Random and Complicated

Wow, it's been a long time since my last blog. A lot of things have happened. I could blame it on much: licensing, home projects, family visits, deaths, plain exhaustion. But bottom line, I just keep saying "I'll do it tomorrow, I'll do it the next day, I'll do it this weekend, I'll do it next week," and so on.

A few random little things have happened in the last few days. One very interesting change is that I am talking more with T. What I mean is, I sit and explain things to him more. I take my time letting him know the WHYs and the HOW's instead of just focusing on the DOs and DON'Ts. As a result, I feel like our communication has improved as a whole. Don't get me wrong, when I tell T to do something, I expect it done immediately and without hesitation. The difference is, after compliance, or even in conjunction with it, explanations sometimes happen.

Another side effect of this communication is the random questioning. "Mom, why do black people have circle hair?" "Mom, how were colors invented?" "When can I teach the dog to read?" "Can I plant this clam shell to make a clam tree?" are among my favorites. Sometimes I try to answer. I think my responses have ranged from the biology of hair follicles to God's creations to, well, just a simple "I have no idea."

Once in a while I will get a stupid question. Now, you may think "wait, there are no stupid questions, duh!" Let me tell you something: There ARE stupid questions, just not the way you might think. To me, a stupid question is one that can be answered in the same breath. For example, standing next to a massive pile of cans of corn and asking, can in hand "where do I put this?" qualifies, in my world, as a stupid question. It's not so much the question as the circumstances surrounding the question. Standing in a strange house surrounded by fine crystal and with the same can in hand, the question no longer seems so stupid. Not to me anyway.

I have been getting a lot of strange questions from other people as well. It's no secret that people are curious. It's also no secret that people don't always understand things. I'll probably have to get used to the "what country is he from" question sooner or later. T will, while he's still short, have to get used to people (including, by the way, his mom who is obsessed with keeping his hair and skin in exceptional shape) petting his head or lightly tugging his hair. I don't know what it is about a little black boy's Fro, but boy do people love to touch. I sometimes wonder what reaction I would get if I walked up to a Japanese woman and started sniffing her hair. And yet, I am guilty. Guilty guilty guilty. I see a little black girl and I don't hesitate to touch her hair. I'm just as bad as everyone else.

The thing is, I have a slightly different motivation. This is not an excuse, but simply a reason.

As I stated before (with only slight exaggeration) that I am obsessed with keeping T's hair and skin in their optimal shape. If there's one thing that stuck with me in my ethnic sensitivity classes (which, had I been graded, I likely would have failed), it's that black people judge a person's parenting on the condition of a that person's child's hair. This, of course, is a gross generalization. This generalization was, by the way, drilled into the minds of about 30 "white" people by three very emphatic black women. Never mind that they had us practice hair styles on dolls with "white" hair, but I forgive them their gross oversight.

Anyway, this concept stuck with me. It's lodged deeply in my brain... SOUL even. I am always painfully aware of T's ashy level, and his hair poofiness, and the snot/tear stains on his cheeks. His clothing don't bother me so much because I can always blame that on a plethora of things. But if that boy's hair is dry, I panic. If his legs are white, I panic.

I have memories of those first few weeks as I scrambled around trying to repair what I refer to as the "scales." His scalp and arms/legs were so dry, you could see individual islands of skin plateaus. His scalp had wrinkles for crying out loud. I don't blame his caregiver per se. Well, no, I really do. She did not feel the need to educate herself, and no one felt the need to educate her. Then again, what can you expect from an old Nicaraguan lady, really?

Right, but those first weeks, I scrambled. I had taken the trainings, but suddenly I was informed that they were, for the most part, incorrect. WHAT??? Three black women LIED to me? You mean to tell me that this tub of TCB I got because I was told to should NOT go on T's head? You mean Parfum and glycerine, major ingredients in almost all lotions, are BAD for his skin?

Oh shit.

SO here began the re-education. And finally I came across a refrigerated, lumpy little blob that has up until now been a life-saver: Shea butter. If I could have a Shea butter bean tree plant thing, I would grow dozens of them.

Oh wow, I got derailed there, didn't I!?!?

So yeah, questions. I get peppered all the time by this kid. I can't remember all of the questions he asks me, though I should really consider writing them down, because I just can't handle the cuteness sometimes. Just the other day, I was doing something with T and my husband was nearby on the couch. T asked me SOMEthing, and my husband just looked at me, and we both had a silent chuckle at T's expense. He, of course, was oblivious because of how concentrated on his wording he was. He is so funny. If only he possessed that fervor when wiping his ass.

Another current fun fact is that we have a pinto bean farm. Yeah, that, by the way, was a total accident. I honestly didn't think all of these stupid beans would sprout, much less grow, much less flower, MUCH less fruit! But we've got a ton of bean pods, and we have to go through and get some more harvested before they take over the world. The zucchini plants I started, I'm afraid, are next to take over. Again, I didn't think they would come up. Boy was I wrong! We'll see how that goes.