stripped (http://definr.com/stripped)

adj 1: having only essential or minimal features; “a stripped new car”; “a stripped-down budget” [syn: stripped-down] 2: having extraneous everything removed including contents; “the bare walls”; “the cupboard was bare” [syn: bare] 3: with clothing stripped off

Christina Aguilera . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Stripped]]>

stripped (http://definr.com/stripped)

adj 1: having only essential or minimal features; “a stripped new
car”; “a stripped-down budget” [syn: stripped-down]
2: having extraneous everything removed including contents;
“the bare walls”; “the cupboard was bare” [syn: bare]
3: with clothing stripped off

Christina Aguilera had an album called “Stripped,” possibly my favorite album of hers where she bares her soul, per se, revealing the most  intimate parts of herself.

They say that true artists can tap into the depths of their pain to make the most amazing pieces- turning that pain into creativity.

I don’t know if that’s the case here. I mean, I’ve always wanted to be a writer- still do- but I also find being able to release my pain in writing makes it all better and then (really?) no one can see my tears (cause big girls don’t cry, right?).

This is me. Stripped.

My new doctor here had prescribed Lexapro for me (anti-depressant #3) and gave me so many samples I didn’t know what to do with myself. Then? They ran out and I had to get a scrip. Well for the love of everything holy, Lexapro is $99 after my insurance pays their cut.

Uhh yeah, no thanks.

And then? I really didn’t wanna spend $25 going back to see the doctor to start from square one. So, I am without anti-depressants and left to really deal with myself. And it has not been pretty…

Literally.

I wake up in the morning and look at myself in the mirror aaaaand then I’m done. I can’t look too long. I want to lose like 10, 15 pounds. Not for anyone else but myself, but I’m too lazy to motivate myself to workout. I hate my hair in this in-between stage. I’m glad I cut my dreads. I bet my grandpa would have been proud. I raised $1,000+ for cancer research, but now? I’m stuck with thick, unmanageable hair. I don’t feel like I have clothes that fit my body and this phase it’s going through…

Point is, there is no part of me that feels “beautiful” at this moment in my life, so having to stare at myself in the mirror means having to deal with my issues- it’s like staring at damaged goods.

Yeah I said it.

Damaged goods.

That’s how I feel.

Four years of therapy and that’s how I feel y’all.

My dad always told me how beautiful I was, but he’s my dad, that’s his job, right? Even when my husband makes a comment, I shudder at the thought. I often joke with him that he already married me, so the mask is off. Watcha see is watcha get friend, I’m not on the prowl anymore. That means dark circles under the eyes, saggy boobs, fat belly and sweatpants with holes in the crotch that I refuse to part ways with.

I don’t take compliments well. I never actually realized that til more recently when I sat in my AP’s office and she rattled off compliment after compliment and what did I do? I cried.

Yup.

Score. One point for the loser over here.

Why? I don’t know. But as I begged her to stop giving me compliments I had to leave the room.

It’s so much easier to hate yourself and doubt your abilities than to actually walk around with the confidence of a goddess.

Oh and this confidence? That I apparently exude?

It’s all a facade.

I decided that today.

I decided that I am super funny and social and likable (or at least I think I’m likable) and can work a room like nobody’s business because, well that’s so much better than walking around like Sad Sally all the time trying to tell your sap story and making people feel sorry for you.

And? If everyone thinks you’re confident, then they’ll think you’re not one to fuck with. That you’re a tough cookie. That you’re a force to be reckoned with…

oh, and that you’re lots of fun to be around.

It’s only when I leave work or I leave that party or I leave that get-together that I really have to face myself.

But you know what? I need that.

It’s like a high that I don’t like to come down from. I like feeling cool or that I’m lots of fun or that I’m the life of the party.

And my husband?

Oh Lord.

You know how they say opposites attract? Well what happens when two people who are so much alike attract?

Minus the depression thing- we are both argumentative, we are both stubborn, we are both always right, we both like to be in control, we both love hard and…

We. Fight. I mean we fight. We fight hard.

But he deals with my highs and my lows like no one else could ever. I really think about all of the mood swings he’s had to deal with…

He married damaged goods.

I hope he knows that.

I find myself perplexed about the root of this pain. I guess we didn’t get to that part in therapy.

We talked about my “I’m from a big, loud aggressive family and I’m not like everyone else” syndrome.

We talked about my daddy issues (cause really, every girl has them).

We talked about my mommy issues.

We talked about my “I feel like a horrible mom, I can’t stand the sound of my daughter’s crying and it is truly incessant and makes me wanna hang myself” issues

We even talked about that experience… the one that really defined my sexuality… yeah that stuff.

So what’s my problem?

I wonder if it’s because even though both my husband and I are working, we are still finding so much of our money going towards bills (oh and daycare, bloody $130 per week daycare- ARGH!)

I wonder if it’s because the reason we are in this shotty financial situation is because we took a leap and moved to California then it just so happened that I couldn’t find a job there and we found ourselves being buried in a hole of debt.

I wonder if it’s because I’m still struggling with the day-to-day of being a Mommy… or more importantly of being The Pea’s Mommy. That this child hardly sleeps some nights, is having bizarre night terrors and cries and cries and cries for no apparent reason or just when she doesn’t get what she wants. And this? This ridiculous, non-stop crying? Drives me FRIGGIN insane. When she does not stop crying and whining, I can feel my blood boiling. And so, of course, these negative feelings that I have towards my daughter’s behavior makes me feel like a horrible mom.

I wonder if it’s because I have this insane need to perform. And perform well. And anything less than friggin amazing is not acceptable. So if at work I get feedback, I only hear the negative parts and I internalize it and get sick.

Literally.

Physically.

Sick.

I had an observation today and so my internalization started Tuesday night when I couldn’t sleep and fell asleep at about 2 am. Then all day on Tuesday I was on the verge of tears, my stomach was in knots, I was disgustingly nervous and thought I could puke. I mean why? It’s painful.

Oh, I wonder if it’s because I miss having friends whose houses I could go over (hi Jill!) and drink beer on their couch. I miss having friends that my kiddo can play with so they can do kid stuff and we can do grown-up stuff.

I wonder if it’s because the source of my being (probably in this exact order) goes:

• Mommy
  (which includes chef, disciplinarian, teacher, doctor, boo-boo kisser, and other duties as defined)
• Wife
• Teacher
  (which also includes disciplinarian, doctor, therapist, sometimes even their Momma… and other duties as defined)
• Daughter
• Extended Family Crisis-Manager
  (Notice I said extended family)
• Blogger
• Product Review Website Owner
• Freelance Writer
• …
• …
• …
• …

and somewhere… way down the list. I think there may be room for me to pencil myself in. (Me time? What’s that?)

So, let’s re-cap: I am a basket case, disguised as a confident, strong woman.

I hide behind a mask (and my glasses- my glasses are my security blanket. I hate seeing myself without them. NO thank you to Lasik or contacts, I’ll pass).

I push myself too hard.

And I have expectations for myself that are probably unattainable.

That’s me. Stripped.

You’re welcome.

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I found a barber on base that was willing to donate my hair cut, which was very . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: Thank You]]> To all of you who helped me raise money for St. Baldrick’s. I was able to raise $836 and you are more than welcome to donate to help me raise $1,000. Click here to donate.

I found a barber on base that was willing to donate my hair cut, which was very nice of him. I had to cut my dreads off before I got there, though, so I did that last night.

Aaand there’s my hair:

5 Years of dread growing down the drain (lol)

This morning, I had a 9:30 appointment to go down and get the rest cut.

Ready to Rock N Roll

Hubby said I should’ve kept the mohawk. Ummm, no.

Cadence cried- the entire time because she was tired and refuses to nap… or get her hair combed for that matter (which is why she looks like a wild child). By the way, that’s my new buddy/barber- Alvin.

It is very hot here, so I need to either but sunblock on my head, or keep a hat on.

The End.

Come on…don’t copy- get your own material. Nobody likes a cheater! Original & Hand Written Plagiarism Will Be Detected. This site is being monitored by CopyGator. Mmkay? Thanks.

Today was a normal day, besides the fact that I had to take my daughter down to the DMV and sit there in that germ infested hell hole and wait for over an hour to be called to . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: The One About The Day I Randomly Cut My Hair]]> Who says that you have to wait until the New Year to start a-new?

Today was a normal day, besides the fact that I had to take my daughter down to the DMV and sit there in that germ infested hell hole and wait for over an hour to be called to the window and try to correct a mistake that they made when registering our car here in the great state of C-A. Our car is registered properly now- moving on.

Cadence was her normal mischievous, inquisitive, energetic self. Throwing herself on the floor at every turn and having tantrums because… well, because she feels like it. What? I can’t play in the toilet- I’ll throw myself on the floor. **rolling my eyes**

When Chris got home from work, I called him over to the bathroom mirror and asked him to help me cut. Now, he thought I was talking about cutting away the few knotty/nappy stray pieces of hair sticking out of my head. When I pointed to a specific location on my back he said “You want me to cut your hair?….. (pause) Oookay” Snip, snip, snip. “It’s just hair” I tell him, it will grow back.

Today, a mother lay her not even one month old daughter Cora to rest. Here I am bitching and moaning about how much California sucks, how much Cadence is running my life and how “bad” she is going to be when she’s older and how much she “doesn’t listen.” While a mother, my Twitter friend, is grieving the loss of her child….

Being home, alone, all day has really allowed me to take a look at myself- what I like, what I don’t like & want to change and what I would like to have. This is just a step in that process. Cutting my hair reminded me not to sweat the small stuff and to remember to thank God for everything. I got into the shower after I cut my hair and I was taken back to that place I was at in 2003 after I shaved it off. I let the water run through my short hair and I just said a not-so-silent prayer to God. Thanking Him, asking Him for continued guidance and to continue His work in me- because I know it’s not done.

It’s a new start. A New Year’s resolution in December. We’ll see where this takes me.

I’ll show you the finished product after I actually do my hair!

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Before you start passing judgment, no, my husband did not ask me that (I think he . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: The One Where I Tell You “What I Do All Day”]]> This one really goes out to the Stay-At-Home Moms… only because we are home all day long (for the most part). Has your husband or significant other ever asked you “what do you do all day?”

Before you start passing judgment, no, my husband did not ask me that (I think he knows better)… but I do get the feeling from talking to my Mommy friends that they don’t seem to fully “get it.”

There seems to be some kind of misconception that we are home all day, so clearly, we have lots of time on our hands. Right?

My husband has been making these “jokes” about how I spend all day on the computer. I think he does it more to light a fire under my ass because he knows how much it pisses me off to hear that. Especially since it’s far from the truth.

So today. I set out to document my day. Hold on to your fuckin horses, there are a lot of photos involved in this post and really, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to keep up.

C usually wakes up around 6, 5 if she’s feelin’ frisky. But today she spared me and woke up at 7. I tried to keep her in bed by amusing her with Elmo’s World, but that shit didn’t work. And since my loving husband showed her how to get down from our bed herself- forget it. She’s out and ready to start the day. So, up I get.

We head out into the living room and I look around, sigh, and try to figure out where to start. Now, the house is not a wreck, but when you know that you are going to attempt to clean the WHOLE thing- you’ve got your work cut out for you. Especially with an 11 month old who won’t let you breathe without her permission.

I decide to tackle the kitchen first. Now, I must say that I am not good at sticking to one task at-a-time. I usually get sidetracked and start working on something else completely until I remember that I never finished the first thing that I was working on. I choose the kitchen, though, because I can make her breakfast, feed her and clean it up at the same time. So, I proceed to make her porridge. While I am doing that, I put on my pot of coffee and wash up the dishes. C entertains herself by pulling all of the kitchen utensils out of the drawer and throwing them on the floor. *Note to self, wash ALL of those utensils that are now on the floor.* I feed C, sip on my coffee and decide to head out to the living area- there are toys there and hopefully they can keep her occupied long enough for her to allow me to sweep and mop.

So she may give me about 5 minutes of this- her entertaining herself before she’s over it and SO curious about what I’m doing or where I am.

So during this time I sweep. Around her little ABC mat, on the mat (she likes to eat there) and the entire living room and entryway.

While I am sweeping, C decides that she’s over playing in her play area and wants to venture out into the greater living room. What does she go for? Her activity center, which my husband ever-so-gently tucked away into a corner next to the fireplace. Why? Well our cable wire is hanging under there and he thought if he put her activity center there, she couldn’t go for the cable wire and try to pull it out of the wall. I don’t need to tell you how well that plan worked.

Anywho, she doesn’t like to sit in her activity center- Nooo she likes to climb on the sides and let it rock. She also likes to go underneath it and sit there- she usually gets stuck under there and cries. Well today I got sick of seeing the activity center rock to and fro- knowing that at any second she could tip it over and fall flat on her head on the tile. Um… no thank you. So:

me being the mean Mommy that I am, I took that bad boy up and put it behind the safety gate. Yeah, she was not happy.

So, she found something else to do: stare out the patio door at the dog. She LOVES to do this. So I thought “sweet,” I can mop the floor while she looks to see what the stupid dog is doing. So, I grab my Shark Steam Mop and start mopping away.

Oh what is that C? You want to help Mommy mop? No thanks, I’m all set. Oh yes, please. Pick up the cord for the Steam Mop and shake it all about- are we doing the Hokey Pokey?

I mop the entryway, I mop the play area, I even use the steam mop on her little ABC foam mat. You know why? She spills things on there and they leave little black marks… well the steam mop cleans that all up.

Then I decide, heck, while I’m deep cleaning- why not take up the rug, sweep under that and mop too? So of course the first thing she does is go over to the rug to touch it. “Hurry up” I say to myself “before the damn rug falls and knocks her in her head…” I assure you, the rug did not fall- and so all is well with the world! While I was sweeping that area, something told me to check under the sofa for goodies. Um yeah, that would be 1 sippy cup and 1 bottle Alex. Depending on how disgustingly old that milk was in the bottle, it would have to go straight to the trash can: Do not pass Go, do not collect $100.

Thankfully, it wasn’t moldy, just stinky- so into the sink it went for a good soaking.

I go in the kitchen to empty the dustpan and soak the stinky bottle and there she is, right on my trail. Making weird noises that I guess she thinks is crying, but I know is just fake random “pay attention to me” noises that she likes to make.

She finds her play area again and decides this time to pull the ABC mat apart… whatever floats your boat honey, as long as it keeps you quiet. I can put it back together at anytime. I know my ABC’s… I think.

Oh yeah, the bathroom rugs are in the washing machine, I should probably put them in the dryer. Here she comes… investigating the “one day I’m gonna have a garage sale and when I do this is the stuff that I’m going to sell” pile o’ crap.

“Ohh lookie here, Mommy left the door open…” “I’ll just help by pulling the rugs out for her!”

After I avert that crisis (of her throwing my clean rugs on the floor). Back into the house we go.

What time is it?

Isn’t she tired yet?

What the fudge?!

Uhh no, Cadence, please get off of the fireplace. I HATE when you climb up there. It’s not safe.

No, no, NO!!! Please stop trying to pull the garland down off of the fireplace. Ugh! This is exactly why the Christmas tree is in the kitchen.

Feed the fish, feed the dog.

“Oh lookie here. It’s Mommy’s water bottle.” Wait, what’s that? Is it… RUUUUuun!!

“Puh-lease pick me up!! I don’t want to see that!”

What could bring her such terror you wonder? Duh-duh-duuuuuh: **gasp** The Vacuum!!

So basically, I have to hold her in my arms and vacuum. Great fun, quite the workout too.

So thanks to the vacuum she’s in a pretty foul mood. It’s after 11. I’m running on coffee and she’s cranky. Ugh. This is not going to end well at all.

Time out to check the diaper, comb her hair (shocker, huh? I know you all think I never comb her hair) and feed her.

There is the proof that her hair was combed today.
Thank you- please hold your applause.

Since I was in her room, the scatter-brain in me decides to clean up in there. C was SUCH a big help. She emptied all of the contents of her diaper bag on the floor… now if I was smart I would learn to keep the zipper closed so she can’t do that anymore… but I can be a little slow on the uptake. Hopefully, though, I’ve learned my lesson!

I had to walk past the bathroom to get back to the kitchen. So what the hell, might as well clean up in there- this should only take a few minutes. Wipe down the toilet and counters with Clorox wipes- check. Clean out the tub -che… uhh, NO CADENCE don’t touch that! **sigh** (Note to self: Please remember that she has a long reach- put everything waaay far back from the edge) Clean out the sink- check.

While I am cleaning out the sink, she decides to pull her ducky tub out of the big girl tub  and then tries to sit in it while it’s on an angle . Yeah… she fell right out of there.

NEXT!!!

It’s 12:20 pm- do you know where your children are?
Mine is wide awake and ready to eat.

Don’t judge me based on what I feed her…

Moving on.

She starts to look a little tired. So I try, yet again to put her down to sleep and… JACK-FUCKING-POT!!

I’m so excited, I don’t even know what to do first. I consult my planner which contains my list of things to do daily (more about that another time) and I decide to finish in the kitchen.

First thing’s first, dump all of C’s toys into the sanitizer…. do this until all of her toys have been cleaned.

SO I’m washing the dishes and think- Okay, I vowed to try and stop complaining about my days so what’s one good thing that’s happened today?

Well, I thank God for allowing me to see another day with my family- that’s huge. Right?

Then I think, when this day is over, what can I say that I did for myself? (cough, cough- nothing) This is when I choose to work out- this is something that I am doing for me and I will NOT skip a day. Plus, who knows how long I have left in C’s nap. So, workout it is.

Once that’s over and I realize she’s still sleeping I decide to go around and empty all of the trash in the house: both bathrooms & our bedroom.

Back to our bedroom… I turn/flip the mattress (on my list to do today), make the bed, clean off the ironing board (which was becoming a junk pile), clean off the counters/sink area and oh! C’s awake…. It’s after 2. She gave me a good hour plus.

Bring her into the bedroom with me, sweep, NO GET OUT OF THE TOILET!!!

I get the steam mop, bring it in the room, plug it in and wait for it to heat up… once it starts releasing steam. C shouts “hot, hot, hot!!!” Soo funny. Probably the cutest part of today. I always tell her not to touch the steam mop b/c it’s hot. So now when she sees it “hot, hot, hot.”

Somewhere in the midst of my temporary insanity I decide to give the dog a bath. A) Because he smells like shit and B) I’d like to vacuum and febreeze our bedroom carpet. If I do that and a smelly ass dog lays on it, I’m going to be PISSED.

Good thing I already cleaned the guest bathroom. K, let me pick up the rug, remove ALL of C’s toys from the tub and give this dude a bath.

He was fairly good and C was just in awe. She’d never seen him get a bath before. (For so many reasons- including that he doesn’t get bathed as often as he should).

And just for cuteness sakes, here she is trying to give the dog kisses while he gets clean:

K, dog is done. Dry him off, take him out back to brush him off with the deshedding tool. THIS TAKES 100 YEARS. For a short-haired dog, he sheds more than I don’t know what.

Shit, it’s after 3. I need to go to the post office, but most importantly I promised Hubby I would go to the pharmacy and pick up his meds.

I. Promised.

Okay, if I leave by 4, I should be able to get there and get back in time to let him in. (My husband doesn’t feel the need to travel with his house keys)

Febreeze sofa cushions and pillows.

Clean guest bedroom.

Shred papers.

4 o’clock, still haven’t eaten… Running on nothing but Mommy juice now.

Maybe I’ll stop by Subway after I get Hubby’s prescription.

Hop in the car, go to the pharmacy and wait… and wait…

Fuckin small towns- only damn pharmacy in town with 80 people behind there, but only 1 person helping people with pick-ups. Great. There goes my Subway.

What the hell… is that cramps I’m feeling?

Son of a-!$#@*&! I would get my period today.

Oh, what’s that pharmacist, you only have 3 out of the 30 tablets my husband needs and I’ll have to come back on Monday? Oh great… thanks!

K, hurry, hurry. Hubby gets off of work at 4:30, give or take 15 minutes to get home… I have time. Maybe I’ll drive through McDonald’s and… Ohh look at all of the cars in the Drive-Thru.

NEXT!

Headed home, stop at the post-office and it’s empty. Thank You God.

Back in the car…. driving. Oh thank you Lord for that green light. Thank you for allowing me to turn left and YAY!!! (Big sigh of relief) Hubby is just now pulling up as I arrive.

Suh-weet!

It’s 11 pm… I’m writing this blog post. I ate 2 Taco Supremes today and had 2 glasses of wine.

I haven’t showered, or brushed my teeth (headed to do that now, I promise).

Tomorrow is Saturday, so I get to tackle this beast again on Monday.

What did you do today?

Come on…don’t copy- get your own material. Nobody likes a cheater! Original & Hand Written Plagiarism Will Be Detected. This site is being monitored by CopyGator. Mmkay? Thanks.

The following is a guest post by Devri from The Naulu Tribe. A former web designer, now Stay-At-Home Mom to 7, yes- SEVEN, wonderful children. You can read more about Devri and her “tribe” here.

I admit, I have never been good with hair. Bottom line.

I guess you could say I had good hair when I was younger.

As I got older and became responsible for my own hair, I often chose to have it braided . . . → Click Here To Read The Full Blog Post: I Am Not My Hair… Or Am I?]]>

I admit, I have never been good with hair. Bottom line.

I guess you could say I had good hair when I was younger.

As I got older and became responsible for my own hair, I often chose to have it braided (cornrows, whatever you want to call it) because that meant low maintenance for me. I just had to find someone to re-braid it every other week or so. That job usually fell upon my childhood bestie Shawnique and to my knowledge she didn’t mind. She knew that I couldn’t braid hair to save my life.

Now I know what you’re thinking- what do you MEAN you don’t know how to braid hair? Isn’t that like, a black girl requirement?

Yes, I always felt bad because I didn’t know how to braid hair. My mother knew how to braid hair. ALL of my friends knew how to braid hair. Shemaine, Shawnique, Malika- shall I continue? ALL OF MY SISTERS KNEW HOW TO BRAID HAIR!!! What the hell was wrong with me? But I have a legitimate excuse, I promise, ready for it? No one ever taught me how… and that’s the truth. My older sister never really wanted to braid my hair or anyone else’s for that matter, she always had better things to do. Then my younger brother came around and we never really braided his hair. So, who was I to learn from?

I guess in hindsight I guess I could have asked someone, but I never really wanted to bother anyone to take the time out to teach me. It seemed so unachievable, so hard. I didn’t want to waste their time. I was sure that I’d fuck up and they would get frustrated with me and I wouldn’t learn how to do it anyway.

I had a relaxer all the way up until 2003. I loved everything about having permed hair (what we call a perm) except for the part where I had to go to the beauty parlor every two weeks for a wash and set (hair washed, rollers put in to sit under the dryer for 100 years). I also hated the part where I had to go back every month for a touch up (get my hair permed all over again) and have my scalp burn like all hell because I’d been scratching my hair. Even when I tried NOT to scratch my hair, it still burned. It was a complete lose-lose situation.

God forbid you didn’t get a touch-up on time. All of the new growth in your hair started scrunching up and making your hair thick. It was almost impossible to get a comb nonetheless your hands through it… and you just looked like a hot mess.

Yeah, I don’t miss those days. Perms and I were not friends. Which, again, is why I often chose braids instead. Either cornrows or extensions. Now extensions, I know how to do. Somehow my older sister managed to teach me how to do that. I think mostly because when she was putting in her extensions she wanted my help. I usually had to do the back- and now that I think about it she probably made me do the back because if I fucked it up, no one would really see it.

When I was in college, I studied abroad in the Fall semester of 2003. It was one of the most amazing times of my life. Absolutely life changing. I had a lot of time to think about who I was as a person and who I actually wanted to be… turned out those two were not in line. I met amazing people, saw AMAZING countries and maybe I’ll blog about that experience one day.

While aboard the S.S. Universe Explorer I decided to shave all of my hair off. Long story short, it is a Semester at Sea tradition to shave your hair off on the day you first cross the equator. (Again, maybe one day I’ll write about that) So I did it.

Hair is a funny thing. We love it, we hate it, but for some reason so many of us can’t live without it. I never really thought I was attached to my hair. At that point in my life I had a bad dye job (went in for highlights, came out with a big ass bleach line going down the side of my hair- ugh), my hair was breaking from the perms and it wasn’t very long. But when it actually came down to do it, I was second-guessing myself and petrified.

The first cut…             Almost there…

There is a certain type of freedom that comes with shaving off all of your hair. You feel liberated- nothing can bother you. With my new found liberation came deep reflection regarding what kind of person God placed me on this earth to be.

Enter my dreadlocks.

Dreads have always been a topic of major disagreement in my family. I always wanted them and my parents and grandparents AND great-grandparents always said: NO!

I still don’t quite  understand my family’s deep resentment for dreadlocks. I always thought, WE ARE JAMAICAN, WHAT IS THE BIG DEAL? Maybe one day my parents will fully explain.

Truthfully, I didn’t get dreadlocks as a representation of my culture. Though now, I do feel like my dreads are associated to my Jamaican heritage by some people. But, my dreads also get associated with the pot head population here in the U.S. of A. I have had many people say to me: “Oh, you’re Jamaican? Bob Marley dude, he’s awesome!” Uhh no. “So, like, do you like to get high?” Take your bong and go over there. I can’t even remember what I did five minutes ago and you want me to smoke weed? I’ll pass.

Really, I got dreads because I think my friends were sick of looking at my afro- which by the way is VERY hard to maintain. My hair got so nappy and getting a comb or a pick through it was a J-O-K-E.

The afro

My friend Malika, hair do-er extraordinaire, kept offering to twist my hair for me. So I said yes. I thought, if I have dreads it will be so low maintenance and I’m sure that even I can handle that.

Boy was I wrong. My  hair grew so damn fast once those twists came in and there was new growth all over the place! Sheesh. I was at Malika’s door like it was my job trying to get my hair re-twisted! One thing that is good about me having dreads? It is a hairstyle that even I can handle- if my lazy ass so chooses to do so. But, I usually just let it lay dormant. It has gotten so long and I know that it would take me 40 hours to do it. So, I don’t.

Dreads: The early days

Since moving to desert town it’s even worse. There aren’t any dreadlocks hairdressers here and I’m very particular about who I let put their hands in my hair. The last time I had it done I was in New York for my brother’s wedding… IN AUGUST! If I wasn’t so lazy I’d do it myself, but I am.

Now I am at that point again where I find myself attached to my hair. No matter how long it takes me to do it and how long it is actually getting. Never mind that it is disgustingly hot here in the desert and just the thought of wearing my hair down makes me cringe. I hate my dreads and I love my dreads. When I am ready to get rid of them I’ll have no choice but to pretty much start over from scratch with close to no hair… I mean, ya can’t just undo dreads- you have to cut them off. But I’m not there yet.

My hair now.

Really this trip down hair lane spawned from a conversation I was having with a few other Moms on Twitter regarding Cadence’s hair. Some days she looks like a wild child and some days when I’m brave, I tackle the bush.

Cadence does not take lightly to getting her hair done. It is a struggle and she’s tender headed to boot- is she crazy?! You can’t be tender headed.

My Mommy friends were laughing at me because I said I didn’t know how to braid hair. Now to the naked eye, you wouldn’t think that you could braid her hair. Some say it’s too soft, too straight, but you can. I know you can. Two of my Mommy friends have interracial children and braid their hair all the time. Now, all I have to do, is learn how… **cringing**

My hair throughout the years:

And I know you were waiting for it. Here is me, with no hair.

Please, hold your applause.

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