Fall has officially arrived at home in DC, but not here in Miami. Guayabera halter dress weather all the way. I wish I could encapsulate this heat and take it home with me, and enjoy it ounce by ounce over the course of the long cold weather season that awaits. **sigh**

So I'm kind of going to back into this story by starting with this picture my husband took of me and my new BF Juanes earlier this week. It was after a performance, and when I went up to him I said something like that it was such a pleasure to hear him or something very I-carried-a-watermelon-ish. As I'm saying it he's giving me this look. Juanes, Colombian roquero superstar, humanitarian, was giving me un look. And finally, he says to me with those squinty eyes you get cuando quieres reconocer a alguien: "Juro que te he visto antes." Red lights start flashing all around me: I'M MELTING. So hot. I'm totally and completely stupefied and smitten, just like that. I sort of shook my head like no, no we've never met before, and all the while I'm thinking waaaaay in the back of my head that I want to say, "Si, en tus suenos," but my mind is totally tangled and the words are not making their way to my mouth. Picture snapped, and I just sort of walked off in a total buzz.

Super babosa.

But all I can say is now that, ladies and gentlemen, is how major game gets played.

I've been a big Juanes fan -- of his music -- since the days of 'A Dios le Pido." But the school girl crush days are looong gone (okay except for Mark Wahlberg, I'll admit). Or were long gone. Damn you, Juanes and your jeans and your guitarrita singing songs like: Me enamora/ Que me hablas con tu boca me enamora.

So about how I came to meet Juanes -- This performance for was a Tiny Desk Concert at NPR. These are small, intimate mid-day performances for NPR's All Songs Considered, and the artists usually just play a few numbers. It's recorded, and NPR staff -- a crowd of maybe 30 people -- hang around and watch. My husband, who works there, called me last minute on Wednesday to see if I wanted to come over to see Juanes perform. Of course, I said Hell Yeah! Or I texted that, rather.

I got there a few minutes before while he was still warming up. He was on the electric guitar and had another dude playing the acoustic. At the request of someone, he played 'Camisa Negra,' and had a few false starts, as you can see in the video I posted below. Afterward someone asked, "So, he's like the Bono of Latin America, right?" You know, I guess you could say that. I mean, it has been said before. But to me, Juanes is Juanes. I think by now he's earned his own title. Of course, I could very well be biased <3 I drove away from NPR in my VW Routan (totally sexy, especially with the baby seat in the back) on a total Juanes high. Maybe I should stalk him, I thought. That would be very Pedro Almodovar-ish of me. I'll just settle for the Juanes high. I think I'm still on it. I haven't been this smitten in a very long time.

I grew up with three brothers -- so that makes us four siblings, and we were all born with a 5 year 3 month window. Like nesting dolls. So growing up, that meant natural selection was in full effect at our house. Or better explained, if you weren't the first one to get to the box of Fruity Pebbles you were going to miss out because whoever got to it first would eat the whole box --just 'cos. Survival of the fittest. Of course, if another sibling wanted to challenge the pecking order there was always fighting that broke out -- and I don't mean whiny arguing. I mean duking it out, hair pulling, nail digging, chasing around the house, rolling on the floor kind of fights. As soon as my mom heard us or saw us fighting, she always said the same thing: Bola de animales! Stop fighting! And we would, eventually. Looking back I think two things -- how did she raise four kids that close in age and how are we all fairly normal people?

I was thinking of my mom's favorite expression of "bola de animales" yesterday I took the toddler K to the National Zoo -- all by herself, no sibling competition. And the actual bola de animales we were going to see, well, these actually behave, probably because they don't have to fight for their food or shelter or even love, as even their mating is planned sometimes. The husband is sort of against zoos for that reason -- he hates the captivity part. But how else is the toddler supposed to learn about animals? I mean, when she saw a squirrel she said oso because she has no size perspective.

So yes, we're really into animals at our house right now, and the toddler K has most of the basic ones down. The only thing is I switch between English and Spanish all the time, which I guess isn't so bad because she knows most of them by their English and Spanish name. I cheat sometimes when I read books and will just say the name in Spanish. Like in Brown Bear book, I tend to say all the animal names in Spanish instead, but otherwise read the book in English. The toddler is also into making animal sounds, also in English and Spanish. As in guau guau to imitate a dog, instead of woof or ruff. Miau and meow are cognates, right? And a horsie neighs in English, but what does it do in Spanish? She hasn't learned kikiriki or cock-a-doodle-doo yet because we've actually never shown her a rooster in real life -- which is weird because growing up I distinctly remember hearing them in the morning when I slept at my guela's house -- not on a farm, the neighbor had them. Small town. They were sooooo ahead of the free-range and backyard chicken trend.

At the zoo, we got to see the pandas chowing down on their bamboo, and the sloth bear reminded me that I needed to cut the toddler's nails. The lions were out and playful. But of course, my favorite animals are the farm animals. Pandas are cute and all, but we're not allowed to pet the pandas like we can do with the burros and chivos in the Kids' Farm. I was actually trying to teach the toddler the sound the chivo made, and all I could think of were the poor chivos tied to a tree outside my grandmother's that were about to become cabrito guisado after a few hours. It was a total Clarice Starling moment, but instead of lambs I hear chivos. **shudder** Well, at least these zoo chivos have their own little playground.

Moving on to happy thoughts, as expected the burros made our day. Look at how cute and sweet. No wonder we've immortalized them in pinatas and entrusted them as keepers of the candy!

The toddler K loves horsies, can't get enough of them on the carousel at the National Mall, or the bouncing one she has in the living room, or seeing them in her picture books or pulling a princess' carriage. They're her favorite--except when they're real. Then they totally freak her stuff out. Literally, like she's clawing away at you to get her the hell away from them. But no matter, I knew she'd love it if horses were the centerpiece for her 2nd birthday party. So that meant we just had to do a cowgirl birthday party. And I'm not talking Gretchen Wilson or Carrie Underwood cowgirl-ish types. I'm talking about opening up your Texas and California history books and check out who really got this party started. I'm talking about taking it back, vaquero-style. Check out how wikipedia breaks it down, nice and simple:

The vaquero is the original cowboy of the Americas, developed in Mexico from traditions brought to MesoAmerica from Spain.

And if you wanna dig into this a little deeper, according to this in the late 1800's one in every three cowboys was a Mexican vaquero, and everything cowboys know today came originally from the vaqueros.

Vaqueros were proverbial cowboys—rough, hard-working mestizos who were hired by the criollo caballeros to drive cattle between New Mexico and Mexico City, and later between Texas and Mexico City. The title, though denoting a separate social class, is similar to caballero, and is a mark of pride.

The vaqueros have a long and proud history among Hispanics in Texas. This party was a nod to our roots, even if the only horse in sight was a huge cardboard horse I bought online and some little plastic ones from the dollar store -- all Made in China, of course.It was the first kids' party we've ever put together so of course my husband and I were pretty babosos about knowing what sorts of things to do and not do. We had haystacks to sit on, pink cowgirl hats for the girls, blue ones for the boys, fake sheriff's badges,  horseshoes and pin the tail on the burro. I also gave all the kids water guns. Yeah, I'm obviously not one of those moms who thinks about not giving toy guns to kids. It's water, people. And it's just Coke, and chocolate and chips. The effects wear off eventually.

For drink and food I got some bottle root beer and I ordered two gallons -- yes, I know that's chingos -- of chili from Ben's Chili Bowl and we made Frito pie and chili cheese dogs for everyone. The toddler LOOOOOOVED the Frito pie. If you don't know what it is, you need to run to your nearest 7-11 and buy some Fritos and a can of Wolf Brand chili, go home and feast on this salty perfection that is the food of choice at Texas football games. I can seriously be sitting at my desk at work on a random Wednesday and think of Frito pie and my mouth salivates. It's that awesome.

And as for the music -- Pandora on George Strait radio all the way. Because in the end, George Strait really does have a vaquero heart.

It was a pretty good fiesta, even if we didn't get a pinata because I refused to get a pitiful Party City one which seemed to be the only real option in this area. I remember as a kid all the little grocery stores in my hometown had pinatas for sale, hanging from the ceiling. They were imported from our neighbors in Mexico, and they were humongous burros or estrellas that would break by the time the ten-year-olds got around to beating the crap out of it. Now those were good parties.

So my toddler K, a big pinata blow-out party is what's up for year three -- when I hear you'll really become a bad child (the terrible two's are just the warm-up, parents of 4-year-olds tell me with a sadistic laugh). We'll welcome it with a bang. I'm gonna say just once more and then el famoso cumpleanos that we talked so much about is over til next year. Happy birthday once again, mi muchachita.

We celebrated the Dia de la Virgen de Guadalupe -- the day that the blessed Virgen appeared to the peasant indigena Juan Diego in 1531 in Tepeyac, Mexico -- this weekend by going to a dedicated mass at the BIG CHURCH, the basilica here in DC. It was the toddler K's first cross-dressing experience as she went dressed as Juan Dieguito with a mini-peasant outfit. We dubbed her Juan Dieguita. I guess I could've dressed her up as an angel, but eh, if you're gonna dress up, JD is the way to go.  I did see a few boys dressed up as angels -- something you don't usually see either. Hey, we're equal opportunity.

The basilica has dozens of uniquely-designed shrines in it dedicated to the various Virgenes from across the globe, including one dedicated to la Emperatriz de las Americas. It's a small shrine, but the mosaic tile detail in it is unbelievably beautiful. I took the toddler K to leave red roses at the foot of the shrine after the mass was over. Of course, she tried to wrestle the flowers away from me and wanted to pluck the buds instead. She spent the entire mass walking form shrine to shrine with her father, saying "Bye, bye!" to all the Virgenes that has their hands raised in the air in an Alleluia pose. Oh, and pointing out all the "babies" in their arms.

The church in my home town is Our Lady of Guadalupe, so this is a celebration I've been going to for years. Back home, the OLG celebrations are full-on fiestas with dancers, mariachis, tamales y chocolate. This mass was definitely more formal and serious (very DC). There was a procession beforehand and a re-enactment of Juan Diego going up to the altar. And there were mariachis, but in the humongous echo chamber of the basilica they felt really drowned out. And folks weren't really piping up in singing Las Mananitas. But you best believe I did. I love this song:

We made it back home from Spain in one piece, and I've got to say, the toddler K did great. She's not a melt-down kind of child, and that's no thanks to anything we do. It's just her natural temperament. Yeah, we know we're lucky. I'm sure if there's a number two it will be all hell all the time.

This was the first time we take a 'vacation, with child' that wasn't to a place where we had family or friends waiting on the other end to cushion the travel pangs. There's a whole lot of little things about traveling with children that I learned/picked up/realized on this trip, but one of the biggest was that the playground is your ally. When the toddler gets restless and starts going guidi-guidi-guidi-guidi (asi se queja la toddler K ahora) and doing that straight-as-a-board thing in the stroller, find the nearest playground or park and go straight to it and let the child have at it.

We must have gone to at least a half dozen zonas infantiles during the week we were in Spain, not including the plazas and parks which also give a lot of space for a kid to go loose. And although the toddler K can give a monologue that will give Castro or Chavez some stiff competition, she isn't really talking so other kids still ignore her, for the most part. But she still managed to get kicked by a little boy, and got her hair pulled by a little girl, whom her ninera said was a "malilla" ever since she was born. She did find a few nice kids, though. But the ones who were really sweet to her were the adults, and even teenagers -- much more interactive with her than here in the U.S. A lot of folks would talk to her, smile or make a playful face. They would do this everywhere -- at restaurants, in the metro, in the stores. It was kind of refreshing to be in a place where folks didn't have their eyes stuck on the Blackberry or iPhone at all times and too busy to notice the world around them.

We kept a pretty brisk pace throughout each day but the toddler did take naps every day either back at the apartment we rented, or in her stroller. And we essentially just let her stay up really late to make up for the time difference, although that did mean having to wake her up in the morning. But now that we're back seems she didn't miss a beat in her sleep schedule at night, so score!

Oh yeah, and all these pics are taken at different playgrounds or plazas. Yes, we really worked our poor child out. And she wore us out, but in a good way.

I'm on a kids listserv for my neighborhood. Mostly, I'm a lurker. Just slog down the email when it hits my inbox, take in other people's carefully collected info about schools, petty crime, nanny shares, clothes swaps -- but I don't ever participate. Sometimes I want to chime in that I'll take that free tricycle, or scream at the person selling their three year old well-worn stroller for $500 (I know the economy is ailing but if you could afford it in the first place, don't be pinche--pay it forward).

Every few weeks a new string pops up about a playdate some parent is interested in setting up at their house or the park. There's usually some hand-wringing about snacks that comes along: Regular or sugar-reduced juice? What about the children with food allergies? It has a start and end time, and sometimes, a parent will just throw out there that their wonderful bilingual nanny will also be there. Let me not even get started on that one.

So, from what I gather, the playdate is just like a little party with no cake, gifts or birthday child but full of awkward conversation with passive-aggressive, competitive adults you don't know but who are secretly judging your child against theirs. I probably have my sister-in-law to thank for my strong aversion to playdates, with her horror tales of other mothers at the park and their breast-pumping talent wars and over-sharing and sizing you up.

So the truth is, I can check off damn near three-fourths of the list on Stuff White People Like, but playdates is something I just can't swallow. The fact that you have to make an appointment for your children to play is just super weird to me. I say this even though my husband and I are total work/tech nerds who fire Outlook Calendar Requests to each other all the time for things like doctor's appointments; dogga, dad or mom grooming; dad's "I have to attend this" happy hour with co-workers; mom's "pre-paid therefore I can't miss it" yoga; etc.  Officialish stuff. But scheduling play time for your kids just seems to cross a boundry I don't want to even tread near. Like Canada.

I asked my mom the other day if she ever set us up for playdates, and after a long pause she was like, um, well, my friends would bring their kids over or I'd take you over to their house and we'd talk and you all would go outside to play.

Exactly!

Outside.

I was out of her watchful eye. I was able to shenanigize freely. Run around the house playing hide-n-seek. Climb up a tree and nearly break my leg jumping back down. Shoot cans with a beebee gun (no, seriously). Take a Coke from the frig and guzzle it down while she wasn't looking. Not that my mom cared about that -- I distinctly remember drinking Coke from my baby bottle at 2 years old. And Tang. Ah, the innocent days before all this corn syrup spoiler crap.

I was a free child! No parents sitting around watching my every move. And when I was a toddler, well, I toddled around the house and played with my three brothers or multitude of cousins. A-ha, and there it is. Yes, us Mexican-Americans and other Latinos do have that advantage of large families, huh. The built-in playdate that lasts 'til you turn 18.

Every time I see a new playdate message I think about how I wish I lived closer to family--to my brothers and their kids. I know playdates are the new reality of the modern family who lives far from family, or safety and all that. Yeah, yeah. I read. But doesn't mean I'm not going to lament about the way things were, when you didn't have to think so hard about your child playing. I'll still opt for getting together with friends I already know or co-workers with kids and just say "let's hang out." Let's lose the formality. It spoils the fun.

Cabronsito! It's what you want to say when the little Frito (or Sabritas) bandito starts talking back, giving attitude or acting out. Forget timeout. Just put this shirt on them! Or not. I don't know -- I'm back and forth on this one. I think it's kind of a strong word for a kids shirt, even if when you say it in a kidding way and make it diminutive. Is pendejito better than pendejo? Um, no.

But no one knows what goes on in your crazy mama head, right! Think it loud. Throw a chancla, in your head. Better yet, walk around work thinking it. Yeah, party in your head.