Pretty Girl

I was sitting by the water this weekend with nothing to do but chat and read my book (which is pretty much all I ask for from a vacation at the moment), so Firefly got her first bitty twists.

I didn't have a comb or product, just a cup of water, so it was a little messy. I tried it again the next day and it looked better. But in order to be "authentic" and "honest" and all that, I resisted swapping in the second-day photos.

It was a fun diversion for me, but it also unexpectedly sparked a really good discussion with the other folks in that corner of the deck about transracial parenting. This is a group of four families with whom we go to the same cabin each year, a tradition started when we were still single, childless college students. Of the eleven kids between us, ten have blond hair and blue eyes. The eleventh is Firefly. I think there has been some uncertainty among them about whether it's okay to acknowledge Firefly's race or if they're supposed to pretend to be colorblind. Somehow twisting up her curls in a way none of their daughters' silky hair would ever go opened the floor for them to ask the questions they'd been holding onto.