The Tiara, The Wig and The Wardrobe

So, I have a confession.  Although I bc-ed (big chopped) a few months ago, I have been wearing wigs on occasion when we go out.  I'm not sure if you will buy this but although I feel beautiful with my natural hair, I am still afraid of what people will think.  With my long straight hair, I got a great deal of attention.  Let's face it, sometimes it feels good to know other people think you are pretty.  My husband loves natural hair (He has a real thing for short hair and big earrings. Remember Jalessa from a Different World? Totally his childhood crush...).  However, I have been taught most men... don't.  Actually... I have been taught most woman don't either! Anyway, this weekend, I decided to finally retire the wig.  Two reasons:

1) Wig shame.  I live in fear of my one year old ripping my wig off my head or it blowing away in the next strong breeze.  I also worry about what message it sends people around me about what I think about my natural hair.  My old lady neighbor loves to comment every time she seems me in the wig.  A few weeks ago, I had the wig on to go out with a friend and she commented smugly, "I see you have your hair on today."  I tried to laugh it off but I was really upset.  Don't you hate when people make back-handed comments intended to irk you?  More than that though, I didn't want her thinking that I thought something was wrong with my natural hair.  I've grown very protective of my kinks and curls and when she said that, I had to fight the urge to rip off my wig and yell, "I look cute this way too."

2) My four year old, Isaiah, is really confused.  He asked me if my short hair is my "stay" hair and my long hair is my "go" hair.  He reasoned this based on the fact that I wear my hair natural more on the weekends (our stay days) than during the week (our go days).  I worry that I am sending him the message that my short natural hair isn't good enough to go out and be dressed up with.  I just envisioned him getting ready to go on a date in college.  I pictured him greeting his date at the door and being shocked to see her getting ready to go with a short natural style.  In disbelief, I envision him asking, "You're not coming out with your stay hair are you?"  Mortified...

Anyway, it all boils down to me.  Aside from not feeling comfortable with a wig, it no longer reflects who I am... who I want to be.  I want to be the woman who is confident in every part of herself, from my big toe, to my big butt, to the kinks and curls that grow oh-so-naturally from my scalp.  More importantly, I don't want to raise two more black men who "prefer" their black women with straight hair when we all know very few of us have straight hair that grows naturally.  I have dated those men and lord knows, it is all kinds of peace that I am married to a man who loves me just as I am.  Bye bye, wig.  In the words of my Wes, "All done."

Thought I'd Share

There is always time for a great article... I am officially adopting a policy of joy.

About My Hair

Last night I was in the kitchen putting dishes away as Isaiah was eating some yogurt with a sock laying across his head.  That is his new favorite way to eat a snack... I don't ask questions.  He took the sock off of his head, got up from the table and walked over to me with the very common pensive-Isaiah face.  He watched me for a moment putting the dishes away before speaking.

"Mommy, do some boys dress like girls?"  I paused, wondering if my husband could hear from where he played with Wesley in the living room.  If he heard, I could picture him all ears straining to hear the outcome of this conversation. 

"Yes, baby."  I said simply.

He nodded.  I continued to put things away wondering if I should elaborate or if any more would be too much for his four years.

"Do some girls dress like boys?"  He asked. 

"Yes, baby." I nodded.

He looked at me intently staring at my hair, growing, but still very short from my big chop two months ago. 

"Are you a boy like me, Wesley and Daddy now?" He asked with slight hesitation. 

Trying to hide the hurt from my face, I knelt down to his level and gave him a big smile.  "No, baby, I am still a girl.  Sometimes girl's wear their hair short like Mommy and your friend, K's Mommy."

"And my friend, R!" He offered.  I nodded.

"Sometimes, boys wear their hair long like your Uncle O and your friend, A."  I said.  He nodded, smiling.  "Not all boys have short hair and not all girls have long hair."  I concluded. 

He smiled. "I have short hair, Daddy has short hair, Wessie has short hair and you have short hair!" He yelled excited pointing at me.  Satisfied, he walked back over to his table, placed the sock back on his head and continued eating his yogurt. 

Whew.  This transition has been wonderful for my spirit but it hasn't always been the easiest for my self esteem.  Nonetheless, moments like these continue to make me glad I did it! 

One down... mainstream America to go.

Just Me

I have big goals I want to start working on this year.  For my writing, trying to make my weight loss and my new found love of baking (from scratch!!) co-exist, making our new house more of a home but my goals mostly involve finding a more spiritual foundation as I wrote about here.  As most of know, losing my brother has been very difficult for my family and I.  In the aftermath, I have struggled with processing the loss.  For the first year plus after he was gone, I was more concerned with how the loss was affecting those around me, particularly my mother.  More recently, I have been consumed by fear.  Fear of how unexpected and temporary life, fear of losing someone else I love so suddenly, fear that I won't see my children grow up, fear that something will happen to them - all of this fear sent me into a scary mix of anxiety and depression for the better part of 2011.  I found the strength to admit that after reading this.  I think most of my struggle stems from my lack of a solid belief system.   I believe in God.  I believe that life is a miracle.  I believe that each morning I wake up is a gift.  I just struggle understanding how death can be anything but pain.  I love the people in my life... fiercely.  I rely on them when my days get hard and to laugh with me when they are happy.  I realize I need to have a healthy relationship with death because its inevitable.  I want to walk through life conscious that each day is a gift but not consumed by the thought that it can all end. 

My sole motivating force in looking for a spiritual foundation are my little munchkins.  I think losing my brother was so difficult for me because I was so unprepared.  Spiritually unprepared... Sure, I had been to funerals and experienced loss of older family members but I knew my brother - KNEW him... his voice, his laugh, his walk, his smell, his jokes... we were born to the same two people... we both bit our lips when we were nervous and shared the same crooked mouth and big brown eyes.  My mother celebrated how close we all were and bragged about our uniqueness as a family.  It sounds crazy to say that I really thought we were some sort of exception.  I knew that death was a part of life but I didn't know that it could bite so hard and in my own home.  Maybe deep down I expected us to go at the same time - toothless, old and sleeping under one roof. 

Totally unprepared. 

I want the boys to be more prepared.  I want them to know that we all die.  Though death will inevitably bring pain and suffering it is also what makes living so sweet... sooo very sweet...  I don't think I will ever be able to promise to know what is next but I can definitively say there is certainly something more in store for our souls... a universe of such complexity, beauty, love and mystery undoubtedly holds more - far beyond what our minds can contemplate. 

Anyway, I'm looking... and questioning... and thinking.  I found the most amazing french cafe in my town that is all mine.  Well, mine and the other 10-15 people that are usually there when I am, haha.  Its hands down my favorite place in my neighborhood.  They have french pastries, hot beverages and the most delicious croissants.  I could literally sit in that cafe for hours.  I work from home two days a week.  I recently made a standing date with myself for breakfast once a week after I drop the boys off at daycare.  No excuses... no standing myself up... just me, my thoughts, a book or pen and paper and a hot plate. 

Pretty great, right?

My tiny humans

I think my children have been poisoned with crazy dust.
No, seriously.
Is it just little boys or are all children just a little bit certifiable?
My dear boys run from room to room, jump from couch to couch, throwing this and that, fighting and hugging, cuddling and hitting, in and out of time out, eating their food, my food, their dad's food, growling like bears, quacking like ducks, sneak attacking their daddy, demanding hugs and kisses and juice boxes and crackers and toys to be opened and books to be read again and again... and again. 

On Sunday, Isaiah was impatiently waiting for Wesley to wake up from his nap - "Mommy, when is Wessie going to wake up? Mommy, when is Wessie going to wake up?"  When we finally heard Wesley's stirs over his baby monitor, Isaiah bolted upstairs to his room, burst open his door and screamed: "You're awake!"  Wesley danced and hopped until I freed him from his crib, only to saunter right over to Isaiah and bite him on the back.  I scolded Wesley who dramatically melted into my arms mumbling, "Babeee, ba ba, babeee, crach-uhhh!!!"  Which is Wesley for: "You don't want to yell at this cute ba-bee do you?  I just want my bottle and a cracker."  Isaiah screamed and wailed and ran back downstairs.  Then he proceeded to pile couch cushions around his toys on the floor of the living room.  When I asked him what he was doing he said, "Building a gate so Wesley can never play with me again because I'm not going to love him anymore." 

The drama...
...but oh, how I love those little boogers.

My one and only New Year's resolution was to get more sleep.  In bed by ten... at the latest... Last night, I was in bed by 11, woke up at 4 because Wessie wanted to come in our bed, stayed up until 6 because I couldn't go back to sleep and my alarm (Isaiah) came in the room demanding breakfast for them both ("Mooommyyy, we want breakfasssst.") at 7.  Should I just resign myself to be (happy but) exhausted and controlled by tiny crazy humans?  Maybe I should just try to lose weight... that is slightly more realistic...

Happy New Year!