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.