Babygirl is Bilingual! and Goodbye...for Now

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

I woke up this morning with babygirl by my side as usual. And as usual, we went through our regular morning snuggle routine which includes me asking babygirl to point to her nose, eyes, mouth and ears. Usually this game means I take babygirl's hand and guide her to the different parts of her face. Then she  responds by grabbing a handful of my face, usually my lips, and tries like the devil to pull them off. This is followed by uproarious laughter. Hers, not mine. I know, sounds delightful, but I just assume one day babygirl will reward me by actually pointing to her nose herself.

Well, Meltingpot readers, today was that day!

Preparing for my usual lip twist, babygirl shocked the sugar out of me when she very deliberately pointed to her nose when I asked, "Where's your nose?" I then scared the sugar out of her when I  screamed squealed in delight. Now,  el esposo was close by. And since he believes I carried babygirl for nine months and birthed her without the use of pain reducing drugs for his sole pleasure, he had to show me that babygirl could do the same in Spanish. "Donde esta la narîz? he asked sweetly. And wouldn't you know it, babygirl pointed right to her nose.

And there you have it. At exactly one year, babygirl has proven to us that she is bilingual. El esposo and I are so proud :)

And now to totally switch gears and to explain the 'Goodbye' in the headline. Don't worry dear readers, Ms. Meltingpot is not going anywhere for good. I'm simply taking a short hiatus while I upgrade the Meltingpot. My goal is to have the new & improved Meltingpot ready to debut in time for the BlogHer2012  conference, which I will be attending in New York City. (Will any of you be there? I'd love to meet you in person.)

So, feel free to check out the archives if you really want to read more Meltingpot entries. Or feel free to follow me on Twitter @LoriTharps. And be sure to check back on Monday, August 6 for the big reveal.

Thanks for sticking with me here on The Meltingpot and by all means, if there's something you'd like to hear more or less about here as I revamp, please leave me a message in the comments section.

I appreciate you all.

Peace!

Babygirl's Birth Story: One Year Later

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

I can not believe that it has been an entire year since babygirl joined our family. But it's true.

One year ago today, it was the hottest day on record here in Philadelphia. I was 37 weeks pregnant and we didn't have (still don't) air conditioning in our house. So, we decided to spend the day in public spaces with lots of free air conditioning. Our first stop was the Franklin Institute, which is Philadelphia's awesome science museum. We're members, so we felt completely okay hanging out there for close to eight hours letting our boys basically treat the place as their very own indoor playground while I rested my cumbersome body on any, and every available bench.

After the museum, we were hungry, but it was still daylight so we couldn't go home. Instead, we went to Bobby's Burger Palace and gorged on burgers, fries and the most sinfully delicious pistachio milkshakes. After that, there was still a shred of sunlight and the heat was still unbearable, so I suggested we go grocery shopping before rolling on home. Grocery stores are delightfully chilly.

By the time we made it home, the sun had finally set and the heat in our house was tolerable. El esposo didn't really care though, because he had a date with my brother. The two of them had been waiting for months to attend a soccer game between Real Madrid and Philadelphia's home team. It was just an exhibition game, but still, el esposo rarely gets to see his home team play live, so he was chomping at the bit to drop me and the kids off so he could leave already. Of course, just as he was about to walk out the door, my water broke. Or at least something happened that involved a mysterious wetness where wetness shouldn't be. I wasn't 100 percent sure and I knew how much el esposo wanted to see that game, so I didn't tell him.

I just suggested he keep his phone handy in case 'something came up.' Am I crazy, dear readers? Yes. As it turns out, my water had broken, but it took me another hour, three unreturned phone calls to my doctor, one long conversation with my mother and a google search on the Internet to determine it to be so. And you'd think with this being baby number three, I could tell if my water broke or not, but it was just so different. With the other two, the water breaking was an unmistakeable cannonball splash of water. Babygirl was a different story. Just a tiny trickle. So delicate. So feminine.

But back to the drama. Once I realized my water had indeed broken, I called my cousin, who was my back-up birth partner, to come pick me up. Only she wasn't home. She was out shopping. But she managed to make it to my house in record time, collected me and the boys and we were out the door in no time. We dropped my kids off at my sister's house en route to the hospital and then gunned it the rest of the way. I wasn't in any kind of pain, but I was terrified that I'd have a super speedy labor and have to give birth in the back seat of my cousin's Toyota.

But I didn't. I made it to the hospital and managed to joke my way through intake. My spirits were pretty high because there was air conditioning in the hospital. Really good, strong, air conditioning. Ha! I outsmarted mother nature. Then came the labor pains, brought on by that delicious hamburger I had eaten earlier. Sweet baby Jesus, Meltingpot, Readers. I vowed to never eat a hamburger again. Before giving birth to my babygirl, I had to give birth to that burger. Sorry, that was probably too much information. But needless to say, it was on.

Of course I called el esposo to tell him what was happening. Actually, my cousin called him for me. I felt horrible that he was going to miss his game. But, I figured the birth of his daughter would make up for it. Apparently, he didn't quite feel the same way. My darling husband decided to stay for the first half of the game before coming to the hospital. He figured he'd make it before any of the good stuff started happening. While I'd like to be mad at him for choosing soccer over his daughter, he was right.

By the time el esposo made it to my room, I was no longer able to smile and joke with my cousin or the nice nurse who was trying to get me hooked up to all of the bells and whistles and machines required for a hospital birth. She was shocked but encouraging when I said I wasn't interested in an epidural. I was ready with my pseudo-self hypnosis plan, my ipod full of inspirational music and my ear phones. El esposo ran into the room and I gave him a thumbs up. I had promised I was going to handle this labor without going psycho like I did with my boys. And I did. I 'relaxed' through the pain and kept my focus on finally seeing my daughter's face. I was as cool as a cucumber, up until the pushing part.

Somebody once described giving birth to a baby as something akin to pushing a bowling ball engulfed in flames through your lady parts and I'd have to agree. So, at that point in the process, I screamed like a fool. El esposo left the room. My cousin talked me down from the rooftop of hysteria where I'd landed. The doctors gave me a stern talking to and told me to calm down and push the baby out already. I hate being patronized and yelled at, so just out of spite, I got babygirl out with three good pushes. Total labor time, three hours.

Babygirl weighed just six pounds and a wee bit at birth. She had a head full of black shiny hair and grayish black eyes. She was precious then and she's just as precious now. But she's not a wee thing any more. She's juicy and delicious and full of baby love. She loves to crawl, is enchanted by her two older brothers and has not a single tooth. Happy Birthday, babygirl!

Do you have a hilarious birth story? Let's hear it. I'm so listening.

Peace!

Black Hair Rule # 1: Don't Cut A Baby's Hair Until Age One!

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Now you know you've never seen a photo of my kids here on this blog, and you never will. Some things -- not a lot, but some -- remain sacred. But I can't do justice to this post without sharing a shot of Babygirl. Here she is.

Babygirl

Well, at least the top one-third of her. What I want you to get a look at is her unruly hair that is clearly a hot mess and in her way. So, part of the reason her hair a hot mess is because she just ran strained pears through it and before that, she'd been outside sweating, so sweat + pears = hot mess. But the other reason Babygirl's hair is mildly problematic is that it's always in her face. I try to put it up in ponytails, but Babygirl has hair like chicken feathers. It's soft and thin and won't hold a style for more than two minutes. El esposo keeps begging me to let him at least trim her bangs, but he knows I'm going to say no, because everybody knows that Black hair rule #1 is that you never, ever, ever cut a Black baby's hair before she turns one! That's like biblical law. Like 100-years-of-bad-luck-or-else law.

I did an unofficial survey of random Black women and they all confirmed that you don't cut a Black baby's hair before age one. When I asked why, the reasons varied and included:
"I don't know, you just don't do it."
"If you cut it, their hair will never grow."
"Cutting a baby's hair is just bad luck. For the baby and the mother."
"I'm not sure exactly, but I know it has something to do with the baby's skull not being fully hardened."
And as Babygirl's godmother said,  "You might just invite bad spirits if you touch her hair too soon."

Okay then.

The way I look at it, Babygirl has less than two months before we can trim some of those locks so she can actually see. I think she'll survive. I don't know if I actually believe the legends, but it's a tradition I've followed with my boys and so I'm going to keep it up, for tradition's sake. We have so few of those left anyway. And while I'm 99 percent sure that bad spirits have better things to do than hunt us down because of an early hair cut, that one percent would probably keep me up at night.

What do you think, dear readers? Have you heard that you should never cut a baby's hair before age one? Is this really only a Black thing? What are the consequences you've heard for early cutters? And I know Black people can't be the only ones with wacky traditions around a child's first year of life. Let's hear yours.

You know I'm listening.

Peace!

Hair We Go Again: Kinky, Curly, Straight

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Babygirl is now five-months old. She's getting to that super cute stage where she actually smiles and giggles in response to the silly voices and animated faces adults can't help but make in her chubby-cheeked presence. But she's still rather pale and her hair is still jet black and silky straight. In other words, she still looks nothing like her mama.

But I'm okay with that. None of my kids look like me exactly. They are true mixies. But it's funny how people give voice to their observations. Nobody wants to come out and say, gee your daughter sure looks White. It's always about the hair.

To wit. Some recent comments:

"Where did she get that hair?"

"Her hair is so black!" (Note, my hair is black too)

"Um, do all of your children have such, um, 'soft' hair?"

"It's unbelievable, that hair. I mean your other kids have such curly hair. Is her hair really going to stay straight?"

Dear readers, I point these comments out, not because they anger me, because, if I'm honest, I'm thinking about babygirl's hair too. It is truly amazing to me, as both a mother and a 'hairstorian,' that I could give birth to three children with such different hair. I got kinky, curly and straight (although babygirl's is still in transition.) Visually, the difference in textures is quite dramatic. But socially and culturally too, I find it fascinating that it is the hair that really causes people to doubt/question/marvel at babygirl's heritage. Out loud. Her light complexion can be overlooked, but the hair seems to be the true marker of negritude. And since she doesn't have it (yet) then perhaps she's not really Black?

Historically, the hair has been used to define people's racial category --not only in the United States but in South Africa as well. When the one-drop rule cannot be applied, you can just check the kinks and curls on top of the head. In antebellum America, male slaves with light complexions would shave their heads to --get rid of the evidence -- and pass as White. In South Africa, government officials would stick a pencil into a child's hair. If the pencil didn't fall out when the child shook their head -- because their kinks were so tight -- then they were officially categorized as Black. So, I get it. We've been conditioned over generations to believe that the hair speaks the truth. The hair is the key to our racial identity.

But I'm not thinking in these terms about babygirl. Really, I'm just wondering what kind of comb I'm going to have to buy and if I should start practicing now, learning how to braid silky, straight hair!

I'm wondering. Did any of you have to 'learn' how to do your children's hair because it was so different from your own? You know I want to hear those hair stories.

I'm so listening.

Peace!

Nanny Drama-o-Rama: When My Life Imitates My Art

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

So, I wrote novel last year, called Substitute Me. The story is about a young woman, Kate, who places an advertisement in the paper for a nanny for her young son so she can return to work after her maternity leave. The ad she places begins :

"Substitute Me: Looking for a nanny who will take care of my six-month-old baby as if her were her own...."

Zora, a 30-year-old woman who has yet to find her purpose in the world, answers the ad and soon becomes the perfect nanny, a perfect substitute for Kate ... in more than just child care. And drama ensues.

So, here I am one year later, in Kate's position. My maternity leave is about to expire and I must find someone to love babygirl as if she were her own. And I'm as freaked out about the prospect as I was ten years ago when my first son was born and the idea for Substitute Me was hatched. Only this time, I've written the damn novel and gave life to my worst fears and imaginings.

I'm looking at my life now and laughing at the existential life imitating art imitating life scenario I find myself in. Can you imagine my hysterical giggle fit when my nanny candidate list came down to hot Brazilian student versus African-American grandmother from my church? You can guess who I'm rooting for, right?

At the end of the day, I just want to avoid the whole issue of hiring a "nanny." I don't even like the word nanny. Back in Milwaukee, where I grew up, we didn't have nannies. We had babysitters. The only nanny I knew was Maria from The Sound of Music. Oh, wait she was a governess. So, yeah, nannies don't sit well with me. The woman I hire, will be a care giver. I will hope that she loves babygirl and I hope I can love her in return for that precious gift.

I'm just so thankful that the job I have allows me to be home for long summers and at least one day during the week. I know I am lucky. And if the care-giver thing doesn't work out, babygirl will just have to sit under my desk.

What about you meltingpot moms? Did you or do you use a nanny? Did you have any fears about hiring someone to care for your child? Do you love your nanny? I want to hear about it.

I'm listening.

Peace!

Would You Name Your Son Rhett?: Colorful Baby Names from the World of Fiction

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Recently I saw an article on Parents.com that said the latest trend in baby naming was to name your kid after a fictional literary and/or cinematic character. Apparently it's all the rage these days. Considering I named my own babygirl after a fictional nubian princess, I could only agree, although I felt a little "sheepish" knowing I was part of a so-called trend. Still, I was curious to see if babygirl's name made it on to Parent's list of top-ten names culled from our favorite books and movies. Not even close. In fact, there's not one female name on the list of any characters of color. Not a one. Instead, we have names like Gatsby, Eloise (from the children's book), Darcy and Rhett. Yes, Rhett. Would you name your Black child after Rhett Butler? I'm just sayin.

Still, I love the idea of naming one's child after a favorite hero or heroine in literature. In case you do too and have a baby to name in the near future, I thought I'd create my own Meltingpot list of best baby names from some of my favorite books and movies. So, here goes:

1. Sula (Toni Morrison's main character in the novel of the same name)
2. Beloved ( Same as above. I just think it would be cool to name my child Beloved.)
3. & 4. Birdie & Cole ( The two mixed sisters in Danzy Senna's Caucasia. Obvious Jazz influence there)
5. Coco (From Fame, the movie, not the TV series)
6. Storm (From the X-men, can be for a boy or girl or both.)
7. Isis (From superhero/Egyptian lore)
8. Shelby (From Dorothy West's The Wedding)
9. Lilo (From one of the better Disney flicks, Lilo & Stitch)
10. Fire ( He was the sexy, Jamaican poet from Colin Channer's sumptuous debut novel, Waiting in Vain. If I were to have another boy, I might name him Fire.)

Okay, dear readers. What names would you add to this list? I'm listening. And perhaps a whole bunch of expectant mothers are too, so speak up.


Peace!

"Is That Yo' Baby?" and a Giveaway Too

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

So, I was walking down the street in North Philadelphia the other day, pushing babygirl in her stroller. I was behind a group of four school-age Black girls and was enjoying myself eavesdropping on their adolescent chatter. I was also admiring their hair do's and wondering how girls so young paid for so much hair, but I digress.

So, eventually I had to pass the girls and as I did so they oohed and ahhed over the baby, but they were none too subtle with their reactions to her coloring.  "Why she look like that?" one girl asked. Another girl  quickly added, "You adopted her right?" And finally the smartest one in the bunch just came out and asked, "Is that yo' baby?" I smiled and answered, "Yes, she's mine. Her daddy is Spanish." And that pretty much finished the conversation. They were done with me. I will never see them again. But what I really wanted to say was, 'Jesus, Mary and Joseph, why would I adopt a White baby? And who would give me one anyway?'

But seriously, I'm not mad at those girls. They just voiced what I'm sure so many others wanted to say anyway. In fact, quite a few people haven't been able to hold their tongues and have thrown out the following comments:

My doctor said: "Oh my gosh, she doesn't look anything like you does she? I mean really. I can't be the only one who's told you that?" (Gee thanks and you have a medical degree?)

Random lady at the store: "Is that your baby? Oh, I mean of course she's yours why else would you be pushing her in a stroller?"(Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'm being paid to push her by her real mother.)

Several other well meaning folks: "She's so cute, but did your other kids have straight hair and skin so, um, fair? Isn't this strange?" (Actually, no. Both my kids were pale faces with jet black, straight hair at birth. But luckily they darkened up and their hair went rogue kinky, so I'm not worried about babygirl.)

Seriously, Meltingpot readers, none of these reactions are shocking to me, but they can get a bit wearisome. And every once in a while they make me sad, but that could be due to the fact that I still have an abundance of lady hormones that can make me cry during a baby food commercial. But at the end of the day, I just try to laugh it all off. In retrospect, these comments are terribly funny.

I bet some of you have some "funny" comments people have made about your families of different colors. Leave me your best of's in the comments section and I'll pick a random winner to receive one of my whatrugear.com t-shirts that says, "Same Family, Different Colors." You can specify if you want the kid or adult version. Drawing happens Monday morning before I post. So you have the weekend.

Okay, I'm listening. And by the way, if you want to listen to other people discuss this issue, you should tune into the podcast, Is That Your Child?

Peace!

Birthdays, Anniversaries and a Giveaway Too!

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Today is a day for celebration in the Kinky Gazpacho household. Babygirl is one month old today. For some reason being able to say that she's survived for a month makes me feel like she's going to be okay. Before now, I still saw her as not quite real. Not quite here. Ephemeral even. And although she's still pretty much a eating, sleeping, pooping lump, she's an adorable one that gets more interactive every day. I think she actually smiled at me today. Although it might have just been a reflex to the sun in her eyes :) Many cultures don't even believe in naming a child until they have lived for 40 days because their spirits are thought to not be settled until then. I kind of feel that way too. But One Month feels good enough. So happy 'birthday' babygirl!

And in other exciting news. Todays is the one year anniversary of my other baby, my first novel, Substitute Me. I can't believe it was an entire year ago today that the book debuted. I officially became a novelist on this day last year. It was a dream come true for me. Here is a blog post I wrote one year ago about the debut.

So today I feel like celebrating. Every since I was a little girl I had two dreams: To be a mother and to be a writer. On this day I can truly celebrate both. And since it's no fun to celebrate alone, for anyone interested in a free copy of Substitute Me, leave a comment telling me about a day you celebrate for yourself. A day that means something special just for you. I'll pick a random winner from commenters at the end of day Friday, August 26.

Good Luck!

Peace and Sweet Baby Feet!

Black Woman + Spanish Man = Asian Baby?

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

I swear to God I will stop writing about babies as soon as my brain returns to full functioning capabilities, but right now I'm working at like 50 percent capacity due to 'sleepus interruptus.' But I still wanted to show up here on the Meltingpot.

First, I wanted to say thank you to everyone for your kind words and congrats. I feel so blessed to have such fantastic, dedicated readers. Second, everyone who commented will be part of the drawing for the free book which will be announced on Friday.

And third, I just wanted to share the funny comments I've been getting about babygirl. And please note, I take no offense at any of them because well, most of them are true. You see, my daughter was born with a head full of shiny black hair and beautiful almond shaped eyes and she's the color of creamy butter. You see where this is heading, right? Everyone who sees her believes she looks Asian. From the nurses in the hospital to well-meaning friends and family I've heard, "She sure looks Chinese, doesn't she?" Some have decided that she doesn't look 'Chinese' exactly, but rather more like an Eskimo/Alaska Native. My mom keeps calling her our little papoose. One thing is for sure, she really doesn't look like anyone in the current Kinky Gazpacho family.

I think genetics are really fascinating. I know her hair will eventually curl ( I think) and her skin will most likely darken (probably) and her grey eyes will eventually turn brown (or green). And she will start to look more like 'our child' and less like this exquisite creature sprung forth from heaven. But it sure is a trip while we wait.

What about your kids? Did they look foreign or familiar when they were born? Is this a mixie phenomenon only? I'm curious so please share.

I'm listening (and trying not to fall asleep).

Peace.

Baby Girl is Here!

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

As some of you rightly guessed, I've been missing in action because babygirl decided to make an early appearance this weekend. Yes, she's here! The Kinky Gazpacho Family is officially now a party of five. Thanks to all of you for your well wishes and fabulous suggestions for baby names and labor techniques. Turns out labor was super fast and thanks to my pre-selected labor songs I was able to make it through without drugs and with minimum cussing and screaming on my part. I was pretty proud of myself. Here's the song I listened to the most to help me get through labor. It's India Arie's, This Too Shall Pass and was my mantra as every contraction came on.



Thank you, India. Even though after that experience I joked that I should name babygirl India, I did not. El esposo and I did, however deliberate quite a bit on choosing the right name. Our daughter in fact, had no name for the first 30 hours of her life, but I'm very happy with what we chose. And I have to be honest, el esposo really gets the credit, as the name was his idea. I know you all want to know what it is, right? Well, I figured I'd have a little fun here. I'll give you three clues what her name is and anyone who guesses correctly will be part of a drawing to win a free, signed copy of my novel, Substitute Me. Even if you've read it, you can still gift it to someone who hasn't. So without further ado:

1. Babygirl is named after a fictitious African princess

2. Babygirl's name means 'help or helper' in Latin

3. Babygirl shares her name with an opera penned by Verdi.

4. Bonus clue: Babygirl's name is pronounced the same in English and Spanish even though its origins are neither English nor Spanish.

Happy guessing!

Peace and sweet baby feet.

What's in a Name? Race vs. Class

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

So, you know we're still slogging over names for babygirl. I don't know why nothing feels right yet, but every day I'm trying out new names. Feeling how they roll off the tongue. Hearing how they sound when yelled across the room. (You know, as in, Princess Tianna, stop sticking marbles up your nose!!!!) Working out the inevitable shortenings and nick names that will come. I want a unique name, yet I want something that links my daughter to her families both here and in Spain. And of course, I want a name that fits this little girl who already is making her personality known with her strong kicks and aerobic moves in my belly.

Okay, so the other day I threw out a name to el esposo. He wrinkled his brow right away and said, no. He looked as if I'd suggested something truly distasteful. "What's wrong with that name?" I asked. And he said, " that name is low class or common in Spain." Now my husband comes from the deep south of Spain, the region that the entire north of Spain looks down on as low class in a way. He fully understands the wickedness of classism, but there he was saying that this name I'd selected was "common." So I chastised him. I called him a snob. I accused him of all kinds of bourgeois elitism. And he just shook his head and shut me down with one sentence.

"Would you name your daughter Qua'Neesha of JaQuanna?" Day-um. He got me. I'm a snob too. Or am I?

First of all, I don't believe any race can claim a certain name? But like it or not, since the 1980s we have developed what have come to be known as ghetto baby names. I don't really like the term ghetto, but it does serve a purpose and in my mind, ghetto refers to class, not race. (Please read Cora Daniels' excellent book, Ghetto Nation for more on this topic.) And as such, 'ghetto' baby names are not restricted to Black people, they are restricted to people who name their kids after their favorite alcoholic beverage, luxury automobile, snack food, porn star and/or any combination of the aforementioned with excess apostrophes and questionable spelling. I have a White friend who named her baby girl something so cringe worthy she might as well have just called her boo-boo. But at the end of the day, I do believe there are obvious class connotations in names. They have them in Spain and we have them here in the United States. I can't criticize el esposo for not wanting to name his daughter something that will have her labeled in his country when I wouldn't even consider certain names for the same reasons here.

It's just a fact, that certain names reveal a person's class background. And even though we are a country obsessed with race, class matters a whole lot. Let it be known, I'd name my daughter Maya or my son Malcolm or any other name after a inspirational African and/or African American figure. I'm not afraid to go Black. My second son's name is one of the most common in Ghana, in fact. But there is a difference between race and class isn't there? And at the end of the day, we all probably name our children according to our own class condition. I mean if you live in a community where everyone is named Moet, than that's not a problem. Likewise I don't hobnob with the upper class so I would never name my kid Thurston Howell III. I believe that would be pretentious and misguided.

Names do mean something. Choosing a name for your child is probably one of the most important things you do for them before they even come into this world. So much so, a friend of mine, married to a social worker, recently told me that if you don't choose a name for your child within three days of its birth, social services may be called because you might be seen as 'not truly wanting the baby.' Yikes. Makes me think el esposo and I better get on the ball.

What do you think Meltingpot readers? What's in a name when it comes to race vs class? What kind of judgements are made based on a name? Should we care?

I'm listening.

Peace!

No Baby

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

I didn't want to leave you hanging. It appears that the horrifying medical scare I experienced on Wednesday was probably a misdiagnosis. Me and babygirl are fine and it would appear that babygirl has no intention of making an early appearance. So, just wanted to share. Now, I guess I'll take bets on her actual arrival date. Official due date is August 2. Go ahead give it your best shot.

And really, thank you all for sharing your own 'harrowing' early arrival stories as well as the name choices. I love so many of them. Now my list is up to 30 names! Honestly, your good wishes really warmed my heart and made me feel that there truly is a community of Meltingpot readers out there who cares. You are all amazing.

Have a great weekend. See ya back here on Monday.

Peace!

Maybe Baby!

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

So, I don't know if I mentioned that babygirl isn't due until the beginning of August, which is right around the corner. However, due to some minor issues, it looks like she may come a little sooner. Like, Friday! Yikes.

So, dear readers, if you're the spiritual type, send me some healthy prayers. If you're the practical type tell me not to worry, that a baby born at 37 weeks will be fine. (Both my other kids came late.)

And if any of you have some great name ideas that sound good in both English and Spanish, send those my way too. We haven't narrowed down our list of 22 names yet but considering Black Appalachia (don't ask) is on the list, it is clear we need to get serious and find something appropriate.

Obviously if you don't hear from me on Friday, you might assume it's because I'm busy pushing a baby out. But if something does happen, I'll let you know one way or another. Perhaps el esposo will post the news.

Thanks for caring. And for those of you who don't care, who really only read this blog to get their dose of meltingpot news, don't worry, I didn't forget about you. Listen in to this discussion from today's episode of Tell Me More about White Americans believing that racism against White people is increasing. This is not a joke or a feeling experienced by a small fraction of Whites, but a large majority. Listen and learn.



Peace.

Color Wars ... Pink vs Not Pink

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Between the recent J. Crew ad featuring the little boy with the pink painted toenails, to the Canadian family who refuses to reveal the sex of their four-month old child, I've been thinking a lot about gender roles, societal expectations of boys vs girls and the color pink. As I am about to give birth to a girl-child, my ruminations are not in vain. I want to be prepared to raise a healthy girl with a strong sense of self, who feels free to express herself.

Now just some background. My mom had ten sisters and a very strong mother. I went to a very affirming women's college. And I firmly believe in single-sex education. I have never felt any doubt that my feminist muscle was ready to take on the world. Until now. I was all prepared to paint the baby's new room yellow or green or some other neutral color that says 'you don't have to be a girlie girl,' when el esposo raised his voice and said, I'd like to paint the room pink. (record scratch). Since I didn't actually have any other color picked out, I meekly said okay, but then I started to worry if I was heading down some Disney princess path of no-return?

Fast forward a couple of weeks and I get a package in the mail full of baby clothes and blankets from some of my family members. Yes, they are all pink and fluffy. Should I send them back? I wondered. What kind of tidal wave of pink am I going to have to fight? Will Barbies be next? And what does it all mean? Maybe I should be like the Canadian family and name my daughter something neutral like, Moon and let her find her own way.

But then I calmed down. I decided to have my friend paint a giant giraffe on the (pale, pale) pink walls of the nursery and accent the room with chocolate brown and a spot of red. I bought a navy blue dress at Target that was just too cute and I picked up a pink polo shirt for my younger son. And it was my son that made me get a clue. He objected to the color of his new shirt. "Pink is for girls," he cried. And I quickly responded that colors don't belong to one sex. Anybody can wear any color they want to. And to think that somebody could "own" a color is ridiculous. My son bought it and so did I. At exactly that moment I realized how silly it was to uphold color as gender specific. My husband wears pink and I often wear navy blue and black and we are so not gender curious. We just look good in those colors. Isn't that what it's all about? In fact, by buying into color stereotypes (oh, I can't paint my daughter's room pink or she'll grow up to be weak and girly) is as damaging, I think, as only letting her wear feminine colors and playing with American Girl Dolls.

My new mantra as it relates to raising my daughter will be, 'let's do what feels good and looks right." What do you think? Can colors define a person's personality? Do all little girls just want to wear pink naturally? Anybody out there refuse to let their girls wear pink?

I'm listening.

Peace.

Labor Pains

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

So I promise this blog won't dissolve into a pregnancy journal, but sometimes I'm just going to have to talk about this very life altering event that is about to happen to the Kinky Gazpacho family. New babies are a big deal. But honestly, I'm not even at the new baby part. I'm still just trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I'm going to have to go through labor one more time.

Dear readers, I'm going to be honest with you. During both of my previous labors I completely lost my ish. I screamed. I cried. I mooed like a cow. I gave up in the middle and tried to go home. I was in so much pain and agony, I swore I'd never get pregnant again. But, like sands through the hourglass, or some other cliche, here I am again, facing that same marathon of labor where the prize at the end is pushing a freaking watermelon out of a pinhole!

But, I'm older now and wiser. I know better. And I want to do better. I've been investigating hypnosis for birth and am trying very hard to believe in the concept of a pain-free birth. But I've been there, done that and can't imagine that all of that pain I experienced was all in my head and that with just the right relaxation techniques it will all melt away. And I know with that kind of skepticism, I'm not going to get very far. But here's the thing, in all of my reading about hypno-birthing and pain-free/drug free childbirth, there is this glorification of women in third-world countries -- mostly in Africa-- who don't fear labor and somehow give birth with hardly a second thought. Conversely, the idea is, that we pampered first-world women make labor a horrifying experience because we drank the collective Kool-Aid that brainwashed us into thinking labor must be painful and must be dealt with a massive dose of drugs.

Well, the last time I checked, many women in third-world countries die during childbirth. And the ish hurts as much there as it does here. I don't buy the glorifying poverty as an example to model. I just don't. But I do believe there must be some truth to the idea that getting rid of fear must make the birth experience more tolerable. And by the way, I've never used drugs during childbirth and don't plan on it.

What do you think Meltingpot readers? Do women in poorer countries know more about birthing babies in a pain-free way? Or is that just stereotype and heresy? Is a pain-free labor even possible? Is hypno-birthing worth the effort? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one.

Peace!

(p.s. don't you love the photo?)

Beyond Black and White

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Sorry about the spotty posting last week. I was having massive computer issues. I think they are now mostly resolved.

So, today is Monday. Just one more week before school is out and summer vacation (for my kids, not me) begins. Even though I have more writing to do, I've finally allowed myself to start focusing on the fact that in approximately 57 days, there will be a new member of the Kinky Gazpacho family. Wow, getting ready for a new baby seven years after the last one is a trip!

But I don't want to talk baby stuff...yet. What I do want to talk about is the fact that I wish I was heading to Los Angeles this week so I could participate in the Mixed Roots Film and Literary Festival. What an amazing line-up of guests, films, books, and workshops this year. I urge any and all of you in the Los Angeles area to go check it out. And did I mention it's free? Yes, all of that quality entertainment and education is free! I can't think of any better way to celebrate Loving Day than to be at that festival, where the totality of the mixed-race experience is celebrated.

And speaking of the mixed-race experience, I was interviewed today by the lovely Chris Karazin of the website Beyond Black & White. My book, Substitute Me is going to be the featured title for this month's Beyond Black & White Book Club discussion. If you want to participate in the discussion, follow the instructions on the Beyond Black & White Website. Thanks, Chris. Over on her site, Chris is writing all about Black women, interracial relationships (not just romantic) family life, pop culture and other topics meltingpot readers will prolly find of interest. Please check Chris and Beyond Black & White out when you get a chance.

And finally, if any of you are fluent in Danish, remember a few posts back I mentioned I'd been interviewed by a Danish journalist about Black women and their hair? Well, the story is out. Here's the link. I just get a tickle out of seeing my name and quotes in another language. I wonder if I sound ridiculous in Danish?

Happy day.

Peace!

Mariah Carey Goes "Moroccan"

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Maybe it's because I have baby names on the brain, but I was taken aback by the news that Mariah Carey and her husband, Nick Cannon decided to name their just born twins, Monroe (the girl) and Moroccan (the boy). Say what?

Don't get me wrong, Meltingpot readers, I have no right to judge a person's choice for their children's name, but I'm going to anyway. Why? Because it just seems so wrong, purely from a grammatical standpoint. Apparently Mrs. Cannon named her son after her top floor apartment, a.k.a. The Moroccan Room. It's where Nick proposed and it is decorated in a Moroccan style. Notice, in that previous sentence, Moroccan is an adjective, not a noun. Posh Spice (Victoria Beckham) named one of her kids Brooklyn. Gwyneth Paltrow named her kid after a piece of fruit (Apple), so clearly Hollywood baby names have gone quite loopy, but I think until now, we've obeyed the rules of grammar. I could be wrong. I probably am.

But still, maybe in the post-labor, hormonal euphoria, Nick and Mariah wrote "Moroccan" on the birth certificate, but they meant to write Morocco. Heck, I used to teach Sunday school back in the day and two little brothers in my class were named, Paris and France. I get the 'name your baby after an exotic, significant, special locale,' but can't we at least have those names make a little bit more sense? A little. I mean, think of the consequences. And what will they call the little munchkin for short? It just makes me shake my head, suck my teeth and wonder.

By the way, I'm thinking of naming my baby girl, Menopause, because soon after she's born, that's where I'm heading. What do you think?

Peace!

My Life, My Hair, My Baby

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Yesterday we took our boys swimming at this awesome indoor pool, not too far from our house. We went out for Mexican food afterwards, then came home and tucked our very sleepy boys into bed. I would have loved to collapse in front of the TV and then gone to bed myself, but I didn't. Instead, I stood up in the bathroom for almost two hours and twisted my hair. Yes, I'm growing a new crop of dredlocks.

For those of you who don't fully understand the process of growing locs, it takes a while. A person can't just walk into a salon with a healthy Afro and walk out with dredlocks. For most people it takes somewhere between 3-6 months for the hair to lock. In my experience, it takes about five months. So, there I am, tired as heck, because I haven't swam in a long time -- and I kind of overdid it to impress my sons who hinted that they thought I was too fat too swim -- lovingly twisting the hundreds of individual locs on my head and questioning my choice of hairstyle. And then it hit me.

For every one of my children, I've had a new head of locs. When I was pregnant with my first child, I'd been growing my locs for three years. They were long, thick and strong, falling way below my shoulders. I remember being so thrilled when my infant son would nurse and grasp onto a loc and hold it lovingly. As he grew, he would play with my hair, reach for it in comfort and play with it in boredom. Sometimes he'd chew on it too, but that was kind of gross for the both of us. Baby spit in your hair? Not so much.

When my second son was born, I'd cut my locs short. He was born in July. It was hot. I wanted a change. So son number two got me with freshly shorn, short locs. His birth coincided with our move to Philadelphia as well, so the new locs, new home, and new baby all felt very symbolic to me.

And now, here I am seven years later and I'm growing a new baby and a whole new set of locs. Initially, I decided to lock my hair because I figured as a new mom, I just wouldn't have time to "do" my hair every day. I needed a style with versatility and low maintenance. Trust me when I say, I've tried just about every hairstyle a Black woman can have -- except a weave -- and dredlocks by far are the easiest and offer the most style options. So I took the plunge. But last night, arms aching and legs cramping, I felt that there was a spiritual dimension to this decision. By my calculations, my baby girl and my new set of locs should both be "done" at around the same time.

So ignoring the pain (I'm exaggerating, the pain wasn't that bad, but I just would have preferred to be slouched in front of the TV) I found a new source of inspiration for doing my hair... besides wanting to be cute, of course. I want my hair to be ready for my daughter to play in, marvel at, grab onto and chew on if she so chooses. Now I know I'm growing them for her and for me.

Does that sound strange to you? Do you have a special relationship with your hair? Does it mean more to you than the strands sitting on top of your head? You know that was the question I wanted to answer when I wrote the book, Hair Story: Untangling the Roots of Black Hair in America. So, tell me your greatest hair story.

I'm listening.

Peace.

(p.s. the girl in the picture is not me. courtesy of essence.com)

The Color of My Children -- A Mother's Musing

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

How many of you have heard about the most recent story of the Ohio born twins, where one was Black and one was White? Didn't hear about it? Well, here's a story about it so you can get all caught up. The truth is, the multi-hued kid story always makes the news because it just seems soooo unusual, but for those of us in mixie marriages, not so much.

In fact, as we await the impending birth of baby number three in the kinky gazpacho household, we are already speculating what she will look like. But unlike those in "monoracial marriages," we're not just wondering if she'll have mommy's eyes or daddy's nose. We're wondering if she will be toasty brown like her eldest brother or as pale as her younger brother who has often been mistaken for White, Asian and/or the kid I'm babysitting for. And the hair. Oy vey, the hair. We're trying to guess just how curly it will be. Will they be tight, brown curls like the older kid or big, black, loose curls like the younger. Or will she surprise us with a whole new texture and color pattern all her own?

It's funny, when I was younger and imagined what my daughter might someday look like, I always envisioned a mini-me with chocolate brown skin, black kinky hair and a brilliant smile that would light up a room. Now, I have no idea how she will turn out. But that's kind of cool too. I mean, I already know she's a girl. I pray to God she's healthy. So the anticipation comes from imagining just how different she may look. Different from me, her father, and her brothers. But at the same time seeing what she does capture from my family genes and those from her Spanish family. Since my family carries the DNA of Black, White, and Native American ancestors and el esposo's people come from as far away as Morocco, Malta island and Europe, baby girl has a lot of looks to choose from.

So, Meltingpot readers. What does your family look like and how do you reconcile the differences between you all? Personally, I don't see my family as multi-hued, I just see my family. It's only when others point it out that I take note. And of course now as we wait for the wee one I can't help but wonder. But still, as soon as she gets here, she'll just be one more in the Kinky Gazpacho mix.

Let's hear your stories.

I'm listening.

Peace!

My Life, My Art, My Baby

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

So I promised a big announcement on Monday and here it is. I'm having a baby. Yes, after all of our preparations and excitement with our international adoption, life throws us a curveball. But just to be clear, I have not mentioned our adoption journey for awhile because we had actually put the process on hold because of financial issues. We had actually turned to domestic adoption and we were basically in a wait and see mode.

And then, surprise. And I do say surprise but I won't say accident. I don't think any child should come into the world believing he/ or she was an accident. But surprise is definitely accurate.

All that to say, dear readers, come August the Kinky Gazpacho family will officially become a party of five. And today I found out that the party will be a little pinker, because it's a girl! Yes, I'm thrilled because my boys wanted a sister so badly and I'm sure a daughter will provide so much fodder for my blog. Ha! In the meantime, I'm still reeling over the fact that I'm pregnant again 10 years after the first time. It's a strange place to be in. Anyone with tips on 'starting over' I'm all ears.

Sorry, nobody guessed right for the contest, but I loved all of your ideas. Hopefully some of those good thoughts will come to pass.

And how does this relate to my "art?" Well, now, like Kate Carter in my novel Substitute Me, I just may have to hire a nanny. (But because we don't really roll with the nanny set, this poor child will probably be hidden under my desk most days at Temple. But shhhh, don't tell.)

Peace!