Conscious Mom

A few weeks ago I saw Living on the Fault Line: Where Race and Family Meet, a documentary about interracial adoptive families in racially homogeneous (white) Vermont. I promised a review, but I was VERY TIRED the night I saw this documentary, so tired my poor little neurons were misfiring, ceasefiring, and backfiring, and as a result the details are very fuzzy in my mind. So rather than give the details, I'm just going to encourage you to see it, whether or not you have children, whether or not your children are adopted, whether or not they are same race as you, because it is a frank, accessible, thoughtful look at race in American society. Despite my exhaustion, ...

OK. So yesterday's post was a little harsh. I was still reeling from a particularly insensitive comment made in front of my daughter. Perhaps venting into a blog isn't the best way of dealing with my anger, however! I think much of the reason why I get angry is that I can never come up with a good response in the moment. When it comes to figuring out the perfect thing to say 48 hours later, I'm the queen, but at the precise moment I need the right words I just stand there frustrated and flabbergasted. I've been reflecting recently on the enormity of raising a child outside her birth culture. This is nothing new, there are certain aspects of parenting ...

A few months ago I had a series of posts about what not to say to people who are adopting a child. I'm adding this to the list: Don't say anything to me about how lucky my daughter is that I rescued her from the dire conditions of her homeland. Yes, she needed a family, yes there's poverty in her country. But there's also beauty, kindness, spirituality, depth, joy, art, literature, intelligence, creativity, innovation. But speaking of 'rescuing' people, can someone rescue me from the arrogance, condescension, and rampant consumerism of my birth country? OK, something set off this rant, but I'm not going to say what it was. The details don't matter; suffice to say it unnerved me more than I've been ...

I'm interrupting my retrospective to express concern for the people in Tibet, and wish for a peaceful, just solution to the decades of repression and conflict. This is Avalokiteshvara, the highest representation of compassion in Tibetan Buddhism. His image can be found throughout Tibet, and his mantra is carved into stones all over the countryside. Background to the China/Tibet situation can be found here. I'm not looking to discuss politics, so I've turned comments off for this post.

Some students at UC Berkeley have put together a site to see how many African countries people can name in ten minutes. Click here. How did you do?

I take back what I said a few weeks ago about Carol's Daughter products being great for Little M's hair. They make her scalp itch horribly. It wasn't so bad when the air wasn't so dry, but the combination of the perfumes and the low humidity of New England winter made her scratch until she was red. The poor thing, she was so uncomfortable. I washed her hair with a baking soda wash to make sure to get out every last trace (I just rubbed about a teaspoon of baking soda into her hair and rinsed it out). An older child or adult would be able to handle the these products much better, so they are being rehomed to another ...

Most of Maia's toys are presents from other people. People like to give little girls teddy bears and dolls. Maia has been given four dolls so far; three of them have been Caucasian, one has been African. The African doll is a beauty, traditionally dressed and adorned with earrings, bracelets, and beads. In other words, not something a 15 month old can play with, but perfect for an older child to treasure. It was my favorite present from her baby shower. Until she's old enough not to choke on the earrings, spit up on the dress, and bite off the fingers, it's displayed a shelf and she can see it at every diaper change. On the back of the package ...