Babygirl is Bilingual! and Goodbye...for Now

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

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

Well, Meltingpot readers, today was that day!

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

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

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

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

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

I appreciate you all.

Peace!

Babygirl's Birth Story: One Year Later

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace!

Much Ado About Spanking

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Have you been following the latest news stories about spanking causing mental illness? I've seen links to the story all over the Internet, on Twitter and facebook. I wanted to ignore it because it seems like every year there is a new study that tries to definitively declare that spanking is bad. Or good. And of course, that definitive answer is always debunked and debated until the next study comes out. (By the way, the study that says spanking causes mental illness is very misleading. Read this article to understand why.)

I have never wanted to out myself as a spanker. But, there I just said it. I have spanked my boys. I don't spank on the regular or very often. I'm kind of a spanker as a last resort. In fact, before my first son was born, I swore I'd never lay a hand on my children. I even wrote a story about the dangers of spanking for Essence magazine and believed every word I wrote. But then my boys stopped being adorable little babies, and spanking joined my toolbox of discipline tactics. You can stop reading right here if the idea of Ms. Meltingpot spanking is too distasteful. I apologize. But I think we should talk about this out in the open.

This is such a difficult topic to discuss. And it is so fraught with race, class and culture issues. I think many people believe spanking is an evil confined to the poor and colored communities. But we all know this is not true, especially if 50 percent of Americans admit to spanking their children sometimes. But there is a difference between spanking and abuse. But the problem is trying to legislate  the difference and then implementing those rules. Many countries, 32 in fact, have outlawed spanking, including Spain, Israel and Sweden. But, I can attest to the fact that I have seen many Spanish mothers beating their kids with a bedroom slipper, so the laws may be in name only. El esposo tells me his mother slapped her three boys whenever they got out of hand as did many of his friends' parents, and hair pulling was another favorite method of discipline.

El esposo doesn't spank our children. He won't. But he's good for a hair pull to keep them in line. I think hair pulling is crazy. He thinks spanking is ridiculous. Our kids dislike both methods, but, that's the point. And here's my point. Can't good parents choose their own methods of discipline? The ones that work best for them and their children? Spanking has been used since the beginning of human existence to deter bad behavior. I hate to use the "I was spanked and I turned out okay," logic, but if you use that to consider how many generations of folks have been spanked the world over and humankind is still churning, that says something right?

Make no mistake. I don't endorse spanking. I don't like spanking. I don't think it should be used in most situations. I just think people shouldn't feel like their going to make their kids grow up to be bi-polar or sociopath killers if they choose to spank. Discipline is one of the hardest parts of parenting. And it's one of the things many parents aren't willing to put the time and energy into, because it is so hard and so unpleasant. Perhaps if we could speak more openly about our trials and tribulations with discipline we might discover better ways than spanking to keep our kids on the right track.

What do you do about discipline in your homes? Time outs? Taking away toys? Grounding? Spanking? I'm so listening and taking notes.

Peace!

The Other Mothers of Manhattan

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Boy, did the cover image on yesterday's New York Times magazine take my breath away. The cover line reads, "The Other Mothers of Manhattan." It is a photo essay of Manhattan's nannies. It is the real-life version of my novel, Substitute Me. The accompanying essay is by Mona Simpson and it is hauntingly familiar, all of the issues it raises. But the best part is this audio slide show. Check it out and let me know what thoughts come to mind.

I know I too hate the word nanny. It sounds so elitist and not a word I am comfortable using. And yet to call a grown woman a babysitter doesn't sit well either. What do you call your child's caregiver? What do you think of this story?

I'm listening.

Peace!

Stumbled Upon: YA Novel, Kimchi & Calamari

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

So, all of my loyal readers know that I practically live at the library. In the summer it's no different, except I usually haul my kids with me on my visits. They love the library too. When we go, they immediately run off to read graphic novels and other things I usually won't buy for them. And they're perfectly cool with me picking out their books for the week. I don't know how long this is going to last but for now it works for me.

So, this summer I've been trying to get my sci-fi loving 11-year-old to read more realistic fiction. I still try to find stories that I think will speak to him as a 11-year-old boy who likes sci-fi and fantasy. So, for example, last week he read The Orphan of Ellis Island, about an orphaned Italian-American boy who falls through a time portal and goes back in time and meets his Italian ancestors. He loved it. Yes! Yesterday, I stumbled upon a book called Kimchi & Calamari. You know with just that title, I was intrigued.

Sure enough, the book is about a Korean boy adopted by an Italian-American family. The boy in the story is 14 years old and dealing with typical teen boy stuff, plus he's dealing with identity issues and a search for a birth parent. Here's a link to a review (cuz I haven't read it yet.) And here's how the author, Rose Kent sells, Kimchi & Calamari:

" Kimchi and calamari is a quirky food fusion — and exactly how fourteen-year-old Joseph Calderaro feels about himself. Why wouldn’t an adopted Korean drummer feel like a combo platter given

1. his face in the mirror and
2. his proud Italian family?

Now Joseph has to write an ancestry essay for school. But all he knows is that his birth family put his diapered butt on a plane to the USA.

What Joseph does leads to a catastrophe messier than a table of shattered dishes — and self-discovery that he never could have imagined."

Sounds good right? It'll be next on the list for my son. And I'll tell you how it goes.

Has anybody else read Kimchi and Calamari? Any thoughts? Any other realistic fiction suggestions for an 11-year old boy with Ms. Meltingpot for a mom? I'm listening.

Peace!

"Not the Nanny" Syndrome Doesn't Discriminate

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Recently, a lovely journalist from TODAY Moms interviewed me about what I call the "Not the nanny" syndrome. You know, that irritating situation when people mistake you for your child's caregiver because you might be of color and your baby looks kind of White? I know it happens all the time to Black girls like me who procreated across the color line and managed to spit out babies lacking in melanin. But it also happens to Latina women, Asian women and even White women.

I met a White woman recently who was married to a Filipino man. Her two children look more Asian than White. She told me that, while breast feeding, someone  asked her if she was the nanny?! So, my dear readers, apparently the syndrome doesn't discriminate.

Get a group of women together who have children that don't look like them and we can tell all kinds of hilarious stories, besting one another with the more outrageous comments people have thrown our way. And truth be told, sometimes they are funny. But a lot of times, those comments hurt. They hurt in a way I never expected. It's not because I feel so insulted to be mistaken for a nanny. And it's not even because I think people are being small-minded or insensitive by questioning my child's parentage. At the end of the day, it hurts because there's something visceral, I think, about wanting to see something of yourself in your offspring. It's that simple and that complicated.

I have never been told, 'gee your kids look just like you.' And it's not something I ever dreamed about hearing either. I'd rather hear, 'gee your kids sure are smart/talented/healthy.' But to be told over and over, your kids look nothing like you? Aye, there's the rub. What's more, I think that for women of color to be mistaken for the nanny, the underlying insult comes not from being mistaken for a domestic worker, but for not be respected enough to be mistaken for the mother. Ya dig?

Let's be clear though. The "I'm Not the Nanny"syndrome doesn't keep me up at night. I don't wring my hands in agony over the injustice of my kids looking more like their pale-face papa than me. In fact, until someone throws it in my face, I'm not thinking about it all. It's just another one of those fascinating Meltingpot moments that I think so many of us can relate to and perhaps help each other through.

What do you think? Is there more to the Not the Nanny syndrome? Is it something more people should be aware of? Is there a cure?

I'm listening.

Peace!

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

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

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

Babygirl

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

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

Okay then.

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

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

You know I'm listening.

Peace!

School's Out! Ms. Meltingpot's Plans for the Summer

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

In just a few short minutes, my boys will burst through the door with all the exuberance and excitement expected from the last day of school. Yes, it's official. Summer is here.

In the Kinky Gazpacho household, summer really is summer because el esposo and I both work in academia, so in theory everybody is free from work. Of course in reality, not so much. El esposo is getting his PhD and this summer he has to study non-stop for his comprehensive exams in early fall. The boys will be in day camp for only three weeks. Babygirl? Well, she'll be passed off between el esposo and I throughout.

But what about me, you ask? What's on my agenda for the summer? Besides camp counselor, chef, chauffeur and babysitter? Well, I'm glad you asked. Here's what I'd like to accomplish before September 1st. And I figure if I write it down here, you guys can keep me on task. Or at least drop a comment or a suggestion once in a while to keep me motivated. So, in no particular order, here's what I have to do this summer:

1. Write the proposal for my next book. Yes, I'm already working on the next book project. It's non-fiction and a significant departure from my previous books and yet the themes of identity and discrimination will ring familiar. Just a hint, the book has to do with the color purple. Not the book, by Alice Walker, but the actual color purple.

2. Upgrade The Meltingpot. Dear, readers, I went to the awesome Blogging While Brown Conference last weekend and was so inspired. I love The Meltingpot. I love you all. If I could quit my day job and just produce awesome stories for this blog, I would. In the meantime, I can at least make the Meltingpot experience a little more user-friendly and unique. So stay tuned for the upgrade.

3. Write a few magazine articles that I've been thinking about for the last couple of months.

4. Learn French. Okay, I already wrote about my dream of learning French a few posts back. Well, I'm on my way. In true Meltingpot style, I checked out a French book & CD from the library. I've been watching some films in French and English and I've found some free online websites to visit that promise me I'll be speaking like a native in no time. (By the way, if anyone can recommend any other online websites for language learning, please let me know. Merci!) Of course, I'm not going to master an entire language in eight weeks, but I want to be comfortable enough that I can represent our family's interests when we ...

5. Go to Montreal! Okay, so, this has gone from dream to reality. We are going to Montreal, come hell or high water. Here's why. I need some place to practice my French and motivate me to keep practicing my French. I want the children to have an experience in a foreign country this summer and we can (inexpensively) reach Montreal by car. And I really want an excuse to eat French fries smothered in gravy, but be able to call it a cultural experience.

6.  Update passports. Can you believe, dear readers, that I have to get passports for all three of my children. I knew babygirl needed a new passport and so I just checked the boys', just in case. Wouldn't you know, they both expire in July. Did I mention operation Montreal happens in August? How do you say poetic justice in French.

So, there you go dear readers. Those are my summer plans. Of course, I didn't mention some sort of exercise should also happen in all this. Running? Walking? Bike riding? Chasing my boys around the park? Swimming? Who knows? But I'm sure it will all be an adventure.

So, what are you all doing for the summer? Please share and inspire us all. I'm listening.

Peace!

Meet Bino and Fino: They're Cute, They're Animated, They're African

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

I think you'll recall that a while back I wrote about this great new global African style and culture magazine called Arise. I just picked up the latest issue and read a small article about a new African cartoon series called Bino and Fino.

I admit, I was drawn into the story because of the picture of the adorable Black girl butterfly character, but after doing some more digging about the series, I got even more excited about the show. Bino and Fino is the creation of Nigerian architect turned animator, Adamu Waziri who lamented the fact that African youth don't have cartoons that feature modern African children in positive settings. He said in an interview that when Disney 'does Africa' they show lions and talking animals in the jungle. You never see people in a modern urban setting. And so the show -- targeted to three to five year olds -- Bino and Fino was born. The show is now being seen in the UK and in various countries in Africa. Three cheers to Waziri for making a difference.

Here's a clip of Waziri talking about the origins of the show and why it's so important for Bino and Fino to exist. And not for nothing, don't you just love Fino's Afro puffs?



Enjoy.

Peace!

Ballet Documentary is a Meltingpot Must-See!

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

How many of you ever dreamed of being a ballerina? Even if it was just for a minute. I had that one-minute dream, but it was quickly squashed by my ballet teacher who informed my mother that I just didn't have a dancer's body... at age five! Luckily, I found gymnastics to be more my style and then I was on to swimming and ice skating and... well, you get the idea. Clearly, I didn't even have the mental fortitude to be a ballerina. But I still get shivers of excitement when I watch other young people dance.

So, you can imagine my delight when I heard about a new documentary, called First Position that follows six young people in their quest for a prestigious ballet scholarship. I originally heard about the film because of the young Black girl profiled. Her name is Michaela DePrince and she was orphaned in her native Sierra Leone, adopted by a White American family and triumphs in the film. I was hooked just hearing that nugget. But the film follows five other great kids, with diverse backgrounds, boys and girls. I am excited to see this movie because if finally shows other faces of ballet besides young White girls.

But rather than me trying to get you all excited, why don't you just watch the trailer and decide for yourself. Let the shivers commence.



Peace!

Forty, French and Fabulous!

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

I'm not sure if I mentioned that I turned 40 earlier this year. Yes, it's true. I was going to have a grand celebration to recognize this milestone, but then I got too busy and the fact of the matter was, I didn't really think it was such a big deal.

I tried, really I did, to feel some kind of special way on my 40th birthday, but I had to take the baby to the doctor. The boys had homework and I had 20 quizzes to correct. Now, I'd be lying if I said turning 40 didn't give me pause, because it did, but I didn't have any sort of mid-life crisis or desire to leave my husband, inject myself with botox and have an affair with my high-school boyfriend. I didn't lament the passing of time because, let's be honest, these last 40 years have been great. I have three great kids. I have written three great (I think) books. I have a great job doing what I love most in life. And I still think el esposo is pretty darn cute.

And as a matter of fact, when I gave myself a moment to meditate on the idea of turning 40, the thought didn't depress me. I figure 40 is my half-way point. If I live to be 80, I'll be a happy camper. And since I'm a glass half-full kind of girl, I figure that means I have 40 more years to fill with new experiences. That's a lot of living I still have to do. That's like re-living the 40 I've already done, but with new stuff. And that's what I'm excited about. I don't even know yet what I'm going to do with part II of my life. Except one thing. Drum roll please.

I'm going to learn French!

I've always wanted to learn French. I learned a little bit of survival French when I lived in Morocco as an exchange student in high school. I have a vocabulary of about 15 words and phrases that served me well the two or three times I've traveled to France as a tourist. And let it be known, I don't read French at all. You can show me a simple sentence in French and I'll stumble through it like an idiot with a mouth full of marbles. (I still don't really care if I learn how to read French)

I just want to be able to speak what I think is one of the most romantic languages in the world. I just love the way French sounds. I always have. I chose to study Spanish because my sister had already claimed French and I wanted to be different. Well, it's part II of my life now and I say it's time to pursue  that other passion. And the thing is, since I'm going to learn the language for myself, I don't have any pressure. It's all about pleasure. I'm thinking about listening to CDs in my car, finding a language partner to parlais with, and wait for it...we're going to Paris at the end of the summer. NOT!

Dear readers, how I wish a trip to Paris was in my immediate future, but it's not something we can afford right now Five plane tickets? I don't think so. But that doesn't mean we can't drive to a French speaking country. That's right, I'm planning a Kinky Gazpacho family excursion to Montreal at the end of the summer. That will be my inspiration to keep learning.

Okay, dear readers. I need your help. Is there a language program you can suggest? Is the Rosetta Stone really all that? And of course, as the summer goes on, I'd like your suggestions for where to go and what to do in Montreal. With three kids.

I'll keep you posted on my progress. Wish me bon chance. And inspire me with your own stories of personal goals. And you don't have to be 40.

Peace!

A New Parenting Magazine for Multi-Culti Families Like Mine and Yours

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Sometimes I'm just amazed at the resources out there for people like me. You know, Black women married to Spanish men, raising bilingual, bicultural kids. You know, professional women interested in advancing the conversation about race and identity. You know, moms who sometimes just like to watch Fashion Star on TV and dream about having the time to actually care about the clothes they throw on every morning. Clothes that they know will be covered in kid slime by the end of the day.

So, yes, dear readers, when I come across some of these glorious resources, I have to share, because I figure, some of you must be like me.


I have to give a shout-out to InCulture Parent. If I was going to start a parenting magazine, this would be it. From their website, here's what they are all about:

An online magazine for parents raising little global citizens, whose mission is to foster great understanding across cultures through the lens of parenting.  Articles on raising multicultural and multilingual children, parenting around the world, columns on the religious life of children, international adoption and multicultural living, blogs, global holidays/crafts/recipes, multicultural children’s book reviews and much more.



I stayed up last night, way past my bedtime and read almost every story on the site. I wanted to chat with almost every single contributing writer and I was inspired and encouraged by many. To wit, after reading a great story about why African babies cry less than "Western" babies, I decided not to despair about letting babygirl sleep with me last night. She generally sleeps with me for a short period, then I try to slip her back into her bed so she doesn't get spoiled nestling next to mommy. Needless to say, night time isn't very restful for anybody.


But last night, I decided to go all the way African, indulge babygirl and let her nurse and nestle at will. And guess what, without me worrying about getting her back to bed, we both slept like angels. (El esposo did too, but he can sleep through a hurricane so, that's not saying much.) It felt good and guilt free. And, maybe I'm overreaching (which I probably am, considering the author was Kenyan, which I am not.), but I felt culturally correct in my choices. You know, justified.


So, dear readers, check out InCulture Parent and give them some love. I've already added them to my blogroll over there on the side. You might want to as well.


So, party people, do you have any resources for mommies like us that you'd like to share? Please don't keep them to yourselves. We are all listening.


Peace!

Don't forget, you have one more day to comment, in order to win a copy of Julia Alvarez's new book, A Wedding in Haiti.

Speaking in Tongues: Raising Bilingual Children

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

I hope everyone who had a holiday to celebrate this past weekend had a wonderful one. We did, but there was so much celebrating going on, I almost forgot it was Easter. We were celebrating my parents' retirement, my younger son's first Little League baseball game and my sister's birthday. And somewhere within all of that revelry, el esposo and I were hosting old friends whom we haven't seen for over five years. And that's what I want to talk about.

Imagine this scene, dear readers. Our friends who came to visit are both ethnically Chinese. The wife was born in Hong Kong and came to the United States with her family as a young girl. We met in New York City when we worked at the same magazine. Her husband, also Chinese, was born in France, but his mother is Spanish and his father is French. So the husband's first language is French, but he also speaks Spanish and Mandarin Chinese. They have two kids.

Because I love an excuse to entertain, we also invited another family over to eat with us. In this family, the father is German and Spanish, but raised in Madrid. Mom is Malaysian. They have two kids.

So, here you have a gathering of six kids, six adults and babygirl. One parent speaks to his children in French. One parent speaks to her kids in Cantonese. Two parents speak to the kids in Spanish. And two parents speak to their kids in English. And the kids, bless their multilingual hearts, respond in the proper language to the proper person. It was truly amazing to witness. And it was loud!

Us parents, we were having a great time discussing our own trials and tribulations trying to raise our children bilingually, or in some cases, tri-lingually. Every family had their own system but it all seemed to work. Our Chinese friends only allow their kids to watch TV in either Chinese or French. And both kids attend a French immersion school. El esposo has never spoken a word of English to our kids. Ever. Our German/Spanish friend initially spoke Spanish to his son on one day and then the next he would switch to German. That got old fast, so he quickly decided on Spanish and has been consistent every since. At the end of the day, everyone decided that consistency in whatever method one chooses, is the most important element of successfully raising bilingual kids.

What do you think? What's your secret to teaching your kids a second/third language?

I'm so listening. And in the meantime, here are some links to websites that might have some more answers.

Spanglish Baby
Growing Up Global
InCulture Parent


Peace!

Kinky Gazpacho: 13 Years Later

Hola Meltingpot Readers,

For you my faithful readers, you know I don't use this blog to talk too much about my 'personal life,' but I wanted to share that yesterday el esposo and I celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary. Here's how we celebrated. El esposo got up as usual before 7 a.m. to get the boys ready and off to school. I didn't see him again until 10 p.m. when he arrived home from a full day of teaching and then taking classes. I worked all day, then spent my evening hauling kids to and from baseball practice, then karate class. I think we wished each other Happy Anniversary for the first time at midnight before falling into an exhausted sleep.

Not much of a celebration right? Well, we were supposed to celebrate last weekend in New York, just the two of us, but the grandparents, for reasons beyond their control, couldn't keep the kids as planned. So the New York 'just the two of us' weekend, became a family outing.

But guess what? I'm still happy. I'm still 'celebrating.' I think the fact that we can keep this crazy lifestyle going, that we have three happy kids, that we are individually and as a couple chasing our dreams, is pretty awesome. And even though el esposo and I fight -- in English and Spanish -- I still think he's pretty darn cute and he can always make me laugh. Thirteen years later, yeah, that's something to celebrate.

Happy! Happy!

Peace!

The Black Man's Code for Children: A Dad's Perspective on Trayvon Martin

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Thank you all so much for the thoughtful comments on my last post about Trayvon Martin. I don't have time today to respond to them all, but I have read each one. It is heartening to know that other people believe we shouldn't burden our youngest children with the fear of 'walking while Black.' Instead, we should give them time to grow up before informing them of the ugliness that resides in the world.

That being said, I wanted to call attention to the following article, written by AP writer, Jesse Washington, which provides the opposite viewpoint to the matter. Albeit reluctantly, Washington told his son about the Black Male Code of Conduct after news of the Trayvon Martin case broke. Here's an excerpt of what he wrote.

" I thought my son would be much older before I had to tell him about the Black Male Code. He's only 12, still sleeping with stuffed animals, still afraid of the dark. But after the Trayvon Martin tragedy, I needed to explain to my child that soon people might be afraid of him."


To read the rest of Jesse's story, which also includes the viewpoints of other Black men who felt they had to explain "the code," to their sons, follow this link.


I'm curious if Jesse's perspective changes anyone's mind? Do we need to protect our sons or can we safely keep them 'ignorant.?' It probably isn't an either or question. I say it still really depends on the child's age and maturity level, as well as their level of independence in the world. Ultimately, every parent has to decide how they want to raise their children, but it sure is complicated and of course, nobody wants to mess up.


Thoughts? I'm still listening.


Peace!

The Tragedy of Trayvon Martin: A Mother's Perspective, A Meltingpot Perspective

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

I've been avoiding you. I've been avoiding this topic. Sometimes I just want to hide from the news and hope it will all just go away. But of course it won't. And hiding doesn't help.

So, let's get to it.

If for any reason you don't know who Trayvon Martin is, I'll just send you here to read the facts of the story. I think it goes without saying, that the greatest tragedy in this case is that a child -- yes, a 17-year-old is a child -- had his life violently stolen from him. His final moments on this earth were spent at the hands of a deranged and evil man. His mother and father now have to wake up every single morning for the rest of their lives knowing that their son died alone and afraid.

That is the tragedy of this story.

Now comes the injustice.

The man who murdered Trayvon, George Zimmerman, is not in jail. He's not in police custody. He's walking the streets of Florida a free man. With a gun! The same gun he used to assassinate  an unarmed 17-year-old. I cannot wrap my mind around that fact. Let's review. Man follows teen around the neighborhood because he suspects he's up to 'no good.' Teen does nothing but walk while Black. Zimmerman confronts teen, shoots him dead, tells police what he did, witnesses confirm the facts and he's still not in jail. This is the most insane miscarriage of justice I've ever heard. Zimmerman claims he was acting in self-defense -- using Florida's insane Stand Your Ground Law as protection -- and that's that. He's free.

So, using Zimmerman's logic, the good citizens of Florida can walk around killing people who they deem to be dangerous, based entirely on stereotypes and perceived threats. How is that law supposed to protect people? It sounds like a path to anarchy and vigilantism.

What To Tell Our Children?

A reader asked me -- since I previously posted about racism being too stressful to talk to kids about -- how to explain the Trayvon Martin tragedy to kids. And it's taken me a while to figure it out myself.

Okay, here's the Meltingpot Mother answer to that question. Feel free to agree or disagree at will. With the anger and grief I feel about this case, I admit, it's been very difficult to know what to say to my kids about this. I don't want to scare them and I don't want them to carry this burden. My two brown boys are 10 and seven. And in consultation with el esposo, we have decided not to tell them about Trayvon Martin. They don't watch the news and it has not been discussed at school. If they do hear about Trayvon, I will tell them that a young boy was senselessly murdered by a crazy man. I will not bring race into the story. Here's why.

I remember watching a documentary about nuclear war when I was about 10 years old. It scared me so badly, I had nightmares for years. I knew nuclear war was a real threat and I also knew I could do nothing to prevent it from happening. I lived in such terror because of that film. I wasn't ready for that knowledge. Likewise, if I tell my sons, that people shoot Black boys because they are racist, because people think Black boys are violent and delinquent, or simply because they can, what are my sons supposed to do with that information except fear for their life? I think that's my job. Which after this incident, I fear even more. But I'm an adult and I can handle it. They are children.

How do I want my boys to move through this world? Fearful and eventually angry? No. I want them to embrace life and all of its wonderful possibilities. I don't want them to be afraid to walk to the store to buy candy or travel outside of their comfort zones. But I'm not stupid either. I am aware of the world we live in and --now more than ever. I know people like George Zimmerman exist in abundance. So, while I don't couch it in terms of race or violence, I don't let my sons wear certain clothes. I demand a certain level of courtesy and behavior in public that they probably think is overkill, but I think is cautionary. I don't let them play with guns. Ever. Because, sadly, a little brown boy playing with a water gun, can be mistaken for a killer.

George Zimmerman already stole one childhood, he's not going to steal two more. As my sons age, I will begin to feed them more of the real story. I plan to give them age appropriate doses of racial reality. It's kind of like the sex talk. You don't tell your seven year olds -- I hope -- everything about sex. You give them the sanitized version. As they approach puberty you start getting into the details. You can start having nuanced and sometimes uncomfortable conversations about sex as your child matures and starts experiencing some of the things you've been talking about. It's a model I use for the race talks. I encourage others to try this method of thinking. What are your kids able to handle? Would you tell your eight-year-old daughter about birth-control pills and STD's? Probably not, because she's not going to need that information for several years and you might scare the bejeezus out of her.

Some people might disagree with me and that's quite okay. But I believe in preserving the innocence of children as long as possible so that they have time to form a solid sense of self-identity before that identity is attacked by society. A strong foundation is the key to a stable sense of self-worth. Burden a child with the horrors of this world when they're too young and you poke holes in that foundation.

I'd love to hear how others are talking about Trayvon to their children.

I'm so listening.

Peace!

Is That Your Child?: The Asian Perspective

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

I'm on the road today. I'm traveling to Boston to give a talk at Simmons College on Identity Politics. I'm really excited about it, but of course have no time to write.

But then, in doing the research for my talk, stumbled on this post, that I could have written myself. You know, the one about your child not looking like you because you married and procreated with a White guy, except the writer is Asian, not Black.

So, without further ado, check out this post from Hyphen Magazine about the pitfalls of mixie parenthood with Asian mom and White dad. Enjoy.

Happy Weekend.

Peace.

Wait, Ezra Jack Keats Was White?: White People, Black Stories Continues

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

Did you know Ezra Jack Keats -- the famous children's book author who wrote The Snowy Day, Whistle for Willie and dozens of other titles featuring Black and brown children -- was White? I only discovered the fact later in life when I started collecting his books for my own children. I just assumed he was Black.

Apparently, lots of people continue to make that same assumption. I found the following You Tube Video that talks about Keats'Jewish heritage and what inspired him to depict children of color in most of his work. You can also check out the Keats Foundation website for more information about this fascinating and prolific storyteller and artist.

Peace!

Three Burning Questions About Red Tails...And Yes I Loved the Movie

Hi Meltingpot Readers,

So, I took my kids to see Red Tails this weekend and I'm glad I did. I thought the movie was a wonderful vehicle to introduce young and old to the heroics of the Tuskegee Airmen. Yes, it was a little cheesy and some of the lines were corny but it was a war film. I expected nothing less. I cheered and cried at all the right places. Most importantly though, I loved seeing a movie with a bunch of Black men being heroes. All of them. Heroes in uniform, fighting for their country. That I could take my sons to see that on the big screen was priceless.

So, please, go see the film. Support George Lucas's passion project. Show Hollywood that a film that features an all-Black cast (that isn't made by Tyler Perry) can make money.

Now, here are some random facts about me and the Red Tails experience that perhaps will entice you to see the film if the whole George Lucas using his own money thing isn't grabbing you.

1. Did you know that Red Tails producer, Geroge Lucas is married to a Black woman, the beautiful and whip-smart economist Mellody Hobson? I kinda forgot about that until el esposo reminded me. And even though this movie has been in the works longer than their relationship, I'm wondering if being attached to Ms. Hobson, in any way influenced his desire/passion to get this done? What do you think? It couldn't hurt right?

2. For those of you who have seen the film and noticed the off-handed insult about my hometown of Milwaukee, did you think that was random? Probably not as I just found out that the co-writer of Red Tails, John Ridley, is from Milwaukee and apparently we didn't live very far apart. Small world, right?

3. Are you surprised that the Saturday afternoon showing of Red Tails that I took my kids to see was packed? There wasn't an empty seat in the house. Are you surprised that everyone single seat was filled by Black people, save four older White people who I know from the Unitarian Church by my house? Love those Unitarians! Do you think a movie about the Tuskegee Airmen isn't relevant to White audiences?

 I'm listening for your answers.

Peace!

Is Racism too Stressful to Talk About?

Hello Meltingpot Readers,

My son is in the fifth grade. Recently they had to take those fill-in-the-bubble tests that supposedly test achievement. As part of the test, the kids have to fill in a bubble that describes their racial background. The teacher sent a note home saying that that requirement instigated a very thoughtful conversation about race and racism in the classroom. The take-away from the discussion, however, was that the kids believed it was just plain racist and always wrong to even talk about race. Yikes!

Faster than you can say NAACP, I was composing an email to the teacher, offering my services to come and lead a workshop to the fifth grade about how to talk about race with ease and comfort. But before I hit send, I remembered a recent study I read about on MyBrownBaby.com that suggested children need to be shielded from stress and strife as much as possible. Here's an excerpt from the article that gave me pause.

"... adolescence in particular is a vulnerable time for kids because that is when they are starting to isolate themselves from the family, meaning they have fewer supports available to them. Sinha says we need to give children time to develop their stress systems, which will provide them with the tools to deal with adversity as they become older. But if too much adversity comes at an early age, those tools will remain stunted and not fully available to them, perhaps throughout their lives."

If there's one thing I know to be stressful, it's the concept of race and racism. It stresses me out when I allow myself to think about all of the injustice in this world that comes at the hands of a racist system. On the other hand, I know that my parents did an excellent job shielding me from the ugliness of racism for almost my entire childhood and I feel I am the confident Black woman I am today because of it. My only gripe is that in "shielding" me from racism, they also shielded me from feeling any pride in my African-American heritage. I grew up feeling like I didn't belong to any particular ethnic group. I had to teach myself what it meant to be Black, a lesson I didn't start to learn until I was 18.

So, back to my own kids. Of course I want to teach them to feel proud of their heritage, both Black and Spanish. And until now, I kind of thought it was okay to give them a hearty dose of honesty when it came to the painful history and lingering injustice that permeates a colored person's life. But now I'm not so sure. I don't want to do what my parents did and act like race isn't an issue, but I also don't want to burden them with the sins of the past.

Here's what's on my agenda for this weekend. We're going to see Red Tails (the movie about the Tuskegee Airmen) and our read-aloud book is about the young Harriet Tubman. This is just coincidence but is it too much? What do you think, dear readers? How do you teach your children about race, without adding stress? I'm so listening.

Peace!