Sprachbund in Austin

Cemeteries can be fun!

2012-02-13T10:07:00.000-08:00

Provided they are appropriately old and spooky. Over the last few visits to New Orleans, I have rediscovered what fun rambling around the old tombs can be. When I was 16 and we lived in Mid-City, I used to walk our dog Sasha through an old cemetery off of Canal-- mainly so I could smoke cigarettes on the sly, but also for the thrill of glimpsing a misplaced femur through the cracks of derelict tombs.

Here are some fun, if sacrilegious, pics of Cysko and the girls at the Prytania Cemetery, followed by a picture of Sims and Tara, my step-bro and sis-in-law, just before they dined across the street at Commander's.

Sims and Tara looking dapper.

Don't eat the marshmallow!

2012-02-13T09:22:00.000-08:00

You know the famous Marshmallow Test that studied delayed gratification in kids? A child is told she can have one marshmallow right away, or two marshmallows if she'll just wait a couple of minutes. Putting aside the fact that marshmallows are gross, what kind of person are you? I'm totally the stuff-it-in-my-mouth-right-now kind of a gal (Get your head out of the gutter!). Actually, I'd probably be the sorry-ass kid who took one marshmallow immediately and then begged piteously for more.

Case in point- A few weeks ago I was sitting around with the Magpie, uselessly gnashing my teeth over the fact that two of my parents have been diagnosed with cancer in the span of two months. Feeling impotent and sad, sitting at home in Austin while mom is getting schlepped to radiation and chemo appointments in New Orleans, I decided to do what any loving and thoughtful adult daughter would do: CUT MY OWN BANGS.

Ever penny-wise (read: impatient), I looked for a how-to video on the internet. Since I'm 35, and I have frizzy, curly, White-girl hair, I followed the instructions given by a gorgeous teenager with thick, straight, Asian-girl hair. Curiously, the bangs I cut did not look like the side-swept bangs cut by Rosebud143. My bangs looked more like one of my daughters' craft projects involving little bits of brown yarn.

Two professional haircuts and 4 weeks later, I'm finally okay leaving the house without stuffing the "bangs" into a bunch of little clips. And look, even Magdalena likes it!

Major damage-control courtesy of Roxie at Avant Salon!

Za-Za-Zaftig!

2012-02-11T06:56:00.000-08:00

Pronunciation: /ˈzæftɪg/

Forms: Also zoftig, zofti(c)k.

Etymology: Yiddish, < German saftig juicy.

U.S. colloq.

Of a woman: plump, curvaceous, ‘sexy’.

Nigella Lawson, the very picture of zaftig

You don't really hear that word thrown around much anymore, except in the occasional New Yorker or Vanity Fair piece.* And it's a shame, really. There are so few positive expressions for round and sexy with as much panache and verve as zaftig.

Let's reintroduce zaftig into common circulation. What does it take to popularize an expression? It's sort of mysterious. Linguists can tell you how a word became popular, or why your attempts at inventing a new word will likely fail, but not necessarily how to revive a word. (Ah, I just figured out why there aren't more jobs for us.)

I may not have the answer on how to get everyone to start using zaftig, but I can assure you that I'm doing my part to maintain my zaftig figure. Last night, to commemorate my having sent off my dissertation rewrites to my committee, Agapito brought home steaks, a tasty bottle of wine, and some crusty french bread. I cooked them up using this excellent tutorial on how to make the perfect restaurant style steak .

*You will also find zaftig used by my step-brother, Davis, in this rich little article chronicling his life as a New Orleans musician and personage. Check it out!

Feminism can be sexy!

2012-02-10T17:49:00.000-08:00

Have you ever heard the expression "snag"? It stands for "sensitive new-age guy." Like, "Yeah, I thought he was hot until he started talking about how beautiful leg hair on women is. Gag, what a snag." And there's nothing worse than snag-feminism. You know, guys who worship the goddess within you, your earthy, intuitive, reproductive powers. This quintessential example of snag feminism, courtesy of my friend Lars, demonstrates it quite nicely.

Which is why there is nothing more fantastic than Feminist Ryan Gosling! Go check it out!

Awesome, right? Prior to this blog, I couldn't have picked out Ryan Gosling from a line-up if you'd paid me. Now I want him to be my boyfriend (in a universe with polyandry where Agapito is the first husband).

Okay, so now that you've seen Feminist Ryan Gosling, you can appreciate my homage. Here I present to you, Feminist Magdalena.

One last funny. In response to another feminist who said, "I hate discussions of feminism that end up with who does the dishes," Marilyn French wrote, "So do I. But at the end, there are always the damned dishes."

Which is why the best thing I ever did to negotiate the household chores was delegating dishes to the boys!

Other worlds

2012-02-10T16:38:00.000-08:00

This morning there were rumors that North Korea's Kim Jong Un had been assassinated, though the U.S. Government says it ain't necessarily so. I can't help but hope a coup will succeed, assuming it's a coup led by a new boss who isn't as bad as the old boss.

Meanwhile, this sorta cute, sorta bizarre video of N. Koreans playing 'Take on Me' on accordions is circulating.

I appreciate that people are oppressed in the U.S. I really do. But sometimes I want get on my knees and thank...who or what?... my lucky stars?...that my kids get to grow in a country that at the very least pays lip service to the idea of freedom.

Rosie (top) with her classmates

Fall 2011

2011-11-06T05:14:00.000-08:00

An album cover

Honor Roll, woot woot!

Rosalía getting in some reading

Halloween 2011

Right before she tumbled over

Monsieur Rosie

That's all folks!

Hot fun in the summertime

2011-09-10T09:57:00.000-07:00

Smiles Magoo

About a month ago, Magdalena woke up from her mellow just-arrived-on-this-plane-of-existence haze. She's started smiling, laughing, and following in the hammish footsteps of her older sisters. So I haven't had the luxury of updating this blog as often. But a lot has happened. Our most exciting development is the arrival of our nephew, Cysko. He moved in with us at the beginning of August, and started his first year at ACC. He is awesomeness.

Philosopher Boy

After paddle-boarding on Town Lake

Nana and Grandpapa sent Magdalena her engraved silver baby cup. Each of the girls have one. This is a waspy tradition I really love.

We also went on our annual Florida beach trip with my side of the family. It was a fantastic trip. Brent took some amazing photos, and I will post those when I get them (hint hint). For now, here are some pics I took with my phone.


At the beach house

Le Olliebot

Felix, Nadin, & Rosalía

Jess & Agapito

Magdalena wearing seersucker (a la her grandpapa)

Here are a couple of pictures of Lucero that melt my heart. Agapito's Tia Terry sent the girls beautiful crocheted head bands. I'm gathering the courage to ask her to make me one for the winter.

Lucero

Agapito's cousin Janie visited us. She helped me out a lot! Dishes, laundry, herding the girls...

Agapito, Cysko, Janie, Jess, & Grumpysaurus

Jess & Magdalena

Lucero, Jess, Magdalena, & Rosalía

I celebrated my 35th birthday with a couple of friends at an Italian restaurant in Driftwood. It was perfect. I'm loving the 30s.

Sarah & Jess

Jess, Agapito, & Magdalena

As my friend Sandeep puts it, here is a picture of Agapito holding Agapito.

Attitudinous

When life gives you lemons, make awesome faces.

2011-07-20T12:28:00.000-07:00

The girls love it when we order Iced Tea, because it ensures that they will each get a lemon.

Preparing the lemons with sugar.

The looks on their faces almost made me pee my pants. And no, not because I just had a baby!

On a different note, I used to think there was nothing more boring than hearing a woman go on ad nauseum about how cute/smart/funny/creative her kid is. I mean, it really is annoying. So I'll just post the following pic of baby girl and refrain from detailing the ways in which she makes my heart burst.

Holding an elephant from her Tia Jane.

Farewell, Newborn Days!

2011-07-13T12:50:00.000-07:00

Magdalena reflects on her youth.

Technically, a newborn ceases to be a newborn after the first four weeks. As baby Magdalena is approaching her fifth week on the outside, she is a mere baby. So this entry is a pictoral retrospective.

In all the ways the pregnancy sucked rocks, Magdalena's first weeks have been pretty grand. She sleeps, she eats, and she doesn't cry unless plagued by an unusually painful bout of gas.

We spend many an afternoon lazing on the bed while she snacks and naps, my breast proffered as either food source or pillow. It's a reader's delight, because all I can do is read and look down through hormone-soaked mommy lenses at baby. Evolution has gotten a few things right, especially with the whole "I look at my baby and hear blue birds singing" thing.

She has started the transition from looking like an old man (either French or Greek, I'm undecided), as in these two pictures....

"Garçon, a glass of milk, s'il vous plaît."

...to looking more like a cute li'l baby...

Agapito and I took her to see "Midnight in Paris" the other day, but she fell asleep. I admit I was tempted to do the same, because Allen's latest was fairly trite. A shame, given that "Vicky, Christina, Barcelona" was so good!

Soundproofing on a budget.

What's that on her head, you ask? A diaper, duh! An old Austin hippie gave me that ear-protecting tip for taking babies to concerts.

She's already started smiling, but only with Agapito! No justice, I tell you. All he has to do is waltz into the house, appear before her, and cry "Que paso?! Que paso?!", and she dissolves into crooked grins and wide-eyed wonder. Regardez...

The face of filial devotion.

What the hell? Whereas I'm like "Here, dear heart, siphon my essence from my breast for 14 hours a day...Sleep? Moi? Who needs sleep?!"

I'm convinced that I could have 10 more of this guy's babies and they'd all come out looking like Agapito from different angles. (It's like that scene in Being John Malkovich.)

Agapito from the front at 4 weeks and in profile at 4 years.

But me, I can't complain.

You can never be too cautious...


Who's this guy?

Big sister love.

Magdalena Beatriz: The early days

2011-06-20T14:31:00.000-07:00

Here are pictures I've taken with my phone, starting with the most recent and working back to her birthday. Enjoy...

Welcome Magdalena Beatriz!

2011-06-11T17:51:00.000-07:00

6/9/11- 20.5 inches long- 8lbs. 14 oz.

Details to follow...

He nice, the Agapito (part II).

2011-06-04T18:52:00.000-07:00

Our apartment in central Austin is smallish, at 1,000 square feet. It's a 3 bedroom, but the 3rd bedroom is the size of a roomy closet. We're reserving it for our nephew, who will be joining us in August to attend ACC. Over the last two years, we'd let the girls have the largest bedroom and we had the 2nd smallish one. But with the impending arrival of La Tercera, we decided that we really needed the big room to fit ourselves, baby girl, and the inevitable midnight Rosie and/or Lucero incursions (see below). Switching rooms with the girls was a pain, but I'm finally satisfied with the arrangement. Our room is big enough to accommodate our bed, dressers, bassinet, and even a big old comfy chair for nursing. However, the one problem was the there wasn't enough room for a bedside table by the nursing chair or the side of the bed I sleep on (which is closest to nursing chair and bassinet for obvious reasons). And here's where Agapito's awesomeness shines once again. He made me a coffee and phone ledge, accessible from both my side of the bed and the nursing chair (from which I took this photo)---

Coffee and phone ledge by Agapito.

And if you need proof that girls invade our space nightly, I give you the following photo. Here the girls lie on the makeshift bed on the floor at the foot of our bed.

Sleeping cuties.

He nice, the Agapito (part I).

2011-06-04T18:26:00.000-07:00

It was a recent Sunday, and the girls were spending the afternoon with their grandparents. I just couldn't shake hormonal angst. So Agapito took me on a drive down south. He indulged me in one of my favorite pass times, which is exploring Austin homes and neighborhoods. You see, I have an ongoing internal battle over what sort of home and neighborhood I would like us to live in. Broadly, I've determined there are 3 equally priced alternatives for our family in Austin, given our means: (1) A cramped fixer-upper in semi-Central Austin (i.e., not one of the cute Arts & Crafts numbers) with access to a good school and a feeling of urban-ness, (2) A large and new house in a potentially soul-crushing suburb with access to good schools and all of the modern conveniences that make mothering a helluva lot easier, or (3) A cool house on the border of the central and suburb with a crappy school. We've had it very good these last few years because, being university students, we could live in the UT apartments in central Austin for cheap, and Lucero has gone to the best elementary in Austin (best= optimal combo of academics and diversity).

On this particular Sunday I was feeling the lure of an area most aligning with option (2), in very south Austin. I justify the suburbs from a class-based perspective that I'm currently too lazy to detail. Anyway, having lifted my spirits by touring a few neighborhoods, Agapito took me to the Mandola winery in Dripping Spring and we ate this deliciousness--

Prosciutto and arugula pizza with a lemon vinaigrette on top.


Mussels, scallops, shrimp...amazing.

Alas, I didn't take a picture of the mascarpone cheesecake we ate afterwards, my gestational diabetes be damned.

All I really want in these final days of pregnancy...

2011-05-27T14:45:00.000-07:00

...is a cup of coffee, a huge chocolate croissant, and a cigarette. Nice, right? Thereby proving that the theory that pregnant cravings are grounded in bio-chemical need is total bullshit! Did I mention that I have gestational diabetes? So even the chocolate croissant is totally verboten. FML, as the kids say.

The Rosie Strut

2011-05-19T20:00:00.000-07:00

Lucero's last day of Brownies was Tuesday. Rosie and I generally do one of three things during the troupe meetings: chill on the playground, dash over to Fresh Plus for groceries, or hang with the troupe. Yesterday we hung out as the girls ceremoniously received pins and patches and took group pictures. Of course, in general Rosie wants to do whatever Lucero does. So I let her join the group photo, and join the group photo she did.

P.S. Went to the OB this morning, and the nurse predicted baby girl would arrive early. That's great by me! I just need to make it through Saturday. We're celebrating Rosie's birthday early by going to Sea World, since La Tercera is due around Rosie's birthday.

You have my word...

2011-05-15T20:33:00.000-07:00

...that this is not going to turn into a crafting blog (Hi Gayatri!). Not that there's anything wrong with crafting blogs (I've quite enjoyed a few), but people would wonder what the hell had happened to me. That said, I must show off my first foray into sewing. It's a nursing cover.


Nursing cover with tarry-cloth pocket on inner corner.

I found this pattern online, which replicates the bebe-au-lait style of nursing cover. I figured it wouldn't be too hard to sew a square of fabric with a neck strap. Ha! How wrong I was. Thank God for my friend Cynthia, who loaned me her sewing machine and walked me through it.

She convinced me to go all out, and include the corset boning in the neck (it bows out, and allows you to see baby and allows air to flow). Cynthia is a quilter and had told me about a quilting trend to incorporate selvage into quilt designs ("selvage" = the raw edge of fabric with the manufacturer's name/logo on it). So I made the neck strap with the selvage to impress the cool kids.

Strap and neck boning

I always imagined I'd be totally happy to whip my breasts out in public to breastfeed. But I quickly realized with Rosalía that I wasn't so into that. I always ending up covering us with a blanket or burp rag. I figured La Tercera and I would do our thing thing in style this time.

P.S. I found this awesome Japanese fabric at The Common Thread, and it's one of many amazing Echino designs.

4 more weeks as a family of 4

2011-05-13T11:31:00.000-07:00

This will likely be one of the last pictures of us as a family of four. It's the end of an era!

I took these photos with the Korean camera app, Pudding, which I learned about from my favorite blogger, Nat the Fat Rat. Props to my sister for identifying the orthography as Korean!

I love the above pic for a variety reasons. Certainly because my girls are edible in their cuteness. I also like that Rosie is thoughtfully masking my pregnancy jowls. But more than anything, this rendering of Agapito makes my heart swell. You hang out with a person for several years, getting accustomed to their mien and manner, and then out of the blue, it hits you anew, what a face!

I like the pic below because I look more like myself when I'm not pregnant. Ahh, the joys of pregnancy face, with all its attendant puffy swollen glory! My sister-in-law once complained that her nose would get puffy when she was pregnant, and I was like "What?! That's nuts!" But lately I feel like a drunken leprechaun.


For the record, I'm wearing a strapless maternity dress, not lounging in hippie nakedness!

Well, I started this post to reflect on how strange the prospect of being a mother to 3 is. But there's not much more to say than, well, it's strange... and wonderful...and I totally dig it.

Guilty Mother's Day!

2011-05-09T18:08:00.000-07:00

Today I got the Mother's Day Card that Rosalía made for me at daycare last week.

There's a fairly regular formula the daycare follows when making holiday cards. It goes like this: The child crafts something, often using hand prints, foot prints, or some other measure of growth that highlights the fleeting nature of our children's tender youth. Then the child will dictate a message, which the teacher transcribes.

So, I got my card, written in Spanish. "Happy Mother's Day" it says--

So far so good. Then I opened it to find this very darling image--

Love! Then I look over at her message, which read--

"I love you mommy." ...... "I miss you mommy." ?!?!

Really?!?! Cue the sounds of a plunger plunging my heart *guilt, guilt, guilt*. Sigh... It's very rare that I buy into working-mom guilt. But come on!

Oh, life.

Happy Mother's Day!

2011-05-08T20:24:00.001-07:00

Happy Mother's Day to my mom, Lydia Elliott Hopkins...

Mom, Amanda, and me at Sequoia National Park, c. 1984

Mom (sitting) and neighborhood kids in Chicago, c. 1954

Grandma Dorothy and Grandpa Charles, c. 1945

Mom graduates from UT Austin, 1984

Mom, c. 1954

Mom, c. 1972


Mom, me, Amanda, and Grandma, c. 1983

And happy Mother's Day to me. I'm feeling pretty lucky today--

April 2011

Agapito and the girls got me this awesome gift (not that I explicitly told them I wanted it or anything...). Can't wait until it fits! Just 4 weeks til bebé comes.

Group Hug: Osama, MLK, & Obama

2011-05-02T20:57:00.000-07:00

I don't get it. In response to news that there are people celebrating Osama's defeat and death, literally dozens of my friends are posting this made-up quote ascribed to MLK Jr. :

I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

Okay, so besides the fact that MLK never wrote this (the actual quotation is: "Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.")...besides this fact, how is this the logical response to the fact that people are celebrating American military victory in a shoot-out with Osama? A shoot-out between American military and Osama's armed guards, in which Osama's men used at least one woman as a shield, and in which...well...they lost. Whether one chooses to believe it, the Navy SEALS had prepared for a scenario in which Osama surrendered, but he didn't. And he lost. And I'm glad.

The quote just doesn't map to the situation with Osama. What, should we have captured Osama and tackled him with bear hugs, waited for the love to soak in, and then invited him to NYC for a reconciliation ceremony? WTF?!?! We weren't going to love him out of his murderous awfulness.

I think it's appropriate to celebrate the fact that he was finally snuffed out. Our grandparents would never have stood around wringing their hands about how they should feel over Hitler's death. And I don't see why Osama's defeat should serve as the basis for reflection on the power of love. The (actual) quote is far better placed in the context of the crappy wars in which millions of innocents have died.

Far more appropriate is the following by Mark Twain, posted by Cara:

I've never wish a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure.

Rejoicing in Osama's defeat is not tantamount to being anti-Islam. Osama has the blood of Middle Eastern/African Muslims on his hands as well as that of Americans.

Good job, Obama.

Edit: Drat! Apparently the quote ascribed to Twain is also a misquote! The actual quote is: I have never killed a man, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure. - Clarence Darrow.

A li'l more on resurrections...

2011-04-24T08:27:00.000-07:00

As you can see from the blogs listed on the right, I like the two Mormon bloggers "Nat the Fat Rat" and "Rockstar Diaries." Despite finding certain tenets of their faith confusing and, in certain respects, downright sinister, I do envy the security they find in their faith.

Today is Easter, the holiest feast day in the Christian calendar. It's also the most confusing celebration to me. The whole resurrection thing has always baffled me, even when I was a nun-aspiring Catholic teen (okay, okay...truth be told, that period lasted, like, a few months; and the prospect was always made more enticing by fantasies of forbidden love involving a priest, but I digress...)

Anyway, I truly do not understand the sacrifice, resurrection, atoning-for-my-original-sin thing. So I'm a Christian Agnostic who, if less lazy, might pursue Buddhism more deeply (I think I just described Unitarians). But, I do feel very strongly that, in the wise words of a character in David Sedaris's Me Talk Pretty One Day, "He nice, the Jesus."

On FB, a friend posted this lovely hymn written by a certain John M. C. Crum. It captures something all my logical inquiry cannot:

Now the Green Blade Rises

Now the green blade rises from the buried grain,
Wheat that in the dark earth many years has lain;
Love lives again, that with the dead has been:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.
In the grave they laid Him, Love Whom we had slain,
Thinking that He’d never wake to life again,
Laid in the earth like grain that sleeps unseen:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.
Up He sprang at Easter, like the risen grain,
He that for three days in the grave had lain;
Up from the dead my risen Lord is seen:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.
When our hearts are saddened, grieving or in pain,
By Your touch You call us back to life again;
Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.

Speaking of resurrections...

2011-04-21T16:54:00.001-07:00

It's time to raise this blog from the dead. We've just been really busy this year...

Agapito started a new job, located on 360. One of the main advantages over his old job, from my perspective, is that I no longer have to walk through The Domain to get to his office. Walking through The Domain is like being a poor street urchin staring into the window of the most decadent candy shop. Instead of candy it was Sur La Table, Free People, Anthropologie...and the like.

I turned this little document in last week, which I shall defend next week.

Rosalía went from being a toddler to this!

And Lucero went from being my little girl to this! She'll be going into 3rd grade! What the hell?

Meanwhile, we await the arrival of La Tercera. Here are some recent pics taken at dusk in our own little bluebonnet field.

Oh, and it snowed a whole nanometer this last winter, which of course meant AISD and UT declared a snow day.

I should add that I officially love Texas. It took about 7 years, and I never thought I'd feel this way. I mean, I come from one of the greatest cities in North America, and I have spent a good deal of time in lots of other greater cities here and abroad. Oh well. I give in.

Ode to outsourcing domestic duties

2010-07-02T09:16:00.000-07:00

As my family and friends know, my path to motherhood was unconventional. Over half of all pregnancies in the U.S. are unplanned, so there was nothing so unusual in the fact that Rosie's conception was a..."surprise!" But pregnancy came on the heels of having moved in with Agapito and Lucero just weeks before. Around Lucero's 3rd birthday, in the summer of 2006, Agapito and I agreed to go for a lifelong commitment; it was time to transition from "Jess as daddy's girlfriend" to "Jess as mommy figure who wasn't ever leaving".

As any step-mom knows, the transition takes a while. And in the event that a child's birth mother is not present, and the child is very young, the transition is to a real parent. Deep and wonderful! And then I got pregnant. In some ways the pregnancy was the best thing for our budding family, because it linked us all by blood. Even though I wasn't Lucero's mother by blood, I carried her soon-to-be blood sister. We three were linked forever. We three were going to have a baby. I think the pregnancy accelerated my bond with Lucero, maybe because I was flooded with mommy hormones, or maybe it would have been that way in any case. Who knows? But Rosie's gestation also served as a sort of gestation for my relationship with Lucero. A double blessing, and a double transition.

The tremendous transformation that is entailed from going from a child-less woman to a mother has been discussed widely. There may now be as many publications on its challenges to a woman's identity in modern America as there are publications on its wonders. The physical and emotional demands are rigorous, and they can take a hefty toll on your sense of self and your relationship to your partner, if you have one.

My struggles are familiar to my friends and family--the all-nighters I spent when Rosie was 4 months old doing Inferential Statistics homework while pumping at 4 in the morning so that Rosie would have enough mother's milk for daycare. Trying to keep on a happy face for my professors so they wouldn't give up on me and think I didn't deserve funding. Writing 30-page grant applications, my dissertation proposal, and trying to prepare home-cooked meals for Lucero, Agapito and myself. It was rough. I spent the following year considering quitting school and staying home with the girls. I thought it would be the best, if not ideal, solution.

If only someone had told me to hire someone to clean the house!!!

My breaking point came when Rosie was about 18 months and Lucero was 5 and half. I'd been at a linguistics conference in San Francisco, sans familia, presenting on a project I'd worked on with my friend and professor, Lars. It was a hit, and I was high on my academic success and career prospects. The Monday morning after I'd returned, I realized we didn't have any clean laundry. Agapito had had the girls solo for the previous 4 days. Despite the intensity of those four days, he'd still managed to do several loads of laundry. He just hadn't been able to fold it. He'd put it at the foot of the bed for us to get to it. And I'm a neat freak with anxiety and a dash of OCD. Fun!

So, the girls were at school/daycare, Agapito had gone to work. It was his first year at a patent law firm, and needless to say it was demanding. Even though he managed to be home by 5:30 most nights, as soon as the girls were in bed, he'd haul out his computer and work for another few hours. Meanwhile, I was researching and writing a dissertation--- which has got to be the most nebulous and ill-defined task ever! My work was clearly more flexible than Agapito's, especially given that he was the main bread-winner and student loans don't pay themselves.

Sitting on the bed, eyeing the enormous mountain of laundry before me, I concluded that I needed to choose between the laundry and housekeeping and the mental stability it would entail and making progress on a dissertation that may or might not help me in my ambition to become a linguistics professor-- an ambition that seemed increasingly outrageous and unattainable.

And I broke. I won't detail it here. My sister saw it. She came over and maybe because I had a witness I just broke. Thank God for Amanda! She let me lose it for about 15 minutes and then prompted me to call someone.

That was a year and half ago, but it seems like 5 years ago. A lot has changed since then. I can honestly say that I am reasonably happy with my life and a balance has been achieved among the needs of the four people in my family. I'm in love with my husband, my daughters are my joy, and I look forward to working on the chapters of my dissertation and manuscripts for publication. I feel good about pursuing my career AND being a mom AND engaging with Agapito AND going to see Eclipse with my girlfriends.

I can cite three measures that effected the tremendous transformation I've enjoyed over the last year. First, I got the right help for my own mental and emotional health. Two, I stopped feeling guilty about availing myself of daycare or trying to prove to my version of "everyone" that my home and family are a well-oiled machine. Three...and this is the main point of this entry....we hired a woman to clean our house every other week.

Women of the world unite! Hire someone to clean your house at least twice a month!

If you are like I was for several years, you wouldn't dream of hiring someone to clean your house. The reasons I always I cite, and the reasons most women I talk to point out, are that 1) they can't afford it, and 2) they're too proud to make someone clean up after their family.

Number 1 is not a good reason. You can have someone clean your house for $60-- vacuum, bathroom, kitchen, floors, dusting, light tidying. Yeah, $60 is a lot of money and requires for many that you reallocate your budget. Do it. If you have to, take money out of date night...'cuz lord knows that removing housework from conjugal squabbles will do a hell of a lot more for your relationship than date night. Or, ask that gifts for X-mas and b-days be certificates for house-cleaning. It's the best gift you can give yourself. Beg, borrow, or steal.

Number 2 is an even less good reason. For those of us who come from lower-middle class or working class backgrounds, getting a housekeeper reeks of bourgeois privilege and goes against liberal, cooperative sensibilities. Well, for those of you heterosexual (or just heternormative) women who have managed to overturn centuries of enculturation, and you've gotten everyone on board to do equal shares of domestic labor, and struck the balance with your spouse's job, and you're okay with the amount of time this takes out of your lives, rah rah rah! Awesome. And please start a course or write a book for the rest of us (seriously).

Otherwise, hiring someone to clean your house, provided you pay a fair wage, provides jobs in our sad economy, and is an especially important option for undocumented workers. I've done it. My friends have done it. There's no shame in it. It is what it is. Furthermore, why do middle-class American moms think it's okay that housecleaning should fall entirely on their shoulders and not their spouses, but that there is something anti-egalitarian about actually paying someone to do the labor? As my friend Doug points out, most of us are fine with paying for milk instead of milking the cow.

Some of you might think, as I did, that in the interest of women's equality, it is our responsibility to demand that our husbands (or bread-winning wives in same-sex marriages) learn to tow the domestic line. Well, two things. One, often times the husband has the less flexible schedule and simply can't do it. Two, when do you want to have that argument? Between putting the kid(s) to bed and trying to catch 30 minutes of downtime with your mate before you fall asleep? Just as cleaning your husband's hair out of the tub does little to pique your amorous feelings, being badgered about how he/she is failing you personally and politically does little towards getting you a back rub.

I have friends who are stay-at-home moms who feel like they don't have any business paying someone else, since they are the domestic manager. Tell me, stay-at-home moms, do you feel like you have too much time on your hands? That you don't have enough to do with the cooking, errand-running, rearing of children (e.g., educating, entertaining, and generally making sure they don't die or grow up to be sociopaths), and all the other managerial duties? So you're rambunctious toddler has finally decided to take a nap. After you selfishly sit on the toilet and take a shower, it really is irresponsible of you to not use the remaining 30 minutes (if you're lucky) to clean soap scum off the tub...What do you mean your too tired to have sex tonight?!

Agapito and I don't fight about chores anymore. He does the dishes and his and Rosalía's laundry. I tidy (the girls' room, our room, the living room) and maintain cleanliness, and do Lucero's and my laundry. The woman we hired cleans the bathroom, mops the floors, dusts, gives the kitchen a good scrub, tidies. My break wasn't uncommon. Most of my girlfriends have undergone some level of disillusionment after becoming mothers, whether they worked as stay-at-home moms, or worked full-time or part-time outside of the home. I cite the negotiation of domestic duties as being one of the most pivotal factors in my happiness and adjustment to motherhood.

Most of our partners work their asses off, but the division of labor, the workforce, women's biology, and centuries of culture conspire so that the lion's share of domestic responsibility lies on moms. The current situation is that for many working moms and opt-out moms there is a constant low-level resentment about their responsibilities paradoxically coupled with a reluctance to relinquish them (after all, what if we're judged for not being good moms?). The changes in women's lives in the last 50 years are unprecedented and we are in the throes of an awkward adolescence. In the mean-time, we need to find practical solutions.

Rosie plays the blues

2010-06-04T14:24:00.000-07:00

We did not coach her to make the face she is making in this video, but we sure as heck made her do it again in order to record it!

A big day

2010-06-04T13:30:00.000-07:00

Finally! After a year of annoying bureaucratic back-and-forth, the adoption is complete! It was a brief but incredibly sweet ceremony. After an hour of waiting, we went into a courtroom with our lawyer and there was the judge with a desk covered with stuffed animals. How intimidating, right? So the lawyer asks me and Agapito a series of pro forma questions, the judge verified a couple of details, and then he performed the speech act of making Lucero officially my daughter. Then he said to Lucero: "What this means is that you are hers and she is yours forever and ever."

Funny thing was what happened next. Lucero gave Agapito a big hug and they were grinning at each other, and time stopped for a minute. In that moment it was just the two of them, just like they were when I first met them over five years ago. They had a special bond I've never seen between any other father and daughter. I'll never do justice to what it was like. Just like the details of another person's dreams will never be as important to a listener as they are to the dreamer, I can't convey why memories of Agapito and Lucero's daily routines are so powerful. I try to keep this blog light, and I know the back story to our family is intense enough that it doesn't require dramatization. But there's something very intense about a father and daughter's daily routines that have developed in the wake of losing the wife/mommy. The afternoon nap, the post-nap grapes, the walk to the playground, the throwing of the ball, the cutting up of the chicken and broccoli for dinner, the bath in the big kitchen sink. And the physicality of Agapito throwing Lucero up in the air, tickling her, holding her upside down while she laughs hysterically. The way that he would look at her when she was sleeping.

And there they were in the courtroom, hugging and loving each other. I don't know what to make of that moment, or the presence of those memories in that moment, but that's what struck me in that courtroom and it was beautiful.

The judge invited Lucero to choose a stuffed animal and to hold the gavel and sit in his seat for a picture. I felt vaguely sacrilegious, myself. And as we left I wondered if it was okay for me to turn my back on the judge. Like maybe I should have genuflected and crossed myself first. Anyway, below are the pictures we three took outsides of the courthouse afterward.

Happy times.

When two people love each other very very much

2009-09-30T19:03:00.000-07:00

Gulp. As I was putting Lucero to bed, she asked me for a glass of water. Normal enough. I came back with the water, she gulped it down, and casually asked, "How do you get a baby?" I said, anxiety rising, "What?". She says, "When you want a baby, how do you get it?" I told her I'd tell her tomorrow. She said, brightly, "okay". Now I am off to Book People to get "It's Not the Stork!"

Ode to Toddlers

2009-09-23T10:44:00.000-07:00

Toddlers (and children more generally) have an uncanny ability to sense when we are at their mercy. Such occasions include when there are other parents nearby who we assume are better, happier, more patient than we are; when their teachers or grandparents are nearby; and in any number of public spaces where you don't want to make a scene.

Take the DMV, for example. It is a truth universally acknowledged that having to go to the DMV is one of the more soul-crushing errands (2nd to sitting in the waiting room of the Social Security office or Emergency Room). And it seems that no matter how deeply you paid attention to the DMV website, you will lack a necessary document or method of payment and be forced to leave and return.

So why would one choose to make the DMV more difficult by bringing a cranky toddler? On the unfounded hope that this time will be different. That they will occupy themselves, quietly and contentedly with their doll. Half way through the line I smelled the pungent indicator that Rosie had done her business. Unwilling to lose my place, I let Rosie, and all who stood near, suffer the funk. Naturally, Rosie had to broadcast her situation by yelling, "Tiene kaka, tiene crap, mommy!" (I made the grievous error of teaching Rosie the word "crap" a few months ago, because it was really really funny, thinking she'd promptly forget. Nope.). Then, after 20 minutes of sitting in the waiting room, my number was called. Of course Rosie decides to play coy, and refuses to accompany me to the not-very-nice woman at the license-procuring counter. I tried the exciting adventure tactic, "Rosie, come see! There's something fun over here by counter! Let's go see what it is!" I tried the scare tactic, "Hurry up! We have to leave this area! Quick, we have to get out of here!" (I know, I know, that's totally messed up). I tried stern mommy, "You better mind me, Rosie. I'm not playing." She laughed at me. Then I decided to just go over and put her over my shoulder, her inevitable shrieks be damned. That's when she fled, at the unprecedented speed of a cheetah. Like, I really had to work to catch up. She's zig-zagging this way and that, laughing at me. If that weren't humiliating enough, the shirt I'm wearing is riding up to expose my back fat. At least the others in the waiting room got a good and audible laugh out of our game of tag. After the third call for my number, I caught her, whereupon she becomes a limp and screaming noodle. The lady at the license-procuring counter was totally humorless. The whole time I'm holding Rosie and she's being an absolute pill. Stealing my phone, jerking my glasses off my nose, smearing the sight test lenses with mysteriously wet fingers, threatening to raise hell if I don't comply with whatever capricious wish tickles her fancy. Finally, I submitted my new glasses. Here is the moment preserved in a photo, a photo which I took in yet another attempt to further entertain and pacify.

I do love my daughters more than anything in the world. I would absolutely kill for them, die for them, and all that good stuff. But still, they can be pains in the butt!

Hot Fun in the Summertime

2009-08-24T13:48:00.000-07:00

Instead of yet another post filled with apologia for being so remiss, here is a quick and dirty pictorial account of summer '09 in the White-Sustaíta and Sustaíta family; the summer was and ever shall be bookended by Rosalía's and Lucero's birthdays. Naturally I have no pictures from either celebrations, as of yet, and those pics will come in another post.

First, my dear friend Jenny Doussan sent gifts for the girls, including some most excellent sunglasses for Rosalía. Rosie wore, and chewed on, these sunglasses every waking moment, until they were totally obliterated.

We also went on a wine tour, for the second year in a row. It was great for two reasons. First, we had some really nice red wines, much to my surprise. I've heard that the climate in Central Texas is not conducive to a thick skin, and therefore the red wines are weak. I'm out of my depth here, and I fear Sarah Vandendriessche, my wine afficianado, will scoff at my feeble attempts to talk wine. The other reason our jaunt was so fun was Mandola's Vineyard and restaurant. Their vineyard is beautiful and they have a lovely restaurant. Here are some pics taken by Tia Valerie.

Our next adventure was our trip to South Padre Island and the Treviño family reunion in Harlingen. For the reunion the girls were decked out in very cute traditional Mexican regalia. At South Padre we enjoyed the beach and dolphin-watching boat ride, the majority of which Rosie slept through.
We drove down in my jalopy of a car, the VW golf. The AC is still working, just barely. It blows out pieces of black styrofoam, whose provenance and original purpose is uncertain. I like this photo of Agapito and me- not bad for an i-Phone!

Finally, I went to the Summer Institute held by the Linguistic Society of America. It was a three week intensive course held in Berkeley in July. There are worse places to go during an Austin summer; the average temperature was a heavenly 72. Agapito and the girls came out for 9 days in the middle of my stay. We went to San Francisco and got the girls umbrellas in Chinatown.

(quite cute, in my humble opinion)

We also went to that super winding road in SF. I think I was more excited by it than the girls were. Oh well.

We also went to Yosemite with the girls' cousins. All of the kids played and swimmed in the icy cold water without flinching. Why do we lose this ability as we get older?

Pictured here are Elijah, Rosita, and Lucero. The resemblance between Rosita, who is the daughter of Agapito's sister, Rosie, and my Rosalía is remarkable. (Rosie and Rosita are both Rosalías as well, and there are yet two other Rosalías in Agapito's family.)

During Agapito and the girls' visit, we stayed at Enrique and Lily's place, where the girls had a great time with their cousins, Savannah and Alisa.

Pictures from the girls' birthdays and fourth of July to come!

Spring

2009-04-13T19:32:00.000-07:00

Where on Earth to begin? I will pass over sad topics, in the interest of bloggish levity. First, I give you pictures. Here is a picture from "The Daily Juice", just down the street. It is where Lucero and I used to go many a hot summer evening with a very young Rosie nestled in a sling. Lucero would get watermelon water and I'd get a billion calorie smoothie to help nourish my body for the 500 calories I burned breast-feeding.

Here is our biker chick, complete with a rose tatoo.

And here is an indignant Rosie at Amy's Ice Cream, with rainbow sprinkles stuck to her face with snot. She is pissed off because I smooshed a few extra on for effect-- exploitation at its finest.

And here are the girls sliding down a slide.

Some of the latest news in the White-Sustaíta clan--

A couple of week's back we went to the Austin Rodeo, in order to, as Agapito put it, "Look at livestock." We also went in order to eat over-priced and questionable food and to ride unsafe rides. I also spent a lot of time privately pondering the life of a carnie, and wondering if I'd ever be able to find a zen-like acceptance if I were condemned to such a life. Anyway, Rosalía had a terrible time. We started by watching a baby pig race. I guess baby pigs aren't so small and unthreatening to a 32" toddler. You'd think they were wild pre-historic boars by looking at her. Then we tried the carousel. No good. Rosalía was hysterical. The music, the mirrors, the bobbing horses, all terrifying to her. Then we decided to spare Rosalía and just let her watch Lucero and me ride mini-roller coasters. Rosalía wept, thinking that the cars were out of control and going to crash any minute. Seeing me scream didn't help matters. Agapito kept gesturing for me to smile, but I was too busy trying not to barf on Lucero.

But the creme de la creme of this rodeo was hearing Lucero curse for the first time. While eating undeniably tasty corn dogs, I mention to Lucero that she should drink some water. She says, "Yeah, I haven't had any liquid this whole damn day." Yep, Lucero said "damn". It took everything in me to not burst out laughing while explaining that this word was waaay bad. It was very dear, very funny. At least it was "damn" and not any of the vulgarities that slip out of my mouth when people cut me off on the highway. So now I'm working hard to replace my garbage mouth with "dickens," "by george", "crikey", etc.

We have moved from Hyde Park to the UT family apartments, back on Lake Austin Blvd. It's good to be back in this community. These apartments are even better than the ones we lived in before. There are children everywhere, and they are from all over the world.

Although the apartments themselves have an institutional quality (replete with linoleum floors), our kitchen is big enough to accommodate my antique side-board (a recent acquisition that's been in my family since the 1830s!) and our kitchen table. The kitchen has a sliding door that looks out onto a lovely communal courtyard (in which I am determined to play croquet and bocce-- affectations or not). The first day we moved in we heard a rapping on the sliding door, only to find two adorable girls from Argentina looking for Lucero.

We had our first sleep-over visitors. Agapito's cousin, Enrique, has just left after visiting with his wife, Lily, and their adorable daughters, Savannah and Alyssa. We had an awesome time. The kids got along amazingly well (as did the parents!). Lily and I had a fun time roasting our husbands. I found that the usual bones of marital contention became comical in the company of friends.

Lucero will not be able to remain at her elementary school, despite our many attempts and appeals to the school board to let her stay. Our dilemma is that we want her near the spanish immersion aftercare program, because her Spanish is suffering. But the other nearby schools aren't super awesome.

Okay, so for the exciting news. Agapito and I have decided it's a good time for me to adopt Lucero. I thought it might not be that emotional, given that Lucero and I have been together for a few years and I have always emphasized that I will never leave her and that I love her more than infinity. So, what's in a legality, right? Wrong! It's very emotional. It's had a powerful impact on both of us. I had no idea, so that is very special for us. I've heard that writing down "I love you" for your child is very reassuring; if you write it down and put it on the wall, it creates a deeper feeling of security. Maybe the material act of adoption works the same way (like marrying even if you live with someone and have kids). It was hard to convey "legality" and "official" to Lucero, so I explained to her that everyone would know I was her mom, even the president of the United States. She has a number of friends who are adopted, so I think her understanding of the significance is because of them.

I didn't know that I was going to be so affected by adoption either. Maybe because in the back of mind I know that, right now, I am legally her "step-mom". Ugh! Let's face it, Disney has done nothing good for the image of step-mom, especially when a child's birth mom has passed away. If I'm her mom and I'm reprimanding her, it's because I love her and want to raise her right. If I'm her step-mom reprimanding her, I'm evil! Wow, I didn't realize I felt this way until I wrote it down. I spend so much time as an anthropologist, deconstructing every social institution. But as ever, there is no escape!

I recently realized that Rosalía is now about the same age as Lucero was when I met her. So, for fun, here is a picture of Lucero at 21 months, followed by a couple from her second birthday.

Keepin' up with the Hybrids

2009-02-16T13:55:00.000-08:00

I have been putting off updating the blog for a few reasons, not least of which is the pressure I feel to write something brilliant to make up for the lapse. In place of brilliance, I give you the very cute pictures above.

There's a lot going on right now. We are moving, yet again, at the end of February. It's back to UT apartments for us, but saving a heap of money without losing space. I am excited to return to a community of grad students with kids. Let's face it, it's nice to be around similar people. It will be great for the girls to be around kids whose families value knowledge and culture but don't necessarily have a lot of money. As lovely as I find Hyde Park, it's a tad precious. And all the money around here that doesn't think it's money is really annoying. What's especially irksome is the way that having money makes people think that luxuries are essential items. Piano lessons and hand-carved organic fill-in-the-blank are not essential, people!

Nonetheless, we are trying to keep Lucero at her current elementary school, despite the fact that they don't allow people who live out of the district to attend. I remain hopeful, but if she can't stay, it's not so bad. I worry about her growing up with wealthy kids (read: upper middle class). Some of her classmates live in mini-mansions. I hate to think that as she gets older, she'll worry that her clothes come from Target instead of Nordstrom. I used to envy kids whose parents got them clothes at Mervyn's, and I was embarrassed to wear second-hand corduroy pants long before they'd made a comeback (cue the mournful violins). Rather than using those memories to justify spoiling my kids, I'd rather bring them up around people who don't overemphasize superficialities. Basically, I'm looking for a utopic and egalitarian community sans hippies and religious fanatics...

A friend from Europe once said that Americans are obsessed with talking about how poor they were growing up, even if they weren't. I think it's true. Even people who grew up with money have to defend themselves by talking about how hard their parents worked to make the money they have. That annoys me. A lot of people work really hard and they're still poor. I wonder why I seethe with class rage, still. Right now it's particularly sharp. Must be those bail-outs. I just don't see why those Wall Street jerks can't be forced to live on minimum wage. Sorry bud, you gotta move to Queens and live like the majority of us.

To be fair, even if many of Lucero's classmates come from "comfortable" homes, at least their folks are liberal money. That's central Austin for you, a big cuddly lovefest of liberal money. What's so wrong with that? Why do I feel hostile towards it all? I think I'm the only progressive liberal who isn't basking in the afterglow of Obama's election.

In other news, Agapito is in Mexico for the week. His younger brother, Danny, was hit by a motorcycle and we're waiting to see what happens. What else is there to say other than life is filled with suffering, y'know? (and other inspiring quotes for my daughters). I don't believe in interventionist prayer, but here's hoping things turn out all right.

Rosalía was dragging Agapito's work satchel around the housing and saying "Papa" yesterday morning. It was sad. I miss him.

I'm going to distract myself with an inane tv show. I've watched "Grey's Anatomy" for the last 2 nights. What a terrible show! All of that mugging and dime store philisophical reflection. And they manage to trivialize most every major life event with wry grins and annoying xylophones in the soundtrack. "Scrubs" and "House" are superior. And yet, the melodrama of "Grey's Anatomy" distracts me enough until I fall asleep.

Coming of Age in Austin

2008-11-25T07:40:00.001-08:00

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

2008-11-21T19:07:00.000-08:00

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

2008-10-09T07:26:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-09-10T20:57:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-09-10T20:53:00.000-07:00

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!!!

2008-09-10T20:30:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-10T20:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-10T19:58:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-06T12:56:00.000-07:00

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 makers 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

2008-06-17T07:09:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-16T10:31:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-06-02T12:37:00.000-07:00

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!