For Bi-racial and Black baby dolls, Big Lots, it is

They even have curly hair!

Apparently, Big Lots stocks the most variety for baby dolls with different shades of brown skin. I've mentioned on my blog before my annoyance with all the big stores, HEB, Target, and Walmart, for not stocking baby dolls with skin shades other than White.

I found one of Annika's first Bi-racial baby dolls at a Big Lots in Michigan. 

Most of the time, general stores, like HEB, Walmart, and Target have absolutely zero Black dolls other than Barbies and if they stock Bratz dolls, they usually have a few Latina or Blasian dolls. Those types of dolls (Barbies and Bratz, not Latina and Blasian) piss me off for a variety of other reasons, having nothing to do with color and more to do with the sexual nature of playthings for small children who are not supposed to have sexual desires yet. But that's a whole other topic folks. 

Tonight I stopped in at the Big Lots (for Austinites, William Cannon and I-35 store) to pick up a couple of things. As usual, when I am in any store that carries toys, and I'm by myself, I browse the toy aisles, getting ideas for presents and seeing if there is anything on sale.

Let me tell ya folks, (and no, I am not getting paid to write this) Big Lots had quite a nice variety of Brown baby dolls. The best thing was that they had a variety of Brown-skinned dolls.

It wasn't so much, "Oh wow, they actually have a Black or Brown skinned baby doll." It was, "Damn, they have so many I have to choose which one I want."

That never happens folks.

So, big plug tonight for Big Lots. If you're in Austin and wanting a dark-skinned baby doll, head on over. They have several to choose from.

I bough two for Christmas. Pretty. Damn. Happy.

My epic parenting failure, or, Hey, have you seen my little Black girl? Do I get a do over?

I had a huge ah ha moment late last week after my last post on race, where I talked about how I have avoided calling Annika "Black."

For all my thinking on the topic of race, my education, my professional experience, my friendships, and my discussions with Toyin, I thought I had figured this one out. But I realized that I was doing exactly what the research says is a big no no. My avoidance of calling Annika a Black girl is exactly not what I should not be doing.

In NurtureShock, the research shows that White parents who avoid discussing race, thinking that will make their children colorblind to skin tones, actually achieve the opposite effect. Children can clearly see that other people have different skin colors. Just like anything they are curious about, they want to talk about it with their parents. But the avoidance of discussion sends the message that it's not okay, which sends the message that Black people are not okay. The authors of NurtureShock found that parental avoidance of skin color discussions sent the message to their children that they did not like Black people.

I thought that since I had discussed our skin colors with her that was enough. I thought that my willingness to talk about race with her would open us to conversations throughout her life. But children pick up on subtleties that we don't even think about. There is power in what is not said.

The thought that I might have sent any negative message to Annika about her skin color worries me. I think she's still too young to have picked up anything that complex. But then again, I don't know. She amazes me constantly with her new remarks and thoughts. Just last week she has started to say, "Mama, I got an idea."

Holy crap! You've got ideas??? When did that happen?

So, even though I knew that having a Black daughter would open me up to various viewpoints throughout her childhood, I thought I was on the right track. I had heard over and over, my Black friends saying that it was tiring to always be labeled, "The Black guy/woman." But those viewpoints were coming from adults who understand the complexity of human language and thought behind it. They've already figured out their racial identity.

After I wrote that post, I thought, "hmmm, this sounds like maybe I think that there's something wrong with being Black." That's not the case at all. (Seems like that should be obvious, but what the heck.) In fact, since having Annika, I think I have become even more colorblind.

When I look at Annika, I really don't see skin color. I mean, I see it. I see her. I see that she looks the way she looks. What I mean by colorblind is that I don't assign any qualities to her based on her skin color. I don't jump to her skin color as a defining quality because I see so much about her to describe to the world. So,  the experience in the sandwich shop was a bit of a jolt to me to view Annika and myself through that colored lens, once again. I don't know why it keeps being so shocking to me that people see us that way. When I told Toyin about it, I noted that never would have happened to him, the confusion about what racial qualities his child would have. It's not like I expect everyone to notice our similarities, or even that I expect people to assume anything other than what they do. It's just surreal, to view us through a stranger's eyes, and notice the differences that I don't see.

I see Bi-racial families and children all the time now. I notice them the way I noticed pregnant women when I was pregnant. I always assume that they are blood related, not adopted, even though I know logically that some of them probably are. But then again, it's logical to assume that some homogeneous-looking families have adopted kids, yet, I don't think to wonder about that.

And as I continue to notice other families who have made the choice to love others with different skin tones than themselves and to procreate, it warms my heart to know that by the time Annika is an adult, there will be even more muted tones in the world. Not because I think there's anything wrong with purity of culture or skin tone, but because it means that the world is becoming even more colorblind, as families gain more and more colors. It's not that we won't see color, but we will see past the color because of being close to people who don't look exactly like us.

It makes me happy to think that future generations will see things differently than past generations and hopefully, when Annika is an adult, maybe it would never even occur to her that there are associations with calling her daughter or son Black. Because even if she choose to procreate with a person of lighter skin color than herself, her children (if she has any), will for sure still be Black.

Or hell, maybe we'll have come up with a new name for it by then. As long as we continue to think it's all good and we're all just people underneath our outer shells, I suppose it doesn't really matter how we label each other.

For now, though, I need to get more comfortable with saying "my Black daughter." I will use it interchangeably with Bi-racial. And even though I see all of our similarities, I suppose I need to get comfortable with the fact that most people, at least initially, won't. They will see a White woman, with a Black kid and wonder if she's adopted. Or when I shout out that I'm looking for a little kid, I should assume that most people will think I'm looking for someone with blond hair, or blue eyes.

It doesn't sadden me, in case anyone is wondering. I will never ever wish that Annika looked any differently than she does, or that we looked more alike on the surface. I see who she is, that's what really matters. But it's also important to communicate all of this to her.

So, by saying it to others, I will essentially be telling her that she's gorgeous, inside and out.

Have you seen my little Black girl?

I did it. The other day I referred to Annika as a Black girl.

I've purposely avoided referring to her as "the Black girl," or "the Black baby," when speaking to other people. I've said Bi-racial a few times, but never Black. Not to other people. I've talked to her about her skin being Brown. I've never said to her, "You're Black."

Not because there's anything wrong with saying she's Black. I've avoided it because of the point made to me by many of my Black friends who wonder why White people always use the adjective, Black, to describe all Black people. Why can't they be the person with the brown hair? Or the guy in the red shirt? Or the funny person, or whatever other adjectives we often use to describe White people?

I don't think I ever heard anybody refer to a White person as "the White guy" until I moved to Detroit and I was often in the position of being one of the few or only White people in the room.

It seemed odd to me when I heard it.

So, that is why I have avoided calling Annika, "the Black girl." If I'm describing her I'll say she has brown curly hair, or I will point out the color of her dress.

It's not that I am trying to avoid Annika thinking of herself as Black. She is Black. But defining yourself in such narrow perimeters at such an early age, I think, can lead to limits in your own brain. So we will talk about her skin color. But I don't want to subtly infer anything to her about her skin color, and have her define herself with negative stereotypes about Black people that permeate our society. She's a girl, a person, first. She happens to have dark skin. Just like I happen to have lighter brown skin. (We've already had talks about how our skin colors are just different shades of brown.)

So, back to the story. The other day I took Annika out to lunch. We were in a sandwich shop, it was loud and busy with people, but not too busy. Once we got close to being done eating, typically, she was done sitting.

She started running around the table and then, across the room. Twice I chased her down and tried to finish eating. The third time, I sat for an extra five seconds scarfing down my last bites. After all, the place wasn't big enough for her to get lost. So as she rounded the corner toward the drink machines, I didn't worry.

When I followed her, I couldn't see her. I ran in the direction that she had gone the previous two times. It was in the direction of the outside doors, two sets of heavy glass doors that she could not push open herself. I was pretty sure I could hear her giggling. Annika has a very distinctive, high-pitched, little girl giggle. But the restaurant was loud. There was music playing. People were talking. Dishes were clanking. I ran toward the door and asked a man, "Did you see a little girl wander over here?"

"A little blond girl?" he said. "Yes, she went outside."

"No, no," I said. "Not blond."

For a second my brain was clogged with a sense of urgency, and my careful avoidance of being stereotypical.

"She went outside," he said again, pointing at a family that had walked outside. "With them."

I felt about 90 percent sure that Annika had not gone outside with a family she didn't know and that he was confusing me as the mother of a White child.

Plus, I still thought I could hear her.

But I was more concerned with the fact that my 2-year-old might, just possibly, might be wandering toward a parking lot that was pushed up against two busy streets.

I ran outside.

There were some people sitting at the tables outside.

"Did you see a little Black girl run out here? She's 2." I shouted, realizing that in this moment I did not want there to be any confusion about who I was looking for.

"Nope." They answered, with confidence.

I ran back inside and headed in the direction that I would have gone had the other man not steered me outside. She was there.

I felt relief. And a little weird.

I was glad that I had been able to switch my brain toward the urgency, instead of remaining PC.

After all, stereotypes are part of our language and thought process for a reason.

Stereotypes are a throwback from cave man days when one needed to be able to size up danger quickly.

They aren't as necessary as they were then.

But I suppose they still have their place, in the right moment.

Deep In the Heart of Annika

I love Texas. It's my home. Even though I moved to Japan, then Montana, then settled in Detroit for nine years, I always knew that I would come back to Texas someday. As much as I love Texas and feel like it is my home, there has always been this little bit of me that feels like I don't quite belong here. See, Texans, at least, small-town Texans, believe that you are only a "true" Texan if you're born in Texas.

I have a feeling that Annika will travel a lot during her life, but I'm glad that she was born in Texas, so that she will always have someplace to call home.

She's already got loyalty toward her home state. Check this out (My apologies to my Facebook friends for the repeat):

Giving up the beast takes time

Years ago if you had told me that I would compare quitting smoking with my toddler's sleep cycle I would have told you to shut the fuck up. No. Seriously, that's probably exactly what I would have said. Not because it's a far-fetched comparison, but because up until I got pregnant, the idea that I would become a mother was a far-fetched notion.

But that's what I'm about to do.

See, I've been hemming and hawing with myself for the past couple of months, wondering if I'm doing a disservice to Annika by continuing to let her nurse to sleep. At 26 months, she's at an age where many of her peers have weaned altogether.

Even though all the AP literature and people I know say that kids outgrow, well, everything, there's this little voice in the back of my head going, "Maybe they're all wrong. What if the mainstream parenting books are right? You need to start layin' down the LAW!"

It's the same voice that whispers in my ear during election years wondering what I would do if I found out the Republicans had it right all this time. And then they recruited Sarah Palin to the ticket. I felt unusually confident when I cast my vote for Obama that November even though I supported Clinton during the primaries. (Whoa, stop throwing things, you barely missed my head!)

So, I've been thinking, should I start encouraging Annika to start falling asleep without nursing? She CAN do it. It's just easier to let her nurse. Ninety percent of the time she falls asleep faster on the breast Some nights after an hour or so of nursing, I'll gently tell her that it's time to stop nursing and go to sleep, but that is still a rare occurrence.

The other day I was chatting with a couple who had an 11-week-old baby hanging from her daddy's chest in a Baby Bjorn. They were talking about how she hadn't learned to self-soothe while sleeping yet. I snickered and said, "My daughter's 2 and she still doesn't self-soothe at night." They stared at me like I had just sprouted two heads. I felt like an ass. I hang around with so many AP people that I forget that in the outside world some people just don't get that we think of babies as babies and not miniature adults. That conversation got me thinking about how two years is sort of a long time in baby years. Most people hit the breaking point with sleep sometime in the first six to nine months. Two years of sleep nursing and waking at night is a long fucking time.

Then I started thinking about how I quit smoking. I smoked cigarettes for 18 years. (Jeez, when I put it like that it seems like a long time.) When I started smoking, I figured I'd just be a social smoker. But damn, I liked it. There's something super soothing about the way you hold a cigarette, stroking it between your fingers. I even liked the way my fingertips smelled when I wasn't smoking. Even though I didn't like the idea of smelling like a smoker I sort of got a kick out of getting a whiff of my stale smoke on a sweater as I tossed it around my shoulders, or that first scent of stale smoke in my car on a crisp winter day.

Smoking was rebellious. It was also dangerous and unhealthy. That's why I liked it.

I tried to quit, very halfheartedly, some time in my early 20s. I think I went a week once. Then I started back up again without any qualms. I liked it and I was still in the stage of my life where getting old was like, in a galaxy far, far away. When I had my wisdom teeth removed I was told that smoking would give me dry socket and I should not smoke while I was healing. I made it four days. My husband (at the time) was baffled as to why I didn't just give it up then. He said if I quit, then he could try to quit. I told him to fuck off. That if he wanted to quit smoking that was his business, but I had no intention of giving up the beast. It was my beast and I liked it. At that point in my life I figured I'd keep smoking until I had to start carting around an oxygen tank.

But then I entered my 30s. It was then that I realized I was not going to defeat the space time continuum and I would in fact, age past my 20s. I got divorced and when I started dating again, I found that most of the men I was into didn't smoke and they did not find it attractive. Smoking was not cool anymore. I was not young enough anymore to make it cute and sexy. I no longer enjoyed the staleness of my car's interior. It was time to quit.

I wonder how I would have felt if all of a sudden one day there were simply no cigarettes. It would have been pure torture for me. I've known plenty of smokers and I can't think of any that have quit cold turkey and been successful at quitting. They always come back to it. 

It took me several years of cutting back and cutting back to finally give it up completely. I was down to only a couple of smokes per day when I found out I was pregnant with Annika. I gave it up for good that day.

Now, almost three years later, I don't even crave it anymore. When I pass by a smoker, I have stopped inhaling the smoke. I don't even think I could go into a smoky club anymore. I guess it's a good thing that all those laws have been passed against it.

As you can see, I've never been keen on cold turkey.

If I keep up this comparison with smoking and Annika's sleep habits, I guess three years seems a logical time frame for her to really start sleeping like a human being, to fall asleep without needing to soothe at my breast. She's already starting to sleep heavier. I actually had to shake her awake one morning last week when we had to be somewhere by 8:30 a.m. and she was still snoring. She's finally started sleeping like a log in the evening and I don't typically have to go in and help her settle back to sleep before I go to bed. And most nights if she wakes up in the middle of the night, a cuddle is all she needs to fall back to sleep.

I guess my point is that, when she's ready, or when she has an incentive or something else to distract her, then she will give up nursing to sleep. There's no need to rush this, especially since she isn't likely to develop lung cancer from it.

If I jump really high, can I reach the top?

Annika was not planned, but I'll be honest here, I've always felt like she was meant to be. It's not something I can explain.

 And no, I did not purposely get pregnant.

I did not want children. I didn't like children. Before I had my own child, when women with newborns were in my presence, I tried to busy myself or pretended to be sick because I did not want to hold them. It felt awkward. I'd look down at the tiny baby and wonder just what the fuck people saw in them. They were not cute to me. They smelled funny. Their heads were floppy. They cried. I was annoyed by them.

Lest any of my mom friends reads this and is freaked out because she let me hold her baby, I'd like to also say that I do not feel this way anymore. I absolutely love babies. Now.

So, keeping that in mind, back to the topic of fate, I wonder if Annika was simply meant to be. And I was meant to be her mother. I cannot even imagine life without her or this world without her.

I've always struggled with whether I believe completely in fate/destiny/divine intervention, or do I believe that we have complete choice over our lives. 

It's pretty logical that I would be pulled between these two sides. I grew up in a family with a mother who was/is a die-hard Christian. She absolutely believes in the Bible, literally, figuratively and all the crappola in between. To her, the Bible is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. If you believe in the Bible, it is necessary to believe that at the very least, you are not in complete control over your life.

My father, on the other hand, is an atheist.

Right. (I shrug my shoulders.)

Oh, yes. They are still married. I don't know the answer to that question in your head, so I am just going to skip on over that and keep going.

So, are our lives destined to be, or do we have free will?

Most intelligent people I know, including myself, would likely say, it's probably a little of both. Sure, we can make choices, choose our paths, set goals, etc. But ultimately, we are swimming along in the sea of life where at any moment a great white shark can swoop down on us and swallow us whole, completely taking us off course.

But, that's not good enough for me.

Lately I've been tripping out on Annika, watching her grow. It's amazing to see her turning into a real person, with her own thoughts and desires.

But, I've also noticed how much she mimics us, and everything else she sees.

Yesterday we were out for a morning walk. Before we left, I told her we were going to look at the pretty flowers. As we were walking, we came upon a lilac tree, she pointed at the flowers, way high up in the tree and told me she wanted to pick some. I told her they were too high. I couldn't reach them.

Then she told me that if she jumped really high, maybe she could pick the flowers.

I was floored. Wow. She thought of that herself?

Then later, she was watching a video, Max and Ruby's Christmas. She's already watched it several times.

They were putting up the Christmas tree and when they were finished, Ruby notices that they forgot to put the star topper on. The tree was done and there was no way for them to put it on without messing up the other decorations. Ruby says, "Maybe if I jump really high, I can reach the top."

Ah. So, that's where she got it. I was sure of it as I watched her reaction to the scene. She jumped up and down excitedly and told me that Ruby was going to jump really high.

Watching my child grow up has made me -- an already reflective person -- wonder more and more about life. What it is that we decide? What it is that we think for ourselves? And how much is simply a matter of following along the course of our society and our families? Do we really decide anything for ourselves?

I don't expect to find the answer. There isn't one to get. Not from any human being. But I wonder.

I try really hard not to put things onto Annika. After reading Unconditional Parenting, I am careful about the messages I send her. But it's impossible not to send some messages to your children. In this world that we live in, there are so many expectations to follow, it's impossible to live an unburdened life.

So I will continue to wonder and be impressed with my child. It's amazing, watching a human being evolve. At least she chose to pull a positive message out.

Maybe if I jump really high, I can reach the top.

Happy Father's Day to Toyin

I don't often tell Toyin how much I appreciate his good parenting. But today seems like an appropriate time to say that he's a great dad. He loves Annika more than anything or anyone else in the world. He's never said that to me, but I can tell that it's true by the way he cares for her and how he responds to her.

Single men, particularly, Black men, are stereotyped in this country as being lame partners, deadbeat dads, generally bad fathers. But I want to take this opportunity to say that Toyin does not, and has never fit that negative image. He has gone far above what most people in this country expect of typical single dads who are not living with or married to their child's mother.

Annika was not planned. Toyin gave up a promising job in a new city filled with new friends to come live in Austin and be with us. He supported us for the first year and a half so that I could stay at home with Annika, thus securing a solid start to her life.

He sees her every day, even when it's not his night to take her.

He is kind, loving and attentive.

He's a good dad.

Happy Father's Day Toyin!

A glimpse in to the world of being Bi-racial

I've been reading a book called, Half and Half. It's a compilation of essays by writers who are Bi-racial and/or Bi-cultural. All of the essays are compelling. But I wanted to share part of a particular one. It is written by James McBride, who is, like Annika, half White and half Black. I won't comment on it. It speaks for itself.

"I'm a black man and I've been running all my life. Sometimes I feel like my soul just wants to jump out of my skin and run off, things get that mixed up. But it doesn't matter, because what's inside is there to stay no matter how fast you sprint. Being mixed feels like that tingly feeling you have in your nose when you have to sneeze -- you're hanging on there waiting for it to happen, but it never does. You feel completely misunderstood by the rest of the world, which is probably how any sixteen-year-old feels, except that if you're brown-skinned like me, the feeling lasts for the rest of your life..... I hate it when people see my brown skin and assume that all I care about is gospel music and fried chicken and beating up the white man. I could care less. I'm too busy trying to live.

"Once a mulatto, always a mulatto, is what I say, and you have to be happy with what you have, though in this world some places are more conducive to the survival of a black white man like me than others... Washington is a town split straight down the middle -- between white and black, haves and have-nots, light-skinned and dark-skinned -- and full of jive talkers of both colors. The blacks are embittered and expect you to love Marion Barry unconditionally. The whites expect you to be either grateful for their liberal sensibilities or a raging militant. There's no middle ground."

Tips on co-parenting through divorce

I got a call last week from an acquaintance, another mom who is thinking about divorce. She wanted to ask me about co-parenting. Her biggest concern? Spending the night away from her daughter, who, like Annika, is 2.

I could relate because ever since Annika was a tiny newborn, this was also my biggest concern.

When she was an infant I worried that spending the night away from me would tear us apart and destroy our tender and still-forming attachment. I worried that she wouldn't understand what was going on. I worried that she would have attachment issues if she spent the night away from me too soon. 

Ironically, this phone call came only a couple of days after Annika had her first real sleepover at Toyin's.

A few months ago we attempted a sleepover, but only out of desperation because I had an ear infection and I was in severe pain. (Yes, I know I need to migrate my old posts over to the new site, I'll get to it. :)

I felt torn about having her spend the night at Toyin's. I have been co-sleeping with Annika all of her life. She still wakes up a lot.

On the one hand, I felt like she wasn't ready because she still nurses at night. I also think she can do it, and she could easily be ready. There's a mental leap she needs to make and I think sleeping at Toyin's is just the impetus she needs.

We've gone through some rough patches surrounding nighttime nursing and made attempts at night weaning. I've given up. This kid likes to nurse.


Now that she can form proper sentences she has recently been very verbal about how much she likes my milk. I used to think that she wanted to nurse because she wanted the closeness. But she has told me lately that she wants milk.


Once I asked her if she'd like some rice milk and she leaned over to me, pointed at my breast and said, "No, I want that milk!"


How could I say no?

So, in reality, she doesn't need to nurse anymore. She can fall asleep without nursing. The attachment between us is solid. She and Toyin are attached, but they don't have quite the same bond that she and I do. I think this is partly due to the sleeping arrangements. Other than nursing, it's the one thing that has kept them from being as close as we would like, ideally.

Additionally, Toyin and I are both ready for her to start spending the night with him, for different reasons.

Sooo, back to the co-parenting conversation.

My friend wanted to know, basically, how does co-parenting work? We had a brief conversation. What I told her was this.

1. You must always, always put your child first in decision-making and when interacting with your partner.
2. Both of you must be committed to ensuring that your choices and how you interact with each other put your child's needs first.
3.You must (try to) avoid doing things out of spite or pettiness.

Coming from me, the world's most immature 38-year-old, it's kind of funny. I mean, I've done things... I could totally go off on a tangent here, but I need to stick to my point.

The truth is, motherhood has forced me to grow up. I'm not going to lie and say that Toyin and I have a perfect relationship or that we are always friendly with each other. But I do believe deep in my heart that we have done a good job of putting Annika first.

I really do.

That's not to say that we have always put Annika first, or that we haven't had spite-filled and angry interactions. But really, what couple can say that they have always behaved perfectly around their children? It doesn't happen.

But at the core of our connection, lies the desire to ensure that Annika's well-being is what drives our decisions.

People who choose to co-parent with an ex must function like a marriage in many respects.

You must be able to discuss things like eating habits, potty training, sleep habits. You should find a way to make decisions about these together. You also must trust your partner to make decisions about these things when you aren't around. You have to relinquish control, much the same as if you were married or cohabiting.

Living nearby helps.

It makes it easier to visit your child if you are not the custodial parent. Visitation times should be made considering what is best for your child, not what is convenient for the adults. They should be regular and consistent. But they should also be flexible if that fits your lifestyle.

You should be willing to spend time together as a family. Going out to dinner with each other or meeting at a park to hang out and play with your child together will make a world of difference.

One of Annika's newest phrases is, "We're doing it together!"

She got this from our walks around the neighborhood when we had to stay together and watch for cars. Instead of telling her to stay with me, or not to run away, I pointed out that we should walk together. She loved that and has made the connection in many other things that we do.

And lately she's been pointing out that we (all three of us) should go for walks "together." We do. We always have. She likes it and I can see that it makes her feel happy.

Since she began sleeping over at Toyin's, she's hit her second wave of separation anxiety. It's been really hard. She's been telling me that she wants to stay with me, that she doesn't want to go with Daddy.

But Toyin and I have agreed that we must be consistent. So we are sticking with our regular routines and doing things together.

It seems to me like many people think that if they get divorced the only option is to have court-regulated visitation with one custodial parent and another part-time parent.

I think this attitude toward parenting is a tragedy for the child. It is the general consensus among mainstream thought that children suffer because of divorce and in the long run they grow up more securely if parents are married.

I think that's because most divorced parents don't put their children's best interests at the core of their decision-making. I think that when people split up, they start putting their needs first. That, right there, is why the children suffer. Not because of the divorce. But because the parents stop putting their children first.

I'm here to tell you that co-parenting can work. It's tough work, just like a marriage, which is probably why most people don't do it. But it is possible.

Apparently being a douche makes Anderson Cooper an expert on racism

As a former journalist I defend the media whenever I get the chance. Sure, it has its problems, but it's a tough job.

HOWEVER, sometimes, the media gets involved in things they have no business being involved in.

Like talking to children.  

About racism.

Monday night CNN aired the first part of a series called, "Doll Study Research," on AC360.The topic was that Anderson Cooper and his team performed a "study" about how Black and White children see race.

I like how they named their study after a famous actual research study that actually used dolls.

I'm no scientist, nor am I child psychologist, but I thought the clips were way more telling about the producers of the show adults asking the questions, than the children. Additionally, the way these children answered was more a reflection of our society than the actual kids' feelings or beliefs.

One thing I've learned in the past few years is that how you talk to children makes a huge difference in the answers you get.

In the clip labeled "show me the dumb child" they asked the kids a bunch of questions about which kids were smart, dumb, nice, mean, ugly, good-looking, good and bad. The younger set of children was questioned in the wrong way. Children that young are looking to please. The older kids were way more articulate.

If you give a kid a set of pictures and tell him/her to pick out the ugly one, the child is not going to say, "Oh, none of them are ugly." They are assuming that there is an ugly one, so the way I see it, unless a child has been talked to about this topic, they are going to pick the one they think you want them to.

I really liked what this dad had to say about his daughter's answers. His daughter said that all the children were equal. Her response was well-thought out and knowledgeable. Then her dad noted that this is what he had taught her. Hello! Let's teach our kids how to think about racism instead of waiting for Anderson Cooper to tell us what they think.

In the headline, this mom was portrayed as a mother who is shocked by her daughter's "white bias" as this so-called study claims to have found. But if you watch and listen, her answers are pretty savvy. She knows her daughter isn't a racist. She understands exactly what the book NurtureShock tells us, that children pick out people who look similarly to themselves and their parents as being better than others.

These children aren't racist. Nor do they have a condition called "white bias." They are just kids. Who got asked a bunch of stupid questions.

As an aside, I have to add that I think it's great (sarcasm) how CNN has found a new label to give kids.

I hope my child never gets "white bias." But just in case she does, I hope the pharmaceutical companies are working on a pill for that.

Mother's Day remembrances and a review

Mother's Day is just around the corner and thinking about it, I am reminded of a wonderful little bundle of joy I was given last year. No, not Annika. That was two years ago. Yep, she was born the day before Mother's Day. It was definitely the best Mother's Day gift I have ever gotten and every year she will continue to be the best Mother's Day gift.

I have already sworn that I will never one of those moms that hints around for gifts and instead I will use Mother's Day to remind myself that the best gift my child can give me is her presence (pun intended).

However, I am lucky in that, Toyin, even though he certainly doesn't have to, still buys me presents occasionally.

Last year, on my second official Mother's Day, Toyin gave me an iPod Touch for Mother's Day and it was hands down the best gift he has ever given me, other than Annika. And he, unlike previous men in my life, gives really good gifts.

The year before, a couple of months after Annika was born, he split the cost of a new laptop for me. The first year we dated, he took me to a bed and breakfast for my birthday and bought me a digital recorder, which would come in handy for my job as a newspaper reporter. He's bought me clothes, fancy dinners, and gadgets in the six years we've known each other. But even so, the iPod was the best thing he could have ever bought me and I'll tell you why. Even though it wasn't the most expensive gift he ever bought me, unlike those other gifts, this one saved my sanity.

At the time, Annika was working on about the fifth month of what looked like a never-ending life being attached to my breast for sleeping. And 1-year-olds sleep a lot! We're talking, like 14 hours a day I was strapped down next to her while she slept.

In the first months she did this too, but I could pop her on my breast on my Boppy nursing pillow and once she fell asleep, I'd turn on a TV show or read the news on my laptop.

But as she got bigger and more aware of the world around her, the noises from the laptop irritated her. At night, for a while, I could leave the light on and I'd read books. During naps, I did the same, but a person can only read so much, plus it's exhausting on the fingers and arms trying to hold a book up with one arm for an hour or two while flipping pages with the same hand because your infant is sleeping on top of the other arm.

So for several months, off and on I'd lie there, bored, staring at the ceiling, thinking about e-mails I wanted to respond to, news I wanted to read, things I'd like to write about, videos I could be watching, funny Facebook statuses came and went through my head that never got posted.

Twitter remained elusive. I'd hear about news events and be surprised, even though they had been all over every major news station in the world. Even though a lot of those moments were good extra time for sleeping and lots of good bonding with Annika also happened during that time, it was tiring and lonely, lying there while my child slept next to me with my breast in her mouth and all I could do was lie there, unfulfilled, bored and not tired.

So when Toyin bought me the iPod Touch, it changed my life.

I still use it even though it has gotten way easier to sneak out of bed after she falls asleep. Naps are still hard to sneak away, so I use it during those. But the iPod has actually made it easier for me to stay in bed longer with Annika at night and has given us even more cuddle time. Surprisingly, this little gadget has made it so that I am not longing to get up and often, after Annika falls asleep, I will get on my iPod for about an hour and then I turn it off and roll over for more snuggles as I drift into la-la land.

This little gadget isn't perfect by any means. Even though I've had it for less than a year, many of the apps I want need the upgraded version, so they don't work. And for some reason YouTube videos stop playing after we've watched them several times. Occasionally, the wireless gets hung up and I have to reset my modem.

Another problem that I didn't originally foresee is that now Annika fights me for the use of it. On the one hand, it's a nice toy for her because I have some cool toddler apps that she really likes. She has learned her shapes using the iPod and her eye hand coordination is remarkable for a less-than-2-year-old, in my opinion.

But she has gotten to the stage where she will demand the use of it. "Have it!" She tells me when I am using it to check my e-mail, or, she will demand to watch a "boo do" (video).

But all in all, the iPod Touch has been a lifesaver for me. I have often thought that it's something no attached mama should be without.

So if your husband or significant other has asked you what you want for Mother's Day, tell him or her that you want an iPod Touch, or hell, make it an iPad. It might come in handy during the heavy flow days. (Pun intended.)

Helping her get her way

It's a common parenting adage to say things like, "You have to teach them that they can't always have their way."

I say poo poo on this idea. I prefer to teach my daughter that she can get her way. Instead of being the bad guy and making up arbitrary lessons to knock her down, I'd like to help her learn when it is appropriate to insist on her own way, and when it is appropriate to step aside, or share, or let someone else have a turn.


I like this idea because I think in the long run, while it may not always make for a well-behaved child, it will make for a more empathic person who knows how to stand up for herself. And that's my goal, to raise a happy, functioning adult, not to have a kid who knows how to mind her P's and Q's, although, that would certainly be a nice bonus.

Yesterday I was stuck on the couch watching a video on an endless loop for about an hour and a half because Annika was exhausted and she fell asleep while nursing, catching me unawares, because she'd already had a nap.


It was late afternoon and she kept asking to nurse. I nursed her in bed for a while, but she seemed bored. So we got up. I thought her stomach was hurting her and I had her lie down on the couch and I covered her up with a blanket, which she seemed to like. But after a couple of rounds of this, she asked me to nurse again.

At first I said, "Oh no, we're done nursing for now. Would you like some water?"

"No!" she emphatically stated.

"Nuse!"

"No, you can have some water or some food. Do you want some yogurt?" I offered.

"Nuse! Nuse!" she cried. Her body stiffened up and she started to cry.

I reached out for her to hug her. She turned away.

I watched her for a minute.

All the different parenting voices shouted at me.

"You have to stand firm. When tell a child no, you have to mean it. Be consistent."

"But she really seems to need to nurse."

I gave in and nursed her. I've been doing that a lot lately, giving in. Letting her "have her way," whatever that means. I don't understand why parents think that if you let a kid win an argument or give in to a demand that is somehow bad parenting. Personally, I think that's a good way to teach a kid that they will never get what they want.

I was so glad I did give in yesterday, because she was on the verge of a major tummy ache, one that lasted all day today. We spent the whole day on the couch, sleeping and nursing. She barely ate. But she nursed a ton. She was having terrible pains throughout the day. When one would come on, I'd rush to her side, or hold her tight if I was already there. And by the end of the day, she started yelling for me, "Mommy!" And reach out to me. She didn't need me to be there. But she wanted me to be next to her.

I like that. I like helping my daughter. I like seeing the proof that she knows she can count on me.

And yes. I like helping her "get her way." I hope she always gets what she wants in life.

I learned the hard way that night weaning does not ensure sleeping through the night

I've given up on night weaning.

This may come as a shock to any of you who have been following my night nursing travails. From what I've written I'm sure that it seems as if night weaning was a relative success and we were now sleeping through the night.

This was true on some level, but I've come to realize that many children simply do not sleep through the night for the first few years of life, no matter WHAT the parents do. My daughter is one of those children.

We had gotten to a point where she stopped crying and asking to nurse. This happened in a relatively short time. I thought that was all it would take. All it should take. Every mom I talked to told me that their kids started sleeping through the night once they night weaned. And if they woke up, they went back to sleep easily with cuddles and/or a drink of water.

Apparently I was talking to all the wrong moms. Or, maybe I was just hearing what I wanted to hear.

But I'm here to tell you, if you think that night weaning solves all your sleep woes, it ain't so.

Say it isn't so!

Let me say it again.

Some of us simply have to accept the hard truth that it takes longer for our wee ones to sleep through the night without any major intervention from us.

A brief synopsis of our night weaning:

In December I broke down and decided to night wean. It went well. The first night was pretty bad. The second night wasn't quite as bad. And the third night she slept for most of the night. This continued, with brief night wakings for about a week until Annika got a cold.

Then she awoke begging to nurse and because of her dry mouth and stuffy nose, along with a spotty fever, I didn't have the heart to tell her no when she asked to nurse in the middle of the night.

We continued night nursing until some time in February when I decided that the worst of sick season was over so we needed to get back on track.

This time didn't go so well.

I don't remember how long it took, but it was several weeks of off and on crying and asking to nurse.

Then she stopped asking to nurse. But in March I realized after a few weeks of continuous waking that Annika was not going to just magically sleep through the night.

She'd wake up and then lie there, tossing and turning and whispering, "nuse," for about an hour. Then eventually drift off.

But I stayed awake.

I realized that if I wasn't getting any better sleep, there was really no reason to force her to lie there for an hour trying to fall back asleep when I could just nurse her and she'd fall right back to sleep.

The good part in all of this is: A couple of weeks ago is when I started night nursing again. Since then her language has had what I consider to be a second explosion.

The first one happened around 16 months when she started saying her words really clearly.

Now, at 23 months she's saying tons of phrases. She was saying random phrases before, but these new phrases are in the proper context.

She tells me, in reference to an object, to "Set it down, Mommy." "Call Daddy." "Go for a walk."

She's also started screaming "Stop!" when I comb her hair.

So, yeah. Night weaning has not solved my sleep problems. Annika clearly needs nursing to help her as she struggles through her developmental phases. Maybe she's needs it more than other kids. That's okay with me. I like knowing that she leans on me. I hope that she always does. I want her to know that I'll always be there for her.

And the cool thing is, I am learning how to deal. These first two years of being a parent have made me tougher than I ever imagined I could be or ever would be.

I thought I had done a lot of hard things in my life. I got married and moved across the world to another country.

I got divorced.

I lived in Detroit. Alone. For several years.

I've done numerous other things here that were hard and scary that I'm not going to mention.

But let me tell you, none of that stuff has anything on being a parent. It's toughest, scariest, rockiest road I've ever traveled. And night nursing was just the beginning.

Spring: a time for renewing my nursing vows

I think people should make resolutions not once a year, but for every season.

I've always been a big believer in resolutions, even though I don't always stick to them, they are good reminders of things that I want. And in the end, if I want it badly enough and resolve it often enough, I usually do it. Eventually. Most of the time. Sometimes. Okay, maybe not ever. But sometimes, I do. Really.

To that end, my spring resolution is a renewal of my original intent to continue nursing Annika until she is ready to wean on her own. I'm even contemplating going back to night nursing since night weaning hasn't been the cure-all for my sleep ailments that I thought it would.

About a month ago, I began contemplating weaning.

I was sick of the constant clutching at my clothes and rolling around in my arms to position herself at my breast when I was holding her. I was frustrated because Annika would turn up her nose at food, but then two seconds later request to nurse.

So I decided to turn to my trusty mothering books for some answers.

I've been reading, How Weaning Happens, and Mothering Your Nursing Toddler. These books have helped me to realize that most of what I've been feeling is completely normal. Feeling frustrated because she prefers to nurse instead of eat regular food. Worrying that she's not getting enough nutrition. Annoyed because every time we are about to go somewhere she wants to stop and nurse. More annoyed because she wants to nurse before she gets strapped into the car seat after a trip somewhere, even when I tell her we can nurse as soon as we get home. Frustrated because nursing has become physically irritating.

But in reading these books, I have realized that some of my frustration is possibly some of the cause of additional nursing. I had wondered if that might be the case. Nursing to Annika represents not just nutrition, but closeness to me. It is a big part of her support system. Suckling helps her ease her stress during heavy developmental periods. When I tell her no, or blow her off with distractions, it represents rejection to her, thereby adding to her stress.

It's not like I didn't already know that stuff. I did. But it was hard to see it through my gritted teeth and clenched hands during the nursing sessions that were little more than light sucking most of the time. I'd look down at her and say, "You're not even really nursing!" I began to wonder just what it was exactly that she was getting out of it.

It made it even harder to be at playgroups with other kids her age and their moms saying, "Oh yeah, we've completely weaned. It didn't seem to bother little so-and-so in the slightest." Or, "Oh, yeah, she sleeps through the night, no problem."

It seemed to me like most of the other moms I knew in real life didn't have the same issues surrounding nursing that I did.

I felt alone in my struggle and questioning myself about how much she really needed to nurse and was I just creating bad habits.

But these books, and additionally some online friends have rallied around me in support, telling me I'm not the only one. She will eventually grow out of it. And yes, she really does need it. Even though all the stupid parenting experts say she doesn't.

Where did my little girl go?

For the longest time, I thought Annika would be a baby forever.

Of course, that's ridiculous. I knew that logically. But there was something in my brain that couldn't let go of the image of us as mother and baby forever. The idea that she would grow up seemed so far off in my mind that I just concentrated on her as a baby and read books on babies and thought baby thoughts.

Then over the past couple of months, I realized with a horror that she is almost 2!

Two freakin' years old! Where did these past two years go? It seemed like only a few months ago I was still pregnant and then giving birth, cuddling my sweet, soft, newborn.

It's a little early for this post, I realize, since her birthday is not for another month and a half (May 10 if you want to send gifts, LOL). But for some reason, this seemed like the appropriate time to write about it. Maybe it's because I've realized that my memory is never going to be the same again and since I'm thinking about it, I should do it now. There is something about becoming older and having failing body parts that makes you start to really live in the moment. :)

But anyway, Annika has been developing rapidly as of late.

She has start saying, "Cool," and "Cause," as pat responses. She tries to work remotes and she actually succeeds more often than I expect.

She has recently started to bargain with me, which trips me out.

She has gotten picky about what she wears and when she likes her outfit, she pulls at her shirt and says, "Annika cute."

She knows all her colors. She can count to 10 and is beginning to recognize most of the numbers in random spots. She likes to sing the alphabet, although she can still only get up to ABCD, then H, by herself. She also knows XYZ.

She has favorite foods already. She loves cashews and cantaloupe and chocolate. She refuses to eat vegetables even though during her first year she gobbled them down voraciously much to our (and everyone we told) surprise. She requests pizza occasionally.

She's such a, a, a, dare I say it? A KID! Oh my god. And it just happened overnight.

Just like the birds and the bees, parents should talk about race

Annika has been learning her colors for some time now. She learned brown and orange pretty well several months ago For a while she confused all her colors, but in the past few weeks she's really gotten the hang of it. Since she understands now that she knows her colors, she's been excitedly pointing out the colors of things without being prodded.

A mama friend of mine, who is also a fellow Bi-racial mom, told me that her daughter started being curious about her skin color around the age of 2. So ever since Annika's new proficiency with colors and labeling them I've been waiting with mild and somewhat increasing interest in when she notices our skin color is different.

A couple of weeks ago we were sitting in the living room with our dog, Baltar, and she looked at him and said to me, "Baltar brown."

This was new, pointing out his color instead of the color of something inanimate. I wondered if she was going to notice her own skin color, and then mine. I still don't know what exactly I will say to her about our differences. I think at first I will be matter-of-fact about it and then as she ages and the appropriate times present themselves I will delve deeper into it.

Then she looked down at herself and said, "Annika pink."

She was wearing a pink shirt.

Then she pointed at me and said, "Mommy red."

Yep, I was wearing a red shirt.

I wasn't disappointed though. She's a little young to talk to about skin color yet.

But that episode and a Facebook exchange with another mom about brown-skinned dolls led to a reminder of a couple of articles I read last year that I loved and I wanted to share. Even if you don't have children, these articles are good reminders that we, as a society, are still not completely comfortable with the topic of race. But it's good to talk about it, as you will read.

The first article is an excerpt from the book Nurtureshock. The article talks about how children are inherently racist. Not that they hate all people of different color, but they naturally select people who are like their parents, gravitate to them, and unless they are told differently, they believe that people similar to them are the best.

Studies performed at University of Texas, in Austin, showed that White parents didn't want to talk to their children about race. Unfortunately, this is the wrong way to approach it. These parents want their children to be colorblind. Their intentions are admirable. But silence on the topic was found to give the children the opposite idea. The researchers found that these kids, who could clearly see the differences, took it to mean that their parents didn't like Black people, or they thought it was a taboo topic.

The next article is about a Black family who adopted a White little girl and the racist attitudes they encountered, especially the father when he was alone with his daughter.

Hair products aren't black and white

After skin color, the other most obvious difference between the races is typically hair texture.

When I was pregnant I wondered about fixing Annika's hair.

How would I comb it? Would it be easy? Would I mess it up? When do I start using product? Do I really need to use product?


                                                                              Last week we visited Toyin's family in Michigan. One of the mornings that we stayed at his parents' house, I got in the shower with my toiletries from home and realized that my crappy little plastic travel shampoo bottle had cracked and most of the shampoo had leaked out.

I was reminded of why I had actually brought my own shampoo. Even though I had not given it much thought, I had this idea that I wouldn't be able to use the shampoo at Toyin's parents' house. Toyin rarely uses shampoo on his own hair, so it's never been something we have discussed. Plus, well, he's a guy. I have never really talked about hair products with any of the men in my life.

So when I got into their shower, and realized I might have to use some of his mom's shampoo, I examined it and realized that there was nothing much different about it than my own shampoo other than it was for curly hair and I don't have curly hair.

I felt like an ass. This whole hair product myth in my head was just another one of those stupid stereotypes or just flat out pieces of misinformation.

I mean, it has never occurred to me to buy different shampoo for Annika than for myself. Conditioner, maybe, but not shampoo. And the conditioner would only be different because she has thick, curly hair, unlike my flat, limp hair. So why would hair products for Toyin's family be any different than Annika's?

After my shower I got myself dressed and I began cleaning Annika up the for the day. I haven't bought any hair products for her yet, although I've been meaning to, so I decided to look at Toyin's mom's stuff and see if she had anything I could use on Annika.

I tried this stuff called Luster. It worked great. I barely even needed to comb her hair because it smoothed it out so much.

Then, in order to cultivate myself a little further into the world of African American hair products, I decided to see how it would react to my hair.

I dabbed a tiny bit on my palm and smoothed it on the tip of some of my strands. I was like, "Wow, this stuff is great!"

It didn't take much, but it smoothed out my frizzies ever so slightly and made my hair feel silkier than usual.


The next day I tried his mom's shampoo, Creme of Nature detangling shampoo. I really liked it. It was a bit creamier and a little heavier than what I typically use, but my hair was less frizzy than usual too. I'm planning on buying some and I will likely use it on myself as well as Annika.

Deep in my roots I am a bit more of a hillbilly than many White folks, so maybe I'm in the minority, but I grew up thinking that (big deep breath here, please don't think I'm an idiot) Black people's hair was way oilier than White hair.

I have no idea where that idea came from. I'm not even sure I remember ever hearing it from anyone. Maybe it was because it was the 70s and the Jheri curl was a popular hair-do, which to me, always looked wet.

What I've learned from various Black friends over the years is that Black hair is typically drier than White hair. Heavier conditioners and less washing is a must for Black folks, also the reason many Black women wear braids a lot of the time or use hair weave to keep their natural hair from breaking.

I've learned a lot about the differences between the races in my adult life, and now that I have a child, I'm starting to see the similarities.

Kwintshle kwintshle Little Star, I'm finally as important as my car

Annika mixes up her Ks and Ts. When she asks for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, she says, "Kwintshle, Mama, Kwintshle." When she gets tickled, she laughs and says, "kittle." This has nothing to do with health care reform and the bill finally passing, as this post does, it's just fucking cute.

When I awoke this morning to read that the health care bill finally passed yesterday, I shed a few tears of joy and relief.

I've been without health insurance since Annika was 6 months old. I left my job to care for her at home in the first year of her life and with that decision came a decision to lose health insurance for myself. I was lucky enough to have an employer who would cover me for the first six months after she was born. They were not required to do so, but they did anyway because it's a small company and they felt like it was a good decision for the company and their employees leaving on maternity leave.

My biggest fear with losing health insurance was not for my current health, but for some big unknown in the future. What if I get cancer and my then insurance drops me because it might be a pre-existing condition? 

Now that we have health care reform in this country I am overjoyed at the prospect that I will soon (someday?) be able to pay a bill once a month that will allow me to be covered in the event of a catastrophic occurrence in my life, much the same as if I were to have a car wreck and my car is covered.

I've always thought that insurance was one of those necessary evils. I mean, it's silly to pay into a system that you will never get anything out of unless something bad happens to you, right? In theory and with cars and homes, yes, it is sort of silly, however in such a large society, I suppose it's necessary. The truth is, big companies have more clout than the average American and the reason cars and houses are required by law to be covered is because banks don't want to take the fall for accidents. Human beings on the other hand, can just go piss off.

The odds that my body will fail at some point in my life are greater than my car getting into a deadly wreck before I trade it in for a new one.

My expectations of a great change with this health care bill are not great. It will be months, if not years (more likely) before people like me will be able to expect any great change in their lives. I might even (hopefully will) have some coverage through a job or another network by then.

But it's nice to know that our lawmakers finally acknowledge that people are just as important as cars and houses. Finally.

Finding a Bi-racial baby doll is starting to stress me out

Did you know that they sell hair relaxers for little girls? Yeah, you know, chemicals to make your hair straight if you have curly hair. They are sold in the ethnic section. But the pictures of all the girls are Black girls. I guess that's what ethnic means. (Please note the sarcasm.)

Yet, in those same stores you will be lucky to find a Black baby doll that would be way more appropriate to buy for the girls that are pictured on the side of the boxes of those hair chemicals.

This post has been brewing in my mind since I wrote my last post. The same day I read this article on The Root.

My first thought, to be honest, was, "Wow, they had enough Black Barbies to put them on sale? Where is this store?" (Louisiana.)

Ever since I was pregnant with Annika I have browsed the toy sections at random stores checking for Bi-racial and Black babies. And I am continually disappointed with the lack of baby dolls in colors besides White.

Annika actually has a Bi-racial baby doll, which I happened to come across at a used toy store, quite randomly. But other than that doll, I have yet to see any Bi-racial dolls and rarely see Black dolls in stores.

Now, I'm not a shopper by nature. I admit freely that I haven't done as much checking as I should have.

But this week we spent some time at a friend's house who has a 3-year-old. She has way more baby dolls than Annika. Annika was so absorbed in playing with the dolls, holding them, feeding them, pushing them in the stroller, I realized I need to get her more. She has exactly two, and one of them is White. Thanks Mom.

Spending time with our little friend who is well-endowed with baby dolls made me realize that I have been remiss in searching for some baby dolls closer to Annika's color, so I checked at the few stores we visited this week.

I didn't exactly expect grocery stores and pharmacies to carry a wide variety of dolls, but I figured they would probably have a few white dolls and maybe one shade of brown.

None of them had any brown.

I felt, sad. Angry. I wondered if I should complain to the management, but I didn't really feel like it would do any good. The problem is not with the managers at a handful of local grocery stores in largely White Austin. 

This morning I did a search on Amazon and was sadly, sadly disappointed to find exactly one Bi-racial baby doll. Two things. First off, she costs $49.95 and secondly, she doesn't even look Bi-racial! She looks White with brown curly hair. I found this doll labeled multi-ethnic, when I searched for Bi-racial baby doll. Closer to Annika's color, but she comes with a pretty hefty price, at $98. Oh, and she comes with a storybook and self-esteem poster too! Thanks for assuming my "multi-ethnic" child has self-esteem issues.

So, short story, when I look at run-of-the-mill stores for a baby doll for my daughter, I can't find one. When I search Amazon for Bi-racial baby doll, I come up with "Your search did not match any products." But they give me plenty of White dolls to choose from. A search for Bi-racial doll comes up with exactly three dolls
all priced between $50-$100.

I followed a few other links and found some Black and Bi-racial baby dolls. Amazon has several multi-ethnic dolls. Way to cover all your bases doll companies.

The thing is, I don't like to shop. I don't want to have to research buying a doll for my daughter. But it looks like I'm going to have to. Pretty ridiculous.

I know that there are going to plenty of dolls to choose from once I find them, and I'm sure they won't all be so high dollar. But it sure would have been nice to be able to pick up a cute little $5 bean bag doll at the grocery store.

My daughter is NOT the color of food

I think I finally get it. At least -- as much as a White person can "get it." And I'm even going to attempt writing about it, even though I'm not sure I can explain it.

Yesterday a White woman casually referred to Annika as "caramel-skinned."

She wasn't being racist or malicious. But in some ways that is exactly the problem.

She was reminding me that we'd met before and in her attempt to describe Annika she used the phrase. Likely it's her uber-liberal, supposedly open-minded way of attempting to connect to people of color without using such banal terms as "Black" or "African American."

I'm not a big fan of such terms as descriptors either. Not that there's anything wrong with saying them. What it comes down to is that they're overused, not that they should be changed to something less baggage-filled.

Living in Detroit for nine years, I got schooled in all the subconscious slights that we Whites/Caucasians make toward Blacks/African Americans.

It's not real racism. It's the kind of undercurrent that we (Whites) completely miss. It's so ingrained in us that it's normal that we don't understand some of the hostility we receive. Hell, a lot of the hostility that's doled out is subconscious and ingrained as well.

Toyin and I have had some pretty enlightening conversations about race.

But even so, since becoming Annika's mother, I have been on the end of such missteps by other White folks and actually felt the icky feelings.

When I was still pregnant I overheard a White woman telling a little girl that she liked her "puff balls."

She was talking about her hair.

I'm sure the woman meant no harm, but I was irritated as fuck by it. And I didn't even know the little girl.

Later on in my pregnancy I was taking a trip to see Toyin in Detroit. On the airplane I was sitting next to a White woman about my age and we got to chatting. She was a mother of two, so she was interested in hearing all about my birth plans and the father of my child.

As mothers do, we fell into talking about things that most strangers would not talk about, TMI subjects like poop, childhood bi-polarism, pregnancy sex, and then lice.

I had mentioned that Toyin was African, so she knew that I was carrying a bi-racial child.

When the topic of lice came up, I said, "Ooooh, that sounds gross. I so hope I never have to deal with that."

She replied, "Oh, no, you won't. They (lice) don't like horse hair."

I couldn't breathe for a few seconds. I felt like I had been kicked in the gut. Did she just compare my child's hair to animal hair?

Yes, yes she did.

I stuttered for a few seconds and said something that passed for a response.

She looked uncomfortable. We talked for a few minutes to pretend like nothing had happened. Then we fell into a silence for a time.

She probably didn't mean anything by it. It was probably so ingrained in her upbringing and since I am White, she fell into the trap of saying racist things to other Whites without fear of indignation.

And in case you're wondering, as Toyin did. I did not misunderstand her. It just reminded me that it was a common comparison that I had heard growing up in west Texas.

So, back to the overuse of the terms, African American and Black.

Nothing wrong with it, when used correctly or in the right context. But as Toyin explained to me once when I told him I didn't see anything wrong with using them as descriptors he said to me, "Yes, but why does it always have to be the first descriptor. How often to you describe someone as the White person? You would use the hair color, or height or what color shirt he/she is wearing." 

This might seem benign to some. I can say that at some point in my life, it certainly did to me.

But now, as a mother, I have begun to see how what others think of you can define you in many ways. It takes a strong and mature person to fight against stereotypes and even then, people don't always manage to fight them successfully.

So, really, changing her descriptors to something that sounds sweet or delicious doesn't change the fact that you are using her skin color to describe who she is.