The catch-up

So much already happening this year. I guess we’re getting closer to the half-way mark. We celebrate three years in Walla Walla in August. Carlos and I have been together 5 years. Diego turn 4. We head to LA for what is going to be our annual summer trip to see grandparents, family and friends.

My big news around here is that Rafael, all of 14-months, is finally walking like a champ. And he’s having more nights of sleeping soundly. He’s also rolling out his beginner vocab.

Rafael’s favorite words so far are:

DADA (screamed in the direction of Carlos)

Ashes, ashes… (in a sing-song voice, from our many rounds of Ring Around the Rosies)

MAMA (but not as loud as DADA)

DEGO (it’s so cute to hear him say his big bro’s name).

I also think he is fumbling around with Algar, and he points and smiles at Itzul so he is probably working on that one as well.

I’ve been teaching Diego to hum the Darth Vader theme from Star Wars, and I swear Rafael is picking it up as well. If I can get that one on YouTube, watch out.

But my biggest delight, the thing that has brought me immeasurable joy, is that we have brand new windows throughout our house. This means that after three years, we finally have windows that open. We can finally let fresh air in!

Our house was built in 1947, and the windows had been in place that long. I think 60 years is a pretty good shelf life for windows. There is also an addition, that added the master bedroom and bathroom, done in the late 70s I believe. Those windows were different, but I didn’t consider them “new” or “efficient” in their 30 years.

We’re slowly adding little touches to our house that is making it more “ours” every day. We got around to painting our living room, and our kitchen, bathrooms, and bedroom are next. We tried our hands at landscaping out front and hope the little flowers and plants we picked survive the summer and winter.

I gave our roses a good grooming during the winter, and it looks like they might be really nice this year.

When I find our camera I am going to post pictures of all these little projects I’m noting.

July can’t come soon enough. Even though I have the freedom to work from home if I must, or if I’m sick, it will be nice to have that leisure time with no responsibilities beyond the immediate family.

We’re also experimenting with contracting a maid. She’s only come out once so far, for three hours, but I think this is a relationship that is only going to blossom. I can’t explain how hard it is to work full-time, be a mom, and try to keep the house in order. She’s really only doing the grunt work of vacuuming, mopping, dusting, and scrubbing the bathrooms and kitchen. The laundry, dishes, and general tidiness of the house is still on us. Anyway, we only budgeted for 6 hours a month.

Our current situation, of both working full time, and having no family to help around the house, has been really tough. The last thing we want to do with our down time, or on our weekends, is mop, sweep, and scrub bathrooms and counters. But that is what would happen, and then we’d miss time with the kids. I think I may love this arrangement. It costs, but it’s cheaper than having me cut back on hours or not work, which we had also considered. Sometimes being a grown-up stinks.

Sweet sleep

Sleep deprivation has kept me from blogging for a long time. Our “newborn” is nearing his first birthday and he still loves to wake up in the middle of the night and torture us.

This kid is a screamer. He is a yeller, a howler, and a nurser. I guess the routine, if it could be considered that, goes like this:

Baby falls asleep anywhere between 7 and 9 p.m. Snoozes peacefully for about two hours. Wakes up and wants to nurse. We would let him cry, but he shares a room with his big brother. And I make the assumption that if he nurses while I’m still awake, then he might get his fill and sleep until morning.

Not quite.

He wakes up again, at any give time. It’s been 12:30 a.m., it’s been 1, or even 2. At this point, we try to just let him wail it out and get himself back to sleep. Last night, though, after 15 minutes, we couldn’t take it anymore and his cries were getting more intense. He belts his unhappiness. We try singing, rubbing his belly, rocking. I refuse to nurse. But I always give in. And within a matter of seconds, he is quiet and off to dreamland.

We tried something this weekend after a particularly bad night that would probably anger our pediatrician. We put him down on his belly. This is a big no-no in the pediatric world, but was the common practice with infants and toddlers for years. Since the baby is practically walking, we thought the risk was minimal. And he slept fine, from about 2:30 a.m. to about 6. Not great, not bad. But since that was the only length of time we got to sleep, it was a rough Sunday.

Same thing happened Sunday night. I caved in around 2 a.m., nursed, put him on the belly. Slept until about 6:30 a.m., just in time to get ready for work.

Our pediatrician had given us some acid-reflux medicine to give him, in case his sleep problems had to do with his belly and digestion. We have no way to know that this is what’s ailing him, and we haven’t used the medicine because the potential side-effects freaked us out. Depression? Hallucinations? How would we even know? Obviously these are the worst-case scenario, one in a million side effects, but still. That’s our baby.

The belly sleeping worked for now, but now that I think about it the baby usually sleeps from 2 until morning anyway.

My biggest, strongest wish at the moment is that he’ll sleep for 6 to 8 continuous hours. He should take a lesson from big brother Diego, who at 3 now sleeps (mostly) peacefully from 8 to 7. And that’s even with a nap.

A dream house

There is a house for sale a few blocks from our own home, and it is listed online. Every once in a while I go online, stare at the pictures and try to imagine what it would  be like to live in there. In many ways it is exactly the kind of house that I want for our family, and also very much what we need right now. We really need a few extra rooms where the kids can stretch out, run around, play games, explore, be free.

Our house is modest, but it feels like home and we’re happy here. It was also one of a few homes in our area in our price range. Even now I grumble about our mortgage payment, so I don’t know what I’m thinking when I start going window shopping for houses that are more than twice as much as what ours cost.

I try and talk myself out of it in many ways. First, cleaning is still a painful issue in our house. We have yet to find a system for sweeping, mopping, scrubbing the bathrooms, dusting, doing the laundry, and so on. We also have good sized front and back yards, with roses along the driveway and wild bushes out back that require landscaping attention we simply don’t know how to give. So then I think: if we can barely manage our 1,300 square foot house, and 6,000 square foot lot, how are we ever going to keep up with a 3,000 square foot house on a 12,000 square foot lot?

And there’s also the matter that we can’t afford it, even if we wanted it, and the other burden of already owning a house.

I tried to think of my obsession with out-of-reach houses kind of like an adolescent crush on a movie star. Like, I could think I’m in love with Brad Pitt, or Johnny Depp, and that nothing would bring me greater happiness than having one of them fall in love with me. But seriously, what are the chances? And better yet, how likely is it that we’ll even be compatible?

Anyway, here is a picture:

I think I love this house.

I should really stop going to that web site. Isn’t $400,000 a steal in Los Angeles? Maybe soon it will be sold and I can just say, “Oh, well.” But isn’t it cute? And it doesn’t cost anything to dream, right?

A leaky Christmas

We had a great Christmas this year. All our children in the house! Rafael and Itzul were with us this year. Last year Rafa was still in my belly, and Itzul was in LA with her mom. The only real problem was the horrible snow and ice situation. Carlos discovered one of our living room windows was leaking, then realized a window in Itzul’s room was doing the same thing. I’m still not positive how the water was getting in, since most of what was outside was frozen and the highs Christmas week never really broke 20, but I guess it had to do with heat from our roof or walls melting that first layer of snow, which then froze, expanding and forcing its way into our siding, or the window’s frame, then getting closer into our house and the heat source, and eventually turning into a drip. So I was a nervous wreck most of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day wondering when the leak would end, how much this was going to cost us, etc.
Besides our house brining on that headache, we tried to make the best of the holiday

On Christmas Day, after way too much TV and a couple of toys already broken or missing, we decided to go sledding. This is the kind of thing we could never do in LA. And truthfully, it’s not really common for Walla Walla either. We drove to the bike and skate park a couple of minutes from our house and found tons of like-minded people. Diego loved going down the sled, and it was a lot more thrilling (and scary!) than I had expected. We even let the baby have a go at it, very slowly and carefully of course.

Dad and Diego coming up the hill

Rafael and I waiting our turn.

Itzul and Diego

The boys with their new piano

New jammies and drum

A gift from big sister

Rafa and his new toys

Itzul’s gift from Diego

to spank…or not

A few months ago, at one of the local restaurants, there was a little girl having a royal tantrum. She either didn’t want to eat, or didn’t want to sit down, quite possibly both. The girl must have been right around Diego’s age, maybe 2 or 3. I watched as the mother switfly spanked the girl, once, quickly on the behind. The little girl let out one more loud scream — and then that was that. She sat down, ate her meal, and nothing more came of it.

I’m not really sure if I stared in disgust or awe. I’d seen Diego have fits way worse than that girl, and I had never thought to spank him. Okay, maybe I’d thought it, but thinking and doing are totally different.  Still, something about that encounter softened my views on spankings.

I have to say I was lucky to not have suffered spankings growing up, although I can recall two distinct times my mom yanked a string of my hair to snap me out of my bratty-ness. And the truth is, it worked. I’m not sure, though, how I would have turned out if spankings were the norm. But I do know people who endured the belt, the wooden spoon, or even “la chancla” and turned out relatively well.

Carlos and I agreed early on that we would not spank our children. But we hadn’t prepared ourselves for the terror that is Diego. My high-energy, defiant, rebellious boy has proven more and more stubborn and head-strong than both Carlos and I combined. Even over simple stuff. Like, “Diego, it’s time to brush your teeth.”

“Nooo!!! Never!!!” Which can be followed with toys being thrown, or the occasional swat at us. We try to understand where he’s coming from. Sometimes it’s hunger, or thirst, or being over-tired. But mainly I think it’s the toddlerhood telling him he knows better and he can do what he wants. (He is almost 3, after all).

So I decided to experiment with the butt pat. I reserved it for only the truly criminal offenses. Like when I had just gotten the baby calm, almost to sleep, and Diego started screaming. As the baby startled, and started to wail, Diego screamed more. The baby flipped out. He was terrified. And here was Diego, screaming away, laughing even, despite the baby’s yells and my pleas for him to stop.

The first time I tried the spank I made him laugh. The next time I tried it was when he bit me in the thigh – hard – twice. I think we were fighting over the nap issue. That time I tried it a bit harder, and he said “Owwie!”

That broke my heart. So later that day I told him I was sorry. And that I would never do that again.

I did, though, one final time, over probably a combination of things. And this time, he said “No!” and hit me back.

So I’ve decided to give up on the spanking thing, and do what we did the other night when he flipped out: pillow fight! We got to slug it out, and made the baby laugh this time instead of cry.

space cadet

I started this post with the title “dumb blonde” but then decided that might be offensive to some. Space cadet gets the same message across, right? I’m using the expressions to describe my mental state since returning to work. I don’t know what I was thinking when I thought going back to work after almost six months, and having one new baby in the house, would all go smoothly. The hardest part of all this is I have a limited amount of hours each day to finish my work so that I’m still doing full time reporting, getting the kids fed, bathed, and off to bed, not to mention interacting with them and doing the bonding parent-child thing. Then there is the cooking for all of us, dishes, laundry, and at some point, general cleaning. And then it would probably be healthy for me to have a moment to myself, perhaps in the form of a shower or brushing my teeth or hair.

So as a result of being pulled in so many directions, I have been making “space cadet” (dumb blonde sounds so much better) mistakes at my work. I called something in a story recently “Annual Yearly Progress” (it was Adequate Yearly Progress…my take of it doesn’t even make sense) I called “Pachucos” “Pochacos” (that’s not even a word) and have done my usual day switching, saying it is Wednesday when it’s really Tuesday, that type of thing.

Luckily my errors have been noted and corrected on our Web site… but the thousands of copies that go out to people every day? Ouch for me.

I haven’t made mistakes like these since I was first starting to report, several years ago. I’ve grown so proud of getting my facts straight that it destroys me to make such slips. One of my most memorable mistakes from years past was typing “nymph nodes” instead of “lymph nodes” in a story. Our copy editors and editors missed it too. It wasn’t until some reader wrote a letter to the editor thanking me for the chuckle.

But it wasn’t really funny. It sucked for me. Here’s another good one from the past. I referred to something in a story as a quarter mile, when it was actually a square mile. For some reason square made me think of four, and I translated that to “quarter.” It made a big difference in what I was saying.

It’s really tough to be a reporter. The printed word makes it that much tougher. Once all the “send” buttons have been pushed there’s really no going back. It’s set in ink “for the record,” forever, until someone lines a cage somewhere with it. Or makes paper boats like Diego and I did the other day with our days paper. That’s why I’m starting to love the Internet that much more every day. Although it is a great feeling when a story runs error free, to know that you’ve informed the public the best you can.

teens: creatures of the night

The teen is back in the house, and back in full social swing. She had some buddies over one day, and spent the night at a friend’s a couple days ago. Last night it was a concert at a coffee shop downtown. After the concert, which got out a bit before 11 p.m., she came home with a friend who was staying the night with us.

It’s always interesting to see the late-night workings of teens around the house. Most of the attacks are in the kitchen. One morning we woke up and found the girls had baked a cake. They’d eaten half of it and the rest was in the fridge. But we’d had lasagna that night, and Carlos had made them hand-wash the baking dish for their cake. In the morning I found a stash of what seemed to be perfectly clean paper towels in the trashcan. Being my mom’s kid, I fished them out of the trash, found them a bit damp, but not smelly or stained in any way. I couldn’t figure out what had happened. Carlos solved the puzzle for me. They’d used a wad of paper towels to dry the baking dish after they washed it. I spread them on the kitchen counters for reuse.

Last night, when Rafael woke up for some late-night/early-morning nursing, I could hear the girls in the kitchen. The lights had been left on, but as I was getting ready to head over there and turn them off, someone flipped the switch. I checked my cell phone and it was right around 3 a.m. I felt a bit of anxiety building up but then remembered it’s summer, they’re 14, and at least they’re at home. So in the morning, there were some new bowls in the sink. Half a pomegranate in the fridge; some of the other half in the trash. Half an apple in the trash. Someone made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. And Ramen.

I have a feeling when we head home for lunch at noon, the girls will still be snoozing. It’s a great day for sleeping in, too, because storm clouds rolled in and its a gray, windy, slightly rainy day.

Peter and the Wolf

I’m auditioning for a community symphony in two weeks. I guess I could argue that I’ve been playing the flute for almost 20 years now, but the truth would be I’ve only picked it up randomly in the last 10. There was that semester I majored in it in college, but all that theory and composing knocked the fun out of it for a while. I do remember taking it out to show Itzul how to play “Sally’s song” from The Nightmare Before Christmas. But even that was a few years ago now.

This all started when we were dropping off Itzul’s rental trumpet to the music store in the big city that’s 40 miles from here. While we were leaving I saw a flyer calling for flutes, horns and some other instrument to audition at the end of the summer for the Tri-Cities Symphony. Some of my fondest memories from high school, and growing up, are playing my flute in a youth symphony. It was so different from playing in the school groups because only the best kids in the area got chosen to play. I played in our town’s symphony, the Glendale Youth Symphony, for three years. Even though I decided not to major in music, despite my teacher’s insistence, it’s something I’ve always thought about pursuing again.

With that said, I highly doubt I’ll make it. They sent me a packet of music to rehearse: Peter and the Wolf, Carnival of the Animals, Daphnis et Chloe…these are all extremely challenging on the flute…even worse when you haven’t played consistently for 10 years.

The first go at Peter and the Wolf was especially painful. I think the baby cried. Flute is also really really shrill and loud. A few weeks into it and the music started making sense. My fingers woke up and the passages were starting to transcend from seemingly impossible to almost easy.

But now it’s been almost two weeks since I seriously practiced. I need to get myself back in shape if I’m going to go through with this. I’ve decided, though, that even if I’m not totally rocking all the songs for the audition, I’m going to do it anyway so I won’t have any regrets. Maybe they’ll hear some potential in me and I’ll get back something that I enjoyed so much, so long ago.

Savage detectives

I’m about a third through a new book, “The Savage Detectives,” by Roberto Bolaño. Although he wrote the book in 1998, and died a few years ago, his book is on the New York Times best 10 books of 2007 list. I’m assuming this is because the English translation just came out this year. Bolaño is a Chilean author who spent much of his time in Mexico City.

The book is in the spirit of  notable beat writers like Jack Kerouac and John Burroughs, but with more of a post-modern slant. The book’s jacket touts it as the story of two modern-day Quixotes who I guess are on a quest to document or revive the modern Latin American poetry and literature movement, specifically Mexican writers.

I’m not sure if I should recommend this book  yet, since I’m not even half way through and it has already taken a sharp turn from the original direction. It started as the journal writings of a 17-year-old college student getting caught up in the literary scene in Mexico City in the 1970s- drugs, sex, pimps, that sort of thing. Now I’m on the second, and heftiest chunk of the book, where I’m reading about interviews with notable writers retelling the story of how they met the founders of the “visceral realists” writing movement. That would be the two “modern day Quixotes.” It’s really confusing but the writing is dazzling and I’m moving along fine, even though I had vowed to stay away from the male self-discovery-nihilistic novels. Where are my great women writers? The top 5 books of fiction on the NY Times list are all by male writers. I guess that’s not their fault. Anyway, I can forgive Bolaño for being a man because he’s South American. And the two central boys in this story seem to be on a quest for a certain poetess, so we’ll see where it ends up.

oh, heroes

I’ve been getting frustrated with the slow-moving plot of the second season of Heroes. Last night showed signs of moving along at a more heart-pounding rate. It might be because we watched the entire first season on DVD, so we could easily watch three episodes in one night and get our fill of what was to come. But even having to wait from one week to the next for one hour chunks of entertainment, it still seems like we’re not quite getting around to the point. Here are my highs and lows from last night:

high:

- Peter getting to flex his powers again, like reading minds, moving large things with his mind, nearly killing someone. and of course coming back from the dead.

- Claire finding the tracking marks on her new beau, and realizing her father’s dark legacy isn’t quite buried yet.

-  Ando finding the 400 year old note in Hiro’s sword.

-  Sylar making his come-back, and flexing his badass evil muscles.

now the lows:

- Claire’s flying through the sky scene with the new boy. It felt kinda Disney or ABC family to me.

- Peter not snapping out of it and getting out of Ireland. What is with this guy? You just found out you can’t die, can read minds and can move things with your mind, and you’re still waiting around for something?

- Niki up to her old bad-mom tricks. Enough with this anticipation, just kill someone or whatever.

- the twins in Mexico. I get it, she can kill people and she needs her brother. Do we really need to see this same poin three episodes in a row? Get them to the U.S. already.

-  Hiro in ancient Japan. I’m tired of him being back there. This better be going somewhere big and splashy.