Coming of Age in Austin

Yikes! This morning a mother of one of Lucero's classmates informed me that her son is in love with Lucero. Within his mother's earshot, said boy informed another boy that, "I'm trying not to fall in love with her, but she is so beautiful." (To which the friend replied, "That's okay, it's normal.") !!! We're talking about 5 year-olds here, folks!

I guess that's sorta cute...But, crikey, I thought I wouldn't have to worry about staving off suitors for at least 8 or 9 more years (and stave them off I shall). I mean, really! I don't remember those sort of dynamics when I was in kindergarten.

At least Lucero is no damsel in distress. Agapito and I had to suppress overt displays of pride when we were recently informed that Lucero had spit on a boy for trying to kiss her. Atta girl, Lucero!

I find myself of two minds when people comment on Lucero's beauty. On the one hand, I can't help but feel proud (though my genetic contribution be nil). On the other hand, I feel like saying "Kindly piss off while she enjoys a few more years of youthful oblivion!"

Another chapter in the lives of the young and the restless: Lucero and Rosalía's cousin, Nadin (a youthful lad of 4), spent the better part of our wedding wooing Lucero's friend, Sofia. Which is just as well, because my step-brother, sister-in-law and I were worried that Lucero and Nadin were headed for some kind of doomed love.

Meanwhile, Rosalía has been quacking. All you have to say is "Rosita, como hace un pato?" To which she replies, "Gwa, Gwa!". She can also bark "wow, wow", and meow "maaa". And to answer Joyce's question, the word known to all men (or babies on the cusp of speaking at least) is surely "da-da", which is Rosalía's label for everything. (Ok, I admit that was a shamelessly gratuitous literary reference...but I have to work them in now and again to make sure diaper cream fumes and Blues Clues [gag] haven't wiped my brain of all cultural reference points).

Rosalía's language production is definitely behind that of monolinguals her age, but that was to be expected (her mother reports with just a trace of defense). Yet, her comprehension blows my mind. I shouldn't be surprised. I took a class on this very subject and have read all the studies that document the stages of language acquisition. But still, it blows my mind to be able to say, "Rosie, go get your toothbrush from daddy and then you can come back and brush your teeth." She waddles away and returns triumphant with her little brush.

We're off to New Orleans for Thanksgiving, which I'm very excited about. New Orleans this time of year is brimming with hopeful nostalgia. Maybe it's as simple as a leftover childhood anticipation of Christmas presents and pretty lights.

For those patient enough to read through this post, I reward you with some wedding photos taken by an attendee (professional pics still to come):

Lucero's World

Lucero drew this picture tonight. Lucero is only 5 years old. I know that parents are biased, but man...check out the perspective (abstracting away from the yogic arm reach). It brings to mind "Christina's World" by Andrew Wyeth... if Tim Burton were to interpret it in his youth. The girl is wearing mittens because it's cold, Lucero informed her father. Perhaps I'm projecting too much expectation, but I wouldn't be surprised if Lucero grew up to be a professional artist. Her father is gifted (he will probably come behind and edit this out of foolish modesty), and I think he is a leading artist in an parallel universe. Now, if only I can lead her towards the more lucrative artistic professions, like graphic design. Art is food for the soul and all that jazz, but a girl's gotta feed her body as well.

Also, post to come regarding the wedding... Just waiting on the pictures from the photographer so I can dazzle my readers (all 3 of you) with how pretty we all looked!

Sincerely yours,
Jessica Bridget White Sustaíta!

3 Noteworthy Items

First, Lucero has her first loose tooth. Last week, the four of us had just gotten home when she said she had a loose tooth. I was doubtful, given that I'd read that children begin losing teeth around 6. Then she added that there was a popping sound when she wiggled it... a tell-tale sign that few children would know to include in wishful storytelling. I hopped out of the car and took a look. Sure enough-- a loose tooth. I was excited, jumped up and down, but then I felt a little sad. She's very tall now, and a little girl. No trace of round toddler. Such is life. But say, how much is the tooth fairy paying for teeth these days? It was a dollar in my day.

Second, we were all listening to Vicente Fernández' latest album in the car for the umpteenth time ("Para Siempre", which is so amazing, btw). For those unfamiliar with him, he embodies the classic Mexican ranchera singer with violins, horns, and the 'grito', which is the crying out that sounds like a hyena laughing and sobbing. When I first heard him after moving to Texas I thought "wow, this music is awfully dramatic"; now I can't get enough. Pero estoy divagando. So we were listening to one of the songs heavy on gritos, and who should start belting out gritos from her carseat but our own little Rosie. This would be a way cooler story if I had an embedded sound file of her doing it. Alas, I do not.

Three, I hit and killed a cat today. His name was Mr. Keasbey, and may he rest in abundant fields of catnip and canned salmon. The girls were in the backseat, and it happened on our street (hence the cat's name). I wasn't driving fast (honest), but he darted out between my front and back wheels. I breaked and watched him die in my rear view window, somehow concealing my horror from Lucero, who remained oblivious. It was terrible. I managed to track down the owner, only after crying to my neighbors, the woman at 311, and the poor guy from Solid Waste Disposal, who convinced me not to create a street block to preserve the cat's remains while I tracked down the owner. The owner was an artist, who was really nice and actually hugged me (in a non-creepy way), as he processed the news. He said that he first found the then-stray right by the spot where he died, and that Mr. Keasbey has recently recovered after being paralyzed. Crappy. Extreme bummer.

Kindergarten!

Lucero started her first day of kindergarten at Lee Elementary a couple of weeks ago. Lee is a great school, even if it is named after a champion of slavery. Her teacher is a sweetheart, and her classmates are awesome. However, I miss the Spanish immersion at Escuelita, and Agapito and I are excited by talk of plans for a Spanish/English elementary school. I can't believe that Austin is teeming with French immersion schools, but hasn't got any Spanish immersion programs. Maybe it's just because we border a French-speaking country...

Anyway, my self-righteous preachiness aside, here's the real reason for reading this blog, pictures. Below are before and after pictures from Lucero's first day.

Before

After

And here are a couple of cute pictures from playtime on one of the girls' favorite play spots, the bed.


Besides all of the wonderfully deep existential implications of being mommy to these girls, one of the greatest aspects of motherhood for me has been the sheer fun we have together. My mom loved to have fun with me and my sister. It's nice to feel that I'm not only becoming my mom in the more irritating respects, but also in positive ways. Once she took me to Knot's Berry Farm and we rode the Log Jam in the rain over and over again until closing time. Lucero and I have already made a vow that when Rosie turns 3, we are all going to Disney World. I can't lie...I am pumped.

What's Grosser than Gross?

Well, Sarah Palin. But a close second are the latest rage in baby fashion..."heelarious". They are baby shoes (0-6months) that are made to look like stilettos. Depressing.

Lucero turns 5!!!

We celebrated Lucero's 5th birthday in Harlingen, which is where her mom, Vanessa's family is from. Her great-aunts, Raquel and Petra, hosted, complete with a moon walk. Lucero dressed as the Barbie Island Princess (please let this Barbie phase pass quickly!). Lucero looked pretty darned cute, even if I could do without Barbie.

Here she is looking rather like Queen Elizabeth I, in my humble opinion.


Here she is blowing out the candles on her dinosaur cake. This year's party theme was "Princesses love dinosaurs and stars." And they do.


By the way, anyone looking for something to buy for a princess-obsessed kid should check out the book "Do Princesses Wear Hiking Boots?" My friend Kate got it for Lucero last year, and it rocks!

Vamos a la Playa

Here are pictures from our trip to South Padre Island in mid-August (as part of our trip to the Valley for Lucero's 5th b-day). The weather was hazy and perfect, and the water divine. It really was the best water temperature of all the American beaches I've visited. Not bloody freezing like the Pacific or Atlantic, and not like a bathtub of urine like the beaches in Florida.



Are these kids cute, or what?

Escuelita Graduation

I've dropped the ball on this blog situation, but here are some great pics to make up for my lapse. Lucero graduated from Escuelita del Alma, and they held the ceremony on a hot July afternoon. She was a trooper, despite having to wear a polyester cap and gown.

Her class also performed a narrative dance in which the girls were fish and the boys were fisherman. And, as you might guess, the fisherman had to...sigh... catch the fish. Oh well. I'm not sure what I was expecting...maybe the children could have read excerpts from A Room of One's Own.

Rosie's class also performed a dance routine to the Continental 80's hit Vamos a la Playa by an Italian duo you've never heard of. The babies basically stood or lay around looking very cute and/or confused by all the people staring at them from the audience.

Rosalía's Suprise Party & Tangential Reflections on Motherhood

We celebrated Rosie's first birthday on June 14th (n.b. her real b-day is June 7th). It went all right, save for the fact that the scorching heat and eerily aggressive flies forced our outdoor bbq indoors, thereby altering the mood somewhat. Props to Patrick for sticking it out by the grill so we could eat. My mom made fabulous creme puffs with fresh strawberries.


Here Rosie is being fed by her nana with the help of tia Manda.



In this picture I am trying to look official. I must admit I found myself falling into the trap of getting very anxious about how a 1 year old birthday party is supposed to go.



Here is Rosie riding an unidentified quadruped, though most agreed it was a cow-dog hybrid. My mom found it at her usual purveyor of toys and clothing-- the curbside. Score!

After much prompting on the part of our guests, Lucero and Rosie entertained us all with a rousing rendition of "Piano Man". (Baby grand also from curbside...major score.)


Below (left-to-right) is Sarah with Lucero in her lap, Rosie, yours truly, and Alex.



None of our friends with little ones could make it, but the guests were people who had helped us immeasurably this last year, especially my sister, my parents, and Agapito's in-laws; to say nothing of all of my girlfriends who have simply lent an ear or hand.

Here I'd like to share some of what I've been thinking about on the subject of mothering. For those of you just in this for the pictures, read no further. For those of you who'd like a sneak peak into my rambling mind, read on.

I just watched "Desire", a documentary that my friend Brent worked on. It follows the coming of age of 5 girls in New Orleans. Three of the girls become single moms while in high school. Afterwards, I peeled myself off the floor and blew my nose, then gave myself a small scolding for ever complaining about the (privileged) rigors of grad school and motherhood. Not that it isn't difficult, but many of the challenges are self-imposed. Like obsessing over how a birthday party is supposed to be, or any number of relatively unimportant details.

Case in point: Lucero's 5th birthday party is in August, and it will be the first big party that Agapito and I have thrown for her. I have already begun worrying over the jumpy castle and piñata (princess, star, dinosaur?). Judith Warner talks about these issues in her NY Times blog and in her book, Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety (which I have yet to read, but know about first-hand). I was comforted to read in her blog that she worried over and finally accepted that her children would never have a room in which crayons and markers were in separate labeled bins, or where everything was in its place (or had a place for that matter). In an interesting article examining a mother's choice to work outside of the home, another author/mother, Sandra Tsing Loh, admitted that her house is always trashed. Ever since I read these two pieces, I've taken greater pleasure in my life, my home, and even in my children and Agapito. No joke. Although, if I were to be a stay-at-home mom (or whatever obnoxious and inadequate term we're using these days to devalue women's work), I would totally groove on labeling things and putting then in their place. But until that day...

Judith Warner also claims that the mothers who are really facing the challenges of unrealistic expectations are those born between 1956 and 1972, i.e., in the wake of the 2nd wave women's movement. But as a woman born in 1976, I think my generation is doubly judged. Not only do voices from the mainstream admonish us with "You finally get to have it all, career and family, so why are you whining?", but there's also the whole do-it-yourself hippie/hipster counter-culture movement that differs from Martha Stewart mainly in aesthetics and the politically-correct provenance of raw materials. Otherwise, I think DIY culture can be freakishly backwards. When I read an article in BUST or a similar magazine on knitting stocking caps for all my friends for Christmas, I'm sorry, but I feel like running to Target and buying everyone striped socks made in China. And this mentality carries over into counter-culture mothering, best exemplified by "Mothering" magazine, which I prefer to call "Martyring". "Mothering" magazine seriously makes me want to wretch, despite the fact that many of my beloved family and friends are subscribers. I'd elaborate, but first I need to go finish harvesting my own baby food while my 5-year-old breast feeds in her hemp cloth sling. And that's after I take her to a drum-circle that comes from a culture my country is neo-colonizing. Barf.

Which is all to say that I think there are problems and neuroses permeating all classes and cultures of mothering in this country, especially those who self-righteously think they're above it. I could cheerfully segue into a discussion of class, because of course it's about class, but I'll save that for another post.

Mardi Gras Indians Memorial Sunday

On the Sunday before Memorial Day, Mardi Gras Indians and various brass bands meet up around Bayou St. John and march to commemorate loved ones that have passed. I had never been to a gathering, so we went with my folks and Amanda. I was filled with pride and excitement to be able to show the girls (and Agapito) a tradition that is one of the many that makes New Orleans such a special place-- an antidote to the strip mall-ification of America.



Mardi Gras Indians date back to the 19th century, though my Yoruba professor pointed out that many of the costuming and musical elements derive from Yorubaland (i.e., part of Nigeria). The wild west elements were probably introduced with Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show in the 1880s, though local Indian customs had contributed previously what with intermarriage between Africans and local indigenous people (e.g., Choctaw and Houma Indians). Below you can see the intricate bead work depicting a "Cowboy and Indian" scene.



The procession was impressive, with an alternation of Indians, brass bands, and these genuinely creepy men dressed up as skeletons ("don't forget about death, even as you revel"). About 40 minutes into the march, I was hot, sweaty, holding a 24-pound Rosie, and silently analyzing race relations at the event. Then I see this one Indian in bright pink headdress. As he gets closer, I see that his costume is 2 shades of pink- a light pink background with ornately beaded darker pink memorial ribbons and a picture of his late wife who had died of breast cancer. It was one of the most poignant spectacles of heart-ache and triumph I've ever seen. Talk about "I can't go on. I'll go on." I didn't get a picture of him.

At peril of further manipulating your emotions, allow me to direct your attention to the last photo below. These people in blue marched to commemorate the 9th ward and those who died there.

Texas Vineyards

Here are some pictures from a Texas winery tour we took in April. We went with Agapito's friends from MAES (Mexican-American Engineers & Scientists). It was a painfully beautiful Texas spring day. We made it to three vineyards, all located between Austin and Fredricksburg. The red wines weren't my favorite, but we had an excellent Fumé Blanc and a tasty orange dessert wine called Orange Moscato from Newsom Vineyards. I adore this picture of Lucero.


Along the way we stopped at a The Wildflower Center, which features vineyards, wildflowers, and a combination of charming and depressingly country-kraft lawn decor. The best part of the picture below is that, unbeknownst to any except Rosie, her diaper had exploded fecal matter all over her legs and my sweater. Fun!


Here is Rosie sporting a fetching pair of boys drawers on loan from her friend Diego, after said fecal explosion.


A good time was had by all...

Ushering self into the now.

Will it be possible to approach a blogging endeavor in a non-tongue-in-cheek manner? I am going to make a go of it, self-editor be damned. Having children gives you a certain license towards earnest self-promotion in the name of la familia, I think. Pics of bebés with accompanying narratives to come!