A few days ago I ran across these calavera iron-on appliques as I was cruising down the sewing/crafts section at Wal-mart. I was shocked, **shocked**, when I saw them just hanging there, completely out of place at this random Wal-mart in Maryland. I probably wouldn't have been surprised if I had been in South Texas or California, but in the DC beltway? I think visitors to my house think my La Catrina dolls are Wiccan or something. Anyway, these appliques are very cute and only cost about $5 so I had to buy.

I picked out the appliques with pink in them and decided to go with a heather purple American Apparel track shirt that I got for under $10 through Amazon.com. I placed the calaveras on the front and the pink flower on the top back of the shirt (near the neckline). All I had to do was whip out the plancha and ironing board -- and it took all of two minutes to do this. Now that's what I call a project fit for me!

The appliques I bought are from a company called Next Style Fashion Art, but I can't seem to find any online. Etsy to the rescue! You can find other calavera appliques here.

The toddler K took swimming lessons this summer, and all she could talk about for three months (besides her birthday, which is apparently every day) was swimming, swimming, and more swimming. But in a pool. When we got to Miami Beach last week I'm not sure that she remembered it from last year, because as soon as we tried to put her down to walk her feet would shoot up so that the first thing to touch the sand was her butt. Maybe she's a little like me -- I like the beach, but I much prefer watching it from a beachside pool surrounded by concrete. The thing is, I really hate sand. Weeks later you still find it in the crevices of your bags or shoes or car. Como una chismosa, metida en todo menos misa.

Still, we had fun:

removeAs anyone could predict, I had a cortadito or two every single day of my visit. In case you're wondering what a cortadito is, it's sweetened espresso topped with s

teamed milk. Versus a cafe con leche, which is a LOT of milk, and of course, a lot of sugar. Or a colada, which is uber-sweetened espresso, or otherwise known as liquid speed.

So of course, when we got back home I had to bust out the cafetera I bought last year in Madrid. Mmmmm, homemade cortadito isn't so bad, especially when paired with crisp Fall weather.

 

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**

For weeks we had been looking forward to my brother and his family visiting from San Jose, California. He has a 2-year-old that's four months older (and four inches taller) than K, and a first-grader. So we were certain that the two girls would get along just famously, besos y abrazos all over the place.

Wrong. I have no idea why we thought that. No idea. It wasn't fighting, per se, but there was definitely a lot of not sharing and 'oh no she didn't look at me that way!!!!' random screaming that went on, because you know, their language skills aren't exactly fully up and running just yet. It was just a lot of ignoring, in the way you ignore that friend-of-a-friend who you really don't like at all kind of way. You talk/play past each other. You don't really engage.

But, in a surprise move, the toddler K totally loved being with her older cousin, whom I'll call The Rocketeer. He's in first grade, an excellent reader who can read Dr. Seuss' Hop on Pop to her, and is just full of school-kid inquisitiveness and silliness. Silliness that tired adults can find annoying, and toddlers find crazy hilarious. She was totally like a mosca on a piece of pan dulce and just ate it all up. And when it came time to leave, she was completely overcome with sadness, cried and asked constantly (for about 20 minutes) for the Rocketeer, I want the Rocketeer! I want the Rocketeer! I want the Rocketeer!

It made me think back to visits from my own cousins when we were little. We grew up in a small town but many of our cousins lived elsewhere, so when they'd come visit the grandparents in the summer we'd have the most awesome fun time that would last weeks. Grandma would douse us with OFF and we'd play tag or three-legged races in the dark at night. On Friday nights, we'd watch Night Tracks on TBS, and when my parent bought a video camera we'd spend all day choreographing and filming music videos. And then the day would come when our cousins would leave, when the house was left with just me and my brothers, and we would all run to our rooms and bawl into our pillows, which smelled of our cousins. I remember it felt like I was being ripped apart inside.

The toddler K soon forgot about her sadness, but when it came time to telling my nephew goodbye he asked, "Am I going to see you again?" and I said he was going home, to which he replied, "I'm going to miss you." And in that moment I felt a little pang in my chest and remembered leaving my own cousins and I thought, well, it means he had a great time, and I hugged and kissed him and told him I was going to miss him, too. And I do miss him. I wish we all lived closer to each other.

So about the girls not getting along -- I have three brothers, no sisters, and I didn't see my girl cousins who were around my age enough to develop any rivalries, but I've heard stories from friends. Maybe not necessarily child rivalry, but parent rivalry?

Now it's back to no cousins, K. Enjoy your time alone while it's here.

Muchas Borreguitas!!!!

I snapped this urban pasture pic last month in New York at the Uniqlo store, a favorite in Japan and a purveyor of nice and simple casual wear. These lambs, like hundreds of them, were in the middle display in the store. Nice! And so are these clothes ...

I'm a huge fan of nearly all the HBO series, and a few on Showtime (Dexter premiere Oct. 2!!!!), but the shows are a Sunday night thing for me and the husband, usually. So earlier this week while we were having breakfast mid-week we caught what sounded like the honky tonk True Blood theme song  on tv and when I turned I was like whaaaa? Sesame Street parody -- True Mud. Brilliant! The Bill and Sookie characters were spot on (mysterious and ditzy-blood/mud-lovin). The toddler K no tiene ni idea about True Blood and the connection went over most kids head, I'm sure (I hope). Looks like its a re-run from last year but last year we weren't watching Sesame Street on a daily basis. Loved it, and for the record, I'm on Team Eric Northman.

It's a funny thing when the kid and adult worlds collide. The toddler K is actually starting to reject some of my adult music. She absolutely protests when I play anything Ryan Adams when I'm driving. But she asks for Madonna's Cherish over and over again by yelling from the carseat in the back, "That one, again, maaaaas!" And today we were driving and listening to Foster the People's Pumped Up Kicks, where the chorus repeats over and over again: All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you'd better run, better run, outrun my gun/ All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you'd better run, better run, faster than my bullet.

And when it was over, the toddler K yells from the back, "Again! I want bullet! I want bullet!" Nice. Real nice.

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.

It always amazes me how much life and energy New York City packs into that tiny island. It's a city that moves, that's always ON, where people of all stripes get their hustle on every single day. It's easy to see how people get sucked into the city and just never leave, even when kids come into the picture. It's home to more than half a million children under 5 years old. And given the choice, I'm sure the toddler K would give anything to be in that NYC mix every day.

She loved the city during our trip this past weekend -- toda la bulla, jumping off the curbs and running across the wide streets with her papa, pointing out the buses passing every five seconds, waiting for the subway, exploring the playgrounds and carousel of Central Park, running down the Big piano at FAO Schwarz, red velvet cupcakes, the Motown streaming out of someone's window on a Saturday night, tea and scones and sandwiches at Alice's Tea Cup and on and on and on. In her eyes, the cacophony and frenetic pace of things was just exhilarating. She's not like me, who was about to collapse from going up and down stairs to the hot metro carrying stroller and bags. And conscious of the rata residents of the city. Life at 2 is just bliss.

The husband and I decided to do this trip on the cheap this time, because when we visited NYC last year we spent an obscene amount between hotel, tolls and parking. We took the Bolt Bus this time and stayed with a friend, and most of our spending cash came from the huge bag of coins I took to the Coinstar machine at the grocery store recently. Cha-ching! We spent nearly all our money on food, but how can you not when there's so much great food around? I was friggin doing flips in the air after finding the most awesome taqueria ever -- Tacombi @ Fonda Nolita, where we had tacos de chorizo con huevo, cafecito and an agua de sandia. Comida de la calle. **heart**

But it wasn't just the good food and drink from my peeps that endeared me to this place. I've got to give major props to whoever designed the place. The thought put into every detail, from the VW van that's been retrofitted into a cocinita to the paletero bicicleta to the wall tiles and tables and chairs that have that bingo hall feel to them. It's the whole package that makes this place super chido. And what makes you want to start calling everyone guey.

Okay, okay, so enough about this taqueria (because I could talk about good Mexican food all day). In the end, this was totally a trip built around a toddler. We were up by 7 a.m., dinner by 6 p.m. and ready to pass out by 8 p.m. But you know, I wouldn't have it any other way. I mean, I had a blast racing my 2-year-old on the big Big piano. And I just fell in love with this amazing and beautiful granite slide built into a hill that was in one of Central Park's many playgrounds. It was seriously like something out of a storybook. Which, if you're visiting New York, is pretty much what you feel like -- like you're walking into a great story being told. And Alicia Keys' Empire State of Mind, Part II would be the soundtrack:

Concrete jungle where dreams are made of/ There's nothing you can't doNow you're in New York/These streets will make you feel brand new/ Big lights will inspire you/ Hear it for New York, New York, New York!

And she loves it. And she can reach into my make-up box and know which cosmetic is for what. It's insane how much they pay attention even when we're doing the mundane things. Note to myself, once again, to watch my mouth!

When we traveled down to Nicaragua and Honduras last year when the toddler was 9 months we left our regular stroller at home and instead took the Bjorn baby carrier and another baby sling I got from Target. It was an easy decision to make -- all I had to do was imagine the route from my husband's grandmother's house to his aunts' and uncles' houses about two blocks away. Okay, there are steps at the front door of abuela's house, a street that may have been paved at some point but that is now mostly dirt and rocks with charcos and perros callejeros crossing your path. I should probably also mention the pig tied up to the neighbor's fence -- which forces you to walk mid-street, just to be safe. Sidewalks? Ha, maybe there's one here and there but any sliver of concrete is basically a mirage that suddenly ends just as you're starting to enjoy its smoothness.

In other words, this is stroller HELL. Even a jogging stroller with its inflatable bicycle tires wouldn't last a day in these dusty streets. It would be an exercise in frustration managing it. So the Bjorn and my brazos were all we needed. And with so much family around to carry baby, who needed a stroller anyway?

I've mentioned it in this blog before, but the decision for me to use a baby carrier or sling when the toddler was a wee baby was always a practical matter  -- because sometimes it just makes more sense to have the baby tied close to you when you need to have free hands and the ground underneath isn't compatible with a stroller. So it was pretty interesting to read this piece that aired on NPR's All Things Considered two weeks ago about Bolivia's younger generation rechazando the sling, or the aguayo, as they call it in Bolivia, in favor of the more western stroller. Here's a snippet. Lourdes Condori is a young woman they interviewed:

That's because in La Paz, carrying an aguayo marks people as indigenous — and Condori wants to be considered more Western, more "modern."
Condori proudly shows off the stroller — a secondhand blue canvas one. But the surrounding neighborhood is full of puddles and potholes, no sidewalks, and a lot of stray dogs — not good terrain for a stroller.
It takes almost 10 minutes just to get it out of Condori's house, with lots of lifting and some three-point-turns.
Condori's mother, Patricia, thinks strollers are ridiculous.

The line in there -- carrying an aguayo marks people as indigenous -- is interesting food for thought and me stop to think about who the baby-wearing set is here in the U.S. and in Latin America. What does a Bjorn mark its wearer's as? Stretchy slings? Or for that matter, Graco strollers? Jogging stroller? Maclaren stroller? Chicco stroller?  What do they say about the parent? What does it say about you?

Let's face it, I see lots of slings at the farmer's market or the food co-op. Not so much at Wal-mart or Dollar Tree (where they don't know what BPA-free is). I've seen men wearing their children in slings here in the U.S. -- on just a few occasions, I might add -- but I'm pretty sure that's not a common thing in countries like Mexico. Or for that matter, not all Mexican women are walking around in Mexico with rebozos. I have an image from my childhood of the poor working mothers who sold their artesanias on the sides of the street in the border towns. Sometimes they had a baby held close to them in a sling. Sometimes their older children hawked Canel's chicle for a few cents a pack.

In any case, I wonder what other Latinas here in the U.S. think about baby-wearing. Are crunchy Latinas rare? If you look at the stats, most Latinas have their babies really young, and I wonder how much economics or even maturity plays into the decision to be a more attached parent. Or even cultural attachment, and by that I mean wearing a sling as a way to connect to our forebears. My mother didn't use a baby sling. Heck, she didn't use a car seat either. I'm not sure she even used many strollers because even after a hundred times of explaining to her how to close the stroller, she STILL would rather put it in the car unfolded. Aye mi mama.

Back to the NPR piece, I like the way it ends, and the way the young girl reconciles her decision on what to use is not too different from my own reasoning. We live in a world where both a sling AND a stroller have their place. And we can use both, and not be defined by either.