Retro

Do you see this?

Look at that boy’s hair.

Now what am I suppose to do with all that hair?

I would first like to point out that I know next to nothing about black people hair. Ok, that’s a lie. I’ve learned a lot about nappy hair in the last five years, but let’s say I know virtually nothing about doing a little boy’s hair.

 

Especially a little boy’s hair that is growing as fast as he is.

It would help if he had the hair of a seven and a half month old and not a three year old. If stretched out it literally goes past the tip of his nose. But you would have to hold me down with chains if you think his hair is going to get cut.

My mom has suggested this several times. I am sure the look on my face spells horror when ever cutting and Darren’s hair are mentioned in the same sentence. Nope. No way. No siree. Not going to happen.

We have also explored the idea of braiding it into cornrows. Then we realized at his age this is completely unrealistic. He barely holds still long enough to put a coat on, let alone sitting still for the two hours (or more) it would take to braid his hair. I also know nothing about braiding cornrows.

So we have adopted the retro look. Darren’s Afro is getting to the point where it puts the 70’s afros to shame. Give him a pair of bell bottoms, a cheesy plaid button down shirt and he would fit right in. Keeping this look up can be tricky, seeing as he always has his hands in it. This topped with the fact that it’s winter and a stocking hat is necessary, pretty much means his hair always looks like he’s stuck his finger in a light socket.

But tonight I took the time to make it look decent. With a bit of distraction and patience the above picture is the end result.

And yes, for those of you that are wondering, that is an afro pick stuck in his hair.  Cute huh? Can I say ladies’ man?

But honestly, if you ladies could give me some advice on African baby hair care, it would be a blessing, a huge blessing. 

The African Jiggly

I know I have been MIA for the past week, but I’m back to blogging

And I got my hair did.

Yep I did. 

The transformation to completely natural hair has been started. Excited? Yes I am. My new look? Micro braids.

The comments I have been getting are quite something. I walk in to work. “Did you put extensions in?” Then I try to explain the concept of micro braids. “Really….Can I touch them?”  “That’s not real human hair is it?” is by far the most laughable comment. The most common? “How long did it take?”

 

Four and a half hours. Yes, by the end my neck was stiff and my butt was sore. But ladies, you know as well as I do the price we pay to make ourselves look good.  The sacrifice is necessary and well worth it. 

Four and half hours. Yes, I took my son with me. 

Yeah I am crazy, but I lately I have been feeling I only get to see him when he is a sleep, so I wanted to be with Darren as much as possible on my day off. 

I am glad I did.

The African ladies doing my hair didn’t mind at all. Darren being his usual self turned on the charm and played nicely in my lap on and off for about an hour and a half. 

Then he was done.

Pooped out. Ready for a nap. 

No biggy right? I’ll just rock him in my lap. 

Nope. Not having that. 

Let me explain first about Darren and his naps. One, he is not a napper. This kid will go a hundred miles per hour for the whole day with maybe two twenty minute naps. Two, this kid will not fall asleep if there is tons of commotion around him. So being in a small room with three other people he’d never seen before, it was a recipe for disaster. Plus, these people where women? Forget it; I had already prepared myself for this. I was willing to let him exhaust every ounce of his energy before I forced him to take a nap.

But African ladies are a force to be reckoned with. 

They have tricks up their sleeves from the homeland that I wish I could do.

After being passed around the room to be rocked in the unoccupied hands, he was still fighting sleep. 

Finally one of the ladies asks.

“Do you mind if I put him on my back?”

“Seriously?” I ask. Yes, I asked. Just to double check I am not being taken for a ride.

“Yes, this is how we do it in my country.”

Do I mind? No ma’am I do not mind at all. Actually I am extremely intrigued. 

I watch as she gets a long African sari and they lay Darren piggy-back like on her back, then settle his legs on either side of her waist. The sari is around him like a blanket and the ends are tucked in at her chest and waist. 

Darren is laughing.

Then she starts doing a little jiggle.

Ten minutes later my boy is out like a light, his head bobbing gently to the jiggling.

I am amazed. 

I mention so to them. “I need to learn how to do that.”

“You have someone help you do it the first time.” They laugh. 

It’s true. I will need help, but baby number two (when he/she comes) will definitely be well acquainted with my African jiggly. Just to make sure I am going to practice with Darren now.

Good Hair

This is how I can tell I am a mom. I walk into work with my hair straightened and down, with the comments I get you would think I look like a gremlin on a regular basis.

“Hey, superstar” My boss.

“Hey, girly! Look at you!” Cindalicous.

“You’re hair looks nice.” That kitchen girl.

“I don’t know when I last saw you with your hair down. It looks good!” some random co-work from another store.

What a boot of confidence, but do I really look that bad on all the other days?  Don’t answer that.

The hubby is always telling me “you need to get your hair done.” (sad right?)

Well here’s the skinny everyone, I am going to be taking the biggest hair adventure over the next year. Are you ready? I am going NATURAL!

I know a big question mark may be forming your heads, so let me explain. From now until I decide I am through with this phase of my life, I am not going to chemically straighten my hair. Do you the crap can melt a pop can? Just watch Chris Rock’s Good Hair. It will change your life. It will change your hair’s life too; even if you’re not black.

Supposedly, I have that ‘good hair.’ You could have fooled me, but I am trying to become a believer. 

Darren on the other hand, that boy has some GOOD hair. His hair is so good he’s a local celebrity. I technically should be carrying hair sanitizer for how many people touch his hair. I take him up town and they’re not even fazed by the fact we’re the only black people who live in a ten mile radius. They just want to cop a feel and the little stinker just soaks it up. He’s a lady’s man in the making. Part of me is proud; the other sensible side is trembling about the reality of that statement.

There are downsides to this hair thing. Like the fact he pulls it when he mad. No joke, he hooks on with both hands on each side of his head and yanks. Which makes him more upset because it hurts, which makes him pull harder; it’s quite the comical vicious cycle. 

He also has started pulling my hair (big surprise right?). His death grip has been perfected too. This pared with the fact he thinks it’s a toy to put in his mouth it’s quite the comical vicious cycle.

“Darren, you are going to have to let go.”

“Eeeeeeeehhhhhhh.” He holds on tighter.

“Seriously Darren.” (I do talk to him like his squeals are understandable adult conversation.)

“Ok you’re done. Let’s find your walker,” I am untangling one hand at this point. His other hand still has his prize in it.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.” Translation: GGGGGGGIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEE.

This also means I am successful. He is a safe distance away in his walker, look peeved and raising his arms up to me.

“AAH HAHAHAHA.” He’s about to break out in tears. 

“You’re ok.” 

“AHHHHHHHHHH  HAHAHAHA EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH.”

“Ok, let’s cuddle.” I am such a push over.  I pick him up and bury my nose in his curls. I mean, could you resist a face like this?