Carol's Daughter Tui Hair Smoothie

After visiting it several times in the store, I finally decided to try a Carol's Daughter product. There were several conditioners all with very similar ingredients, such as the Tui Hair Smoothie, and the Black Vanilla Hair Smoothie. I liked the scent of both of them, but finally settled on Tui. I was hesitant about the Amodimethicone it has in it as the main slippery ingredient (for combing). I'm fine with Amodimethicone in something I rinse out, but because I haven't been able to pin down yet what exactly it's made of (it's a mixture), Amodimethicone makes me nervous. Also I haven't found it to be as slippery as other silicones, so I've found it doesn't seem to work as well for getting a comb through my hair.

That being said, I'm trying not to be so stubborn about trying new things, and I've been surprised at some ingredients doing a better job than I thought they would, so decided to give this a try.

Since the Tui Hair Smoothie is in a jar, it's a bit thicker than conditioners you can squeeze out of a bottle. I tried to be very careful to make sure my hair stayed very wet during the combing out process. However, the product becomes sticky quickly. I spent much time having to wet every section before combing it (usually I don't have to re-wet my hair once when I comb with a good conditioner). It was a struggle to get the comb through without tugging or getting frustrated. So, alas, I'm liking Amodimethicone even less as a slippery ingredient than before.

The Tui Hair Smoothie dried well, and my hair seemed to clump okay, so I was thinking maybe I could recommend it, but with a caution about combing, as I have with Blended Beauty.

As I do for all products, I use it for a week to see how my hair does after seven days using it to smooth my frizzies every morning. And after seven days, I hate to say, my hair had matted on one side. I mean, after a week, my hair is always a bit tangley, but generally it doesn't have a chunk of hair that's melded together by weeks end, that takes a long time to get a comb through during the following combing, usually. So because of both the difficulty combing it, and the matting afterwards, I can't recommend this product.

*Note: I understand that this product (as are nearly all the conditioners I review) is meant to be rinsed out. And there are plenty of wonderful reviews out there for how this product works when it's rinsed out. However, since my method involves leaving the product in our hair, I review how a product functions this way.

The book has a publication date!!

I am so excited to be able to write these words: Curly Like Me is set to come out early May of 2010!!

I haven't seen the cover yet—Wiley is still working on it—but I can't wait to see what it will look like!

(The above picture was one of the covers I was thinking about when I was originally going to print the book myself)

New hair tool!

In Bellevue there was recently a small arts fair. I wandered around for a while, and a girl who looked alot like me caught my eye. She had her hair pinned up, and it looked much like mine did when I wore relaxers, except hers looked way better than mine ever did back in the day. So I stopped to catch a closer look at her hair. By then, she'd gone into a booth, and when I made my way up to it, she was letting a vendor demonstrate a hair comb on her hair. Heck, I hadn't even noticed the combs, but he had one wall of his booth covered in large, shiny metal combs in all kinds of beautiful metal-worked designs, in bronze, copper and silver (as well as combinations of all three).

As I watched, she undid her hair, and he began to style it. At first I was struck that he didn't try to run his comb through her hair. He simply twisted it gently up, and slid in the comb. It went in easily. It stayed in. She commented how light it felt, how secure it was. Then he slid it out, and did another style. And another. And another. Each time the comb came out easily. There was no frizz. And the comb was sturdy enough to hold her hair. I was impressed. But cautious.

The woman and I bonded over our hair for a while and marveled at the combs before she headed on her way. I cautiously entered the booth, and looked over the combs. I asked what they were made of, and the guy said they were actually made of copper, bronze, or German silver (which he said is a very strong type of silver). He said there was a lifetime repair on these combs. I touched one. It was smooth and heavy. He offered to do my hair, but being not only stubborn but paranoid, I declined. No one touches my hair. But I had liked what I saw, so I picked out a comb to buy.

I took it up to him, and bought it. It was pricey—I won't lie. But worth it. Then he asked if I wanted to put it in a bag, or wear it. I hesitated for a moment (since I'd seen how gentle he and the comb seemed), and then I decided to live a little , and said "wear it". So he had me sit in his chair, and he began showing me many of the styles for this comb. He didn't even try to comb my hair. The styles easily went from one to the other. The comb slid in easily, held firmly, and came out without catching. Usually my hair is too heavy for me to put up comfortably. But this comb was big enough to evenly distribute the weight of my hair, so my hair actually felt light. He showed me about 6 styles in 5 minutes. He would have shown me more, but when he asked "Can your hair be separated?", I said that it couldn't (it can, but not easily, and I didn't want to take the chance of it being pulled apart). But I really appreciated that he asked. I had seen the half up, half down styles he'd done on a few other people who stopped by his booth, though.

He asked what style I'd like to wear out, and I chose what he called The Figure Eight Bun, which I'm calling a Split Bun. He simply swirled my hair into a high bun, split it in half, and slid in the comb. Below, I'm including some pictures of this style, along with a few others so you can get the idea of what this comb can do. (The first four photos show the Split Bun at different angles, including from the front. Two are the right and left sides of a French roll, and the last one is a loose bun I swirled around and pinned with the comb.)

Down the road, I'm thinking of collecting a few more of them. They are more like works of art that will most likely last me the rest of my life. For more information, you can check out his site (where you can order a comb, as well as check out many styles and the instructions for creating them) at www.simplistic-designs.com.

Product quest

One of the missions I had going to Kentucky (besides, of course, visiting my family) was to look for hair products there that I haven't been able to find here. I looked for the beauty supply shop I used to go to many years ago when I was living in Louisville, and was happy to see it still there. It used to be a big highlight of my week to shop for new hair products back in the day, hoping that maybe that trip I would find a miracle product that would stop my hair from breaking and get it to grow. Well, I never found that miracle product, but I sure enjoyed looking for it.

So this time I spent about an hour looking at all the hair products in the Beauty Supply store in downtown Louisville. On the three or so blocks before you reach the store, there are at least two wig shops that I counted, anyway. Inside this beauty shop I visited there was an entire isle devoted to weaves and extensions. I used to buy my extension hair there (mostly nylon), and when I wore weaves, I bought the hair at a store across the street.

It was fun picking up products, looking over all the shampoos, conditioners, hair dressings and lotions. I read through their ingredients and looked for products I might be able to try out so I could recommend them. I located about five possibilities. I know many ingredients to avoid, and many I like to see, by heart. But there are probably tens of thousands of ingredients out there, so I never know about every ingredient in a product, and therefore if a bad ingredient or two has snuck in, until I look them all up at home in my books.

I crammed the new bottles of products in my suitcase and brought them home to Seattle, eager to perhaps find a new one to use. I brought each one in to the room with my reference books, and began to look up the ingredients that weren't yet on the site. And wouldn't you know it, one by one, all of them had at least one ingredient that turns out I don't trust. Almost all of them had one sticky ingredient lurking under a poly- something. Some poly- somethings are okay, and others are sticky. And due to a bad experience I once had with major product buildup when I was a teenager, I always try to avoid things with these sticky ingredients in them (unless they're supposed to be there, like in a gel). Also, by avoiding sticky ingredients, I can use a very mild shampoo because there isn't that sticky buildup that needs removing by a stronger shampoo (or I could use a conditioner-wash, but I break out when I don't shampoo. Otherwise I'd go that way).

So with a sigh, and a realization I am truly paranoid and stubborn when it comes to my hair (well, more than just about my hair, but in this case, it's about my hair), my search continues for finding products I trust enough to use.

Something behind the door...

I'm back from Kentucky. I miss it already and wish there were some way to be both here and there at the same time. When I first got to Kentucky I told my mom at the airport that I'd written about her house and the raccoon. She said "Well, there's something else in the pantry now. " She said she didn't know what it is, but it sounds too big to be a mouse, squirrel or rat...maybe it's the other raccoon. They were only able to catch one of them. But she said you can hear it rummaging around in there, and when you go to open the door you can hear it frantically trying to scramble away, little paws making scraping noises as it tries to catch its footing and run before the door is opened. She said she always gives it a minute to escape before she opens the door. So I was instantly curious.

For the whole visit I listened for the thing in the kitchen pantry. And for the whole visit, the pantry was silent. I had the room right next to it, so perhaps hearing me moving around at all hours (when left on my own, I revert to my old ways of staying up until dawn, or later). But on the second to the last day of my visit, I heard it. Well, first I heard the squirrels in the attic running around. They were also dragging something. Maybe insulation or clothing, because it sounded like a blanket sliding across the ceiling. Soon after, I heard noises coming from the pantry.

At first I thought it was my mom searching for something in there, until I remembered she said she doesn't go in there anymore. So I got up, grabbed my camera, and approached the pantry door. As I turned the knob, I heard frantic scrambling, like a plump body falling over itself and slipping on boxes to get away. I must confess: I hesitated before flinging open the door. At the last minute I got this image of opening the door too fast, panicking the creature, and it now feeling cornered and with no other choice but to leap for my face in self defense. So by the time I opened the door it had vanished, leaving in it's wake a pile of violated boxes with their contents strewn all over the carpet. Not sure if the creature was huddled in an unseen hole somewhere amongst the boxes, I snapped a quick picture of the inside of the pantry (this is the above photo) and shut the door again, leaving it to continue with what it was doing.

My Mother's House

Last Fall, my mom had a raccoon outbreak. A raccoon (she suspected it was two of them appearing at different times) suddenly appeared in her kitchen from a hole no one knew about in the pantry. At first she was willing to work with it. Mostly it was there for Grey Kitty's cat food. The raccoon would raid the dry food dish, taking cat food and rinsing the pieces in the water dish, leaving a soggy floating mess in their wake.

She would put Grey Kitty's bowl of dry food on the kitchen table to hide it, but the raccoon would climb on the table to get to it. She accepted this, too. She told me about combing her hair and watching television in the living room and getting up to get a snack in the kitchen. As she walked into the kitchen, there the raccoon would be, on top of the kitchen table. It would watch her without moving, until she returned to the living room, then it would go back to eating. Later when she returned to the kitchen, it would be gone, leaving behind its calling card of the mess in the water bowl. Sometimes when she came into the kitchen to make dinner, it would be sitting on one of the chairs at the dining room table. As she fixed dinner it watched her from under the table, still sitting in the chair.

Others in the household were not as zen-like about the visitor. Grey Kitty would avoid the issue all together. He'd pretended there wasn't a raccoon on the table eating his food and just walk on by. My younger sister Chrystal would scream when she saw them and run from the room. My mom's husband Leon wasn't at all pleased with the new guests and wanted them gone. They tried to shut the pantry door, but then it seemed to be coming in from a hole a plumber had left in the bathroom floor.

This went on for a few weeks, until one day, for some reason, the raccoon became a vandal. My mom would wake up the next morning to find it had pulled cereal boxes down off the shelves, torn them open and dumped their contents all over the floor. It marauded through the kitchen while they slept, shredding apart anything plastic, including medication bottles, and throwing the contents about the room. It was then the raccoon had to go. Her solution was reasonable: she simply got a humane trap for it, caught it, and set it free in the woods far from her house.

When I visit her, the room I stay in is the back room of the house. At night (and often during the day), you can hear squirrels that live somewhere inside the roof and inside the walls. They scamper loudly all across the ceiling, sounding like they are actually in the room with you. They've even appeared inside the house, freaked out and hostile, on occasion.

Another thing about the house is the electricity. It's an old house, and the wiring has never been updated. One time when I came for a visit, as I was putting my bags away in the back room, I noticed a handwritten sign above a light switch by the door that said "Do not turn off". Curiosity overcame me, and I turned it off. Dramatically, all the electricity groaned to a halt in the entire house. My mom had to call the electric company to turn the power back on. Turns out an old friend had installed a ceiling fan in that room, but once the fan was in, the switch that turned it on and off now shuts off all the power. (That light switch is now duck taped in the on position looking like a silver cocoon against the wall.

In the back room I stay in, there are two outlets. On one wall by the television, the bottom socket doesn't work. I found that out the hard way during a visit when I plugged something into it. The outlet made a loud popping sound and a bright flash of light. Now most all the appliances for this room are plugged into two piggy-backed extension cords that stretch across the kitchen floor from behind the stove and across the back room.

One visit, as I was showering there, when I touched the hot water faucet, I could feel it vibrating with electricity. Not enough to hurt, but enough to give that creepy electrified feeling. Of course I told my mom about it, but like her philosophy with the raccoons (before they became delinquents), my mom felt that as long as it wasn't hurting anyone, it isn't worth all the fuss I was making about it.


My mom and Grey Kitty



The reason I'm writing about my mom's house is because tomorrow I am going to Kentucky to visit her. I love visiting her, and I love that house. To be there is like a totally different world. And now, in the summer, if you sit in the back yard after dusk swatting at the cloud of mosquitoes surrounding you, you can see something that fills me with such unreasonable joy that I can't even describe. Just as the sun is setting, the fireflies come out. They rise from the grass, winking yellow-green, rising to the trees. In a good year, they are so plentiful that it looks like the trees have been hung with thousands of tiny winking lights. Everywhere you look the earth is sparkling. And I can't imagine anything more beautiful than to stand in that tropical humidity, toes deep in emerald grass, surrounded by little winking stars in every direction.

Cornflake

My hair has managed to tangle around some impressively odd things. I've tangled myself into buttons, my bra strap, rings and earrings. I've gotten caught in the wood grain of cabinets at work as I passed, and it's nearly guaranteed I'll be caught in shrubbery when I walk in the woods. It catches on items on store shelves and knocks off onto the floor what it can't hold onto as I go by. It catches in notebooks and pens. But just when I thought I've gotten my hair caught in about every surface it can get caught in, my hair surprised me once more.

The other day I was peacefully eating a bowl of cornflakes while reading. I put a spoonful in my mouth, not paying attention, and discovered hair in my mouth, too. This is normal (it often sticks to my chapstick or gloss). But when I tried to pull it out, I found it stuck fast inside my mouth. The only way I was able to get my hair out was to open my mouth, and when I pulled out my hair, a cornflake came out too, still tangled in my hair like a crunchy fish on a curly fishing line. The cornflake rotated slowly at the end of my hair until I untangled it. Then I tucked my hair safely behind my ears, and went back to eating.