At some point, I ran across a super cute plush doll of El Chavo del Ocho at Target online, but it seems to have disappeared. Or else, it was just a limited-run type of deal. I got these Chavo and Chilindrina runner-up dolls in a tendajito in downtown Los Angeles, and yup, they're pretty fugly. I mean, they're kind of endearing, but they're those knock-off dolls that have that not-quite-right look to them. You know, remember the Cabbage Patch knock-offs that didn't have the Xavier Roberts signature on the butt? That was classy rip-off compared to these.

But my opinion doesn't really matter here, because the toddler K is head-over-heels for them. I mean, she's really digging these two, slobbering them with besitos.

I'm trying to imagine the conversation these two are having as they hang out. Que piensas?

WWCS (What Would Chavo Say?)??? Ya me imagino...

Work is what you do in between vacations, right? I read an interesting NYTimes story in Tara Parker Pope's Well blog -- which I read religiously -- last winter about how vacations affect your happiness. She wrote about a study that set out to measure the effect vacations have on happiness levels, and how long it lasts.

So turns out, it's the run-up to a vacation -- the anticipation -- where people are really, really happy. After the vacation, happiness levels went back to normal. Woh-woh-woh. Back to life, back to reality.

I totally get that, and I think that's the same thing that happens when you get married -- planning is three-fourths the fun (well, of the actual wedding part). I've never been much of an over-planner, or over-scheduler. Before I go on vacation, I like to read up online, get a travel book or two and put some dog ears in the pages, jot down a few places I'd like to go (restaurants, especially) and that's it. Actually, I'm pretty lazy, and if I can get away with going on vacation with a friend who is a total itinerary tyrant I'm happy because I can just follow, relax and enjoy. The last thing I want is stress while I'm on vacation.

But silly me, I forget sometimes that I have a toddler now, and travel WILL NEVER BE THE SAME, AGAIN.

No matter, and no stopping this mama. We are going to Madrid in two weeks!!! I'm so friggin excited, I'm oozing joy and spitting happy. Last time I was there was, *cough, cough* a few years ago when I studied abroad there in college. It was a fabulous time of my life, and I met some of the most amazing people that I still call great friends today. We did a whole lot of babosadas together -- including drinking Calimochos in the plazas before going out to dance all night before getting churros y chocolate at 6 a.m. I'm pretty sure that's out for this trip, although I can probably swing the churros at 6 a.m. because that's when my delightful child's internal alarm goes off.

We've done one international trip with the toddler K so far -- down to Nicaragua and Honduras. Hey, if I can travel with my child to a country where they film Survivor, I'm pretty sure I can handle Spain. I've already bought a new light-fold-it-down-fast stroller a friend recommended -- yes, that Maclaren umbrella stroller that was chopping off kids fingers (the problem has been fixed, I hope). And a backpack to put my child in, so I can be all tacky American mochilera. That's about all I needed that I didn't have. The flight is what seems to stress a lot of parents out. I think we'll be fine, as long as I have some tricks up my sleeve planned. Really, this one isn't much longer than a cross-country trip to Cali.

My expectations aren't terribly high for this vacation. That's not to say they're low, but I just want to ensure I enjoy every day of vacation to its fullest, so I'm being a realist. And really, all I want is:

nice, crisp Fall weather,

some good food,

time to sit in a cafe or plaza, sip cafe and people/fashion watch,

to watch what's on local/national t.v. (i love this!),

to do some shopping for me (i've been holding myself back so that i can justify doing it here),

to get some children's books from the FNAC,

a toddler who doesn't turn into todzilla.

I want to do the museums, el parque Retiro, el Rastro and all the other standard stuff, too. But I've seen them all already, so I think that eases the pressure of this trip.

Right now, it's time to turn up the happiness and savor the run-up.

V--V

The little one was a slobbery five months old when her madrina gave her Sophie la Girafe as a gift. Unlike the other  plastic teethers that hang off the cold metal hooks at Target or Wal-mart, Sophie is very sophisticated. She comes in a box, and she was born in France in 1961. Ooh, la la!! But now she's a big international sensation among the under 12 month crowd.

There's something about Sophie that just makes her so comforting to grouchy little teething babies.  Maybe its her velvety soft texture, or the pleasant (versus annoying) toot she gives when squeezed. Or her sweet looks.

She does have a bit of a status teether reputation, though, having been in the hands of celebrity's little babes. But really, she does live up to the hype and is totally worth the $20 - $25 price tag. The toddler K hated all the other teethers we got and would throw them on the floor.

On the box, she's billed as baby's first sensory development toy that stimulates all of baby's five senses. Her contrasting spots will make her a recognizable and reassuring object. She's got lots of limbs for baby to grip well, and for baby to chew on with a vengeance. She smells nice like natural rubber. And she squeaks -- which actually the dog likes more than baby.

You can find Sophie in the posh baby boutiques and Nordstrom, or you can keep-it-real and be like me and just her on Amazon or Babies R' Us. I just bought a new Sophie this weekend to give to my newborn nephew, and I'm putting it in the mail tomorrow. So that's my suggestion--if you need to give a gift for a baby shower, go with Sophie. Babies love her, and she's nice on the eyes.

Nowadays, at 15 months, the toddler K prefers a French fry in her mouth in lieu of a French giraffe. Those teeth are working out nicely.

I love watching junk TV and reading smutty chisme sites online -- me encanta. Over the past few days I've seen a lot of promo-ing for Madonna's clothing line Material Girl, available at Macy's, por si acaso. It's also been an unveiling of sorts for little Lourdes (Leon, remember? of the personal trainer/actor-ish father Carlos Leon). Lola is now all of 13 years old, going on 14 next month, and is all fashionista and dying her hair and into Dirty Dancing and hot pink biker shorts.

**EW** To the biker shorts part.

I'm not creepy, I know all these little details because mini-Madonna is putting it all out there in the Material Girl blog under her own section Blog, Lola, Blog. It's cute how she's so into the '80's. Guess if your mom was Madonna you wouldn't have a choice, huh. WORSHIP ME, CHILD!!! I'm sure a Madonna time-out is on a whole other level. Like in a cage, or something. And that British-ish accent frightens me. Although that seems like it faded along with the memory of what's-his-name, dad#2.

Watching Lourdes makes me feel like I'm dreaming, and Madonna is in my dream only she's not quite Madonna, she's a Latina version. Hmmm, if I were Lourdes I would totally go as Guadalupe for Halloween. Is that blasphemous?

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.

Yes, there are days when I feel like grabbing one of these and wearing it into the office. So much easier than make-up and fixing the hair.

I've mentioned here before my fascination with lucha libre and the idea of masking your true identity, as the luchadores do with their fantastic mascaras. The masks are like a second skin, and the way it works is that if a luchador loses a big match he risks being unmasked. It's a pulling back of the curtain, stripping away the armor and revealing humanity in all its vulnerability. It's Clark Kent behind Superman. But luchadores go the distance to keep their true identity under wraps, including wearing their masks out in public. The greatest luchador, El Santo, didn't reveal who he was until he was already retired and an old man. He was buried in his famous silver mask.

I love lucha libre iconography. Put it on a shirt, a switch plate, some chones, a bag, whatever -- I'll take it. If you see any cool products using lucha libre send me pics or links.

And speaking of the double-identity, can't wait for the new season of Dexter!!! Every episode, my husband swears he's DONE with Dexter and that it's too stressful for him to watch. But he keeps coming back for more. We all are. Good stuff. Last season will be hard to top.

Time to clear the throat for a resounding grito because Mexico is celebrating its bicentennial dia de independencia from Spain this 16 de septiembre. Can't help but think, my older brother was born the year of the USA's bicentennial in 1976 and EVERY-FRIGGIN-THING around him in his baby pics was red, white and blue. It was all Uncle Sam in bell bottoms all the time.

News sources are reporting that the narco violence has put a damper on the festivities, and mexicanos aren't in much of a partying mood. Wha??? No pistolas going off into the air for fun?

I got this Peace & Love/Paz y Amor romper for baby K at Ping and Pong Kids online. It's cute, soft, a simple design and a great outfit to hang around and play in on weekdays. They have a few other bilingual shirts and rompers for kids -- in English and Spanish and English and Chinese.

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.