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.