cover
In a bright morning bedroom, Tamia stands by the sunlit window, giggling and rattling colorful hair beads while Mom kneels beside her, smoothing her own short black hair and watching Tamia with a proud smile.
Morning sun peeks in; Tamia’s eyes widen like sunrise. She shakes her colorful beads—clack, clack—and giggles. "Beautiful beads," Mom says, smoothing short black hair. Tamia pats medium brown curls and chirps, "Pretty!"
Inside the softly lit bathroom, Tamia perches on the tub edge with shoulders scrunched and eyes wary of the water as Mom kneels nearby, gently pouring warm water from a small cup and singing reassuringly.
Bath time comes; Tamia frowns at water. "No ocean," she squeaks, scrunching tiny shoulders. Mom kneels, smiling. "Float on Mama’s hand," she says. Warm cup pours slowly; Mom sings, "Safe splash."
Under bright bathroom lights, Tamia crouches before the mirror with hands over her ears while a hair dryer roars; Mom holds the dryer farther back on low, smiling as she demonstrates the gentler whooshing sound.
The dryer roars; Tamia covers ears. "Too loud, too hot!" she cries. Mom lowers heat, moves it back. "Listen—soft whoosh like wind," Mom says. Tamia peeks; the whoosh makes beads dance.
Still in the bathroom, Tamia beams at her reflection in the large mirror and hugs herself as colorful beads shimmer; beside her, Mom claps softly, both faces warmly illuminated by the ceiling light.
All done, Tamia sees herself and beams. She shakes her colorful beads—clack, clack—like tiny bells. "So pretty!" Mom cheers. "No touch," Tamia says, hugging herself. Mom nods, "We ask first, and you choose."