Monday, October 31, 2011

Happy Halloween!


Holidays are reasons to celebrate and while some people grow out of holiday celebrations when they get older, I have yet to reach this grown up benchmark. Why? Holidays give you such a great reason to be a kid again; to remember a time when the only thing that mattered was how many Three Musketeers (yuck!) you could trade for someone else's Snickers bars (Mmm..). (I remember gathering as many Reese's Peanut Butter Cups as I could because in terms of fantasy baseball, this was her MVP, a valuable commodity that she would virtually trade anything.) Halloween is THE kid holiday. A day when you could dress up as ANYTHING and get away with it. Wanna dress up like a fairy killer princess... go ahead! California Raisin... why not?! (My costume around the age of 8.) I don't remember too many years that I didn't dress up for Halloween with the last few years especially being some of my best costumes yet!

And now that we have a baby, we're "all in," as the poker players say. It's as though I've been preparing my whole life for this moment. Every holiday that I've celebrated in my "adult" life (aka without help from my parents) has been practice for what is about to happen in my own parenthood career. My parents gave me a great platform in which to start and now I have to run with it. And let's not leave out that I've picked a great teammate to run with (Big Daddy Mike)!
I've seen it with my nephews; how holidays are made even better when there are kids. This is not to say that you can't fully enjoy holidays sans children... Lord knows I did a great job celebrating to the fullest without child, but there is some kind of wonder and newness that kids bring to everything.

I can't wait to start this holiday season (Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's) and all the rest to come with Mima (don't know where that nickname has come from?) and see holidays through a whole new pair of eyes.






















Friday, October 28, 2011

My Total Truths: #5 Dogs Make Good Pets but Even Better Children

My Total Truths is a series based on MY truths; a list of things that I know to be true and have served as mini life lessons in my experience. 

# 5 - Dogs Make Good Pets but Even Better Children.


Olive and Jersey after Ray, our groomer, came to give them some TLC


When I got pregnant everyone kept telling me that the dogs would become less important because now I would have a real baby that would need taking care of. They would look at poor Jersey and tell him as he was getting picked up in my arms to get it out of his system because his days were numbered. I have to say that to some degree they were right, but not in the way that you may think. Let me explain.

It is not that I have forgotten about the dogs with the birth of our beautiful Rafaella. It is not that I love her so much that the dogs have fallen to the wayside and have become a memory of single, childless me. It is, what I imagine, happens to the first child when their parents have a second child. The first child doesn't become "old news" they simply become a different story, a story that has been written and editted and doesn't need as much work as the new one. Parents don't love the first one any less, but the first doesn't need as much attention as the second for obvious reasons. This is what has happened to Olive and Jersey. THey have become my first child.

With Rafaella needing so much attention - constant (and I mean constant) feedings (and that's a whole other blog that I need more energy and enthusiasm to write about) and sporadic nap times, and with me having to pump, eat, and write the occasional blog (so as to not lose my entire mind), my day is gone in the pump of a breast. (I must say that I look at 1950's stay at home moms very differently than I ever did. How were they homemakers and moms at the same time? Did 1950's babies sleep because in the 50's drinking vodka tonics during the day wasn't looked down upon? I can't imagine any other way.)

Before last night, and last night was AMAZINGLY lovely with getting to watch Grey's Anatomy, I haven't sat on the couch in 3 weeks. My, almost back to my original weight a**, has been cemented to our baby recliner feeding, pumping, cowing, feeding. Poor Jersey and Olive, the best dogs on the planet, follow me from room to room but with something always in my hands or arms (baby, bottles, sandwiches) there is not as much time for them. They still get what they need but the extra time I used to have is no longer mine. And so any free moment that I have, which is now only a few minutes a day, I try to sit with them and pet them and give them kisses but it doesn't always feel like enough.

But isn't this what happens to all first borns. "Mommy has to feed the baby, but we'll play dress up later, ok?" Isn't this why my sister threw a bottle at my head when I was a baby? She was jealous. Used to being the only one getting attention and now being forced to share it with another little human sucks - but it's natural. It isn't that my sister, or other first borns, are loved less than the second, they just don't need you as much.

And, yes, I know. I am aware that I am comparing my dogs to first borns. I am also aware that some people will take offense to me insinuating that there is any comparison between dogs and babies. I can hear the offended now, saying it is blasphemous for me to even put the two in the same category. Be offended. I'm fine with that. I love my baby. I love my dogs. I love my husband. I love my life. Why can't I love them all?

Guess what? I can.


Thursday, October 27, 2011

Occupy America!

In honor of all the occupying happening back home in the states, I thought I'd write today's blog about just that. Let me preface this by saying that this is my own personal rant so anything I say should not be deemed fact or expert. Furthermore, most of what I say has no political background, possible support, or affiliation to any side besides my own.

The word "occupy" according to a small source, The Merriam-Webster dictionary, has a few definitions. Let's review:

Definition 1. To engage or employ the attention or concentration of - which I believe is what the 99% are intent on doing. "Umm, hello? Remember us over here. The people who make our country run? The teachers, the blue collar workers, the trampled, the have-not what you've got? Pay attention! We're hungry, we're broke, we're jobless, we're homeless, we're angry!"

Definition 2. To reside in as an owner - which is again, what the 99% are doing and what the almighty 1% is pissed about since they are usually residing and owning. "How dare they take up space on our streets. Can't we just send out the police (part of the 99%) and bludgeon them with tear gas?" Not surprisingly, in the world of the 1%, this probably would seem reasonable and legal. After all, they have been robbing us blind for years and telling us its in everyone's best interest.

Definition 3. To take or fill - precisely what the 99% are trying to do and what the 1% are mad about since they are also used to doing the taking or "occupying."

Regardless of what the definition you choose to define "occupy," what is happening here is something I have wanted to see (and take part in) for some time. People making moves trying to change what needs changing. I just didn't think I'd ever see it. Let's face it, too much of my generation is indifferent, lazy, and self-absorbed. (What do I get out of it?) We were the beginning of generations that got too much with too little work. I'm not saying that our generation are all like this, or that we even mean to be. Many people I know are globally conscious of the injustices around them, but not many of them want to actually do anything about it. Others (myself included) were given everything from their parents and still taught that "money doesn't grow on trees" and that "you have to work - hard - for everything you want," but don't know what they can really do to spark change. With that being said, my parents are immigrants (from Cuba nonetheless) and immigrants coming from nothing usually have this view on working hard and taking nothing for granted.

But what about everyone else in this generation of non doers? What's their excuse? Again, this is not to say that I have ever been even close to a political activist, but I am a bit more of a political conversationalist (let's say chatter-ist) and I have had this conversation with a number of people my age. Our grandparents had to endure hard times, wars, depressions. They had to fight for rights that we've since taken for granted. Our parents' era was fighting to end wars across oceans and in their own backyard. What have we fought against? We have never had to really struggle or fight so we have never had to protest... until now. Now, we are at a point in our lives, in our country where people are losing homes, jobs, and financial security faster than Obama could say, "Yes we can." This isn't some problem that we are seeing happen to other people, it's happening to our neighbors, our friends, to us. And people are starting to realize that electing a president doesn't alone cause change - we have to change things. We have to take what we want. We have to get the attention of the powers that be. We have to occupy.

And so here we are on Wall Street. Regrettably, this has come at a time when I am not home in the U.S. and cannot take part in such a significant event in our nation's, and moreover, our generation's history. I would love to march on one of the most famous streets in the world, in one of the most amazing cities in the world (yes, I am very biased in that opinion) and say, "Screw you," to the bankers, politicians, pharmaceutical company CEOs, and all of the other Sheriff of Nottingham greed mongers whose sole purpose is to take from the have less to satisfy their want more.

But such greed can't last much longer. We have awakened to the proverbial "new day" and people are broke enough, screwed enough, and angry enough to take charge and not blindly follow Johnny Bananas into the gauntlet. Look around to notice that things are begining to happen. Occupy Wall Street, Occupy Boston, Oakland, Atlanta, occupy Austin. Occupy Anywhere. Hoards of people coming out and not just talking about change but occupying - getting attention, filling space and residing in it. Occupying 99% of America.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Legra’s Law - *14* - Smashed

In the summer of 2007, I was invited to my then boyfriend’s brother's wedding. It was held at a beautifully renovated farm in Sussex County, New Jersey. Everyone was dressed to impress and I, no need to brag or state the obvious, I looked fabulous in my mom’s vintage fuschia dress complete with 70’s sequence and hot Carlos Santana gold heels designed in Vintage Art. Amaze. Moving on.


We were having the kind of time that makes weddings one of my favorite types of parties (only topped by a great house/backyard party). We were having the kind of time that ushers love because they’ll “probably sleep with a bridesmaid” time. Part of this equation is that my boyfriend, Mike being a great dancer, and I being one myself, were unstoppable. We pulled out ALL of the stops. We salsa-ed, we "Sprinklered," we jived, we attempted Dirty Dancingesque lifts before Ryan Gossling’s character in “Crazy, Stupid Love” used it to lure women into his final seduction phase. And I swear, I almost got him up. I made up the "Hop Scotch", we maneuvered the "Fisherman's Caught Fish.” What didn’t we dance to that night?

As I was jumping, jiving, and wailing, though, something got caught - slammed rather - under my 5-inch gold stiletto heel. Oops! Ow! It was another lady's foot. I slammed so hard onto her foot that I literally felt her toes crunch under not only my weight, but from the gravity of coming down from a jump. She yelped in pain like a trapped mouse in a glue trap trying to wriggle its way out! And like a mouse in a glue trap you wish you could help it, but what’s done is done.

"Oh my God," I exclaimed with concerned horror because I knew that my jump heavy stomp had to have hurt, "I am so sorry. Are you ok?" Her eyes said yes but her words said no. She was trying to be brave. She shook her head and waved her hand letting me know that she'd be fine. I didn't know what I could do to make it up to her. I’d nearly broken her toes. I thought to myself, “If someone had smashed my toes between 150 pounds and solid wood, what would I want? Hmm...

I offered the only service I could, "Listen, if you need me to carry you anywhere for the rest of the night, I'll do it. I swear." As she began laughing from my pretty ridiculous but very sincere proposition, I continued quite earnestly, straight faced, "No seriously, at the end of the night, I will carry you to your car."

Fortunately, she decided to laugh with me instead of bringing up assault charges.



Moral of the Story: Watch your step - you may not always have someone willing to carry you or forgive you.


Halloween at Carol Morgan

Here's a glimpse of Carol Morgan's grounds (the school Mike is teaching at here in Santo Domingo). It is a beautiful place to come to work everyday. (Pictures taken from Miki Paulson's blog, "Day by Day in the DR" at http://daybydayinthedr.wordpress.com/)



In what seems to be Dominican Carol Morgan fashion, Halloween is done BIG here! While in the US, the teachers (as always) are responsible for not just teaching, but grading, planning, conferencing, copying, advising, and in many cases, parenting, and more (all done during their lunch hour) They are also responsible for decorating their rooms, bulletin boards and classroom decor (also to be done during their lunch hour). Here, these decorations were all done by the parents. Parents you say? You mean here, parents don't push another responsibility onto the teachers' plate? Parents here are this involved in their child's school? What kind of crazy place is this?? Yep. The PTO here isn't just something to say you do for your kids. Parents here actually take this serious and are involved.

In a different direction, this was a beautiful day (with breeze constitutes beautiful for me) that we took advantage of for a family outing to the school grounds. The dogs LOVE it here because they get to let out their dogmic energy and we love it because we forget that we're in a crowded, crazy city for a little bit.

Jersey looking at his mom (me) trying to figure out how to get to her.

On the way to CMS

Halloween Hallways BEGIN!











At the open soccer field. We love to walk around here while our dogs explore!

Dad with the City Mini Stroller

Mom with the Zolowear Sling


Friday, October 21, 2011

Legra's Law - *13* - Thriller


EXTRA! EXTRA! Read all about it!!!! (Not so recent) BREAKING STORY: (Names altered for identity purposes.)


Some time ago... January 13, 2007 - to be exact - a group of friends got together to throw a Totally 80's - 80's party in Tannersville, a town nearby the ski resort of Hunter Mountain (pronounced [huhn-tah] to certain New Yorkers), to celebrate the birth of Jemma, a wicked awesome lass who was quite fanatical about the decade in which she was born. They dressed in 80's clothes, listened to 80's music, and 6th grade slow danced to 80’s love ballads. Guests were adorned with mullets, jean jackets, scrunchies, slap bracelets, short skirts with cut off lace leggings, D.A.R.E. T-shirts, light up plastic roller rink neon necklaces, french cuffs. It couldn't have been more 80's if Ronald Reagan, himself, drove up in a Delorian, break dancing to “Billie Jean.” It was rad and it was one of those nights that EVERYTHING and anything was bound to happen.

Somewhere through the night, the motley crew decided to leave their rented ski house and hit the town of Tannersville. Still dressed, they rolled deep to one of the local bars where they begged the DJ to play “Thriller” so the group could perform their rendition of Micheal Jackson's "Thriller" (notice author’s use of foreshoadowing). The “Electric Slide,” sadly, did not escape their whirlwind either. As a dare, the bartender asked them to do a pyramid. Under the influence of many red drinks and no shame, a pyramid would happen right there on the very bar floor where they had rocked out with their… let’s say - socks out.

After this debacle, the misfits of science turned on their next victim; another bar down the street. They sang and danced and did too many shots, all the while living out their “Glory Days”. By this point, the night was growing old, many of them “Hurt so Good” and had made their way home. Jemma and her best friend, Erin; however, were some of the last few there... it was the “Final Countdown”.

Always proving that he was “true”, the girls told their friend, Goomba (pronounced g-oo-m-ba {obviously a nickname, obviously from New York}) that they were leaving. He had asked them to wait for him a few minutes, but telling those girls anything when they had their mind set on something was pointless. He suggested one more time that they wait, but they assured him that they were fine and that he should continue his night with his special lady friend.

Only being a 5-minute walk home, the girls set off on their way home. As they were walking down the main street (and in small towns like this, it’s always called Main Street) they encountered a problem. A car slowly driving down Main Street pulled up to them, as one of the ruffians in the car opened the window and asked them if they needed a ride home. Jemma, feeling very unsafe about this offer yelled, "No!" just so they knew she was serious.

The car asked again. Jemma again, thanks to the many lessons of many an After School Specials and her mother, again responded, "no, NO!" The car pulled away. She still felt uneasy when a few moments later, another car drove by; again asking if the girls needed a ride home.


(SIDE NOTE: After speaking to both girls for comments, they disagree as to whether or not both cars that approached them were the same car. However, they do remember that both cars were Cadillacs. Hmmm?... Curious.)

Jemma became very apprehensive. She remembered the words of her wise Cuban mother, "Erin, my mom always says that if you feel uncomfortable in a situation to not waste time asking questions. Just get out of there!"

Erin, the usually rational one, tried to calm her down, "Jemma, it's fine – we’re fine."

"Yeeaaah.” Jemma hesitantly agreed, “I think we should go back and get Goomba. I don't feel good about this at all. My mom always says…”

"We're almost home, Jemma." Erin assured, “I know what your mom always says, but I think you’re being dramatic.”

They continued to walk down “Electric Avenue”, and wouldn’t you know that when the girls turned the corner onto their street, in the distance they saw an eerily familiar looking Cadillac, with one of the guys standing outside of it in ready, jogger position. It was creepy and unreal at the same time and he looked too Nightmare on Elm Street to think twice about. (It should be noted that looking back now, the girls do not believe he was going to charge at them.)

"Hmm..." Erin said, "He looks scary.” (Pause) “Like he's getting ready to come at us or something, right?" She looked at Jemma for her opinion.

Jemma replied, "Uhm, you think? YES! he looks seriously scary! Now could we go back?"

Erin finally feeling the threat, grabbed Jemma’s hand and yelled, "RUN!" The girls took off like bats out of hell on the quickest route back to their Goomba. However, the quickest route meant not going back all the way to Main Street but rather taking the shortcut… through the woods.

Looking like the girl in the "Thriller" video, the girls ran from their idea of this serial murdering werewolf, pushing aside tree branches and dead leaves, hurdling through the air over puddles and logs. No looking back, no paved road; they ran the back way through mud and grass and trees and darkness. Seriously? What were we thinking… I mean, they. What were they thinking? I guess when in that situation, you look for the quickest, sometimes worst, escape route. Jemma now understood why in the movies that dumb damsel doesn’t take the main road instead of the secluded woods. When you’re too scared to think, you just react. And just reacting often leads to bad decision-making.

To make matter worse, it had been raining that day so the ground was saturated and unsteady. When they finally arrived back at the bar, they were out of breath, and Jemma’s red satin peep toe pumps were soaked, covered in mud. All of their friends asked what had happened but their only instinct was to find Goomba. He was their safety net that winter at Hunter. When they finally found him, they explained their story and decided that this time they would sit their Go-Go's down to wait to be escorted home.

It may have been nothing. They very well could have been wrong in interpreting the situation. They may have looked incredibly stupid running through the forest with laced cuff leggings, D.A.R.E T-shirts, and side ponytails, but they’ll both tell you that, in retrospect, that’s OOOK, because looking stupid always looks way better than looking dead.



Moral of the story: When you don't feel comfortable in a situation; always remember what mom told you... RUN!!

OR even simpler

Moral of the story: Always listen to your mother.


Wednesday, October 19, 2011

You Lucked Out

October 19, 2011



This past Monday, we had a family outing to the Doctor's office. Both Rafaella and I had appointments to make sure our junk was working right. And when I say family outing, I mean it. Baby in carrier and I were escorted by my husband, mother, and grandmother.

Since the birth of Rafa, should I say since the conception of our daughter, Mike has been on the verge of breaking into tears as easily as a Broadway musical breaks into song, but since the birth, the tears come for almost anything. If she hiccups, if Jersey smells her feet, if she's wearing a hat... When she grows up, she'll see the pictures of the night she was born with me smiling and her dad's eyes red and watery.

When we got to the doctor's office, for a reason I can't remember now, he teared up and our doctor, Dr. Fernandez, after slightly making fun of him said to me, "Oh, you lucked out."

I know.

I knew when we started dating. I knew when we got engaged. I knew when we got married that there is no one sweeter, better, more loving, more attentive, more amazing, more "in it" than Mike. Where many husbands/dads leave it to their partners to handle things, he has been through every step of everything with me. From planning our engagement party, to pulling off our wedding. From being at every doctor's appointment to sanitizing nipple shields and giving me foot rubs during feedings - he is the most stand up, supportive man that exists.

In the case that I don't say it enough, Meeks, I love you and I know that "I lucked out".





Its All About a Girl

October 19 - Day 12

I know eventually the constant pictures of everything Rafaella does will die down, but for now, I just can't help it... she's too cute!





Used Instagram App - love!

First Doctor's Visit

October 17 - Day 10

Mosquito's View

Toddler's View

Baby's Eye View


All dressed up to go to my first doctor's appointment



Look how tall I am

October 15 - Day 8 with Rafaella

Rafaella's first milk mustache looks a little eerily like a Hitler mustache. Maybe she's trying to tell us something. Perhaps that she dictates this relationship...

Father of Mine

What does the world hold for her?

Mike y Rafa. He loves his daughter so much. She will definitely be a daddy's girl.

Jersey: What binky? I didn't take Olive's binky. Why are you blaming me?

It's not my mom's Cuban kitchen without her mamoncillos. She said that when my grandmother was pregnant with her she craved and ate a ton of these and maybe that's why she's so obsessed with them. It came from the womb. (PS. she bought the street vendor out!)If that's the case, I wonder what Rafaella will be obsessed with??? Brownies or pasta perhaps?


A nice afternoon around the mamoncillo bowl

Frogger