Annje Unabashed

The wisdom of Dr. Seuss

2011-12-03T17:08:00.004-06:00

I keep wanting to update, and then it seems overwhelming, there is so much to catch up on and so little time, it seems.

On October 29th we completed our first entire year here. Can it really be a year?

Looking at the year in retrospect, can't really be done today. I have spent all week with a late-spring flu, horrible body pains on Monday and Tuesday, fever and chills and profuse sweating during two nights, then a cough that has kept we awake ALL frickin night for 3 nights in a row, and the cherry on top was waking up this morning with pink-eye. AWESOME!! There is no other word for it.

I also seem to be writhing in some kind of ... should I say it?... mild depression. There I said it... no worries though, everything is under control. Ok, that is not entirely true, but I'll be fine. I think.

I was reading Oh, the Places You'll Go! last night to the kids and a few stanzas stood out.

And when you're in a slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

and then...

I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.

and I think I got a little teary-eyed. That Dr. Seuss was one wise dude.

Speaking of the kids... they have adapted great. After their year in Kindergarten and pre-pre-school, immersed in Spanish, they speak almost like little natives. It has been amazing to see how they went from speaking a few isolated words to speaking in full sentences, telling stories. They don't speak perfectly, and sometimes they get genders wrong or I'll hear "Yo me gusta", which is not grammatically correct in Spanish, but it is somewhat consistent with English "like" structure... so interesting!

Now the kids even play with each other in Spanish and do some of their solitary-play-talk in Spanish, which is fascinating. We still speak English with them at home though.

They both still struggle a little with "saludos". Here in Chile, like in many Latin American countries, you greet and say your farewell with the cheek-to-cheek kiss. They do ok sometimes, but others, they just can't be bothered. Especially when saying good-bye, which they are normally not happy about, they don't want to kiss anyone. I can relate, though, so I don't push it. But it is interesting to think about how social norms, just like language, have to be acquired.

It has been great to see how they have developed bonds with family here. G has a cousin her age. They have such different personalities that it took a little time, I think, to learn how to negotiate that relationship, and since families spend a lot of time together, they were forced in some ways to deal with each other. But now it is so cool to see how they resolve conflict and how they join forces against "outside threats"

Nico: is it a stage? is it the age? is it because he is a boy? Dealing with him has been slightly complicated at times. He is so whiny and so needy; he is somewhat sullen; he is stubborn; he is defiant. I am afraid to report I often have less than sufficient reserves of patience to do something as simple (seemingly) as brushing teeth.

But he still looks just as edible when he is sleeping quietly.

This little llama takes after her mama

2011-09-30T20:20:00.002-05:00

Her favorite sandwich is tomato, lettuce, and avocado... and in a certain order.

She is my kid for sure.

Happy 18th Chile!!!

2011-09-16T06:48:00.005-05:00

September 18th is the date when Chile celebrates its independence. They celebrate "la chilenidad" (chilean-ness) all week--las fiestas patrias. It is the favorite holiday of many Chileans.

It means:

A long weekend. We are going here.

Fondas where you drink chicha, a sweet grape-based licquor and dance the Cueca, the traditional dance of Chile. Check out Margaret's photos from last year.

LOTS of empanadas (See Emily's photos here)

BBQ

Here are my little kidlets in traditional garb for their pre-school independence day celebration, dancing traditional Chilean dances.

FELICES FIESTAS PATRIAS!! Have a long, lovely, safe, food-filled weekend!

Lady Marmalade

2011-09-13T19:38:00.006-05:00

I am finally finding time to cook a little again... for fun.

I took a few pounds of these:

and reduced them

and added some more stuff:white sugar, brown sugar, balsamic vinegar, red wine and a few sprigs of thyme

and ended up with this:

Onion marmalade... quite delish!

I used this recipe here (but used butter/olive oil instead of bacon grease)

Just another English teacher

2011-09-09T19:59:00.002-05:00

Most gringas (and gringos) who live or have lived in Chile, have at some point taught English.

My first job in Santiago, 15 years ago (good lord!) was teaching English. (I have also taught Spanish since then.) If you remember the "How we met" story, you know I met my husband teaching English.

Some do it because it is a good way of living abroad for a few years. Some do it because they found the love of their lives, who happens to be Chilean, and now they live here and whatever they studied has been rendered useless either because there are certain areas of study, take law for example, that don't "travel" well or because they are limited by a language they don't know--Spanish.

Some actually like teaching English... but there are many who would rather do something else, anything else. I have lost count of the number of times I have heard a gringa say: "I don't want to teach English, I want a real job."
Many gringas are also irritated beyond belief at the unfounded assumption that they are English teachers... in terms of annoyingness, it chalks up there with the unfounded assumption that all gringas are easy. We are not all easy and we are not, by the mere nature of our gringa-ness, all English teachers.

So, it is funny, in this context of opposition and the with the discourse of desiring a real occupation, to be a gringa who works in the English-teaching industry. It is not just because I am a native speaker, though that makes me more marketable here in some ways (though it is slightly illogical in other ways--because just being a native speaker in no way makes someone a better teacher). I am a language-related teacher because I love it; it is one of those unexplicable passions. I love language, I love how languages work, I love the random similarities and the baffling differences. I love talking about universal grammar and the critical period and minimal pairs. My doctorate degree is in language education. Teaching about language is what I do. It is what I have chosen to do.

I am actually not an English teacher per se... I am an English teacher-teacher. I prepare future English teachers. I try to help them step out of the box that they were taught in--"a fill-in-the-blank-worksheet is not an activity" and "how are you going to activate their previous knowledge?" I teach theories of second language acquisition and methodology courses.

But I can understand the irritation piqued by that unfounded assumption that if you are a gringa, you teach English. I get it.

Recently a woman I know told me that her (adult) son had asked her to ask me if I would give him English lessons. I sweetly (because she is sweet) said: "I wish I could, I just don't have time." (and I silently whine: "I have a 44-hour contract, I am expected to research and publish, I leave home at 7:30 am (because I live far), I get home some nights after 8:00 (because I live far), I love what I do, but I have two kids and a husband that I want to see and not enough time to read or run or watch movies, and you are asking me to spend my precious free time giving English lessons.")

When I meet people in the hall or bathroom at the university where I work and they ask what department I am in and I say Education and they say, nodding-- knowlingly, assumingly "Oh, you teach English." There is a little twitch in my brain and I politely say "I teach language pedagogy." (and I silently hiss to myself... "and I have a Ph.D. in the field"). But I don't say it out loud because I don't have to prove my worth to anyone and I am actually mostly uncomfortable talking about my Ph.D. (despite having mentioned it like 15 times in this post, but you guys already know!)

I have friends who, when we made public our plan to return to Chile, asked: "Are you going to teach at the institute again?" I reply politely, "No, I think I'll find a university job" (and I silently, sarcastically hiss to myself: "Dude, I just spent years finishing my doctorate degree so I could totally go back to what I was doing 10years ago!") But I don't say it out loud because I don't have to justify myself to anyone.

It is an odd space, feeling perfectly happy with my very real job, feeling like I don't have to justify what I do or why, but not wanting to be put in the gringa-English-teacher box that the other gringas complain about either.

ya know?

... and worms

2011-08-27T17:17:00.003-05:00

My hubs is also obsessed with worms... is that weird?

We compost, I think I have talked about that before. We LOVE composting! If it were up to him, not a single scrap of organic material would go to waste--if you run in our circle, at some point you will hear about composting toilets... probably over dinner after Nico calls us from the bathroom to help him wipe... I hope you have a stomach of steel.

Anyway, my husband is always concerned about the health of our compost heap. He spends quite a bit of time digging around, assessing if there is enough heat, checking out whether there are worms or other signs of life.

Don't believe me? Look...

It is seriously something that comes up in conversation as we lay chatting at night before falling asleep:

"I haven't seen any worms in the compost. What does that mean?"

When he finds worms, he is happy, he thinks it means something very positive about the compost. He's probably right, it is just funny, is it not?

Look! It was obviously a good compost day!

Someone will sleep in peace.

Views from work

2011-08-16T20:42:00.003-05:00

One of the things I really enjoy about where I work is the natural environment. The grounds are beautiful, it is so quiet, even the air feels different. My workplace is right at the foothill of the Andes. This is the view of the city from the floor where my office is.

This is a back view facing one side...

and here is the back view facing the other direction.

Not too bad, huh?

(I used a kind of crappy camara, pics don't even do it justice)

Have I mentioned he likes to prune...?

2011-08-10T20:23:00.004-05:00

My husband likes to prune... I mean he really likes it. He spends a lot of time pruning and re-pruning, and trimming trees and shrubs.

Sometimes it is like one of those bad jokes when you tell your hubs that you have to get ready for visitors and he starts pruning... it is a lot like that actually.

At our house we don't throw away any organic matter that will compost back into rich soil. Leaves are left to compost in the grass, and in addition to pruning the trees, he spends even more time cutting those bigger pieces into sticks and twigs that will break down and compost. So we have sticks and twigs covering lots of ground space--just think of it as a rough mulch.

We also have piles of stickes and branches in other spaces... I like this old wheel-barrow.

Remember a few months back when I made plum jam? Well, this is what is left of the plum tree.

He says it is a "drastic" pruning. Yes... drastic is one way of putting it.

We have a running bet going about whether or not it will come back in the spring. He says it will come back. I find it hard to believe I will be making plum jam again this year... or ever again. What do you think?

The funniest, weirdest thing is that he will not touch this ancient fig tree. He hasn't trimmed one little branch!

Though I think it was the only tree in the yard that desperately needed pruning.

Sunny Sunday in the yard

2011-07-31T17:35:00.003-05:00

It is winter in the southern hemisphere. In Santiago it gets cold at night, but during the day if the sun comes out, it can reach a decent temperature. Because of some sprinking rain we got over the weekend, the air was a bit cleaner today, the sun was out, and the sky was a bright blue. I am recovering from a cold bug, so it felt good to get some air outside.

So this was a piece of our Sunday in the yard.

G making grass angels

A sibling hug

One of the lemon trees... can you say "pisco sour"?

Our winter garden. We could only grow a few thing: baby lettuce, spinach (with some swiss chard sneaking in) onions and leeks (which have been very slow), and radishes.

Little harvest: some swiss chard that I sauted with some olive oil and garlic... and the first little radishes I picked to make room for some others--which we had in a salad with some of the baby lettuce.

Is there anything quite so divine as something you grew yourself?

I hope your Sunday was happy!

Class Rooster

2011-07-26T21:18:00.001-05:00

Guess who cried when he was told that he couldn't take the rooster home?

Expressions of discontent

2011-07-19T11:17:00.003-05:00

My daughter has begun openly expressing her feelings of unhappiness with her parents.

She has uttered those three words that all parents hear eventually--(though they think they will never hear because they are model parents): "I hate you!"

Personally, I think if you never hear those words, you may not be setting the limits you should be setting, but that might just be to make myself feel better.

She has also taken to frowning, grumbling, wailing, and of course, the timeless favorite, the screetchy whine.

A few weeks ago, grmbling at me for some reason I can't recall, she exclaimed: "I am going to send you to the jungle! I'll help you pack your bag"

I tried very hard not to laugh and asked her who would make her waffles in the morning.

Today, upset with her papi about feeling unfairly gilted in a game of kick-the-ball-around-the-room, she quickly drew this picture and gave it to him to express her anger.

Do you see that frown? those tightly-knit brows? The message is quite clear, no?

Random thoughts on a Friday night...

2011-07-15T21:05:00.003-05:00

It is Friday night. It is cold, very cold. It has been raining for two days which means that when the sky clears, the view of the snow-capped Andes will be clear and vivid... until the city smog settles into the valley again.

These are the moments when I love living here, even in the winter. I will try to get a photo... you will die (figuratively, of course, I hope) and then rush to buy a plane ticket. It takes your breath away.

Rain means "sopaipillas" in Chile. We have eaten them twice today, once with an aunt and then again because our sweet neighbor brought some. Sopaipillas are little fried disks of a pumpkin dough, explained beautifully here, with a recipe and all. They are ok, much better with a killer "pebre" (their version of hot sauce --looks a little like pico de gallo, but not as spicy), but as far as pumpkin things go, pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, pumkin cookies, pumkin pancakes, jack-o-lanterns, and roasted pumpkin seeds win by a landslide. Not that I am culturally biased...

These past few weeks have been a little more relaxed. I know you didn't exactly know my life wasn't in a state of relaxation, but I think a few of you noticed I hadn't been posting. My first semester as a university professor (can you believe that?!) has been winding down and then ended this week. I just have to grade one last set of final exams. My reprieve will be short-lived though--the second semester begins the first week of August and I still have a lot of preparation to do. Is it too early to start dreaming of December? (December is the end of the school year)

I can't believe we have been here for nine months already. Time has flown by. I am busy with work all week. Weekends seem to fly by too. Saturday we "recup", get groceries, etc. Chileans are prone to very long Sunday lunches with family. By long, I mean loooooooooong... like from 2-9. When we host, it also involves cooking and preparing before that. Part of the reason is the Chilean tradition of the sobremesa the after-meal discussions that extend for sometimes hours.

We all have a good time, even though I always end up with that sensation that I lost an entire day. The kids have really enjoyed playing with their cousins, so I know they are creating memories and building a sense of family, which is important.

At the end of this month I have to apply for permanent residency, a delightful beaurocratic process that involves lots of line-time. I am pretty sure I am going to pay someone to do it for me, because I don't have time. Please don't worry about any lack of authenticity in my experience, I have had lots of practice renewing visas with extranjeria (immigration), so I have done my time.

Also at the end of this month, the hubs and I will celebrate our 10 year wedding anniversary... which means we have been together for 14 almost 15 years. Does that seem like an eternity to anyone else? I think 10 years deserves something special, so for our anniversary, I am going to officially, publically recognize him as my spouse on Facebook. Stay tuned for his reaction!

Artificial Sweeteners and Other Evils

2011-07-10T19:39:00.003-05:00

Peg at Cachando Chile posted today about annoyances one has to deal with living in Chile. I have only been here for 9 months (Can you believe it has been 9 months already?!) and I have tried to be flexible and positive. There have honestly only been a few moments where I have been very irritated. Besides the example I added in her comments (about the inappropriate use of emergency lights) there are not very many general irritations.

The only other one I can think of is this:

I HATE artificial Sweeteners!

Is that too emphatic? Well, it is worthy of emphasis. I hate'em!

In the U.S. they seemed fairly easy to avoid, in Chile this isn't quite the case--they are nearly impossible to avoid and products that contain them are not always labelled as "light" or "diet." I was excited to find greek yogurt at the supermarket and was then dismayed at home to find it has sucralose though it doesn't say "light" anywhere... GRR!

I drink pop every once in a while, and when I do, I like regular Coke. I put regular sugar in my coffee. Occasionally, at a party, if there are only diet sodas, I'll break my general rule and drink some, but I try not to break that rule with foods and drinks my kids ingest, but it is nearly impossible: sucralose and aspartame are in everything.

Kids here, like kids everywhere (and adults everywhere, I guess), have problems with obesity--it's a combination of being sedentary and the low cost/easy access of fast food. These issues coupled with the odd cultural fact that Chileans just don't drink water. There is a low-no calorie alternative for every drink available, and they are almost more common than the real-sugar option. There are drops and little tic-tac-like balls and bottles and packets of all kinds and combinations of sugar alternatives.

But when they start making children's juice and soda with alternative sweeteners, I go a little mad. The hardest part of our entire-family vacation in February, was the head-on collision of different feeding criteria. My kids wanted to know why they couldn't drink Frutix--the bane of my existence! whenever they were thirsty (Frutix is an insanely bright colored kids' soda with very low calories thanks to sucralose... and 5% real fruit juice! ps--that last part was sarcasm). I was wildly unpopular for a few days for limiting them to one very small glass with lunch (a painful compromise) and my daughter even requested a different set of parents. My poor kids! I guess I am old-fashioned that way--soda is for special occasions. It is bad enough to see very small children with a baby-bottle full of coke and a bag of potato chips -- for me, the fact that it is probably diet coke makes it worse, not better.

If your children are ingesting too much sugar, cut down. If your children are drinking too many calories in juice and soda, give them water. Why would you give them something that has a limit for acceptable daily ingestion?

Lecture ends and Annje steps down from soap box

p.s. I finally found a vitamin for the kids that doesn't have an artificial sweetener--so excited!

p.s.s I'll try to post more often

Date Night

2011-03-19T09:25:00.003-05:00

Anyone with kids will tell you that it becomes infinitely harder to go out alone as a couple. I know there are couples who make date night a sacred, scheduled part of their lives. Hats off to them because it isn't easy. I think most of us, however, struggle with it. It is not that we don't recognize the importance, it is just that there are so many factors that have to be considered, it can be overwhelming.

Who is going to take care of the kids is the biggest obstacle. We thought that would be a little easier to arrange here, but that hasn't necessarily been the case. In the almost 5 months (ah!) that we have been here, we have been out alone exactly thrice... for birthday celebrations, on days that my FIL happened to be home (which is rare). It is not just a matter of who stays with the kids, it has a lot to do with what time-frame it involves, what the "baby-sitter" will be expected to do (bedtime, meals, diapers) because those details help determine who you can choose to baby-sit.

There are economic factors too. If a family member isn't an option as a baby-sitter, you have to pay one. Which means you have to consider all of the above, plus adding babysitter fees to the cost of the evening out. And really, are you going to look for the cheapest babysitter to take care of your offspring?

There is also the fact that no matter what you do on your night out, no matter how late you come home, you get up at dawn with the kids anyway. (ok, at this point it isn't dawn anymore, but it feels pretty early after a night out.)

This week, I planned a night out with the hubs. I called an aunt that the kids adore. She and her daughter agreed to take them for the night (they slept over). I told my husband what to wear and what we needed to bring. But the rest was a secret.

So last night this is what I surprised him with:

We got on horses at dusk and rode up into the foothills of the Andes.

As it got darker, we saw the (almost) full moon rising above the mountains. When we got to our destination, a little over an hour later, there was a fire waiting for us and a breathtaking view.

Our guide and her Huaso (Chilean cowboy) helpers grilled some sausages and veggies, opened a bottle of pisco sour (what I call the Chilean version of a margarita) and some wine. We sat around the fire, enjoying the view, the sky, the fire, the silence of the mountains. My hubs loved it (he loves fire & mountains) and it was the first time he rode a horse.

It was seriously beautiful! I would do it again in a heartbeat. My only regret is that they started getting us settled on the horses and I didn't have a chance to get out my camera, and once on horseback I didn't dare try to get it out, so I didn't get to capture the beginning part (when it was still light and we were riding up the mountain).

How's THAT for a date night?

Plus, since the kids spent the night at their tia's house, we both got to sleep in until 10:30 (a luxury).

Now, Hubs has to organize the next one (though the bar is set pretty high).

Lost

2011-02-27T20:08:00.002-06:00

Me: Did you lose your keys? (he had been borrowing my keys all day)

Father-in-law: (with certainty) No ... (then hesitates)I mean, I don't know where they are, but I don't think they are lost yet.

Clearly lost has a slightly different meaning in some contexts... I mean, if you don't know where they are aren't they lost? Or are they just misplaced, until it is permanent and they are never found?

Ah, keys!

My husband's family is a black hole for keys... if you lend them your keys, always demand them back immediately after the key-task is finished. They laugh at me because I am really anal about getting my keys back, I will come after you, right after you open the door and say: my keys, please. I will hunt you down...

Keys are important here because there are so many to get in and even to get out of a residence. There is a pad-locked gate outdoors to get out to the street. If you don't have a key, you can't get out. There is a barred door and then the front door, which locks when it is shut. (Don't get nervous for me with so many bars, I am not in danger--it is just life here) There is a key to the back sliding bar door that covers the sliding glass door, which also clicks locked when shut. We have locked ourselves out before (Thank you Nico! and another good reason to carry your keys on your person at all times) and had to slide Nico through two of the bars over the front window (thank goodness his head just fit through... next year we won't be so lucky).

When we went to the beach house (which has no bars, by the way, but it does have an alarm), my husband took both sets of keys to the truck... and at one point he realized that we couldn't find either set... for DAYS! How does that happen? I honestly don't understand.

I never lose or misplace keys, like ever. I always know where my keys are, I always put them in the same places or carry them on my person. So it is just bizarre that I live in a house where no one can ever find keys... seriously, like ever. Keys have been an issue as long as I have known my husband. Handy as I am, I am an excellent key-spotter. If you set them down and can't remember where, I'll tell you, because I saw them. My mind registers things like that.

They are also notoriously bad at searching for lost items (that weren't just set down somewhere odd). It's like they just can't fathom where they might be. I keep muttering: "Retrace your steps" and "What were you wearing?"

So I finally did an exhaustive search for the truck keys... and found one set of in a pants- pocket. The other set was found days later in another pants-pocket.

So in a sense, the riddle has been solved, at least for some of the misplacements... pockets is the answer. The keys just stay there and the pants come off.

So curious.

I suggested to my FIL that he look in last night's jacket pocket.

Another key mystery has been solved. The not-lost keys have been found.

Home Alone

2011-02-06T14:09:00.003-06:00

It is Sunday afternoon. The house is quiet. I am home alone. My husband and kids are at the beach house. I am headed there Monday evening for two weeks. (I know, my life is so tough, we've been here a few months and now we get a vacation). February is vacation month in Chile, it is warm and sunny and breezy, the city is quieter and more relaxed, the streets are not as congested, and a good percentage of Santiaguinos go to the beach or down to southern provinces.

I stayed behind to get some work done. (I am assuming that when I said "work" my husband didn't imagine that it included blogging, but I needed a break (ahem, from facebook) so here I am.)

Yesterday I got up and went running. This morning I played Pink full blast as I got ready for the day. I have gotten TONS of work and reading done. There is no mess... anywhere. There is no cooking, no dishes, no dirty clothes. I have no obligations.

I mean, I miss them, of course, I miss them

But this is HEAVEN!

I am going to be teaching at a university in March (fall and the school year here start in March). I am excited, but there are moments when I am in an outright panic. I'll be teaching courses for the first time--which involves a boatload of preparation and reading. I am also in charge of a Master's program, which I half laugh about because I feel ridiculously underprepared for such a position. I will be teaching in the MA program and in the undergraduate program.

Plus, they keep asking me to do more. At some point I started worrying about how in the crap I was going to organize my time to get everything done. And then one of the program directors asked me to take another class. I blame it on his accent. I wanted so badly to say no. But he is from Argentina (though he is not one of the infamously arrogant Porteños) and his voice is so smooth and sing-songy and he uses that voseo "Mirá" instead of "Mira". And I couldn't say no...

And I alerted my hubs, that apparently protesting is futile, I cannot say no to an argentino, so he stands forewarned (and he is desperately working on changing his accent-HA!)

Being alone here is funny. Because everyone asks you if you are scared. (to stay home alone, to go running in this neighborhood alone, to walk the two blocks from the subway at night... alone). I think they think I am just clueless to all the dangers lurking in their city. I am not... but sheesh! What am I supposed to do?

I am not really frightened to sleep at home alone, but my first night I woke up in the middle of a night because there was a noise INSIDE my bedroom. I jumped up and there was a random cat that had come in an open window and was roaming around my bedroom. (Eileen is so thrilled that she is not the only one that attracts random cats--though I couldn't find her post where that happened) So now I close a bunch of windows at night.

An account of an account

2011-01-21T14:40:00.002-06:00

There are certain things in Chile that are just harder to do… like opening a checking account.

In the U.S. this process is much easier… as I understand pretty much anyone, even children, through their parents, can open a bank account there. I didn’t have any money as a kid, but I opened my first bank account at 18, when I went to college, with a whopping $20. They gave me checks, a debit card, later online access (which wasn’t available when I first opened the account, if that gives you any indication of my age, there were no email accounts at that time either, if some of you young whippersnappers can imagine!)

Now, before anyone says, “Well, no wonder the US is in the financial mess it is” (because someone said that to me already when I mentioned the difference in ease). A checking account has nothing to do with any credit mess or housing bubble: a checking account is a virtual place where you can keep your money and take it out when needed… it is not a line of credit, you can’t take out more than you have (in theory, and at least without a hefty fee and eventually serious consequences), there is generally no benefit of accruing interest. Oh, and it is also almost always free (unless you do your banking somewhere swanky).

In Chile, it is notoriously difficult to get a checking account, and it is even harder for foreigners. You have to make a certain amount of money, you have to show up to two years of pay stubs, sometimes you have to prove you are on a contract. As I understand, checking accounts here often come with a line of credit. There are charges: for maintenance, sometimes for transactions, sometimes if your balance falls below a certain amount, etc.

When I was living here before (10 years ago) it was unthinkable for a foreigner to get a checking account. You just kept your money under the proverbial mattress (ok, there is not exactly a proverb about money under mattresses, and one of my pet peeves is how people use proverbial when there is not a proverb… but I am breaking my own rule and you know what I mean, right? “Under the mattress is some kind of saying… but you don’t necessarily keep it under the mattress, but something to that end.)

Moving on… I find it ridiculous, at this point in my life, to work on a totally cash basis… right? No matter what the context or how much I make or how long I have been working where I work, or what my immigration status is… that I would have to go cash a check for several thousand dollars (or whatever the amount) and carry it home and keep it there… every month, until I meet whatever silly requirements there are to be met. Does that make me sound like some arrogant, indulged, brat with some disproportionate sense of entitlement? Well, whatever… dude, I want to pay my bills online, ok? Call me spoiled!

So I found out about a type of account here that called a RUT account. In Chile, instead of a social security number, you are given a RUT, it is a number you use for everything. I finally have it memorized, after having to tell about 10 people who asked for it “I don’t have it memorized.” The shame won, and I memorized it. So, there is a bank that offers accounts based on your RUT. It is a simple account with no benefits really, but you can electronically deposit your paycheck and you have a debit card and can pay things online and make transfers and toda la we’a (all that crap). So, I thought: “perfect!” But, alas (of course) it was not to be… I went to open a RUT account and was told that since my residency visa is temporary (for the first year) I was not eligible to open one.

So, since then, half the world has said: “I am certain you can open a RUT account with a temporary visa… so and so did”

Well, while I am sure that is true, I couldn’t... I am not going to try again (and yes, I did try at an “uptown” branch) You see, I am one of those rancorous people: I hold a grudge! Banco de Estado didn’t let me open a cuenta RUT, so they will never get my millions! (I may one day eat my words, but I feel VERY strongly about it now ;-)

No, but seriously, I was really annoyed! Who cares if my visa is as a temporary resident? I moved here permanently. And it is an account with NO benefits and NO risks (you can’t take out more than you have in it). Seriously, a girl of 12 or a boy of 14 (why the difference? I have no idea) with no regular income can open one, but I can’t!

So, I bypassed the system…

All Chileans and all foreigners living here will tell you that you can do almost anything if you have a “pituto” (pee-TU-toh) which is what you might call “an inside man” (or woman, or whatever), a contact you have that helps you get a job or better service or a better price or whathaveyou.

My father-in-law mentioned to my brother-in-law’s brother at a family dinner that I hadn’t been able to open a cuenta RUT. He happens to work at a bank in a semi-highish position (I gather). He said: "give me your datos (info) and I’ll have an account executive call you tomorrow and set you up with an account."

So I did… and he did… and they called… and I have an account. I even got a call from the branch manager to welcome me to the bank and to make sure that everything had gone smoothly and that I had been treated well.

Today I had to go in to pick up a little apparatus called a “multipass” which generates passwords every minute, which you need, in addition to your personal internet password, to do anything online.

The bank employee looked at my ID card she asked: “They gave you an account even though you are a temporary resident?”

Yes! You see, my people know people who know people.

This is where I keep waiting for something to go horribly wrong: they take away my account because I have almost no money in there, or they decide they don’t want to take a risk, or they start charging me some astronomical maintenance fees or something and I end up ruing the day that I tried to bypass the system… someone tell me that is not going to happen?

Of course, if I have any problem… my “pituto” told me to call him and he’d take care of it.

Coming... coming

2011-01-13T19:58:00.002-06:00

Sorry to abandon you for so long

I have been busy! Like panicked busy...

Not too busy to make plum jam with Eileen though. (Click on her name and read her take on Santiago being named the #1 place to visit by the New York Times)

The jam turned out pretty good, but a little tart (then I made juice that was too tart and tarts that were pretty tart--apparently the plums are more tart than they come across). I told everyone to eat the jam quickly, just in case... I don't want to kill anyone with botulism.

Anyway, I will write something of substance soon... I think!

Going Local

2010-11-29T17:36:00.003-06:00

One of the great things about getting out of Santiago, and especially of going down to southern Chile, is the local products and dishes. There are areas known for certain agricultural products, fruits, other areas for wine, others made famous for national or regional dishes, and then there are dairy products like cheese and butter that just taste so much better bought from some little farm or local factory and sold at a picturesque road-side stand.

For example, we stopped for lunch and ate "Plateada" which is a cut of meat similar to brisket, but cut in thick strips, slow cooked--braised really, and served with potatoes. It is a dish that is served all over Chile (as far as I know), but for some reason in Romeral, at the restaurant "Colo-Colo" it has gained national fame.

Then, on our long drive from the south of Chile back to Santiago, we stopped and stocked up on some local goodies:

Longaniza (sausage-above) and home-made country cheese from Chillan (below)

and cherries from Curicó

Life gets harder...

2010-11-23T10:40:00.009-06:00

Ok, that is a blantant lie!

It hasn't gotten harder (yet... but I am sure it will). Life did get more breathtaking for a week as we accompanied my father-in-law to his conference in Puerto Varas, a small touristy town just north of Puerto Montt, in the Lake Region of southern Chile (about 1000 KM/621 mi--10 hours by car with my speed-devil FIL).

Puerto Varas is one the shores of one of the biggest lakes in Chile: Lago Llanquihue (yan-QUI way) with the background view of two volcanos: Osorno and Calbuco.

Among Chileans there is a kind of collective nostalgia for the south of Chile... captured in one of the songs from Los Prisioners in the 80's: Tren al sur

With its lakes, rivers, forests, volcanoes, mountains, and fjords (and lots of rain) it is also a popular destination for tourists who come to Chile. I love the south of Chile, I think because it is very similar to the geography of the Pacific Northwest where I lived for many years. In fact if you flip the globe they are on parallel inverted lattitudes (if that makes any sense).

While travelling with two small tots is never exactly relaxing, we did have a great time and enjoyed the stunning scenery.

We ate in places like these:

I tried raw oysters for the first time. I tried to photo-document it, but it turns out I am not all that attractive while eating, so I will spare you that photo. Verdict: they are actually pretty good, I am not sure why I resisted so long.

By far, the highlight of the trip was the Saltos de Petrohue, a series of falls at the base of the Osorno Volcano.

I still can't get over the color of the water... mesmerizing!

Lovely, huh?

Don't hate me...

2010-11-07T20:04:00.006-06:00

... just because I get to spend weekends and holidays here... (meet my father-in-law's beach house in Mirasol)

My brother-in-law (who is an arquitect) designed it.

Did you see that?

Yes, that is the view!

My hubs helped come up with ideas for the gardens...

We hung out at the beach

and went here

and ate this

with this lousy view

It was a tough weekend! But you can feel a little bad for me because on the beach, my hair looks like this:

And though our first day was lovely-sunny, our second day was only lovely-cloudy

I went running on the beach in the drizzle and then had to spend the rest of the morning like this, meditating over coffee...

The kids were clearly unhappy too

So, you see, there are some perks to living in Chile...

Now, when are you coming to visit?

Here

2010-11-03T20:30:00.002-05:00

After a long over-night flight trying to make the kids comfortable enough to sleep, hence without sleeping much ourselves, we are here, in Chile. It almost doesn't feel real yet.

Our first few days we spent recovering and having long lunches, full of welcome speeches, with my husband's family. The kids have loved having all this new attention, they love their new room and new toys, playing with their aunts and uncles and cousins and Tata (grandpa). They don't seem to be having any problems living in a new country.

oh, except G REFUSES to speak Spanish. She understands, but she won't answer or repeat... I am sure that will change, but for now I think it is important to respect her process.

These first few days have been vacation-like, but I know the complicated part is just about to get started. After a few days of rest, we started "tramites" (errands), bureaucratic steps, like getting ID cards and practical matters, like getting a cell phone.

It is odd to be back in a country, a city that I knew much better at one time, but now only vaguely remember. So much has changed and so much has remained the same, it is both disconcerting and comforting.

It is a re-encounter with many things, some positive, like the view of the Andes, the corner stores where I ran to get bell peppers and then 10 miuntes later returned to get oregano while we were in the middle of cooking lunch and others negative, like the ambiguity of all bureaucratic processes which result in standing in line at the registro civil to get my carnet (ID card) discovering that I am missing a step, making a trip downtown and standing in line at International Police to register my visa, a step that the consulate failed to mention and that wasn't specified anywhere on the website, and now I get to go back to stand in line again to get my ID or going to the supermarket (Jumbo)--OH MY GOODNESS! the number of people they can fit in a store here!.

I took the metro (subway) downtown today to run some of these errands. The subway system is awesome and would totally be awesomer except for the herds of people that make it intolerable at certain times of the day at certain stops. But it was lovely to walk around my old stomping grounds (I used to live and work right down town, a few blocks from La Moneda--the presidential palace).

I had to change dollars into pesos, so between that and carrying some important documents, like my passport, I was a little nervous. My husband says I am too cute to rob, but I am not sure that is a good enough deterrent ;-) haha. That is another thing that will be hard to get used to-the sense that you have to be cautious and aware at all times.

We went to the cemetery today to visit my mother-in-law's gravesite (my husband hadn't been back here since just before she passed away four years ago this month).

I saw so many interesting things and didn't have my camera

... next time, I promise.

Leaving on a jet plane

2010-10-27T21:57:00.004-05:00

My flight from the US to Chile is imminent... a countable number of hours away. I won't be more specific just in case I do have an internet stalker who would love to foil my plans... with my luck in this move, that might just be the case.

I can't believe the departure is finally here. It has been an exhausting week, packed to the minute with last minute details and good-byes.

We had to go to Houston on Monday for our last papers. The legalization of my university documents and the kids emergency travel papers (in lieu of a Chilean passport to enter Chile as Chilean). It had to be left to the end because they give you a window of 10 days to travel. So the timing of everything has been a little stressful.

It is about a 2.5-3 hour drive. About an hour into it, we started having car problems. We decided to risk it and keep driving. We HAD to make it to the consulate. There were a few scary moments, but we got to our exit, pulled up to a red light and the car died... like died, died-couldn't even pull the key out of the ignition.

But considering a quite unfortunate situation we were VERY fortunate!

We were two blocks from the consulate.

We were right next to a Starbucks and 3 guys came over and helped push the car into a parking lot.

One of the three guys used to be a mechanic at his parent's garage, so he set us up with towing numbers and his parents. He looked under the hood and said it was the serpentine belt (runs the alternator--all the power for the car)

We finished our activities at the consulate and got the car towed to this guy's parents' shop.

His parents are perhaps the sweetest people we have met in a long time. The man is in his mid 70's, has had a heart-attack, and is hard of hearing. His wife of 60 years works by his side, helping run the same old-time garage for over 50 years. All of their 5 kids have worked there at some time.

Our car isn't very common in Texas (where you are no one if you don't have a Ford 150-it is bizarre) so it was hard to find the part. This little old woman called and ran all over Houston, until 8:00, trying to find the right size belt finally found one, but the store closed. So we had to wait until the next day. The man had been helping entertain the kids with little Texaco trucks from the 50s and 60s. The woman took us to Target to get some supplies and then to a Hotel nearby.

In the end, the bill was much less than we had imagined. the belt itself cost about 70 and I think they charged us for 1.5 hours of labor, plus the towing, so it was not the catastrophic amount we imagined when we broke down.

We were so moved by the generosity of these people, going way above and beyond what a normal garage would do for you... so sweet! He even asked for our address so he can send us the photos he took of my filthy kids playing with trucks.

It was one of those experiences that alters your view of humanity.

We drove back yesterday and have since been lost in a whirlwind of tasks.

......and my next post will be from SANTIAGO, CHILE!!!!!

River play

2010-10-17T22:19:00.004-05:00

Still waiting on the consulate, of course...

We are having lovely fall weather so we got out today to enjoy it. I finally let my hubs talk me into renting a canoe with the kids. I have fought it until now because the idea of tipping over and having to try to save the kids with my lousy swimming skills frightens me. But they are getting old enough to know to sit still so we did it. They loved it of course! We also rode the train (and saw Jack Black) and had pizza and snow cones.

It is still in the upper 80s here so my little fishie begged to play in the water. It was a little mossy for my taste, but she clearly had no problem.

Shipping News

2010-10-14T14:37:00.002-05:00

Have you read that book? It is good, but slow, and not at all what this post is about.

It is not that I have been lazy about blogging, I promise, just busy keeping the kids from chasing the cats and being loud and touching things and running or jumping... just being kids, generally, which seems to be annoying to people who don't have kids... but they will soon, so they will see.... haha, the joke is on them...

We have had some delightfully informative conversations about parenting and discipline where I like to say: "Yes, that is brilliant... in theory" ... and then I chuckle knowingly to myself.

The good news is that we finally shipped our boxes. Our final pile looked like this:

We debated and fretted about what company to use for shipping and finally decided that one of the port-to-port alternatives we found (recommended by friends in Costa Rica)would be cheaper and much more straight-forward. It does mean that we had to take our boxes to Houston (the port) and we will have to pick them up in Valparaiso (Port in Chile).

In the end it feels like any method of shipping you use and any company you contract, you end up genuflecting, silently blessing your boxes, closing your eyes and just hoping it all works out. But it feels SOOO good to finally have that taken care of.

They were organized on three pallets and shrink wrapped and measured and weighed. There is about 10 cubic meters and probably over 3000 pounds.

It kind of looks like a lot of boxes, so it is surprising how useless most of it is in terms of setting up a house. It is all books and tools, some kitchen stuff and a few toys.

The tools part was fun! I tried not to question what my hubs wanted to bring... I mean, I have boxes and boxes of books and I was adamant about bring other things(kitchen) that I know will be hard to find. So I tried not to be judgmental about the tools. But I found myself asking: "Really, there won't be shovels in Chile?" and "Where will you store that enormous and very heavy extension ladder?" and exactly what and where will you be digging with those three pick-axes?" But my hubs loves garden tools. What can you do?

The worst part was that every time I said we had to be packing, he'd start organizing his tools. It brought us close to divorce and nearly drove me insane. Now when people ask him what he is going to miss most I jump in and say "his wife."

One day he spent a good 20 minutes trying to take the head off of a rake-with different drill bits and then a saw and I said "really? is this a good use of time? how are you going to reassemble that?". I finally had to put my foot down and make him do something useful or die a slow and painful death. I am bossy and make very unrealistic threats to get my way. It is the only way to get things accomplished, I have found.

We are almost ready to fly... just have to get a hold of the consulate. I wish they would answer the phone.

Big changes coming up

2010-10-01T14:13:00.003-05:00

So, we did it... we finally sold the house! It is done. We are out. We packed eveything we are sending to Chile in boxes; we packed everything we are carrying with us in suitcases. We signed away the first and only house we have ever owned.

There is so much about it that still seems surreal. I already miss my own space. I miss our friends down the street that I never tire of seeing. I miss the park two blocks away where we have gone almost daily for nearly 4.5 years. I have this heavy sadness now, though I have been too tired and busy keeping my kids from picking up, chasing, releasing into the wild, or otherwise harming (or being harmed) by the 5 cats of the friends we are staying with until we take off (yes, that is every bit as fun as it sounds.)

Is it always sad to leave a house? I am not sure. Perhaps, because we are not leaving it for a new house, where the sadness might be overtaken by the excitement of filling up a new space. There is excitment somwhere inside too, for the new adventure that lies ahead, but right now the sadness is most present. We are leaving our own space for a space that isn't ours. We are leaving a life already established for a life that will take a few years to settle into. We have sold almost everything we have accumulated in our 9 years of life together and will arrive with books and baking sheets.

So we will be heading out in a few weeks. We don't have a date yet, we still have to take care of a few things like shipping our things. As soon as that is taken care of or scheduled we'll buy tickets and make the final trip to the consulate for the final paperwork.

Can you believe it? Soon I'll be blogging from Chile!

Speaking about blogging from Chile... I have contemplated starting a new blog for this new chapter of my life (now with more photos! and fewer posts on marital strife!) ... would that confuse my 3 readers? Would that be annoying? Part of the reason is that I have never liked the title I gave this one... I just needed something-- played with a spanglish title and then settled for an alliteration obsession. But I am NOT actually all that "unabashed"-- well maybe about illegal immigration and health care reform-- but generally speaking, I don't just lay it all out there (or maybe you think I do, who knows?) so it has never seemed to fit. I even contemplated trying out a new blogging platform, like wordpress, but I don't know... does thata require a lot of patience? Because I am fresh out...

Any ideas? suggestions? objections?

Polkabats*

2010-09-21T23:45:00.003-05:00

Life is busy this week with my birthday and packing (yes! and yes!), but I wanted to leave you with something other than inherited relationship patterns...

It is fall! Well, in Texas, it is only fall-ish. This means temps drop into the mid sometimes even low 90s. I love fall. And even though it doesn't really feel like fall in Texas, I feel it...it is an automatic reaction in my body. I start dreaming of pumpkins... so does my daughter, G.

She also starts talking about Halloween. This year, determined not to wait until the day before Halloween until I buy costumes, I bought them at the beginning of September. G is going to be a pirate--she is so excited. We found a little pirate dress to wear over some black leggings. I made her a patch and we found a sword, a hook, and hat and even some earings (clip-ons-and I will spare you my opinion on piercing little girls' ears). Nico is going to be a race car driver. He is very into driving--or playing with anything with a steering wheel. Apparently that really does come hard-wired in the male DNA because we have done nothing to encourage it.

I got a hook/sword set for Nico too because otherwise I would end up wanting to shoot myself in the foot as they fight over just one sword. It has kept them entertained, they run around the house yelling "Petah Pahn" (peter pan)

We have also done some fall art--though I have no arts-n-crafty bones in my body--seriously, my kids are art-deprived.

But we did do these:

I was thinking of the cute little poem by Calef Brown called "Polkabats" in his book Polkabats and Octopus Slacks. He writes the most imaginative little poems for kids and does these amazing illustrations. Check him out...

Who have you turned into?

2010-09-13T22:22:00.004-05:00

(Note: to read more about the MHC-Major Histocompatibility Complex, that mechanism I mentioned in my last post by which you can "smell" whether a potential mate is genetically compatible, see teamawesomesquared's post here. It is one of her specialty areas... cool huh?)
-----------------------------------------------------------

Because we really haven't delved deep enough into relationships...

Even if a delectable smell and perfect body proportions are enough to initially incite your passions, not all pairings lead to a long-term relationship and/or marriage. There are complex reasons why we choose the mates we choose.

I know, in a way, over-analyzing love this way is not romantic. You will not find a fairy tale definition of love in my musings. It is all pheromones and your mother, here.

... and maybe a little astrology, I have told you that my husband and I are the 3rd generation of the Taurus-Virgo combination, right? Coincidence? Self-fulfilling prophecy? (My sister-in-law also married a Virgo, her husband's birthday is the same as mine and he and I have some interesting similarities... it makes you wonder... no?)

The psychology (caveat: I am clearly not a psychologist) behind choosing a mate, sub-consciously searching for certain characteristics and establishing a kind of relationship dynamic is a tangled but fascinating web.

My husband and I were watching a movie or a TV show the other evening and one guy made the observation that at some point in your marriage you discover that you are (or have turned into) either your partner's mother or father.

I turned to my husband and said: "Who am I babe? Your mother or father?"

Then I gasped and said: "Oh my god! I am your father..."

He kind of turned to me, with this odd look in his eye, a recognition, almost like shock. Then he said: "What about me?"

But, that is a tougher question. He is definitely not my mom, and the knowledge I have of my father is patchy. I know him, but haven't had much contact with him since my teen years. My husband is only like my father in the sense that he is not very communicative about his feelings, it has to be beaten out of him, but it seems like a lot of men are like that, so it would be hard to say I chose my father.

Clearly, if you both come from a very healthy dynamic, none of this is a concern. If the relationship models you both saw in your parents were loving and kind, none of these sub-conscious mechanisms will make you fearful.

Perhaps all I can say of my own parents is that they had an awful relationship. They were married for 13 years, had seven children and then divorced. Post-divorce they were just as hateful toward each other. My husband's parents were married over 35 years until his mother's death a few years ago, but they also had a bitter, painful, rancorous relationship.

The funny thing is that I have had two fears as a married woman: turning into my own mother (sorry, mom, you know it is complicated) and turning into my husband's mom.

I can't quite make sense of it all; there are these wheels constantly turning giving me a feeling that at some level we are recreating and reliving some set of patterns, that I can just sense but are beyond my complete grasp. Do you ever feel that way?

I am like my mother in some ways. It is odd how you seem to choose a mate who will allow you to turn into your mother (or your father), isn't it?

I am also like my mother-in-law, in some ways. After we were married I started seeing some of the parallels. My husband is similar to his father in the way he relates to me, and I in turn react much like his mother reacted. We have tried to be conscious of it, to work on creating a healthier dynamic. I guess in the end that is all you can do, take it a few steps farther, make it a little better than what you saw in your models.

But I honestly hadn't seen the ways that I had taken the role of his father, that one took me by surprise. I knew that we had some similarities in our upbringing: coming from chaos we have both become driven-we push ourselves. Yet, I hadn't considered the ways that we are both, not just driven, but drivers.

I don't believe that there is only one person we can be with. I think there are lots of possibilities for most of us. But in some ways it is absolutely uncanny that I would travel to the end of the world and happen to find the man with the perfect smell, who fits all of my safe requirements (if you remember my toleration post) and that together we happen to fulfill all the wierd psychological roles that need to be filled.

What's your story? Who have you turned into?

Decoding love

2010-09-09T13:34:00.005-05:00

I am serious when I say I have been thinking about relationships lately... I have all these relationship ideas just floating around. So I am going to try to share them in some random, non-sensical fashion.

I think a lot about why we choose the people we choose, why we see some people as potential life partners whereas others just don't measure up. Our bodies must react, either negatively or positively, on several different levels.

I think biology has a lot more to do with it than we think. Do you ever wonder what kind of assessments or analysis your brain is doing sub-consciously?

I was reading an article about the science of love that mentioned research that was being done on the "major histocompatibility complex." It was only explained briefly, and it is not completely understood, but from what I understand, it deals with the messages your body sends through smell--chemicals, pheromones. At some level it is a kind of biological selection-choosing someone who is genetically compatibile with you.

This idea is fascinating because smell has always been a big factor for me--is that weird to say? It is not about deodorant or cologne or morning breath, just that bare-bones, man-in-his-essence smell that has to speak to me. I love my husband's smell; it has always driven me crazy. It is like my body knew that we would make these:

(One of my favorite pics of all time, captured by the hubs)

Not that all kids, or even my kids, are genetically perfect, or you may even choose not to have kids, but it seems that bodies send some kind of biological messages, which other bodies decode--the idea of sensing strong genetic what-ifs...

Do you ever think about the biological side of love? Does that take away some of the "magic"?

Toleration

2010-09-07T21:13:00.004-05:00

I recently got an email telling me I had been added to a list of travel blogs about Chile. The description of my blog was fine, but part of it made reference to my husband getting the raw end of the deal.

So I felt kind of bad for my sweet hubs and decided to make up for all the mocky, complainy things I have said about him here. I think all relationships have their weaknesses and strengths, and perhaps I more readily share some of my irritations, because they are more comical (in retrospect). But make no mistake: I got a good one… I am lucky.

I have been thinking about relationships lately anyway, not because mine is in crisis, but because of some things I have been reading and some conversations I have had.

Scenario 1) We are at the Chilean Consulate. I am talking to one of the female employees about my visa while the hubby entertains the kiddos. She notes: “He is good with your kids.” I confirm that this is true and that they adore him. She adds: “At least he is involved, if I ask my husband to help out he tells me to screw off.” Me: WOW!!

I told my husband about it later in the car. She is probably my age, not like she’s from an older generation, and her husband, though he is Chilean, grew up in the U.S., so I don’t know if the “it’s cultural” card can even be played… and my husband is Chilean and grew up in Chile. I can’t even imagine, seriously, having a husband who doesn’t or won’t participate in child-rearing.

Scenario 2) I am at a girls’ night in, at a friend’s house. We are laughing and the wine is flowing; one of the women turns to me and blurts: “Does your husband just fart ALL the time?” There are hysterical peals of laughter as many start sharing their stories… while I am thinking, “No, no he doesn’t.” Not that our home is “gasless”, but he doesn’t walk around just “lettin’er rip” or make a show of really “leaning into it” or lifting his leg and laughing about it. No, farting is not much of an issue here.

Scenario 3) I am talking to a friend as my husband is getting home from soccer practice. He suggests I should go give him a massage. I tell him that is not how it works. He said, basically, “if he doesn’t get what he needs at home, he will look for it elsewhere.” I just laughed and said, “No, he won’t.” He was surprised at how certain I was, he was incredulous that it wasn’t even a worry of mine. I am not naïve and it is not that I think I am ALL that with a cherry on top that he could not possibly be tempted elsewhere. I know that people are mysteries and can change and do things that are unexpected, but I know at least that much about him--it just is not in his make-up.

I have been ruminating about what we tolerate and what we don’t, in a relationship. It is fascinating how it varies so much from person to person, and how it is all intertwined with our upbringing, our relationship models, our interests, personalities, fears, and desires and how it changes over time. I am sure that other women look at parts of my relationship and think: “I would never tolerate that.” I look at some things other women deal with and think: “I would never tolerate that.” I know it is complicated. I know you have to pick your battles. There are things you thought you wouldn’t tolerate and you do because there is some kind of payoff. There are things you don’t tolerate because you chose a certain kind of person. There are things you thought you could accept that just seem to drive you insane. There are things you tolerated at the beginning and have grown an aversion to. There are things that might be unpleasant, like farting, but in the long run, really aren’t that important. There are things, like abuse, that I wish I could convince all women to never tolerate.

So just so you know how lucky I am, here is a list of things (besides farting and cheating ;-) that I don’t have to deal with: in many cases because he just doesn’t do it, isn’t interested, or it is not part of his nature, others that I don’t tolerate or probably wouldn’t tolerate even if he were into it—

No back hair
No video games.
No Sunday night or Monday night football… He rarely watches sports except soccer.
No ogling of women in front of me.
No porn.
No controlling or guilt.
No jealousy.
No yelling or screaming… ever.
No name-calling, belittling, or insulting, not even once, not even in anger-never.
He would never, ever physically hurt me.
He would never refuse to watch a “chick flick” with me.
He never gives me a hard time when I go out with the girls and leave him with the kids.
Oh, and if I ask him to carry my purse or go buy tampons, he doesn’t even blink!

You can say it: I have the perfect man!

It almost makes putting up with this and this and this… seem so minimal, doesn’t it?

What do you have to put up with? What are you lucky enough to not deal with?

(edit: or for all of you lucky enough not to be married/paired up (haha), make it past or conditionl: what would you tolerate/not tolerate? what have you had to tolerate?)

Running from lameness

2010-09-04T17:09:00.003-05:00

Do you ever get those sad reminders of how lame, or lazy, or just reluctant you are of breaking free of your comfort zone?

I had one of those yesterday... so sad... so lame

I ran this:

Clearly, that is not the lame part, that was the awesome part!

It was fun!

But let me tell you, I was all sorts of hesitant to run it. A guy from my hubby's soccer team invited us. The team was me and 3 guys. I felt really insecure about it: about running with 3 guys, in a race, about being the slowest (which I was, but that is ok.) I couldn't believe I had agreed to it (that damn margarita!) but couldn't back out.

So we ran it. There were 4 laps, each one was 2.44 miles, which is not long. I usually run 5 miles, 3-5 times a week, but not running as fast as I can. It was just under 2.5 miles and I thought I was going to die. Maybe I need to plan better pre-race energy foods? I felt like I was going slower than ever, and it felt harder than ever... plus there was a little incline at the beginning--bonus!--I was like good god! you have to be kidding me! I am 50 feet into it and I am already out of breath and in a panic! But then it got better.

I was the slowest, but I ran a good time for me, which is really all that matters. I ran a 7.30 minute mile, when I usually run a 8.30-9.0 minute mile. So I finished in just over 18 minutes. My hubby and his friend both ran about a 6.15 mile and the last guy ran just under a 7.0 minute mile. I was happy I did it, just breaking out of my comfort zone and doing something different.

(note to self: learn how to drink while running! Between the movements and the heavy breathing, man, it is hard to swallow. I almost drowned in the two inches of water from the little paper cup I was handed on the route.)

So, the lame part is that I have lived in Austin for almost 9 years, I have RUN in Austin for almost 9 years, and I had never run an official race, not a 5K, not a 10K, not a half-marathon, not a relay. So lame!

I ran 3-4 races in the last year or two I lived in Chile, after I had gotten into running. But for some reason, here I just haven't even looked into it, or I make excuses that they start too early, that I am too tired, that I just had a baby, that I have too much studying to do... there are millions of excuses. But when you get together with a bunch of people who all love doing something you love to do, it is such a cool feeling and you feel so inspired (to train harder so you legs look like THAT!)

I talk all the time about running a marathon... I just need to do it! even if I am not as prepared as I want to be... maybe it is one of those things that maybe you never feel ready for.

So I am going to start running more races... and then I might sign up for this, a marathon in Chile, in December, along the Pacific Coast.

How so NOT lame would that be?

Confession # 8: Imperfections

2010-08-31T21:18:00.003-05:00

How lame is it that I have only posted four times in August? Pretty damn lame!

I am not sure who or what to blame, the hot August blahs? It is not like I have been busy... it's definitely the blahs.

As penance, I'll end the month with a confession.

First, you should know that I am not very vain. I have blemishes and cellulite, just like the next girl; there are a lot of things I like about me such as my hair color and my hands, but there are also things I don't like that much. But as a general rule, I don't worry about my imperfections much-they are part of who I am and our obsession with physical perfection is just downright unhealthy.

My "beauty" routine, even when I have one (which I don't, currently) is very basic. I primp and preen very little.

I can't stand to spend more than about 10 minutes on my hair. I do get hair-cuts, that are spendy because I have short, freaky hair, but I get cuts that require minimal morning committment. I put some gunk in it and dry it. Done!

I wear minimal make-up, but only if I have somewhere to go. I never make myself up otherwise. I put on some eye stuff and maybe this barely-there foundation stuff (that is no longer manufactured :-( I can't really get away with anything more than lip gloss or a very neutral color lipstick. Once I put on make-up, I never touch it up or re-do it.

After I get ready in the morning, I rarely look in the mirror again... all day. I never feel the need to "see how I look." I NEVER look in the mirror if anyone is around, like in a public bathroom, or a mirror in a public space... NEVER! It just makes me feel weirdly self-conscious.

Second, I always feel like I don't have that much to complain about. I am not a beauty queen, but I am not extremely homely either. I run quite a bit, so my weight is normal, I have a tiny build, but don't think I am super skinny, really. A facebook friend wrote in her status update one day that she hates when skinny women complain about their bodies... I always feel like that is going to be the reaction if I say I am unhappy with something, because I know I don't have it so bad... so I usually don't share.

But here is something I have learned: society creates a space big enough for all women to be unhappy with their bodies.

So here are a few of my funny little imperfections:

1) When I was 13 I went to a make-up night with a church group. The beautician told me that I had eye-brows like Brooke Shields. I went around for months telling family and friends the good news. I grew up with out a TV, people, I had never seen Brooke Shields. Then I saw her... and never bragged about having eye-brows like her again. To be fair, mine aren't that... what's the word? bushy? It's not a unibrow, they are not abnormally hairy... but I have a sister that mocks me incessantly (because in my family we show our love by making fun of physical imperfections)--she holds her hands above her eyes and moves her fingers like my eye-brows are swaying algae on the ocean floor. Of course, she plucks hers into almost non-existence, which I find equally disturbing. To be honest, I have zero interest in plucking eye-brows. I try every once in a while and then quickly realize that I just.don't.care! I have eye-brows, so shoot me!

2) I have creepy feet. It's true. But just because I come out and say it, doesn't mean I want you to stare at my feet when you see me next, ok? They are the kind of feet that probably shouldn't walk around in flip-flops, but it is hot, so I don't care. Plus, I am sure someone has uglier feet, so I take comfort in that. I have short, wide feet (think brick-ish). My toes are short and stubby, like little nubs, and kind of curl under. They sit really tight together, like they were meant to be webbed, but separated at the last minute. I can do nothing with my toes-can't separate them, can't pick anything up. Also, I may or may not have fungus on two toe-nails, which I may or may not blame on Ecuador or genetics and which I may or may not refuse to solve by taking some anti-fungal pill for 6 months that is really hard on your liver. If you know anyone who has an incurable foot fettish, I can cure it. They will see my feet and will not be able to fantasize about feet ever again. Yes, I have that power. Does all this classify as TMI?

3) I am missing a tooth... as in, I had a baby tooth, it fell out, and there was no permanent tooth there to grow back in. One of my English students in Chile once, was a dentist and noticed it: "la teacher is missing tooth number 19" (or whatever number it is and in worse English, but defintely with the "la" in front) It is genetic; my brothers are missing two, the same one and then the one on the opposite side and I think another sister is missing one too. It makes for a little gap in the front teeth, which used to be more pronounced and bothered me more, now I don't care very much... I should have had braces, but my parents started orthodontic care with the oldest of 7 (I am 2nd) and then promptly got divorced, so the rest of us didn't get our teeth fixed. C'est la vie! One of my vain goals, when I have loads of dough, does include getting braces and then a titanium implant. Will you think less of me if I have "work" done?

There are other imperfections (perhaps not quite as "funny"), of course, let's see, just off the top of my head: my eyes are too close together; my stomach will never resemble flat again thanks to abdominal separation with my last pregnancy and a double c-section scar; and my legs, in proportion to my size are strangely puffy and amorphous, complete with cankles, fatty knees, and fleshy thighs.

Apart from those few things, I am the essence of perfection!

Anyone else want to share their funny imperfections on the interworld?

For other confessions see here, hereand here... and maybe here

An unlikely couple (warning: explicit)

2010-08-23T13:37:00.003-05:00

This may classify as one of those things you don't just "put out there" on the web, but I thought it was hilarious.

Every once in a while, I like to say something that takes my hubs by surprise, something that I just normally wouldn't say. It is not that I am particularly prude, but I am definitely not crass.

We were looking at some photos he had taken at an expo last week. He went with a co-worker of his and his wife; they are newlyweds. He had taken a picture of the two of them. They are both very nice, but in many ways they are just an unlikely couple. Even physically, they don't quite fit. He is very tall, probably 6'5" and very skinny. She is from Mexico, very short, about 5' and what you might call chubby. We were talking about how it is that unlikely couples come to choose each other.

(There is a concept, I believe in evolutionary psychology, called assortative mating that asserts that people ususally end up with a mate of equal value-though exactly what "equal value" means might be debated)

So, I said: "I wonder if people think that about us."

He looked at me and said: "What do you mean?"

Me: "Well, you know, because I am so hot" (totally tongue in cheek btw)

We both laughed. Then I added: "People must think you have an enormous pe.nis."

(hysterical fits of laughter--which is not meant to insinuate the contrary, btw--during which I may have even offered to help him carry it)

"Of course" he said, "why else would YOU be with ME?"

Then later, he adds: "I like that story better, actually, than assuming that if a hot woman is with some old, ugly guy, it is because he has a lot of money."

Me: "yeah, and that is so clearly not the case here."

-------

It reminds me of something I read in a novel called Mating (Norman Rush) that I am reading (very, very, very slowly, I might add):

"Causing active ongoing pleasure in your mate is something people tend to restrict to the sexual realm or getting attractive food on the table on time, but keeping permanent intimate comedy going is more important than any other one thing."

What do you think? Do lovers that laugh together, stay together?

(and does the word "lovers" in reference to a married couple creep anyone else out?)

Fantasy

2010-08-18T23:44:00.002-05:00

I watched Date Night last weekend with a couple girl friends. It was funny but not as funny as I thought it would be... I may be picky about my comedies.

The main characters were a maried couple, with kids, who had gotten to a blah point (yes, that is the technical term for it) in their marriage. There was one point where their friends, another married couple, confided in them that they were getting divorced, and the main couple was talking about it one night. The husband admitted to having fantasies about Cindy Lauper, an odd choice, perhaps; the wife said her only fantasy was just to be ALONE.

This may have been the funniest line in the movie. I SO get that!

My husband woke up one morning, hugged me, and told me he had just had the worst dream. He dreamed that I had left him, but that I hadn't left him for another man, I just didn't want to be married anymore.

I told him that, sadly, that is how it would happen.

My fantasies never involve finding someone better, newer, more exciting, more handsome, smarter, kinder, sexier. No, I have it pretty good in all those arenas. My fantasies involve living on a remote island BY MYSELF.

It is absurd, even at my most irritated moments, to think life would really be better with someone else. In fact, when those horrible "what-if" scenarios pass through my mind in which I must face dating again, I shudder with fear and dread (but then, I was never very good at dating.) If anything, it sounds like a lot of effort: trying to figure out what makes him tick, what ticks him off, what pleases him, what baggage he carries, is he trustworthy... moving through all the stages of a relationship, negotiating all the terms... sounds exhausting!

I don't even want a cabana boy on my island. I can make my own mojitos.

A huge part of that desire comes from being constantly "on call" with the kids. The number of times I hear "mommy" every day is mind-boggling. Even when "papi" is home and the kids want little to do with me, I am "the getter-of-things" and "the listener" of all the observations and memories and questions and wishlists.

Fortunately, my husband needs very little coddling and ego-stroking and entertaining and emotional reassuring. Still, I am the house manager: I schedule, remind, find, oversee, organize, prepare, budget, etc. There are moments when I don't want to answer to "mommy" or "babe" one more time; I don't want to help anyone find anything or clean something or pick up after anyone; I don't want anyone to need me for one more thing.

I want to sit by the side of a babbling stream and read all day if I want; go on long hikes and not carry any snacks or diapers or changes of clothes for anyone; sleep uninterupted and wake up late; wash only my clothes and the dishes I dirty; have entire weekends where no one else's "me-time" interferes with my "me-time."

Anyone else have a fantasy? Did I steal yours?

Visa in hand

2010-08-12T23:19:00.003-05:00

When I tell people we are moving to Chile, the reactions are so interesting.

Many people think it is exciting and a great opportunity for our kids.

My family is not very happy that I am moving, which is not that unusual when you consider they are my family, but a little odd when you consider how rarely I see them.

One of my sisters lives in the same city I do... and I hardly ever see her. She has calculated and is convinced that we will see each other exactly four more times in our lifetimes: she'll be able to come to Chile maybe twice and I will come back to the US to visit twice. I tell her that is probably more frequent than I see her now.

My general practitioner, who had to write a letter for my visa, stating I was in good health, with no communicable diseases, looked at me with mild disbelief and asked if I didn't like the U.S. anymore. It is a lot more complicated than that.

Several people have almost congratulated us on "getting out just in time," before Obama completely ruins the country (not my position, clearly). Apparently, Chile is one of the hot destinations for wingnuts who want to escape the socialist U.S. and pay lower taxes. This fact is a little disconcerting. I can only gently remind them that Chile is a land of Spanish-speakers, plus you still have to pay taxes in the US, even when you live abroad.

I was talking to a neighbor one day who asked, why Chile? (my husband is from there) Had I been there before? (yes, lived several years) what is it like? (beautiful, frustrating, it is hard to describe, but it is not a bad place to live) Then he said: "But it is not the U.S., right? No, it is not the U.S., but I don't know how to communicate, just by tone, what I mean by that. What I meant is certainly not what he meant.

------
A month ago, I had a part-time job offer and thought I was going to be packing up and moving quickly to Santiago. We had an offer on the house so the plan was to take the kids with me and have the hubs join us a few weeks later, after closing on the house.

When our offer fell through, I had to re-think the plan. Not knowing what was going to happen with the house, leaving early and living in Santiago, not alone, but without my husband, would have been difficult in innumerous ways. I decided not to take the job, since it was only part-time, it would not have paid enough to pay for some of the services that would have made some of the inconveniences bearable... if that makes any sense.

So, here we are still, a kind of limbo-hell in some ways, but I have been trying to make the best of it, taking the kids places, hanging out with friends, making lots of goodies so I can eat my weight in frustration. It has been hard for me to sit down and write about any of it.

While I was thinking I was going to leave in mid-July, I applied for my residency visa, so I can live and work in Chile. It was approved quickly, but my plans had already changed. There are always timelines with immigration issues. Once my visa was approved, they gave me 30 days to go pick it up. Once I pick it up, I have 90 days to enter Chile. If I don't enter within that time frame, I have to reapply, which would be mostly painless... except for the $400 dollar fee and some time-consuming documents, like an FBI report to confirm my crime-free life.

I went to the Chilean Consulate Wednesday and have a newly stamped visa in my passport and several copies to take to immigration in Chile to apply for my identification card.

So... 90 days.

I would love to think that our house ordeal will be solved by then, but nothing will shock me now. I may have to go anyway, which isn't ideal in some ways, but may work out just fine, for several reasons, if it comes down to that.

Unexpected delights

2010-07-31T10:46:00.003-05:00

If I had known we were going to be around all summer, I would have planted a garden.

Yet, I found myself cultivating this little beauty that popped up from a potted plant.

A renegade tomato plant! Some of the joys of composting come as a surprise.

We already ate two tomotoes and there are two more growing.

Nothing feels more like summer than a fresh tomato.

Reading again

2010-07-21T14:02:00.003-05:00

I have been trying to be more dedicated about reading. I used to be an avid reader. It makes me sad to say “ I used to be”. I was so excited to read when I was four and couldn’t wait for kindergarten. All through my childhood I devoured books. As a teenager, I would stay up all night because I couldn’t put a book down. I could finish monumental books, of a thousand pages, like Gone with the Wind, in a matter of days (I also read a lot of Jude Devoreaux... teehee). In college, during winter breaks, I would average about a book a day (loved Herman Hesse, Kafka, and Dostoyeksky).

My life is fuller now and I have to delicately balance much more: there are other obligations to be met, relationships to be nurtured, and even other interests (running, cooking) that have to weigh in. Graduate school also took a toll on my lust for reading. After reading so much for classes, the last thing I wanted to do in my free time was pick up a book. And there was so much guilt if I picked up a book for pleasure, because graduate reading is never really finished, there is always more to read, more to learn.

Yet, recently, I have found myself yearning for good books, wanting to lose myself in someone else’s story, desiring to learn about something fascinating, longing for that sense of awe when wandering around a bookstore and thirsting for that sense of urgency to finish other bothersome obligations so I can get back to a book. So, I have started reading… again… in earnest.

The hardest part, after such a prolonged absence, is choosing a book. There is something about not having endless hours to read that makes me want to choose something worthwhile, something well-written, a kind of quality that resonates in your heart and resounds in your mind for years when you think of the book, something I will not gladly give up after 50 pages (like the Diary of Anais Nin… why, oh why can I not get into that book, when I so want to?) Yet, I also want a good story, something to lose myself in for a few hours when the house is dark and quiet, something that will be difficult to put down…

Clearly, I am not that much of a book snob… I did read this series over Thanksgiving weekend. But after years studying literature academically, I do have some elitist notions about “good literature”, so choosing books is sometimes difficult for me. I have been out of the reading loop, the real avid reading loop, for so long that it has been a struggle to put together a reading list of books that I want to read. This is further complicated by reading reviews of books online. I am on Goodreads, which has been both a bane and a benefit as far as choosing books. It has given me tons of ideas. But then I read the reviews of perfectly random strangers and I get cold feet. Negative reviews can be wrong though.

In the past few weeks I have read:

Life of Pi… and despite all of my literary training, I took the story at face value, a boy and a tiger in a life-raft. I liked it that way, no need for allegories of any kind.

Julie and Julia… and I was not irked that it was less about food and more about her personal crisis at 30.

The Heretic’s Daughter… brilliant, fascinating and it did not bother me one bit that it was written from the point of view of a young girl; there was nothing missing from the story.

Now I am reading Comfort Me with Apples (interested in food memoirs right now for some reason, but Reichl’s first memoir was not in at the library) and Middlesex.

I am sometimes skittish about giving book recommendations… I mean, if you ask me about a specific book that I have read and have memory of reading, I will tell you if I liked it or not… but if you ask: “what should I read?” I’ll say Brothers Karamazov or Anna Karenina or something and you’ll look at me crazy and never ask me again. But I always notice book recommendations of others and look them up, write them down. I have siphoned titles from other blogs I read that have mentioned books or asked for recommendations. I have even asked several blogging friends about what good books they have read recently and I am putting together a bit of a list.

So, recommendations? what do you got for me? I need a long list, because between the library and the used bookstore, it is luck of the draw.

I’ll even be brave and give you one: The God of Small Things (Roy, A.) –poignant story, beautifully written—even the title is heart-stopping.

On parenting, the ultimate killjoy, and why I chose it

2010-07-14T23:42:00.002-05:00

I recently read this blog post that was inspired, in part, from this fascinating article (and fascinating comments) in New York Magazine. There is so much to say that I am afraid I will only touch on it superficially, but it is too interesting to pass up.

In a nutshell, the article discusses whether or not having kids makes people happier. Personally, I think they got the question wrong. Well, actually, I don’t know what the question is, but I don’t think it is about happiness. But, I’ll get back to that in a minute.

There are a lot of truthful gems in the article:

a) Mothers, on the whole, are less happy than fathers (shocker!) and single parents are even less happy.

b) of 19 possible activities, one study found that women rated child care 16th in terms of pleasurability: coming in as less pleasurable than napping, shopping, exercising, and even ranked lower than food prep and housework.

c) My favorite quote: “They’re a huge source of joy, but they turn every other source of joy to shit”

We got together with two childless (child-free?) couples this last weekend. Both couples have pets, which they dote on more than we dote on our kids… just an interesting aside. Of course, any similarities with life with pets vs. kids ended as one couple described going out to lunch to watch the World Cup final, drinking 3 margaritas and taking a 3-hour nap. I thought to myself: “Wow, I can’t even remember what that kind of freedom feels like.” 3 daytime margaritas and a 3-hour nap is unheard of in the pack that I run with.

Now, obviously, I am not anti-kid: I have two of the little buggers running around half-naked somewhere. I mentioned the article to my husband this evening as we watched them playing in ecstasy together with a little piece of rope, laughing until they had hiccoughs, running, falling, giggling, hugging. He said: “This is pure joy.” I countered: “and in 5 minutes it will all be ruined as we fight them to get PJs on and teeth brushed and into bed.” Life is like that with kids: there are moments of intense joy and moments of intense frustration.

What the article brings to light, although it is nothing new for parents, is that parenting is not all joy. There is a lot of struggle, a lot of hard decisions, and lot of responsibility, there is competition and comparisons, there is school work and good manners, hygiene and hidden talents to find, and most of all, a lot of tedium and good old-fashioned hard work. The more kids you have, the more work there is, the bigger the strain on your relationship with your spouse, the harder it is to balance career, me-time, socializing, personal growth, etc.

The article discusses the impact of kids on relationships… as being potentially detrimental because kids are such big stressors. For me personally, having kids has both improved and detracted from my relationship with my husband. The only thing we have ever really argued about is distribution of household labor. Having kids has had a way of magnifying all the little inequalities of the relationship. Because I am the one who picks up after the kids, if my husband leaves something out carelessly, he gets a “gentle reminder.” When household chores and child-related duties are not even close to fairly distributed and we are both exhausted, tensions really escalate.

Yet, having kids has also helped our relationship grow. There is nothing sweeter than watching your husband help the kids repot their little tomato plants or giving the kids a bath. There is something divine in getting to see your husband in your kids’ little faces and getting to see your husband through your kids’ eyes.

This is one of the curious juxtapositions of life: when you have the energy, and the house is clean and the kids are in bed and you don’t want to boot him to the curb or scratch his eyes out, your relationship with your spouse is richer, deeper, and more fulfilling.

To me it is odd that there is an article claiming that parenthood won’t necessarily make you happy. I guess my response is “Duh!” I don’t think kids are the answer to happiness, much like fame, fortune, good looks, and a fabulous job don’t seem to be very good answers. Humans are funny when it comes to predicting our own happiness. Mostly, I don’t think we know what will make us happy. Of course, when you imagine yourself as a parent before becoming one, you always imagine one of those moments of utter joy and baby bliss, never one of the moments of tedium, so I can see where the misunderstanding comes from.

I am not trying to convince anyone of anything, really, just entering into dialogue with you and with myself. I know we have a lot of choices today as far as how we form families and I know that some people don’t have as many choices as others, either circumstances or biology or psychology…

Yet, the question of whether or not to have children is so interesting. Apart from the biological imperative, I am not sure why people want kids, like specific reasons. I always wanted kids, it was never really a question of if, but when (of course, I insanely thought four would be the perfect number and have since repented). At one point, when I thought I wouldn’t get the chance to have kids, I was devastated (and I try to remember that at certain melt-downish moments). But I am not sure I could verbalize why I wanted kids. I am not judgmental about choices, but I am honestly not sure why some couples decide not to have kids. Are some people just not meant to be parents? Is it selfish to remain child-free? Is it selfish and vain to insist on having kids in a world such as ours?

I get it: having kids changes your life for a long time. I get it: parenting is not all about reaping emotional rewards. But what in life IS all about joy and happiness? What aspects of life don’t suck up your time and aren’t dull and tedious sometimes? What major life changes aren’t hard on a relationship?

For me, there are definitely valuable lessons to be learned from parenting (and perhaps they can be learned through other experiences as well, I don’t know): selflessness, sacrifice, priorities, simplicity, sweetness, patience, compromise, importance, trivialities. They are lessons I learn and relearn every day. Some days I am tested and I fail, others I pass with flying colors. To me, being a parent is about loving someone more than myself, it is about learning to share my time and put others first, it is the ultimate journey of self-discovery and finding the ways in which I am like my mother and the ways in which I am not, it is that unmistakable sweetness in belonging to something bigger than me.

The end of article is fascinating. One point the author makes, that I have always said, is that most regrets are about things you didn’t do: very few people regret having kids, but quite a few regret that they didn’t (some don’t regret not having kids, I know). Then she briefly mentions a paradoxical study that found that women with children were less depressed than their childless counterparts, in part because the study was more about existential matters and less about momentary happiness, per se, which is fleeting, at best, and possibly non-existent. The author questions, as I did, whether the notion of happiness as it was used in many of the studies (as moment-to-moment happiness) is adequate to represent the gamut of emotion involved in parenting.

Then she mentions words like transcendence and purpose and retrospective gratification and you say, ah yes!

jeepers creepers: things I won't miss

2010-07-13T13:22:00.005-05:00

One of the things I will not miss about Texas is all of the scary stinging and biting critters. We pretty much have everything that stings or bites: snakes, scorpions, spiders, and a large variety of wasps and other stinging insects.

We live right by a fairly wild park. There is a playground, trails for hiking, biking, horseback-riding, a creek, a walking/running circuit of about 1.2 miles, etc. I will miss the park immensely; it was one of the main reasons I wanted to live in the neighborhood we live in. I knew I wouldn't run reguarly unless I didn't have to travel by car to do it. We go there at least once a day, with the kids to the playground or to throw rocks in the creek, go for bike rides or walks, and we take turns going running.

For a city park, there is quite a bit of animal life: we have seen deer, armadillos, road runners, rabbits, tons of birds--cardinals, egrets, geese, etc. We have also seen snakes. Well, I have seen them. My hubs is kind of jealous because he never seems to run into them like I do. For as much as I run at dusk, I really haven't seen that many, maybe 7 or 8 times. Some have been small, some long, but all non-venemous.

Until yesterday... when I almost stepped on one of these:

... a coral snake...My foot came down right in front of its head... but it turned back, startled, and slithered back into the bushes

It happend right after reading this article online talking about the shortage of anti-venom.

Jeepers-creepers!

Tagged

2010-07-07T22:02:00.002-05:00

For some reason, or many, it has been hard to get around to posting. But I need to post something so you can get over my last post on tampons and vasectomies.

I got tagged by Brooke over at Txting Mr Darcy. I guess it is officially an award, but I am going to call it a tag because I think a blogging award is somewhat unmerited… and then I am only going to follow the rules I want to: I am rebellious and irreverent that way. I will thank her because it was lovely of her to think of me. Thank you, Brooke!

I have actually been avoiding this post because it is one of those meme things, where I have to tell you 7 things about me that you don’t know. I have been wracking my brain, I tell you. I think you guys probably know me better than some of my siblings do. Also, I wrote this and pretty much covered ALL the things there are to know about me. So I will now write just totally random things from the bizarre recesses of my little head.

1. I love cheddar cheese on my Spaghetti (all Italians now shudder in disgust and muttering something about “stupid brute Americans”). I can’t help it, it was the way I was raised. And it was the first meal I had once after a stomach virus and it is forever carved into my memory as the BEST MEAL EVER!

2. My first “French” kiss was at 13 in my basement with a boy who had just drunk beer. I thought the taste was so foul, I excused myself and went upstairs to wash out my mouth. I still can’t drink beer, but I can now stomach kissing a certain beer-drinker.

3. My favorite perfume is Carolina Herrera’s 212. I love it. It is my fragrance and for years (12) the only one I wore (I recently got a new perfume as a gift that I like quite a bit). I am very possessive of 212. If my sisters say they might buy it, I freak out a little and tell them it is MINE, my scent, and they need to go find their own.

4. There is a teeny tiny part of me that loves country… music, dancing, cowboys and I have even contemplated on several occasions the purchase of cowboy boots.

5. These are my favorite underwear. They are cute (enough). They are cotton. They ride low but don’t ride up or in between. I will never understand the thong underwear craze. Buy some and come back and thank me because they will make your tush look cute.

Thinking thinking, stretching stretching… seven things is a lot of things. OMG There has to be something else in there...

6. I wanted to be a librarian when I was little. It was my first career goal. I used to make my brothers and sisters check out books from our bookshelves. I believe some of them still owe me over-due fines… plus interest.

ahhhhhh just one more... thinkthinkthinkthink....

7. I want to run a marathon--which may not be something you don't know actually. I already run quite a bit, I could run a half marathon if I wanted, so that doesn't feel like big enough goal; I just need to seriously train for the complete one. Maybe before I am 40... which is not that far off... good god!

So, the last rule is that I am supposed to pass it on, but I am shy about that, so I won't, but if anyone wants to play, consider yourself tagged...

The TMI post: Tampons, IUDs, and cups... oh my!

2010-07-01T16:11:00.002-05:00

I have the amazing capacity to get myself worked up into a tizzy by something that hasn’t even happened and may never happen. Does anyone else do that? You know, you have conversations with someone in your head and you get upset about it…

I will now warn my zero male viewers that the rest of this post will deal with menstruation and contraception, so if you are squeamish and want to click back over to ESPN, I will not feel rejected or mistreated.

I am not sure where to start… so, let’s start with contraception. I have two kids and for many, many reasons, that is enough. My husband, like many Chileans, is convinced that three is the magic number. I have told him: a) when men can bear children he can go for a third; b) he can have as many as he wants with his second wife; but c) I will not be having a third baby.

So after baby number two, I broached the issue of contraception. I wanted something long-term/permanent, but for a few reasons, I did not want a tubal ligation. I had kind of decided that a vasectomy was the way to go: minimally invasive, low likelihood of damage or problems and a pretty good success rate. The only other option was an IUD.

To make a long story short: I have an IUD. It is the Paraguard, or the copper T (ironically, the IUD my mother-in-law was using decades ago when she became pregnant with her youngest. But nothing is 100%, you know you have to accept a small margin of error.) The upside: it has no hormones. I have never taken birth control pills and I have just never felt comfortable with the idea of hormones. And seriously… I have BEEN pregnant; I do not want to take anything that tricks my body into thinking it is pregnant.

To make a short story long again, I was absolutely furious. The initial "get a vasectomy" conversation did not go well. I know most men aren’t really comfortable with the idea of getting snipped, and knowing my husband I knew he would be really, really uncomfortable with the idea. Yet, I felt I had sacrificed enough. He didn’t want to totally block the possibility of having a third. I assured him that I was not going to be having a third. He said you never know. I said I knew…. And so on and so forth…

I fumed, literally, for days, and finally I reasoned that I was the one who didn’t want more kids. If we were to part ways or if something were to happen to me (god forbid, of course) then he might eventually be in a place where he would or could have more kids. So I let it go.

Still, I cried when I went to get it put in, not about the babies I wouldn't be having, but reading about possible complications, uterine rupture and all that. But, it has been more than two years and there have been no problems.

Well, actually for a few months (or a year, whatever) I had the worst PMS in the history of the universe. I mean, I was homicidal for a good two weeks of the month. It was exacerbated by the nagging thought it my head that it was the copper T’s fault—due to copper toxicity or something, which was by default my husband’s fault for what I called “not taking any contraceptive responsibility.” I talked to my doctor she gave me some ideas and said it was probably due more to my age than anything else. Thanks Doc!

From my IUD I am going to jump to menstruation. First, I’ll say that I wish your body would just shut that function off when your brain had decided it was no longer biologically necessary and then I wouldn’t have to deal with this next issue.

I am a tampon girl. At 14 or 15, after the first awkward months of having a period and using pads, my step-mom suggested trying tampons. It was kind of scary and I remember crying in frustration trying to get it inserted correctly. But once I figured it out-- I never looked back.

Why am I talking about tampons anyway? Well, tampons are not very common in Chile. Most Chilean women don’t use them (something vaguely about being Catholic and fears of losing their virginity—which they may wish to re-define). Tampons are hard to find in Chile; there is no variety; they are expensive. This was the case 10 years ago, anyway. My husband suggested that it may have changed, but from what I have read recently by other ex-pats it is very much the same. I used to send my mom money to ship me boxes and boxes of OBs, for almost 4 years.

Rather than carry a 5-year supply down there with me, I looked into other options… well, THE other option, the menstrual cup. I tried the Diva cup. It took me a long time just to get up the nerve—is it that weird of an idea? Yes, I think it is a little weird.

Maybe it takes time to get used to??? But I tried it for a cycle and was not sold. It is a little messy, I can’t imagine having to do it in a public bathroom. I couldn’t seem to get it situated quite right. I couldn’t feel it; it didn’t hurt, but it kept kind of leaking, just a little.

The box says not to use it with an IUD, but checking online I saw that many women do. I called my OB and asked her; she said it was fine, so I bought one. The first day I used it I had some cramping. I hadn’t had cramps for a long time so, naturally I started worrying about it:

What if it dislodged my IUD?
What if it comes out, like I pull out the cup and my IUD is in it?
But the Dr. said it would work fine… what if she is wrong?
What if I am like the 1% of people who have issues with using both?
If it comes out, I am not getting it put back in… I won’t do it, I already did it once.
He’ll have to get a vasectomy
What if he refuses?
would I do?
Well, there would be no sex…
That would be miserable!
What if he just never gave in and didn’t get it done?
Would I leave him?

Yes, that bastard…

I got myself all worked up.

Later, I told the hubs about my mental conversation with him and how upset I was with him for his potential refusal, and how I was making ultimatums and such. I kindly suggested that if the situation should arise that my IUD comes out for whatever reason, it will not be going back in, and that when I tell him that he needs to get the V-job, he should seriously, seriously consider it because I have already resolved to leave him if he doesn’t.

I might give the cup another chance, but I don’t know if I can do the menstrual cup thing. I am bringing it as back up, but it looks like 5 years of tampons it is. I just bought like 20 boxes of OBs

… and my US peeps should be on full alert for tampon requests…

…that and baking chocolate…

Was that waaaaay too much personal information, or what?

Last soccer post... maybe

2010-06-27T16:23:00.003-05:00

Mosey asked if I was into soccer before I met hubs.

Part of that answer is no. I didn't grow up playing soccer. I didn't grow up playing any sport or doing any activity that required fees or special shoes, or a ride anywhere. It's ok, that's just what life is like in a family of seven kids and no money. I don't even remember playing it at school during P.E. class. I also didn't grow up with a TV, so we didn't watch any sports at home. I only remember watching sports a few times-- college basketball games.

It is unfortunate I didn't play. I think I could have been good. The few times I have played for fun with friends and my husband, people comment on my unmined talent. I can run and I am tenacious as all hell.

So I don't think I even knew what soccer was until maybe high school... definitely college. Part of this, of course, was that I wasn't very interested in sports in general, or jocks.

Living in Chile was my first introduction to soccer as a world-wide phenomenon. I was there in 98, the last time Chile went to the World Cup. I had watched a few games with my husband, but I was stunned to see how the whole country shut down, in the middle of the day, gathering around TVs in department stores and bars to watch their team. I loved that sense of excitement.

Another part of the answer to that question, though, is that I am not all that into watching soccer. I am not that interested in watching sports period, especially on TV, and soccer is actually the only one I can watch for more than five minutes. Football bores me to tears; baseball too; golf is not even a sport and I'd rather eat glass--(I told my husband if he ever starts playing golf I will leave him, and I am only partly kidding); tennis is for cats-- watching the ball go back and forth. I made a very clear statement about basketball when I was four years old and unhappily attending a game--I said that Jesus didn't like basketball, and as proof, I looked around and said he wasn't even there-- apparently the fact that I didn't like it did not carry much weight, so I thought I'd use Jesus to get my way. It didn't work, naturally.

But I do like the World Cup (and I am clearly bossy and judgemental when it comes to sports, but I'll work on that later).

Of course, I also cheer for the US in the World Cup and I was disappointed that they lost yesterday. But in my heart of hearts, I secretly want Chile to do well. Part of it is because most of my history with soccer has to do with this second country of mine and my favorite Chilean. The other part of it is that there is a part of my essence that cheers for the underdog, that is just who I am.

I asked a facebook friend whether he was going to cheer for Spain or Chile in the last game, a part of his comment was rooting for the underdog. One of his Spanish friends claimed that Chile was NOT the underdog. Chile is not the only underdog in the World Cup, but Chile is always an underdog when it comes to international soccer.

First, Chile is a small country, with about 15 million inhabitants. That is like trying to find a competetive US team, but limited to the state of Florida. They just have a smaller population to choose from. If extremely talented athletes are one in a million, Chile doesn't stand a chance against many countries. (My husband and I always joke that if the US ever takes soccer seriously, the rest of the world should watch out--we have a very large, very genetically diverse selection base.)

Second, as a country, they don't have the sports infrastructure to attract, endorse, and raise star players. In the US we have the money and the best technology to train and pay players. We pay athletes (for sports we care about) an insane amount of money.

Finally, because of how teams qualify and who they have to play to do so, there are countries that play in every World Cup (Germany, Brazil, even the US). Chile has to play against Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, Ecuador, Columbia, Venezuela, Peru, Bolivia, Paraguay, and probably a few more that I am forgetting. The competition is fierce and only five teams advance. Brazil and Argentina almost always advance; they are soccer powerhouses (though Argentina fought to classify this time). The other spots are won through a series of intense games. Chile does not play in every Cup, the last time they played was 98, 12 years ago (look! math!), where they did not make it out of the first round.

So, given what it takes to get a decent team together and the effort it takes just to classify...yes, Chile is the underdog. Chile also has a bit of an inferiority complex, so they will have to overcome the psychological challenge of playing a team like Brazil--World Cup winner on numerous occasions.

So tomorrow, I will be cheering for Chile, against a soccer giant. It's David and Goliath and who doesn't love when the little guy wins?

***On a side note, have you noticed how many games there were where the colonized played the colonizer?

Brazil : Portugal
US : England
Chile : Spain
Mexico : France (ok, this one is not perfect, but France did invade Mexico and Cinco de mayo commemorates a battle that France lost to Mexico)

Is that rigged? or deliciously random?

Hit fast-forward, please

2010-06-24T14:30:00.003-05:00

Time feels like it has stopped. Do you ever feel that way?

I have been focused on what lies in the future, our move to Chile, for so long that I just can’t stand the present. The longer it takes, the more anxious I am to just get it over with, to get there already. I thought we would be gone by now and the boredom and insanity is settling in. Plus, summer heat has turned on full blast and I really didn’t want to experience another Texas summer—they suck! I know, I know, much of this is just the mind-set I am in and that if I were to look at this in a more positive light, as a special time with the kids, I might feel better about it. But mostly, I just feel irritable.

What I would like is to just sleep until this big move is over and I am in Chile complaining about the cold. But it has been interminable waiting. I just want to fast-forward. Where is that button for real life?

Our first contract on the house, after several extensions out of the goodness of our hearts, has fallen through. Fortunately, we have a back-up offer, which we will sign tonight, and surely there is no way we can have as many problems with this one—it is just not mathematically possible (but knock on wood). But it means more waiting.

Interestingly, I may have a job opportunity that fits my profile quite well. It is only part-time, with the potential for full-time starting in March. I don’t want to pass up the opportunity, though the pay for part-time is not superb by any stretch of the imagination. But it would mean leaving the hubs here to finish up with the house and taking the kids to Chile in the next few weeks—BY MYSELF!!!!!—a prospect that terrifies me to no end. Though I know we’ll have lots of support there, it would be a lot of stress and work. But even thinking of the flight with the two kids gives me the shivers. It’s ok, you can say it, I already know—I am a major wimp. Well, not wimp really, I can DO anything I put my mind to, it just causes great panic beforehand.

Oh, I may also have need for a rewind button and a replay option for some of my “taking care of children while irritated” behavior lately… if you happen to find a remote control with those features.

and just a reminder... tomorrow Chile plays Spain at 1:30 central time (2:30 Eastern/11:30 pacific). It is the colonized versus the colonizer... Even though Chile is leading the group, passing on to the next round depends on this game (and what happens in the Switzerland-Honduras game).

(remember that guy?)

VAMOS CHILE!!!

Of course, when they pass on, they will play either Brazil or Portugal, at which time it will be appropriate to genuflect and raise your eyes to heaven, mumbling in prayer.

Viva Chile mierrrrr... coles!

2010-06-20T18:50:00.003-05:00

Chi-chi-chi-le-le-le (where "le" is pronounced "lay")

Chile plays Switzerland in their second World Cup game Monday at 9 (CT)/ 8 (ET)!

So wake up, grab a cup of coffee, and cheer for my hubby's country.

(You can still cheer for your other favorites without being disloyal.)

Now, I am going to go for a run and try to lose the ten pounds I gained at dinner last night (seafood boil), where I ate like a little piggy.

Everything's bigger in Texas...

2010-06-15T14:11:00.001-05:00

especially the bugs.

That's a cicada.

Elusive states

2010-06-10T14:22:00.003-05:00

I have been thinking about happiness lately. What is it? Do you know? Is it constant elation? Absence of misery? The feeling that you have everything you need?

I have been happily (or unhappily?) musing, in part, because of some of the blogs I frequent where happiness is a struggle. It is also on my mind because my mother recently accused (if that is the right word) me of being unhappy. I told her she was projecting, which I am convinced is true, regardless of my own state. Yet, I weighed it in my mind: Am I unhappy?

Talking with my husband once about depression, I mentioned that I did not think I was depressed, at least not in the clinical sense. He kind of cocked his head and looked at me skeptically. I insisted that I was not prone to depressive states, and he pointed out that some of my morose periods are quite lengthy and pronounced.

Some of my periods of distress are hormone driven, a fact which irks me a little because it makes emotions seem illusory, which, of course, they are.

Generally speaking, I am not unhappy. I am fully content, in many ways, with my life. I have done things that as a child I would never have dreamed possible. I have a great husband, perhaps one of the safest men I have ever met. I have fabulous kids. I have had the satisfaction of fulfilling major life goals. I have it good, seriously, I am very fortunate. In fact, I feel guilty when I do feel unhappy.

There are things I am unhappy about, some chronic, some acute. I won’t list them here, some are perhaps too silly and some are perhaps too heavy to share.

Perhaps the most important consideration is that I grew up immersed in pain and worry and my relationship models are marked by emotional turmoil. I can, of course, see the larger picture of human suffering: what I have experienced is much less than some and some degree more than others. Yet, it is difficult for me to reconcile what I know is negative about the world with what I know is positive. Perhaps there are certain kinds of childhoods that are just not conducive to adult-state happiness.

I like to consider myself at least mildly entertaining, though my humor is sarcastic in nature, from birth. But I am not at all what you would ever call a jovial person, I am not happy-go-lucky. I am pensive, intense, and opinionated in a way that can come across as critical. To make matters more complicated, I can be very hard to read, so even when I am in a state of bliss, it is very internal.

So, although I am not unhappy, I don’t think I would call myself happy either. Can that be? Is happy the true opposite of unhappy? Or are they two totally different scales? Am I neurotic?

Your musings?

Stoic Maxim

2010-06-03T23:14:00.003-05:00

I am reading a novel by Norman Rush. It is slow and cerebral and is written in a way that I have never encountered. It was hard to read at first, but has grown on me. I came across a line, what the protagonist/narrator calls a Stoic Maxim: Of all things in existence some things are in our power and some are not. It is defended as "different from the pop variant" which is chanted at AA meetings. Nothing against AA meetings, or the idea behind the serenity prayer, but I like this one more... less trite, somehow.

"some things are in our power and some are not." Yes, I am feeling that.

The contract on our house fell through. I suppose in the grand scheme of things it is not to be considered a tragedy. I am disappointed though, and it definitely means a delay, which will seem trivial, I am sure, years from now.

I was chatting with a Chilean friend the other day who gave me some advice: when you trumpet things, sometimes they do not work out in your favor.

Apparently, I trumpeted my success selling the house too early on the infamous facebook status update and now I am paying for it. It is not the first time I have tempted fate, at any rate.

I told him to suck it, because I am mean and was in a foul mood. Plus, he harbors some resentment towards me and it seeps out sometimes in his commentary, and really, that is not a very sympathetic thing to say.

My perspective is a little less romantic, perhaps. I am more of the mind that things may or may not work out regardless of whether or not you share the news, but occasionally you feel a little sheepish (I don't) sharing seemingly-good news precipitously.

It has been a frustrating few days. After several fits of rage, including several aimed at our realtor (mostly deserved), there is nothing left to do but accept that some outcomes are out of my control and move on.

Also premature, perhaps, has been my preparation for a winter arrival in Santiago. I have searched high and low for winter clothes (in Texas, no less) for the kids, sweaters for me (who wears them here?) I even bought two of these cute little kiddie hot water bottles... (guatero con cola!)* or (guatero con patas?)

Don't you just want to cuddle up with one of those at night?

At this rate we will be filling them with ice cubes at the beach.

*Guatero is the Chilean word for hot water bottle. They have a term "guatero con uñas" (water-bottle with fingernails--referring to your significant other who keeps you warm at night. I am officially coining (don't really know if I am the first) the term "guatero con cola" water-bottle with a tail (or with feet (patas))

The Alamo!

2010-05-31T11:21:00.003-05:00

Aaron was right! The answer is the Alamo. (Now I'll be accused of nepotism!)

Now that you've seen how it is played, maybe I'll do another one next weekend (if anyone is into it). The blogoshpere is so quiet on weekends, so it give you something to think about, right? We gotta put that noggin to work! It's just about association, so be brave and take a guess--all wrong guesses help eliminate options and it takes a few clues to get it because they are often a little convoluted. I mean, something in a purse is a hard question to answer and I didn't think you'd believe me if I said "gunpowder".

Next time I'll choose one that is a little more universal, for the Aussie who insinuated that Davy Crockett is not a universally-known hero... WHAT?? Doesn't everyone, the world over, learn that song in 2nd grade?

Happy Memorial Day! or Happy Monday! depending on where you live ;-)

Third clue

2010-05-30T23:49:00.001-05:00

Ok, don't give up, it takes a few clues...

Again, here's a recap and remember, I can't give you a clue that has any part of the answer in it, so sometimes it is a roundabout clue.

It's a place

The first question was: If you were a song, what would you be?

Clue: Amarillo by Morning

The second question was: If you were something in a purse, what would you be?

Clue: Car-rental key

Third question: If you were a movie, what would you be?

"Davy Crockett: King of the Wild Frontier"

Any takers?

Second clue

2010-05-30T09:22:00.002-05:00

If you are coming in late, we are playing a game. I choose a person, place, or thing and then answer questions to give you clues.

Here's a recap:

It's a place

The first question is: If you were a song, what would you be?

Clue: Amarillo by Morning

Sorry to make you wait until morning (Aaron!--who is my brother). No one guessed the correct answer, so I'll give you a second clue.

My favorite answer was "the sun", that's genius for that song. I'll have to remember that if the sun ever does come up (in the game).

The second question is: If you were something in a purse, what would you be?

Clue: Car-rental key

Now make a guess! Be brave, even wrong guesses help narrow it down.

Wanna play?

2010-05-29T15:02:00.002-05:00

I am tense, way too tense. Our closing was postponed. I don't want to be a bummer and write about all my frustrations, so just cross your fingers for us that it closes or my screaming fit of rage might be heard in all corners of the globe (though corners makes it sound like its a cube, not a sphere).

So to dispel the tension, I am going to play a game with my two readers... are you ready?

It is a game I had as a teenager, and I loved it. It is called Abstracts. It was only sold during 1990. I had it, but have no idea where it is now. So I found it on amazon. Isn't amazon amazing?

The game goes like this. There are a bunch of cards with three items: person/place/thing. I will choose one and tell you what category it belongs to.

There are clue cards in the form of a question: if you were a _____ what would you be?

I answer the question based on the person/place/thing I have chosen. The idea is to give you hints as to what the answer is, but without using any part of the word/name in it.

Some are harder than others, some questions are easier to answer, and some clues are more helpful than others.

If anyone gets excited about it, maybe I'll do a series. You'll get a point for each correct guess and the first person to get to five points will get a prize (think small and cheap). I don't know what it is yet, I am waiting for inspiration and it might depend on who wins. If you are my US reader, I'll either mail it to you; if you are my reader in Chile, I'll bring it to Chile for you.

Are you ready?

ok. It's a place

The first question is: If you were a song, what would you be?

Clue: Amarillo by Morning

Ok, Guess!!

(One guess per person, per clue. If no one guesses by tomorrow morning, I'll post another clue and you can try again.)

Family, balls, and the anti-joke

2010-05-21T13:25:00.005-05:00

I spent much of last week with these people:

These three are siblings (there are seven of us)

When I am with them, I feel like this:

(that's me in 2nd grade)

I met one of my sisters-in-law for the first time. I am fairly certain she thinks I am a pervert obsessed with balls. It started when they brought their dog for a visit. She loves chasing tennis balls. She brought her slimy, drool-covered ball to me, begging me to throw it for her and I said:

"Sorry, I don't do wet balls."

and then I started laughing hysterically, uncontrollably (to myself... can you say "crazy"?) thinking how that could be misconstrued...

I told you, it's like I regressed 25 years.

So wet balls became the joke of the week, surfacing in all conversations and repeatedly in a game we played one night.

I didn't help change the impression of "ball-obssessed" when I started rambling about that book on human mating and how part of the biological evidence that our ancestors engaged in casual sex has to do with the size of the human male testicles (long story, we can get into that later).

I am pretty sure she thinks I am a freak. S.S., I swear, I never even use the word "ball" in that context... like, ever...just last weekend, to impress you. Did it work?

Then one of my brothers (law student) started talking about anti-jokes (doesn't that sound like something law students would sit around doing?... that and playing some computer game about gnomes)... anyway, I found them hilarious. This was my favorite:

What is green and has wheels?

Grass, I lied about the wheels.

almost. died. laughing!

It is when you tell a joke, but instead of a punch-line, you give a serious answer.

So last night I googled "anti-joke" and sat reading them on my itouch in bed, howling, nearly in tears, because some of them are so funny. (not all of them, some things aren't funny in jokes or anti-jokes).

Here are a few of my favorites:

Why do women fake orgasms?

Because they want to give men the impression that they have climaxed.

------------------------

What do you call two Mexicans playing basketball?

Their names, if you know them. If not just say "excuse me"

------------------------------

What do you get when you cross a muffin with chocolate chips?

A chocolate chip muffin.

------------------------------

How many blondes does it take to screw in a light bulb?

It shouldn't take more than one person to do this task, regardless of hair color.

------------------------------

hilarious!

I can't apologize for my odd sense of humor, it is what it is. I blame it on my family.

Paralysis

2010-05-20T14:52:00.002-05:00

I am indecisive. Very indecisive. Until I make a final decision and then I am very decided, there is no swaying me and I feel totally justified in my decision.

But until I decide, my mind is a blur of ifs and buts, pros and cons, hemming one way, hawing the other. I incessantly weigh the possible consequences of one decision over the other. I mull it over, chew on it, for endless minutes, hours or days, depending on the decision to be made.

Sometimes it is a decision as to what hair product to buy (banal, I know, but it is a hard decision). Gel or mousse? curl enhancer or frizz tamer? I sit there in the aisle for 10 minutes, grab a product, have second-thoughts, put it back, grab another, re-think, put it back, get the first product.... It's so annoying. It is a defect, really. You may want to rethink your desire to go out to eat with me. I take forever to order.

It becomes a kind of paralysis, this indecision. I can't make up my mind and then I am usually limited by other factors and then there is not much of a choice.

I am paralyzed right now on a minor decision and a major decision.

The minor one is a kitchen aid mixer, remember how I said I have been pining for one. Well, when my initial plan to win one from the Pioneer Woman didn't pan out, I had to comeup with plan B, namely, buy one.

One issue is that the US uses 110 voltage and Chile uses 220. I know several people who have taken their 110 mixers to Chile and just got an adapter. Kitchenaid, of course, discourages this practice and warns against electrocution, maiming and such (maybe not that dire), but certainly you could suffer from equipment failure.

Well, I found a website that sells 220 volt mixers for use out of the US, for a decent price, about the price of the 110 volt ones (price is an issue buying outside of the US--they cost about twice as much). This seems like the perfect option... except they only sell the Artisan mixer at 300 watts. Which would probably serve me just fine, since I have survived this long without one, but, cooking snob that I am, I wanted a professional, 575 watt mixer... but I can only find those in the 110 volt version, but about the same price as this Artisan 220v one. Such a dilemma! I have been hemming and hawing and trying to make a decision... and just can't.

It may be too late for the 220v mixer though, they take at least 3-5 days for shipping and that may not be enough time right now.

The other issue, much more important, that is causing this creeping tension up my back and into my neck and shoulders, is choosing a shipping company. We got a few quotes, one almost double but probably a more reputable company, and two very similar, but both questionable somehow, maybe, I can't decide. We are waiting for one last estimate, but they are taking forever... and our supposed shipping date is NEXT WEEK! I have been thinking about it non-stop and emailing and calling back and forth with company reps and such. One company SEEMS very transparent, but I just feel uneasy about it. I have decided several times to just go with them and schedule it and then I back down and wait a little more. I keep reading reviews and recommendations on google (my best friend and life partner) trying to find something that will help ease my mind. There are just so many potential problems and I don't want to be taken advantage of or lied to, or duped, or screwed... and I want my few irreplaceable possessions to arrive to their destination.

I guess, worst case scenario, we can put our boxes in storage (though it is more work) and make a decision when we have more info and feel better about it. We won't be flying out for a bit still... still waiting on the consulate.

Why am I so paralyzed by decisions? I am starting to wonder if maybe I just wait it out until I am forced to take the option that I want to take but am hesitant to formally decide on. hmmm I'll have to think about that and get back to you...

Disgruntled

2010-05-11T14:18:00.002-05:00

I am feeling a little grumbly today. There is a fascinating book I am reading on human sexual strategies from an evolutionary standpoint that I would love to be commenting on (and will later), but I just can't focus.

I am leaving for Portland tomorrow. Most of my family lives in Oregon. I haven't been there for over five years, though, if that reveals anything. Well, part of it reveals my reluctance to travel with kids, but mostly it reveals a reluctance to visit family. My last visit "home" was a disaster, so was the one before that. My family's visits to see me have varied. My theory is that one-on-one visits are fine, but the more of us that get together, the closer the dynamic shifts back to our very unhealthy original dynamic. My family.... is complicated, let's just say that.

I am trying not to feel stress and anxiety about it, and most of it will be fine, but there are at least two events that will be very difficult. One is visiting one of my sisters who is in prison (I haven't said that out loud to very many people). I want to cry even thinking about it. The other is meeting with my mom. My relationship with her is painful and almost impossible. We haven't been speaking. We go through this cycle where we are talking, we have the inevitable break-up, and then we go for months without speaking much, then there is an invitation to resume relations. I am at the point, after so many cycles, where I am hesitant to resume relations. It is excruciating.

I hate Mother's day. Even though I am a mother and loved G's hugs and kisses (Nico is stubborn), I would gladly forego breakfast in bed and gifts to not have to face the dilemma with my own mom: do I call or not and what does it mean either way? I called.

....................................

In other news...

I have been getting estimates for shipping our boxes to Chile and have been terrified about making a grave mistake in choosing a shipping company. In the meantime, there are signs that our buyer for the house is having issues. It may work out just fine, but my fear is that at the last minute it won't, we will have shipped our things and sold everything else and will be sleeping on the floor eating microwaved popcorn off of paper plates (maybe I should visualize Chinese take-out) for months waiting for another buyer. GAH!! So cross your fingers.

As we get closer and closer to the big move, my feet feel wetter and wetter. This post has already been so relaxed and joyous that I'll save those fears for another day.

Can you tell anxiety is an issue for me...?

Notice: I look like a stalker, but I am not

2010-05-07T13:30:00.003-05:00

I read a post yesterday about stat counters, where you can see how many hits you have per day and where they come from, how long they visit, how they find you, what they look at, what search words they use that lead to your page, etc. The blogger was wondering what new lurker was reading her blog from a certain city that had never shown up before.

These stats make me nervous. But not because of my own blog, I had never installed one of these, mostly because it might make me sad. I installed one yesterday out of curiosity (thanks Abby, look what you have started!)

The good news is that I have one return reader. The bad news is it is ME. Ok, I am now blocked from the counting. I know I don't have that many readers, but come on... is it really just me?

They make me nervous, mostly because of the blog reader I am. If I visit your site at all, I look like a stalker. If I read your blog, your number of views will be hyper-inflated because of me. It is because I am ansty and I am a clicker (and for the moment I have lots of idle time on my hands). If I see you have a new post I click on your blog. If it looks long, I might come back later to read it. I might come back later if I want to comment... or if I wanted to read it again... or see what comments other people left... or to see (for those of you who comment on comments) if you commented on my comment. I may very well have been interrupted on one of more of those visits, which means another visit later to finish up what I meant to do there. I might remember something on one of your posts that I want to look up or read again. I might look at old posts from way back before I knew you (virtually).

See? That is like 20 clicks. It looks suspicious. I realize that and I apologize if it has given you the impression that I am obsessed with your blog.

That I also know where you work and where you live, is purely coincidental. (totally kidding, for most of you)

Busted...

2010-05-04T23:21:00.002-05:00

I have a strict NO TOYS AT THE TABLE rule at my house. Toys can get all mucky at the table, they often lead to fights and whining, but mostly, they are a distraction from the principal goal... eating.

Yesterday, at lunch, after I had finished eating and was waiting for the tots to ever-so-slowly finish munching their lunch, I whipped out my itouch and started fooling around.

G tipped her head, looked down her nose at me, and said in a solemn voice:

Momma, no toys at the table!

You are absolutely right dear! It won't happen again

AZ-holes: where I get all political... again

2010-04-28T13:58:00.003-05:00

So, , you knew this was coming... right?

And wouldn't you know it? It is long! (you have been warned)

You might be surprised to hear that I am actually not very confrontational, even if I am a tad intense. But there are two things you should know: I hate injustice and I always stick up for the underdog.

There are only a few political issues that can really get my blood boiling. One, as you have seen, is healthcare. The other..., well, I'll explain it this way...

A few years ago, an ex-boyfriend of my mom's, who really liked my hubs and me, and so still kept in contact even after they broke up, sent me an email. It was a mass email, to all of his contacts. It was a joke, supposed to be funny. It was an analogy of sorts about a a robber breaking into your house, and then staying on for free, offering to prune your roses and such, which was a nice gesture, but at the end of the day it was still a robber who had broken into your house. Do you see the analogy? It was about illegal immigration. My blood was boiling.

To say I was livid is an understatement. I responded by email and clicked reply all. I made sure everyone who had received that email, people I didn't even know, knew how I felt about it. How dare he include me in an email, assuming I would agree or find it funny. Rants against immigration are offensive to me. I tried not to make it personal, just letting him know that I didn't agree and why and what I thought about the logic of the joke. I never heard from him again, but I guess I can live with that. Perhaps I was too harsh, and it's not like I want to alientate everyone who disagrees with my perspective, but if he couldn't take my own opinion in return, there is not much I can do.

This is what I know: at our worst, we are a country that is fundamentally, at its core, racist; at our best, we are racially hyper-aware, obsessed even, with race (look at the 2010 census and the myriad ways we have of classifying race vs. ethnicity—I literally had no idea how to classify my husband, and consider how it changes all the time as we define and redefine and define again what exactly race or ethnicity refer to, and what terms to use too refer to certain groups—terms that to me are mostly meaningless).

It doesn't matter that slavery ended over a century ago, and trust me, civil rights was not the end all of racial discrimination. It doesn't matter that Disney has finally made a few princesses that are "brownish" or that we succeeded in electing a black president (excuse me if I am not PC enough to use the term "African-American"--that is a different post). It doesn't matter that we express our never-ending love of Mexican food and that we name our streets "Loma Vista" and "Blancos Piedras".

It is not about individuals, about whether you or I believe we are racist or not; it's about how we treat "the other" collectively, in a systemic way.

We have treated immigrants dismally for centuries. Almost all groups have had their turn: Italians, Irish, Jews, Chinese, Japanese, Latino. Some of these groups have eventually come to blend in, forming part of what we call "white." Other groups have not been as fortunate, if you will.

I am not an expert on Black-White relations, though I have read a bit, but I have read quite a lot about the history of tensions between Mexican immigrants and Anglos, especially in the Southwest; in fact, it was part of my research for my dissertation for my doctorate.

In a nutshell, there has always been conflict and it has always had a racial edge. It is a unique context: Mexican-Americans are the only ethnic group to come from a country that borders the US. It is also a very unique border situation: one of the richest most powerful countries in the world bordering a substantially poorer, developing country. Mexican-Americans are "returning" in one sense to land that once belonged to them, that was taken from them illegally, in many regards. Not just taken from the country that is Mexico, but tricked, manipulated, and taken by force from families of Mexican origin even after the conquest, even after the Treaty of Guadalupe.

I don’t understand the anger against immigrants. This is a country of immigrants; we all hail, varying only by number of generations, from elsewhere, and it is not like our ancestors had visas. The notion that once we are here, no one else should be able to come is absurd.

It is not original to blame immigrants for economic hardships or crime, it has been happening since the beginning. Some experts in the field say we have developed a love-hate relationship with Mexicans: we formally invite (see: Bracero program) or subtly entice them across the border when we need cheap labor, but when we face financial strain, they are persecuted and scapegoated and subjected to deportation acts such as "Operation Wetback" (no I am not making this up!)

The interesting thing is that overt negative racial attitudes are no longer acceptable. So we have found more subtle ways of discriminating. One way this happens is through linguistic discrimination, for example, we discriminate against accent or non-standard dialects, and there is a definite anti-hispanic component to "English-only" movements and legislation.

Much of this is justified by saying that "if they come here, they should learn English." Well, that is very convenient in theory, but we are a land of immigrants, and very few groups have landed on our shores, already fluent in English. Hispanics, as a group, learn English faster than any other immmigrant group in history. In fact, by the 3rd generation, very few of them speak any Spanish.

Plus, for the few of us who speak another language, we know it is not an overnight process. It takes years... and not eveyone has the luxury of the time or money it costs to take classes at a university. We are not that patient anyway; we want them all to speak only English NOW. And we don't want them to "practice" on us in the meantime. We don't want to hear broken English, it is so taxing. We don't want to guess at meanings, and we want as little accent as possible. We are also threatened by people speaking other languages in public. Linguists have documented all of this, and I know of so many personal anecdotes.

When my husband first started his job here, he spoke English fairly well, but with a little more of an accent than he has now. One of his first experiences on a job, he was introduced to someone who lamented right in front of him that: "It would be nice to see more English speakers." When I heard this, as protective as I am, I almost hunted the ass down to ask him how many languages he spoke, barely English, I am presuming.

We complain that illegal immigrants take our jobs, but I think we all know that isn't the case. We also complain that they use up economic resources: medicaid, welfare, food stamps, schooling. This is probably true to some extent, and some states have more of an issue than others. I have read several economic analyses, however, looking at the overall economic effect of immigration. Considering all of the benefits, such as cheap labor and consumer spending, it is either a draw, or we come out slightly ahead in benefits. Immigration is not the economic drain that it is claimed to be, in heated immigrant rhetoric.

We have also made attempts at discriminating according to legal status. Do I think a country should be able to regulate its borders and assure that people enter legally? Sure, but the issue is complicated. We issue thousands of work visas to educated workers in high-tech fields to fill a need in the job market. Yet, we are much more reticent to issue thousands of work visas to migrant laborers or day laborers, or people who fill the huge need for menial labor that our country has. Why is that?

Could it be this: we want migrant laborers to pick our strawberries, so they don’t cost $20 a pound; we want them to take care of our children for next to nothing; we want them to kill and clean the animals we eat; we want them to build houses and roads in the Texas and Arizona heat. BUT… we don’t want them to stay permanently, just as long as we need them. We don’t want them to organize into unions. We don’t want them to have any legal recourse when we exploit them. We want to give them sub-standard pay and provide sub-standard working and living conditions but no benefits and no job-security, no contracts that a work visa would require. The system we have allowed to exist is convenient… for US.

It would be easy to solve the problem, if we really wanted to, if it would really benefit us to end illegal immigration. We could make work visas for laborers easier to get; we could allow them to work here legally, imagine that! We can’t solve the problem by punishing the poverty-stricken immigrant who risked everything, left family behind, looking for a better life and happens to be here illegally, which we consider a crime. They wouldn’t come if there wasn’t a demand. If we really want to end illegal immigration, we heavily fine the businesses that hire them illegally, which we don’t seem to consider criminal, though they are clearly the winners in terms of financial benefit. If you make them pay enough, there will be no incentive to hire them.

The problem, as lawmakers well know, is that many businesses need cheap labor, agro-businesses in particular. We can’t fine them for finding a way to feed the country and make a profit doing it. If we don’t have migrant workers, food rots in the fields, rots on the trees, and no one else wants to pluck feathers from dead chickens for a living. We need illegal immigrant; we just don’t want that many. We want to curb the flow, not regulate it or legalize it.

The problem with all legislation that has targeted immigrants is that there is no way to discriminate between legal and illegal. The deportation act, Operation Wetback, mentioned above, deported quite a few legal citizens. There is no “reasonable suspicion.” You look Mexican or you don’t. You speak Spanish or you don’t. You have an accent or you don’t. The issue is that there are legal American citizens who look Mexican, don’t speak English well, or at all, or with an accent. There is no way to enforce the law without racial profiling and without asking legal citizens to prove they are legal. There is no way to enforce it without persecuting the group who least deserves legal persecution.

If we want to solve illegal immigration, then solve it. But we have to have the “cojones” to do it in an ethical and moral way: by punishing those who most benefit from illegal immigration… ourselves. We have to accept that our fruit and vegetables will be more expensive, our roads will take longer to build, and that (godhelpus) we won’t be able to afford a gardener, a house-keeper, or a nanny.

P.S.: If I were a gambling man, I’d say this is political provocation. This is going to fire up with redneck right, much like the issue of gay marriage did winning Bush’s second term.

It's pending...

2010-04-26T12:45:00.002-05:00

Ths house is under contract! I can't believe how fast it happened. We got an offer the first day on the market and a second the second day. We countered the 2nd offer and they accepted. We are set to close at the end of May.

It was probably so fast due to the $8k tax credit which requires the buyer be under contract by the end of April, which is this week. We wanted it to be quick, and I am relieved that I no longer have to keep it immaculate at all moments (not fun with kids).

Of course, we are still waiting for the kids paperwork. The hubs has been calling the consulate to see what we can do. We "inscribed" them in January, about 4 months ago; it normally takes up to 6 months, or more, but, as with all things in Chile, if you know someone, it can be expedited. Well, we don't know anyone, but the consulate employee we have been working with does. She had told us she would ask her contact to get it done as quickly as possible.

As we have learned today, the papers never reached the hands of her contact, so they are going to try to locate them and see what they can do.

I don't know if we are willing to postpone the move for months, waiting for their papers. But I don't know what options we have. They have US passports, so we could still go, entering the kids on a tourist visa. Their papers allow them to enter Chile as Chilean, which means we don't have to go through the arduous process of changing that status.

Anyway, we'll see what happens..

We seem to have adopted this strange "now or never" attitude about doing/buying things before the move. My husband wanted to go around to all the touristy spots in Austin and take photos. I pondered aloud why we would do that, when we don't hang out in those spots anyway...like ever. He was also suddenly dismayed that we had spent so many years here and had never gone to one of the music festivals they have here in the self-proclaimed "live music capital of the world", like Austin City Limits and South by South West. We are not really live-music people, which is weird to say. I mean, we like music, and we like listening to music, but actually going to concerts or even smaller live music venues has never been our thing--too many people,too loud (yes, I am elderly) and then some of the outdoor music festivals involve heat/dust or rain/mud all day long... oh, and over-priced scarce tickets.

He is saddened that we'll never see Big Bend. I say: "you do remember that I am from the US, right? and that all my family and many friends live here...and that we'll be back to visit, so our kids have a connection to this country too, and possibly to live (I am leaving that option open in my head because I am a wimp). This is not our last chance at anything! But he is unconvinced.

We have been talking about buying things too, because it is "now or never." Like a kitchen aid stand mixer. I have wanted one for a long time, but I get along just fine without one, and I like to bake: I've been making cookies, muffins, pancakes, even pizza dough and bread (and kneading it myself!!!) and don't know any other way. But now, it feels urgently necessary to buy one and take it with me. Partly because it would be easier to ship it with our other things, rather than as a carry on at some future date during a visit. But the other part of me keeps asking if I really need one. Need is such a funny, relative, subjective term.

So it looks like early-mid June. I'll have to check the world sposrts calendar, but that may be just in time for the World Cup. Chile qualified this time, which, naturally, will have them all riled up in Chile. I was there in 98, the last time they qualified, and the entire country closes down to watch the games. That would be a fun way to start our residence there.

It's up...

2010-04-19T13:07:00.003-05:00

The house, that is, is up for sale.

After a week of final work (painting) and a day of frantic cleaning, our house is cleaner and looks nicer, than it probably has... EVER.

I was a little unhappy this week with the probable sale price the realtor gave us. I thought or hoped it would be a little more and the reality has been hard to adjust to. The way it is now, we'll walk away with just enough for plane tickets to Chile and enough to ship what little we are shipping.

This means starting over from scratch, with almost nothing. We don't have fine furnishings anyway, but we are very fortunate to have everything we need. Selling it all for a few hundred bucks isn't going to help much on the other end. There are things that are just more complicated in Chile, like doing laundry. When I lived there by myself, it didn't matter, I'd take the subway with my big bag of dirty clothes to a laundromat (expensive). That doesn't sound very fun with a family of four.

Am I sweating the small stuff? Perhaps, but in some ways that is much easier than sweating the big stuff... I don't dare start with the big stuff. I have had this pit in my stomach and knot in my throat, hoping and wishing that this is the right decision. Well, I know it is the right decision in many ways: it is the decision that will give my kids a sense of family, and many more people to love; it is the decision that will balance the nearly 10 years my husband has spent far from friends and family; it is the decision that will quench that wanderlust I have always had.

The timing is perfect in so many ways (despite my sister's belief that the massive earthquake in Chile in February was a sign that I should't move ;-)

I guess the bright side is that I know we'll be taken care of; my husband's family is so generous and supportive. My father-in-law is more than thrilled that we'll be staying him for a bit, even though I am less than thrilled about not having my own space.

So, it is terrifying in some ways and exciting in others. This is almost the last step... this and finishing consulate paperwork and shipping boxes. I almost can't believe it is getting so close.

That's my girl

2010-04-12T15:09:00.005-05:00

This is G.

She loves dirt and sticks... and mulch. One of her first words was mulch (mooch)

She also loves bugs and frogs and creepy-crawlies of all sorts.

We had better get out of Texas before she comes running to show me her pet rattle snake.

This is Pepe II. He turned green in G's hand. Pepe I, who was more of a tiny gecko, lost his tail in a moment of panic (they do that).

I was a major tom-boy as a kid, so apparently the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree.

Authenticity authenticated

2010-04-06T12:49:00.006-05:00

Here in the U.S., I have never been asked to show any of my degrees. Perhaps because it is verifiable by other means, I am not sure, but employers generally don't ask for proof that you do indeed possess a high school diploma, a B.A., an M.A., or a Ph.D.

In fact, when my husband was getting ready to come to the U.S. on a fiance visa, he asked me if he should translate or notarize his degrees. I told him that no one was going to ask to see them. No one has.

In Chile, though, you are often asked to provide copies of your degree. There was a job I considered applying for a few months ago, but they wanted a photocopy of any degrees I had, and I hadn't even received my Ph.D. degree in the mail yet. This would not have even been an issue applying for the same type of position here in the States.

To use my degree in Chile, I have had to take it through a strange process of authentication. I ordered an extra copy of both my M.A. and Ph.D from my university that was notarized by a university official, confirming its authenticity (I didn't want a stamp on the back of my only copy).

I then had to take it to the Texas Secretary of State where they issued a letter, stapled to each degree, stating that the notary public who notarized my degree is indeed authorized to notarize and that if she said it is a real degree then it is.

Now I have to take it to the Chilean consulate where they will legalize it for use in Chile. They essentially will issue some letter saying that if the Secretary of State recognizes the official who notarized my degrees, then they are indeed authentic.

Now I have to make sure they won't ask for my transcripts too...

Isn't beaurocracy a blast

I now leave you with G's mad/happy face:

Meet mulch mountain

2010-04-02T09:14:00.004-05:00

This is what we'll be doing this weekend...

Our neighbor asked: what are you mulching... the earth?

Yes, it would seem so.

Daily math lesson: 12 cubic yards = A LOT of freakin' mulch.

It's to cover the flower/plant beds. Everything looks better with mulch, don't you agree?

It is actually way more than we need (ya think?) but we wanted a thick layer, and didn't want to have to pick up 3-4 loads in the pick-up. This way, it's cheaper per yard and a dump truck delivers it... but 12 cubic yards is the minimum.

Naturally, a mountain of mulch has proven to be irresistible to small humanoids.

Observe:

It is warm and earthy... what is not to love?

So last night we got busy (with the mulch, silly). We have pretty much drowned all of the beds in inches of mulch and we still have at least half of our mountain.

Anyone need some mulch?

Peek-a-boo

2010-03-31T22:16:00.003-05:00

I am still here...

I have been busy painting. We are almost done. This means we'll be putting the house up for sale soon-- which is exciting, terrifying and nerve-wracking.

I already have things in boxes that will be shipped to Chile.

Isn't that crazy?

It's crazy!

Oh cupcake, my cupcake

2010-03-25T20:30:00.003-05:00

Everyone loves a cupcake.

Forgive me for being skeptical

2010-03-23T14:07:00.004-05:00

I spent most of the day yesterday, thinking of frivolous things and posting photos of Alpine skiers, avoiding the sinking sensation in my gut and avoiding media.

Avoiding thinking about the health care bill that apparently won by a narrow margin.

On one hand, I am ecstatic: elated that it passed at all, that the Republicans were defeated despite all their negative hype and fear-mongering.

I am trying to be optimistic that this is just one step...

But, mostly I am disappointed: saddened and dumbstruck that so many Americans are against health care, irked that not even one cowardly Republican voted for the bill, and dismayed that President Obama and the House Democrat leaders had to beg and pander and finagle enough votes even among Democrats.

Watching the local evening news last night, I saw a clip on what the health care bill might mean for me: more difficulty getting in to see the doctor; "a tsunami of new patients" rushing to get treatment; shorter visits with the doctor.

Is that what they call unbiased reporting?

What will the health care bill mean for someone who has never had health insurance? What will it mean for someone who hasn't been able to afford a doctor visit for years? What will it mean for me, with a pre-existing condition that would render me uninsurable if I were ever to fall, even briefly, among the uninsured?

My deepest disappointment, however, lies in the bill itself. I won't lie and say that I have read the details or the fine print. I have a vague understanding of the main ideas. I threw in the towel months ago with the first round of health care debates where I wrote this. I also wrote to my House Representative. I also wrote to President Obama. So, don't get me wrong, I take this issue seriously, personally.

Call me what you will, commie, socialist, it doesn't matter. I firmly believe that nothing short of a single-payer health care system will make any difference and anything short of a single-payer system is a slap in the face. The public option, long-ago taken off the table, would have been at least a miserable compromise, but we don't even have that, as I understand it.

If the bill truly reigns in health insurance companies and reforms the way they do business; if they truly lower costs, if they really do away with pre-existing conditions clauses, a tiny bit of justice will be served.

But please forgive me for being skeptical...

What most outrages me is that the bill requires uninsured citizens to buy health insurance... from health insurance companies. Do you know who is uninsured? These are the people who most likely earn low wages, whose employers do not offer health benefits, people who cannot afford health insurance or, in many cases, even a trip to the doctor's office. If these people do not buy health insurance they will be fined.

How is this a fair bill? They say they will make these policies affordable. Really? Just how affordable is affordable when you make $7.50 an hour? $9.50 an hour? $12.00 an hour? What will these policies look like? How much coverage will they really offer?

Forgive me for being skeptical...

Can you guess who is going to make a killing? The insurance companies. Any plan that keeps them in the game means the American people lose. Mark my words the insurance industry will find a way to rake in billions with all of their new customers. They will find a way of carrying on with business as usual, or even taking it up a notch. They don't spend billions in Washington for nothing.

I understand the political necessity of taking a first step. I understand there was no other way to get a bill passed and that hell or high water a bill had to be passed. But, honestly, I don't know if I can call this a victory.

My prediction: in less than 10 years' time, we will be discussing health care reform again. When that time comes, I hope our country has the guts or the balls or the common human decency, finally, to really make a meaningful difference.

But forgive me for being skeptical...

Confession # 7--Top Secret

2010-03-22T15:12:00.003-05:00

(Warning: this post is shallow and gratuitous. Don't think less of me and don't say I didn't warn you.)

I spent a lot of time a few weeks back, watching the Winter Olympics. That isn't shameful in and of itself, but I found myself crushing on a certain Norwegian Alpine skier.

Aksel Lund Svindal

Even his name is sexy.

Aksel. I like it!

I think part of it was that the media covered his story: after having a horrible skiing accident a little over a year ago he recovered making an incredible comeback and winning several medals.

There is something so sexy about overcoming adversity, is there not?

Well, that and then there is this:

Of course, then they said he was 27... KERPLOP!!!

Since when did 27 sound so young?

I remembered how long ago 27 was. Then I was depressed.

This next picture only partially brought me out of my age-induced depression.

Still sleeping...

2010-03-22T14:59:00.003-05:00

Look who didn't need a nap...

Ok, I'll stop. I mean, how many sleeping-child photos can you take? I hardly ever take pics of them sleeping, but this one in the car, I couldn't resist. This one she might hate me for... Oh well, what else are mothers for?

Sleeping Beauty

2010-03-19T09:05:00.002-05:00

Why is it that she so irresistibly sweet, so still, so docile, so easily swayed to behave, so good-natured, so obedient... when she is sleeping?

I love her spice and energy when she is awake, but I love how sweet and peaceful she looks sleeping.

Opposites: part one

2010-03-18T13:31:00.005-05:00

A while back, I posted about how my husband and I met and how I was drawn to his tranquility. I also hinted, that as frenetic as I am, his tranquility is simultaneously relaxing and irritating.

One of my few loyal readers made a comment about the cliche-ness of the whole opposites attract theory and then conceded that sometimes it is that complementary nature of two beings that makes it work... at least on some days.

I thought I would shine a light on some the silly ways that hubs and I are opposites.

I am a mover: I mean an incessant mover. I am a multi-tasker. I have a hard time sitting down, taking breaks, and just relaxing and doing nothing. I am also a "gitter-done" sort of gal. If I think of something that needs to be done, I never wait until a commercial break or until I feel like it...for the most part, I get up and do it. I rarely lounge; even while watching TV, I sit perched, ready to jump up and grab laundry, get the kids' teeth brushed, pijamas on, pick up toys, put away leftovers, dishes etc. I can never relax if the hubs is working on something, there is too much guilt.

My husband is inertia-challenged, at least at home. At work he runs around all day. But at home, once he is in a horizontal position, you will be hard-pressed to get him vertical again. When he puts G to bed, he takes a 2-hour nap, while I toil around the house. His lack of inertia (and lack of hearing) is exacerbated by screens--especially the TV. He can easily relax, guilt-free, watching the TV while I, for example, paint the baseboards (ahem, tonight). While my natural state at home is manic frenzy, his is vegetative. It is not that he is lazy, exactly, he gets things done during moments of inspiration or bursts of energy. But once he sits down to take a break, it is pretty much over.

I think more than yin and yang, really, this is a classic case of Newton knows best: an object in motion tends to stay in motion; an object at rest tends to stay at rest.

Stay tuned for opposites attract/repel part two, coming soon...

Park Day

2010-03-16T19:25:00.003-05:00

Spring has sprung, so we spend a lot of time here...

Also consuming our time these days: painting the house. We painted all weekend and still have paint in our hair. It looks so clean and fresh; it is sad we won't get to enjoy it long. We still have the trim to finish though... tedious.

Also time-consuming and tedious has been the search for schools in Chile for G, who will start kinder next March (the beginning of the school year there.) You have to apply almost like for college and wait and see if your kid gets in. There isn't much we can do from here actually. Maybe it will be a bit of a relief that way, just enrolling her wherever there is an open spot... if anyone'll take her, that is!

I may be starting some translating and editing for academic journals soon, which is kind of exciting, in a nerdy sort of way.

That's all here...

In the gutter

2010-03-10T13:38:00.004-06:00

Do you ever think about flowers?

I mean, really think about them... the fact that they are the reproductive organs of a plant. I remember studying flower anatomy in biology, hearing words like fertilization, stamen, ovary, pistil...

photo from Enchantedlearning

Georgia O'Keefe painted flowers in a sort of botano-erotic fashion. I love her paintings. They make me blush.

photos courtesy of the world wide web.

Flowers are generally associated with female reproductive organs, but they can actually be either male or female or both.

I think about this every once in a while, especially when my Christmas Cactus blooms. The entire plant dresses itself in outrageous, enormous three-tiered flowers. They are so showy, so vivid. This is a plant that knows how to flaunt its sexuality. It seems borderline indecent.

Is it weird that I think about that? I am a freak, right?

Next time your honey gives you flowers or you give flowers to someone sweet, I think you should remember what they are; it makes it so much more suggestive, don't you think?

Bits and pieces

2010-03-03T12:59:00.006-06:00

There are a bunch of funny little episodes I have thought about sharing... and I even started writing about them. I was going to end the post with the following, but after writing it, I removed the funny little episodes. I'll post those later.

(photo from The Boston Globe)

For days, my heart has been in shreds in the pit of my stomach seeing the devastation in the south of Chile. This is my husband's country; this is where my kids' grandpa and aunts and uncles and cousins live; this is a country where I lived for years and will live again in a few months, a country I have traveled in extensively; it is a country that I love with heart and soul.

I cannot imagine the magnitude of this quake: the plates along a fault that collide, one going under the other at a rate of 3 inches per year, moved 3 feet in one night; most earthquakes last a matter of seconds and cause damage and destruction, this one lasted an eternal 3 minutes; it shook the earth so hard that NASA scientists believe it has shifted the Earth's axis and changed its rotation.

I cannot imagine what it was like in the coastal towns of the south, near the epicenter. After one of the worst quakes in a century, those who survived stumbled out of their homes. The electricity was gone, it was 3:34 in the morning when it struck. To live through that and know that it wasn't over yet. To leave everything you have except (hopefully) the people you love and start running for the hills, in the black of night as the tsunami waves start pounding your town.

The authorities made a colossal error thinking that there was no danger of a tsunami. Those who wisely didn't listen, made it to safety. Most of those who stayed were swept away. Some of the stories are haunting: the mother in her home, in pitch dark, with the cold pacific up to her neck, holding her daughter over her head telling her to be brave and they would survive; the bus of elderly retirees that were trying to escape, overtaken by the waves; the family, most of whom were miraculously not swept to sea because they were able to grab on to a shipping container that had been flung to shore on a wave; the mother who had to identify her son's body at a make-shift morgue. I am brought to tears daily.

The looting and chaos in the most affected areas is hard to see as well. It is easier to understand taking food, but ransacking homes and businesses seems needless. Many Chileans seem to be embarrassed that this is the behavior being portrayed by the media, but we have to recognize that there is a part of human nature, that when placed in catastrophic circumstances, leads to decisions like this (think of the riots during the Rodney King trials). I have also heard how people are rallying, coming together to put together truck-loads of goods which will be personally delivered, braving hours on broken highways and detours around fallen bridges.

It is hard to have such a tragedy hit so soon after the Haiti devastation, where the loss of life was just unimaginable and the piles of rubble so surreal. I think we are all on disaster overload, which makes it hard to want to make that emotional humanitarian connection.

While Chile fares better than Haiti in many respects for a variety of reasons, there is still tremendous damage. Nearly a thousand dead. An estimated 1.5 million left homeless. Chile has had a relatively strong economy for the past few decades and has made many advances in its infrastructure. But it is also a country with marked inequality and an enormous distance between rich and poor. The poorest have been the hardest hit, as in many natural disasters. Buildings will be repaired, roads will be rebuilt, bridges will once again reach across rivers, but there are people, who have lost everything. There is a great humanitarian need.

Please help in whatever ways you can. Here is a link of how you can help. If many people give even $10, a lot of money can be raised.

***For a donation-alternative, Kyle, a gringa-photographer married to a Chilean, living in Santiago, is donating 100% of profits from prints purchased from her Etsy site she created just for this purpose. You donate money and you get a great print.

(post-note: please cross your fingers that all the seismic activity does not activate any of the volcanoes in that region, there was one sputtering a few weeks ago... can you imagine????)

My baby turned 2!

2010-02-28T22:25:00.003-06:00

Saturday, amidst listening to news about the earthquake in Chile, we celebrated Nico's 2nd birthday.

Actually, the celebrations began the evening before with the licking of the cake-batter beaters. Can you tell we went with the chocolate cake? (funny story on that decision later)

Can you tell there was whisky in the batter?

Just kidding, there wasn't, but it looks like it.

This is what we had for dinner (pot roast) courtesy of P-dub. It was very good, but my hubs says the one I made a few months ago from America's Test Kitchen was better. We should have a duel, so we know for sure.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love my Le Creuset dutch oven?

I made the chocolate cake (which I should mention was more brownie like in consistency than I was expecting/wanting... I mean, it was very good, very rich, very chocolaty, but it was dense and heavy and had that kind of crust you get on brownies that I had to cut off. I will also add that I learned a very valuable lesson: when a recipe says that it makes 2 10-inch cake rounds, DO NOT fill two 9-inch cake pans--it does not bode well for the oven.)

I made the raspberry filling, which went very well with the intense chocolate of the cake. But I decided that the chocolate ganache frosting was probably an overkill on the chocolate-ness (gasp--but true) and decided instead to go with a simple cream cheese frosting.

Naturally, I did not have any cream cheese. I called my friend down the street who was coming over later for cake and asked if she had any (don't you love neighbors like that?) She didn't have cream cheese, but said she had cream cheese frosting. I said: "Like a can of already-made frosting?" Yes. "Hmm, I'll let you know if I need it."

If I make a box cake (which I rarely do) I can do canned frosting (is it called a can? it doesn't sound right.) If I am making a cake from scratch, it has to be ALL home-made. That is just the way it goes. (This is the friend who thinks I am a cake-snob. I am not, but I do take cake very seriously if I am making it.)

So I sent hubs to the store (isn't he sweet to do my bidding even though we are at each other's throats lately?--THAT is love folks!)

The cream cheese frosting was a good choice and mixed well with the other ingredients. I sparsely decorated it with a few fresh raspberries... I would have put more on there, but half of my berries disappeared mysteriously as they dried innocently on the counter.

This is what the cake looked like.

Here is my birthday boy!

The downside

2010-02-27T20:56:00.002-06:00

Almost anywhere you live, you have to learn to cope with the hand that mother nature deals. Here in Texas, it is hostile heat, hurricanes and tornadoes, potential flooding, and every poisonous creepy-crawly imaginable.

Today, the world has seen the downside of sorts of living in Chile, where we will be living in a few short months, if all goes according to our lack-of-plan: they have earthquakes.

Chile is a land of quakes, located in what is called the "ring of fire." While I was living there a decade ago, I experienced several tremors, but nothing big enough to be very frightening. The biggest earthquake mechanically registered, a 9.5, ocurred in Chile in 1960, a little south of today's epicenter. The last big quake was back in '85 and there has long been talk of "the big one" that was overdue. After the Haiti quake, I had actually been thinking of Chile and a big quake and wondering if there was something seismic was going on that might, in some way, trigger an event in Chile soon (I don't know if seismic activity works that way).

We got a phone call this morning as we were just starting to putter about. I thought it was a birthday greeting for Nico, who turned two today. It was my father-in-law calling to let us know, before we had even heard the news, that they were all fine (and to wish Nico a happy birthday).

As we started watching footage, the magnitude of the quake hit us. An 8.8 at the epicenter, an 8.2 in Santiago, almost 200 miles to the northreports indicate that it is about 500 times (one report said 900 times) the force of the Haiti earthquake. However, in many regards it will not be nearly as bad as the Haiti quake. The quake in Haiti hit a densely populated but very poor area in a country that has not had to deal with quakes on a regular basis for decades. Chile, accustomed to the seismic activity, has put strict building codes into practice in the past few decades. Chile is also a fairly developed country, with a solid infrastructure and a seemingly adecuate response to disaster.

With that said, it was an 8.8! Which is huge, so there is a lot of damage. I have heard some reports of smaller towns, mainly constructed with adobe, have been almost leveled. I have been most impacted by some the photos of freeway overpasses and bridges that have collapsed and some of the buildings split in two.

I am relieved that family and friends (as far as I have heard) have fared pretty well. I am sad for the loss of life, already over 200; it will climb some, but it will not even come close to the overwhelming 200,000 lost in Haiti.

Watching the news and hearing the commentary on Chile and its capacity to handle something of this magnitude makes me proud for my second country. With that said, this is one of those times when the sensationalism of the news irks me a little. There is destruction, to be sure, but I like the perspective offered here.

There are some photos here that give a sense of some of the damage done.

So, send a little prayer out to Chile tonight, for the people who have lost loved ones and homes and hope for a speedy recovery.

Doldrums... and cake!

2010-02-25T12:58:00.005-06:00

It has been one of those weeks... you know? Those weeks. Where everything is just off.

I have had headaches and the beginnings of a UTI which I am (bravely? stupidly?) trying to stave off without having to take a round of antibiotics. It requires imbibing insane amounts of water and cranberry extract and other herbs and such. I think it has been mostly successful (the other possibility, of course, is that it turns into a kidney infection) but it has left me feeling just blah...

The kids, for part of the first part of the day (when I have had headaches), watch too many movies. I would totally feel guilty... if I had one extra ounce of energy. The rest of the day they spend fighting, bickering, arguing, and whining alternating with crying. Most of the time they get a long fine, play nicely, share... apparently it is just the week I don't feel good where they fight like cats and dogs and whine like... I don't know... something that whines a lot. Even with movies, now they fight. Nico, who has never paid any attention to the television, is suddenly enraptured by the movie "Cars" (typical, eh?). That is the only movie he wants on. G likes variety (which sadly enough includes "Happy Feet" which is the creepiest movie of all time). Nico puts on Cars and then G exchanges it for a movie she wants and the battle ensues. They even fight over who is going to turn it off: "I do it." "No, I wanna do it." So I grit my teeth and make sure everybody gets a turn.

The weather has been just weird: Sunday was sunny and close to 75 degrees, Tuesday it snowed and didn't get out of the 30s... just another typical bipolar winter in Texas, but it is just so confusing.

The hubs and I are spending all of our free time doing random odds and ends around the house that we should have done years ago: towel hooks for the bathroom, a new coat of paint on the trim (crappily painted), exchanging electical plates that were shoddily painted over to save the extra two minutes it takes to remove. All of these little things, that we now find don't take all that much effort to remedy and that we could have enjoyed for us. Now it is just to sell the house. I hope we have learned a lesson in that.

I have had zero patience with the hubs. I have had to bite my tongue and say sorry on numerous occasions. As we are saying good night, I tell him he still has to love me and he says, "Yep, it's in the contract." That's right, it's part of the deal. I am sure he wishes he had read the fine print.

The icing on the cake comes tomorrow, where the kids both have check-ups that involve shots. I posted a while back about the horror of getting G shots. I thought it would get better as they get older, but it has gotten worse. I normally go alone, but have informed hubs that his attendence and help will be required. I told G today that we had to go to the Dr. tomorrow (I couldn't decide if knowing in advance or a surprise ambush was better). "For me?" She asked. "Both you and Nico." "For shots?" "Yes, honey." ...commence flailing, wailing and gnashing of teeth. I even borrowed a friend's advice of offering up a stuffed animal first to get shots to ease the anxiety. "Maybe we can take puppy, and he can get shots first." "NOOOOOOO, I don't want puppy to get a shot, it hurts." Well, at least she is empathetic, right? I fully expect an outright rebellion tomorrow. I have promised a sucker, which G calls "ladypops" instead of lollipops, which is so cute.

But, things are looking up...this weekend there will be real cake, because someone is having a birthday (more to come). I am thinking of making a lemon layer cake from America's Test Kitchen (pictured below)--I love lemon, so fresh. I have wanted to make it for a long time, but then last minute I found a recipe over on Smitten Kitchen for a chocolate cake with raspberry filling covered with a chocolate ganache... sounds so good!

Decisions, decisions...I find when I can focus my energies on planning something delicious, everything seems rosier.

Mini-Rorschach Test

2010-02-21T14:00:00.003-06:00

Do you know the Rorschach test, that test used by psychologists to determine how your mind works by showing you abstract inkblots?

Mosey, posted a picture-post yesterday that is supposed to be the head of a T-Rex.

I am working on visualizing the T-Rex, but what I really see is a dog smoking a pipe and dancing. At first I thought he was dancing ballet, but today, I see that he is clearly dancing flamenco.

Go look and tell me what you see...

It's a dancing dog isn't it? Don't you see the dramatic flair of the arm over his head, his eyes closed in concentration...?

Thinking of Flamenco reminded me of Joaquin Cortes, a widely-acclaimed Flamenco dancer from Spain, who I first saw in a Pedro Almodovar movie (Is it All About My Mother?)

If you have never seen him, the first few minutes of this video capture him pretty well.

He is obviously showcasing his chest...

Happy Sunday!

A classic whodunnit

2010-02-17T14:29:00.003-06:00

Yesterday, after stepping out of the shower, it sounded awfully quiet.

I walked into the kitchen...

The fridge was open and my husband's jello concoction (which took him 2 days to make... all that boiling water and such...) had been poked and prodded.

There were also half-eaten fig newtons all over the floor

The usual suspects had very red fingers, red blotches on their pjs and cookie crumbs sticking everywhere. If there were any doubt as to the guilty party, there is a perfect, tiny hand print in the jello.

In the end we called it "breakfast" since they were mysteriously lacking in appetite.

Buns of steel and scrap gold

2010-02-13T13:54:00.003-06:00

Do you ever just get inexplicably furious at inanimate objects? I do. I hate to admit it, but I have a zero-tolerance policy for things that don’t function as they should. Like car-doors that don’t open.

G’s door in the car gets jammed… just to annoy me, I am convinced. First, it doesn’t properly unlock. Then, it opens, but gets caught. I have to shut it again, then it is locked, I unlock it and open it and it gets caught… Repeat… repeat. Usually after a couple times, I reach in and manually push the lock and it opens. But it is so irritating! I always have my hands and arms full with toys and papers, and kids, and bags. And I just want it to OPEN... you know, like doors are built to do.

So, yesterday, I was on my way to do a favor for someone. I was feeling a little ungracious about it since it meant lots of driving and sitting in the car with the kids (after rushing them through breakfast and getting dressed and bathroom check, and coats on and, and, and...). I was getting ready to load the kids in the car, and G’s door started acting up. In a moment of rage, I shrieked and slammed it shut with my hip (twice… at least). G is looking at me, puzzled by such an outburst: a look that I will remember in horror, later, when I am more composed.

Last night, the hubs runs to the store. He calls to check on the list and adds: “Did you know there was a dent in the car?”

No, where?

In the driver’s side, rear door

Hmm, I don’t know (I hadn’t put it together yet)

After we hung up it hit me…

When he got home, I went outside to verify… and sure enough, an imprint of my hip in the side of the car…… plop… (heart sinks to pit of stomach recalling episode)

“Oh,er, uhm... that may have been me… (whispered very, very sheepishly)

Ahhhhh, it just makes me sick to my stomach, especially since we are going to be selling it soon. How do I explain the butt-impression on the door? Maybe if I can get famous really fast, it’ll increase the value.

And hey, I could have lied about it… and didn’t, that counts for something, right?

I guess I just didn’t know my own strength…. (loud guffaw)

My hubs said it changed how he thought of me. I asked if it was because I had a fit of rage or because I told him the truth. I asked him if he could forgive me. He said for a price… and snatched a piece of my quesadilla. Weasel.

----------------------------------------

In other news…

We had our first garage sale today in preparation for our move. This is the one where we sell all the clutter we don’t really use or need right now: the little bookshelves I bought in college, the high chair, unused strollers, the massage contraption that my husband bought me one year in hopes he would be saved from further massage-requests: “Here, now you can do it yourself!” The only problem is that it hurts. We also got rid of some kids toys that they kept trying to play with now after weeks and months of not touching them (sorry kids!… and G is getting less and less enthused about the move every time I tell her we have to sell something so we can move to Chile).

Garage sales are funny events. Our signs said 8am. People start driving by slooooooowly around 7:20. There is a knock on the door at 7:40 “Are you having a sale today?” … Uh…Yes, at 8!

I tried to be more than fair on pricing, but then, you want to price it a little higher because garage sale psychology says that most buyers will offer half. There are the people who will buy it for whatever price you say. Then there are others who, looking at an item that is brand new, with tags, marked for $2, look at you like you are out of your mind. Really, if I just wanted to give it away, I wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of a garage sale, you know?

Then there is the man asking if we have any scrap-gold… scrap gold? I don’t even have non-scrap gold. Isn’t the term “scrap-gold” an oxymoron anyway? So he gives me his card and says if I know of anybody to give them his number, he’ll come and haul it away…. Because, it’ll be so heavy…

Then there is the guy looking for old laptops. Nope.

Then a guy asks we have any hunting and fishing gear for sale. No? and then jokes…What kind of garage sale is this anyway?

Then there is the Nigerian Taxi-man who wants to barter to the death… which is really uncomfortable. .. and then asks if he can pay with a check… uh, no… (and not because he is Nigerian, he just happens to be the only one who asked).

On Virtual Voyeurism

2010-02-05T21:17:00.001-06:00

I used to love taking long walks at night through quiet neighborhoods. From the darkness of the sidewalk I often got glances of life inside those houses. I am not a voyeur of the peeping-Tom variety, but there is something so intimate in catching glimpses of a family sitting down to dinner; a man washing dishes staring out into the darkness; a woman watering her plants in the living room while listening to music. There is something comforting about seeing some people live lives like yours and something so exhilarating about seeing others live ones quite different.

That is one of the things I love most about reading blogs: getting little glimpses inside distant lives. I know they are only glimpses. I know all writing, even auto-biographies and memoirs, are limited to what the author wants to exhibit—there is no tell-all. We choose what stories to tell and how to tell them: we edit details; we add flair; we tone down; we exaggerate. Even when we think we have been as honest as possible, it is still, at best, one side of the story. Yet, there is always a grain of truth, a moment of authenticity that gives you a sense of a real life being lived.

Even though this is decidedly a personal blog, there are personal things that I don’t write about, that I choose not to write about. Some stories are not mine to tell. Others involve people I don’t want to hurt or expose.

Limiting the personal is especially an issue when it comes to my husband. I am not perfect; he is not perfect; we have struggles like every couple. I share some of my annoyances with him. I try to be honest about my defects and failures. I even mention arguments we have had. But just as I would not want to leave anyone with the idea that it is much rosier than it is, I also don’t want anyone to think it is bleaker than it is.

The writer of a lovely blog I read recently came under attack for something very personal she wrote. She was writing about the ups and downs of marriage, particularly, a current low point—no details, just that she was struggling. But she opened her heart, made herself vulnerable, and someone said something insensitive, as is bound to happen eventually in the blogosphere. It made me want to say something, to come to her defense.

What I have come to understand about human relations, is that even with those who are closest to us, who spend years by our side, we can never truly comprehend their depths: the motives, the desires, the intentions, the pain and suffering, the reactions, the losses, the bitter disappointments, the dreams, the joys of another human being. So, why judge so harshly someone you don’t even know?

Anyone who has been married past the initial “honeymoon” phase, and perhaps even sooner, will tell you that marriage is hard work; it is both bliss and agony; it is a haphazard assortment of shared joys and individual resentments. There are complications: children, jobs, financial strain, natural disasters, car problems, stress, gloom, loneliness, sickness, disagreements, insensitivities, egos. Fortunately, there is also joy, beauty, security, companionship, laughter, and intimacy to balance the scale.

It reminds me of a poem I have loved forever by a poet I adore; a poem I translated into Spanish for my husband back when we were dating and going through a rough patch; a poem that, for me, gets to the very essence of human relations, how complicated and vulnerable we are as individuals and how both sweet and bitter it can get when we come together.

Simple Song

by Marge Piercy

When we are going toward someone we say
you are just like me
your thoughts are my brothers
word matches word
how easy to be together.

When we are leaving someone we say
how strange you are
we cannot communicate
we can never agree
how hard, hard and weary to be together.

We are not different nor alike
but each strange in his leather body
sealed in skin and reaching out clumsy hands
and loving is an act
that cannot outlive
the open hand
the open eye
the door in the chest standing open.

Where does all the stuff go?

2010-02-01T22:52:00.002-06:00

I have been thinking about stuff all week. Not just because of my recent post where I define myself as an experience person, mildly persuaded to the stuff side on occasion, but mainly because we have to go through all of our stuff as we get ready to make our trans-continental (if you go by the 7 continent rule) move.

We decided, based on the quality (or lack thereof) of our stuff, that we are going to sell or get rid of most of it. I am not sure if this means we are lucky not to be stuff people, where we have stuff that is so nice we can’t bear not to send it, no matter the cost, or if we are unlucky, because though most of our stuff is hand-me-down crap, we have stuff and it is ours, and in a few months we won’t much stuff at all.

I am starting to go through boxes and files. I have piles like this, waiting to be shredded, recycled, given away.

We are taking some stuff, but mostly, it is useless. You can’t sleep on it and you can’t eat off of it. What we will take with us: books, cds, some toys, clothes, my bike, some tools, some kitchen items. Our friends down the street asked if we are taking our ladder. Honestly, we might, and not out of spite, my hubs is quite fond of it.

I talked to my little sister this morning. She said she was going through her memory box. We all have one, ironically they are all boxes that formerly held the likes of Johnny Walker and other distilled spirits; of course, this is only ironic if you know my mother. She can’t stand alcohol, yet she stored all of our childhood mementos in booze boxes. I think there is a message there.

My sister said that she felt like the box was kind of a burden, because she has to take it with her everywhere she goes. It is true; it is kind of a burden.

I have several boxes of photos and memories that must be hauled from house to house, city to city, and even country to country, if need be. It is the stuff your parents collected for you and then that you collect. It can’t be thrown away and can’t be kept at your parents because you are too old and because your parents don’t want to store it for you anyway.

They are boxes filled with things like this:

The sock monkey my mom made me when I was 4

The apron my mom made to hold my crayons while coloring

A very important manual on hibernation and migration

A stack of punishment papers, proof of the dreaded sentence-writing.
This one is 26-50 of 100: I will be respectful in family meetings.
I guess you can deduce that I wasn't.

…. These are things that I can’t bear to throw away.

I am also going through all of my academic stuff—boxes and boxes of articles. Some of them I will keep, but a lot of them I will get rid of.

If you want any articles on the Baroque, Neo-Baroque, Modernism, Post-Modernism, Colonial, or Post-Colonial… It is your moment! Speak now or forever hold your peace.

What? No takers.....?

Fears Assuaged

2010-01-28T22:16:00.004-06:00

One of the hardest cumpulsions to combat in parenthood is that of comparing your child, favorably or unfavorably, to others of the same age. For the most part we are not talking about babies who can recite Shakespeare at 15 months or who are playing Mozart at 2, but parents are always so proud of their kids' accomplishments and they never hesitate to share them. I try not to fall prey... I try not to brag, even when warranted, and I generally don't feel insecure about my children's development.

Fact: very few children are real bonafide geniuses

Fact: all children develop different skills at a different pace

Fact: regardless of the previous two facts, your child will look like a late bloomer in relation to some other child, at some skill, at some time.

For G, this is drawing. She has fabulous large motor skills: running, skipping, climbing, balance, jumping on two feet, jumping on one foot. Her fine motor skills, however, could use a little refining. It is not that I am worried, I know these things come with time and practice and interest (which she has little). I asked her pediatrician what kind of artistic abilities she should have at 4 and she said not much... a circle for a head and two lines for arms. Yet, I have long noticed that other girls her age, and even younger, can draw. They are not little Monet's or anything, but their scribblings vaguely, abstractly resemble objects from daily life: mom, dad, the dog, a tree.

G's scribblings look like scribblings... I mean squirrly-whirly scribblings. I have tried to encourage her to draw a stick-person explaining how to do it. She gets up close to the paper, concentrating fiercely, holding her crayon tight, and scratches intently for a few seconds. Then she sits back, looks at her work, laughs histerically and says: "look at his head." I could worry, but come on people, she is 4. And by the way, it looked nothing like a head.

Truth be told, I don't have an artistic bone in my body. I struggle with stick-people, and anything more complex or realistic is way beyond my skill level. My husband can draw quite well: his bananas look like bananas and his elephants like elephants. His mom was an artist and art teacher so perhaps there is a gene. G didn't get it, I am pretty sure.

But I was relieved a while back to see something person-ish on her paper.

Take a look:

Is that anthropomorphic or what?

I think my fears can be safely laid to rest.

To Do or to Have

2010-01-23T22:58:00.002-06:00

I was inspired by Margaret who wrote a very moving post, inspired by another post titled: “Are you a stuff junkie or an experience junkie?” I loved her take on the importance of catching experience in photos.

So I have been thinking all afternoon about my desires for tangibles and intangibles and whether I am a “stuff” or “experience” person at my core.

It is actually a fairly complicated question, not really as far as where I fall, but in general. I love how Margaret describes the “stuff” people as nesters, because I don’t think “stuff” is always about consumerism and greed, which is semi-implied, I think, in the question. I would also add that “experience” is more than traveling. For me “experience” as a counterpoint to “stuff” has included marrying the man I married, completing my Ph.D. and having kids—all decisions that are more about how I want to experience life than they are about stuff.

“Stuff” is also about the experience of beauty. I am not talking about consumer crazes like constantly upgrading cars or phones or purchasing a Gucci bag for your purse collection. I am thinking more along the lines of Pablo Neruda, who had such beautiful collections of things, some as quotidian as bottles and shells, others exotic. I think there is beauty in the experience of some objects that makes us want to be surrounded by them.

I grew up with very little in the “stuff” department, so as an adult, it could have gone either way. (I have at least one sister who tries to fill those childhood voids with stuff now.) When I went away to college, an experience I wanted to have (and for which I am still paying now), I had nothing. I had a picnic blanket I borrowed from my mom to put on my bed in the dorm and 20 bucks. I had to borrow money for books. After I paid that debt off and bought books for the next semester, I took my next unfettered work-study check, and blew it all ($150) on a pair of hiking boots, an unthinkable luxury, which I still have and love, and strangely bring tears to my eyes now as I think about them. So I don’t look down on stuff; stuff can be powerful.

But I think my path was chosen when I studied abroad in Ecuador (or maybe it was chosen long before because of the person I was, who knows). Just as important as where I went, what I saw, and what it meant, the notion that even coming from where I came from, I could find a way to go anywhere… do anything, was so empowering.

Of course, there are tangibles, many of the same ones that Margaret mentions that I don’t want to do without:

A computer, for example, which more than being an object itself, is a portal for experiencing family at a distance and for experiencing an online community which has come to fill a special place in my life.

I love books; I am drawn to them; they are irresistible. I didn’t grow up with a TV, so I was an avid reader as a kid. The past few years I have been immersed in academia, but I am finally getting back into reading for the sheer joy of it again. I have many books and I used to have more. I am limited by space and periodically purge and prune my collection. It is painful, even if it is a book I won’t read again. I would love to have a huge library with those ladders that slide. I also experience other people through books… what I mean is that by looking at what books people have you get a sense about them. If I visit you house, I will look at your books. If you have no books, it will be a little disconcerting.

I love kitchen stuff. I don’t need a lot of stuff and I can make do with whatever I have. I won’t buy a rolling pin because the empty wine bottle I use does just fine, but I adore my $200 Le Creuset dutch oven. I don’t have my dream kitchen yet, but when I do, it will be filled with lots of kitchen stuff, because I like the experience of making and sharing good food with good friends and family in a cozy, well-stocked kitchen.

I love my camera, though it is not always in front of my face—I do a fair bit of observation, but I do love the idea, as Margaret more poignantly expresses, of capturing experiences to relive at a future date.

So you see, even with stuff, it is all about the experience of things.

One might also argue that in order to experience one must have the right stuff, so it may come down to what stuff you are buying or what experiences you are after.

Is it just me...

2010-01-22T13:15:00.002-06:00

Every time my father-in-law comes to visit he fills his suitcases, round-trip, with objects for other people. On his way here, they are filled with gifts that people send us. On his way back they are filled with gifts he buys for others and gifts that we send back. He barely has room for his clothes.

In addition, there are always a few random requests to carry various electronics: ipods, iphones, cameras, and the occasional laptop. For close family, I think that is fine. If you are not immediate family, such a request just seems rude to me... Personally, I would rather pay $100 extra than burden my friend's dad or my brother's wife's dad, but that is just me and yes, I do realize that social acceptability for requests has a big cultural component.

Now that we are planning our return to Chile, I know that these issues will come up. I have already made it perfectly clear to my hubs that we will be rejecting any requests to bring back a laptop for anybody. I may even say no to an iphone... We are making a transnational move here people, We will be carrying 2 kids and all the luggage we are alotted and possibly car seats. I will not be carrying anything for anybody. Our very stressful move is not anyone's opportunity of a lifetime to get their dream-anything. I am a mean, nasty witch and I am not sorry about it.

I was totally unprepared for the latest implied request though...

A friend of my husband, who he has grown up with has called a few times recently. The other day he left a message saying he'd like to chat by messenger. He said he had heard we were coming back... expressed his excitement... and started asking about the process and if we were sending our car and such. We started talking about whether ornot it was worth it to ship the car (we had decided that after paying shipping and taxes that it wasn't). He starts talking about a car he is eyeing on ebay (bad sign, my hands start sweating). The only problem of course, is that he has not resided in the US so under some import/export law he cannot buy himself a used car abroad and have it sent to himself. So he is frantically trying to find a way to finagle it before the auction ends and he loses it. Do you see where this is heading?

That is where I hand the computer to my hubs and tell him I am not dealing with it. He hasn't come out and asked, directly, but it is oh so implied. The conversation trailed off and ended and I hoped he would come to his senses...

But it seems he hasn't. I got another message (and I think he just called on the phone) that he wants to chat tonight (I will not be getting on). I looked at the car auction on ebay and it has been sold. All I can say is that he had better not be the buyer. I will FREAK! ...and it will not end well. I am getting all worked up just thinking that he bought it and is going to expect us to help him ship it. I don't even want to go through the work, coordination, and hassle to send my own very-loved car, not to mention all the other stresses and work we have facing us.

Is it just me, or is this just absurdly, preposterously rude? Am I getting too prematurely worked up?

Food: the results

2010-01-21T18:47:00.003-06:00

I posted last week about some recipes I wanted to try, namely pizza and French Onion Soup (though not together).

First, the pizza dough: I usually make a whole wheat or half-half recipe, which is more healthy (I even put ground flax seeds in it, because I am a freak). It is really good, I can't complain... and yet there is something about regular white flour dough that is pretty tasty. There is a little pizza joint I love that makes awesome pizza and has really good crust so I was kind of looking for something similar (though it is hard to tell from a recipe or even the descriptions how it is going to turn out). I had found a recipe from the book American Pie by Peter Reinhart and decided to try it.

The interesting thing is that it goes against everything you thought you knew about yeast breads. There is no sugar, it is totally cold (chilled flour, ice water, and cold rise). I have seen cold rise recipes before, but always dissolving yeast in warm water/sugar first. It is pretty easy to mix together and then you just plop it in the fridge for 1-3 days. You let it sit on the counter for 2 hours before using it.

Let me tell you... I was very skeptical. It didn't rise at all, really, in the fridge and on the counter it just sat all lumpish. I thought for sure it was a no-go. I was thinking about plan B for dinner and hesitated to even prepare the pizza toppings. I kept looking at it thinking it wasn't going to work.

Well it did. You are supposed to stretch it over your fists to shape it, and toss it if you can, which I can't... but it just falls over the sides of your fists and stretches like silk. It was so cool!! It can go super thin, which was a problem with the kids pizza (traditional sauce, mozzerella, zuchini, corn, and black olives) the crust was too thin in the middle.

I worked it out better for the next one and the two the next day turned out good too (I divided the dough into 4).

So the first day I copied the pizza I love from the joint I mentioned above (cilantro pesto--which was easy to make, mozzerella, buffalo chicken, red onion, banana peppers and a sprinkle of blue cheese) It turned out really good.

Here it is:

It tasted really similar, but I think their crust is better... so I am still on the prowl for the perfect crust. It might be an equipment issue too. I don't have a pizza stone or anything fancy... maybe that is my next cooking purchase.... or not, I'm already thinking of something else to make... My new plan is to go beg them for their recipe.

The next day I made the pizza from P-dub's new cookbook (PW= Pioneer Woman). You rub the crust with olive oil and cover it with a layer of potatoes cut paper-thin. Then you cover the potatoes with a layer of fresh mozzerella, also sliced. You cook some bacon and then saute several leeks in the bacon grease and throw all that on, then you top it off with some crumbled goat cheese (Feta) some grated parmesan and some black pepper. It. is. to. DIE. for! Seriously, I would never lead you astray when it comes to food... either would P-dub. I have a friend who said it sounded gross... I was so elated to inform her that she was grossly mistaken and have promised to make it for her so that I have an excuse to make it again. Anyone else want some?

We decided it is that potatoes are so good with a good unhealthy animal fat. If you are vegetarian, it would probably be just as good with a little more olive oil and a a sprinkling of my tears of sorrow that there would be no bacon...

Here is that one:

So my last adventure was French Onion Soup. It turned out really good. I made it and a salad as a light supper, but I think it is better served in a smaller portion as a first course. Toward the end I was all onion-ed out...

My favorite part is the Gruyere covered croutons... so good... and it always makes me so proud that I have come such a long way from my "only cheddar" days.

I am not very good at food photography... I'll have to look up some tips.

Next on my want-to-make list... homemade fettucine and maybe ravioli... if only I can get my hands on a pasta maker (to roll it).

G: a series of faces

2010-01-19T14:18:00.003-06:00

Funny, sweet, and surprisingly stubborn (we have no idea where that comes from).

She is at this stage (is it a stage?) where she talks incessantly... I mean nonstop chatter. It is mostly entertaining, but it does get in the way of everything else she needs to do, because apparently this isn't an age of multi-tasking. I can't even count how many times a day I say:

G, stop talking and eat
G, stop talking and get dressed
G, stop talking and climb into your carseat
G, stop talking and get out of the car
G, stop talking and finish your lunch
G, stop talking and lie down
G, stop talking and go potty
G, stop talking and put your shoes on
G, stop talking and eat your dinner (like 10 times)

Her talking incessantly makes me talk incessantly.

Fireside

2010-01-17T22:42:00.005-06:00

We had a BBQ tonight, to end our weekend.

My husband is very Chilean about his "asado" (BBQ) and he is something of a non-criminal pyromaniac, hence there is a lot of smoke and flames involved. Our friends with gas grills think we are either crazy or primitive or both. But at the end we have this...

You can't snuggle up by a gas grill.

Confession # 6--I dream of pizza

2010-01-12T23:08:00.003-06:00

Tonight I am in the mood to cleanse my soul so it is time for another confession.

This is it: I like to cook and I love to bake. And by cooking and baking, I mean from scratch…. like from scratch scratch.

I know this seems like an odd confession, not something you would hide in the closet with your Snuggie and your dog-eared copy of Kama Sutra. It is something that has taken me a long time to come to terms with, and something I struggle with now. It is silly, I know, but cooking is, at times, one of those chores that makes me feel too much like a “wife.” I hate doing things that feel like gender duties, it is something I struggle with on a daily basis. The feeling that I end up doing something because I am the woman is not something I embrace, it rubs my inner feminist the wrong way (and trust me, you don’t want to irritate her).

The internal conflict is compounded, of course, by the fact that my husband, though he does grill, like a lot of men, doesn’t cook much. I mean, he CAN cook (though it takes him forever) and he has made some very good meals… and he WILL cook, if I ask him to, but his schedule doesn’t really allow it much during the week and he doesn’t get excited over finding (or even looking for) a recipe for French Onion Soup or the perfect pizza dough like I do. So I do most of the cooking.

I do not like the daily grind cooking—the what-do-I-make-for-dinner pressure. That is exhausting, and I’ll admit that we have easy, quick, or sometimes overly- processed foods several times a week. We also have leftovers a lot… and by leftovers, I mean exactly what we had last night: it is not dressed up or changed up or altered at all. When I cook, I make a lot so I don’t have to cook the next day.

I love finding new recipes and trying them out. I love cooking for other people. I love making something that makes people have to ask: “How did you make it?” I love knowing that my cupcakes have brought tears to peoples’ eyes (slight exaggeration), that my chicken braised in white wine or the smell of my homemade bread will make your mouth water, and that my husband will never leave me because he is addicted to my flan.

I love cooking shows on PBS. I love cookbooks. I rarely subscribe to magazines… except cooking or wine ones. At night I dream of All-Clad, Le Creuset, and KitchenAid.

Since I have come clean, I will share my latest acquisitions with you…

The first, thanks to a blogger friend who received more than one and wanted to share (thanks again Mosey!)

The second, thanks to a birthday bookstore gift card… and because I love America’s Test Kitchen.

So I am getting ready to make pizza, with a long (1-3 days), cold-rise pizza-dough recipe I found, supposedly the closest thing to pizzeria crust. One pizza I have been dying to make from PW’s book is a potato leek pizza (it has bacon and goat cheese too, if that makes it sound more interesting—I think it sounds fabulous) and then I will attempt to imitate the most delectable pizza in the entire world which has a cilantro pesto sauce, topped with buffalo chicken, red onions, banana peppers, and blue cheese (which, strangely enough, I do not like, but on this pizza it is divine!)

Then I am going to make French Onion Soup, I think I’ll try the America’s Test Kitchen recipe, though it is not the one in the book above, I saw in a recent episode that they have perfected it since then… now I just have to find it…

Consulate trip 1

2010-01-09T14:17:00.003-06:00

We drove to the Chilean Consulate in Houston this week to complete the first steps in the process of moving to Chile.

We registered the kids--this is strangely the lengthy part, as it can take up to 6-7 months. As with all things in Chile, though, a "pituto" (someone you know on the inside) can speed things along. The woman at the consulate said that she knows someone in "extranjeria" (immigration) that she can ask to speed things up.

We registered our marriage. We were technically supposed to do it in San Francisco, but they allowed us to sign here and then they will send the papers there (where they will presumably be accepted--we hope). Registering our marriage involved deciding what kind of economic contract we wanted--this determines how assets acquired during the marriage are divided should the marriage end (in both death or divorce, I think). I read up on it a little before going... then totally forgot which one I had decided on. We ended up deciding on "separacion de bienes" (separation of assets--which means that what I acquire is mine and what he acquires is his) Jokingly I said that I wanted the kind of contract where what is mine is mine and what is his is mine, kind of like the system he and I currently operate under. Who knows if we have made a colossal blunder...

I inquired about my visa and was pleasantly surprised to find out that once I fax my paperwork, it only takes about a week. I have to get an FBI background check and an HIV test/medical check-up but apart from that it will be fairly quick. Of course, it costs about $400. I think I remember reading that if I were to do it in Chile it would be free... but that it would take an eternity and lots more paperwork. Plus I want to land with the authorization to work.

For all of those who understand the complex system for buying the simplest of things in Chile--order at one counter, pay at the register, then hand over reciept and pick up goods at a third counter... you will be happy to know that the same process applies at the consulate in the US... I had to go downstairs and deposit the $10 it cost for the registrations in a their bank account, and then take the receipt back upstairs.

I have also started looking into schools for G for next year. The cost of some of them is enough to give you an anxiety attack.

The Fantasy List

2010-01-08T22:49:00.002-06:00

At the Christmas Day dinner with our friends, we were talking about “the list.” You know that list of hot celebrities that your significant other has graciously agreed to allow you to engage with in amorous diversion, should the occasion miraculously present itself.

They had been talking about the list when they went home to visit their families. They had asked a sister’s husband about his list. He said there was a girl who sat in front of him in Spanish class who was pretty hot.

I am guessing that he didn’t understand the rules. I am not sure exactly how it works, but I am pretty sure it has to be someone you would never really have a chance at convincing to play.

So, our friends… the wife, M, had gotten a little loopy earlier in the week muttering some obscene insults about Selma Hayek to her husband, J. Come to find out, Selma is on his list and M had just seen a photo of her on the computer, in her 40-something-year-old glory, looking all voluptuous and sexy.

So we talked for a minute how the list works and whether M would just let J run off with Selma, if Selma should be so inclined. M said, “Yeah, go for it J (encouraging him). I’d love the time to myself.” I wondered aloud if J would have to take the kids with him, of course, I am sure Selma has nannies.

So I asked my hubs who was on his list. He just shook his head and chuckled. So I said: “come on! what are you afraid of?… that you’d wake up with her name carved in your chest?

Nah, really…I am pretty sure there are people he thinks are good-looking, but I am also pretty sure he doesn’t have a “list”. I don’t have a list either, actually, or the desire to make a list. I really don’t care about celebrities.

So now I am curious…I am sure these lists are not really all that serious, but even that people have that fantasy is so interesting. So, how common are these lists? Do you and your other have a list? Who is on it? Or do you have a secret list? Or are you not into that kind of fantasy?

Entertainment

2010-01-05T13:07:00.004-06:00

It is almost a waste of money to buy toys for kids... at least for mine.

G, after playing with every play kitchen, everywhere we go, was given a little kitchen for Christmas. It has been played with very little, and without excesses of enthusiasm.

However, when papi came home with this foam tubing for insulating the pipes for our upcoming hard freeze, they played for hours and had a blast. We even had to cut it in half to end the bickering over who was going to hold it.

When we play outside they abandon all wagons, carts, push toys, trikes, balls, swings and throw little red berries down the driveway... ALL AFTERNOON. I was worried at first, that the little berries might be poisonous and Nico might eat some... but then I remembered he would never ingest anything we call "berry" since he doesn't do fruit.

Also entertaining this week: saying "coco" 500 billion times a day back and forth to each other. They say it to each other at the dinner table instead of eating: G--"coco" (hahahaha) Nico--"coco" (hahaha). It is mildy amusing up until "coco" number 150 million, anything after that is just repetitive.

The first two days of 2010 in retrospect--a sarcastic analysis

2010-01-02T20:36:00.005-06:00

It is day 2 of 2010.

My quest for inner peace and happiness has already been thwarted.*

Was it Jean-Paul Sartre that said “Hell is other people”?

He was a wise wise man.

One of my good blogging friends said once in an email that (paraphrasing) “happiness has to come from inside; which is annoying.” Annoying indeed!... and ironic, since most major irritations tend to come from the outside.

I was all set to embrace happiness, but 2010 surprisingly started out much like 2009 ended… with excessive amounts of whining and messes. I guess it is to be expected with two little kids, but it has a way, nevertheless, of undermining and tossing aside all of my peaceful mantras.

My little N-man is such a beastly brute. He will seriously be a lucky lil’ man to make it to the terrible two’s (I can’t wait!!) if he doesn’t stop throwing things.
1) He throws food. As soon as he is done, which may be when he is full, or bored, or afraid he is not getting enough attention, or at the very beginning of a meal if it is something he has decided not to eat, he starts chucking whatever is left in his bowl onto the floor. We probably committed some major parenting sin way back when it started by paying any attention to that behavior at all. Perhaps we should have ignored it all together. Because now, it doesn’t matter what we do, and we have tried everything, he does it anyway and finds it hilarious. Now he is adding bonus behaviors like spitting his food out to entertain his older sister, who finds it raucously funny. He has to clean up any food he throws and his meal ends, but that doesn’t seem to bother him.
2) He throws toys, blocks, magnets, books, trucks; he knocks things to the ground and pulls all the books off the bookshelf. He is required to pick up any messes he makes, but it involves at least one time-out because initially he refuses to clean up.

He has also started whining. If there is one thing that drives me bat-sh** it is whining. Most kids whine and I already know from experience that the battle from whining to non-whining is an arduous one.

G is actually at a really good age. She is pretty independent and has learned to “use her words” more than whine. She is having trouble, however, with a few things. One is eating in a timely fashion--she is the slowest eater of all time. She is also coming to grips with having to dress herself.

(I was talking with a friend the other day about all the things you never think about in regards to having kids—you think about all the cute cuddly stuff: all the baby-glory, learning to walk and talk, reading bed-time stories, going to piano recitals and soccer games, going trick-or treating...no one imagines all the ins and outs of daily existence—how long you will have to help wipe little bums and how getting oneself dressed is not an innate human instinct—it is painstakingly learned).

So, yeah, I tell G to dress put on her shoes and socks and she immediately shrieks in agony “I caaaaaaaaaan’t” and wilts to the floor in a sobbing heap. She has shoes mastered, but socks are tricky. I help her identify the heel section and help her position the sock just so, and she pulls it on a little and then get frustrated when her little toe becomes jammed or the toe-section doesn’t fit quite right. (of course, to be fair, the poor thing inherited my insanely low tolerance for frustration).

My sweet hubs is also trying to sabotage my inner-zen by annoying the ever-lovin’ crap out of me. (I am also blessed with lightning-fast irritation reflexes--that with my low tolerance for frustration--make for some fun relationship dynamics).

My hubs-- sweet, kind, and generous as he is-- seems to believe that once he has told me he needs to do something (that has nothing to do with me), it suddenly and miraculously passes into my realm of responsibility. Do all men do that, or just mine?

He calls me on Monday and tells me he needs to change the oil in his work-truck and can I please pick him up. I tell him it is not the best day for that and explain why. He agrees and says it needs to be done urgently this week and can I please remind him. (later for purposes of his argument, Monday becomes the "perfect" day to do it, and I said no, for no reason).

I remind him by writing a note and placing it by his “essentials drawer.” He remembers one evening mid-week, I tell him to go the next morning.

Friday he lets me know that he also needs to clean his truck.

It is Saturday, we are talking about our major TO-DO list during nap time. At some point, talking about some such thing or other he accuses me of not making sure he got an oil change and then he told me YESTERDAY that he needed to clean.the.truck. and he hasn’t been able to clean it yet and he doesn’t want to do it during the week and when is he going to be able to do it…….

So I am thinking (read: hissing out loud)… so go clean it!!! He doesn’t need me to schedule it into our day, does he? Then he complains that I didn’t remind him well enough about the oil change (as in: I didn’t put the keys in his hand and shove him out the door threatening not to let him back in until he changes the oil). It’s like once he has told me he needs to do it, I have to arrange it for him.

So he goes outside to clean the truck and immediately starts rearranging the garage. I was with the kids outside, and kindly suggested that he clean the gosh-darn cotton-pickin' truck if it was really so urgent... so I don’t have to hear about it ever again... for the love of Pete!

Ahh--good times! It was actually a funny little argument, with lots of laughing, which is why I can even tell you about it.

My husband’s grandfather used to tell him that the first 12 days of a new year basically dictate what the next 12 months will be like. Great, that gives me great hope!

* This post, while true, is greatly exaggerated and meant to be taken with a healthy dose of sarcasm. Don’t worry, I am not totally jaded on 2010 yet, I still have loads of naïve optimism.

Happy New Year!

2009-12-31T16:38:00.002-06:00

We were just going to have left-overs. We hadn't planned anything special... but last minute I decided to run to the store and grab some stuff to make a nice dinner. It is top secret, but I'll tell you it involves rib-eye and pioneer woman... well not exactly the woman herself, but her website.

I got to sleep in until 9 today (this is major when you have kids). I went running. I am now showered and clean (the only proper way to leave a decade, right?) I survived the new year's eve supermarket last minute rush with NO obsecenities... ok, maybe a few remarks under my breath, but it was very zen-like. We'll have a nice dinner some champagne (not necessarily at midnight, but... you know, we are old)... and just like that 2009 will be over.

I have no resolutions. Normally I joke that I only make suggestions for my husband's improvement because I have already achieved perfection. Of course, that is false false false, but I get a good laugh over it. I don't like resolutions, it is too much pressure... and really, how can I top a Ph.D. in 2009.

However, if I had one hope for myself for the next decade it would be to learn how to embrace happiness in the moment. It sounds so simple, but sheesh it is hard for me to accomplish.

embrace happiness... embrace happiness... embrace happiness (that and be more patient, less bossy, less controlling, more flexible, more fun, more spontaneous... which are all, of course, intertwined)

That is my mantra for the next decade. (which is a pretty tall order for an anti-resolution).

Whatever you have planned or not, whatever you resolve to do or not, I hope you have a smashing good time tonight, bring with you all that was good in 2009, leave behind all that was negative in 2009, tomorrow you re-start the clock with a clean slate.

(and know this my bloggy friends, connecting more with some of you via blogging has been one of my highlights of 2009, so I will think of you tonight and hope that you are embracing happiness in your square foot of the universe)

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

... and now it is over...

2009-12-28T22:17:00.008-06:00

We have had a good week...

We played outside in the leaves and had a leaf fight with papi. I won the fight when I stuffed a handful of leaves down his pants. As I reflect back over 2009, I think that this moment of sheer glee may have been my highlight for the year.

The kids have laughed a lot and stayed up late.

We now have a house full of trucks of all sizes.

Our friends invited us over for a seafood boil, which was divine. I made pisco sour which was fabulous and flan which was sublime.

There is always a strange feeling when Christmas is over. So much build up and then it is gone. I can't believe it is the last week of 2009.

New Year's Eve looks promising... not because we have exciting plans, but because this may be the first year, in many, that we actually make it to midnight.

I hope your Christmas was lovely. Are you ready to ring in 2010?

Crocodile Tears

2009-12-22T22:00:00.003-06:00

I don't know if you knew this about me... but I am a softy and a sap.

I think I have cried at some point during every movie on earth.

If there is: love at first sight, love after conflict, an unrequited love, a rekindled love, a new love, a lost love, a birth, a death, a sickness, a mother-daughter moment, a father-son moment, sibling rivalry, someone lost, someone found, a new house, a house burned-down, a special gift, a surprise, a promise fulfilled, a promise broken, war, peace, a kiss, an almost kiss, a refused kiss, an animal in danger, a heroic moment, success, a failure, a wave good-bye, a hug hello, if someone says "I'm sorry" or "I've always loved you", if someone cries...

I will shed a tear or two... I may even request a box of tissue.

Luckily, my husband is a softy too. We look at each other during a poignant moment to see if the other has teared up yet. If you cry first, there is an unspoken agreement that you have lost... and then we laugh.

I cry at everthing, but I think tonight... I hit a new low...

I cried at a Folger's commercial.

It is before Christmas. There is a knock at the front door. A traveller has arrived after a long absence. His sister, who has been waiting for him opens the door. They put on a pot of Folger's and the smell wakes up their parents. They intuitively know that he has arrived and get out of bed. Meanwhile, downstairs the world-traveller gives his sister a gift from a far-off land. She takes off the bow and puts it on him. She says: You're my gift this year.

(... signal...) the springing of the tears

What a sap huh? Or did that one get you too?

I was alone, but I am pretty sure my husband would have cried too, and that makes me feel a little less lame.

Next time: Movie-yes; Lunch-not-so-much

2009-12-20T13:05:00.007-06:00

Yesterday morning we had a girls' morning out. G and I went with her neighborhood bff and my neighborhood bff (who also happen to be a mother-daughter team) to see the Princess and the Frog (very cute btw, if you can stomach Disney movies).

We don't take G to the movies very often, but I am happy that she is old enough to sit through one at the theater. I am also glad that kids' movies are full of kids with their parents--so when G exclaims out loud "There's a kitty" or "Mickey Mouse!"--it fits right in with all the other kids who talk out loud during movies (Why is he sad? Oooh a frog!, etc.) G loved it, though we had to go out to get popcorn (you must have the whole movie experience, no?) close to the end.

After the movie my friend asked if we wanted to have lunch. I said Ok, because I try to be brave, even though eating out with kids is my very definition of hell. It is SO NOT relaxing. We rarely eat out. Really only when my father-in-law is visiting, (when we eat out several times a week, at fancy restaurants, way too late in the evening where we spend most of the dining experience entertaining/taking to the restroom/feeding/cleaning up after/and quieting kids) and those moments of extreme pleasure last us until the next year when he visits.

We went to Jason's Deli, which is kind of restaurantish, but you order like it's fast food. You order at counter one, take your ticket to the register to pay, pick up food at another counter, get drinks at the drink counter, find a table carrying tray and snapping at child who is exploring. Not fun... Annoying!

G odered a hot dog (from the list off of the kids' menu). She picked up just the hot dog (the weanie), dipped it in her ketchup and then licked the ketchup off the hot dog, swirling her tongue around in a way that would have been quite indecent if she were 10-15 years older. I tell her to stop. Then she starts "painting" her hot dog bun with ketchup using the hot dog. She was not interested in eating at all. Her friend, in the meantime, is having a hard time keeping her hands and feet to herself. She grabs G's juice and spills it all over G. Then they are coloring and need more space and almost end up pushing a stack of plates off the table.

Our mother-daughter friends go to the restroom for the second time. Then G says she needs to go. I take her, clean the seat, pull down her tights, get her situated, and she decided she really doesn't need to pee. I tell you, the fun never ends!

Plus, G loves to run, the main word in her vocabulary is "NO!", and she pretends to be hard of hearing. So I spent all morning hollering for her to "stop," "come back," "walk by me," "just hold my hand," etc.

All of the positivity of the movie-moment was squandered in the lunch-moment where I had to squelch the desire to shake G into submission (which my hubs so insightfully points out is not my finest parenting instinct.)

The other "B" word

2009-12-18T13:47:00.004-06:00

Bureaucracy is a beast and a burden.

Bureaucracy is even hard to spell (I always have to google it), so naturally it is even more complicated to be embroiled in. Now that we have decided to move back to Chile, we are just starting those pesky little issues of paperwork, that we now fully admit, we should have done years ago—like register our marriage (so that it is recognized by Chile).

Though we have a Chilean Consulate a 2.5 hour drive from us, from what we have gathered, we are supposed to register the marriage in the consulate that has jurisdiction over the state where we got married (which is San Francisco since we got married in Oregon). That, of course, started a panic—how can we pay for an unplanned trip? do we both go or just one (depends on how we want to register the marriage)? What to do with the kids?

Dealing with that panic, we discovered that the document we were given when we got married, is purely ornamental… not an official legal document. So I had to figure out how to get a copy of our legal marriage license.

I asked one woman if we could just register it in Chile, she said yes. When I asked another woman she said it can’t be done in Chile. Of course, to get my visa, apparently we have to do it anyway, so that’s that.

We also have to register the kids, so that they can officially be considered Chilean. Since the kids were born in Texas, we have to register them at the consulate here. Though it is not standard practice, the consulate here offered to let us sign for our marriage registration and then dispatch it to SF, if I could get the consulate in SF to agree to accept it. (We have to show them our marriage license anyway to register the kids.) The woman in SF told me (very curtly and unhappily) that it should not be done that way but that if I could arrange it with the consulate here, then so be it.

It is going to take months...

I have to start gathering my own Visa-required documents, such as an FBI background check which required me going to the Department of Public Safety and getting my fingerprints taken. Good times… especially with two kids running around.

Plus I had to take G in to her 4-year well-check. She was so excited that she got to go to the Doctor because she hasn’t gone in a long time, but always comes when I take Nico. She had to get a couple booster shots. She hadn’t had a shot in probably two years, so though I told her it would hurt a lot, like a bee sting, she was totally unprepared for the pain. She was so pissed!...and proceeded to shriek like a banshee for a good while. It was much worse than getting shots for a younger one—they are so much more easily distracted by cheap toys, or juice, or oh, look! Goldfish! G was just furious! Now she keeps saying that she doesn’t want to go the Doctor any more.

Lucky 13

2009-12-10T21:50:00.005-06:00

That was then...

Sometime around mid-December (exact date has never been determined), thirteen years ago, my husband and I started dating. Can you believe it? 13 years! I didn’t get to post back in July for our wedding anniversary, so I’ll write our “how-we-met” story now.

I was 22, and had just graduated from college earlier that year. After majoring in Spanish and studying abroad in Ecuador, I wanted to live abroad for a while longer and “perfect” my Spanish. (I put that in “ “ because it is hilarious that I once thought that my Spanish could be perfected—not because it was already perfect, but because it is hard to perfect a second language). I almost went back to Ecuador, because I had a job offer there. Yet, I was kind of itching to go somewhere new and had applied to a teaching job in Santiago, Chile… the end of the earth!

As I was walking to the mail room on campus to fax my acceptance letter to Ecuador, I checked my mailbox first (these were pre-email days folks) and found a job offer from Santiago. It all fell together very quickly: getting my work visa, making all of the necessary arrangements, getting a cheap flight (on Lacsa, which is/was the air equivalent of the famous chicken-buses of Latin America). I flew out on July 4, 1996 and landed at 2 in the morning on a very cold Sunday.

I taught English in a kind of shady under-paid operation. It had the worst “pedagogy” you could imagine and its entire reputation was based on the fact that it had to be good if the classes cost that much.

I am slow at making friends. I am even slower at finding decent dates. In high school I didn’t have a boyfriend at all, and didn’t date much. In college I dated someone twice my age, which is another story perhaps. I went out a bit in Chile, had a few very awkward experiences, and kind of decided that I did not understand the Chilean dating game (you do know dating is a game, right?—it just varies from country to country.)

I met my husband in November. He was 25 and had just graduated from college as well. He was getting ready to go to Rotterdam, Holland for a 4-month long seasonal job. His dad, figuring that English might be more useful, all around, than Dutch, had given him a graduation gift of a “private” (one-on-one) English class—every day for about 6 weeks.

When I was first notified of the class at work, I was annoyed. Grunt English teachers usually have kind of split-shift schedules, early morning and late evening, which is when most adults take classes. I had one 4-hour chunk during the day so when I was told that I would be getting a class right in the middle of it, I was unenthusiastic, at best, even when the secretary told me he was such a nice young man and that they would try to find another teacher if I was very unhappy taking it.

Well, after the first day, they heard no more complaints from me. The guy was sweet, attractive, funny in a shy kind of way, and had this je ne sais quoi about him, that kind of translated as tranquility.

It started out very slowly… after class we would both, coincidentally, be waiting for the elevator to leave the building: he to go home and me to go run errands or grab a bite to eat or just get out for a bit to walk around downtown. One day he asked me if I wanted him to accompany me to the post office and I said yes. And that is how we started hanging out after class. We’d go to art galleries or go get coffee or he’d come with me to run errands.

Then one day in class we were talking about the new Almodóvar movie that had just come out and I wanted to see and another movie that he wanted to see. We decided that I would go with him to see his movie if he would go with me to see mine. So we went to the Almodóvar movie (thinking back, I don’t know if we ever made it to see the movie he wanted, but that was not due to scheming, we did see a lot of movies (oh those were the days… wistful sigh… which are now over because of kids… resigned sigh)). After the movie, he rode the bus home with me (concerned for my safety) and then took a bus to his house.

The next day before class, he was sitting on the sofa waiting and I walked out from my early-morning class and saw him. I really wanted to touch him, nonchalantly, to make the greeting more personal. So I reached out kind of hesitantly, almost changing my mind, and touched his arm, lightning fast, and withdrew it, kind of embarrassed. This goes down in history as the most awkward touch of all times. We still laugh about it, though he thought it was sweet—or so he says.

Our next date we went to the beach to meet up with his sister and her boyfriend to do this jeep-parachute-parasailing(?) Kind of thing along the beach. We drove there the night before, late, and I remember stopping at a Copec (gas station) so he could get coffee. I watched him inside, amazed at how calm and composed he always was. (Of course, I know now, he was probably half-asleep at that particular point, narcoleptic as he is!)

The parasailing was a blast and we had our first kiss that weekend, so I think that was when it first became official. Of course, it didn’t really ever become officially official according to Chilean standards, where the guy kind of formally asks the girl to go out (le pide el pololeo). It probably isn’t even done anymore, but we got asked that quite a bit… if we were “officially pololos (bf/gf).”

I think what I most like about him was that there was no game. He liked me; he showed it; he told me, but without coming on prematurely strong; there was no “rico-suave-latin-lover” nonsense, (which is NOT as enjoyable as it sounds). He is sweet and gentle; he rarely gets mad, even if I deserve it and when he does, he doesn’t remember the next day. He reads me better than anyone else I know. He is a great dad. Every time I wanted to quit my doctorate, he told me he was dead set on having a wife with a Ph.D., so I had to keep going. Everyone loves him, even after meeting him once: he has that je ne sais quoi I mentioned, it is just uncanny. It takes people a bit longer to like me… if they ever do; I have a je ne sai quoi that works against me sometimes.

We have struggles, like all couples. We are both freakishly stubborn which is fun. Though I love his peace and serenity, if I come off even half as frenetic in my blog-life as I am in real-life you may have suspected that after 13 years that “tranquility” may also drive me a little insane sometimes, but that is another post.

This is now...

Can you tell what my catch-phrase of the day is?

Lessons from Ancient Greek

2009-12-08T13:39:00.003-06:00

First let me be clear that I do not care about sports or athletes. I am not awed by celebrity status and do not follow celebrity news. But the big story of the week, which has been inescapable, has me totally disgusted.

I have one word for you Tiger Woods: HUBRIS

You are the quintessential definition.

Your own pride and arrogance will be your demise. I don't care if this scandal has nothing to do with how great you are at golf. I hope you lose all of your sponsors and I hope your beautiful wife decides that no amount of money or renegotiating of the pre-nups is worth keeping your sorry arse around. Now in addition to witnessing your poor sportsmanlike behavior when your game is off (rumor has it anyway... though I don't watch golf), every time we turn on the TV, we all get to watch as you demonstrate what kind of man/husband/father you really are.

Ok, that was more than one word there at the end... I just want him off the news.

Feeling Funky

2009-12-07T20:23:00.003-06:00

I am kind of in a funk. Does that ever happen to you? I was in it all weekend. I was an absolute joy to be around. I was tired and grumpy and all three of the other members in my household got on my last ever-lovin’ nerve.

Today is no better, I am afraid. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, so to speak, and I feel a little lost and despondent and just plain annoyed. There are a lot of things on my mind and I just feel really anxious.

Saturday was graduation, but I didn't go. Isn't that silly. I was in the middle of a writing frenzy when the last-call to order (even rent) a doctoral robe passed and I missed it. I didn't really want to go anyway because I didn't want to drag my husband with two small tots to bore themselves to death at a long ceremony. My hubs was upset because he wanted a picture for the kids. I said we could just photoshop my B.A. graduation picture with a few more wrinkles, but he didn't find it humorous. Graduation ceremonies are for families and friends to come celebrate your accomplishment, and as I mentioned before, I kind of feel much of my family doesn't care or understand what I am doing and why.

I wasn't even going to order announcements, but my aunt asked for one,(I got your announcement in the mail Ali!) so I ordered 10 a la carte. I sent her one and then wracked my brain about what to do with the other 9. I saved one for each of my kids and sent one to my father-in-law (who is so excited).

Now, I can no longer hide under the “I am a graduate student” comfy cloak. Now I am just jobless, which sounds much more unsettling than perpetual graduate student--which is at least a title. But I don’t think I am going to be job-hunting here. I think we have mostly, kinda, sorta, basically, made the decision to move to Chile in the very near future. This brings up a lot of feelings.

We have to start thinking about selling the house (painting it first) and packing up what we are going to send and selling what isn’t worth taking. We have bureaucratic things do to—register our kids and our marriage at the Chilean consulate, and see if it is better to start my visa process here or wait until we get to Chile. We are both thinking about the job process in Chile and the details involved in making such a monumental move and getting settled.

I feel like the move to Chile is a good idea in many ways, but I am also worried about it. My father-in-law says that we have to make a decision based on what is best for our family, the kids, but I know in truth, my decision is a little more selfish than that. I want to be happy. If I am happy, we are all happy. If I am unhappy, we are all unhappy (take the last few days as evidence). And sometimes I wonder if I will be happy and if my husband and I will be happy in our relationship.

I have lived in Chile, so I know in many ways, exactly what I am getting into… but in other ways I have no idea. We didn’t have kids before—now we have to think about education, which for me is a sensitive subject in Chile. You pretty much have to pay for a private school, and many of them are Catholic, many of them are single-sex. I know, for a fact, that we will argue over whether Nico should go to the same Jesuit school my husband went to, and I just don’t know if I can stomach a religious school. There are also issues of class that bother me about the educational system in Chile.

There are also parenting issues. With kids, living in the US is so simple—almost no one makes comments about your parenting (with the exception of on the blogosphere—where they will rip you apart for anything). In Chile, almost everyone feels it is their place to tell you that your kids need more clothes on or that they should not be bare-foot, or that what kind of mother are you that you don’t blow-dry their hair after a bath and what are they eating and why can’t they have soda and such. The one time we visited with G, I almost had a conniption-fit with all the child-rearing commentary.

I feel like because one of my obsessions is Spanish and Latin America and I like living abroad and I married a Chilean, and I always said that we would move back, and now we have lived in the US for quite a while, and we will probably have good job opportunities there and our kids will grow up with family etc. etc. so it seems like the logical decision. There are huge things I know I will have to learn to live with, but now that the move is almost certain, I start panicking about random petty details: like the other day I almost changed my mind just thinking about how gross the milk is in Chile and how my kids are going to have to drink it and how I know they are not going to drink it and they’ll stop drinking milk all together and won’t get enough calcium, so maybe we should just stay here, where my kids like the milk, even if I don’t drink milk anywhere. Do you see the insanity I am creating for myself?

Since our move is imminent in the next 3-4 months, it doesn’t make sense to try to find a job here—even a crappy one, since we have to factor in child-care. So that means staying at home with the kids, which is great in many ways and not-so-great in others. But that is an entirely different post.

I just want to scream. If I scream into the blogosphere, does anybody hear it?

How to endear yourself to Chileans

2009-12-03T15:02:00.003-06:00

A few days ago there was a group post about how to alienate Chileans. There was a bit of drama in the comment section over at Margaret’s. I was lambasted in several comments for my deplorable lack of table manners and social etiquette—which is hilarious –I did say I could alienate a Chilean, and it seems I did just that. There is, of course, another side to the story: how to endear yourself to Chileans. Some of the other gringas mentioned some great general suggestions in their posts, so I tried to come up with some different ones (though some are similar).

1) Cook for them: several of the others have mentioned becoming familiar with and complimenting the Chilean foods that you like. I like to think that it is not just about absorbing Chilean culture and eating Chilean food, it is about sharing cultures. I think I first impressed my husband’s family when I cooked Christmas dinner for them one year: roast turkey with oven-roasted vegetables, homemade bread-sticks, fresh strawberry pie for desert. Even my husband’s grandfather, who was on a strict diet, made an exception and ate dinner with us, savoring every bite and asking for seconds. I was also known where I worked for my baked goods.

2) Compare Chile favorably with Argentina: Chile has a bit of rivalry going on with several neighboring countries, but they feel most inferior (undeservedly so, in many regards) when it comes to Argentina: Argentina is bigger; Buenos Aires is supposedly more cosmopolitan; both Argentine men and women are famous for their good looks. Ignore all that and point out that Chile has far better beaches and that Chilean wine is superior. If all else fails tell Argentine jokes (all in jest, of course, I have Argentine friends that I love dearly, so no insults intended).

For example:

Como se suicida un argentino? Se sube al ego y se tira.

How does an Argentine commit suicide? He climbs to the top of his ego and throws himself off.

3) Fall in love with a Chilean: although younger Chilean women don’t seem crazy about this if you are a woman dating a Chilean man, the older generations and most men wink and smile knowingly. They love to imagine that they are irresistible to foreigners (and some of them are!) It then makes total sense why you have been in Chile so long. Of course, the downside to this one is that if you are not dating anyone it is harder to explain why you are in Chile—so you may want to invent a boy/girl-friend.

4) Talk about travel in Chile: one of the first questions Chileans ask you is how much of Chile you know. They don’t seem to think that you really know Chile until you have traveled quite a bit. They love talking about getting out of Santiago and discovering provincial Chile: the beauty of the lake region in the south and the solitude of the desert in the north. Ask them for suggestions on where to go for the next long weekend.

5) Tell them you met some Chileans while traveling in Europe or elsewhere: they love hearing about their own kind in far-away places. I think because they are a small country, knowing that there are Chileans spread out all over the globe makes them feel warm and rosy. As an added bonus, laugh about how the Chileans you met had outsmarted the subway system and were riding free: though Chileans are mostly law-abiding and they will outwardly lament “el pillo chileno” (the sneaky Chilean), they secretly seem to love that their compatriots are known for the mischievous ways they bend the rules.

Other ways to fit in:

Margaret
Sara
Lucie
Maeskizzle