash and re-set.

I found a new kid's hair relaxer called "Pretty and Silky" at my local black hair beauty supply store - which can be found among the Giant Wall of Beads, the Glittery, Rhinestone belt and shoe collection, aisles and aisles of fake hair in every color, and jars of pomades and creams like beeswax, hair cholesterol, and hair honey (of which I own all three).

Hair relaxer is a potent chemical that takes nappy hair from "can't get through it with a bulldozer" to soft and manageable...but it takes me an hour of processing time and lots of "scalp bonding" (code word for smearing petroleum jelly around the perimeter of the hairline and on the ears and on the hair parts to protect them from burning) to get through. Once the scalp is bonded, I have twenty minutes to part and smear on relaxer, while trying not to get the "creamy crack" as it's called (because of the black woman's addiction to it) on the scalp skin itself. Then you comb, comb, comb it through, wash it out, add in a sheen product for 10 minutes, wash that out, shampoo twice with a shampoo that changes color to let you know whether or not you got all the chemical out, then on to conditioner.

After that, we blow dry and straighten by small rows at a time. The result? Beautiful! My nostrils? Burned by chemical smells! My back? Permanently bent from delicate work! My hands? Arthritic! Time saved by doing it myself versus going to the local hair school? Three hours per kid. Money saved? $30 per child.

All in the pursuit of "Good Hair" (see movie trailer from Chris Rock's documentary, lest you think I exaggerate).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1m-4qxz08So

Why Some People Remain Unemployed

Recently, while reviewing mounds of applicants for an opening at the business that I partially own, I began to realize why some people will probably remain unemployed...let me share some examples:

One lady wrote that she completed school through the 11th grade and then under "Diploma", she lists "GED due to pregnancy". Thanks for sharing that information right up front...

Or the guy who says "I want a job that benefits me but also the company I work for. I have a ton of people skills." A ton? How do you like that measurement?

Or the lady who listed her previous employment and under job description, she writes "clean my area each night". I finally Googled the employer to find out it was a restaurant...whew! I was hoping she didn't work for a gynecologist!

Or the guy who said he worked at a "fast paced meat packing plant" and his job responsibility was "making sure there was nothing wrong with the product also that it was cut properly."

Or the lady who said "I have dne diffrent forms of volenteer work" but must not know how to use spell check on her computer.

Or the lady who addressed her application "Dear Sirs"...yeah...last time I (or my husband checked), I had yet to go through gender reassignment surgery.

My favorite was the enthusiastic guy who said "In response to your advertisement on Monster.com (which was not where it was posted) for the position of Regional Sales Associate (the position was "District Sales Representative), I am a young versatile salesman, ready and motivated to teach about your company's credit card program (good for you...only its not a credit card company). I can start training two weeks after hire (and what will you do for those two weeks prior? Hang out? Check your email?). My guess was he used a cut and paste form and forgot to change the variable data.

And of course, honorable mention goes to all those with crazy email handles...so here's a shout out to Indiana Janky, Biker Trash, Smooth Princess, Legs, Feathers, FeelnPurdy, and Racin' Rod. Best of luck in your job search. Might I suggest you pick a more staid email address to use next time.

Black Market Transactions

Now that the basement is nearing completion, we are beginning the search again for more children to adopt. I told Husband this time, we get boys so when we are out in public, HE gets to be the one to take them to the bathroom. Plus, I'm developing early arthritis from all this corn-rowing, beading, twisting, and braiding of "ethnic" girl hair.

After watching "The Blind Side", I had a brief moment where I considered being noble and selfless and adopting an older child but decided for my bonding purposes, I needed them young enough to not yet realize they can get up out of their time-out spot. Of course, I also want them old enough where I don't have to have the anxiety that they are currently expiring in their crib due to SIDS. I don't know how new moms do it. Maybe new motherhood makes you so tired you can no longer stay awake wondering if your child is breathing or choking.

It feels a little funny to "pick out" your children...as if you are inspecting a horse by its teeth or reviewing slave labor up on an auction block. How in the world do we decide the future of this family and of one or more boys simply from a meeting or description? And trust me, being involved in foster care, you get REALLY good at reading between the lines on a description of a child.

Take for instance, my current adoption catalog has "Gregory", age 14...says that although he "sometimes needs to be pushed in the right direction, Gregory has the capacity to make good, mature choices". If you spend enough time as a foster mom, you can figure out that between the lines, this means he's probably not making a single, "good, mature choice" right now. Or when they say a kid "does best with one on one attention", it means he's HIGHLY ADHD...if it says, "Would do best in a home without other children", that probably means some history of acting out sexually against other children...or physically. When it says, "parent will need to be involved in child's education", it means you will be at the school daily trying to explain to your child that they have to sit in their seat and not try to set the classroom on fire.

I guess it's a bit like reviewing ads for new homes...when one says its a "great starter home" and what it is really saying is that its the Tom Hanks version of the "Money Pit". Or when they take up the limited advertising space to mention ceiling fans, you realize the home really does not have a single redeeming quality.

But then I think about the type of child I was and wondered what my profile would have read...hmmm...

"Bossy, attention seeking child, does best when she is the star, hides out in her room reading to avoid chores, will lie constantly as a teenager to keep from getting in trouble, has a mouth of a sailor when provoked, can wrestle like a boy but can't play sports to save her life, will vacillate between self-doubt and WAY overconfidence, will total two vehicles during her teenage years and will take all of 20 years to finally become a contributing member of society."

Yeah, pretty sure I would have been passed over selection by my parents had they known how much I would contribute to their hair turning gray! And so we trust God to see what we don't see and to realize that, unlike your natural born children, ours come with a return policy if everything explodes. We just hope we never have to use it.

I Have a Dream...Farm Riding!

Kate brings home a blank white square of paper from school with a note accompanying it. The note says that the students are making an "I Have a Dream..." quilt at school in honor of MLK Day and the student is supposed to draw a picture of their "dream".

I turn to Kate and ask her what her dream is. She lights up and says, "When I grow up, I'm going to be a farm rider!"

Say what? I ask her if she is going to be a tractor? She says, "No! A farm rider!" I ask, "What, pray tell, is a farm rider?"

She replies, "I am going to have a farm and ride horses." Ahhhh...hence the term "farm rider". Not horse rider, mind you, but farm rider.

We are now working on the word "Equestrian".

Flarp & Tooth Fairy Amnesia

This Christmas vacation has been quite entertaining this year. We didn't really decorate for Christmas because we are finally finishing the dungeon - I mean, our basement - so all our decorations are crammed behind everything in the storage room as the rest of the basement is painted, drywalled, etc.

That meant, no Christmas stockings for the girls but alas, I convinced them that wouldn't stop Santa. They could barely go to sleep the night before, especially since Eli - who had been messing with a very wiggly front tooth for a month - mustered up the courage to finally let me get that loose tooth out. I told her that if she lost her tooth on Christmas Eve, both Santa AND the Tooth Fairy would leave her money. She thought doubling her money was worth the pain.

She faithfully tucked her tooth in a Ziploc bag underneath her pillow. Very early the next morning, I hear two little Squirrels outside our bedroom door. Finally, Eli comes in and whispers, "Dad, the Tooth Fairy forgot to take my tooth. And she didn't leave me any money. And Santa didn't come!" Well, they had walked right past the gift bags full of toys but in my half awake stupor, I realized I had forgotten to get her tooth out from under her pillow and leave her money. I told them about the gift bags and they went racing downstairs. Luckily, they were distracted enough that I could fish a dollar out of my purse and slip it underneath another pillow on her bed.

Then, I went out to Eli and asked her if she had checked ALL of her bed...and that maybe the Tooth Fairy let her keep her tooth...beings that it was Christmas Eve and all. That Tooth Fairy is one benevolent chick, sometimes! Eli went racing for her room, found the dollar and shrieked with glee. Disaster avoided! Being Santa and the Tooth Fairy on the same night was evidently more than my Christmas vacation brain could handle!

Then on to Saturday when Kate gets a thank you card in the mail from the school secretary. The card says "Thank you for the Flarp you gave me for Christmas." OH NO! For those of you unfamiliar with the wonder that is Flarp, it is the "noisy putty" that comes in a plastic container. You push your fingers down into it and it makes farting noises. Kate picked that out to give to the girls in her Kindergarten class.

Now, I should have probably said no but it was on sale at Dollar General and she really wanted that. The boys got matchbox cars and I thought she'd want bracelets or stickers for the girls but no, farting putty it was. She must have had one left over and gave it to the school secretary! I was mortified! Until my cousin Cathy, who works in another school district, assured me that Flarp is perfectly fine gift...it provides for a humorous diversion and is much better than cookies of "unknown origin"!

Pelted by a Krispy Kreme

The other week I was shopping at a local discount food store and I was in line, struggling with some major sinus/allergy symptoms that were making my left eye water constantly. This led, of course, to a constant need for facial tissues and made me look half drugged.

I guess I must have looked extra pathetic because as I stepped up to the rolling belt to unload my cart, a Harley Davidson looking dude stepped up and said, "I paid $50 toward your groceries." After giving me a hug and wishing me a Merry Christmas, I stood dumbfounded and wanting to tell him there were others who actually needed the money...I am just so cheap I shop at Aldi's because I can! But alas, he was out the door loading his groceries into a beat up minivan.

Made me realize that goodness comes from unlikely places...not the wealthy, well-dressed people who actually HAVE money but the ones who know what it is like to be down and out.

I read a book once called "Under the Overpass" that was an experiment by two college age guys. They decided to live as the homeless do for 90 days in at least three different US cities and see how they were treated. As I read the book, I recognized myself in some of the people who barely give the homeless a glance. My criteria for giving to the homeless had been that they had to be missing an appendage (I know...I'm deeply spiritual).

As I am reading this book, and these two homeless guys are describing being asked to leave a church picnic they walked up to and about the non-believers who took them in and let them shower...I felt REALLY convicted and that, given the chance, I would be more compassionate. The book cautioned that there are a lot of homeless people who are addicted to drugs and alcohol and therefore, if you want to give them something, give granola bars or water or at the very least, a warm smile and a word of acknowledgement.

My opportunity came outside the local Walgreens as I saw a homeless man all dressed in black on a sweltering day. He was sitting on the ground, leaning back against the replacement propane tank case and watching everyone with hatred. I went inside and decided that a nice bottle of cold water would be best. I paid and went outside, confident that I was now being Jesus' "hands and feet". Only when I smiled, said hello, and gave him a bottle of water, he yelled at me, "THAT'S NOT WHAT I WANT!" and went off in a tangent that would make a sailor blush. I scurried to my car, disheartened that my first attempts at homeless benevolence were thrown back in my face.

Until I called Erin. Remember, she had read the same book and had the same convicting spirit. She told me she was in Nashville and tried to give a homeless man a donut...and he threw it at her. Perhaps from now on, we will be giving out marshmallows to the homeless!

Going Under the Knife

Our moment of excitement this past week was Elisabeth - who I will now refer to as Eli from here on out...mostly do to sheer laziness in not wanting to type her full name - and her surgery. She was born with an umbilical hernia which normally goes away as a child grows, only hers must have been fairly substantial at birth because at age 7, she still had a bulge around her belly button. We visited with her peds surgeon a couple of months back and she recommended we go ahead and have the surgery done.

So off we went to sign in for surgery. Eli was quite delighted to find out she would have an "innie" after she was done - she turned to me and said, "Just like you, Mom!". Yes, well, praise God for the little things, I guess. She was very intrigued about how she was going to be "put to sleep" and I explained to her it wasn't like animals being put to sleep (I'm sure the State would have something to say about that!) but rather, she would breath into a little mask and next thing she knew, she would be waking up and it would be over.

Eli was given a pair of little blue scrub shorts and top and some yellow slipper socks with VERY grippy bottoms. She was allowed to bring a blanket and stuffed animal and luckily I packed her Leapster because her surgery was delayed three hours.

Finally, the surgical nurse came to wheel Eli back...she looked rather forlornly at me as she went around the corner, out of sight. The surgery unit has a pager system now and you are assigned a code so you can tell what stage your child's surgery is in. 45 minutes later, I was called into the recovery room where a very groggy and weepy Eli was just coming to. She winced and told me, "Mom, I didn't know it was going to hurt THIS bad!".

For the next 90 minutes, she fought to wake up and the nurses worked on managing her pain. She was able to transfer to a second stage recovery and lay against me as we rocked and I sang songs from past Andy Griffith shows (I know...I am so deeply spiritual). I must admit...her sitting still long enough for me to rock her has well, never happened. I rather liked the post-anesthesia Eli...but the nurses denied my request to leave the IV in and send me home with some extra IV drips of sedatives. Spoil sports!

So Eli took a couple days to be able to stand upright and still needs help dressing and sitting up. She is back at school today but is unable to participate in any physical activity. She also walks hunched over like a little old lady. Someday, though, when she wants to sport a 2-piece swimming suit or even become pregnant, she'll be glad she went through all the pain now.