No Mas Ninos

Control

2010-07-29T00:58:00.003-05:00

For as many endless possibilities there are, sometimes I feel there are none. For as many people there are to talk to sometimes I can't find one. Tantalizingly just out of reach. Going nowhere and somewhere all at the same time. Powerful and powerless. Half empty and half full, and other times neither.

I think most of us are generally on the brink of insanity. Some of us do a better job at keeping it under control, but a sudden force can send us spinning into the dreaded abyss. Sometimes I wonder how much control of our lives, our minds, we really have and how much of it is just an illusion.

I would love to teach my children to have some control. To have control of their bodies, their minds, their destinies, but how much control do we really have. Yet, I feel that regardless of how much this immeasurable ability may be, we still need to exert our force to change for the better.

Parallel Forms

2010-07-06T14:53:00.005-05:00

Parallel
Never crossing
Endlessly moving in two directions
Lying without touching
Walking without crossing
Listening without understanding

Disobedient Lines
Sometimes crossing and connecting
Making angles
Forming one
Intertwined and charged
Moving in opposite directions
Pulling back
Running.... parallel

I Jub Ju!

2010-06-07T22:21:00.001-05:00

Before The Bee was even able to walk or talk, before he was able to utter two words, during the days of his ravenous hunger for breast milk, and the endless poopie diapers, the Bee proclaimed, "A-wah-woo." An instance of appreciation, he was being changed once again by his loyal and caring servant.

He has blessed me with this simple sentence many times throughout his life erasing any doubts I may have had that day about the possibilities that a nine month old could speak a sentence. Not just any sentence, but this one. Something he felt was important enough for him to learn so early.

"A-wah-woo," transformed into "I jub ju" and has now become "I Love you...I love you." I love you mama." "I love you." "I love you all da time," he tells me with crazy enthusiasm. Lately, there has been an "I love you" about once an hour and sometimes more. An"I love you in the wee hours of the morning when he crawls into my bed, and the first words uttered upon awakening in the morning. Other times, he serenades me with an "I love you" song he makes up himself. Often, there is a hug to go with it. Never have I been so loved I say.

"I love you, too Bee.""I love you all the time." You will forever be my Lovebug.

30 Minutes Between Jekyll and Hyde

2010-05-12T18:21:00.006-05:00

Oh. Hello there. It's been many months and in that time I got laid off, took a vacation to the usual snowy place, did some phone banking and walking to get a Measure passed, and eventually got my job back. That's the short version as the long version is too exhausting to even think about.

**********
Mother's day was great. I love my handmade cards and gifts and the store bought one was great, too. Hopefully, I will get to the sewing projects in my new book soon.

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One thing I love about being a mother and teacher, is that I am always learning, too. They have as much to teach me as I have to teach them. Like, did you know a 30 minute sleep deficit makes a huge difference in the behavior of a six year old? If my oldest goes to bed past 8:30 pm, you can almost guarantee that the next day he will wake up cranky, stomp around terrorizing everything and everyone (everyone being his brother), take every available opportunity to defy his elders, scream and throw non-stop tantrums reminiscent of the ones he threw when he was two and three, and just be a plain ole' poop.

On the other hand, if he goes to bed before the witching hour, he will actually seem somewhat normal and almost downright polite. "I got ready for school all by myself, " he'll proudly proclaim before I've even gotten a chance to get out of bed. "Look, I made toast for the Bee and me so no need to fix breakfast." His homework will promptly be completed, dinner eaten, and I will be rushing around getting him ready for bed before his fast approaching bedtime. "Please may I have dessert?" will be his last request before swooping him into the shower while watching the clock and hoping above all else that he will make it to bed in time, because I much rather like Hyde than Jekyll.
**********
Edited to add:
Some days, no amount of sleep can keep Mr. Jekyll from making an appearance.
"Well, hello there Mr. Jekyll. Can we please see Dr. Hyde?"

Moving On

2010-01-18T13:57:00.004-06:00

This last month has been filled with travel, family, frustration, love, singing, and hiking. My little men are growing so quickly, and I fear that I am missing so much being at work all day, so much that I will never get back.

Both boys love singing. The Bee has been amusing us with encore after encore of Jingle bells, and after a month of it, it seems like it coming to an end. It was a brief respite from the tiresome ABC song. He will not let us sing with him either so we can enjoy a few rounds with him. He sticks his little hand up just inches from our lips and proclaims, "Just me, Juuust ME!"

The older boy has been entertaining us with his new ability to read some simple take home books, and his holiday poem of "Five Little Trees." His performance during his holiday play went smoothly, and he did not run off the stage to sit on his teacher's lap like he did last year. The mouse did not dutifully perform his part in last year's The Nutcracker.

As both boys get older, they seem to be enjoying each others company more and more. Meaning: they play for longer periods of times without screaming or getting in all out fights. Though the older boy does not know his limits, and has been know to use his baby brother as a stunt prop and punching bag. In the last two weeks, both of the Bee's eyes have endured some type of injury because of this. One episode involved the older boy attempting to use the top of the couch as a jumping off point, placing his brother as an obstacle, and instead landing on one of the Bee's eyes. The Bee who is very obedient, and thinks watching his brother jump over him from great heights to be very entertaining never learns NOT to listen to his older brother's crazy requests. I fear for his life, and hope that the Bee can survive his big brother.

Now if you think we are negligent, don't. Most of these incident happen with us present in the room. The older boy is smooth and quick, and he can turn from angel to hell-raiser in a matter of seconds fooling his parents into thinking he is doing nothing more than providing some brotherly love. Things can turn ugly with a blink of an eye, and that applies to both my boys behavior and life.

*******

Most of my life I have been without a home. Going from borrowed home to borrowed home to borrowed shack, or whatever the case may be. I have slept in borrowed cars briefly as well. There has been an intense need all my life to be in my own home. To be in a home that belongs to no one but me and the banks, because really they are the ones who own our houses, although I would be content with the illusion of it all.

I currently own a home I do not live in. That someone else is borrowing. That someone else is living in and temporarily calling home. I myself, am in another borrowed home too far to live in the home that is mine. I am feeling an intense need to settle, to nest, to be done with all the moving. Something so within my reach but so unattainable as well.

Dreams and Nightmares

2009-10-18T12:27:00.004-05:00

Do I have time to blog? No. Probably not, but I will try anyway.
I think this to myself on a regular basis and here I am in the midst of October.

October, Why must you drag on so long? Why can't we just get to the good part in the end. Oh, yeah. Because we need time to visit pumpkin patches, at least two festivals, buy/make costumes, attend parades, and... then there's work. Yes. Work. It has a life of its own, and it very well should since I watch over 90+ bodies a day. Human beings that I hope will one day do something great for humanity, or at least not mess things up. It's a huge responsibility, but I love it when things are going well and the little adults are learning as they should.

"What's your dream?" the Dada asks.
"I'm living it." I said.

I can't think of doing anything other than what I am already doing. But, I guess if we are talking dreams. I'd like to do what I am doing but be home more and have my own house. There. That's it. I know. I lack ambition. But teaching year after year is ambitious if you ask me, because it takes so much out of you physically and emotionally.

#####

Did I ever mention motherhood made me paranoid? I was always a worrywart, but motherhood turned on a whole other switch. I worry about my children. Always. I have gruesome thoughts and dreams about possible mishaps they could endure, and then I freak out. Sometimes I wonder if I can think these possible happenings away.

Last night I had a nightmare, A freaky one. I was holding the lifeless body of my youngest. I shook myself out of this nightmare as quickly as I could. I am the type of person that can never tell they are dreaming, and have awakened many a night with tears soaking my pillow. Why? Why did I have to have this nightmare? All I want to do is erase it from my mind, but it just sits there in the corner of my mind. Haunting and teasing that it knows my weakness.

I Lichen These Days.

2009-09-07T11:08:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow my littlest boy will be 3 years old. The littlest boy who won't sleep, and is currently playing with my hair while I type. He'd rather bounce on beds and stand here next to me than sleep.

I can't believe he's three tomorrow. Many days I feel like our family is complete and my life very full, but often, another part of me wonders what if? What if there was another? All my boys are content with the way things are, and when questioned about a possible addition, they say no more. Yesterday was a day when our family of four was just perfect. Perfect and imperfect all at the same time. For all the beautiful moments, there is an equal number of frustrating pull-you-hair-out kind of moments. I leave you with the best of our Sunday.

To the farm we went.

To the woods...

and finally the tide pools and beach despite my fear that they will one day be swallowed up by the ocean never to be seen again, but that's a story for another day.

Black Feet and Soot

2009-08-30T12:38:00.007-05:00

To say that my little boys like to play with dirt is like saying dolphins like to play in water. It is their preferred medium, and their natural way of being. At the end of everyday, you will find these boys covered in dirt. Their feet black, their hair full of sand, and basically looking like a couple of waifs.

When we lived in Austin, they generally required two baths a day. In the park, they would get covered in a fine white powder of dust from the rocks that lined all the playgrounds there. They would also bring home sand in their diaper, sand in their hair, sand in their snack, sand everywhere--their feet would be black. So naturally, the only way to remove the above contents was to bathe the boys because there is nothing like the chaffing feeling of sand in your crack.

Living in California things have turned black with a chance for sand. The younger Bee, especially, can frequently be found with soot on his face. He likes to apply it just the way women apply cover up. It doesn't even matter if there is no dirt in the vicinity. He will improvise with whatever he can find. Below you will see a picture of the guilty boy after having gotten a hold of two whiteboard dry erasers and using them as telephones.

His brother, not to be outdone, decided to join him. These are brothers who want to wear the same everything these days: same clothes, same shoes, same dirt.

Where did July go?

2009-08-15T12:02:00.002-05:00

How is it that summer is over already? Has it been two months? The oldest boy starts kinder on the 17th, an ungodly day to start school if you ask me. We might as well just go ahead and start school in July. I myself won't have kids showing up into the classroom until the 24th.

Wednesday is my official last day of summer. Never mind that I have spent the last 3 weeks planning for the next two months. This involves researching, creating lessons, documents, PowerPoints, calendars, and most recently syllabi for my math, social studies, and response to literature class. My room also has several spools worth of new bulletin board paper covering boring white walls. In previous years, I would have just waited until two days before school started to get ready, but I find my usual procrastinating ways stress me out.

We've recently spent countless amounts of money on back to school supplies for our classrooms, and Big Brother's first day of kindergarten. The Dada will be teaching high school Bio this year so setting up a new classroom requires countless of dollars to purchase necessary items that will help the classroom function. I got more of the same. For the older boy, we had to invest many dollars buying school supplies to donate to his cash-strapped classroom due to what else...budget cuts, and five sets of uniform items. Barf. I hate uniforms. Do we really want to teach and raise children that can't even decide what to wear for themselves? Students must be allowed to be individuals, and to at least have some choice in how they express themselvses with their wardrobe. I hate to take this freedom of choice away from them when we are already holding them hostage for 6+ hours. But really, I digress. I'll just end my rant here.

Summer is coming to and end, and work begins. I shall miss my many lazy days with my two little boys who have literally grown a few sizes this summer. My advance planning will hopefully help get me home at a reasonable hour the first month when most teachers work late.

Wewona

2009-07-31T18:36:00.007-05:00

Yes. Because that was initially how I thought you spelled the Spanish word meaning lazy. Apparently, I wasn't the only one. I googled and found this same spelling. The word pronounced with the "e" and the "a" using the short vowel sound. I figured they were also delirious like me. I had to finally call a cousin for the spelling. It is actually spelled a lot like the Spanish word for egg, huevo, but lazy being spelled h-u-e-v-o-n-a.

My mind was tainted with the sight of the word WAWONA--a place I am lucky to stay in every year, and in good years, I get to go twice. NO, I don't want to go to Europe or New York or...yes, yes not even if I had a ton of money. If I can't at least go here, I don't want to go anywhere else. I know. I'm boring like that, but really, I just know what I like.

My mom got to chuckle along with me at the pronounciation of this Native American word this year. Wawona meaing "Big Tree" used to actually be called Pallahchun (meaning a good place to stop) by early tribes. Yes , indeed. It is a good place to stop. A good place to stop and be lazy.

The Dada's family has been stopping by this locale in Yosemite National Park for four generations now. My boys even paid a visit while still in the womb. Grandpa generously rents us all a cabin for a week where we all spend our days eating, swimming, tubing, gabbing, playing, hiking, and just plain old being lazy in the shadows of the big trees. Grandmas, Grandpa, cousins, uncles, aunts, and sibling all stuck in one cabin sharing two bathrooms-all thirteen of us, and sometimes even fifteen. I know, we like to rough it. But, if we get desperate, we can just dig a hole.

The boys as always had a blast, and my mom got to be lucky number thirteen this year. She was new to these parts and was in awe as we all always are of its beauty. The boys were just so overjoyed with it all they had to hug. It brings out the best in them.

Na-na-na-na-na-na-na...Batman and Super Emotions

2009-07-15T17:56:00.008-05:00

I live in the land of superheroes. Boys who love Spiderman, Batman, Ironman, Superman, and many other supermen with super powers and super everything. It suits my oldest just fine. The boy who needs to rev everything up. Everything is done on overdrive.

If you are going to get angry remember to growl and scowl at your tormenters, scream as if you were being chased down by a pack of wolves, kick walls, slam doors, and throw the random object/objects for effect because YOUR ANGRY.

And if you happen to be happy, screech with delight, brighten those blues, smile so hard it looks like you have large jaw breakers in each cheek and keep it there as you literally bounce from one corner to the next to find new people you can share your happiness with.

Ooooh the sadness, a few days ago you proclaimed what a bad mommy I was for not rushing immediately to your aide when you fell on your knees for the billionth time. Tears streaming you proclaimed, "OoooooooooH Mommmmmmmy. You don't take care of me very well." Ooooh the drama, and OUCH--your comment hurt. But as always you were fine, and you got your hug even though it was two seconds too slow for you.

Lets not forget Love. This you take to the extreme as well. Noodle arm hugs around my neck that I am sure will break my windpipe or at least suffocate me slowly. Kisses that leave imprints on my cheeks for days and I swear will one day relocate my teeth.

And I worry about your brother, who is often a victim of all your super emotions. The little Bee who worries about you and loves you back with the same intensity you do, but is often toppled by your raging emotions of anger, jealousy, and love. The Bee who wants to be just like you down to the article of clothing you're wearing and your love for any and all superheroes. "I wanna wear Batman, too!" he protests and so he does.

Sooo many emotions taken to sooo many extremes--these are but a few. The boy with the super emotions. I love you. You're a passionate little boy, and I hope one day you grow up to be a passionate man. A passionate man who has his emotions under control of course. The world will never be ready for the destruction that may come from an out of control, emotional grown man like yourself.

Na-na-na-na-na-na...Batman...

Realist or Abstract Expressionist?

2009-07-07T19:31:00.008-05:00

I love the way kids express themselves. Sometimes it is all very haphazard, but most of the time it is very deliberate. With really young kids, I am always left wondering what it was they were thinking and/or trying to do. My oldest is at the point where he is making very discernible pictures of actual objects and people. I love having conversations with him about his art, and what it is he has created. Big Brother usually has very elaborate stories to go with his pictures and boundless imagination.

The above picture is one of his more realistic drawings. It is the Starship Enterprise with the Borg following closely behind. The Borg ship is complete with windows and green power output lines. The Enterprise is trying to escape the Borg who are unrelenting. Can you tell he's a treky?

This is one of the elder boy's more abstract painting. When I asked him what it was, he said it was a monster shooting torpedoes. The yellow circle with the blue in the middle is one of the glowing monsters. The handprints are robots trying to help the monster. The "bad guys" have run rampant. These stories are definitely better told by the boy as he loves to add sound effects and movement through hand gestures. He is very animated. This painting actually reminds me of a peacock chasing a miniature red horse, but what do I know? He is a boy of extremes.

The littlest Bee is still in the abstract phase, but is attempting some realistic drawings. Below you can see one of his most recent creations.

The Bee claims this is a self-portait. Maybe he was channeling Salvador Dali and approached this much like a surrealist would--blonde hair as a trunk, blue eyes, body of a frog, and a newsboy cap. What is he trying to tell us about himself?

Nuestra Cama Familiar (Our Family Bed)

2009-06-28T13:01:00.010-05:00

I am not totally sure that we ever planned to have a family bed. It seems like it just evolved that way. When my oldest was born, I found it odd and somewhat cruel to set this little creature that had been part of me for nine months off to his own little bed by himself. I thought he needed the comfort and touch of his mother. It was, after all, someone he was accustomed to being with--to be with the scent, touch, and sounds that meant warmth and safety to him. I myself was having difficulty letting go of the closeness we shared, so I nestled him along side me, and we spent many months breathing deeply in rhythm with each other, nursing, and sleeping.

The western custom of placing newborns in their own bed, and even in their own room has always been strange to me, if not impractical. I myself grew up in a household that practiced the art of sleep-sharing. Growing up in a small border town where temperatures frequently hit above 100 F, there was little choice than to cram everyone in the only room with air conditioning. Even when the heat subsided and the air grew cool, we all slept together on my parent's queen size bed--my sister in between my parents, I at the foot of the bed next to my mother, and my brother, the oldest, alongside the bed on the floor. Yes it was a bit cozy, and sometimes even uncomfortable, and I'm sure my mother probably wanted nothing more than to sleep by herself, but nonetheless, we all slept soundly--nestled in the feathers of our mother hen, and the mutual security we felt being so close to each other. As we grew older, we moved, and the situation of our family changed, the way in which we co-slept evolved as well in much the same way as it has evolved for our new family.

When we started sleep-sharing, the Dada and I were well-aware of the dangers of sleeping with a newborn, and had read many articles on the subject, but we decided to play it by ear, and we discovered that this just worked best for us. It started with the oldest sleeping in our bed full-time, and eventually being weaned into his own bed at about age three. This really meant that he'd start by sleeping part of the night in his bed, and as the night wore on, he'd tip-toe/run into the middle of our bed and slip under our covers. It all depended on whether there were monsters chasing him or not. Once he was potty trained, this also meant that I had to help him fight the monsters in the bathroom, and occasionally deal with wet bedsheets.

As our family has grown and changed, so has our sleep-sharing. When the Bee was born, Big Brother would at first attempt to squeeze into the middle of the bed right next to our newborn babe which I figured was not the safest thing. It meant that we had to coach the older boy to sleep in the middle at the foot of our bed, when he did bounce into our room during the middle of the night. The Bee enjoyed many months nestled next to me nursing and sleeping much the same way the older boy did; his parents fully aware of his presence in their bed.

Almost three years later since our last was born, we have established a bedtime routine that puts limits on their sleep-sharing. On good weeks, the older boy doesn't even participate, but lately there has been a rash of monsters in his room. Most nights, the boys get bathed by their daddy, teeth brushed, a book or two read in the bed of the older boy, followed by a ten minute snuggle form the participating adult until the older boy falls asleep. Sometimes this also puts the Bee to sleep, but most of the time it doesn't.

The Bee is a stubborn little lad that does not want to sleep. He sometimes requires rocking, and when this doesn't work, I usually give up, place him in his bed, and lie on the floor for a while until he falls asleep. And if this till doesn't work, I give up, run off leaving him awake in his bed. Sometimes he falls asleep at this point, and other times we play the you-run-out-of-your-room-and-I-throw-you-back-in game for many rounds. If his will happens to be stronger than mine that night, I give in and we sit on the couch while I pray the t.v. lulls him to sleep. Eventually, it does--this being midnight, and our actual sleep routine having started at around 9 pm. We have accepted the fact that our kids are just on another sleep schedule, but the Bee's resistance to sleep really drives us crazy. He can rival any kid his age in a no-sleep contest, and maybe even some adults.

Needless to say, It has been almost six years since I last had a good nights sleep. The boys usually show up in our bed around 3am or so, giving their parents some private time. The older boy sleeps at the foot of our bed, while the Bee cozies up next to me taking over my pillow, getting close enough to yank my hair or jab me a few times in the face while trying. On good nights, he will bestow these gestures on the Dada instead of me, and the I just get a few toe-nailed kicks to my side, which I prefer to the hair pulling. So boys, if you ever read this, know that you blessed your parents with many sleep-deprived, tortuous nights that often lead to one of the adults attempting to sleep in our queen-sized bed to relocate to another bed--usually the Dada, because your Mama knows that the Bee would just hunt her down once more. It has lead to what we call musical beds.

This post is neither for or against sleep-sharing; each family needs to make a choice that works best for them. We are ready to go without it now, but apparently our kids are not.

Bee Happy and Learning!

2009-06-22T16:49:00.010-05:00

This last week my youngest Bee got to go to his first day of school. He has been dyyyying to go to school this whole year. He'd beg his Dada to let him tag along to drop off the Older Boy at his co-op, and then the Bee would proceed to hold on to whatever object in the school looked securely bolted down or would simply runaway and attempt to hide. In the end, there would be some screaming and bargaining done, and the Bee would be ousted once more. "School, school, school," he'd repeat over and over and over again. He'd stamp his feet and protest, "I wanna go school, NOW." The dada would calmly try to tell him that his time would come, and he wasn't quite old enough to go just yet.

Last Monday must have been his happiest day ever in his short, but largely-lived life. He jumped out of bed at the mention of school, and before we knew it had drank his morning cup of chocolate milk (his idea of coffee), eaten his cereal, gotten dressed and hair brushed with a little help from the Mama, and brushed his teeth without a single complaint and a smile on his face. He just kept repeating, "I'm gonna go to school too-day." Every few minutes, he'd periodically stop to sing and dance his self-created little ditty--"now, now, now-now, now, now, now- now, now." This is always a sign that he is beyond overjoyed and excited.

His day started with a car ride and a big, cheesy grin that ended in much the same way. The Bee delighted in all the school had to offer: the snack table was visited often; a medal for sports day was decorated with copious amounts of glitter; a few laps around the school with several different trikes were taken; the dolls were all admired for their beauty as he lifted each against his chest and announced "beau-ti-ful"; the sand was used for digging, dust-bathing, and food preparation; the play structure became a safe haven from villains; and many balls were kicked or thrown.

He made new friends and even some temporary enemies-Miss A decided she did not want to befriend any boys and smacked him one. The next day, Miss A decided to make-up during circle time, and this time smacked a big juicy one on his cheek. Misguided love?Maybe? Thankfully, his older brother was there for support. In the end, all was perfect in his world, and I was able to be witness to another first. Had he started school in the fall, I would have missed it all--work beckons in August.

"Schools Out for Summer..."

2009-06-14T11:37:00.004-05:00

-So the chorus goes. We listened as the DJ played this in the background while the last bell of the year rung. We couldn't get these middles-schoolers off campus fast enough. All day we had been trying to keep them from skipping school, and now that they were free to go, they were having trouble letting go. "GO HOME!" we yelled." GO HOME...

Breathe. School is finally out. I am trying to enjoy every bit of the freedom, because I know that once school starts again, it will be like being whisked away on a tidal wave. Surviving this tidal wave will require that I learn to break free from its force and come up for air on occasion until it delivers me once again on land.

Now that I am on land, I am trying to go through the check list of items I kept putting off all year, like washing my car, fixing random broken items, finding a house to purchase, and sleep. Yet, all I want to do is to continue to put these obligations aside so that I may spend time with my wee ones.

They start summer school tomorrow, and I am excited about the prospect of finally being able to participate in their Co-op. All year, their dada had enjoyed this duty, and I am not saying that sarcastically either. He totally loved helping out at the school and getting to know all the other children and parents/grandparents. We DO love our co-op! I only wish they also had a continued elementary school for them. To public school the elder goes, while the young one enjoys the wonders that are a co-op preschool for two more years.

They get to do sooooo much more than most traditional preschools do because the parent involvement makes such a huge difference on what and how they can learn. This year, he road on the Amtrak train with his friends to a beautiful park in Palo Alto, visited a couple theaters to watch a children's play, took a trip to the Monterey Bay Aquarium and the planetarium, spent over two months at a beautiful county park, made a trip to the art museum, chased butterflies while flying with their own self-created wings, put on a circus complete with tight rope walkers and ring master, enchanted their parents with their interpretation of The Nutcracker, marched in a parade in celebration of Chinese New Year while wearing traditional costumes in red and gold, star gazed in the still early darkeness of spring, spent a night exploring their schools during a culminating overnight stay, and ...the list goes on. The world would be a different place if all students were taught by a community of loving, nurturing, and interested adults.

The Things They Say (or Said)

2009-06-11T20:13:00.004-05:00

Big Brother: What are you doing daddy?
Daddy: I'm cooking some chicken breasts.
Big Brother: You mean your cooking some chicken boobies!

The Bee: Watya doin?

Mama: What are you doing with all those cards.
Big Brother: I am making some cards for Santa and his elves.
Mama: But Christmas is still two months away.
Big Brother: I know, but I want Santa to know I want EVERYTHING.

The Bee: Watya doin?

This post was originally drafted in December of 2008 and continued in June 2009. Yes. I AM that behind.

The Bee: Watya doin? (He says this phrase about 100 times a day, so I thought I'd make a point of it.)

The Bee: I WANT SOME ROCK-A-RONI! (macaroni)

Big Brother while attempting to put on his shoes: Grandma can you check my shoes for spiders.
Grandma taking a peek in the shoe: Nope. No spiders in there.
Big Brother starting to put on his his shoe, but changing his mind: Grandmaaaaa! Check again!
Grandma: Why?
Big Brother while flinging shoe: Aaaaah! Because there may be spider eggs inside and they might hatch and crawl on my foot. (Dramatic and paranoid.)

Big Brother: Do you want me to kill myself. (He is beyond dramatic.)

Big Brother while trying to steal Super George from the Bee: George is dead. He's dead.
The Bee while running and flying Super George in the air: He not dead. He's Thuperman!

The Bee: I want mommy! (He is definitely a mama's boy.)

********************

Funny words the Bee mispronounces, but I love to hear him say.

Dino-roar (dinosaur)

Lemolade (lemonade)

Funny words the older boy used to mispronounce that I loved to hear.

hella-chocolate (helicopter, but I guess he loves chocolate so much he has to insert it in everything.)

noonol (noodle)

The things these boys say seriously make us laugh!

Kindergarten for the Masses

2009-05-16T20:13:00.003-05:00

When did it become so complicated to find an elementary school? Didn't it use to be that parents went down to the district office, signed the kid up, and waited for their letter that accepted them into their neighborhood school. Apparently, that is not good enough anymore.

We tried to get the elder boy into a a magnet school within our school district we thought would fit his needs. It has an environmental focus, and large parent participation without being a co-op. We didn't get in--about 1000 parents applied to fill maybe 100 spots. Crazy!

His default "choice" now is to go to his neighborhood school which we hate. There is nothing worse than schools that do the bare minimum--no garden, extra curricular programs, fragmented parent involvement, and a business-type person as the principal. I know this school isn't the greatest. I worked there a few years ago part-time as a resource teacher, and I have worked in and researched many others schools in the meantime, so I have a basis for comparison.

There are a few great teachers in this school, but when I walked into most rooms, they were quiet, and students were busily completing one of many workbook pages/worksheets at their desks which were set in traditional rows. In my opinion, classrooms should be more project oriented, a workshop of sorts where students are busily learning; this is something I feel should be audible. There is a place for quiet and sitting down in desks for sure, but you should get a sense when you walk into a room that the kids own the room. Their work should be on the wall, they should be allowed to sit in other places besides their desk including the floor, and they should be responsible for most of the work involved in running a classroom outside of the teaching/lesson planning/grading.

I don't get this sense from his neighborhood school. I which his district would get a clue, and add other schools with a similar focus as the magnet school or other schools that are trying to do things differently. There needs to be more than one alternative for teaching a population of millions. Students are so different; we can't expect that one school format will work for them all. I know the old traditional standby won't work for my active son. Students should be able to choose schools/programs that fit their style of learning best, but unfortunately there just aren't that many options out there right now. We shouldn't all be trying to stuff our kids into a size 5 shoe. Shouldn't we find a shoe that fits?

Knock, Knock

2009-04-25T18:24:00.003-05:00

The Bee has recently gotten into telling knock knock jokes he makes up himself. He just thinks all his jokes are hilarious and clever. We get the biggest kick out of listening to these jokes and watching him just laugh his butt off afterwards. His latest goes something like this.

Bee: Knock, knock
Me: Who's there?
Bee: "Dapu"
Me: "Dapu" who?
Bee while giggling and making gesture as if he was throwing something: "Dapu" trow it in du trash!
Bee: hahahahahahahahahahahah
Me: hahahahahahahahahahhahaha

Yosemite Snow Days

2009-04-19T15:42:00.007-05:00

We decided to venture into Yosemite this past winter break to give the boys their first taste of snow both figuratively and literally. It is safe to say they have a love-hate relationship with snow. Lucky for them, we don't live in a place that snows, and it is a short 3 and 1/2 hour trip away if they decide they want rekindle their whine for it.

Daddy dug them a snow cave that they enjoyed crawling in. The older boy did not want to work to build it. He would much rather watch and whine about how uncomfortable he was while someone else did all the work. It's nice to see the "happy" pictures post trip because during it you would have thought they would have rather gone home. "Vacationing" with kids can be quite a chore, eh.

My little ground squirrel.

They also built a snow run that they slid/tumbled down many times. In this picture you can see the littlest boy stuffing snow in his face. Thankfully it was not yellow. In his words, "I thirsty mommy."

********

My spring break is over, but at least I only have about 8 more weeks of work left this year and then I am "off" for the summer. I am looking forward to resuming my full time job as their mother, at least temporarily. Next year, I am happy to say I will be teaching math again which I LOVE! Then again, it is only 6th grade math and not algebra or calculus. That is surely not my idea of fun.

On Safari

2009-04-11T01:24:00.005-05:00

HELLOOOOOOOOOOOO! Is anybody out there!?

I have fallen off the blogosphere. I've had little to say. Around and around it goes. It being my life. Besides, I spend so much time at work, I have little else to talk about. Not that work doesn't come with its share of stories. Middle school is filled with plenty of drama, and life or death situations-well, at least according to the kids.

Frankly, they scare me most of the time. I can handle them in the classroom, but outside, where there are little boundaries, I feel like I am in the middle of an African Savanna. Watch out for the stampede, the hyenas, and the flailing monkeys. Are there monkeys in a savanna? Well, there are in mine. Not to mention the lions. You all know who the lions are, right? Most of them scare their teachers, too--especially when they are trying to burn down the school through the incineration of trash cans.

No my school is not in the ghetto. It is in a ridiculously expensive part of the bay area, but the insane are members of all tax brackets.

*******

Maybe I will lighten this blog a bit by throwing some recent pictures of the boys. Recent being February when we took a trip to Yosemite over winter break. They had fun and enjoyed their first experience with snow once they stopped whining about how cold and wet they were.

He's Five Now

2008-12-22T22:14:00.002-06:00

So I have been posting more and more sparingly, and missed many opportunities to discuss the many crazy things going on in the lives of the boys. The eldest boy is FIVE now! He doesn't let us forget it these days.

"I'm five now so I wash my own icky hands before I suck my thumb" -because apparently only immature four year olds suck their dirty thumb. Cleaning it makes you mature.

"I can brush my own teeth because I'm five"- not really. He forgets all the time, and maybe manages to brush two teeth.

"I'm five now so I can pour my own drink"-only if there is only 1/25 of the drink left in the bottle.

"I'm five now so....." You get the picture.

*****

Big brother has been attending a co-op preschool that he loves, but is completely draining his parents. The requirements for the co-op seem a bit obscene if you ask me: buy $250 of scrip every month, work one day a week in the classroom, complete six hours of fundraising, work 6 hours on a workday, perform the work for your committee, attend a monthly meeting at night for 3 hours and another 3 hours in the daytime, design a yearbook page and ... well, who knows what they will come up with next.

It's a full time job most of the time, which would be fine if I didn't already have a full time job I actually got paid for. His daddy does most of the work since he is only working half-time most days, and he loves going to preschool with the older boy, but the time commitment is a bit much. What happened to just dropping the kids off and picking them up when they're done? They get some playtime in, and you get a much needed break. I am all for being an integral part of their education, but sometimes, I wouldn't mind just handing that job over to someone else completely. Maybe if we just had to work in the classroom without having to do any of the outside classroom work, or vice-versa. I could swing that.

The Bee may not be attending this preschool next year-SAD. We both have to work full-time if we ever want to afford to buy a house here. That leaves us once again with finding another preschool we love, and another elementary school suitable for the older boy and his hyper needs. Some stability would be nice about now. I am sick of the trade-offs.

2+90

2008-11-09T20:49:00.003-06:00

I have been more than just a little busy this year. My family grew from 4 to 94, and more if you include the family of teachers I work with to educate 90+ kids. It's crazzzzy!

I fill many roles, and teach many lessons, and at the end of the work day, I must come home throw my crap on the dining room table and go outside and play with my kids and my neighbors kids. Then there is dinner--the cooking, the cleaning, and the forcing it down two little kids throats. Soon after there is bath time, and bed time followed by my nightwatchman job taking kiddies to the bathroom, tucking them into the foot of my bed or under my neck where the littlest yanks and tugs at my hair. Later, I get up, get ready for work, but not before making two cups of chocolate milk and pouring their cereal. I must then start my day all over again, and on a good day, I will be home by four, and not have to grade any papers or plan any lessons in the wee hours of the night before my nightwatchman job begins.

I still love teaching, and I love being with my kids, but this schedule is wearing me out. Thank god for the holidays!

********

Dear President Elect Obama,

Do you think it would be possible to throw a national holiday of some kind between Labor Day and Veteran's Day, because really, I could have used a break around mid October?

Signed-
A loyal servant of the state public schools

In the Corners of Their Minds

2008-09-17T20:45:00.003-05:00

Work is kicking my butt.I must have blocked out the stress that comes with teaching. The stress that comes with working insane hours and trying to take care of your family at the same time.

It's funny how you forget how bad it all really is. I can do without all the the deadlines, planning, the grading, and "high maintenance" parents you can never please. You forget how easily you can be discriminated against because you look too young, too nervous, too brown. Because contrary to what my 6th graders may think, racism, ageism, and all those other wonderful factors you can get discriminated for are alive and well.

It may not always be apparent. It appears in many forms masking itself in new euphemistic phrases. It lurks on the tips of peoples' tongues, in the back corners of peoples' minds. It hides in between lines of dialogue and print. It's there tainted by experiences and stereotypes that refuse to die.

As long as there is at least one person on this earth who is a carrier of racist attitudes, it will be replicated, multiplied, and perpetuated.It may take on a new form much like a virus mutates and changes to avoid detection, but it will still be there sitting in the remote mental corners of its host to be further replicated and spread. A virus without a known cure. A virus that still has the ability to disorient me, make feel weak and my stomach turn. An incapacitation I could do without, and the anger that proceeds because I let it take hold of me.

Random Thoughts...sort of

2008-08-24T01:19:00.003-05:00

I love my children.

I love to cradle them in my arms as they sleep, press them against my chest, and kiss their downy, soft cheeks.

This IS happiness.

It's funny how one can be happy and sad at the same time.

This is something I've tried to explain to my son to no avail.

Just because mommy is angry doesn't mean that mommy has stopped loving you.

One emotion does not cancel out another.

He will learn in time.

I am tired.

Tending to my children at night further tires me.

Nonetheless, I feel honored to be the one comforting them at night.

I wish for many more.

Want Not

2008-08-14T14:16:00.005-05:00

Dammit. I found a job. I was looking, but really trying not to find one, because really, all I want to do is stay home with my wee ones. Too bad my bank account was screaming at me to filler up. We have been so out of money these days, I have been getting my shopping fix during these depressing times by sliding my pretend credit card in my kid's pretend cash register that also doubles as a calculator and has pretend green money. I just stop over to their pretend bookstore and request some cash back, and soon I am off with a few 20's in my pocket buying some books. Yet, even in this store I can afford very little since my son prices his books at such exorbitant prices. If all else fails, I just charge it. Slide. Beep. Aaaah.

My new job will require much of my attention, since I will venture once again to teach 6th graders, but this time in a middle school setting- something I've avoided at all costs since I started teaching. Luckily, it is in a really good district with high performing students, but in the end it really doesn't matter. A 6th grader is a 6th grader is a 6th grader. At least by 6th grade, they have gotten over the initial shock from their sudden increase in hormones. If anybody thinks 6th graders are difficult, they should really try teaching 5th grade. They are really at their best the first eight years at about 3rd and 4th grade.

I love teaching, and I am excited to have my own classroom once again, but I am not looking forward to being away from my kids for most of the day. On the plus side, working away from them can have the bonus effect of making me into a better mother. Maybe, it's just because I miss them. Maybe it's that I finally have time to talk to other adults- sort of. Maybe, it's the guilt of being away, or maybe it's just that I have more money in my pocket. I will just have to look forward to Labor Day, Thanksgiving Break, Holiday Break, Winter Break (and no, this is not the same as the previous one, this happens in February), Spring Break, etc. to spend time with them ALL most of the day.

No Clothing Required

2008-07-27T02:59:00.003-05:00

The boys have been wrestling these days - for entertainment purposes only of course. The Bee will use the full power of his weight to overtake the older boy and boys love to rough in tumble. I am just glad they're using their abundant energy to wear each other out instead of me.

For those of you who want to know more about the history of wrestling or just want to see a painting of some naked dudes wrestling in the 1600's click here. Don't worry. It's just art and it's free for your viewing on Wikipedia.

Oh What a Wonderful Life this Is

2008-07-24T17:07:00.002-05:00

So now I am down to about two posts a month. I'm surprised I've been able to keep it up this long. There are several posts I have going in my head. Can you read my mind? They're great.

For those who lack telepathic abilities, I plan to post some pics of Big Brother and the Bee soon. They have been entertaining us with their grappling techniques in a more peaceable form of wrestling. They have been wrestling for the last few months, or since the Bee was 1 1/2 years old and this little one does not hold back. The Bee is not afraid to use his weight as leverage. It has proven to be quite entertaining for those of us who need a break from mundane household chores, job searching and interviewing, and taking clear credential courses.

I have been working on several graduate courses through UC San Diego this summer to clear my credential, and I am in the midst of my last one, Mainstreaming the Special Child. The reading isn't particularly interesting. I have to read over 100 pages while answering study questions, and while attempting to do all those other things that keep a mom of two children busy, so I end up doing most of my reading between the hours of 12 am and 2 am. I'd skip the reading, but our professor makes sure to quiz us at the end of each reading assignment on a minutia of details- That Bastard! As usual, I get the most out of our class discussions and teacher sharing. It still amazes me that there are some places/people in this country who still don't believe in the benefits of inclusion.

Once this class is over, I need to focus my attention on finding a teaching gig because money is tight and I need to feel like I am not taking these course in vain. Sure I can use my newly acquired knowledge of the many behavior changing techniques I learned from taking this class on my own children, but right now I am determined to make those dam time-outs work and I foresee a long struggle ahead. The elder boy decides its more fun to have me chase him back and forth into the room, rather than to sit in his time-out spot. Do you think Super Nanny would object to having me crazy glue his butt to the chair?

Mixed Emotions

2008-07-04T02:14:00.004-05:00

Really. I never wanted to be mediocre. Life just lead me this way. I always thought I just might have escaped my family's dramatic style of living, and actually do or become someone important. In my family, there is always someone dead, or dying, or pregnant, or forsaken, or in some kind of doomed relationship going nowhere, or... you know, imitating another Mexican soap opera you might see on tv. There are points in my life where I wondered if these Mexican soap opera's emulate real life or whether we emulate the soap operas.

Maybe, my family and other Latin families just have a flare for the dramatic. My mom often begins conversations with "Que crees?" which translated exactly means what do you believe or think, which really means you won't believe what is going on now. It is usually followed by a deep breath from her and a sudden loss of air by me. This of course, is never a real huge clue on the gravity of the situation she is about to explain. Sometimes, it means someone is newly pregnant, or received some unfortunate medical news, or someone lost something, and on a few occasions, it means that someone has actually had some fortune come there way: a new house, new job, a new car. If we are having a run of these conversations, which is usually the norm for our family, she will begin the conversations with "Y ahora que crees?", "and now guess what". Is my family doomed to be miserable? Is it a string of unfortunate luck, poor decisions, or a combination of both? Is it a case of the blind leading the blind? Boredom, maybe?

This family I speak of, this family I was born in is made up of two uncles, five aunts, and my mom. All aunts and uncles, and including my mom, are all diabetic. I have had one aunt and one uncle die of complications from diabetes, and another aunt burn to death at age seven when her dress caught fire while attempting to cook. Her school had sent her home early for bad behavior. My grandmother lost many other uncles and aunts I never knew as babies from pnemonia and other childhood illnesses- my grandmother, the one who married an already married man without her knowing. Something she didn't discover until after her fifth child with this man. A man rumored to have blue eyes, fair skin, and a broad noses just like my boys.

I hope so much more for my boys than I have accomplished. I hope they can escape this inexplicable tether of doom I feel like I have to my family. When I met my husband, I thought grabbing a hold of his family, and its normalcy would help me break free, but its force at times feels much too strong. For someone who has never been in the places I have been growing up, my writing this now may seem like one huge pity party and maybe it is, but if you have been one of the unfortunates, you will know what I speak of. It is much easier to stay on top, than it is to make your way up. I didn't get very far up, but I hope my children will someday be able to.

I have been so much more fortunate than my own mother. I have married a good man who is not an alcoholic, who has aspirations for great things, who treats me like an equal, and is there to help me - who loves me and tells me so. I have the education she never got, but always wanted. I have married into a family she always wished she'd had, but never did. She reminds me of this during my many pity party sessions with her. I realize now, that to her, I am progress. I may not be on top, but I am well on my way there.

Hopefully, my children will reach the summit- way up above the clouds letting go of the tether of doom while keeping hold to the enormous tether of love I also feel I have to my family. The love that has bound our family through space and time. A love that is still so real, and huge, and palpable so many hundreds of miles away. If nothing else, I can say that I have been well loved, and I hope that I have been successful in my repayment of this love to my children, my husband, my mother, my father, and the rest of my family and friends. I guess after having written all this, maybe my glass is more full than I care to believe. In there lies the power of writing, if only to be heard by myself- a stream of thoughts that began in one place and ended in another.

Rerun

2008-06-14T01:04:00.002-05:00

I wake up everyday, but everyday seems like the same day. One day end to end. No real clear cut lines- just one LONG day. It feels too much like time is slipping away from me, and that I am letting it go. I am waiting. Not sure what for.

There has been so much loss. Everday we lose something. Some losses are greater than others. The loss of time. The loss of home. The loss of security. The loss of youth. The loss of our identities or jobs. The loss of loved ones. I lost my uncle this past weekend. I lost my aunt about two years ago- not really sure how long- and I lost my grandmother almost 20 years ago, but it all just feels like yesterday.

I relive the loss often- having difficulty letting go. With each loss, I was many states away lacking for some real closure. Maybe the wound is never meant to heal. Maybe the pain is meant to be taken with us on our journey to who knows where. I have a hard time accepting they are gone. It still feels like they are just far far away and I have been neglecting to visit them. Maybe its easier this way. The weight gets heavier each time, but maybe it is just the pull of the ties that bond us that keeps tugging at our soul. Maybe we are just forever anchored to our loved ones. Through life, death, time. Maybe it still feels like they are not gone, because they have never left. There is only so much my puny brain can understand, so little my eyes can see, but my soul can see, feel, hear something greater that my other senses cannot. It lacks interpretation. Someday. maybe.

Synopsis of 1700 Miles Traveled

2008-06-02T01:10:00.005-05:00

3 days, two kids, one mini van, one truck, and three adults all stuck in a moving vehicle or nonsmoking but still smoked in motel room

A midnight swim in a pool and spa by fully clothed adults and naked children

A trip to a Mexican restaurant led to an immediate rush to a toilet that thankfully only needed one trip to the toilet for the situation to be remedied.

Previous trip to the bathroom lead to sore intestines, gas, and a hesitation to eat anything solid.

Miles and miles and miles of desert.

I've seen all the cactus I need to see, thank you.

Frequent rest stops for potty breaks led to having boy pee in an empty Gatorade bottle - fluid in, fluid out.

When older boy was not peeing in bottle, he was peeing on my leg as I tried to fly him over toilet seats cleaned only once a millennium.

There was much eating of fishies, Cheez-its, and Mexican food.

Lots and Lots of videos played over and over and over again - most notably Thomas and Stewart Little with a sprinkle of the Simpsons.

Occasional blood curdling screaming coming from the rear punctuated by kicking and flying objects.

Some swear words were spoken and threats delivered and not just by the adults.

According to the boy, I should be reported to the police for having him restrained in his seat for three days.

I can't blame him.

Overall, an okay trip considering the circumstances. We made it physically intact, if not mentally intact thanks to my mom. She apparently did much praying to many different angels, guardians, and virgins over newly bought candles so that we could make it to Cali safely.

Thanks mom. I'll miss you.

Chaos

2008-05-17T22:37:00.004-05:00

My life is crazy right now. I am trying to take an online course through UCSD, pack, work, get our house ready to rent, try to get it rented, and still keep up with all the regular daily activities that keep me very busy when I am not busy moving.

Yet, it only takes a few pictures from all the natural disasters that have recently occurred in Asia to put my life into perspective. My kids are alive and at the moment safely sleeping in their beds. I look at them and I just can't fathom what all the mothers and fathers are going through who have recently lost their babies to the earthquakes or the cyclone.

I am angry that this has happened to them, and so very sad. I view the pictures wanting to reach in and help them, but right now I am constantly being blinded by my own troubles and daily life that seem so meaningless compared to theirs. I try to go on everyday remembering that there are people in Burma and China struggling to survive who are grieving the loss of their loved ones, home, and security.

They are in my thoughts and unconventional prayers. For it is during times like these that people seek religion for comfort and answers - a religion that may have long been forgotten by many, just as I have now. But it is during times like these that we will make an effort to piece what we do remember together and to make up what we can't in an effort to create some semblance of a religion. I have lost my religion many times, and have attempted to recover the shattered fragments of what it once was in times of distress. I hope the people in China and Burma can hold close to their faith and can find the strength to push forward during this nightmarish time.

Why the world turns

2008-05-05T11:50:00.004-05:00

One sunny day last week, as we were walking home from the park, Big Brother looked up, pointed at all the "pretty" colors in the sky, and spewed forth an endless stream of questions.

BB: Look momma, the sun is setting
Me (huffing and puffing up the mini hill where our house sits): Yep.
BB (looking up at the sky): Why does the sun set?
Me: Because the Earth turns and the sun hides on the other side of the Earth.
BB: Why does the Earth turn?
Me (pausing for a moment trying desperately to think back to my Earth History class in college): I think it's because of the pull of the sun, but I'm really not sure.
BB (looking puzzled): How do we not fall off?
Me: Gravity is a force that makes us stick to Earth because Earth is enormous. It's shaped like a big ball - a sphere.
BB: So grabity keeps us stuck? What's inside the earth?
Me (Thinking I seriously didn't expect these kind of questions until at least 4th grade): Rocks, metals, dirt. The world is made up of several layers - the crust, mantle which is more of a lava-like substance, and a dense core.
BB: Can we go inside the Earth?
Me: Not very far. The Earth is so huge, we just don't have the technology to go inside the Earth.
BB: Can we leave the Earth and go into outerspace?
Me (trying to remember I am still walking on the street and should look out for cars): Yes, but we can't go too far. We need to use powerful spaceships or rockets to break from gravity's force.
BB: Can we visit the sun?
Me: No we don't have the technology to go as far as the sun, and even if we did, we would start to melt before we got anywhere near it. It one big fiery star.
BB: What if we wear astronaut suits?
Me: It would still be too hot.
BB: Can we go to other planets like Saturn or Mars or Jupiter?
Me: (attempting to gather all our things including kids into the house): We can't go yet, but we have sent satellites and robots to Mars.
BB: Can you show me pictures of the Earth?

The conversation went on for another 30 minutes like that that led to a display of a ball revolving around a lamp, a visit to google earth, and further discussions of Earth years, seasons, and the Earth's orbit around the sun.

I'm sure some of the informations mentioned was incorrect like the part where I said the Earth spins because of the sun. What I should have said was that it's probably because of the cosmic explosion that formed Earth and hurled it into space, and other collisions that sent it spinning. In my defense, his question caught me off guard, and no one really knows exactly why the Earth spins. I'm sure he'll ask me about all these wonderful cosmic forces I know little about next time we see a sunset. I really thought he and I would be much older before he started asking me questions I couldn't answer. There are still so many questions I myself am searching for answers to - like how it is two tiny bodies can produce soooo much laundry.

Pilot and CoPilot

2008-04-22T10:41:00.004-05:00

This is what we call Pilot and Copilot over at my house. Once or twice a day, Big Brother will hop on the chair to do some fun PBS games and the Bee will climb on behind him and watch - waiting for Big Brother to let go of the steering wheel, and take over. This has been going on since the Bee was twelve months when he learned to climb on chairs, and soon after learned to climb on tables. This did not bode well for the computer since he likes to climb on the desk, too and sometimes attempts to throw the monitor down when it is not flying in the same direction brother takes it. Big Brother started using the computer at 3 and the Bee thinks, he's ready now. Me thinks this will not fly!

Intimacy Lost

2008-04-16T10:42:00.004-05:00

It's been one WHOLE week since I nursed my baby. One whole week, since I lost that intimacy I had with him, and maybe a whole other lifetime before I will get to do it again. That is of course, if I am in the mood of believing in reincarnation, and I make my way back again as a woman. I wonder how I can miss something that I reluctantly did. Something that brought me so much physical pain and consumed every moment of my life for the first year. How nursing my babies hardly ever felt like that fantastic bonding experience people talk about. I wanted to quit nursing everyday, but when the time came to end it, I hesitated. Just one more month I'd say, and now as Bee turned 19 months, we both felt the time was right.

The night before I had set to end our nursing session, the Bee asked for his usual "night, night" nursing session, but as we sat down on the couch instead of the usual rocker and I proceeded to latch. He paused. He became distracted by the TV. He turned around, and refused to nurse after I attempted to relatch, and I didn't fight it. He fell asleep on my lap that night for the first time without having had his usual bedtime snack.

The next night he proceeded to ask for "night, night" again, and I proceeded to tell him we were all done. He responded by patting the boobs and saying "ah dun", and I shook my head to motion yes and repeated the all done. He lay his head on my shoulder and we rocked in our usual rocking chair until he fell asleep. I envisioned having a much more difficult time ending my nursing sessions with him with a lot of kicking and screaming, but it was just as easy as when I uttered those exact words of "all done" with Big Brother, and he rolled over and fell asleep after having missed his early morning session. Both boys gave it up with ease.

Maybe I would have been less sad if they had fought it. Maybe I would have been less sad, if they showed they wanted nothing else but to nurse, and maybe I would have obliged them for just one more month - one more month to have that intimacy only we shared, but maybe it was just time.

I have a new found freedom I am relishing. I have gotten my body back and it is just mine, but that same freedom scares me and saddens me, too. This little person no longer needs me in the same intensity he once did. I am no longer his only one, because what I now provide can be given by others. Yet, I am consoled by the fact that we were both ready. We were both ready to move on to a new phase in life, and that is much better than having it shoved in your face.

The Nomading Life I Lead

2008-04-01T11:59:00.006-05:00

I hate moving. In my lifetime I have lived in 20 different houses, in three different states, in six different cities, and two different time zones. I would like to say that I have also only moved 20 times, but that would be too simple, because between moving in and out of dorms, shacks, basements, government housing, my parent's many homes, and my in-laws, the number of time I've moved may be close to thirty. That basically equates to about a move a year, not that I lived in each place a year and then moved.

There were some places I have lived in for a year or two, others I lived in for only a month: 7 months, 3 months, and still others I wished I hadn't lived in for no more than a few hours. My longest has been five years. As a kid, I vowed that I would never move more than just a couple times. I would be in control of my life, and I would be wiser and more decisive than my mother who dragged me across the country on what often seemed like a whim. I was nothing more than a piece of luggage to her then.

Now that I am older and wiser and in control of my life, I have realized that there is only so much control we have. That so many of our choices and decisions are driven by circumstance, by chance, by our bank accounts, by our jobs, by the people we love, by changing attitudes and lifestyles, and by all other mysterious or not so mysterious forces we call life. Nothing is ever black and white, its all a very murky gray. This of course is not a realization I just happened upon today. I am not that naive, although I am one of those people who sometimes needs to learn things the hard way. I have also come to realize that I am not a decisive person and may never be, and I do realize that this has led to missed opportunities and wasted time.

We have gone back and forth on our most recent decision to move about a hundred times already, and every decision has a weighty number of pros and and its equally strong cons, so much so that each decision seems like the right one and the wrong one all at the same time -- a decision that can be easily swayed by our mood. We are at a point where we are trying to prioritize our mental list, but really we are just going to drive forward with our decision to move.

Oh, and do I loathe the whole moving process. The planning, the packing, the carrying of heavy stuff, the canceling of utilities, the renting of a moving truck, the renting of the house we now own, the fixing up the house we now own, the finding new schools, new friends, new tenants, new jobs, and so much more that would just add to an endless list of boring details if I continued on in this manner. But really, wasn't life much simpler when we were childless and out of college when all that needed to be moved could be fit in a small trunk of a Mazda Protege, and the only person that needed to be notified was our mother. Life is about making sacrifices, and we have decide to make the sacrifice of moving and losing our own home so that we can live in the same area code as our family - well, at least part of it.

Conversations with Brain Rot

2008-03-18T11:30:00.001-05:00

I feel guilty for not keeping up with my blog and writing more often, but it always seems like life gets in the way. I always want to wait to write when I know I will have time to finish writing a post, but those moments are few and far between. I am the kind of person who does not like to start something unless I can finish it. I get plenty of ideas for posts all the time, but I am usually lying in bed or busy doing something else. There are also plenty of funny things that spew out of Big Brother's mouth to write about, but I can never seem to remember them for too long. What makes it even harder to remember now is that he just doesn't say funny phrases anymore, but we can have whole conversations about his take on the world.

One short conversation revolved around the topic of leg hairs that I overheard him have with his dad in the shower while I was busy nursing the Bee. It went something like this.

Big Brother: "Daddy, what's all that fur on your legs?
The Dada: "It's hair. When boys grow older and become men, they grow hair on their legs."
Big Brother: " I don't want to become a man, I just want to stay a boy."
(I can't say I blame him.)

It continued on from there, but like I said, I can hardly remember these conversations unless I've had the opportunity to repeat them soon after with others.

One conversation I still remember from about a year ago when I also decided it was a good time to stop walking around the house naked looking for clothes after my showers, I discussed with big brother my lack of an accessory.

Big Brother: Mommy. You don't have a penis?
Me: No.
Big Brother: Why not?
Me: Because I don't need one. Only boys have a penis.
Big Brother: Daddy has a penis.
Me: Yes he does.
Big Brother: the Bee has a penis.
Me: Yep.
Big Brother: But you don't have a penis???? [giving me a very perplexed and puzzled look with a hint of worry followed by a very pensive pause]
Big Brother: Maybe you can borrow daddy's penis.
Me: [Laughter ensues] I don't really think daddy would like that.
Big brother eventually loses interest in this conversation and runs off with a puzzled look.

The only reason I even remember this last conversation is because I just had to call to tell everyone in my family about it. It was too funny to forget.

For now I will continue to blame my inability to remember things on my pregnancy brain.
Has it been too long from my last pregnancy to keep blaming my inefficient brain on that? Hey, if you can still have postpartum depression two years after you've had your last baby, I think I can blame my less than perfect ability to remember things on "pregnancy brain".

Roses are...

2008-03-16T14:32:00.003-05:00

I got flowers today for the first time in a LOOOOONG time. When my husband and I were first dating in high school he use to come over with a bouquet of flowers almost each and every time he'd come visit. Sure he usually cut them off of someone's lawn, but nonetheless, I loved the gesture and still have a box full of old dry roses he use to bring over.

Many years went by and eventually he stopped bringing me flowers. I didn't even see flowers when I gave birth to my two boys. Today, though, I got flowers from a new little man. My eldest decided that he would cut some off our yard and bring them to me. In his words they were "Fowers for when you and daddy get married". How do I break it to him that mommy and daddy are already married , and that there were no flowers then? I probably should also not mention that he's picking those flowers off some unknown weed that is quite stinky for fear that I may never get flowers again.

I love the fact that he can now occasionally think outside himself, and do something nice for someone else. Today he decided to do something sweet for me. I just hope that he continues to step outside his own shoes, and see the world through the eyes of others, and to on some occasions see that maybe someone could benefit from a small bouquet of "fowers". His thoughtful gesture brightened up my day.

Oh sleep. Wherefore art thou?

2008-03-04T10:38:00.010-06:00

The Bee is up to his usual wakings these nights. He wakes every two hours. The only progress we have made in that front is that now when I bring him into our bed he doesn't kick and scream for the boob.

Oh thy cranky Bee,
why can't you see?
Thee needs nothing but sleep.

Tis only two, tis only three, tis only six,
but thou just sends out kicks.
You cry and scream to be free,
and in the process awaken thee.

You roll over and throw that little arm around my neck
hogging my pillow and pushing me to the edge.
The gesture is oh so sweet,
but can't you see you've got me beat.
You render me motionless from my head to my thighs,
and I lay still for fear that you might rise.

Big Brother who must compete,
has crawled into bed near my feet.
Because not long after you, he begins to scream, too.
For your screams make him ill oh too soon.
Big brother who will request drinks and potty breaks.
Big Brother who is afraid of monsters, the dark, and snakes.

Oh why won't they just be afraid of me?
Because, maybe just then,
only then
will I sleep.

* Please excuse my lousy poetry skills in advance, since my only knowledge about poetry was acquired in elementary school and it has since been forgotten. This post didn't start out as a poem but it just naturally transformed into one (or at least as an impostor of one) and has undergone many MANY changes and may undergo many more.

Pecan Harvesting

2008-02-18T11:37:00.005-06:00

It's February and we still have a ton of pecans falling from the trees. We have been picking buckets of pecans since this fall. We had a great harvest this year, and they are sooo good. Have you seen how expensive organic pecans are at the store? We have so many that we have taken to using them as recreational items. Sometimes we launch them across our backyard with a bat, and other times we put our busy little boys to work shelling them. The little one will NOT be exempt from this task. I suggest you purchase your own pecan trees if you live in a place that can grow them, because it will keep the the kids busy for hours.

One must first collect the appropriate pecans.

Then one must bang them with a rock to crush the shells and remove the pecans. I am so proud that my little cavemen know how to use tools.

Don't waste anytime eating them as they can provide proper fuel for more crushing.

Mmmmmm! Yummy pecans!

Me Me Memes?

2008-02-17T10:49:00.005-06:00

1. I was tagged for the first time ever for a meme by Julie from the the calm before the stork.

As usual, I am behind on these things, but it isn't unusual for me to procrastinate things. In high school, I used to get up an hour before class to cram for my biology tests, which I had to take during first period. I guess I did okay in that class considering I didn't usually wake up until 3rd period and basically just sat there during class with a glazed look on my face. It's the same glazed look I have for the first two hours after my kids wake me up every morning at seven. Who designed kids to wake up so damn early anyway? They should be born with the coordination to pour their own cereal and drinks if you ask me. Every night I prepare their drinks--chocolate milk for the older boy and plain milk for the Bee--put them in the fridge, and then pour cheerios into their supposed-to-be-no-spill-but-spill-all-of-the-time-anyway containers and place them on the high chair in attempts to buy myself just a few more minutes in bed. Sometimes it works, and sometimes I just ignore them.

And now back to the meme. Here are the rules.

1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.

2. Share five random and/or weird facts about yourself on your blog.

3. Share the five top places on your “want to see or want to see again” list.

4. Tag a minimum of five random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment in their blog.

2. Share five random and/or weird facts about yourself on your blog.

*My uncle use to call me "Blue Eyes" and so did the rest of his family when I was a kid. My uncle was German-English and owned a ranch we used to go to every Sunday for dinner. The story goes that he thought my eyes were going to be blue when he saw me as a baby, and despite the fact that they ended up brown, the nickname stuck. Maybe he was just able to see the future and into the eyes of my own children.

*My best childhood memories are of his farm. There were chickens we fed, cows we milked, horses we'd often ride, ducks we'd chase, and dogs and cats that were the foundation of his alarm system. There were also numerous pecan trees for snacking on and a vegetable garden. My cousins and I use to secretly build fires and forts and played hide-and-seek among the mesquite trees. We'd also go swimming in the pond when I wasn't too grossed out by the fish and algae living in it.

*I don't eat salad. I am generally very picky about which veggies I eat and how. I will only eat carrots in soup, and spinach in sandwiches.

* Between fourth and seventh grade, I went to three different elementary schools and two different middle schools in three different states.

* I have over 30 cousins I almost never see.

* And because the first two weren't quite random, here is a sixth. I married my high school sweetheart who I met when I was 16 and he was 18 in my AP Spanish class. We have been together for almost 13 years and married for 7.

3. Share the five top places on your “want to see or want to see again” list.

*Yosemite National Park because I never get tired of its beauty.

*Illinois because during the brief time I lived there, I never once made it to Chicago.

*Yucatan Peninsula and other interior parts of Mexico.

*Spain

*Italy

4. Tag a minimum of five random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment in their blog.

1001 Petals

Veronica on the Verge

Miguelina

HalfMama

Mommy off the Record

Taxes, Cars, and Life Changes

2008-02-13T09:44:00.005-06:00

Things I have been up to these last couple of weeks

1. Doing our taxes because we KNOW we have some money coming back from good Uncle Sam, and we needs the money.

2. Planning our move, because as much as we love Austin and the people, my husband can do without the heat and mosquitoes, and I can do without him complaining about them. I can deal, but to be fair, I am not as much of an outdoor person as he is. We are moving back to the SF Bay Area and renting our little home here. Sad.

3. I have started tutoring students at two different schools at the end of their school day four days a week, which makes it kind of a crazy schedule for us since The Dada teaches in the morning, comes home watches kids while I leave and tutor, and then I come home and we trade so that he can go and teach again at night. CRAZY! I wonder if my kids will ever appreciate how much we struggled to have one parent home with them at all times. They are going to have to get used to having grandma watch them for at least part of the day when they are not in school from now on. Grandma is scared with good reason, and I am thinking we will have to find someone to help grandma out.

4. We searched and bought a car with a loan from Grandpa. Thank You Grandpa! You see, our previous car was a Toyota Previa, and we loved it except that now it rattles like you have a couple of jackhammers following you around wherever you go, the radio is busted, and the AC is also not functioning which is needed for reasons of survival here, and for the impending drive we will have to make across the desert to get to Cali in the early summer. My boy is sad to be giving up this old car, since he has not yet gotten to the stage where he is worried about what his parents are driving. The older boy wanted a truck, and he could not be made to understand that it is illegal to have little boys flying out of the back of pick-up trucks. We stayed loyal to Toyota and bought a Sienna. Buying this car made me think of all the cars we had growing up: a bright yellow with brown stripes Gremlin ( who made this car anyway?), beat up Toyota pick up that I frequently rode in the back of, a brown Pinto that was once riding on only two wheels because a drunk driver was trying to push us off the rode in it and sadly met its end when another drunk driver collided with it months later. I LOATHE drunk drivers!

What cars were you forced to ride in growing up?

My Little Apostle

2008-01-29T12:09:00.001-06:00

Mommy's First Cut

2008-01-29T11:49:00.000-06:00

This is what his hair looked like after he woke up every morning...

so mommy decided to cut his hair.

Gray Skies are Gonna...

2008-01-28T10:38:00.001-06:00

Is it still January? I lose track these days, and I try to post at least once a week, but lately it's been gloomy and rainy around here and I need a certain amount of sunlight to keep from feeling glum.

It reminds me of the winter I spent in the Santa Cruz Redwood Rainforest during an "El Nino" year. I was in my second year of college and having to get up at 7 in the morning to hike over to an early organic chemistry class. That was depressing enough, but then having to do it in the cold rain didn't help. Everyday I'd hike to class under gray skies, as the winds howled, and the incessant rain pittered and patterred. I carried an umbrella, but it only served to keep my hair dry. The rest of me would sit in class soaking wet and shivering until it was time to walk through the rain again. Even when it did stop raining, the water would continuously trickle from the trees. You would think that would be enough to keep me awake during class, but apparently not. I was under a constant rain cloud.

I slipped into a mild seasonal depression. All I wanted to do everyday is just sleep. I slept in my dorm room, and I slept in class when I did manage to convince myself that I cared enough about passing my classes, and would brave the weather to do so. I spent most of those days asleep and/or wet, so we can safely say that I didn't fare well that quarter in school. It was a good thing the skies started to clear by spring quarter, because if they hadn't, I probably wouldn't have been there the next two years to finish school.

These days I am not getting up early to brave the weather to make it to class, but twice a week, I have to pull myself out of bed, get dressed, dress the older boy, diaper the younger one as I put him to bed in sweats, grab their snacks and lunches, maneuver our too-wide bike trailer through our gate without knocking the bike over onto myself, throw their lunches and snacks prepared the night before in the back, put a jacket on both boys, place their helmets on and my own, and then try to handle them with all their puffy layers to place them in the trailer while I try to manipulate the straps and clips with cold, numb fingers - all of this to get Big Brother to preschool. Once this is all done, I have to then pedal two miles up a steady incline that might as well be Mount Mckinley as my out of shape body can handle little exercise. The wind is of course howling against me and the drizzle gently misting my hair. I get to his preschool and get off the bike to find my legs feeling heavy and tingly all over. I must then proceed to remove all the straps and gear with my frozen claw-like hands. Once the older boy is all signed in, I must then convince the younger Bee that we will have equally as much fun at home than Big Brother will have at school, and then rehelmet and restrap him into the trailer. At least, it's all downhill from his school.

My mom laughs at me when I tell her about my biking adventures. She just chuckles and brings up her own version of walking ten miles through the snow and back story. Her story about how she waded thought the Rio Grande while she was 7 months pregnant with my brother and then almost got run over by a border patrol lady in her jeep who was the person responsible for stripping her of her passport in the first place on orders from my grandmother (dad's mom) who she was friends with. Or the time she walked three miles in the snow to get to work at 3 am because my father wouldn't be bothered to get up and give her a ride. I apparently did not inherent my mom's brave soul.

At least the skies have cleared temporarily, so I must go and soak up some sun while it lasts.

Belated DeLurk

2008-01-15T11:14:00.000-06:00

Yes. Yes. I know it was last week, but I tend to be late at most things these days. No, my AF arrived on time thankfully. I know you just needed to know that. I can only go so many years without any sleep ya know. I think I'm going on five years now if you include pregnancy, and the Bee informed me it will be much MUCH longer before he settles into a tolerable sleep schedule. Last night he decided to wake every hour or so. No he's not a newborn. He's 16 months old in fact.

So delurk already. Just say hello, but preferably tell me a bit about yourself. What's your name? Blog? Where did you find out about me?

Come on. Delurk. It would be good for my self-esteem.

The Poo Poo Iniot Tribe

2008-01-14T18:23:00.000-06:00

The Dada and I have reason to believe Big Brother thinks we are part of the Poo Poo Iniot Tribe. Whenever he is irate that he is not getting all that his little heart desires, he frequently responds by reminding us we are "Poo Poo Iniots".

Who are the Poo Poo Iniots? Is it possible that Big Brother wandered into my many dusty anthropology books and discovered something about our ancestral heritage that I missed reading about while in college? Probably not. This kid knows his alphabet, but that's a far cry from actually being able to read college level books. Huh? Maybe he has us confused with some tribe he heard about on PBS. He does watch a lot of Reading Rainbow and I know for a fact Levar Burton has done an episode on the Taos Pueblo. Are the Poo Poo Iniots somehow related? Maybe he means the Poo Poo Inuits?

Or is it possible that Big Brother is just a BRAT with an uncontrollable potty mouth. I think maybe the last choice is the most plausible answer, but it would have been cool to be a part of some exotic tribe called the Poo Poo Iniots.

Oh well, on another note. I LOVE Four! Sooooooooo Much better than 2 and 3. The tantrums are less frequent, the kid more self sufficient, more calm, more teachable, sleep more continuous and afar, more independent and creative play, increased ability for rational thought, more patient, more responsible, more cautious, and the things he says and does are just plain funny. So when four isn't spewing out naughty nonsense phrases, having some kind of meltdown, or ignoring my request to clean up or behave, he is quite tolerable. Now, if we could somehow get the Bee to skip all the wonders that are 2 and 3 and jump right into four we'd be in business.

ER, CT Scans, and X-mas Eve

2008-01-08T10:30:00.000-06:00

The E.R. - is there any better place to be on Christmas Eve? Sure it's very sterile, sure there are bunch of sick people, and sure there are plenty of things little boys like the Bee should not touch, but when you are looking for a place to go on Christmas Eve you should try your local medical center.

We opted for the more kid friendly version and went to the the brand new children's medical center here in Central Texas complete with playgrounds, family room housing dvds, books, and computers for all to use, multiple courtyards with wonderful water features, volunteers who on X-mas Eve are just looking for any excuse to give your kid a gift whether they are ill or not, ball machines, and other high tech devices like child friendly CT scans. So we thought while we were there with Big Brother who the previous night was up puking his brains out from a possible blow to the head with a wooden block courtesy of the Bee that we would try the much raved about open CT Scan.

We endured all the waiting that comes with all emergency room visits, all the yelling to the non-ill children not to touch anything because you don't want to break anything since this visit is already going to cost you a zillion bucks, and you don't want to acquire any new germs that will prompt you back to pay even more money you don't have.

Our visit went something like this

Sign in.

Wait. Yell at the Bee not to touch anything especially the toilet in the sooo conveniently placed bathrooms.

Wait. Listen to Big Brother whine that he wants juice, because juice must always be purchased wherever there is juice to be bought even if one is not really intending to drink it.

Wait. Visit with triage nurse. Explain puking and it's possible link to Bee's fit of rage. Yell at the Bee not to touch EVERYTHING.

Wait. Remove Bee from waiting room and explore the hospital because we are just such awful parents for not letting him play with the toilet seat.

Wait. Big Brother is sent to his posh ER room complete with an LCD TV with endless kid stations, his own private bathroom, reclinable and portable bed, and many other medical life saving devices and a trash can that would provide countless of hours of playtime fun for the Bee.

Wait. Sleeping Big Brother get transported for his scan where he eventually wakes up and manges a big grin for the picture the technician kept saying he was getting. Big brother gets two stuffed toy cows from chick fillet for being so cooperative.

Wait. Big Brother keeps asking when he will be getting his pictures.

Wait. Doctor comes in and visits, saying scan is okay and gives brother anti-puking drugs.

Big Brother pukes. Nurse comes in, and later brings Doc in to witness the aftermath of Big Brother's puking powers. Doc suggest IV.

Wait....

Nurse comes in to place IV with a helper and her countless of supposed distraction toys.

Boy is not distracted. Boy screams as the IV is being placed. Volunteer walks in with crayons and coloring books boy can't use because he has an IV placed in the hand he writes with. Boy Screams about this. Nurse brings in a blue stuffed animal.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Distract Bee. Bee naps. Bee wants to play with puke bucket and trash. Remove Bee from room and explore some more. Bee eats lunch. Mommy eats lunch. Bee naps. Wait.......................

Eventually, after two doses of IV fluids, four hours without any puking events, two more stuffed animals including a psychedilic frog, a toy motorcycle, a hospital bill and deductible we'd rather pay later, and an overly cranky Bee, we went home. If that is not what you call fun, I don't know what is. Maybe next year we'll try some place more fun like the fire station or something.

Poo Stains Begone!

2007-12-30T14:08:00.000-06:00

I've decided I am the master of poo stain removal. I can make any stain dissapppear as long as I do it immediately after the article of clothing is removed from the offending butt cheeks. This is something I learned after many, MANY diahrea disasters. Not by me of course, but my kids have been known to make quite the mess. The Bee can easily win the title for the greatest poo disaster. In his first four months of life, it wasn't unusual to find poo all the way up on his shoulders. Explosive!

I'm sure you'd love to hear my secret, so here is my simple trick to removing nasty poo stains.

1. Remove the article of clothing without smearing the poo too much back on to the shirt.
2. Rinse article of clothing with plain water.
3. Grab a bleep load of liquid soap and squirt on to stains. It can be any liquid soap lying around - hand soap or baby soap works.
4. Scrub, scrub, scrub. Rinse, rinse, rinse.
5. Finally, the secret ingredient..........DOVE BAR SOAP. I rub the stains out with dove bar soap. Scrub, Lather, rinse, and repeat until all the stains are gone.

It's funny how the dove soap works much like an eraser. I discovered this by accident one day trying to remove my son's nasty poo stains. The only reason I bother with the liquid soap is because I don't want my bar of soap to touch actual poo. Yuck! Especially since I use it to wash my body, but you can easily designate a bar of Dove soap just for this purpose. Later just throw the article of clothing into the wash with the rest of your clothes, and it will be as good as new. Go ahead and try it. You can thank me later.

Big Brother's Version of the Food Pyramid

2007-12-22T12:54:00.000-06:00

Big Brother is not really adventurous when it comes to eating. When he first started eating solids, one of his favorites was sweet potatoes, beans, carrots, peas, and cheese. These days, he will only eat from the bottom of his personal food pyramid. Ask him what he wants to eat and he will most likely pull some variation from his bread and dairy group. Some call this the "white bread" diet, but I call this the "you're going to die soon if you don't get some real food in ya" diet.

On the menu this month:

Cheese sandwich: bread, cheese, mustard, mayo

Cinnamon toast: bread with cinnamon and brown sugar

Quesadilla: corn tortilla and cheese

Macaroni: more cheese and more starch

Omelet: egg and cheese

Cake: egg, cheese, flour, etc. He turned four this month.

Candy: more of what he calls "the good stuff"

Fishies: cheese fish crackers, no real meat in this one

Tortilla: just a flour tortilla and butter

Pumpkin Bread: a sweet bread made with pumpkin puree

It has been so frustrating feeding him recently because he is even saying no to his old favorites like pizza, bacon, albondigas (turkey meatballs in a tomato broth), carrots and celery in soup, potato anything, beans, rice, oven roasted chicken, cereal, and other kid friendly foods. I am constantly worrying that he is not meeting his nutritional needs especially in the iron department. He will take vitamins, but I don't want him to become dependent on these. I also don't want to have to hide fruits and veggies in some kind of sweet bread all the time. I don't have the time for that with another one roaming around, and actually having to cook real meals for us adult folks.

The Butcher Shop

2007-12-20T23:04:00.000-06:00

My hair is very temperamental. Some days it likes to lie flat, others it wants to curl in gentle waves, and still other days, it can't make up it's mind and does a little bit of both. On really damp or humid days, it is just outright defiant and turns into one big ball of frizz - bottles of mouse and hairspray are consumed on those days in attempts to make it somewhat presentable.

These are the many reasons I am most reluctant to get my hair chopped, since one wrong cut and my hair goes all Jekyll and Hyde on me. So one morning, a couple of weeks ago, I decided that today was the day my hair met Mr. Scissors once again. After many split ends, numerous knots, four inches, and 10 months of growth, I had decided that my haircut was long overdue.

Nothing would stop me that day from getting my locks lopped off. Knowing that I just couldn't go anywhere to get my hair cut, I scoured internet sites, read reviews, checked coupons, until I found a place that sounded like it would meet my needs. I decided to go with a shop that could schedule me in immediately and praised itself for being able to cut ethnic hair. After all, I figured my hair qualified as being ethnic.

I was on a mission, and I couldn't wait until my regular hairdresser had an opening to cut my hair. Besides being frugal and broke, I decided I needed a more affordable cut. I would just have to do without the shampoo, foot and head massage, and a hairdresser that values symmetry, because apparently this new salon did not.

The new salon was no bigger than a closet, and about as cozy and bright as one too. It mirrors rested on the counter in a slant since apparently it was too much trouble to hang them on the wall. Three women sat and waited with hair much frizzier than mine, while two others got their hair groomed by two separate hairdressers. My first instinct was to run the other direction, but I decided I would not judge a hairdressers ability by the way they kept their salon.

I should have run the other way, because after a quick shampoo done only because the stylist misplaced her spray bottle, a puzzled look after asking for a two layer haircut, and many haphazard cuts, I ended up with hair that was unevenly layered on half my head, and one side one inch longer than the other. This I didn't notice until I got home because as soon as she said she was done, she popped a hand held mirror bigger than the windshield of my car in my face and asked how I liked the back. The back looked fine as far as I could tell since it was sopping wet, but mostly, I just wanted to run out of there, and get them as far away from my hair as I could.

I came home dismayed. The Dada took one look into my eyes and knew I was teetering on the edge, about to explode into fits of tears. He said my hair looked fine, and you couldn't notice the unevenness when I had it up. It didn't matter because even if I put it up, I knew my hair had been butchered. I solemnly held my head to the right. The side that ended up one inch longer, and in my mind, that was why that side felt heavier.

I eventually scheduled a haircut with my regular hairdresser. I had to admit I had cheated on him with another much less capable hairdresser, and was now returning to him knowing that he could make it all better. So after $70, two hair dressers, many MANY cuts, and hair that had to end up one inch shorter than desired, I eventually got my haircut - completely layered and symmetrical. Next time I will have to remember the lesson relearned (because I am just that thick)- be patient, and stop being such a cheap ass.

Buyer's Remorse

2007-12-13T10:05:00.000-06:00

We bought our tree a couple of weeks ago (Yes. I realize that's early, and I'm all for not starting x-mas too early -like back in September - but we are leaving soon, and I wanted to have time to enjoy the dam tree!). We bought a real tree, not a live one or fake one, but a REAL dead tree. The Dada and I have been married for almost seven years now, and this is our first tree. Before this year, we were either out of town most of December or lived in too small a place to have one, or really just didn't want to have to redecorate the tree everyday with a toddler around as we are doing now.

The tree is beautiful. It needles are soft, green, but not too stiff, it branches are full and strong, and its shape is so perfectly conical it should be featured in all x-mas magazine covers. Everything you could ever want from a Christmas tree, this tree has.

Yet, as perfect as it is, I feel sad looking at it. It stands there stalwart and radiant looking back at me as if to say, "Look how beautiful I am, and think of how much more beautiful I could have gotten if I were left to live." Yes. My tree is conceited, too. Either way, I can't help, but agree with the tree. We played a role in it's slaughter, and now its looking us straight in the face and asking "Why". I am remorseful.

You'd think I'd be able to handle this since I am a carnivore. I do feel somewhat remorseful eating meat, and I have tried to cut back, but come on, I'm Mexican, and a meal at my house wasn't a meal unless there was a dead animal on the plate. But since the whole animal carcass isn't on my plate at once staring me in the face, it's easier to distance myself. If I had to kill the animal myself, I probably wouldn't be able to do it unless I was starving and that was all there was to eat. In which case, I'm sure the animal would be sizing me up to.

So maybe next year, I will become a plasticarian. I will purchase a fake tree just like the one we had when I was growing up. Well, maybe not exactly like the one we had since our tree was white, and by that I don't mean it had fake snow, but that it had white needles. What was my mother thinking? I loved that tree growing up just as much as I love this year's Christmas tree. Although, if we did buy a fake tree, I will have to also think about the many migrant workers in China earning $100 a month to make our fake tree and feel remorseful about that. Heck! If all else fails, we'll just paint a tree on the wall.

Under Construction

2007-12-11T15:35:00.000-06:00

I'm currently working on a new header and color scheme.

Guest Blogging Elsewhere

2007-12-11T10:44:00.001-06:00

Becoming a mother is such a shock to the system physically and mentally. You can try to explain it to someone who is not a mother until your mouth goes dry, but there is just nothing like experiencing it yourself. All new mothers share many of the same trials, but ultimately, the experience is very unique for each person. Why? Because all mothers are different, all babies are different, and all circumstances are different. Nonetheless, we try to help each other knowing that our advice, however well intentioned, may not necessarily work for that person. We know how tough it is, and we just can't help but empathize. My inauguration into motherhood is still so vivid and real to me. Although, it could just be because the Bee refuses to sleep and has been waking up every two hours. Hey. You. Go. To. SLEEP! Your not a newborn anymore and we aren't having any awesome circus parties while you sleep. So sleep already!

Getting back to the main purpose of this post...I was honored when Julie asked me to guest blog in her very creative, always-real blog. She just had a baby, so she has lots to say about the many trials new mothers are faced with. So go ahead. Pay a visit to Julie at the calm before the stork to read her posts, and take a gander at my guest post to find out why I was itching for Big Brother to exit the womb and give me some relief in my ninth month of pregnancy with him. Go ahead. I'm not going anywhere. I will be right here waiting for you. Well. Not really. But go anyway. You can visit here later.

Beeisms

2007-12-08T13:20:00.001-06:00

The Bee has been busy acquiring new words. Here are a few of his most frequently used words (or at least the ones I can remember).

"Ma-ma": This was his first word and it still melts my heart when I hear it.

"ten-tu":(Thank you) This is actually the second word/phrase he ever spoke, and he likes to use it to show his gratitude when being given a requested item that required much thrashing, head-bonking, and screaming. Sometimes he just says it to be polite.

"Da-da": Frequently yells this to get his Dada's attention upon arrival from work.

"Pa-pa": Pronounced with a Spanish accent since my mom taught him this one. Papa means potato in Spanish and sometimes it's taught to babies to mean food since it's so easy for them to say. (with a different inflection, it also means dad.)

"Um-um": (Does it count as a word if it's just the sound one makes when biting into food) Another word he likes to use to tell me he's hungry.

"Ba-bu": (Brother) Often used when in search for Big Brother. I actually caught the Bee practicing how to say brother's first name while we were all still lying in bed.

"Ah-dun": (All done) An important one for him to know since he uses it to tell me to stop shoveling food down his throat, or when he's had just about enough of his car seat.

"Na-Night":(Night-Night) Time for bed he says.

"Ba-bye": (Bye Bye) He isn't afraid to tell me when it's time to get out and see the world. He's a "callejero" ( calle meaning street in Spanish, but the term refers to someone who likes to be out and about.)

"Apa":(Grandpa) Learned this one back in October when grandpa was out visiting us. He just had to compete with Big Brother for his attention.

"Ga-ma": (Grandma) He learned this word from big brother while visiting my mom, as my mom was unable to teach him the word abuelita.

"A-wah-woo": (I Love you) He said it for the first time as I was changing his diaper completely out of no where. I hadn't said it recently, and I had never practiced this phrase with him before, so I totally did a double take. Guuuuuuuuuuuush. It definitely felt good to hear, especially while doing the unpleasant task of changing a poo diaper. He's said it many times since to everyone else in our family, and I never get tired of hearing him say it.

Breastfeeding Woes & Imperfect Pumps

2007-12-01T16:25:00.000-06:00

A recent birth of a friend's baby has prompted me to remember the many woes I've had as a breastfeeding mother. The first was definitely the hardest. Everyday I wanted nothing more than to quit. I endured everything from bleeding nipples, clogged ducts, overactive letdown, poor latch, constant engorgement, a baby who fussed every time he was put on the boob, clogged ducts, and mastitis - all of this in just the first few weeks. Every time, I went to the pediatrician, I'd explain all my nursing woes hoping that just maybe, she would suggest that my baby was lactose intolerant or anything that would make giving up breastfeeding guiltless. Nope.

I kept asking myself, just how I was going to bond with this baby if I couldn't resolve all these breastfeeding issues. Isn't breastfeeding suppose to just come naturally? I thought all you were suppose to do is insure a good latch and everything pretty much was suppose to take care of itself - at least that's the impression I got from the breastfeeding class we had taken. At the time, I didn't find breastfeeding to be this beautiful bonding experience I was told it was going to be. I was shocked to find out it was a very complicated process with a steep learning curve.

My nursing sessions at first went something like this..

1. Drain milk out enough to latch boy on.
2. Attempt to latch boy.
3. Boy screams, latches, screams, latches, screams.
4. Proceed to drain more milk out to reduce flow, but not so much so that it encourages more milk production and therefore more engorgement.
5. Attempt to latch boy.
6.Boy screams, latches, screams, latches, screams,latches, but finally stays on.
7. Realize that the pain I am feeling is due to poor latch, and reluctantly unlatch.
8. Boy screams.
9. Attempt to relatch boy, more boy screams, latches, screams, latches.
10. Still latched incorrectly, but endure pain since I am desperate to get the milk out and feed the boy. Will deal with bleeding nipples later.
11. Cringe a bit at the pain.
12.Unlatch, and hope boy is still interested in nursing. Pleeeease be hungry boy. There's a whole other boob ready to burst.
13. Repeat steps 1-12, if not partially empty other boob manually.

Eventually I incorporated the use of the breast pump, but soon found out I was clogged. Despite the engorgement I never became clogged before using the pump. To this day, I only use it in desperate situations, because I firmly believe the unnatural pumping from my imperfect breast pump somehow changed or stretched my ducts, so that now I suffer from chronic clogging. Especially if I don't get my engorgement under control - something I've only been able to accomplish by getting the boys on a loose feeding schedule because I've dealt with this even with my second child.

When I started dealing with chronic clogging, I had to add the following to the routine.

Before step 1. Hot compress boob for 10 minutes.
Between step 10-11 Manually massage boob while boy nurses to make sure boob drains evenly and completely.
Step 14. Deal with ducts that didn't empty, and do whatever needs to be done before mastitis sets in. For the love of god, not mastitis.

Eventually, the boy and I got better at the latching thing, I didn't get bleeding nipples anymore, and I got better about dealing with the clogged ducts. Through my experience, I learned that the key to successfully breastfeeding was to have a solid breastfeeding support network, to take it one day at a time, and to always be informed. I eventually grew to love our nursing sessions and even went on to nurse my son past my 6 month goal until he was 18 months when I was a bit sad about giving up the intimacy that comes with nursing. I am currently still nursing my second, and it's definitely much easier the second time around.

(I found the following website to be extremely useful when I first started off nursing. It got me through many, MANY of my issues.)

http://www.kellymom.com/

My Kids are Barbarians

2007-11-24T16:20:00.001-06:00

or as my mother-in-law likes to call them, "white trash". Although, are they still considered white trash if they are part Hispanic? My mom would probably say they are "indios". Maybe they are "indio trash" as both terms in their respective cultures are derogatory terms for someone who is uncivilized.

But either way, my kids have a hard time keeping their clothes on no matter how frigid it may be. Thanksgiving was no exception, of course. Big Brother had his shirt torn off just an hour after our first guests arrived and was wearing nothing but his underwear before everyone left. The Bee had torn off his shirt and socks soon after Big Brother lost his shirt and was flaunting his little milk belly for all to see. Both were racing throughout my mother's house screaming at the top of their lungs, pretending to get in gun fights with their cousins and occasionally getting involved in minor scuffles with each other.

When it came to eating, big brother reached in for the big ole turkey drumstick soon after it was carved off and long before everyone was ready to eat. He just went right for it and gnawed off as much meat as he could--no plates or silverware necessary. He would not be bothered with any veggies or other non-carnivorous items. At least he wasn't going to get his shirt dirty as he wasn't wearing one, but he did manage to find the pretty lace table cloth to wipe his face.

The Bee, not to be outdone, kept tugging at the tablecloth and knocking many of the Thanksgiving goodies off in his futile, but clever attempts to pull the desired items that were just out of reach closer to him. He eventually discovered that digging through the aftermath of our Thanksgiving feast and pulling morsels out of the trash wasn't so bad. At one point he managed to dig out a plate with a partially eaten piece of cake from the trash and was not going to be bothered with using his hands. He just licked it off the plate. We found him doing this, covered in frosting, but again, at least there was no frosting to clean off his shirt since he wasn't wearing one.

10 things I wish I knew before I had kids

2007-11-18T11:22:00.000-06:00

In no particular order...

1. There will be no time for you once they are born.

2. The worrying is constant.

3. You will be wishing they learn to talk ASAP so that they can stop screaming at you, and then you will be wishing they would just shut up for a moment.

4. It will be YEARS before you get any real sleep that doesn't involve waking up in the middle of the night multiple times.

5. You will often be covered in puke or poo, and sometimes even pee.

6. Your house will never be clean again - give it up.

7. Breastfeeding is much harder than pregnancy and labor.

8. The guy named Genetics is such a jokester - you never know what your gonna get. Your kids can be a lot like the family member you try to avoid.

9. Times will be tough financially especially when they are under five - someone's gotta watch them.

10. You will never love anyone like you love your children even if some days all you want to do is throw them out the window. (figuratively, of course.)

Nothing to Envy Here

2007-11-10T15:17:00.001-06:00

Yep. There is nothing to envy here. Nothing that will make you think: oh I wish I had that, life's unfair, why don't I live there, why can't I write like that or take pictures like that, where's my master's degree or prestigious job, why am I not that slender, pretty, smart, popular, etc. Nope. I will give you little reason to envy me, as I know that part of what we bloggers do, is take a glimpse into the life of others to compare and covet.

Then again, today my glass is 9/10th's empty, but I promise never to brag about my life during the times I feel it overflows with the little things that make it worth living.

By the way...

2007-11-08T17:29:00.000-06:00

The oppossum is gone! Yeah! Well, at least it's gone from the underside of the tub, because I've had several run ins with it outside at night while attempting to exit the house. Once as I was trying to take out the trash, and another time as I was trying to get in the car to go make a quick run to the grocery store.

The time I was trying to go to the grocery store, it decided to hide under the car, and I had to get "The Dada" to chase it out because I couldn't help but imagine this creature pawing at my feet as I entered the car, or its guts splattering everywhere as my car stamped its tires onto its small furry body. Yuck!

Now's not a good time. Tomorrow won't be good either.

2007-11-08T15:21:00.000-06:00

My mom called me today and asked me if I remembered that I still had a mother. Yes I did I told her, but the timing is always wrong I said. This time was not much better, as it was 7 am, and I found myself on my knees scrubbing bright red vomit out of the carpet, and trying to figure out how I was also going to remove the bedsheets to wash, and the toys that got splattered before the Bee decided to help me.

Don't worry, the bright red was not blood but a neon red Gatorade that Big Brother has been consuming for the past 4 days to keep hydrated from all the vomiting and diarrhea he's had to endure - thank you red # 40. The doctor's brilliant diagnosis was stomach flu again. "Yep, I figured you'd say that. Thanks" - I should have gone to medical school because I cleverly came up with the same diagnosis. Stomach flu, a catch all diagnosis for doctors who can't figure out what's up with all the puking and pooing that's going on with your kid. Oh ya, and he mentioned that he should come back in a couple days if he's still alive and puking.

Mom, your timing was awful, as it usually is. Calling me at 7 am is never a good time as like most nights, sleep was scarce. Calling me at 9 pm while I'm trying to get kids bathed, dishes cleaned, sometimes even dinner made, and kids to bed just because you have free minutes after 9 pm is not a good time either. 3 pm, maybe? Telling me that my snooty cousin has her own family life under control and implying I should too, does not make me want to call you.

And it's all very unfortunate, because I was waiting for a good time to call you and tell you thanks. Thanks for cleaning after me and washing my sheets when I was a kid. If it wasn't appreciated then, it is appreciated now. So maybe, when I get over our most recent call that left me quite irritated, I will call and say thanks, because being a mom, I now how thankless and redundant this job can be.

Quote of the Day

2007-11-07T10:53:00.000-06:00

As my oldest son was changing out of his nighttime diaper and pulling up his underwear, he tilted his butt cheeks to the side, grinned, and exclaimed "I have a sexy boo-TY momma!"

Little Miss...

2007-10-23T10:37:00.001-05:00

How I spent my weekend

2007-10-23T10:22:00.000-05:00

because I don't have enough of my own clothes to care for.

OOO...Possum!

2007-10-22T00:13:00.000-05:00

We have a squatter in our midst. This squatter has decided that the underside of our fiberglass tub makes a cozy home. It is unfazed by the constant trickle of water, two screaming kids who like to jump on it, the thunderous waterfall that our shower head produces, and my futile attempts to scare the bejeezus out of it by beating at the bathtub until my wrists turn blue.

It has occupied its new home for three weeks now, and despite that it has never once offered to pay rent, it struts around our property as if it owns the place. Tonight, I decided to be more clever than this carrier of fleas, as once again it was strutting outside my bedroom window getting into our recycling and flaunting his sense of entitlement to all the goodies our property has to offer.

My plan was/is as follows:

First spot the intruder making sure he has gotten far enough away from his makeshift front door to his lair.

Second, with the help of my lovely assistant (a.k.a. Dada) board up opening with the help of many, many heavy stones.

Third, continue to listen for more rustling sounds coming or hopefully not coming from the underside of the bathtub in the days to come for the possibility that our intruder found another way in or left us its brood. (This last part was what was keeping us from getting rid of our friend because the idea of his soon to be dead brood rotting in the underside of our bathtub made us want to puke!)

Lastly, plug hole around drain if no strange smell or noises come from the underside of the the tub. Otherwise, admit defeat and cough up a few hundred dollars to hire a professional.

Place your bets. More to follow...

Bee's Playground Yummies

2007-10-06T18:18:00.001-05:00

Bee has not taken very well to table foods. He will eat anything mushy out of a jar, pieces of bread or delicious snack food, and the occasional bowl of rice. He also likes to indulge in eating the many non-edible yummies the playground has to offer. On the menu are ...

Rocks: He likes to eat these by the fistful - literally. Some times he tosses these in buckets and pretends they're some delicious liquid drink. Other times, he just treats them as snack food. I've caught him many times with a mouthful of rocks.

Sand: Bee enjoys eating sand as much as some kids enjoy eating their purple pixie sticks. I guess there's nothing like crunching on some nice salty kitty litter sand.

Domes and poles: These of course must be treated as lollipops.

Random bottle caps: Good to chew on, especially when ones teething.

Littered candy wrappers: Bee likes to pretend these are gum.

Swings, shovels, other random well-nastified toys: Bee treats these much like a dog treats their beloved dog bone.

Lest you think I'm a poor mother, this kid is quick and an awesome scavenger. Mommy on the other hand is tired, sleepy, and usually trying to watch the elder boy while following the Bee.

P.P.S. I Don't Know Everything.

2007-10-06T12:43:00.001-05:00

Big surprise, huh? People seem to think that teachers should know everything, and should be perfect, but most don't know everything, and all are imperfect. We make mistakes just like everyone else, and that's okay. In writing this blog, I will make many, many, MANY mistakes, especially interchanging homynyms. The thing is, I actually know which ones to use, if I didn't I would just go here , but I'm always in such a rush since I do have two screaming kids in the background constantly demanding my attention. If I do make a mistake, you can politely e-mail me a little note so that all can be write right in the world.

P.S. I Love Teaching.

2007-10-06T12:21:00.000-05:00

I know it may sound like I don't love teaching, but I really do. I love how its never boring, always challenging, and its always such a rush to hear kids scream "I get it". I love how you have to constantly think on your feet, and the sudden waves of pure genius that sometimes hits you when you come up with a lesson on the spot that finally gets your message across. Sure the genius thing doesn't happen as often as I'd like but often enough. I've even been told by previous principals that I'm a natural at it. What I don't like is the politics of it all because tests are an imperfect measuring tool of someone's knowledge and intelligence if you ask me, but I won't go into that - at least not today. I am vowing to think positively today. Tomorrow, who knows? Tomorrow I can be angry, bitter, and pessimistic, but never mind that, because today, I'm optimistic.

I am not alone

2007-09-26T23:54:00.000-05:00

Apparently, I am not the only one that feels that mothers today are being discriminated against in the workplace. I guess I should have figured as much. We spend so much time in our own little world and our own little homes that we forget that there are others having similar experiences. Thank god for blogs and the network they create among people and information they spread. Lack of real physical social interactions, after all, is largely due to being too busy bringing home the bacon, or at least trying to.

According to momsrising.org, families are not valued in America - big surprise.

If I were any stiffer I'd be dead

2007-09-20T11:48:00.000-05:00

Yes, folks, If I were any stiffer I'd be dead. The combination of having very little savings, no job, no sleep, and two screaming kids have left me with rigor mortis. My shoulders are up to my ears, and it feels like someone stuffed some golf balls behind my shoulder blades.

Right now, we can't afford any of these modern day luxuries like having a home, running water, electricity, sending the boy to preschool, and certainly not this high speed dsl that I could be using to find a job. On the plus side, I think we might be able to afford to eat this month.

You see, the trouble with having children, is that they need someone to take care of them, and if you vow never to have some stranger watch your children, well then, that means you need to watch them. That also means, that with every child you must leave work. The effect of that then leaves you with gaps in your work history. Staying homes shows you value your children over your job, and well, employers don't like to see that because NOTHING should be prioritized over your job.

You'd think working in a school where children are a priority things would be different. No. No. No. No. Your the teacher, and nothing should be valued over bringing those wonderful test scores up, even if it means forgetting you have your own children, living at school because with the amount of hours you are expected to put in, you might as well bring a bed, and being clever enough to make the impossible work. Yes, and after all that, don't expect to be paid what you're worth, or even be given a pat on your shoulder with a "good job", because you must never forget that as soon as ANYTHING goes wrong, you will be blamed. It doesn't matter if what went wrong happened at home, or in a small remote island off the coast of South Africa, because it will still be your fault. Scapegoat, scapegoat, scapegoat.

The work world is not child friendly, and leaving a job to tend to them will result in massive blacklisting, so don't expect to find one after they are finally old enough to be put through the system. Hey, it's free childcare. Isn't it?

My point is, if your reading this, send money, or some brilliant references, because I need a job so that my shoulders can be tense for other reasons like trying to bring test scores up from the pits of hell.

Okay. That's enough sarcasm and ranting for today. Stay tuned.

While watching the Emmy's...

2007-09-17T00:18:00.000-05:00

and looking at pretty dresses I will never get to wear or even have a place to wear them at, my son commented, "Look mommy! That's the wady that lives in the doctor show!"

Shaking Off Stereotypes

2007-09-14T13:59:00.000-05:00

Today, the kids and I went to lunch with our park friends. The eldest played as I tried to chat with the other moms while chasing the littlest Bee. Nothing weird or interesting to point out about our outing, but I can never help but notice that I am the only person of color. I know that this is partially a consequence of where I live. Our neighborhood is predominantly Caucasian, and because we visit our neighborhood park, we make many Caucasian friends. All lovely people - very friendly, kind, and thoughtful. I never really think about the fact that they are Caucasian and I am Hispanic, but every once in a while, when we start talking about our own childhoods, it hits me, their experience was nothing like mine.

Growing up, I've always had very americanized friends of different races because I've never felt like I could completely relate to either culture. I was somewhere in between American and Mexican, and I tended to gravitate to people who felt the same way. Yet, as a child I quickly learned that being a minority meant that I would be followed by all the stereotypes that society had put out there about being a Hispanic. Even to this day, I always feel an intense need to shake these stereotypes off, but they follow me like a shadow or stormy cloud wherever I go. When I meet someone new, I'm instantly tagged by these stereotypes and the expectations of me that come along with them. My first task is to prove that I do not fit the stereotype, but that is never easy.

I'll never forget when, as an adolescent, we moved to California for the third time just as I was entering middle school. Again, I was living in a mostly Caucasian neighborhood. I remember spending my first few weeks of school trying to prove to my peers that I wasn't stupid. Whenever I did well on a test, it was assumed that I cheated, and it actually prompted many in my proximity to cover their papers whenever we tested. After all, aren't Hispanics only capable of achieving menial, no-brainer jobs like cleaning houses, busing tables, mowing lawns, and other things of that nature? It took me a year to prove that I actually had a brain, and that I was looking for something more than what society had already designated for me. By the end of the second year, people were asking to copy off my paper.

I guess I am just wondering what my children's experience is going to be like. Will they be immune from the stereotypes that followed me because they don't look Hispanic, or will they quickly be tagged once their peers find out that they are indeed at least partially Hispanic? I am willing to bet that the color of their skin will be predominantly used to prejudge them, after all, that brown lady who picks them up is nothing more than the nanny despite what they say. Yet, even if people assume that they are Caucasian, what will their experience be like? Will they be prejudged as harshly as I was for being Hispanic, or will they be spared any stereotypes? Will they be judged as an individual, and actually be given a chance to make their own impression on people without first being labeled? I hope this for them, as I still hope this for myself, but still, I know nothing about growing up Caucasian and the stereotypes that come or don't come with that.

My Littlest is 1!

2007-09-09T19:58:00.001-05:00

One year and one day ago, my littlest Bee was born. It took a lot of pushing to get him out, because even though he was coming out head first, he wasn't facing the right direction, and it took 5 1/2 hours of pushing to get him out. His head was massively lopsided and he screamed and screamed. We figured he must have had a monstrous headache.

It's amazing how much they change in one year, and how fast that one year goes once you get past the first three months of intense breastfeeding. My little grub is now walking, talking, eating solids, and asserting his place in this family. (I'd like to add sleeping to that list, but alas, he still doesn't sleep for more than four hours straight.)

Happy Birthday Bee! I love you! You were a wonderful birthday gift when you were born, and you continue to bless me everyday with your sweetness.

Quote of the Day

2007-09-09T19:43:00.000-05:00

"Look mommy, my penis is wearing sunglasses."

He found his sunglasses in the bathroom after having used the potty, and decided this would be funny. Silly boys and their obsession with their penis.

I've Got Pickles

2007-09-08T01:19:00.000-05:00

According to my oldest, I have pickles. A few nights ago, while attempting to give big brother a bath, he loudly screamed and proclaimed that I had pickles.

me: "It's time for your bath."
the boy: "Noooooooooooo!"
me: "Come on, we need to give you a bath so that you'll be ready for bed."
the boy: "Nooooooooo, mommy has pickles!"
Dad joins in:"Mommy needs to give you a bath, I'm washing dishes."
the boy: "Nooooooooo, mommy has pickles! I want daddy to do it"
me (while wrestling with him to get in the shower): "Come on, it will be fast."
the boy (flailing, kicking, and screaming): "Nooooooooo, mommy has pickles!"
the boy (while being thrusted into the shower): "No! No! No! Mommy has pickles! Aaaaah, pickles! Pickles! Pickles!"

Even now, I 'm not sure what he meant. He has called pimples pickles in the past, but as far as I could tell I wasn't breaking out or anything. Could he have been so overtired he was seeing spots? Mommy had turned into a freakish pickle monster right before his eyes waiting to feast on clean little boys. "Mmmmmmm, clean boys are good for pickle growing ya know."

Who's the Mama?

2007-09-04T16:02:00.001-05:00

Did I ever mention I look nothing like my children? I'm dark, dark, dark, and they are light, light, light - and by light, I don't mean they weigh very little, but that they are very fair. They are two blue-eyed, fair-skinned, light brown hair and blond boys that despite their dark momma, don't tan. All the Texas summer days has little to no effect on their skin color.

As a mother I don't care what color my children are, but I find that people have a hard time getting past that. When people first meet me and my boys, and discover that I am their mother and not merely their nanny, they just stand there baffled, aghast. How? Even my own family questions whether I am their biological mother.

"Did you steal him from the hospital?"
"Huh?"

"Does he know your his mother? You must nurse him so that he knows, right?"
Seriously, I don't think babies are born racist.

"Daddy must have blue eyes?"
"Nope."
"Hmmm?"

"You know, you look nothing like your children?"
"Well, duh?"

Although, if you look past their caucasian features, you'll see that we have similar lips, and cheeks, and nose. One is petite like me, and the other has the same fuzzy patch on their lower back like me- definitely a trademark on my side of the family even if it's not the most desirable thing. And to answer the question of who has blue eyes, I have to say it's their grandpas.

Yes folks, they are the product of many recessive genes. If you look in the dictionary, under recessive genes, you will find a picture of them. So there's the story, get past it, move on. My children look caucasian, and I do not. Color doesn't play a roll in our relationship except when it comes to issues dealing with misplaced art.

He Wuvs His Brother When He Ain't Beating Him Up

2007-08-28T20:39:00.000-05:00

Blrrrrrrrrr...

2007-08-28T20:29:00.000-05:00

Like I said he was a blur once we made it into the classroom. These were the only pictures we got that weren't of the back of his head.

On the way to school

Yes, we have to take a picture of everything. Its in the genes - just ask all your grandmas.

What a listener?! If only he listened this well at home.

A Smile from Ear to Ear

2007-08-28T15:44:00.000-05:00

Big Brother started preschool today and in a lot of ways. It felt like I was starting preschool. I was the one who was anxious, the one who couldn't sleep at night - although that could have also been because the Bee kept waking up crying-, and I was the one who was hesitant to have us apart.

I envisioned many tears, screams, whining, kicking, and a few swear words tossed around - by him, not me of course. I am sorry to say I have little drama to report. He went in, put a hard hat on, and started playing. No real action or drama to report. We left with nothing more than a quick kiss, and a big goodbye.

We went to pick him up after a few hours of clock watching expecting to hear one horror story after another from his teacher, and a boy who would run to his family as if he hadn't seen them in years. Instead, he was sitting on the carpet in the very front listening to his teacher read a story, and occasionally interjecting with his many brilliant ideas and comments. When he finally saw us at the door, he smiled and waved, and went back to listening to the story and putting in his two cents. Totally what I hoped for, but nothing what I imagined. The teacher had nothing to report except that our little caveman kept taking his shoes off at the playground.

When questioned later about his day, he did admit to using a naughty word or two, and maybe perhaps pushing a boy - figures. When asked if he missed us he simply replied, "no". How's that for love?

A New Look for a New Year

2007-08-28T15:31:00.000-05:00

Birthday ready!

(Daddy really just wasn't a fan of the whole mullet look. I personally miss playing with his long soft baby hair.)

Don't Touch My Hair!

2007-08-07T11:00:00.000-05:00

When my oldest son was about 8 months, he started to play with my hair while he nursed. At the time, I thought this was cute. Three and a half years later he still likes to play with my hair whenever he needs some comforting or wants to go to bed. Now, he does it while sucking vigorously at his thumb.

It's not so cute anymore! He yanks, and twirls, and pulls those fine little hairs above my neck and snags just enough to send chills running down my body followed by a loud Ouch! I don't like it when you, Big Brother do this anywhere. To quote Dr. Seuss - Not in the chair, or on the couch, not in the bed, or while eating bread, I don't want my hair pulled anywhere! I don't like my hair pulled Big Brother you are. Oh ya, and don't forget to mention this to Sam the Bee. He has mastered the art of hair pulling at the tender age of 11 months.

Disclaimer: In no way am I really trying to imitate Dr. Seuss. I am not that good.

It's a Poo-filled Day

2007-08-02T12:22:00.000-05:00

It's a poo-filled day, but it turning out to be a poo-filled week. My youngest has had diarrhea for the past three days, and this morning we all woke up to it in the bed. Another reason the family bed doesn't work so well for me anymore. Poo on the sheets, on him, on my arm, and daddy will be happy to know, Bee favored his pillow for soaking most of the poo up. Not the way I wanted to wake up this morning after not getting any sleep again last night.

Of course, I thought I was going to be able to get away with just washing the sheets and not the mattress pad, since after all, I did have a waterproof crib cover under the sheets. Nope. It had moved its way south of the bed, and the poo made it just next to it, but not on it, sooo helpful. This means two loads of laundry, and not just one. Trekking my way outside, down our long unstable path to our detached garage, through the heat and mosquitoes twice -way more if your account for switching loads into the dryer to avoid the mildew stink. This all brings new meaning to waking up on the wrong side of the bed, because this morning it meant waking up in yellow poo or staying clean. I woke up in poo. I'm not sure I want to know what this foretells about the rest of my day.

New Here!

2007-07-25T14:53:00.000-05:00

Well, my first attempts at blogging were originally with another host. I thought this one would be more user-friendly, but really what I'm saying is that I'm stuck in the dark ages. Okay, maybe not the dark ages, but at least the Civil War Era. I started to learn HTML back before I had kids, but just found all the coding toooooo boring. I just left it as something my husband could learn and do, and I would just occasionally beg him to do some coding for me as needed. It's been six years since then, and this is the first time ever. Lucky him!

All the posts before this one were first published over here.

The zombie needs sleep!

2007-07-18T14:52:00.000-05:00

I dread nights these days. I know that soon after I put my ten-month-old "Bee" to bed, he will wake up within the hour screaming. This can continue for the rest of the night with him screaming every 1 -3 hours. He prefers every two, though. What exactly he wants I'm not sure. Having him sleep in our bed doesn't work, his crib doesn't work, brother's bed doesn't work. We checked for ear infections, and no quick remedy this time.

This has been going on for months. He was a better sleeper at 2 and 3 months than he is now, and this was during the time he was dealing with his reflux. Maybe we have just failed to teach him to self-sooth, but how can this be accomplished without waking up brother, especially since it took us 3 years to get him to sleep without waking up more than once.

The lack of restful sleep of course, leaves me feeling exhausted. I go through my day in a daze - a zombie. It's hard to do anything in this state. As a mom, I have to be on all the time, but I just can't seem to do it these days, and I don't know how much longer I can deal with not getting any quality sleep. Sometimes my body gives up sleeping in the middle of the night and just stays awake waiting for the next cry - 3 am, 4 am, 5am, 6am, and no sleep, but many cries. My own child is tormenting me.

Bee, why won't you sleep? Mommy needs sleep.

Is it possible?

2007-07-14T14:51:00.000-05:00

Is it possible that my 3 year old has the capacity for rational thought, the ability to understand cause and effect? His previous what-were-you-thinking behavior can make me think otherwise. No, A&D is not for finger painting on mirrors and sinks, and no, it's not okay to put that plastic bag over your baby brother's head.

A few days ago, we were walking to the park when a Fed Ex truck rode by with a man who was suppose to be driving it, but was not. He was intently looking down and savoring his slurpie as he stirred it during that hot and muggy day. He felt it was more important to pay attention to his slurpie than the fact that he was driving by a school, a park, and pool during this very sticky and busy day.

My 3 year old who was riding in the stroller at the time, yelled out to me completely astonished, "Look mommy! The truck is dribing by is self !"

"Why do you say that I asked?" prodding for info.

"The man is not paying attention. He just moving the straw back and forth, back and forth."

"What do you think might happen?" I asked again searching for the signs of intelligent life.

"He's gonna crash! (proceed to fill with your favorite crashing noises)" Nothing like a good crash I guess.

Luckily, no one was hurt. We'll at least as far as I could see.

Lost in a sea of nothingness

2007-07-13T14:50:00.000-05:00

Well, you ask why I haven't written in a while? I had nothing to say. I just plain old lost my inspiration (or my mind). It's all the same really. You see, even now, I am saying nothing.

Parenting can sometimes suck all that is you, and if you had little to give, then it doesn't take much for it all to be gone. I need to get back to sewing, so that when someone asks me what I like to do, I can say I like to sew. I don't think surfing the net is considered a productive past time.

Mama said No.

2007-06-09T12:55:00.000-05:00

My mom once said that it is best never to write things down on paper that you might not want someone to find one day. I learned that lesson when I was twelve, when my mom found a note that wasn't quite appropriate for a twelve year old girl who was sending it to a boy. Definitely not something you ever want your overprotective, Mexican mother to discover, and it was definitely not something you wanted translated by someone who new little English, and even less about growing up in American culture.

But, nonetheless, here I am writing a note. Not only a note that can be seen by people I might not necessarily want reading, but an electronic note that can be sent almost anywhere in a matter of seconds, and read by people who know nothing about me. My only hope is that people who know little about my language and culture won't try to translate it, but who knows, maybe it will be funny to them.