Philly Moms

The Dance of the Hairy Fairy

A few months back, Chris Rock's docudramedy "Good Hair" was all the rage.  "Good Hair", the movie, was born when Chris Rock's beautiful daughter wondered why she didn't have good hair. Good Hair, the term (for those not in the know) is defined as hair that is NOT nappy, kinky, or knotty and will not frizz or draw up if wet.  As a Black Woman hair is, has and will be an issue but it is something that I promised, nay swore to myself that I wouldn't pass on to The Bee.  Unfortunately my good intentions were in vain as the hair bug has bit my child.

Despite everything else that is positive about herself, hair is an issue for my daughter.  The Bee is a beautiful person, smart, funny, intelligent but from her earliest moments I can remember her waxing hopefully about wanting long hair, wishing her hair would grow, tugging at the plaits in the back of her hair willing for a few inches more to lay gently down her back.  When she was younger, her dad and I made a decision that we would not use a chemical to straighten her hair and that we would keep her hair braided in kid friendly styles until she was older and voiced another opinion.  The older she has gotten the more she expresses what she wants and what she wants is to look like the girls in her class, from television and in her books.

Mommy, Interrupted

It's Sunday afternoon and the dance of child exchange has begun.  The Bee's dad has arrived in the vicinity of the pre-arranged time yet The Bee and I are still going through the motions of packing her up.  I am shouting up the stairs, "Do you have your bag? Your books?" Shooting off last minute information to her dad as I look for my keys...again.  The Bee is gathering her 'both home' items in what appears to be slow motion. It's organized chaos which is over in a matter of moments and I breathe a sigh of relief as we are done for the week.  You see, I am a part time mom, sharing custody of my kid with her dad.  Each week we go through the hand off and each week it's tough...but truthfully, not so tough.

While emotionally I fall somewhere between overwhelming sadness and a pang of loneliness, there are times when I relish my opportunity to once again become Rachee and not just The Bee's mom.  Some weeks Sundays can't quite arrive quickly enough as I deal with tween aged angst, tween aged hormones and the mouthiness that comes with it.  I do not harbor fantasies of NOT being a mom yet I find that it is  wonderful to let Mommy guilt take a vacation when I don't want to watch the Disney channel, watch my mouth or if I choose to read a book of my choice and not engage in some maternal duty.  I love my child, no doubt, but I have really come to appreciate the times when she is safely with her dad.

In the beginning when The Bee's dad and I first split, her time spent away from me was a guilt ridden, worry plagued week.  I'd spend the week relieved that she was able to spend time with her father yet I would also be relieved at worrying about being a good mom.  Of course the feeling of guilt would overwhelm me as I questioned my rights as a mom because I seemed way too happy and giddy that I was off duty for a bit.  Making plans seemed akin to cheating; I felt that The Bee would be upset if she were to discover that I did things without her so I would isolate myself only to be angered and left feeling childishly resentful when she would return with tales of her adventures with dad.

As she got older I realized that my kid, my DAUGHTER does not need to feel bad about having a life nor should she feel worried about MY feelings when retelling the adventures she was having with dad.  What good does it do for either of us to have a mom sad and alone?  Why should I be sad and alone, getting acquainted with my remote and bad weekend infomercials as I awaited the return of the child?  Realizing that I am not a party mom who parents as an after thought, I found that the line between mom and person, while shaky and blurred at times is manageable and it's ok to see a movie with a friend, hit my crafting circle solo and living a life that is not part time.

The last time The Bee went with her dad, I kissed and hugged her as always do and told her to have fun.  After packing her off, I dug out my gym bag, headed out for a workout and then dinner with a friend. It was fun and when I spoke with The Bee she did not sound injured or neglected due to my being engaged in a non-mom activity.  In fact, she expressed excitement about what I had done before launching into what she was up to.  I smiled as I listened knowing that while there are times Mommy guilt still grabs a hold of me it's comforting to know that I have allowed myself a moment to think about it but I can release the negative feeling and move on.

Original post to Philadelphia Moms Blog. Rachee also has let go of feeling bad about correcting people on how to say her name which is the title of her blog, Say it Rah-shay or you can follow her on twitter as rungirl1.

 

Butter me up or Moove over

In this day and age in which Matt, Meredith or some other daytime tv gang presents the latest food allergy "lurking in cupboards" , it still amazes me that eating out is an experience that inevitably includes me warily sending food back to the kitchen without sour cream, butter or one of milk's many other relations. 

The Bee has food allergies (dairy and shellfish) and for the most part we take it in stride, however there are times that I feel like Meg Ryan's Sally Albright making complicated orders in an effort to have a pleasant dining experience that will not involve a trip to the local Emergency Room or a CVS for a dose of Benadryl.  Considering anecdotes my friends and coworkers have shared about relatives, friends, random folk that they know with food allergies, The Bee not being able to eat dairy is a minor annoyance translated into she can't have a slice or an ice cream when we go down the shore in the summer.  However as of late it seems that The Bee's tweeness, as well as unaware folk, is threatening to make a once manageable diet a full time chore.

In which I wax maturely about age...

Or I don't mind getting older, I just don't want to be old.

Be wise!

A few weeks ago I spent time alone with just my grandmother.  We had to do some business at the bank, a simple task but one made a bit more complicated due to the fact that my grandmother has Alzheimer's Disease.  Surprisingly, my trip with Bubbe, as The Bee, my tween-aged daughter, calls her, was pretty pleasant.  Our transaction was completed within a matter of minutes and with only minimal fuss.  While Bubbe was confused, the confusion was not accompanied by suspicion or arguments.  Bubbe was actually respectful of me and was able to believe that yes, I am a grown woman and not trying to steer her wrong. 
 
Quite honestly I don't spend much time alone with my grandmother.  When she visits, I defer most of her care  and the time spent with her, to my mother.  My mother ensures that she gets her medication, bathes, eats.  I will assist when my mom is still hooked up to her dialysis machine and on the occasion that it is just Bubbe and I but the closeness that The Bee has with my mom is no longer a factor with my grandmother and myself.  As we went about the morning it struck me that whatever I do with my grandmother is being watched by The Bee, my nine year old, and that this is truly a case of do as I say, not as I do.