It’s a 2012 “Big Thing” – I Dye My Hair Blue

Sadly, my iPhone cannot fully capture the rich, and textured, multi-color work of art that is now my hair. Yet it somehow manages to catch the detail of each and every wrinkle on my forehead. What gives?

I cannot believe I haven’t posted this. I dyed my hair blue (and orange and purple and green) way back in October!

Why? Well, it was getting towards the end of the month, and I hadn’t thought of a “big thing” yet and I was feeling kinda panicky and… oh! You’re not asking why I dyed my hair blue in October. You’re asking why I dyed my hair in the first place!


  1. Because I’m 40-ish years old and technically too ancient for this kind of foolishness
  2. Because I’ve always wanted to color my hair but was afraid of what other people would think
  3. Because lately I’ve come to care a lot less about what other people think of me and my personal choices
  4. Because I’m smack dab in the middle of a mind-numbing mid-life crisis that dulls my ability to make smart decisions

(# 3′s my favorite)

I love my hair. Right now it’s blue and purple, but last month it was blue, purple, green, and a bit of orange. It’s a look that is supposed to resemble that of a peacock. I told my husband that if he wanted to show off his peacock to friends and family he was now free to do so. He didn’t take me up on the offer. Not sure why.

I also adore my hair guy. Jentry, you are a rockstar! You are a talented artist, a savvy businessman, and a dear friend who happens to be incredibly handsome. I’m so glad you’re mine (er… my hair guy… I’m so glad you are my talented and artistic hair guy)!

Blues and purples this time. Again, iPhone fails to communicate just how cool my hair really is.

Honestly. What does a person have to do to get some respect around here?

Glass of white wineRecommended wine: In honor of my awesome hair, I’m recommending a little chardonnay from Peacock Hill Vineyard, a micro-boutique vineyard in Australia. If you decide to pick up a bottle, please buy an extra and send it over to the excellent folks at The Black Cat Studio + Spa. They deserve it!

2012 “Big Things”

It’s been a big year.

Emergency Surgery for Dreadlocks

So, remember when Mgazi tried to cut out four of her dreadlocks? (See Dreadlock Carnage.) Well, she was successful with three, but for some reason she couldn’t get the scissors to completely cut through one loc in the back of her head.

This dreadlock is barely clinging to life

This dreadlock is barely clinging to life

I posted to my Yahoo Group (Adoption Hair & Skin Care) warning other parents about the possibility that their children may change their minds about whether or not they want dreadlocks. And worse yet, they may take action, as mine had. A wonderful woman named Deanna, suggested I sew the fourth lock back together! Brilliant idea, Deanna! THANK YOU !

Here’s how it looks.

I didn't use regular thread. I used a very thin dark nylon that is supposed to look invisible.

I didn't use regular thread. I used a very thin dark nylon that is supposed to look invisible.

You ca see from certain angles the loc is thicker where it is sewn together. But nobody is going to see this.

Kinda wishing I had stuck with the twists I started back in Africa. But I imagine they would look very similar to the locks and Mgazi would have been hot and cold on them too.

My White Daughter Teaches her Japanese Friends how to Dreadlock Hair

Zaffron has to “teach” her 1st grade class how to do “something” on Tuesday. She’s decided to teach her classmates how to dreadlock hair. We had a lesson tonight using yarn!

For those of you who don’t understand why this is interesting: Zaffron, my oldest, the one doing the “teaching,” is caucasian. Her classmates are almost exlusively Japanese. Of course, she knows about dreadlocks because her sister, Mgazi, who is from Africa, has 155 of them. (Correct that, as of a few weeks ago, she only has 152. See Dreadlock Carnage.)


Dreadlock Carnage

The total is four. It’s the official and final body count – although none of the bodies have been recovered. I’ve investigated Mgazi’s head row by row, inch by inch, individual lock by individual lock. I’m proud to report I did not once give in to the persistent urge to scream while doing it.

Here’s how the cookie crumbles:

One: the number of locks that she cut completely out, at the root, leaving a blank spot.

Dreadlock Carnage

Two: the number of dreadlocks that she cut in half. They now stick straight out of her head, like antennae.

One: the number of locks she attempted to cut out but failed. I guess she couldn’t get the angle right. Or maybe her fingers were getting tired. Regardless, she managed to cut through most of the lock but not all of it. The lock is now dangling perilously by 6 or 7 individual hairs. It’s only a matter of time before it gets caught on a button or zipper as she’s undressing and gets yanked out. At which time, in case you are wondering, I will have NO SYMPATHY!

Glass of white wineRecommended wine: I’ve heard that omega-3 fatty acids can help fight depression. Mussels are a rich source of omega-3 fatty acids. Know what goes great with mussels? Sauvignon Blanc! If your child ever cuts off her hair, be it her bangs or the dreadlocks that took you NINE WEEKS to put in, I suggest the 2006 Ferrari-Carano Sauvignon Blanc. You can learn more about this lovely wine out of Sonoma County at the Ferrari-Carano website.

In Over My Head

Adoption from Mgazi’s home country actually requires stays in two different countries in Africa. I’m extremely pleased, relieved, and excited to say we’ve completed part 1 in our first country and arrived yesterday tired but still excited in Country #2! This is an immense relief to us, because it means we are one step closer to seeing our family again.

But I’ll miss the people I’ve met: Pastor, and his wife, Siphiwe, and children, Nokuphila and Siphamandla have become dear friends of mine and I plan to know them for years to come. Tony and Patricia for being excellent hosts. Liz and Mari for the same. And the cleaning staff (Cindy and Estelle) at the guesthouse  – for the excellent, non-judgemental hair advice. I have boldly decided to go where I never dreamed I would have gone in the world of hair.

In fact, let’s talk about that.

Several weeks ago, I met a woman named Pam. She was one of the first to adopt from Mgazi’s home country and her daughter, Thula, is absolutely adorable. Thula had these 1 ½ inch long twists in her hair that added to the adorableness. “Twists” was the word that Pam used when I asked her about the hairstyle. She said, oh, it’s easy and proceeded to give me simple instructions. She also told me that Maureen, the housemother at the orphanage, is the one who told her how to do it.

Mgazi hated to have her hair combed, although I was as gentle as possible. It was a simple matter of two people having the exact opposite idea of how the next 5 minutes should be spent. I wanted to come through her hair. She wanted nothing of the sort.   Picture me trying to gently comb the hair of a two-year old practicing a boxer’s duck-and-weave. It wasn’t pretty. When I started to lose more rounds than not, I decided to try the twists.

To be clear, it wasn’t a decision I made lightly. First I asked Russell. “Huh? Um… Okay, I guess.” Pause. “Why are you asking me?”

His reaction didn’t bolster my confidence. Didn’t he know that once I went down this path there was no going back? If I screwed up, I’d have to shave the kid bald and start over!

I’ll confess a fear that I’ve had since approximately four days after we decided to adopt from Africa: I fear that women everywhere, regardless of race, color, or creed, will take one look at the head of my child and know, just know in their gut, that she’s got a white mom. That’s how seriously I do not want to screw up the hair thing.

So, I decided to do the twists. The process is such:

Step 1: Put a small amount of soap in a damp washcloth.

Step 2: Rub the washcloth in a circular motion around the child’s head. Pick a direction and stick to it. Pam was very clear on this, she said, “You must commit!” I committed to clockwise.

Step 3: Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that there was no step 3 until I completed step 2. Now what? Mgazi had some very cute and tight curls in some spots on her head and other areas were just clumps of matted hair.

Pastor came to pick us up, took one look at child and asked what in the world I was doing. He pulled Mgazi toward him, licked his thumb and circled it around in the hair near her temple, trying, I believe to massage one of the clumps into submission. Instinctively, I slapped his hand away. (He was circling counter-clockwise!)

Thankfully, Cindy and Estelle came to my ego’s rescue.   They knew exactly what I was doing! And they applauded the effort! And each day, they assured me I was getting closer and closer to the final look I was after. I wished I knew what that final look was supposed to be. Mgazi’s hair is much shorter than Thula’s. In fact, I’d be guilty of exaggeration if I said the twists were a quarter inch long. But they are what they are, and I think they (and my child) are adorable. So, while I’ve been working on this every day, I’m not sure I’ll know when I “get there.”

I have been able to thresh out some of the details that should go with the instructions, though:

Step 1: Choose a washcloth and agonize over how wet it should be and how much soap should be left in. (One woman on the street told me that I wasn’t using enough soap, her hair was too soft. Maureen told me her hair was too dry. The fear I mentioned above? It’s now a reality.)

Step 2: Rub the washcloth in a counter-clockwise circular motion around Mgazi’s head.

Step 3: Panic as you realize that you are rubbing the wrong way!

Step 4: Rub the washcloth in a clockwise motion around Mgazi’s head. Agonize over how big the circles should be.

Step 5: Search and destroy the little clumps that have a mind of their own and refuse to yield under the circular motion. Agonize about how much pressure to apply to those suckers.

I followed the above ritual religiously every morning and slowly my confidence came back. Until I met the lady at the wine shop. She picked up Mgazi and started a private conversation with her. Women do this in Country #1. They pick up your child and wander away… it’s up to you to follow, they don’t wait — you are no concern of theirs. So, the lady picks up Mgazi and starts talking to her in their native language and the only thing I hear is “rasta.”


Rasta means…

No… it couldn’t be. Surely, I didn’t…

Or maybe I did!


This is what twists look like after a couple of weeks.

I don’t know it for sure – I need someone in the know to confirm this for me. But I believe I may have unintentionally started Mgazi on the path to dreadlocks.

I’ve considered taking a close-up photo of Mgazi’s head and posting it here for opinions. But then it would look like I’m obsessed. (So I did it anyhow.)

P.S. Anyone know how to get playdough out of dreads?

Bedtime Excuses

Zaffron has begun giving reasons why it isn’t time to go to

Zaffy's hair is actually soft and curly.

Zaffy's hair is actually soft and curly.

sleep at night. The other night, I tucked her in and was holding her hand when she said, “Ow, yesterday I bumped my elbow. I need ice.”

“No, Zaff. You don’t need ice. Go to sleep.”

“But I have a headache.. I need medicine. My stomach hurts.”

“No medicine. Close your eyes.”

“Mommy, I need a drink of water… just a little one.”

“Zaffron.” (My warning tone.)

She turned over and snuggled in. A couple of seconds went by when suddenly, she started patting her head. “Mommy,” she said, “My hair is rough.” She sat up in bed. “It’s too rough to go to sleep!!”