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.