Thursday, May 15, 2008

I'm a Slob! A Slob, I Tell You!!

All right, I’m taking a poll: how many of you think you have a clean house? How many of you clean your homes (maybe not in every nook and cranny, but pretty much top to bottom) every week?

Honestly now!

Because the truth is, I am an awful housekeeper. I hate it. I get no joy out of scrubbing or mopping or making things gleam. I hate the drudgery, and, since having Max, the pointlessness of it all. Why bother with the scrubbing and picking up when a certain little one is going come along within five minutes and mess it all up?

It’s that *logic* that’s out me in the hole I’m in, where I can’t stand all the toys and clothes everywhere but am too exhausted and overwhelmed to do anything about it.

Keep reading here...

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Posted by Tere @ 5/15/2008   | | | links to this post

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

A Tropical Girl in a Foreign Place

There is a lot about life in Miami that wears on me on a semi-regular basis. From the traffic to the politicians and their general ineptitude to the skyrocketing cost of living to how rude and thoughtless people are, my Miami shit list is a long one. I go through regular phases where I pick a new place, research it, make some kind of plan, only to talk myself out of it a few weeks later. So far, in the last one or two years alone, I've "moved" to northern New Jersey, North Carolina, Vancouver, Portland, Denver, Maine, South Carolina and Seattle.

So why do I not do it? There are a number of reasons. Some are as simple as my strong desire to have Max grow up around his family, but most of them are actually very personal and complicated. The act of picking up and starting over, however alluring and exciting it is, is also beyond terrifying for me. Miami is all I've ever known, and Miami is a world unto itself. I wonder how I'd fare somewhere else, especially because although I have never felt this way here, I understand that everywhere else, I'm a minority, and I worry about how that one little thing would impact my life, from the way people perceive me to the opportunities that may or may not unfold.

Still, as I look at my life here, I understand that something has to give. If Miami cannot be a smarter, kinder, better place, I may grow more dissatisfied and restless. As much as I want my son to be surrounded by family, I also want him to have the kind of childhood that maybe Miami can’t provide. I have to consider that. I have to face my fears and think about the bigger picture and decide what will honestly be best for us, and go from there.

And while I have never lived anywhere else, I recognize that I adapt well to change. I’m not one to wallow long in the sadness or hardship of anything. For all my pessimism, I really do look for a silver lining in everything. And simply put, when something is what it is, I just adapt and make it work somehow. So I don’t really worry about my ability or inability to find my place somewhere else; it’ll happen, one way or another.

But there are limits. While I seek a place that’s safe, clean and progressive, with a better general attitude and lower (or at least, not higher) cost of living than Miami, there are places that I ultimately can’t see myself in. For example, Iowa. No offense to the beautiful people of Iowa, but the thought of Des Moines does not make my heart sing (as it does for Seattle, let’s say). The general middle part of this country holds no allure to me, does not make me feel like I’d be *home* there. But still, if the chips were to fall in such a way that Kansas or Oklahoma or Nebraska were it, I’d go and find something good about it. I’d be fine. In reality, there is really just one type of place I can never, ever move to: anywhere there’s bitter cold.

Forget Buffalo or Fargo or anywhere in Minnesota. You can pretty much forget Wisconsin, too. Because you see, while I can leave Miami and my family and have a good attitude about ending up in the middle of nowhere, I simply cannot adapt my body to the cold. I am, in the end, a tropical girl, hot - not warm - blooded, and to deny me warmth is to pretty much kill me.

I don’t do well in the cold, specifically in the cold that’s accompanied with a lot of wind. While I love cold days, I think the mid-30’s is my limit. Unless we’re in the middle of deadly summer heart, I don’t even like to use the A/C in my car. The windy cold just has an awful way of getting under my skin and into my bones. You want to make me miserable? Put that cold in my bones and leave me to suffer it. When things get to that point, nothing works and I’m useless. I just want to crawl somewhere (underneath some heavy, luxurious blankets) and whimper.

So it’s funny to me to realize that when I think about the possibility of leaving the only home I’ve ever known, it’s the heat and all that comes with it that affects me so deeply. It’s just that there is so much about living in a place like this that makes it unique, and more importantly, endears it to my heart.

I was in the shower yesterday as all these thoughts were floating in my head, and it was the appearance of a baby Mediterranean gecko in my shower that made it all click. This little bugger’s been in my bathroom for weeks now, and last night, he decided to hop into the shower. He freaked me out when he jumped on my foot, and once I screamed and shook him off, he settled into a corner and seemed quite happy there. And I found myself thinking, only in Miami or an island somewhere can something like this happen. And it was in that moment that I realized how much I love weird crap like that, the kind of weird things that happen only in places like Miami, where the heat and pervasive sense of primitiveness make life surreal. I like this a great deal - the primitive and the surreal and the way they make life so much more interesting and lively than it otherwise would be.

Whenever I’m asked about my “dream place,” it’s always somewhere tropical, always an island. Perhaps I subconsciously yearn for the Cuba I’ve never known, but my ideal always involves water and sand and tropical fruits. Have me climb a tree for a midday snack and tell me I can sleep in a hammock, and I’m the happiest girl ever.

But what are the chances that I’ll end up in Hawaii or Cuba or the Virgin Islands? Chances are much higher that I'll end up somewhere like Portland (for whatever reason, the west captivates me the most). So as I think about all the places I may end up, my thoughts turn to keeping my tropical nature alive, to finding ways to keep what I love about life in Miami with me. To keeping the surreal and the primitive. To being a little more like what I love and will leave behind.

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Posted by Tere @ 5/14/2008   | | | links to this post

Monday, May 12, 2008

Mami Ain't Nothin' But a Booger Holder

My son is convinced that I'm here on this earth for the express purpose of holding his boogers.

His finger is barely out of his nose before he's holding it up, shrieking, "Mami, look, moco!" My excited response - "Wow, look at that!" or "NO WAY!!" - is not enough. He continues to wave his boogery finger at me, and when I ignore it, he tells me, "here, take it!" and shoves it into my hand. And there I am, a decent-looking, funny, smart, professional woman, with a hand full of my son's boogers.

That the situation has reached this point is my own fault. In the beginning, it was a game, a fun way for me to teach him a new word. When I would clean his nose, and later, when he began to pick it, I would tell him, "eso es un moco", "that's a booger," so he would know the correct name for it. And when he was younger, I would wipe his finger (with a napkin or wipe or towel or my shirt) because he couldn't do it himself. Somewhere along the way, though, he came to accept this as the way things are even though I've long been encouraging him to wipe his boogers on a wipe or his own shirt or whatever's nearby, so long as it's not my hand.

But no. Only my hand will do. If I'm in another room - he'll find me and and insist - "here, mami, here" - until I either take it or he sticks it on me. If I'm driving, he practically flings it over if I don't lean back and relieve him of his boogery goo. I am equated, in seemingly every way, with boogers.

As I struggle to figure out who and what I am now that I'm a mother; as I try to mesh the mother with every other part of myself; as I fret and panic over how others perceive me, wondering if they can see ALL of me and not just the fragments, there is one definition that is for now definite, one that in the end, might best describe me: booger receptacle for a stubborn two-year-old.

Of all the things I thought I'd be, this wasn't exactly on the list.

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Posted by Tere @ 5/12/2008   | | | links to this post

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Perfect Sunday Afternoon

There is something about my parents' backyard that makes it a perfect haven for me. Sometimes I think it's way the sun shines there - never full on but instead in beaming and glistening in between the mass of plants and vines; other times, it's the large wooden play set and the way the kids revel in it for hours on end; still other times I'm convinced it's the trees and the shade they offer, the way they help create the perfect breeze. The large royal poinciana is bare right now, but full, so very, very full, of buds - buds that in a matter of weeks will burst as bright red-orange flowers.

More so than even my own beautiful yard, my parents' is a refuge for me - I feel nothing but peace and contentment whenever I'm there.

So this afternoon, sitting in the swing under the trees in the late-afternoon sun, was perfect. There was a wonderful breeze, my son was squirting everyone with a water gun, and in my hand I held a sweet, strong cafecito.

Throwing my head back and looking up at the blue sky through the bright green buds, I felt a peace that I haven't felt in a long time. For a few minutes, I knew everything would be o.k., even if I don't know right now what that means or how I'll get there. It was enough to know just that - that all will be o.k. and that many days of happiness lie ahead for me.

The moment passed and the spell was broken, but I am holding on to what I felt then - to the peace, and to the hope.

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Posted by Tere @ 5/11/2008   | | | links to this post

Saturday, May 10, 2008

After the Day I've Had So Far, I Totally Deserve to Goof Off

Oh hell. This child of my heart and soul is killing me. He's been an abominable pain in the ass all friggin' day. It is only now - at 4 p.m. - that he's finally gone down for a nap. Normally, if it's this late in the day, I just keep him up and forgo the nap; but I so need that nap today!

I'm in a particularly good mood right now - not exactly sure why, considering the general funk I've been in lately, but whatev. I won't question it and will just enjoy it.

And by "enjoy it" I mean, come up with more true but random status updates, since right now I think I'm most clever for having come up with this. So!

Tere...

... is watching Father of the Bride (remake).

... spent two blissful hours at the book store.

... desperately needs to wash her hair.

... predicts rain, because her legs ache oh so very much.

... is going to have a fabulous brunch tomorrow.

... was thisclose to kicking her boy's butt today.

... needs to hit the gym.

... is hungry, even though she just ate.

... thinks the third person is hilarious.

... hates manicures.

... loves pedicures.

... is nervous, very, very nervous.

... gets fidgety when she's nervous.

... is craving chocolate.

... is entering a self-help, hippie-dippie phase - one can only hope this will be a good thing.

... refuses to give up.


Colbie Caillat Lyrics

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Posted by Tere @ 5/10/2008   | | | links to this post

Little Man

Max is with me in bed this morning, snuggled up against my neck. The return of my insomnia has meant that I don't sleep but a couple of hours a night, and those not even very well. I've been spending my nights either wide awake or somewhere between sleep and half-consciousness. Hungover. I feel hungover.

I was in this state when he began to squirm. He adjusted himself, then readjusted. He shifted up, then over, then across my chest. I knew he was waking up but trying not to; he does this almost every day. It's as if he's still tired and wants to keep sleeping, but is also afraid to miss out on anything. He'll sacrifice sleep to be in on the action.

I, meanwhile, clung to whatever sleep or semblance of sleep I could have. I noted this, the way my son was fighting to wake up even though he was asleep, while I was fighting to sleep even though I was awake.

Finally, he could take no more. He popped up, yanked my eye mask off, got right up in my face, and yelled, "peekaboo!" And with that, he was off - jumping on the bed, off the bed; running around the bed; yelling at me to "look!". I have no choice but to get up and start my day, which sucks at 7:15 a.m. on a Saturday.

From there, we head to the living room, where he asks for a cartoon. The problem is that he doesn't know which one, and so he tries to open the glass door of the media cabinet. I step in, before he grabs everything and hurts himself, and run down the list of available DVDs for him to choose from (but not really - I just name three to make life easy for both of us). As I stand there, waiting, he taps his chin and contemplates: "uuummm....", "hhhmmm", "uuummm." We stay this way for what seems like ages, until I tell him to choose or there's no cartoons.

As he watches The Jungle Book, he chatters to the screen and turns to me to point out the animals, the trees, the boy. He shouts, "careful!" and imitates the elephants and snake. He turns to me when I start coughing to ask, "You o.k., mami?"

Who is this little man? Our days are routine and unexciting, yet there is always something new with him - new words, new gestures, new expressions. And, most shocking to me, new understanding. The way he communicates and grasps concepts amazes me, even though a part of me know it's as it's supposed to be. And yet, I am constantly moved, constantly caught off guard by this creature who is so sturdy and smart and stubborn and wily. And I wonder, will he ever cease to surprise me? To make me laugh? To make me want to break into tears?

I hope not. I really, really hope not.

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Posted by Tere @ 5/10/2008   | | | links to this post

Friday, May 09, 2008

My Status Has Been Updated (Updated!)

Damn that Facebook status thingy. It's got me hooked. I'm such a sucker for mindless things like that - it falls in line with my never-ending fascination with those surveys and questionnaires that get emailed dozens of times, or Twitter. It's an easy way to pass the time, to get creative, to communicate to the world all your random thoughts (or be passive-aggressive, as that seems to be popular with this application). And heaven knows I've never suffered a shortage of needing to communicate something, anything. Much like Twitter, it's a phase. I'll be all into this for 3 days before I'm over it.

The problem with the Facebook status thing is that it's not user-friendly, at least not to me. Someone would have to be obsessively refreshing my page to read my pearls of wisdom and angst, and in-between all the clutter, you stand a good chance of missing half the stuff that's written. And that just won't do. Also, I have no time or interest to be on Facebook all day and would like to curtail my presence there.

The answer is to give you all the possible status updates I can come up with right here. Sure, I may not know what I'll be feeling or doing in a few hours, but I can take a good guess or make it up or decide that now and act on it later.

Picking up where I left off on Facebook, Tere...

... isn't buying this bullshit.

... didn't sleep a wink last night.

... doesn't know what to wear tonight.

... is cranky.

... really likes that song "Realize" by that Colby(ie?) girl.

... is still choosing to be positive but has lost most of her self-confidence.

... doesn't know how to read signals.

... doesn't want to read signals.

... intends to look smoking hot tonight.

... wants to be found.

... needs to shower.

... wishes patience came easier to her.

... had a funny flashback to the old MDCPS days this morning.

... feels the door shutting.

... is working on her branding.

... is melting in this post-rain heat from hell.

... needs to run errands tomorrow.

... has said too much.

... is sweating and should go turn down the a/c.

... killed a roach.

... is feeling better.

... is going to be still for now.

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Posted by Tere @ 5/09/2008   | | | links to this post

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Newsflash: Breastfeeding Makes Kids Smarter! For the 2 of You Who Didn't Know That

I'm reading the news about a new study that shows that breastfeeding makes kids smarter, and I'm like, no shit, Sherlock.

Really, why is this news now? We've known this for ages. I sound so ungrateful, and believe me, I'm always happy when the benefits of breastfeeding gets some play in the mainstream media; I'm just more annoyed with the mainstream media itself than the actual study. And if you really read the news item, it's actually really interesting and compelling and sure to cause a ruckus somewhere because a doctor is quoted as saying that women who breastfeed are in and of themselves smarter than women who don't, which, whoa. That's gonna cause some backlash.

Anyway, between this and the news that national breastfeeding rates are at their highest in 20 years, it's a good week for the cause.

So yay. And all that good stuff.

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Posted by Tere @ 5/06/2008   | | | links to this post

Sunday, May 04, 2008

Tidbits

For once, no chit chat, just straight links.

* Every post I write at GNMParents makes it more and more obvious to me that I am one clueless puppy. Also, I've made the site my own personal self-help portal.

* For the love of Carrabba's... I so love that place. The new one in town is perfectly lovely.

* Ocean Spray has a new product, and I tested it.

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Posted by Tere @ 5/04/2008   | | | links to this post

Saturday, May 03, 2008

Please Don't Make Mami Cranky First Thing in the Morning

There is just one thing I need to get my weekend off on the right start (well, besides tons of Max kisses and snuggles): my coffee and newspaper.

All I request is a chance to savor my precious Costa Rican beans while reading the paper. The TV can be blaring, the dog barking, the child running like a madman. I don't care. I just want my coffee and paper.

That short while helps me get ready for the day in a good attitude; it's important to me. A lack of paper and coffee leads to a cranky, off-kilter Tere who feels like her day just isn't right.

But every single weekend without fail, as I settle in on the couch with my goods, the same scene plays out: Max catches a whiff of the "cafe" and runs to me, whining at my knees for some. He clambers up beside me and shoves his precious little face right between my paper and my cup.

The spilled coffee and torn newspaper sections are inevitable. In the end, I don't mind that I can't have my way and enjoy this morning routine. Such is life with a two-year-old, right? What I mind is the whining in my ear and the tantrum that results when I deny him coffee. You can set your clock by it. I'd give anything to run and hide at that point, because the grabbing, pulling and yelling are really just too much for this uncaffeinated Tere.

The funny thing is that I ultimately end up reacting the same way every time: fuming, sulking, with a side of cursing. I'm as bad as he is, unable to just get it and accept it.

That's what's turning out to be the hardest part of this parenting gig: my child is just like me. Which means we're screwed.

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Posted by Tere @ 5/03/2008   | | | links to this post