Is there a problem?

Racism is often treated as a "black subject", but we know it's everybody's issue. Being white shouldn't make a person exempt from having to consider race and racism in their everyday lives. Any a parent who want to raise well-adjusted children should probably be thinking about these kind of things. I was reminded of this as I was going through some of J-Jo's papers from nursery school. So much of it brought back certain memories, like:

...the day I brought J-Jo to school a few minutes late and Headteacher beckoned (only) to J-Jo and chimed: "Hurry up, we're taking about Africa!" (emphasis on the word "Africa!")

...or the day that we told Headteacher we were keeping J-Jo out of school one afternoon to take her to see a replica of the Amistad, which was temporarily docked at a harbor nearby.

Mrs. Headteacher: "Do you feel she's ready for the subject of slavery?"

Mrs. J: "She's known about slavery since she was two." In a general sense, but it's true.

Mrs. Headteacher: "Let us know if there's anything we can do here to help her with that."

Mrs. J: Uh, thanks.

What I wanted to say: "You all pretend like the holidays aren't even happening because you're afraid of offending people. Do you really think I expect you to teach my child about slavery? Do ya really think I'd TRUST you to?"

Oh well. It's over now. J-Jo graduated two weeks ago (in the form of a picnic, no cap and gowns up here). Next year, she'll be at a progressive charter school in Houston that's a lot more diverse. I know J-Jo will miss the friends she's made here, though. I will too. They're all sweet kids who I've watched grow from babies to toddlers to sassy-mouthed little kids right along with my own (not too thrilled about that sassy part). And I know she'll miss the little white schoolhouse and its intimate little yard. But I gotta admit, I'm still reeling from this upstate nursery school experience. While it was great in certain ways — the healthy snacks, organic "birthday muffins" instead of cupcakes, the fact that their learning was play-based — I can't say I'll actually miss it.

Flower Child

It's the type of inspiration Hallmark copywriters would kill for. My best friend, the one I've known since we were eight-year-olds teetering across the balance beam in gymnastics class, is getting married. Tomorrow. There aren't many people more excited for her than I am. And nobody's more excited to walk down that aisle than she is.

Except the flower girl, of course.

Which is absolutely adorable, if she weren't my daughter. The one who's decided the world is a stage. Unlike most mothers of the flower girl, I don't worry that she'll hesitate to walk down the aisle, I'm praying she won't decide not to moonwalk down it. We're talking about a child who sings showtunes (in full voice) in the checkout line at Target. The one who, at age two, insisted on singing "The Ants Go Marching One By One" to business men from Philadelphia as they disembarked the Amtrak at Penn Station. The one my husband jokingly refers to as "The Black Ruth Buzzi" and we both swear is the next Maya Rudolph (Should she do Second City or Groundlings? Before or after college?"). I'm speaking of our resident ham, the one that makes Heavenly Ham taste like hell.

Don't get me wrong, I'm honored that J-Jo's about to be a part of my friend's special day, especially considering that the rest of the bridal party is comprised only of immediate family (and that my dear friend spared me the annoyance of buying a dress I'll wear once). But right now, I'm kinda worried that J-Jo's comedic timing might put a damper on the blessed occasion.

Of course none of this would be a problem if I knew how to give The Look.

I'm sure you've seen it before. It's the facial expression that black mothers who refuse to be publicly embarrassed are famous for. The one that with a slight arch of the brow and purse of the lip simply states: Don't even think about it. The one Claire Huxtable brought into the mainstream. Five years into this parenthood thing and I'm still waiting for my instruction manual to come in the mail.

So in the meantime, I'm going put the Claire Huxtable in me aside and remember that this wedding is much bigger than J-Jo's inner diva. I'm probably overreacting, anyway; everyone says that kids in weddings add levity to a joyful, yet tense, occasion. Maybe I should just focus on the symbolic beauty of the occasion and remember that most people can't actually manage to get hitched without hi jinx of some kind. I'm going to take a deep breath and put this whole flower chile thing into perspective because life is far too short. In a blink of an eye, a grown-up J-Jo could very well likely be walking down the aisle once more (provided Tina Fey isn't keeping her too busy at 30 Rockefeller Center).

On Friday my posts also appear as an online column for Time Out New York Kids. Visit them at Time Out New York Kids for more city-specific parenting tips and diversions. The regular column will be called Not the Nanny, which pretty much answers the crazy looks I sometimes receive when I'm out and about with my rosy-cheeked son.

Rich Dad, Poor Dad

Mr. J woke up bright and early this morning to take J-Jo to the little bakery they like frequent on the weekends. That's it pictured there on the right, it's actually about that big, too. But I have to tell you, those cinnamon buns are the bomb (as evidenced by the remainders in the bottom right corner).

Before they left, I asked for a coffee and handed Mr. J some change before shooing them out the back door. I was despareate to take a catch a nap while the twins were sleeping.

Oh, but what I wouldn't have given to have heard this exchange:

Mr. J: (Counting his change) Okay, I think this is it...

J-Jo: Daddy, are you rich?

Mr. J: Uh no, I'm really...not. Are you?

J-Jo: Oh yeah (nodding head), I'm rich.

Mr. J: Yeah? How do you know?

J-Jo: Because I have more money than I can count.

A Whole New World

“That’s it Mommy, I want that one!” My three-year-old flung her arm towards a wall of shiny, sherbet-colored princess costumes.

“I thought you wanted to be a duck.”

“I changed my mind. I wanna be Cinderella for Halloween. See it, Mommy? Right there!”

I tried not to notice the crinkly, powder blue costume creeping slowly into my peripheral vision. “Um, how about a ladybug?”

“No, Mommy. Cinderella!”

Of course that’s who she wanted to be for Halloween. After all, the blue-eyed, bouffant-wearing princess was the it-girl of Four-year-old World. I knew that J-Jo was more interested in playing dress-up and looking "pretty" than actually looking white, but I still had my reservations about endorsing it. I was never that crazy about the Disney Cinderella with all of her whining and pining for Mr. Right; I’m not raising my daughters to wait for some guy on a white horse to gallop in and whisk them off to Wisteria Lane. I want my girls to aspire to become much more than daydreaming debutantes in ball gowns. The last thing I need is some cartoon character contradicting me.

And then there was that other part. As an African American mom, I resented the fact that for so many years, Disney had never bothered to create a black princess.

American Indians had Pocahontas and Asian Americans had Mulan (both sort of underrated, but at least they were there). And of course there’s Jasmine, who always seemed like she’d only been created to keep other minorities from getting mad. Clearly somebody at the mega-corporation knew that white people weren’t the only ones with Orlando timeshares, or they wouldn’t have created the few princesses of color they had. So where the heck was Princess Imani? Black families like Epcot, too. I wanted a princess I could, I mean, my girls could relate to. Several more seasoned moms had mentioned that the princess fetish is just a phase, but if I was destined to spend the next six years or so getting dragged into the princess aisle at Target (or even worse, the Disney Store) I needed more incentive to be there.

No one could convince me that plunking $19.99 on the counter for that costume would be anything more than a deposit on my daughter's future therapy sessions. I couldn’t stomach the thought of letting my beige-skinned daughter dress up as the archetypical porcelain-skinned princess for Halloween. At the same time, I wasn’t ready to tell J-Jo why she couldn’t make her own decision about what to be for Halloween. So I stood there for a few minutes, staring at the wall of flammable frocks. And then I caved. There’d be plenty of time to talk about the difference between real love and fairy tale romance later, right? And we could discuss race forever, considering we’ll be black all of our lives. But at that time she was three years old. She’d only be three once.

So much of parenting is about picking battles; this time I'd chosen to surrender. I gingerly placed the costume in my red cart and wheeled it towards the check out line. J-Jo just sat there beaming at me; her smile could have upstaged the sun. When Halloween rolled around, I removed the cheesy, plastic cameo (with Cinderella’s face on it just in case it wasn’t obvious) from the front and sent J-Jo off with daddy in search of strangers with candy. I tried to focus on the joy on her face when we bought that costume, instead of my resentment at the company that inspired it. Then I sat on there the couch nursing our two-month-old twins, fantasizing about a day when little girls like my own would know a princess character who wasn’t based on a Eurocentric beauty standard.

And then she arrived, Disney's very first animated BAP.

The ninth member of the $3 Billion Princess A-List is Maddy, heroine of “The Frog Princess”. The 2-D animated film is an original story set in 1920’s New Orleans. In 2009, Princess Maddy will join the likes of Jasmine, Mulan and, yes, Cinderella. She’ll be given the royal treatment, with her very own rides at Disney World and dress up clothes to match. Rumor has it that Alicia Keys, Dreamgirls’ costars Jennifer Hudson and Anika Noni Rose are all vying for the lead role. Keys reportedly called the producers and begged for the part herself (sources say she’s received a second audition). One might scoff at the persistence of these starlets, fighting over a part like it was a sale rack at Filene’s Basement. True, the role itself is little more than a glamorized voice-over, but to anyone who grew up too black to be Snow White, the prospect of a black Disney Princess speaks volumes.

Disney has dubbed “The Frog Princess” “An American Fairy Tale”, so hopefully girls of all ethnicities will be able to identify with its heroine…at least for a little while. As I write this, J-Jo’s Cinderella Halloween costume is crumpled in ball at the bottom of her closet; the princess phase has run its course. Yet I know that Cinderella won’t be the last Disney diva to join us at the dinner table. In no time, J-Jo’s baby sister Coco will want princess get-ups of her own. And princess sippy cups, princess pajamas and whatever else that dreaded Disney store has in stock. Not that I’ll always buy into it. I’m just thrilled that by the time she asks, there’ll be another choice: An African American Disney Princess, with her very own happily ever after.

Imagine that.

As Good as it Gets

J-Jo came up and hugged me this morning, pressing her smooth forehead into my cheek before pulling her head back for a second. Then she paused dramatically and looked me in the eyes.

"Mommy," she sighed wistfully.

"Yes honey?"

"You're better than nothin'."

J. Jo's Latest Computer Art

Without any help!

We may never see a Disney princess and prince who look like these two, but I'm so proud of my girl for "coloring beyond the color lines".

Things A Girl Can Only Tell Her Best Friend...When She's Five

OWD (Overheard While Driving):

J-Jo: Do you like your boots that way?

Friend: Do I what?

J-Jo: Do you like that they're brown?*

Friend: Yeah, I like them.

J-Jo: Oh. (silence) I like the flashy butterflies on them.

Friend: Thanks.

J-Jo: Even though they're brown.

* To this day, I've only been able to get J-Jo to wear one brown pair of shoes. And that's only because the boots have these little, metal, heart-shaped charms dangling from them. The girl loves shoes as much as the next sister, but they must be flamboyant. The more bells and whistles the better. I've been known to blink back tears of frustration in the kids shoe aisle at Target as J-Jo extols the virtues of hot pink Barbie sneakers with blinking lights and sparkly laces. What's wrong with plain mary jane? I just pray she keeps the habit in check: I suppose I could tolerate a wannabee Nia Long, who recently admitted to the shoe hoarding sickness...but please Lord, please don't let me raise a junior Star Jones.

I can already picture her begging me to take her to DSW. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

About Last Night

7:36 pm
Twins are clean, pajama'd and in their respective cribs. Their light is out and they're chattering away to each other in pigeon toddler.

7:48 pm
I climb onto my bed, ignoring the sound of the tv downstairs and shut my eyes – taking five between putting the babies down and J-Jo to bed.

7:52 pm
J-Jo pokes her head in my door "There's my beautiful mommy that I've missed so much!"

Okay, what does she want?

7:54 pm
J-Jo returns with The Wonderful House by Margaret Wise Brown. One of our – okay, my – favorite books. We read until I drift... off...

"Oh mommy, you really are tired! You fell asleep during this book and it isn't even too long!" J-Jo pulls the covers over me and disappears to the bathroom.

7:55
J-Jo returns with my (wet) toothbrush. I fight my type-A personality.

7:56
J-Jo is "brushing" my teeth.

7:58 I submit to fatigue.

8:02
I momentarily drift out of slumber and hear this downstairs:
"Daddy, I had to tuck mommy in, she was very tired. Could you put me to bed please?"

God bless that child. Think I could do this uh, once a month?

Talking About Marriage

My best friend is getting married this spring and she wants J-Jo to be her flower girl. J-Jo was so flattered to have been asked ("I'd love to, Aunt Birdie!") and is beside herself with excitement these days, picking out flowers for Aunt Birdie's wedding...at the supermarket.

Naturally, most of my oldest girl child's conversational topics are centered around the subject of weddings and marriage these days.

The latest:

J-Jo: Mommy, I'm getting married with grapes.

Mrs. J: Really honey? You want to walk down the aisle with grapes instead of flowers?

J-Jo: No, mommy. I'm getting married to grapes, not with grapes. I don't want a husband, I want to marry grapes.

Mrs. J: And why's that?

J-Jo: Because I love them.

Mrs. J: I love them too (popping one in my mouth) but why do you want to marry them?

J-Jo: Because they're sweet and they don't talk.

If Mr.J happens to read this, hopefully he won't take offense (who'd like to think their child wants them to shut up?). But it's nothing personal. J-Jo is a child who deliberately sings over top of televison commercials, has been known to enter daycare saying (in a sing song voice) "I'm here!!". She's the life of the party whether the room is full of stuffy nosed two year olds or stodgy college professors. She's never content outside of the spotlight, at least not for too long. Hopefully, the person she decides to marry (if she decides to marry at all) will understand that smiling and nodding politely can go a long way.

Black to the Future

This post is purely selfish, since we all know our kids aren't here so we can live vicariously through them, and that ultimately, they have the chance to grow up and become whatever they desire. But like many parents, I can't help but look at my kids without wondering what they'll do for a living one day. So help indulge me for a minute?

J-Jo is a natural born entertainer, she's been singing and dancing almost since day one. Now that the twins are here, she's upped the ante considerably, the world is a stage as far as she's concerned. So if she becomes the next Beyonce, I'd be completely unsurprised. J-Jo's a sparkle butt, I'm sure Ms. Knowles was too at one point (and now she has the sparkly outfits and the butt to prove it). It's fine, as long as J-Jo doesn't expect me to design all her get-ups, a la Tina Knowles, 'cause I can't sew for jack. And I'd hope she'll consider the booty shaking thing kinda played out by then, so that daddy doesn't decide to kidnap her and pad lock her in her old room. But J-Jo also talks about wanting to become a veterinarian. So who knows?

ZenBaby is the classic, textbook baby who barely cried when we brought her home from the birthing center. So sweet, we thought there must have been some kind of mistake the first week we had her at home (we flinched every time the door bell rang, 'cause we knew it was her real family coming to whisk her back home to Bel Air). Nowadays, while J-Jo and their brother are playing tag all over the house, she's curled up on the couch or in the playroom with a board book. ZenBaby's our quiet, reserved child who I know fifteen years from now will either be off in the corner with War and Peace or off in her room sulking "What's wrong with those people? Surely, I must be adopted!" Probably some combination of the two. Zen's an observer and a quick study, I wouldn't be surprised if she became a novelist like her daddy. Or a judge.

And then, there's our boy. At eighteen months, L-Boogie barely says more than three words, but can sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star", "Elmo's Song" and floored us over the holidays with his own rendition of "Jingle Bells". Constantly, MJ and I are glancing over at eachother as if to say "the boy can barely talk, but he can sing?" I really wouldn't be surprised if he turns out to be a musician. Especially with his middle name, Thelonious. He's got the coolness of a jazz cat, but the smile of a politician, which strangers in the supermarket have stopped me to comment on. Better a politician than a used car salesman I suppose. I'd be so proud if he ended up following the lead of Deval Patrick, the first black elected governor of Masssachusetts who was sworn into office this morning, placing his hand on the Holy Bible that had been given to John Quincy Adams, by slaves from the Amistad.

Governor Patrick's speech had me all choked up today:

''I am descended from people once forbidden their most basic and fundamental freedoms, a people desperate for hope and willing to fight for it -- and so are you,'' Patrick told the crowd. ''This commonwealth, and nation modeled on it, is at its best when we show that we understand a faith in what's possible and willingness to work for it.

''As an American, I am an optimist, but not a foolish one. I see clearly the challenges before us.''

If I was his mama, that inauguration would have been flooded with my tears. I'm talking life jackets and search parties, people. But that's not where it stops. My son's gotta crawl before he can walk, right? So let me just be completely honest and put it out there that I really wouldn't mind if L-Boogie became the next Barack Obama.

More than anything, most of us basically want our children to be happy, positive, productive people who care about making a difference in this world. That's not too much to ask.

But strictly on the employment tip – based on their current personalities – what do you see your kids doing in 2050?

Merry Christmas

J-Jo wishing for world peace (or Bratz
dolls, whichever comes first)


Best wishes to you, your loved ones and your little loved ones
this holiday season and throughout the coming year.

Mrs. J, Mr. J, J-Jo, L-Boogie and ZenBaby

Hasta La Vista, Barbie

My J-Jo's more into stuffing a Build-a-Bear, than actually playing with one. That goes for any plush toy or doll she owns. She still likes the idea of dolls, she's just not interested in committing to any of them. Most of her barbies now go without clothing, finding refuge in the dark under her bed. And I won't get into what happened to the one she took into the bathtub. Let's just say it had to do with soap (lots and lots of soap...). But it's all good, I'm proud that my J-Jo isn't caught up in looking like rapunzel and would much rather play with blocks and build structures that look like they came straight from the pages of Dwell.

Now her sister is an entirely different story. Just like the nurses at the birthing center declared within her first week of ZenBaby's life, she's "all girl". So I shouldn't be surprised she posesses a maternal instinct far beyond her seventeen months. ZenBaby selflessly offers up her bottle to pacify her twin brother without skipping a beat. She spontaneously grabs her daddy's face, presses her rose bud lips to his nose and says "mwahhh!" There isn't one doll or plush toy in the house that she hasn't done that to, either. ZenBaby loves her siblings, her parents and most importantly, her dolls. She was too young to beg me for a new one this Christmas (J-Jo's for now are just fine), but when the times comes, I want to choose one that's perfect.

How hard could it be? you might ask, "every toy store has black dolls now!"

That may be true, but do they have dolls that reaffirm? No really, dolls that don't look like the teenager you pray your daughter won't become. I don't think I want My Scene to be hers. Give us a doll sans cell phone. One with dark brown eyes and pretty caramel skin like ZenBaby's without the Mattel version of what's on special from the Beverly Johnson Wig Collection. I don't need a Bratz Baby, this child's sass-o-meter is through the roof as it is. And once that criteria's met, Santa, I'd prefer for the doll not to come dressed in a leopard bikini, complete with a pole in the box.

When the time comes, and ZenBaby begs me for a doll, I'll follow the lead of savvy mommy writer, Deesha Philyaw. Her girls are older than mine (respectively), and she's really done the research on what this buying brown baby doll thing is really all about. Quite brilliantly, too. Here's Deesha's sage advice for black moms – originally published at Literary Mama – on finding dolls that resemble the real live ones we have at home. It may be too late for Christmas this year, but next season, you'll have a head start:

The Girl is Mine: A Black Mama's Interactive Guide to Shopping for Dolls for Christmas: The Good, The Bad, and The Barbie

by Deesha Philyaw

In December, a Black Mama's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of celebrating Christmas. What will have the kids dancing with joy in the living room on Christmas morning and reassure Mama that she is affirming their wonderfulness and instilling good values? And eschewing rampant consumerism? And minimizing Santa? And not forgetting Jesus?

I make my list and check it twice:

_xx__Make sure girls know that Christmas is more about giving than getting.

_xx__Make sure girls know that Mommy and Daddy's hard-earned money buy their gifts (with one magical exception from Santa, per child).

_xx__Be joyful.

_xx__Dust off the collection of crèches and arrange festively.

_xx__Cuddle up with girls on the couch to read picture books about the Virgin Birth. Try (and fail) to avoid answering, "Didn't Joseph have a penis?"

_____Search for dolls which are not voluptuous and strip-club-ready, and which do not promote a blonde, blue-eyed standard of beauty.

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