Merry Christmas!

We had hoped to visit Indiana for Christmas this year, but Mario's factory only shut down for the 25th, so going anywhere was out of the question. Fortunately, Mario's family was able to come and visit us. And fortunately, Mario's brother just bought a new minivan, so both Mario's parents, his aunt, brother, sister, sister-in-law, and 2 nephews could make the 10-hour trip in "relative" comfort. Last March we saw the same amount of people squeeze into Nacho's Pontiac Grand Am . . . yikes!



Mario's family arrived at about 10pm on Christmas Eve and immediately commandeered the kitchen, warming up bacalao, a traditional Mexican Christmas fish dish, and a variety of other food they brought with them, even though Mario spent all evening making pork. Christmas dinner in Mexico is traditionally eaten after the late-night mass on Christmas Eve, so generally around midnight. Ugh. I'd so rather be in bed at midnight. But I can't fight tradition.


As my nieces and nephews get visits from the 3 Kings on January 6th, Santa Claus tends to skip our house. Therefore, only Clara was up at the crack of dawn (which of course had nothing to do with the fact that it was Christmas). Once all eleven of us made our way in and out of our only bathroom, the plan was to attend mass downtown and then come back home and feast on leftovers. However, eleven people don't more through one bathroom very quickly, especially after staying up well past midnight the previous night, so we wandered around downtown until the 6pm mass. The Plaza de Armas has been decked out for Christmas for the past month, and we meandered down to the children's playground in the Alameda so the boys could run off some steam.



Clara decided that she had all the Christmas she could handle, and dozed off on the way to the park.

All in all, it was a great day, and I've loved having Mario's family here!

She's On A Roll!

Yes, I realize she's about 5 months behind schedule, but Clara has finally decided that rolling over may just be a useful skill to master.

And master it, she has!

She also learned this week how to take off her sweater, provided it's a cardigan and the buttons aren't buttoned. I'm so glad she figured this out in the middle of December in a house without heat.

Bananas

The other day Clara was really into playing with her banana while I fed it to her on a spoon. As I was peeling it back, I thought, "hmm . . . what would she do with this?"

Wow.

As you can see, she went to town. I think she wound up eating the entire banana that night. She's pretty into feeding herself now. Unless her papa is around and she can get him to just stick food directly in her mouth, like a baby bird. Or if she wants a drink of water, she'll pick up her sippy cup and just hand it to me instead of bringing it to her own mouth.

But she's getting there. And it's usually pretty entertaining--for me, at least.
she's apparently convinced that she can't do it herself. )

"Umm . . . what's your name?"

I'm changing my name.

Jill is nearly impossible to pronounce/understand in Spanish (unless the person I'm talking to has an excellent command of English). First of all, the letter J in Spanish is pronounced like an English H. The sound for the English short "i" doesn't exist at all, and the double l is pronounced like a y.

"Como se llama?"

"Jill."

"Como?"

"Jill."

"Uhh . . . [very long pause] . . . Jeee?"

"That's it!" I reward ANY attempt at pronouncing my name with a huge smile and a confidence-boosting, "Yes! Exactly! That's me!"

I even fear that the non-pronounceability of my name has costed me a friend. Way back in March, I met a woman at the park who had just moved to Saltillo that week, didn't know anyone apart from her husband and daughter (who is just 4 months older than mine), and seemed to be just as excited to meet me as I was to meet her. We exchanged phone numbers with promises to call each other the following week.

I tried to call her. But her number was a cell phone. All my past experiences with cell phones in Mexico has taught me that 044 or 045 needs to be dialed before the number. But I wasn't having any luck getting through to Marisela. Finally, after a month of trying her without any success, I just dialed her number like it was a regular long-distance number. Bingo. I left a message. But was she still using that cell phone with her number from Tampico?

She may have tried to call me. But if she was unsure about how to pronounce my name, would she have called? I can only imagine having a piece of paper with a super-short unpronouncable name on it. "Yeah, hi. I'm calling for . . . uhh . . . are you that woman I met in the park the other day?"

Had it been me, I would have waited to receive the call.

Which never happened. Boo.

During my first days at NPH, I hung out with the chicas quite a bit and remember their initial confusion about how to say my name. One day, we were watching young Jim Hawkins' adventures on Treasure Planet. Lupita Munoz turned to me with a light in her eyes, indicative that something just "clicked" for her. "Jim!" she exclaimed, connecting my name to that of Mr. Hawkins'. Oh, so close. But I'll take what I can get.

After way too long, I wised up. When leaving my name at stores to place an order, I am now Michelle. The cashiers at least understand it, despite the fact that my name is stored in the Farmacia Guadalajara's computer as MICHEL DUULAS. When introducing myself at my Bible study, I offered the name Michelle first, but siting that it was my middle name.

"What's your first name?"

They decided they could handle Jill. But now, three months after meeting these women, Jill has somehow morphed into Gina.

I'll take it.

Happy Thanksgiving and New Year!

I love the fact that Thanksgiving often falls on the weekend of the first Sunday in Advent, making the holiday a very appropriate way to end the year. Coincidence? I don't think so. However, because Mario had to work on Thursday, we celebrated Thanksgiving on Saturday with friends of ours in Saltillo. In a nutshell, here are some of the things I find myself grateful for over the course of this past year:

• My wonderful husband who, on a daily basis, reminds me of how blessed I am to be with him (not verbally--he's rather humble). But, in particular, how he went above and beyond the call of duty in the month of February when Clara was teeny-tiny and I was still a bit under the weather. One of my favorite moments of having a baby was watching him be an excellent father.
  

• My daughter, for just being absolutely delightful and changing my life in a number of positive ways.

• My parents who, like Mario, been fascinating to watch as they assumed the role of grandparents. They're very good at it!
  

• My brother, sister-in-law, and niece--it was wonderful to be around when they officially formed themselves as a family, and am in awe of their strength as they front various challenges.
  

• Mario's family and all our other friends who are scattered hither and yon . . . knowing that y'all were out there helped so much in getting through this lonely year of being new in town!

• Facebook, Blogspot, and our internet connection that normally works well, for which I am better able to keep in touch with everyone mentioned above (and I met my new friend in Saltillo through Blogspot, with whom we shared Thanksgiving)!
  

• The opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom--I know so many of my friends (including my husband) who would love to have this opportunity but can't for one reason or another, so I don't take a minute of it for granted.
  

• The inside of our house--while all of you were enjoying turkey on Thursday, Clara and I were locked outside on our patio for 3 hours. In the end, I had to climb onto the roof, haul the ladder up with me, and let it down onto our driveway in order to walk in through my front door and open up the back door. Clearly, this was a terrifying experience for me, as I'm afraid of heights, but it was nice to know that, when called upon, I can rise to the challenge and be a Super Mom.

• New friends: Sheila, Herme and Katya; my Bible study ladies, especially Panchita, Rosario, and Dona Antonia; plus Gloria and Rosario. God does provide!

It's been a wonderful year, which provided so many more reasons to be thankful. May you all have a blessed 2010!

Can She Crawl Yet?

The short answer to that question: no. Not by a long shot. Of course, she is my daughter (I never really crawled and didn't walk until I was 21 months old) and Mario's daughter (also never crawled and didn't walk until he was 18 months old), so this is the one area of her development where we hold no great expectations for her. In fact, we hold no expectations at all. And, having taken all the pressure off, we're able to notice that she is making some initial attempts to move herself around on her own, among other interesting developments.

• She doesn't cry anymore when she realizes that she's fallen over onto her belly, as long as her leg isn't trapped uncomfortably underneath her. She's also getting better at freeing that leg, too (although I often have to help her).
  

• Her arms get into the right crawling position, but her legs do not. Therefore, she tends to push herself backwards. And if the whole reason she laid on her belly was in to go for a toy in front of her, it frustrates her to no end that she scoots herself farther away from it.
  

• She's back to having a monster appetite! Favorite foods: oatmeal, any kind of fruit, crackers, ham, olives. Despises: pureed chicken, avocados, black beans (although she's learning how to tolerate this one).

• Her "vocabulary" has expanded dramatically. At three months, she was quite an expressive chatterbox and used nearly every vowel sound. At four months, she decided that she was just really good at "ah", and that was all she said for the following four months. Now she's combining most vowel sounds with some consonants. My favorite, of course, is "mamamamamama". She hasn't figured out "papa" yet, but "babababa" comes close enough. Except when you consider that "baba" in Spanish means "drool". Hmm . . .
  

• Her new favorite games are 1) putting anything in a box and taking it out again. And putting it in again, and taking it out again. And maybe putting the lid on. 2) Giving me a toy (or piece of cracker), then asking for it back. And then giving it to me again. And waiting until I give it back to her. And maybe she'll give it back to me.
  

• My parents were determined to teach her how to crawl in the two weeks they were here. It wasn't long before they realized they were fighting a losing battle, so my dad settled for teaching Clara how to roll over. [Note: she did this once before, at 7 months, just to prove she could. She had no interest in repeating the feat.] He'd roll on the bed with her and then flip her over once more on her own. Then she rolled from her belly to her back towards him. Now, whenever she's tired of being on her belly, at least she's able to get herself onto her back.
  

• She waves "bye-bye". Granted, she doesn't usually get the wave out until we're two rooms away from the intended recipient, but she'll wave nonetheless.
  

• Far and away the most important accomplishment to date (although I hesitate to publish it here for fear of jinxing her) SHE SLEEPS THROUGH THE NIGHT! At the age of nine months, Clara is finally sleeping through the night. She has done this before, as early as two weeks old. However, it was just for a night or two, and then she'd be up at all hours again. But for nearly the last two weeks, she's slept solidly in an 11-hour stretch, from 7pm to 6am. And the best part is that after I feed her at 6am, she'll go back to sleep for another two hours. But that's just bragging. So I'll stop now.
  

Visitors!

My parents were here visiting these last two weeks, hence the lack of posts. Due to balancing Clara's nap and meal schedules, visiting our house can be a bit tedious (some may say boring). However, my parents were on cloud nine for most of the two weeks they were here. That's the beauty of being grandparents.

I'll do my best to get captions with the photos, but Blogger is often not very helpful, caption-wise.

As I already alluded, we spent most of the two weeks in the house, playing with Clara on the floor or the bed. My parents were bound and determined to teach Clara how to crawl while they were here. They failed miserably. However, my dad did play a game with her that got her to voluntarily roll over from her belly to her back, something she hadn't yet done. (Note: prior to this, she has only rolled over once in her life, from her back to her belly at the age of 7 months, just to prove she could. Until now, she's had no interest in repeating that feat.)

One Saturday Mario had to work, so Mom, Dad, Clara and I took a trolley tour around Saltillo. We learned a few new facts about the town (like who Francisco Coss was), found out where the spring of water that Saltillo is named for still bubbles out of the ground, and spied on the town from an impressive overlook that I didn't know existed.

We toured the downtown area again, including the Alameda, Serape Museum, and a cultural center focusing on the Day of the Dead. This past weekend, we spent a day in Parras, on a quest for the best beef in town. I couldn't go home without a trip to Casa Madero.

It's been a wonderful two weeks, and although we just put my parents on the airplane today, I can tell Clara already misses her grandparents. I do, too!

End of the Drought

I had been told that, when normal adults move to new places (ie, places where they're not living with at least 3 other fairly transient young adults (otherwise known as "instant friends")) it takes at least a year to make friends. I have been living in Saltillo for about a year now, and yes, I am seeing an end to the "friend drought".

Thanks to Blogger, I made the acquaintance of another woman whose life story (as of the last 2-3 years) is astonishingly similar to mine. We'll be sharing some lasagna with this woman and her family on Saturday. Oh, I hope they like us!

Furthermore, after mass one Sunday, a neighbor stopped by our house as we were walking home. She invited us to attend a class down the street on Wednesday evening. Now, when people talk of church-related classes, it can sometimes turn into an all night, mind-numbing event. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, for as soon as she invited us, I jumped all over her invitation, thrilled at the idea of hanging out with other people who were neither Mario nor Clara. And in someone else's house, too!

It turns out that this is an ongoing Bible study, an "evangelization" class (even though all of us that attended are Catholic) and an introduction to the Bible. I have now attended two classes, and can tell that this will be a most insightful experience for me. Not necessarily for delving deeper into the Bible, but as a cultural experience. I'm finally invited in to witness the mind of the traditional Mexican woman. It's going to be a trip.

For example, after reading Genesis and taking note that all of creation was proclaimed to be good, our little study booklets went on to explain that people sometimes misuse God's creation, messing up all that was proclaimed to be good. True enough. The Bible study leader, a fussy little old lady, further illustrated the point, "like when men grow their hair long and pierce their ears."

Umm . . . what?

First, I'm sure that as soon as God created man, he also created the scissors and told Adam, "hey--make sure to cut your hair when it starts to get long."

Second, men with long hair and piercings are right up there with war and slavery and pollution in the grand scheme of things that destroy the goodness of creation. Right.

I will be taking a lot of notes during these classes. And trying to keep a straight face.

Something to Bite Into

Clara has started eating crackers.

They're an (almost) endless source of entertainment.

This picture was taken on one of her first days with the cracker. I can tell, as I must have gotten a little overzealous, gave her multiple cracker options, with the end result of the child "two-fisting" the crackers.

However, she still doesn't have the pincer grasp completely down yet (putting the thumb and forefinger together rather daintily), so once she's nibbled off the cracker that isn't covered by her palm or fingers, she's out of luck.

Even though she knows there's still plenty of cracker there.

It's tough to be a baby.

What's Going On?

I feel like I've just re-adjusted to being back home after the vacation known as Endless Summer in Indiana. Seriously, when in life does anyone get to enjoy SEVEN weeks of vacation? I'm glad I had my chance. Thanks, Dan and Jo!

In the midst of getting adjusted, Mario's mom and sister came to visit us last week. Lili (Mario's sister) went home on Sunday, as she finally has the possibility of a job. Mago (Mario's mom) will stay with us through the weekend, when we head south. Yes--we're off on yet another vacation! But this time Mario gets to join us for more than 48 hours.

So on Saturday we'll head down the Emerald Coast, otherwise known as the Gulf Coast to Coatzacoalcos, on the southern "tip" of the Gulf of Mexico. Mario's uncle is having a birthday party, which Mario would like to crash. Furthermore, this gives Clara the chance to meet her only living great-grandparent, the 102-year-old legend that is Don Octaviano (Mago's father).

Sometime after Independence Day (next Tuesday and Wednesday), we'll head to Puebla, where Mario has some business to do, and I have some candy to buy and chiles en nogadas to eat. Mario and I met in Puebla 10 years ago, and I haven't been back in 4 years--it's time!

We'll stop to visit Mario's compadre, Rodrigo. Yep, they're more than friends--they're compadres. This means that Mario is the godfather to Rodrigo's son. [Do you have the theme song in your head, too?] Then we'll finally spend some time in Mexico City with Mario's immediate family.

However, if you've been counting days, it is clear that we will wind up in Mexico City around Friday. Considering that it takes an entire day to drive between Mexico City and Saltillo, it's clear that we'll spend maybe a grand total of 48 hours in Mexico City. No, scratch that, as Mario has also decided to visit Metepec, because he thinks we need to buy another rocking chair. Where he thinks it's going to fit in this house, I don't know. The man is a freakshow when it comes to buying furniture. We'll have a grand total of 24 hours in Mexico City. Boo.

This got me to thinking . . . we haven't seen Mario's siblings in about a year, and I'd also like Clara to spend some quality time with Mario's dad. Therefore, I tossed around the idea that Clara and I stay another week. Mario loved this idea, because he now has space to fit that rocking chair in the jeep for the ride home. So the girlie and I will spend an additional week in central Mexico, dividing my time between Mexico City and Morelos, as I'd really like to see my kids, too. I promised them that I'd visit with "my baby", and I don' t know that we'll be back before she starts walking. At which time, she'd no longer be a baby (technically). So off to Morelos, we go!

What a crazy, crazy month! We'll return late on the 28th of September, and don't plan on leaving northeast Mexico again until Christmas. As much as I like to travel, I think this month will push me to my limit!

Here and Now

Having a baby has been eye-opening in many ways. The revelation I have enjoyed the most is the fact that Clara focuses me to live in the present, every moment of every day.

For much of my life, I was a big reminisce-er, obsessed with re-living the past. Then around high school, college, and beyond, I became fascinated with my future. "What will I do next year?" And those of you that know me, know that after college I never did the same job or lived in the same place for more than a year at a time. I was terrible at focusing on where I was and what I was doing at any given moment.

I know I'm not alone with this. Many, many people have mentioned that they, too, have trouble living in the present. This focus we have on the past or the future serves to enhance the fundamental discontent that we have as a culture. And this fundamental discontent encourages us to chase after things that don't matter: entertainment, materialism, etc.

When I hang out with Clara, I appreciate her for who she is--not she adorable preschooler she may be in a few years or the sweet, 6-lb rag doll she used to be--but the 18 pounds of squirmy 7-month-old that she is right now. She and I communicate fairly well, despite the fact that she can't talk. She's Clara. She can't talk. That's just part of who she is. This will all change in a few months, so I appreciate who she is right now.

Furthermore, she doesn't concern herself about what happened last week (or even an hour ago) or what will happen this evening. She is always fully absorbed in her surroundings or her wants or needs as they happen. When she's tired, she lets me know that she's tired NOW!

By focusing on who she is now, I'm more in tune with where I am and what I'm doing. Sure, I wouldn't mind having a job and being a bit more independent. But this stage isn't forever, so I'll appreciate it for as long as it lasts. At other points in my life, I've spent periods of time (usually a day at most) focused 100% on being fully aware of the present. Those days were some of the most peaceful moments I've experienced. Now, thanks to my dramatically slower lifestyle (due to staying at home with the child), I experience this peace a lot more often. Originally, I was a bit afraid that staying at home would be mind-numbingly boring. While it hasn't been among the most stimulating of experiences, it certainly is one of the most peaceful. I believe that is because I've been more focused on living in the present that ever before.

This connection between living in the present and being at peace is not coincidental. One of my favorite names for God (and, I believe the only name He gave Himself) is I AM. Not I was, or I will be, but I AM. So if God is the God of the present moment, clearly that's where I should be living, too. In this land of the mindful present, life is good.

Back home again, in . . . Saltillo (rather the opposite of the way the song goes)

Although the last seven weeks in Indiana were delightful (and honestly, I could have easily stayed a few more weeks) it's good to be back home. After having a week of very late nights for Clara during our last week in Indiana, we're working on getting her schedule back to normal, and getting her used to playing on her own again, which is tough, as "mamitis" has set in with a vengeance.

Over the last week, Clara is leading us to believe that perhaps she will be a crawler, long before we ever expected her to have such an inkling. Mario and I were both butt-scooters who had no real interest in being mobile as infants. He walked at 18 months, I began to walk at 21 months. As neither of us crawled much, we aren't expecting that Clara will.

However, last Sunday, my dad and I noticed that when she was sitting on the floor, she walks her hands out in front of her so she's almost prostrate to the floor. She looks like she could get up on all fours if she could only get her legs out of the way. Then, once she's tired of being prone, she walks her hands back and sits up again. All without assistance.

I'm rather impressed.

Where We're At

Yes, the Little Girl and I have made it safe and sound to Indiana. Clara is a stellar traveler. No one heard a peep out of her over the course of 2 airplane rides (one of which was almost 3 hours long), and she made it three hours in the car until she finally decided that she had had enough (unfortunately, our ride home from O'Hare was four hours long). Note to other baby-parents: the plastic cups that they pass beverages out in the airplane are FASCINATING for five-month-olds (at least mine).

Furthermore, she's adjusted very well to sleeping in buddy Ethan's borrowed pack 'n play, and is almost on her normal sleep schedule. Unfortunately, I am now in class for four hours every morning and clearly this is throwing her off a bit. Try as I might, she's not at all weaned and refuses to take any kind of bottle (or eat the bananas that Grandma tries to feed her . . . sigh). I suppose if she decides that she's REALLY hungry, she'll remember how to drink from a bottle again or it will dawn on her that, "oh yeah--these are the same bananas I eat with Mommy! I guess I could eat them from Grandma, too".

But things are good. I should be heading back to the university, but Little Girl is not quite asleep yet, and I hate to leave my parents with a screaming infant. If you need to find me this week, I'll be buried under child development research. Yay for summer school!

Reverse Culture Shock

Before I begin, I'd like to apologize in advance if I seem to ramble incoherently. It's been a long two days, and I should really be in bed, but I wanted to get this written down before the novelty wears off.

My professor, Sally Ochoa, (who I still refer to as "my professor" in general conversation) has lived in Mexico, off and on, for about 50 years now (I believe). I remember in class when we were talking about culture shock and we asked her if she still got culture shock (at the time, she was spending 6 months in Mexico and 6 months in the US). She said that upon returning to Mexico, it always took her a few days to adjust. But she declared that she never experience culture shock upon returning to the US.

I don't know that what I experience is "culture shock" per se, but when I come back from being in Mexico for a very extended amount of time (like this past year), I do need a few days of adjustment. So, this week, I may be continually adding to this post for things that I notice that seem a bit odd about my own culture. It rather amuses me that I can see my own culture from a bit of a outsider's perspective, if only for a few days or hours.

• Walking through Kroger's today, I was overwhelmed by all the choices there are. Many people have noted this about US supermarkets. Now, Mexican grocery stores give their customers plenty of choice, too. But choosing between 52 different brands of vegetable oil that don't seem to have any distinction from any other brand besides maybe the price isn't quite the same as the choices I was faced with today. Here, in salad dressing aisle alone (which was fascinating, as Mexican grocery stores have very slim pickings for salad dressing) there are not only choices between which flavor of salad dressing. If I decided I wanted Ranch, I'd then have to decide if I wanted regular ranch, low-fat ranch, no-fat ranch, low-carb ranch, spicy ranch, organic ranch, honey dijon ranch, lactose-free ranch, robust ranch, peanut-free ranch . . . good heavens!
• Drivers seem perpetually distracted or simply like they're not paying that much attention. Is it because it's just too easy to drive in this country? After all, in this country, the roads are often beautifully paved, wonderfully wide, people follow the rules of traffic by and large, there aren't pedestrians to contend with, signs are posted, streets are labeled, people generally don't leave their dogs/goats/cows/horses to graze on the side of the road (which then accidentally wander onto the road). When driving in Mexico, is it just that it's simply necessary to be so hyper-vigilant all the time that drivers in the US appear (or are) negligent in their responsibilities of paying attention? Hmm . . .
• Everyone seems old (like senior citizen old). Maybe it's just my neighborhood. Maybe it's just that I was out at 1:30 in the afternoon. Regardless, the average age of the population that was out and about this afternoon where I was was CONSIDERABLY older than those I'd meet in my neighborhood at the same time of day in Mexico. (But, my older US neighbors, you also look a good deal better than your Mexican counterparts.)
• But, unlike my well-dressed older neighbors here, I remember last year being very unimpressed with the gringos that I met in the Mexico City airport, on their way back to the US. They were often wearing T-shirts, shorts, sandals, sweat pants . . . one woman was even in her pajamas! Pajamas--seriously?!? In public?!? Even people begging on the street in Mexico get more dressed up to beg than these people did to fly internationally. Where is our sense of pride in ourselves? (Again, this is a generational thing, as most gringo seniors do a nice job of making themselves presentable when they step out their front doors. May the rest of the country grow up soon!)

This list may get added to later in the week. But for now, it's time to go to bed! Good night!

Standing Firm

Last Friday, while eating tacos down the street from our house, I was reminded of a conversation Mario and I had a bit over a year ago.

The original conversation took place in Jojutla (two hours south of Mexico City), where we were spending the weekend at Mario's grandma's house. We had headed there Friday evening after Mario came back from work. It took us about 3 hours to drive from our house, and we arrived tired, hot, and hungry. Therefore, soon after opening up the house, we looked for the nearest place to grab a bite to eat before heading to bed.

I know I was muddling through my food, almost overcome with exhaustion when I noticed a number of toddlers playing on the floor between the tables. Keep in mind, we were eating at 10pm--what were these kids still doing up? They weren't just a bunch of night owls belonging to one family. They belonged to at least two different families, plus one kid who apparently lived behind the restaurant. My friend, Danyel, had commented to me about a week earlier how she noticed that kids here don't seem to have bedtimes. When she made the comment, I hadn't ever really noticed this phenomenon. Yet here was proof right in front of my eyes.

So I asked Mario, my solver of all cultural conundrums. Do most Mexican kids have bedtimes? Knowing Mario's mom, she who lays down the law, surely he and his siblings would have been in bed by 8pm when they were kids. So imagine my surprise when he didn't think it at all odd that toddlers would be playing in the middle of a restaurant at 10pm. He was a lot more shocked at the thought of them being in bed regularly at 8pm--let's not even consider 7pm (horrors!).

Oh, dear. I foresee problems.

I believe that kids should have bedtimes. The younger the kid, the earlier the bedtime. It's just healthier for everyone. The kid wakes up happier and, as a parent, I'd be much saner. Again, everyone's happy.

I had to work this over on Mario for months. Every once in awhile, I'd bring up the subject, trying to get him to see the reason in my argument. Eventually, I got him to concede that he'd support me on giving our kids an early bedtime, although his planned response was to be, "go ask your mother". Granted, this is better than nothing, but any halfway smart kid can see the flaws in that logic.

In October, Mario flew to Detroit and back. On his flight home he noticed two kids in particular--one gringo and one Mexican. He mentioned that the gringo was so well behaved, but it was just torturous to have that Mexican kid on his flight. Instead of noting that often people from my country find Mexican children to be overall better behaved than gringo kids, I saw my opportunity. (Side note: I think this has more to do with the kids' personalities, their parents, and a host of other factors, and that kids in both countries behave more or less the same.)

"Well, you know, it's probably because the gringo kid has a regular bedtime that he behaved so well. The Mexican kid probably doesn't have a regular bedtime and was therefore tired and cranky."

I now have full support for regular bedtimes for our kids.



(But why was I reminded of this conversation? Because we had taken our 5-month-old baby out to eat tacos at 9pm. Classic Jojutla.)

Free time!

Yesterday Mario took the day off of work, as we went to apply for Little Girl's Mexican passport, which Mario was sure would take ALL DAY. However, Saltillo is a much smaller city than Mexico City, which he's used to, and therefore lines are much shorter and we were finished at about noon. Not bad. We'll pick up the passport tomorrow and leave the country next week. Excellent!

We had lunch downtown, wandered around a little bit, but when we could tell that Little Girl was clearly getting sleepy and rain also looked likely, we headed back home. I got the girl down for her nap, sat at the table with Mario and asked myself, "What to do now?" As Mario was home and plugged into the computer, I was under no obligation to remain in the house. Taking a walk sounded like a good idea, but again, it looked like rain.

So I asked myself, "What is it I would really like to do during a day when I'm NOT obligated to have a baby attached at the hip?" Immediately it dawned on me. I wanted to take a bus ride.


Now, I realize most people would not actively choose to hop on a bus for a few hours' worth of unexpected free time. Me, however, I think it's a lot of fun. (Clearly, I grew up in suburbia.) Plus, as I don't like to drive (and we only own one working vehicle), it's a great way for me to find out how to get around the city when I either don't have a car at my disposal.

I headed downtown, parked myself on a street where a plethora of different bus routes barrel down the road, and waited for a likely looking bus. Finally, I decided to jump on the Route 3. After all, on their return trip they'll nearly drop me off at my doorstep, so it's a good route to get to know, right? (Note: in must of the rest of the country, buses have signs posted on their windshields listing a variety of landmarks they pass on their routes. Not so in Saltillo. I don't know how other transplants learn how to get from one end of town to another, but my plan is simply to hop on a bus and see where it takes me. Clearly, this is not a very convenient plan when I have the baby with me.)

After cruising around downtown for awhile, the bus turned southeast and ambled through a variety of neighborhoods that I had no idea existed (I live southwest). Then it headed north, passed Wal-Mart, the baseball stadium, and soon I realized that we were in neighborhoods behind the university. It was nice to have a good idea where I was. Sometimes it's a bit terrifying when I don't. The bus kept heading north, and I toyed with the idea of getting off and trying another route, or simply sticking this one out to discover exactly how far out it goes. I stayed on the bus.

Finally, after turning east again, I was the only passenger on the bus. I noticed that we were nearing Liverpool (big department store), and the driver asked if I'd be getting off. I have a feeling that since he had no other passengers, he was then free to turn around and head back into town, as opposed to cruising through the colonias. I didn't mind, as I was pretty excited to find a way to get to Liverpool all by myself (and, as I discovered, Liverpool is not just Liverpool anymore--it's a full-fledged mall! I felt like I was back in Metepec, minus the skating rink).

After polishing off a plate of sushi, courtesy of Wal-Mart, I headed out to catch a bus back home. Again, I caught the Route 3, assuming that after weaving in and out of various neighborhoods it would drop me off nearly at my doorstep. However, the bus disposed of its last passengers and came to a stop literally on the other side of the tracks from my house. Not the safest walk home in the world. And unfortunately it was nearing 8pm. In many cities, the buses stop running at about this time, and I had never paid attention to when Saltillo's buses stop running.

The driver asked me where I wanted to go, and when I named my street he mentioned, a little irritated, that he already passed there. In my head, I thought, "yeah, but I thought you'd pass again." I asked if he'd be running the route again, and as he said yes, I just paid another fare and stayed on the bus and chatted with his wife and son who were also along for the ride. It turns out that the Route 3 is not the same as Route 3A, which goes past my house. Now I know.

Two hours after leaving Liverpool, I made it home. Maybe I should get better at driving the Jeep. But I'd miss out on a few adventures.

Mini-me, she is not.

Before she was born, I jokingly referred to Clara as Mini-me, or Mini-Mario. She is beginning to make it clear that she is neither of these people. I am relieved.

To make myself clearer, I need to back up a few weeks (possibly months). Little Girl has been laughing for awhile now. Not often, but every once in awhile something really tickles her funny bone. What I love is that she doesn't have a baby giggle. Nope. She has a rather reluctant chuckle, a low-pitched chuckle, often followed by a squeak. It's wonderful. Heh, heh. [squeak]

At first, she'd just laugh whenever Mario or I found something really funny. She'd see us laughing and think, "hmm . . . Mommy's laughing. Heh, heh . . . Yeah, that's funny!" Now she has developed her own sense of humor. And this is where her personality begins to split from my own. I think we had spent so much time where she literally was an extension of me that it took me by surprise that she will laugh at things that I just don't understand. She really IS her own person.

For instance, now when she's in the bathtub, she thinks that it's pretty funny when I wash her cheeks and neck with the washcloth. Why is this funny? And apparently it's a hoot when I kiss her belly (I'm thinking she might be ticklish). Fortunately for both of us, she sometimes thinks it's pretty funny when I squeeze her. (Mario is so happy that I can now pass off some of my squeezing urges on her now--and that she enjoys them, too. His ribs deserve a break.)

All that I know, is that we have embarked on a dialogue (or misunderstanding) that will last many, many years. She'll think something is hilarious, and I'll be on the sidelines wondering what on earth was so very funny. This reminds me of countless lunch periods with my preschoolers last year. Hah, hah--yeah, that's funny. Now eat.

Vampire Killer

So Little Girl freaked me out again.

Yesterday, I poked my head into her bassinet and was appalled to discover a huge spot of blood on the side of the bed (huge is about an inch in diameter). I didn't notice that she had been bleeding! And what would make her bleed when she was in bed?

Just before I made a frantic phone call to the doctor, I remembered seeing two mosquito bites on her right thigh. The blood spot was at about thigh level on the right side of her bed. Hmm . . . Coincidence? Apparently not, as I found a dead mosquito underneath the unsightly stain.

Yep, my girl can take care of herself. Don't mess with the Claranator!

Milestones?

Now, I don't know if these are milestones in anyone else's book, but we've picked up a few that we've noticed in the last few weeks.

• Little Girl has started chewing. This freaked me out the first time I saw it, as I'm used to toddlers/preschoolers and if they're chewing something and it's not mealtime, it's usually something that shouldn't be in their mouth. So after a visual inspection and finger sweep, decided that Clara's just chewing on her tongue. Is this her sign that she's ready for "real" food? I hope not, as nursing her is just so easy and convienient (now that she finally gets satisfied for a few hours after a feeding--I know I voiced other opinions two months ago).


• After a week of waking up every time I put her in her bed once she fell asleep in my arms, we decided that it was high time for her to learn to fall asleep on her own. (OK--we really had no other option except for holding her all night. And that's not an option.) While it took well over an hour for her to cry herself to sleep the first night or two, each following night she cried less and less (just as those baby books said she would). Now, after a little over a week, she'll cry for maybe fifteen minutes before drifting off.


• Even better, when she wakes up in the middle of the night, I feed her, put her back in her bed awake (as now she refuses to even fall asleep in my arms in the middle of the night), and I don't hear a peep out of her for a few hours. Who'd have thought? I'm still amazed. Of course, now that I write this, she'll probably decide to regress back to her old ways. Oh, the cynic I am!


• She now splashes in the bathtub. After actively hating bathtime for her first six weeks, to merely tolerating it, she now clearly enjoys it. That is, until I lay her down in the tub to rince the shampoo out of the little hair she has. This, she merely tolerates. Therefore, she doesn't mind at all when I take her out of the tub.

So at four months, we're finding that life does get easier. But the chewing has me worried--does it mean she's teething? No, not yet! I love those gummy smiles!

Haunting . . .

For a few weeks, we've been teasing Little Girl about her "man fascination". Whenever we're on the street, she seems to pick out the men and stare at them. While this might worry me in about fifteen years, now it's just pretty funny, and speaks well of her relationship with Mario. I've known far too many kids who are terrified of all men, thanks to the scars (literal and figurative) that the men in their lives have left them.

Often when we're at home, we find one of us holding her and the other doing everything in our power to make her smile (which isn't hard). I ask her, "Isn't it great to grow up in a house where you're adored?" But really, all babies should live in a house where they are adored. Unfortunately, in too many cases, it's apparent that not all parents feel that way.

This past week, I've been reading Empire Falls by Richard Russo. In it, he describes a character that grew up with small-time drug dealer parents.

"When John was a little boy, it had been their habit to stuff him into a laundry bag, pull the string tight and hang him on the back of the closet door, where he could kick and scream to his heart's content. After awhile, he always calmed down, and they could have some peace. The trouble with the silence was that sometimes they'd forget all about him, fall asleep and leave him hanging there all night." (pg. 403)

That passage has been haunting me all week. Yes, this is a fictional character, but real kids are put through this everyday (and worse, if such experiences can be qualified).

Normally when Little Girl wakes up in the middle of the night, I like to wait awhile to see if she can't get herself to fall asleep again by herself. This week though, I've gone in quite a bit earlier than I normally would, more to reassure myself than her. While I never say anything while in her room in the middle of the night, running in there to put my hand on her chest or hold her is my way of praying for all those kids who are living through nightmarish experiences. Would that there were more that I could do.

As it is, I'll continue to do my best to adore the little one that has been entrusted to my care.

Tiny Tenacity

About three weeks ago, Little Girl learned how to nap. It was a great discovery--I got a bit of a break, she woke up refreshed and smiley, and we'd all have a very pleasant afternoon and evening. But, note that I've been writing in the past tense. As of this past Saturday, she decided that she has outgrown the nap phase. Nevermind that she still falls asleep every time she eats between 11:30 and 4. Whenever her head touches her bed, she's wide awake. And when I leave her in the bed, convinced that she really is very tired and will nod off on her own if I just leave her alone, she has no problem convincing me how very wrong I am.

*sigh* I've just lost another of these sessions.

Count for this week: Little Girl--5 Mamma--0

Now, I am encouraged by the fact that she's so very determined. It's an important character trait to have and will suit her well for the rest of her life. I just wish she didn't posess such huge amounts of determination at so young an age. Can't it be a personality trait that develops over time? Or maybe it is--yikes!

Yesterday after Mario got home, I decided that I needed a break, even if she was determined to fight sleep forever. I left her in her little play area and let her express her frustrations to her heart's content. After about 20 minutes, Mario decided to take pity on her. They started out walking around the house. Then I heard the stroller rumble down the hallway. Around and around the patio they went (and our patio is a 12 x 12 foot square . . . basically, they were doing doughnuts with the stroller). Then right before the Simpsons came on at 8, Mario entered, alone, as Little Girl had fallen asleep in the stroller.

Uh-oh. I usually start to put her to bed at 8 and she's normally out by 8:30. Will she wake up again tonight? Will she spent the whole night in the stoller?

In a nutshell, Little Girl had her first camping trip last night. Like most kids' first camping experiences, it was nowhere exciting--in the stroller, parked in the laundry room. And like most other kids' first camping experiences, she decided that she had enough at 2am.

There's nowhere like the bed . . . there's nowhere like the bed . . . there's nowhere like the bed.

Insomniac Musings

Squeak squeak . . . squeak-squeak-squeak.

Dragging myself out of blissful unconsciousness, I immediately recognize that squeak. It's the bassinet in the other room. It means one of two things.

1) The child is moving around in her sleep.

2) The child is waking up.

At 2am, I fervently hope the first option is true.

[quietly from the next room]: "awr . . . awr . . . awr."
[picking up intensity]: "Awr . . . eh? AWR!"

Instinctively I pray, "Dear God, please help her go back to sleep again."

Blast. Now I've ensured that she will be fully awake. These three months of having a baby have taught me many things, one of them being that, while I know God hears that prayer, He generally prefers to sit back and giggle to Himself instead of sprinkling my semi-conscious baby with a healthy dose of sand from the Sandman. I do believe that prayer works. However, while He answers many other prayers, every time I pray that Little Girl would just drift off to sleep without parental intervention, God prefers to turn a deaf ear. Or He just sits back and giggles to himself.

Now, I realize that God doesn't really work this way. But at 2 in the morning, my theology reverts to the theology of an 8-year-old . . . with a little 30-year-old cynicism. In my head, I just can't help imagining God (as Matt Groening draws him, huge, with a long, flowing beard, walking hand in hand with a tiny Homer Simpson) sitting back in his rocking chair in the sky, eating a doughnut (probably with Homer), watching us through His celestial closed circuit TV as I groggily rock the baby back to sleep. As He and I both know, Little Girl normally sleeps very well, so He figures a night of waking up every two hours is good for me and I'll have more compassion on other parents who deal with this every night.

Trust me, I do feel for them. But come on, God--make her go back to sleep!

This then reminds me of Baptist friends I've had. When mentioning a nagging cold, they claim that they can pray all sickness away. They'd ask me, "you believe God's all-powerful, right?" Right. "So OF COURSE He can make that cold go away! Ask ANYTHING in Jesus's name with complete confidence and it WILL happen."

Excellent. "Dear God--I believe with every fiber of my being that you can make Little Girl go back to sleep."

The trouble is, she's still talking to herself.

Yes, I know God doesn't work like this. And I don't at all claim to know what God is thinking. After all, I barely understand what goes on in my own head (but believe God's got mine all figured out). God isn't just a big Santa Claus, giving treats or breaks to the good kids (or sleepy mommies) who deserve them. I do not believe that God denies blessings to anyone. I believe that God is more concerned with helping us through trying circumstances, be them cancer, imprisonment, torture, grief, or just a sleepless night. Yes, God is all powerful, and I do believe that blessings do come from Him. But, believing that, is the next logical step to think that the denial of a blessing is judgement from God? Or, more to the point, as everyone wonders at some point or another, why doesn't this all-powerful God stop tragedies from happening?

Like most people, I have no answer to this. Or, better put, no satisfactory answer. After all, I am not God, nor have I been allowed privileged access to His thought process. Believing that God is love, all I know is that God cries with us when tragedy strikes. Perhaps He allows these tragedies only to avoid larger ones. Small comfort to those grieving, I'm sure. But I do believe that when we're all hanging out in heaven, sometime over the course of eternity we'll have the opportunity to ask God why He lets tragedies happen. And He'll have all the time in the world to explain it to us. And as our brains will be so much more open, only then will we be able to understand.

Perhaps some people find this too simplistic or unsatisfactory. But it works for me. For now.

And now that I've muddled through the mysteries of the universe in the middle of the night, I notice something. Silence.

Thanks God. I'll take divine intervention over parental intervention any night.

Now, please God, help ME go back to sleep.

10 Years

Ten years ago today I thought I was saying goodbye forever to Mario and Mexico. To date, I think that was still the saddest day of my life. But, to quote While You Were Sleeping, "life doesn't always turn out the way you plan." Thank goodness for that!

Like most people who have experienced the study abroad semester, I'll stand in line with the rest of them to say that it was hands down the best semester of my college career. Not grade wise, certainly. But I learned more in that one semester, about myself and the world in general, than is normally possible to experience in four months. (Finding my future husband was an additional perk.) While I'm waxing reminiscent, I'd like to send a huge thanks to anyone who joined me on that path during the spring of 1999, particularly Aubrie, Kelli, Liz, Nilaja, Smiljana, and especially Sally and Enrique. It's an experience that has changed my life.

Normal semesters abroad involve language classes and maybe a few nearby trips. Thanks to Sally and Enrique, our semester involved an extended, guided trip every other weekend. Often, we probably got more history thrown at us than we would have chosen on our own, but I was always grateful, as we left knowledgable about the places we visited. And oh, the places we went! Puebla, Mexico City, Oaxaca, Veracruz, Morelos, pyramids out the wazoo . . . I think we saw more of the country than the average Mexican ever sees, let alone the average study abroad student. It was well worth all the "pena" I endured, trying to make myself understood on a day-to-day basis. (While I was wrapped up learning about the world at large, learning Spanish was not one of my big priorities. Oops.)

If reading this you think, "man, I always wanted to study abroad, but never could." It's not too late! Language schools all over the world cater to adults (and families) for just a week at a time, up to months at a time. The average travel guide usually provides language school ads. Furthermore, full-time volunteer opportunities abound if you're willing to take a year-long leave of absence from work (ooo--find yourself unemployed during this financial crisis? What are you waiting for?). I recommend starting with the Catholic Network for Volunteer Service www.cnvs.org (not just for Catholics or even Christians . . . there are opportunities for your average agnostic or atheist, too. They're just a little harder to find here). Just click on the Response directory and have fun searching! And if you've always dreamed of working with orphans in Latin America, I recommend Nuestros Pequenos Hermanos www.nph.org. Two tough, but rewarding years of my life were spent in their Mexico house.

OK, I'll get down off my soapbox now. If you know me, you knew that volunteer speech was coming. Now it's over. Whew.

Tree Hugger Alert: Huggies DO Have an Upside!

I have always hated disposable paper products. Everytime I use a paper towel, it feels like such a waste. I think of the tree that died to make my paper towel, all the water and energy used it its creation, the landfill my towel will sit in for years and years . . . are they really worth the little convenience they afford? When I was finally old enough to have my own house, I invested in plenty of towels and cloth napkins. Ah . . . my overactive environmental conscience was finally at peace.

Then I married a man with an addiction to paper napkins.

However, this same paper napkin addict proceeded to explain to me that his addiction really isn't that unhealthy (yeah, ALL addicts try to convince others that their addictions aren't that serious, right?). However, this addict has worked in Kimberly-Clark and knows what he's talking about. The truth: no trees died in the making of these napkins.

Really?

Most paper products made in Mexico (everywhere but the state of Durango, apparently) are made from sugar cane stalks. After the sugar juice is squeezed out of the sugar cane, the leftover canes aren't good for much else, except to make compost, paper towels, toilet paper, and diapers.

Huh. All my years of righteous indignation just got flushed down the toilet (literally, when you think of toilet paper).

So while Little Girl's bottom is usually covered in cloth diapers, I am no longer guilt-riddled when she's occasionally slapped into Huggies for an evening. Thanks for recycling at the industrial level, Kimberly-Clark!

Happy Mother's Day!

First of all, a big shout out to my own momma, as I give her yet another way to stay connected with her girls. I love you!

Today is Mother's Day, and for the first time in a number of years Mexican Mother's Day and US Mother's Day coincide. Mother's Day in Mexico is ALWAYS on May 10th. And no matter which day of the week May 10th falls on, EVERYONE has the day off. This holiday is bigger than Independence Day, bigger than Days of the Dead, bigger than 3 Kings Day, bigger than Thanksgiving (which doesn't exist here) and way bigger than Cinco de Mayo (which nearly no one celebrates outside of the city of Puebla). Many mothers often receive the most extravagant gifts--washing machines, stoves, furniture. My own husband, who never buys presents for anyone if he can help it, regularly gives his mom paintings, sculptures, and pottery for Mother's Day. This is even more impressive when you consider that I have to give him gigantic hints for weeks before Christmas if I expect to receive any present from him.

In short, Mother's Day is a big, fat, huge deal here.

This is my first Mother's Day. My own daughter is three months old. Even though she's Mexican, she's far too young to understand the magnitude of this holiday yet. (And as I'm a gringa, it's just fine with me if she'll never celebrate it like a Mexican.) However, something must have clicked in her little head, as she has given me the best Mother's Day present she's capable of--rest. Last night she went to bed at 9 and slept through until 6 (this has happened before, but it's an extremely rare occurence). Then she went back to bed and slept until 10. Excellent. Difficulties with her sleep schedule usually arise in the afternoon--she's only just learning to nap. Yesterday was a no nap day. Not fun. But she's making up for it today, as she's currently alseep and pushing just past the hour mark. So even if naptime ends now, we're pretty well assured a fun afternoon. So, thank you Clarita! I truly appreciate it!