And OF COURSE, I spent a good amount of time on the Georgia Department of Driver Services website, trying to make sure I had all the documents I needed to obtain this license, because waiting in line for NO REASON is infuriating. I thought I had everything- passport, social security card, proof of residence, my unexpired license. But after 20 minutes of line to get to the woman who gives you a number (not even the person who could help me obtain the license. Just the line to stand in another line, although there were chairs for the second part), it turns out I actually need TWO proofs of residence. That sounds wrong- two documents providing proof of residence? Why is there not a simpler way to say that?

Ok, FINE. I didn’t scour the website ENOUGH, apparently, and I missed the part about needing TWO documents to prove residence, so I am JUST fine taking this one on the nose. It’s my fault. I get it.

On the list of approved documents to prove residency, I see that I can bring in a bill for water or garbage or gas or what have you. But I don’t work. Generally, all those bills are in J’s name, because she is employed, and therefore is capable of paying those bills. Of course, this is not exactly how it works, but for the sake of simplicity, let’s say that it is, so I cannot use this as proof of residency.

The state of Georgia has provided for women in my situation- all I have to do is bring in the unexpired Georgia license of a spouse or relative residing in the same household, and this will provide proof of residency. Ok, fine- I suppose I can wait for J to get HER license, in between working 60 hour weeks and driving 60 miles a day to and from work, once we get a bill in her name delivered to the house.

OK, though, seriously? The law states that you have THIRTY DAYS to get new licences and register your cars from the day you establish residency. But you most likely have to wait about 30 days to get a bill with your name and new address delivered, so this deadline is ALREADY virtually impossible to meet, even if you DON’T have to wait for your spouse to get licensed. I know, I know. No one is gonna pull me over for driving with California plates and ask me when I moved here, and then haul me off to jail because it was TWO months ago, not less than 30 days. I get it. But COME ON. It’s the law, and I like obeying the law.

BUT HERE’S THE THING, and thank you for reading six hundred words to get here- how do I prove that J is my spouse? Georgia does not allow domestic partnerships, and I seriously doubt showing up with my Canadian marriage license is going to be good enough. It’s not like I can skate by on J’s androgynous first name- people often mistake her for my husband when all they see is our names written down- if I have to bring her actual driver’s license with me, it’s gonna say RIGHT ON IT that she’s female.

(It just occurred to me that I could pass her off as my sister- we have the same last name, but you know. The law, and the part where I like obeying it).

If we were a heterosexual couple, I’d just tuck our marriage license in my bag, as added proof, and be on my way. But here in America, I have no such document. I can, obviously, just GO, and SEE what happens, but as I covered in the opening bit, no one LIKES to go to the DMV. No one goes there without being reasonably certain they’re going to walk out of there with what they came for, and since I don’t KNOW that just trying has a chance in hell of working, I’m… not going to.

It’s not really a big deal, in all honesty- it turns out J applied for the water bill in both our names; when that comes, I’ll set my alarm for 6:30 again and go stand in line a second time. I’ll get the stupid license, and I’ll get the cars registered. But it’s another little thing, on top of all the OTHER little things, that makes not being legally married a hassle.

PS-Honestly, it would be better if I still worked- I could show up with my own W2 and our lease agreement, and I’d have been done by now. But TONS of hetero women stay home with their children, and the law provides for them in multiple ways- they can get licenses, they can contribute to IRA accounts, they can obtain their husband’s military pensions. I don’t see why it should be so different for me.

PPS- This is also why a state-by-state approach isn’t the answer to gay marriage. What was I supposed to do, tell J to QUIT HER JOB because it moved us to a place where our union is unrecognized? IN THIS ECONOMY?

PPPS- for those of you keeping track at home, J’s adoption of Olivia has been approved. She has filed the paperwork in LA County, and we are awaiting a court date. For this court date, all three of us must appear before the judge. We will have to fly to CA, pay for a place to stay, and rent a car. J will miss work, at least one day, for us to spend at the courthouse. A million little things, all piled up.

Of course, the man and his wife had contacted his adoption agency and gotten no information, which is why they were turning to social media, and which is why this ASTOUNDING amount of personal information was now available to me, a COMPLETE STRANGER (but that is a rant for a whole ‘nother post, not this one).  I also read the comments, interested in what people had to say about this situation.  There were people wishing them luck on their search, and several people very concerned about whether or not his adoptive parents were supportive or okay with his choice to find his birth parents, but no one, NO ONE, expressed any concern about the birth mother.  No one.

This man was born in 1981 in California (OMFG, YOU GUYS.  THIS IS ALL INFORMATION THAT WAS RIGHT ON FACEBOOK I AM SHOCKED AT HOW MUCH I KNOW ABOUT THIS GUY IT’S UNBELIEVABLE  SORRY I CANNOT GET OVER THIS PART RIGHT NOW), which, although more than 30 years ago now, we can all agree is the “modern” era.  As in, adoption was not something women were forced to do, if they didn’t want (generally speaking, of course, I know, I know, even in these modern times, yadda yadda, limited abortion access, I know), and giving up a child in a CLOSED adoption was most likely one of several choices this man’s birth mother was afforded at the time of his birth.  What I’m trying to say, very inelegantly, is that this man was not born in 1910, or 1810, or some other time where women were generally not permitted to make these choices themselves.  While I KNOW that I am presuming an awful lot about this woman, I feel reasonably sure that she had SOME ELEMENT of choice in the matter of the adoption of her child.  I might, of course, be totally wrong, which has been known to happen, but even if I am wrong in this particular instance, I feel comfortable making the argument that is forthcoming (eventually, I promise).

And that argument is, simply, that this man’s birth mother made a choice to have a closed adoption FOR A REASON.  And maybe it’s because my family is sort of on the other side of the equation (I’ll explain in a minute), but I think it’s deeply disrespectful of the wishes of the birth mother to harness social media (or a private investigator, or a psychic, or a shaman, or whatever) to find her, when she SO CLEARLY made her wishes known.

You and I don’t need to know her reason.  There are a million times in our lives where we will simply not know the reason for something.  Even her child, obviously adopted into a loving family, is not OWED an explanation, or a meeting, or even any information about his birth mother, simply because she declined to offer it.  I am aware that this might be an unpopular opinion, and I don’t care.  If I were to make such a momentous choice, and to decide, in my right mind, that I wanted the make the adoption closed, so that my offspring couldn’t find me, then I would hope that everyone involved, the nurses, the agency, the loved ones in my life who knew what I’d done, would have the decency to respect my decision.  They might not like it, and that’s fine.  I’ll hazard that there are people in my life RIGHT NOW who do not approve of my choice to not work in my chosen field in order to stay home with my child, and they’re entitled to their opinion, as long as they RESPECT me enough to not bother me about it.

But what if she was YOUNG and IMPRESSIONABLE and CHANGED HER MIND, I hear people out there saying.  While I allow that it may be possible that she did, in fact, later in life, wish that she hadn’t closed the adoption, the fact is that she did.  That at the time, she made the decision that was best for her, and now she, and the resultant offspring, have to live with that.  We’ve all made decisions that we wish we could change now, in retrospect, but life doesn’t work that way.  You don’t get to change the fact that you ate an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s, no matter how much you regret it.  She doesn’t get to magically open her adoption because somehow, now, she thinks she made the wrong choice.

[GIANT ASIDE: I don't know, man. I think people making those sorts of arguments about the birth mother changing her mind are being kinda douchey about it.  You think a woman, no matter how young, just gives a child up for adoption easily?  Like, with no thought about the potential ramifications?  That's the same argument people are making about women using abortion like birth control, and I DEFINITELY think those people are douches.]

What does this have to do with me?  J and I chose an anonymous sperm donor for Olivia.  We had the choice between an anonymous donor and one who was “willing to be known,” and we chose the anonymous donor, SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE he was anonymous.  While I understand that someday, Olivia may want to know “where she came from,” the truth will be that she came from our love and our dedication to raising her.  She will have no way of contacting the man who offered her his DNA, and she will have to live with that fact.  It will be NONE OF HER BUSINESS why he chose to donate anonymously, and it will be one of the millions of things in life she will just have to accept.  She will also have to accept that her parents are gay and her eye squinch shut when she smiles, and there will be nothing she can do to change those things.  This might sound harsh and terrible, but COME ON.  There are tons of things we force our children to JUST DEAL WITH, whether it be broccoli or little siblings.  In the grand scheme of things, it’s really, really not that big a deal.  REALLY.

BUT WHAT ABOUT HER MEDICAL HISTORY, I hear those same people yelling.  Oh, fuck off.  Did you straight parents interview the person you were planning on having children with regards to their medical history? “Oh, I was GOING to have kids with you, but your mom has breast cancer.  NEVERMIND.”  At the time of his donation, our donor was somewhere in the neighborhood of 25 years old, with 2 living parents in good health.  He doesn’t know JACK SHIT about his medical history, and besides, any HUGE genetic anomalies would have disqualified him from donating IN THE FIRST PLACE.

Olivia will never meet the man who gave her some DNA, and I really don’t think her life will be any poorer for it.  I hope she doesn’t spend time searching for someone who doesn’t want to be known, or time worrying about or missing someone who’s express wish was not to know her.  What a waste of a beautiful and amazing life that would be.

So, good luck, David Smith, born in Chico, California, in 1981.  But I hope you don’t find out who your birth mom is because some asshole on Facebook decided her privacy and desires aren’t really that important.

What Noemi Does To Her Own Hair, Which May Or May Not Work For You.

For those of you just joining us now, this is me and my current hairstyle:

I think (my mom can chime in here, if she’s so inclined) I had mostly just wavy hair as a child, but things seemed to have morphed during puberty giving me a head full of curls I butchered with short, unflattering cuts until I finally grew it long in high school.  At which point I simply changed what direction I took in my abuse of my hair, and that is by soaking it in a disgusting L’Oreal product called Pumpin’ Curls, which is essentially rubbing alcohol, and carries the warning that it is FLAMMABLE.

In college I wore it butch-ass short, and then took the following two years to grow it back out, so it wasn’t until I moved to Seattle in 1999 that I finally had both enough hair and enough of being displeased with it that I decided I should DO something about it.  Y’all, I didn’t have the internet at home in 1999, so I’d go to the local library to check my Hotmail.  And then, after seeing no job offers in the aforementioned Hotmail account, I’d wander the stacks, trying to look employable.

BDOC: 1997

Which is where I ran across Curly Girl: The Handbook.  This book gave me a reason and the tools to change everything about the way I dealt with my hair, and if you’re interested in the science behind curly hair and why you need to baby the shit out of it, this is a good place to start.

I’m not going to bore you with a big long discussion of all the products and techniques I did to get to what I do now (I mean, unless you want me to, via email), so here’s exactly what I do.

I use four products total: shampoo, conditioner, a leave-in conditioner, and gel.

Shampoo and Conditioner:

These are Deva products (made by the company started by the author of the Curly Girl Handbook), and I usually order them online, but some salons do carry them, with the attendant mark-up, of course.  If you see this at Target or the grocery store, it’s stock that “fell off a truck,” and you’re going to pay WAY over retail for them., so stick to the salon or the internet.

Low-Poo: I know, it’s an idiotic name.  This is a low-lather shampoo that gets my hair clean, given that I’m unable to shower every day, and have a tendency towards greasy-ness.  The 12 ounce bottle pictured above lasts me… uh, a long time?  At least a couple months?  Gentle enough to use every day.

One Condition: I use a metric fuckton of this, which is why I buy that huge pump bottle size, instead of the 12 ounce size like the shampoo.  I shampoo first thing when I get in the shower, rinse, then apply conditioner and go about the rest of my shower.  I rinse as the very last thing before I exit the shower, and I don’t COMPLETELY rinse.  My hair still feels a bit slippery, not squeaky or rough.  If I feel like I’ve rinsed TOO MUCH, I just add a little bit back.

Styling Products:

Knot Today: This is a leave-in conditioner, and I use a healthy dollop (I don’t know- usually when you read these types of posts, they tell you amounts in coin sizes. So, uhhhh, silver dollar size?  I have no fucking clue).

Curling Custard: This is a gel, and I use a small scoop; the amount that fits on my first three fingertips when I dip them into the tub.

Now, the routine itself:

In the shower, I shampoo and condition, leaving a bit of conditioner in when I do my final rinse.  Now, this next part is different than what I talked about doing for kids, because it’s a bit more involved and you’re an Adult, and can handle it.  Before I get out of the shower stall, I run my hands over my hair and squeeze some water out.  My hair is still SOAKING.

Now we go straight to product.  I know, it’s WEIRD.  Your hair is dripping down your back, it’s itchy and uncomfortable, but SERIOUSLY.  This is the step that changes everything. I put my silver dollar (or whatever) amount of Knot Today in my hands and smear it around on my palms.  Then I flip my hair forward and holding my fingers like a rake, I shake my hair loose from its slicked back state.  Now the curls are “loose” and I scrunch the Knot Today in all over, scrunching up from the bottom, adding a bit right in the front (where my “bangs” would be, if I had them).  Some people will tell you to rake this product through your hair to make sure every strand is coated, but my curl pattern is too delicate for that sort of treatment.  If you’re just starting this sort of routine, you’re gonna have to play with it a bit to see what works with your particular hair, so if you think this shake and scrunch technique is TOO delicate for you, try something more.

My hair is still sopping wet.  With it still flipped forward, I use that same scrunching motion to dry it with a microfiber towel (I use automotive shop towels). This is all the drying I’m going to do, and I don’t even do that much.  Just enough for it to stop dripping.

Now, this part might just be me, but at this point I leave the steamy bathroom and start getting dressed.  It’s most likely bullshit, but I feel like the transition between hot bathroom to cool bedroom “shocks” the hair cuticle shut, preventing it from losing more moisture.  I TOLD YOU IT WAS MOST LIKELY BULLSHIT.  I DO IT ANYWAYS.

Once I’m dressed, I flip my head forward once more, and again with the scrunching motion, add in the Curling Custard, concentrating on the ends of my hair.  And that’s it.  My hair is still very wet, but that’s all I’m going to do with it for the rest of the day.  The hardest part from here on out it keeping my hands out of it- the more I mess with it before it’s dry, the more I disturb the curl pattern.  When I worked, the 15 minute drive to work was just enough time to let my hair “set.”  I’d arrive at the parking garage, scrunch the curls one last time, and TA-DA!

It sounds like a lot, but I GUARANTEE it takes less time than blow-drying and flat ironing.  Try it!

Some additional thoughts:

If you’re using silicone based products to tame the frizz or as a “heat protectant” because you flat iron, you’re going to want to do a clarifying shampoo first before you try new products.  Those silicones have coated your hair shaft, and these no-detergent shampoos aren’t going to be strong enough to remove this buildup.

Your hair is gonna look worse before it looks better.  I know, this TOTALLY blows.  Start the first time on a Friday night, so you have the weekend to throw yourself a pity party and write me a scathing email about how you wasted at least 15 minutes reading all these words and your hair looks like shit.  It’s cool, I can take it.  Generally, you should stick with it for 2 weeks, but I started seeing a difference by the third day (so, Sunday in my hypothetical above).

If it’s cold where you are, you’re also up against the dry air, which is counterproductive to all this moisturizing you’re trying to do.  You can do as much drying as possible at home using a diffuser, or you can wait to try this when it’s warmer, or you can have frozen hair (this was my choice.  I know, I know.  Colds are still caused by viruses).

The importance of a good hair stylist cannot be understated.  They don’t need to be specially trained and only do curly-haired clients, although that’s not a bad thing.  What they do need to know is how to cut curly hair in general (like no bobs that end around the ear where all the hair is one length, JESUS H. CHRIST, even people with STRAIGHT hair knows that gives you triangle head like that Dilbert chick); and how to use thinning shears.  NaturallyCurly.com has a tab where in salons and stylists in all 50 states are rated by other people with curly hair, sometimes at great length, so if your current stylist isn’t working for you, you might want to check it out.

YouTube has a bajillion videos with all kinds of women with all kinds of hair types doing these sorts of techniques- it really helped me to watch a real live person SHOW me how to do it.

I don’t have a good “second day” hair routine- if I did my hair the day before, and don’t sleep on it until it is BONE DRY, it looks good enough the next day to wear down (although I think some of this has to be attributed to the CUT, which has that tousled-just-out-of-bed look to it anyways.  My undying gratitude to my stylist, Kellianne). After that it’s a million and one variations on the bun/ponytail.  If you find something that works for you, drop me a line, eh?

If it’s not painfully obvious by now, I like to talk hair, so feel free to tell me what works for you.

But first: Here is a picture of me, and my hair, so you can see that I have SOME idea what I am talking about.

(Ignore the deer in headlights look, I am not skilled in self-portraiture).

Disclaimer: this is loosely based on what I do for my own hair, and it’s what works for me.  It might not work for you, but I’d be willing to bet it’ll set your kid’s hair on the right path, and that is the path away from dreadlocks and frizzy rat’s nests.

Disclaimer the Second: I do not do this for my own daughter’s hair.  I probably should, but eh.  Her hair looks OK as is:

First things first: Product.  Look, do not be ashamed or concerned that your kid needs special product.  If your kid had crazy dry skin (mine does), you’d go out and buy Cetaphil cream or whatever your pediatrician recommended, even if a tub costs $13, and you think that’s kind of expensive for lotion.  For a baby.  I mean, no one has ever DIED of dry skin, right?  But I buy that stuff for her, and slather her with it after every bath, and I don’t feel any guilt at all.  So why should hair products be any different?  Your kid has gorgeous, awesome hair.  You are going to get compliments on it everywhere you go.  You will most likely reduce the amount of time you spend pulling tangles out of it, and when your kid gets old enough to know, he or she will be really happy with his or her gorgeous and healthy hair.

The products I’m going to talk about here run right around $12 for 8 ounces, but as short and as fine as your toddler’s hair is, that 8 ounces is going to last you a good long time.  That said, there are all sorts of budgets out there, and maybe that’s out of reach for you.  That’s ok- go to NaturallyCurly.com, and check out the forums.  There are people there MAKING their own product for much cheaper, and if that sounds like a giant pain in the ass, click the CurlMart tab, and read reviews ALL DAY for all sorts of products at all sorts of price points.

Just do me and your kid’s hair a giant favor, and stay away (generally speaking) from drugstore brand hair products marked for curly hair.  These may seem like they work at first, but they usually contain alcohols or silicones.  While these might make hair look good and even curly in the short term, they’re not helping AT ALL in terms of the health of the hair or encouraging the hair’s own natural ability to curl.  You know how, after a night of drinking, you’re really fucking thirsty?  Alcohol dehydrates- and if 5 drinks can dehydrate a GROWN HUMAN, imagine what spraying it directly onto your baby’s fine hair is going to do to it.  Check the label of whatever product you’re currently using to tame your kid’s hair- if it’s got alcohol in the first… I don’t know, let’s say 5 ingredients, toss it.  Really.  I’ll send you the $4.

Silicones are another popular ingredient in drugstore products- at first glance, they do, in fact, tame frizz.  But silicones also coat the hair shaft, and your regular shampoo isn’t gonna get rid of it.  Over time, this buildup weighs the hair down so much the curl is completely inhibited.  This is why even women with straight hair need to do clarifying shampoos on occasion- all that buildup isn’t that great for their hair either.  Toss those products too.

Ok, so what I think should work pretty well for short, fine, thin toddler hair are these two products:

Kinky Curly Come Clean Shampoo and Kinky Curly Knot Today Conditioner. Those links are to the Target website, only because these products are available there (I know for sure here in CA, in NC, AZ, and VA, so my guess is everywhere), but you can get the same ones from Kinky-Curly directly, or from Beauty.com.

I picked these products because they are easily available, I use them, they are truly curly hair specific, and they don’t contain a whole bunch of chemical shit you don’t want near your kid.  They’re not “tear free” specifically, but there isn’t going to be giant chemical burn on your baby’s cornea if this does, perchance, get in her eye.

Ok, FINALLY, JESUS, GET TO THE POINT ALREADY:

Step 1: wash.  Just like you already shampoo your kid’s hair.  There’s no special way to shampoo.  Unless your kid cakes dirt and worms in his hair on the regular, there’s no need to do this every day, or even every other day.  Start with twice a week.  Rinse it all out.

Step 2: condition. You’re gonna want to be kind of generous with the Knot Today.  It rinses clean, so there’s not actually such a thing as “too much,” but it’s not the cheapest stuff on earth, either, so shoot for enough to get the hair nice and coated.  The hair should feel slippery and silky in your hands.  Once the hair is nice and coated, now is the time to detangle.  A wide tooth comb works really well, but some kids with very tight curls need something more heavy duty- I say whatever works.  The key is that the hair is well coated in conditioner and sopping wet.

Step 3: rinse. When you’re ready to rinse (lots of people, myself included, put the conditioner in right after shampooing, and leave it in until all done with every thing else involved in the shower), rinse 95% of the conditioner out.  Obviously, there’s no Condition-o-meter, but the idea is you want the hair to still be soft and slightly slippery, not squeaky or rough.

Step 4: dry.  So, you know how in the movies, the woman always exits the bathroom, wearing a fluffy white robe, and scrubbing the side of her head with a towel?  DON’T DO THAT.  Ideally, you should use a microfiber towel (you can spend $12 on one specifically designed for hair, or you can get twelve for the same price by shopping in automotive), but if you don’t have one, a terrycloth towel will do as well- it’s the technique that matters.  Drape the towel over your kid’s head, and use a scrunching motion to get some water out.  Same with a terrycloth towel- the thing you’re trying to avoid is scrubbing at the hair- this ruffles the cuticle and causes frizz.  Seriously- be gentle.  Better to leave more water than be too forceful with the drying.

Step 5: product.  Use the same Knot Today.  Rub a small amount in your palms and using the same scrunching motion, apply to the hair, concentrating on the ends.  If your kid’s hair is long, it might be easier to have him flip his head forward and apply from the bottom, but if your kid wiggles like mine, this will be impossible.  Do the best you can.

Step 6: dry.  You have reached the easy part.  Don’t dry.  Seriously.  I know, I know, your grandmother told you you’d catch cold if you walked outside with your hair wet.  Newsflash: grandma; colds are caused by viruses, not wet hair.  If you absolutely have to speed up the drying process, a diffuser set on the lowest “blow” setting and the highest heat your kid will tolerate.  Place the diffuser near the scalp, hold it there as long as possible (I’m typing this knowing it’s virtually impossible with small children, so… just let it air dry).

If this is a whole new routine for you, stop there.  Keep this routine up for a good two weeks, and see what’s going on with your kid’s hair.  A curl pattern should start to emerge- the curls should last longer and there should be less frizz.  It sounds like a lot, when it’s all written out like this, but once you get the hang of it, it’s a 5 minute out of the shower routine.

After two weeks, you should have a really good idea what your kid’s hair can do.  Now you can fuss with the details to develop a routine that’s perfect for your kid’s individual hair and your particular lifestyle/routine.

Some final thoughts:

You notice the curls drooping or “falling out” by the end of the day: consider adding a hold element to your routine.  I use Kinky-Curly Curling Custard (Jesus, hair product manufacturers, why can’t it just be called “gel”?)- it’s more liquid than typical gel, and slip slides without getting sticky.  A tiny amount applied to the lower parts of the hair using that same scrunching motion should help (you might have to “scrunch out the crunch” as the hair dries- but it won’t look weird if you don’t).

Your kid bathes at night and looks a mess in the morning: I have heard, but have not seen in action, that satin pillowcases can be helpful- my kid doesn’t even HAVE a pillow, so I don’t know how practical this is.  A better way to approach this problem is to “refresh” the curls.  Now, everyone will sell you a spray that purports to do this, including Kinky-Curly (Spiral Spritz), but you don’t need that.  You need a spray bottle, preferably one with a mist option, and you need some water.  Spritz this all over that bedhead, and let it air dry.  See what happens.  If you think you need more “oomph,” add a little bit of Knot Today in with your water, just enough to make the mixture slippery.  Spritz that on, and air dry.  See what happens.  You’re OF COURSE welcome to buy the branded product, but try something simpler first.

Weather: if you live somewhere where it is currently cold and dry, there’s only so much these products can do.  Curly hair is gonna react just like skin does in winter; it’s gonna get dry, and this can make keeping the curl in harder.  If you’re seeing improvement using this routine, keep it up until the weather changes- it certainly isn’t going to hurt.

Product: I already mentioned why I picked these particular products, but they’re not the only game in town.  Kinky-Curly itself has a kid specific line of products (Tiny Twirls), as does Ouidad.

Some other product lines, off the top of my head:

Miss Jessie’s

 Jessicurl

Deva products

Once you get the idea, you can explore other products, but the technique is pretty much going to stay the same.

Resources: this all started with a book called the Curly Girl Handbook.  I ran across an earlier version at the library twelve years ago, and I changed all my products and my hair care routine.

YouTube: since I can’t come to your house and show you, harness the power of the internet.  Type “kinky curly knot today” into the YouTube search bar and take your pick of approximately one billion videos showing you how to use it.

NaturallyCurly.com: it’s not the best website I’ve ever seen, and the forums can be clunky, but there’s good information there- parents with curly kids, making your own products, every curly hair product under the sun reviewed, etc.

MY LORD, if you made it this far, I offer you a medal.  I’d love to hear about what works for your kid in the comments or by email, and ask me whatever.  Clearly, I love to talk.

]]> http://noemican.wordpress.com/2013/01/03/help-my-kid-has-curly-hair/feed/ 15 noemican Image Image http://noemican.wordpress.com/2012/12/04/snapshot/ http://noemican.wordpress.com/2012/12/04/snapshot/#comments Tue, 04 Dec 2012 21:36:03 +0000 Noemi http://noemican.wordpress.com/?p=981 ]]> Take a short memo you have laying around on your desk.  Pick a really boring one, like maybe the one everyone gets once a year from Human Resources where they explain in really simple terms how your 401(k) works, or the one where they tell you how to log into the various web “portals” they have that will make it SO MUCH EASIER for you to find what you’re looking for on an HR website (even though no one has ever found anything on any HR website ever).  That’s not the point, though- the point is to locate a relatively short and boring memo.

Now that you have the memo, re-write it using only very simple nouns, and using anthropomorphized animals to illustrate the salient point of the memo.  Pigs are good, as are ducks and cats.  Print your revised memo onto card stock, and bind it together with a jazzy illustrated cover, full of bright colors and a wacky font.

Now.  Read it to your co-worker FOUR MILLION times.  No, I’m NOT kidding.  Read it to her.  Again.  AGAIN.  AGAIN.  Do not attempt to start in the middle of your memo, or to skip pages.  Read it using accents, funny voices, or while quacking.  Read it again.  You can TRY and read her another memo, and you might get away with it for a moment, maybe two if you offer a snack along with another memo, but don’t think you’re fooling anyone.  Don’t try and go to the bathroom in between readings, even if you PROMISE to come back and read it again.

Do all this reading while sitting in a chair sized for a toddler, 8 inches off the ground.  Go ahead, lower all 200 pounds of yourself onto a tiny red chair and try and tuck your legs under the equally miniature table, and read your memo.  Let your co-worker flip the pages, even when you’re not done reading the page you’re on.  It goes without saying that your coworker is climbing on you, the chair, the memo, and also has a runny nose.

OMFG, motherhood.

Current memo: Richard Scarry’s Best Word Book Ever

Coworker:

So we’re headed to the South- and although I was born and raised there (TARHEEL 4 LYFE), neither one of us knows exactly what we’re in for.  For starters, neither one of us has ever BEEN to Atlanta.  Well, ok, fine. I have been- I went twice in my twenties, to stay with some friends of friends and attend the Atlanta Pride festival.  Which means DICK ALL, because not only was I 20, I was also viewing everything through rainbow-colored glasses and concentrating most on how I could get one of the people I was travelling with to sleep with me, and also I was twenty, which was, OMFG, SIXTEEN years ago.  I can only imagine that Atlanta looks… different, now.

I want so much to be more excited about this move, I really do.  I am 100% supportive of J’s career, and HOLY SHIT, is this ever the right move for her.  I’m supportive not just because it’s what keeps food on the table and clothes on our back and toys in Olivia’s room, but because she’s a young woman making big headway in a not-super-woman-friendly industry.  I’m so proud of how hard she works and how dedicated she is and I am thrilled that other people see what she does and reward her accordingly.  But I’m also me, and that means I have thoughts of my own, and while I wish I could throw myself into this move with as much enthusiasm as I did the last time we moved, I have to admit I’m kinda scared.

What’s it like to be gay in Georgia?  What’s it like to be a gay mom in Georgia?  Georgia’s current legal viewpoint on gayness isn’t as liberal as California’s, and worrying about the safety of my family is new to me.  We’ve never voluntarily lived in a place that doesn’t recognize our commitment in some way, even in a just-for-show domestic partnership way.  We’ve never lived in a place that doesn’t recognize J’s role in Olivia’s life, even if she’s not her biological parent.

What if we end up living in the boonies?  What if the nearest park is miles and miles away?  What if there are no other moms to talk to and both Olivia and I end up alone and vinegary, unable to socialize properly with other humans?  I’m finding this motherhood thing to be rather… difficult, to put it mildly, and there’s no way I’m going to be any good at it if I have to do it without companionship for 8 hours a day.

On the logistical side of things- OH MY FUCKING GOD, I have to coordinate this move and keep Olivia entertained and properly napped and fed while interviewing movers and closing utilities and figuring out what the hell to do with the cats (while tempting, turning them into slippers isn’t actually a working plan).  Once on the ground, I have to find her a pediatrician and find myself a crazy-pill prescribing doctor.  I have to figure out our car situation and where the grocery store is and navigate a new city’s traffic.

There’s just SO MUCH to freak out about, isn’t there?

Before I get all balled up, let me just say that when I have taken a deep breath and I’ve had a calming cocktail, I know that this isn’t impossible, and that people do this and worse ALL THE TIME.  There will be food, and shelter, and new friends, and my own mother, a 45-minute plane ride away.  There will be children for Olivia to steal snacks from, and mothers to sip mimosas with, and babysitters who let J and I escape for the evening. There will ALWAYS be her and I, because that is what we promised each other there would always be.

PS: Our current plan is to keep our house here in California.  J’s company is offering us six months of temporary housing, so with a little luck we’ll be able to rent this house out and give ourselves a little breathing room before we have to DECIDE things.  We may also be able to come back here, once J whips her new facility into shape.

So hit me:  your favorite things about living in the Southern suburbs.  That time you moved somewhere and were scared and how it all worked out.  The super awesome person you met in a totally random way.  CHEER ME UP, INTERNET.

Feminists who’ve gotten hitched: what’s one advice you’d give to a feminist tying the knot? #feministbride

— Steph Herold (@StephHerold) September 18, 2012

My own answers (because of course, I cannot limit myself to a single thing, even though, you know, that’s what she asked for) were to write your own vows, and to pay for the wedding [yourselves].  Steph kindly retweeted other responses she was getting, and while I agreed with a lot of them, one in particular just didn’t sit right…. Don’t change your name.

At first I didn’t think much of it, but then seeing it paired with advice to keep your own bank account, your own job, your own credit cards, and possibly your own residence (Ok, no one, that I know of, offered that tidbit, but you don’t come here to read well-reasoned rebuttals, you come here to watch me froth at the mouth, so.  A little exaggeration is in order), it started to really, really bother me.  All the responses encouraging Steph to keep her own last name made it seem like CHANGING it was a deeply non-feminist thing to do, and thus by association, that the women who have changed their last names are not feminists.

And then I got pissed:

Just because it’s pissing me off: taking your partner’s name when you get married is not inherently unfeminist. #feministbride

— Noemi (@NASeason) September 18, 2012

Apparently, I’m not the only person who feels this way, because I stopped counting at 100 @-replies, and while the number is pitiably small, no other tweet of mine has ever been retweeted 11 times (take THAT, verified tweeters!).  I got responses from women who had changed their names and women who hadn’t, women who grew up with last names that were different from their mother’s, and women who changed their names personally but not professionally.

Sure, the original reason a woman might take her husband’s last name can be viewed as non-feminist- but we live in mother-fucking 2012.  Of course, I can’t be SURE, but I would be willing to bet a significant amount of money (say, $1000) that all the women who have access to Twitter did not BELIEVE, upon marriage, that they were being transferred, as PROPERTY, between their father and their husband-to-be.  I’m not even sure the women who lived at the time when women actually were treated as property actually BELIEVED themselves to BE property, because otherwise we might still be in that place, instead of where we are now (you know, with the right to vote and shit).

But now?  Now there are as many reasons women change their last name as there are women.  That’s what feminism bought us- the right to choose (thanks to @pinkiebling and @purplelara for pointing that out).  What if your father was an asshole?  What if your last name is impossible to spell, and you’re just fucking tired of dealing with it?  What if you like your partner’s name better?  What if you MAKE UP A WHOLE NEW ONE?

Now, my own case is… different.  I’m a lesbian, right?  So while I consider myself married, I am actually not married in the legal sense of the word (except in Canada.  Canada: getting shit right since 2003). I’m domestic partnered, which means something in some places, like here in California, and dick-all in other places (current count is THIRTY-NINE states that do not have domestic partnership/civil unions), and even where it DOES mean something:

…without legislation to enforce the agreement, all such provisions of the partnership may be ignored by hospitals, healthcare professionals, or other persons, and may be held invalid by state courts in disputes over child custody or over a deceased partner’s estate (Wikipedia).

In light of those facts, I’d actually go so far as to say that the fact that I changed my last name to match my partner’s is not only feminist (I didn’t take a MAN’S name, after all), it’s deeply subversive to what the majority of the United States considers “family.” Myself, my partner, and our daughter all share a last name.  Last names are the easiest and most obvious markers of family (ever meet someone with an unusual last name and then later meet someone else with the same unusual last name?  You wonder if they’re related, don’t you?)- I couldn’t think of a better way to publicly announce our family status when most people don’t consider us one.

I don’t think my lesbian status makes my name change different from any straight woman’s- it just makes us all independent women making smart choices for ourselves and our families.

This shit has been going on since early 2010, meaning two and a half years of not being able to enjoy any physical activity other than yoga (I know, I know, I should have been swimming.  Find me a pool with decent lane hours that’s not heated to ten million degrees, and I’ll go swimming). And yes, there was the pregnancy in there, and the horrid months of infancy, so my mind was elsewhere, but it’s always been at the back of my mind… when will I ever be able to walk again?

Other than the hiatus caused by the making and arriving of Olivia, I have been chasing this thing endlessly- general practitioners, rheumatologists, neurologists, physical therapists, massage therapists, orthopedists, acupuncturists, vascular surgeons, et-fucking-cetera.  It wasn’t until the vascular surgeon laughed in my face and asked me if I’d seen a podiatrist that it even occurred to me.

WAIT. YOU MEAN WHEN THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUR FEET, YOU GO TO A FOOT DOCTOR?

In other news, I am a complete idiot.

So I made an appointment with a podiatrist, who listened carefully to my description, and calmly and without scratching her head like it was the weirdest collection of symptoms she’d ever heard, said “Oh, sounds like Compartment Syndrome to me.”  And she sent me to a specialist, a very nice man with a very large needle, who was able to perform the definitive test to diagnose this Compartment Syndrome.

So last Friday, I hopped up on an exam table and actually crossed my fingers that I did in fact, have a Syndrome.  I’ve never been so nervous to take a test before- could this finally be it?  Please, oh please, please please let this be it because this is fixable and nameable and no one has ever died from it, and at the rate I am gaining weight I might actually die of not fixing it, OH GOD THAT NEEDLE IS HUGE.

Your average person has a pressure in the particular foot compartment he measured of  8mm Hg.  Mine, at COMPLETE REST, measured in at 25mm Hg, three times normal, and most likely skyrockets from there when exercising.  I wept in my car after the appointment- because I finally know what this is and even though the answer is surgery at least I KNOW.

I don’t actually know exactly where we go from here, in terms of solutions.  I almost don’t even care.  I KNOW WHAT’S WRONG.

I don’t even have anything profound to say about it, other than HOLY SHIT, look at what she can DO!  She understands almost everything we tell her.  She can locate her head, ears, bellybutton, and toes.  She climbs up the stairs and hugs her stuffed animals.  She signs more, please, all done, thank you, and eat.  She throws her arms in the air to be picked up and runs at top speed towards your knees to hug you.  She knows I’m Mama and J is Mommy, even though she calls us both Dada.  She can sort of say cat, dog, duck, and J SWEARS she once said umbrella.

I thought for sure, once I was out of it, that the first three months of her life were the hardest thing I would ever have to live through. And I was right, to a certain extent, but now, it’s just as hard, but in a DIFFERENT way (I know, I’m slow).  Now I have to teach her to be kind and share her toys.  I have to teach her to use a fork and to access the slide from the ladder part, not by scaling the slide itself.  I have to be a better, kinder, more gentle, patient person than I ever was before, not only because she’s still a baby, but because she’s watching.

That also means I have to stand up for myself more- she’s blond to my brunette, and I don’t look “gay,” so people ask me all sorts of questions about my husband and where she got her coloring, and it’s no longer good enough to mumble something about “them” and hope the lack of pronoun slides by.  I’m not ashamed of where she came from or how she got here, and she shouldn’t be either- and she’s not going to learn to be at MY knee.

Just by virtue of EXISTING, she’s making me work hard to be a better person, and I can honestly say I had no idea that’s what motherhood would be about.  I have been unable to predict even a moment of this whole thing.  GOOD LORD, IS IT MAUDLIN IN HERE OR WHAT?

She’s funny and she’s silly and she’s mine.  Here’s to you, kid.

Lately, Olivia and I have been hanging out at the mall (crazy, what motherhood will do to you).  It’s air-conditioned, there’s no traffic, and in the early morning, the Starbucks is open even when no shops are, so I can unleash the toddler to run the length and breadth of the mall without worrying too much about her bothering other people or getting run over.  There’s a carousel she likes to ride, and sometimes, when we’re there just when it opens, we get a free ride.

I don’t really SHOP at this mall (or any mall, really), I just go to the anchoring Target and then into the mall for the carousel and the Starbucks.  But today, I needed something at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, so I parked the car at that end of the mall, loaded the little one in the stroller, and head in.  The BB&B is located at the opposite end of the mall from the Target (where I also wanted to go), so I figured she could walk off some energy between on store and the next, and we’d stop in the middle for a snack, OH WHAT A GOOD MOTHER AM I.

Y’all.  Olivia has never, in her entire life, seen a Disney movie, been offered a Disney toy, heard a Disney song, been to Disneyland, or even glimpsed a commercial for a Disney product.  So I was kind of surprised when, thirty seconds after I liberated her from the stroller, she spotted the giant Mickey face in the entry way to the Disney store and made a BEELINE for it.  Imagine her two tiny legs, churning with the highest speed she can muster, cutting a diagonal across the mall to get to this Mickey, a character she’s NEVER SEEN BEFORE.

I was mostly intrigued- are there some sort of MOUSE PHEROMONES that toddlers are susceptible to?  Is there a sound that is audible only to their ears playing through hidden speakers?  What the hell is it about this giant cartoon mouse face she finds irresistible?  I mostly let her at it- she wandered from one shelf to the next, looking and touching, pulling shit off displays.

ASIDE: OK, what the hell am I supposed to do with a toddler on the loose and a stroller in a store?  Either I try and push the stroller along behind her, and hope she waits (HA HA) for me to navigate, or I park the stroller with my purse attached and follow her.  Or do I park the stroller and take my purse?  But my “purse” is her diaper bag, and when I bend down to pick her up, it flops forward over my head, spilling everything everywhere, so now I have a runaway toddler and the contents of my diaper bag to corral, and this is why I feel like a graceless whale.  Other moms in the mall seem very calm and collected- I’m pushing a stroller, carrying a bag, and hefting a toddler on my hip.  Also, my shirt is riding up under her, so my flabby gut is exposed, and I’m sweating from the hairline.  There’s a droplet of sweat dripping off my nose, and if I wasn’t smart enough to balance my purchases in the stroller, it’s tipping over backwards. What is the secret, moms?  I carried her for FORTY TWO WEEKS, I AM OWED THE SECRET.

Anyhoo- Olivia makes her way to the back of the Disney store where the stuffed animals are, and you can see it on her face.  She has reached her version of heaven.  She picks one up, hugs it under her chin, and tosses it to the ground, only to pick up the next one.  I could scream “only for looking” until I’m blue in the face, it’s not gonna work.  She’s tossing them faster than I can put them back, once she figures she can pull them off shelves with TWO HANDS, and finally I’ve had enough, I PICK UP AFTER YOUR ASS ALL DAMN DAY, and I pick her up.  I know I should probably have given her a warning, or given her choices, or whatever good parents do, but pulling shit off shelves drives me batshit, almost as much as replacing shit on shelves does, so I pick her up and head for the door.  Y’all.  You would think I’d attempted to SAW HER IN HALF.  She’s furious and screaming, she’s red in the face and her nose is running.  I’m not embarrassed- it’s the fucking Disney store, I’m sure they’ve seen it before.  I’m just MYSTIFIED.  What is it about that store?  She’s walked by tons of other stores without a glance, but this giant mouse gets her?

The storm passes quickly, like it always does (thank goodness), and we have a snack and ride the carousel and I huff back to the car, careful to give the Disney store a wide berth.

So spill it, seasoned parents: what is it about Disney?