Aletta 2.1

I'm a huge fan of resolutions, and around this time very year, I'm thinking of a list of the things that I can do to improve myself. The problem I find though, is that by around March, I've either forgotten the resolutions I had made, or I've made so many and haven't gotten too far in any, that I give up.

I started thinking this year that this annual dance with myself is very representative of my life. For as long as I can remember, I've fucked things up, tried to run away from them, only to make the same fuck-ups again and again, until I've finally learned my lesson. And this is going way past New Years Resolutions, this is a theme that has threaded itself through my entire conscious life, and I can't keep ditching the last scene of my crimes and trying to do it a different way.

I started to think too, that maybe that's a good thing. Because if I had actually made all those changes I proposed to myself, who would I be now? Maybe my intention was not clear in the past, and I failed because I was trying to be someone new, instead of a newer version of myself. I don't know if it's a question that anyone can answer: How many changes can you make, and still be you? How many improvements can you facilitate, and still be considered the same person?

A lot of my old resolutions have come to pass as I've gotten older and realized the benefits of them, such as drinking more water, writing more, and curbing my temper. But some I just can't seem to grasp. Some things just seem as though they will never be a part of my personality, as hard as I try, and maybe the truth is, I'm not ready for them.

This year has taught me to let go. There have been multiple issues that I felt that I needed to resolve, things that I felt needed to be in my control, and I couldn't do it. This year more than any other I have developed a true faith, although I've always believed it, that God won't give me more than I can handle. Everything has been happening for a reason, and though I may not like it, I've come to accept it. I'm being given exactly what I need at that time, not what I want. And I see it manifest in those around me as well, whether it's a gentle push in the right direction, or a massive storm to physically get rid of what shouldn't be there, it's all exactly as it should be.

And please don't misunderstand my faith for docility, I'm still kicking and fighting some things that I feel a bodily urge to control, I just know that eventually I'll get tired and be able to accept what is given to me. It's a hard lesson, and I know it will take many more years for me to master, and along the way I will slowly become the person that I was meant to be.

And so, for this year only, I don't have any soul-altering resolutions to make. I'm not going to be a patient person by December 31, 2008, or completely stop gossiping. I'm not going to train my mind to think only positive thoughts, or vow to renew (and use) my gym membership. I only have two things that I want to accomplish, and I hope that by immersing myself in them, I will be able to gain a deeper understanding of some aspect of myself, and maybe make some memories for Taryn as well.

So by the end of next year, I want to do the following:
1. Compile a list of 100 Things to do Before I Die
2. Make a quiet book for Taryn. By hand.

Shouldn't be too hard, right? I'll let you know this time next year..

Have a wonderful New Years, and I'll see you on the flip side!

Old Faithful

The first love of my life turned old today.

I don't know how old... I think only 9 years in 2008, but she hit 100,000 miles this week, and as much as I love her, I'm thinking as soon as financially possible, I need a new car.

My old Mazda has been a blessing. She was cheap, and though she doesn't exactly run well she doesn't have any real mechanical faults, besides the passenger door clicker-lock thing doesn't work. She's not the most polite car, it does take some finesse to shift if she's too cold, or you aren't used to a sticky clutch.

But she's been good to me, and we've been through a lot in the last 8 years, since I was a *blankety-blank* 16 year-old kid working at Mervyns. She's been paid off for over 4 years, and I'm not exactly welcoming the prospect of another monthly bill, but I need to consider the safety of my kiddo too. Plastic car plus baby does not make calm thoughts.

So, to my first baby girl, my longest friend, Happy One-Hundred Thousand Miles!

Failure as a Mother

She won't eat.

We get her up for breakfast, and she'll grub on some oatmeal. Later on for a snack, she has no problem chewing down on some cheese and crackers. For lunch? Maybe some pasta or rice and chicken, carrots or corn, a piece of bread. Throughout the day, fruit, crackers, maybe some milk, and water.

It seems okay to me, but she's not growing. She won't eat dinner. She'll sit in her highchair and take a few bites, then throw it to the dogs. I know she's hungry, but it seems like she's just not interested in eating. She'll eat some things without fail: corn, blueberries, bagels, cheese... but everything else is hit-and-miss.

Tonight I cooked her some chicken, and while I was doing that, she had her corn. Then I gave her some potato, and she would only eat a tiny bit. Threw her chicken without a taste, and after I tricked her into tasting the sweet potatoes, she ate a few tablespoons. I knew she wanted to eat, she told me, but she refused to, screaming and thrashing around until I had to let her out of her seat before she hurt herself.

I feel like there is something fundamentally wrong with the fact that I can't feed my own child. She's 31" tall and 4oz short of 20lbs. She's gained a pound in 6 months. And yes, she's been sick, but I'm scared. I'm terrified of the thought that maybe she is failing to gain weight because of something I'm doing wrong. Or not doing at all. And I want to quit my job so I can stay home with her and see exactly how much she's eating, and make sure I prepare her food exactly how it should be... but it was the same thing in Paraguay.

She just won't eat.

And I refuse to preordain an eating disorder, where she's purposely not eating to assert control over her life. I can't do that, but I don't know what else to do. I'm stuck. I don't think anyone understands. Who has this problem? People complain about sleep issues and potty training, but I have rarely heard of someone whose kid just refuses to eat. Oatmeal for dinner 2 nights in a row, because that is all she'll let me feed her. And I'm scared to do the "if she's hungry, she'll eat" thing, because she IS hungry, and she's still NOT eating!

I know I've been a bit stressed. The trip was stressful, P and I have not exactly been fighting, but there's been some tension, the holidays, everything is maybe contributing, and I keep thinking it will get better ... I always think everything has to eventually get better ... but what if that isn't the case this time? What if at her next appointment the Doc says she's got FTT, and I'm a failure as a mother?

What if this is all somehow my fault?

Patting Myself on the Back

Christmas Eve was nice, Nonny, Boogie and I went and had sushi, then drove around looking at Christmas lights for a while before Boogie and I headed up to Petaluma to celebrate the Eve with the husband's fam. I guess people thought I wasn't going to go, since P was in transit back to the US, but it was nice, and busy. The food was good, and I liked having a chance to catch up with everyone.

Boogie was exhausted, but she did well, letting family hold her, dancing a bit, and opening presents. Around 1am, she was sitting with a new toy on her lap, eyes glazed over, not moving, not speaking, so I decided it was probably time to take her home to sleep.

The next morning P called to let me know he had missed the last leg of his flight, so Boogie went down for another nap, I prepped a dish for dinner, and Nonny stayed at the house cooking while I went to the airport with Boogie. When we got there, she was all smiles to see her Papa, and when I took her from him so he could get the suitcases in the car, she was devastated and cried her soul out until he took her back. They had a long time to get reacquainted in the back seat because it took us two hours to get home from SFO. Traffic was horrible, and I cried once from something P said, but not an entirely unenjoyable ride. Once I got over the hurt and realized he was reacting from being hungry and tired, I tried to enjoy my solitude in the front seat and actually 19th Ave is quite beautiful when you are forced to take it all in, in slow motion.

Anyway, dinner was awesome, and we have just enough left-overs to gorge ourselves but not get sick of the food. Boogie only opened about half her presents, when she got to one of the baby dolls I bought for her, she lost interest in the others and just wanted to play with her. But then the fussies came, and she got a nice bath with Papa and went to sleep.

And this morning P was up early with her so I was able to sleep in late for the first time in weeks, but when he brought her to me to nurse for her morning nap, she kept getting distracted trying to figure out where "Baby" was. I had to cradle Boogie and her doll both so that she could feel the heavy plastic doll next to her, then put them both to sleep. And she has a super-soft new pillow and blanket, from her Nonny, to sleep with, and super-adorable PJ's from Jojo.

So all-in-all, a typical Christmas for us. It was nice, lower-key than normal, less stress, and Boogie and I both got our Babies, mine from the airport, hers from a cardboard box. And I'm totally subscribing to Christmas being for the kids from now on, and folks wil have to wait for their birthdays for presents. I thought I might mind a bit not getting anything, but I was okay, I love watching Boogie rip strips of paper off and yelling "Wow" when she sees the gifts. And we have more to open today (mostly what I gave her) though I don't know where they are going to fit. Maybe I'll have to clean out more of the baby toys, and go get a toy box asap.

So, Happy Holidays to everyone, hope your days are filled with good food and family.

Month Eighteen

Ah, my sweet, biting Angel.

Happy Eighteen months my love! I know I say this every month, but I can’t believe you’ve grown so much. I was going to wait and include your first *real* Christmas in this post, but I know if I start going off on random dates, pretty soon I’m be starting off saying, “Happy Twentieth through twenty-third month birthday!” And that’s no fun, now is it?

So although I don’t have much new to tell you about in the 10 days since I wrote your last letter, I do have a few quite adorable new quirks of yours to relate. The first being, of course, you learned how to sign “Angel” and “Love” so now I can ask you, “Where’s my Angel” and I have been known to do just less than a hundred times each day, and you put your little hands up to your shoulders and give me a big goofy grin. Loves it. And if I ask you, “Do you love Mama?” You’ll make the sign for love. My heart melts, so remember that when you come home 2 hours past curfew with monkey-bites all over your neck. Just tell me how much you love me, give me a big hug, and all will be forgotten. Maybe.

We’ve been driving around at night looking at the Christmas houses lit up, and I realized a few things about you. 1) Your favorite word of exclamation is “WOW.” We’ve heard a few “oooohs” and maybe an “aaaaah” or two, but when we drive by one you’re really impressed with, “Wow” is what comes out of your mouth. 2) You like trees with multicolored lights. They don’t even have to be pretty, but the big statues don’t even make your head turn, the tasteful white-light decorations barely faze you, it’s the huge, gaudy, multi-colored light shows that frost your cookie.

Which reminds me of something not entirely related, but still cute. Whenever you look into the laundry room, or see someone coming out of the restroom, you say “Eeeeew.” And I don’t really know where you got that from, because your Papa and I mostly say “kaka” but without fail, “Eeeewww.” And you said it today after you wiped your own nose with a tissue, then looked at it.

One of the not-so-sweet habits you’re really getting into is biting. Mostly Jackson, but anyone who puts their hand near your mouth may become an appetizer for you. I know why you bite him, he does take things from you and I know you’re frustrated, but if this keeps up, I’m going to get you a rabies shot and a collar. Enough said.

I think I said it in the last letter, but your language skills have become crazy advanced. You repeat so much, which is fun to hear in itself, but you also seem to know what it means right away too. Every day you are picking up new words, talking, babbling, asking for cookies or agua, doing things that we ask you to without having to show you first, it’s crazy. Your comprehension of both English and Spanish is staggering, and I think maybe I wished for you last month that you keep understanding both, and this month, my wish for you is that you learn to read and write Guarani, in addition to English and Spanish. It’s a lot to ask, but if your language skills in the last couple weeks are any indication, it shouldn’t be a problem for you.

Well, your Papa will be home in a couple days, and I know you will be clinging to him like you’ve never done before. Any time you hear Papa, you look around for him, fight me to let you go so you can find him. I know it’s so hard for you to be apart, and I hope it never has to happen for this long again. You are the light of his life, and mine too, and as I feel every day of my life since I found out I was pregnant with you, I am so grateful to have you in my life.

I love you.
Mommy

Closed Doors

(It's a long one... just to warn you)

Sometimes it jumps up and smacks you in the face that you are different from the people around you.

Mostly, I don’t consciously think about those differences. I skate through life with the assumption that people who look like me are treated like I am, because I’m self-centered like that. It’s sort of like forgetting that other people still exist when you aren’t with them, assuming a long-lost friend is the same person they were when you knew them, because, they can’t change if you aren’t there to see it. Right?

But once in a while, it becomes blaringly obvious that we are not a homogenous society. And much as the US has become a “melting pot” there are still those people who are not as accepting as others and maybe it’s an unconscious reaction to a perceived difference, based on skin color or gender, or a prejudicial assumption about a person, but we people of color are treated differently than our white counterparts.

It’s a good sign to me that white people assume we are treated the same, and that people of color receive the same benefits as they do, but it’s also disturbing that they are oblivious to the discrimination that we deal with on a frequent basis. I think it’s positive because it shows that they themselves don’t believe that we deserve less, but it also creates a divide between us because there is a huge part of me, a major influence on my past and present, that they can’t understand.

And really, this county is more accepting of racial differences than other places that I have lived, but I get the feeling that a lot of it, especially with older generations, is a front. They are courteous when you are a customer in their store and they know you’re going to be putting your money in their pockets. They are polite when you are in a position of authority to help them. But many are also blatantly racist when they make an assumption about your heritage, your economic situation, your marital status, or whatever. Sometimes they make racist remarks about a culture they assume you are not connected to. Sometimes they treat you with disdain because they assume you don’t deserve their respect.

This all came about during a conversation this morning in which a blonde-haired, blue-eyed coworker of mine looked perplexed when I pointed out that when I was pregnant, people in our building assumed that I was here to apply for some type of welfare benefit. I was trying to make the point that based strictly on appearances when we were pregnant at the same time, employees were more likely to hold the door open and let her in before the building was officially open, than they were to do the same for me.

She sort of blew me off like I was being dramatic, not in a rude way, but more like she obviously didn’t take my comment seriously. And I was sort of stunned, because it’s something I dealt with often when I was pregnant, trying to walk into the locked building after someone else, and they would go so far as to pull the door shut after them when they saw me coming and saw I was close enough to get inside before it closed and locked behind them. I just don’t see that happening to her. And I know she has faced her own battles for other reasons, but I can’t hide who I am. I am judged on sight and I can’t do a damn thing about it. She is judged on sight too, but unless she was with her partner, I doubt most people would pick her out to discriminate against.

I’m not trying to imply that my struggles are worse than hers. In fact, I think she has probably had to fight a lot longer, and a lot harder than I have against our respective prejudicial magnets. I’m just saying that anyone who is prejudiced against Black people, Latinas, young women, young mixed women in the workplace, pregnant people of color, Black people who are too light-skinned, Black people who marry out of their race, people of color who are doing well for themselves… any combination of the above and many more bullshit reasons, I get it. I’m not even Latina and people are racist against me simply because they think I am. I’m treated like shit by White people for having darker skin than them, and Black people for having lighter skin. I get shit from Black men and Latinas for marrying my husband. I have people tell me that I think I’m too good for them, since I’m not hooking them up with extra Food Stamps. I have older people tell me that I’m too young and naïve to understand what they are going through. I get shit from bosses for talking too much, or not talking enough. I get shit from coworkers for doing too much work….

And I know we all have out struggles, I just get so frustrated sometimes that I can’t escape mine. I can’t walk down the street and have people think, “Oh, she looks like a nice person,” because the minute they see me I’m slapped with hundreds of labels, and people are reacting to their perceptions of me without my doing a damn thing. Not everyone has that curse.

But sometimes it’s a blessing, because I can look at another person like me, and I get it. There are a lot of prejudices I feel sympathetic towards, but there is no empathy because I’m never experienced it. But there are so many that I’ve dealt with, and learned from, and I appreciate that knowledge because if I was even slightly different, I might not know what I now do.

So that’s all. No hard feelings, just processing. And I am a little sad because I will never meet anyone who has dealt with what I’ve gone through. I ignore our differences sometimes with the hope that I’ll feel totally understood one day, but I think the real issue is that I need to learn to let go of that need to feel understood. There are so many fragmented parts of me that I haven’t wholly integrated yet. It’s my life lesson, maybe, to see myself as a whole person, so then I can really feel that way.

Way More Exciting Than Real Life

I woke up super-late today. I normally don’t do that, I’m pretty good at rationing my slaps at the alarm clock, but I had this scary-weird dream, and I needed to see how it ended. So I kept hitting it until it was over, and then I had only 20 minutes to get ready for work.

And I need at least 30.

****

In my dream, I was going downstairs to see a client whom I knew was applying for someone who did not want the benefits, and he was trying to get information on this woman that we were not allowed to give out. As far as we knew, he was a jealous ex-lover, and we knew he had a history of physical abuse, so I was scared going to see him myself.

As I do in real life if I’m not completely comfortable with a client, I left the door slightly open for a quick escape. Just in case. I sat down with this guy and asked him how I could help him. When he requested to finish an application for this other woman, I politely told him I couldn’t even confirm if she had applied for benefits. He stood up, towering over me like a maniacal clown, his hair a fiery red, then reached down and tried to grab my arm.

I bolted out the door, but he jumped over the desk before I could lock the door and grabbed my arm. I started yelling for a coworker to help me, to call the Sheriff, to hit the panic button, anything… and he was dragging me down this long hallway to the door that led outside. The hallway wasn’t the one at work, it was much wider, and much longer, and there were open stairs at the end of it, sort of like the ones you’d see at a parking garage.

Finally, a couple coworkers came to my rescue, hauled him off of me and restrained him while they waited for the Sherriff to come. There was a huge crowd gathering around him, employees and clients all abandoned what they were doing to watch him claw and bite at the men holding him. He looked like one of those animals on the Discovery Channel who fight with every ounce of their strength to free themselves from their captors, and he was wearing them down. I could see the men holding him getting tired, they were all covered in cuts and claw marks, chunks of skin missing from where they had scraped their bodies against the rough floor trying to keep a good grip on him.

I started to worry, thinking he was going to get free and come after me again, so I paged everyone in the building to come downstairs to make sure that if he got loose, he wouldn’t be able to get away. When I finished the page, I turned around with the phone still in my hand and the crowd was gone. The only ones left were me, the crazy guy, and the two male coworkers who had been holding him, but were no longer by his side. I backed slowly towards the stairs, thinking that it would give me a slight advantage to be above him, and maybe as he was chasing me the two guys could grab him again.

I was yelling at them frantically to grab his arms while he was so close, but they just stood there watching us, like some sick game of cat and mouse, but I was the one being stalked. I started up the stairs, swinging the phone by the cord, hoping my aim would be good enough to knock him out if he came within striking distance. I was halfway up the stairs when he started up after me, and I was slowing inching up backwards so I could keep my eye on him. For every step I took, he took two, and I gave up yelling at my coworkers because I could see that for some reason, they weren’t trying to go after him.

Then I saw one of them lunge after him, and I turned around and raced up the rest of the stairs onto what looked like the top level of a parking deck. I was standing in the middle of it, I could hear the Sherriff's sirens blaring, getting closer every second, but I didn’t know what had happened in the stairwell.

Then these two red-headed twins stepped up to my level and sat grinning at me. Now, the actual people I saw in my dream were Spencer and Evan, two of the sweetest guys I have ever known, and actual red-headed twins that I went to high school with. I didn’t worry what was going to happen to me anymore. The coworker that had lunged at the crazy guy was *that* particular person I have dreamed about in the past (not my husband) who evidently in my dream was my lover or something. The other coworker who had initially restrained the crazy was one of the twins.

I could never tell them apart in real life, and I had no idea which was which in the dream either.

And as I sat there, contemplating my imminent demise, the death of my lover, and the utter irony that had the Sheriff been closer like we kept asking, most of this could have been prevented, but yay! At least after I die they’ll be forced to put some type of security in reception… My lover jumped up from the stairwell, tackled them both, and restrained them until the Sherriff came to haul them away.

*Swoon*

So this is about the part I hit the last snooze. We of course hopped into a car to drive into the sunset, but then we stopped at Safeway to get some sandwiches. It turns out this lover was really my husband (my handsome husband in real life, I mean), but he was ripped (unlike P) and his Dad was driving the SUV we were in (entirely plausible, if we were in Paraguay). I didn’t have any shoes (not sure what happend to them) and we searched the whole car for them, then decided we’d wait in the parking lot and get cozy while his Dad went inside to get the food (classy, eh?). We parked in a semi-remote spot to get to know each other better. Ya dig?

But then P saw his motorcycle parked a little ways down, so we hopped on it and zoomed off into the sunset, kissing and getting more friendly than is probably possible on a 2-wheeled vehicle.

But I guess it could happen?

Undue Influence

Call it an independent streak, but for the most part I don’t do what P tells me to do. Unless I want to.

I used to think that was normal, my Mom didn’t take shit from any man and would tell him to fuck off in a hot second if he crossed an invisible line into None-of-Your-Damn-Business land, same with my aunts and granny, and so I got it honest, yes? But the more I’m around couples, be it married folks or just committed people, I’m starting to think it’s not so normal.

I don’t think it’s bad. I don’t think I could change if I wanted to, because that is how I was before we were married, and I know P resents me when I start getting super dependent on him. Which does happen on occasion when I’m having a hard time, or just feeling needy. But I’ve consciously tried to maintain the mentality that if something happened to him and we weren’t together anymore, I don’t want to be completely alone and helpless. I do get angry when he’s out all night, not because I’m home with the baby, but because I worry about him doing something stupid and getting hurt.

In my mind, he appreciates that he doesn’t have to worry about me. I’m super-self-sufficient, not the type of woman who needs him to fix things for me, or hang a ceiling fan, or wash my car. I don’t do garbage, but I’m okay with being the one outside on a freezing, rainy Sunday morning walking the dogs, or the one who brings in the most money for our bills. But as I write this I’m thinking, maybe I’m projecting? Because I don’t like having to look over his shoulder to make sure he gets his stuff done, reminding him to pay his credit card bill, or to pick up after himself. I appreciate people who can take care of themselves, and though I like being appreciated, I rubs me wrong to be needed. Except by Boogie, of course.

I digress though, maybe a bit? I’ve noticed a lot of women friends of mine lately who have said, “I can’t do X because so-and-so won’t let me,” or something to that effect, and it always stuns me. Because in my mind I’m thinking, “I wish he would tell me not to do something that’s important to me. Let him hear what I really think.” And it’s not that I’m looking for a fight, but I don’t tell him what to do (usually) unless he asks, and even then I’m hesitant to give him the answer. But also, I can’t imagine asking “how high” when he says to jump, although that seems to be more common than I previously imagined.

And really, I suppose it’s just a difference in relationship style. There is inevitably one person who has slightly more authority, and I think I took on that role, partly because of my mastery of the English language, but more importantly because that is how I was raised, to not have to rely on anyone but myself. Not in an isolationist way, but in order to be self-sufficient. But I also know that if I don’t do some thing because P asks me not to, I resent him. Unless there is a good reason for it.

I’m all about open communication, and I am willing to alter my actions if I understand why it might not be the best idea, and I agree. But I’m not giving anyone veto power over my life. I deal with my fair share of tantrums and silent treatment from him, and it irks me. But at the same time I have to stay true to what I need to do, like going out with my friends and not inviting him along, or speaking my mind when something comes up, even if he doesn’t want to hear it.

Maybe I’m overbearing and insensitive? It’s a possibility, but that view could also be based on people’s perception of where women should be in the relationship. I know a lot of people defer because they want to be taken care of, and that’s fine. I don’t agree, and I don’t want to give up a part of myself for a sense of security. Maybe I’m destined to always have a companion and not a soul mate, and that’s okay with me too. I’ve been like this too long to make such a radical change without some hard evidence that it’s the best thing for me.

Call me New Age, but I think it’s about time women had a voice.

My First Week as a Single Mother

I’ve been trying for a week to put into words how I feel with my husband gone. It seems like talking to different people brings up different emotions for me, which is half-normal, and half weird when I think about all these feelings swirling around at once. I’m hiding a lot here, and yet I’m trying to be honest with myself about all this because I think this is a huge learning experience for me.

The last time P went to Paraguay without me, I gave notice on our apartment and moved back in with my mom. It was only supposed to be for 1 month, but I was 19 and scared to live by myself for the first time.

This time it feels different. I’m not alone. I have Boogie, and Jojo comes home most nights. The dogs are there for “protection” and the kitty for snuggles. But I do feel lonely. I don’t feel like I have someone to talk to who knows me as well as I know myself.

At the same time, I’m relishing the solitude. It’s a very definitive existence being a single mother. I don’t have to clean up after anyone but me and her, I cook whatever I want for dinner. There are no disagreements about whose turn it is to feed her, bathe her, or get up early on Sunday morning. It’s all me. And I love the freedom to know that I don’t have to think about anyone’s schedule but my own.

If I were a single mother, things would not be so easy, I know that. I would have more worries about money, but less at the same time because I’d be in complete control of my own finances. I’d be more stressed when Boogie is sick, because I wouldn’t get a break. But I also think I would have more help. Or at least would be more willing to ask for help.

It maybe sounds awful, but I don’t really feel like I need P for anything besides companionship. And, you know… cookie. I feel like I could do this myself if I had to, and I feel really proud that I’m confident that I could thrive without him. I wonder how it will affect our relationship in the future, that he can’t now throw it in my face that I need him, because I know I don’t. I want him around, and maybe … hopefully … that can make us closer.

I do miss him. My heart aches writing this. But I don’t feel so dependent on him anymore. I hope I can somehow bottle up this feeling for a later date, and whip it out when I feel hopeless, when I wonder why I’m with him, and how life would be without him. I can remember that I’m making a choice to be a part of this marriage. And then I can make the choice to keep working on it.

Photo Blog ... Paraguay Trip 2007

So, 17 days in Paraguay. 4 days of travel. 2 very sick Americans. 1 sunburned Paraguayan (no pictures of that though..sorry). Enjoy!

A lot of Taryn's time was spent in bathtubs, partyly because she really likes water, and partly because it was 95 degrees at 10am, and the kid does not like heat. But she had a lot of company.




Here is Taryn and her cousin Melissa taking baths in Tata Lina's bathroom. They don't have bathtubs down there, so we made good use of the buckets.




This is Taryn out on the back porch. She wasn't dirty, just hot. And her cousin Maira was keeping her company so I could eat. Cute, eh?




I think this was the same day, before Meli took her bath in Maira's tub. She was playing with her Ebo out back.




Not really relevant, but P picks his nose constantly.




She loved playing in Abuelo Elio's (Ebo) taxi. And it must have been 10 degrees hotter in there with the black leather seats, but every day, she wanted to pretend to take a spin.




She wasn't the only one to likes to drive, but when the cousins came, she got to ride shotgun. Did I mention, probably half the cars down there don't have seatbelts, and the other half don't have working ones? Scary.




We brought her over to Pedro's Tia Olga's house one night, and she refused to sleep. You can see she was exhausted, eyes glazed, wasn't fussing, but flat-out would not sleep outside of her pack-n-play, and only in Tata Lina's bedroom.




This picture is deceptive, because she really didn't eat much while we were there. Yogurt and bananas. And juice. And chi-chi (which she learned to say down there). But through the sickness and heat and lack of food and sleep, she was still a clown.




We spent a lot of time playing outside. She received these sqeaky sandals as a gift from her Tia Olga, and didn't want to wear anything besides them the whole time we were there.




Of course, sometimes she didn't want to wear shoes at all.




One of the most important things we did while down there was get her baptized. She didn't agree with the holy water on the head part, but we wrestled her into submission and got it done.




She's exhausted, he's distracted, and I'm way too overjoyed. :)

***

So there you go. I had some technical difficulties transferring the pictures from the camera to my PDA while we were there, so there are a lot more photos to come when P gets home.

Month Seventeen

Sweetie-Pie-Boogie-Boo!

Okay, so I'm late, I know. But the day you turned seventeen months, we were getting on a plane to fly to Paraguay for your first international expedition! And I was thinking I'd have time to write your letter in the air, seeing as it was 18 hours of flying, but in the 24 hours it took us to get to your Tata Lina and Ebo's house, you slept all of 4 hours.

But you did fantastic. No crying. Not even very fussy, though you didn't seem to like to airline food and preferred cookies, milk, and dried fruit. But I can't blame you for that.

So Paraguay. Since I'm late, I may as well tell you, you had a great time. Your cousin Melissa is only a couple months older than you, and she was at the house almost every day to play. You guys had these sandals that squeaked every time you took a step, and when Papa and I were trying to nap during the 100 degree afternoon heat, you two would be running around the house squeak-squeak-sqeaksqeaksqueak ... for hours. Normally one of us had to sleep on the couch in the living room, because you were freaking out when we weren't in sight. And you only let people hold you if we were right next to them, or you were too tired to protest.

But you played coy with everyone, you'd run up and hand them something, then get shy and run back to hide behind my legs. Or you'd say "up" and hold you hands out, then wiggle away a second after they picked you up. And everyone was so impressed that you didn't cry much. You'd run around, trip and fall, then brush off your knees or your hands, and keep playing. Running into chairs, bumping your head on the tile floors, nothing made you cry, except when your hands and legs got covered in ants and they started biting you. That was partly my fault for letting you walk on the grass, but I had no idea it would hurt you so bad, but even then, a few minutes after you calmed down, you were ready to play some more.

We did have some problems, mainly your refusing to eat when you got sick, except for the liquid yogurt and mini-me bananas they have. And you didn't sleep too well, so you ended up in the bed with Papa and I every night, but it was so amazing for me to wake up in the morning and see your little face a few inches from mine. Your binkie would be gone by the morning, and a little puddle of drool soaked the sheets under your mouth, just like your Papa. When you got the 104 temperature, we were so worried for you, and you refused to take the medicine, made yourself vomit every time we gave it to you. And the diarrhea was awful, you lost 1/2 pound in 1 week, and were so tired and cranky. You didn't want to play as much that last week, just wanted me to carry you around, and nurse. And really, I loved that I was the one you came to for comfort, and I treasured the hours we spent sitting in the sun, reading books and snuggling.

You also were baptized on December 2, 2007. You didn't really enjoy sitting quietly through the service, and really freaked out when they poured the water over your head. You fought the priest like he was trying to put the Devil in you, instead of trying to keep it out. And you were so tired by the end of the service that the photos we have show you slumped in my arms, no shoes, no smile, not even looking at the camera. But your Baptism breakfast afterwards at Jojo's Mama's house was nice, and you got tons of hugs from your cousin Facundo. Everyone admired how beautiful you were in your little dress, and you danced to the music from cars passing by the front of the house. Your Godparents, Tata Lina and Ebo, were so happy to be with you, and are honored to have that distinction.

You really started talking a lot more when we were there. I was amazed when I asked you "Quieres mas?" and you made the sign for more. Or when I asked you if you wanted to go home (to California) and you nodded your head yes and pointed somewhere in the distance. You have an incredible vocabulary for such a small person, and can say all kids of things, and you mimic what we say perfectly. It seems like you can pick up a word in a second, know how to pronounce it, what it means, and actually use it too. And everyone was super-impressed that you understand English, Spanish and Guarani too. My tri-lingual Angel. My wish for you this month is that you retain your knowledge of languages and are able to be fluently multiligual as an adult. It will be a necessity for your generation, not a choice as it is for mine.

So Darling, I have to go now to wake you up, feed you some more and we're going to get our Christmas tree. Your Papa decided to stay 2 more weeks, so it's just you and me Kiddo, until he gets back. We went grocrty shopping at 7am today, in our PJs, and I'm having so much fun spending my every waking moment with you.

I love you.

Mama.