Discussing racial identity with multiracial and biracial children is a challenge for many parents. They may have difficulty due to the weight of their own experiences with culture and want to protect their kids from the same. Other parents might struggle with translating complex ideas such as race and racism into an age appropriate language that a kid would understand. It’s helpful to first have working definitions for terms commonly
Ask the Expert is a series of posts for multiracial moms raising biracial kids. To submit your question to our panel of mental health and parenting experts, fill out the form here. Today’s question is a great one, broaching the topic of mixed identity and how we, as parents, can help facilitate a healthy one. One DSM reader asks, How can I help my biracial child answer questions on identity?
Taking care of biracial hair during the cold, winter months is an important task. Though it looks strong, curly hair is most susceptible to breakage, which prevents growth and length. In the winter, you might be running a forced-air heater, which sucks up the moisture in the air, and/or regularly wearing scarves, big jackets and beanies/hats. Kids are playing indoors more, meaning lots of rolling around on the floor or
Today is Nevada Day, did you know? Today, this state in which we’ve lived for almost ten years turns 150 years old. As a state holiday, the kids have the day off from school. My bank is closed. All so the citizens of Nevada acknowledge it’s legacy and history. In July of 2005, I drove my car into the valley and the thermometer read 115 degrees. I didn’t have much,
Disclosure: This post was sponsored by Honey Maid through their partnership with POPSUGAR. While I was compensated by POPSUGAR to write a post about Honey Maid, all opinions are my own. Giving birth to my daughter was like giving birth to a new identity. The magnitude of motherhood often overwhelmed me, and in no small part was that due to the fact that we are a multiracial family. As a
Daddy D rushes out of here so quickly in the mornings. Like a flash, suited and booted, he flies out the door preparing to tackle another stressful, anxiety-ridden work day. I hate it. I’m usually stuffing a breakfast bar or a peeled orange in his hand as he kisses me good bye, knowing that he won’t eat a morsel until lunch time. I also know how taxing it is to