An Absence

Pardon my absence. Life has become a whirlwind and when I find I have some free time all I seem to want to do is sit. That's it; sit.

It has been quite a year thus far. I have taken over another long term sub position. Thankfully it is in the same grade level as my last one, so the team I am working with is the same and the curriculum is the same, but man, this is tough.

To go from one classroom to another and have to pick up where yet another teacher had left off. Both classes have such a different vibe, so it is a big adjustment from last time. A month in and I am finally feeling like I have a handle on this new class.

But it is exhausting. While teaching definitely has it's good days, I'd say it more often has the days where you come home exhausted and strung out because a handful of your 25 3rd graders decided to be, well, 8 years old that day and you know, act like themselves; which I can't really blame them.

It makes being a parent tough. When I get home from my long day all I want is to be fully engaged in my time with Isa. I only get about 3-4 hours before she's off to bed and I want to make them count.

However, when you're physically worn down and realize there are still lessons to plan or papers to grade, it can feel like too much.

It's made me question whether or not teaching is really the profession I want to pursue, while being a mom at the same time.

That is something I will not decide now, however, it is a thought that is hard to escape at times.

*****

I had some wonderful friends visit over the weekend. They are some of the best. We had such a great time and when they left, my heart hurt for San Diego; for the relationships I have there and the connections that I know I will be hard pressed to find anywhere else.

This does not help with the whole "I'm exhausted and not so sure I want to teach" scenario.

*****

And yet, I know things are constantly changing. Our life is so uncertain right now and some days it feels as if we have a handful of options in front of us while at other times it's as though there are only a few.

I have to trust that things will be OK no matter what we decide and that I continually carry my home with me; James and Isabela.

Oh Christmas Tree

This is not what our living room looks like right now.



This is what our living room looks like right now.


We are having new tile put into our downstairs and attempting to paint over our ridiculously bright green walls. It was supposed to take a week, and was to be finished by the time we got back from vacation over Thanksgiving break. It has now been over two weeks and is not finished. The work is being done well, and James and I are happy with the results, but there is something to be said for efficiency.

But this is Mexico, where things always take longer than expected and efficiency is not always the main goal.

I was hoping to have the house finished in time to decorate and put up a Christmas tree with enough time to enjoy it before we leave on the 18th for San Diego. It is Isa's first Christmas, after all, and I wanted her to experience a bit of the festivness.

Not to mention, since James and I have been married, we have never had our own Christmas tree. We're going on three years now.

Yesterday I got myself so worked up over not having the house decorated that I found myself crying over it to James. But this is Isa's first Christmas, I said. But, we've never had a Christmas tree of our own... But I just wish once we could have what other couples and families have...

Today I was awakened by a squealing daughter who my husband brought into our room and lied down between us. We lied there as a family for 20 minutes or so, the three of us.

Christmas is not about Christmas trees. It is not about decorations, or jingle bells or snowmen. It is not about festive music or having it all put together. It is not about Christmas cards or pretty outfits. It is not about lights or hot chocolate.

It is about love. The love of family, the love of friends who are like family, and the love that was first given to us in order for us to even have the chance to love each other.

For Isa's first Christmas, she's not going to remember a pretty tree, or how the house was so clean with everything in its place.

She's not going to remember the music or the lights.

And who cares about those things. What I hope she does remember is how much her family loves each other. How much her mom and dad love each other. How much she is loved and cared for. How it's not what others have that matters.

Besides, how much better is this picture than a Christmas tree

Loads to Carry

I walked to the grocery store with Isa yesterday. It's about a 20 minute walk past our neighborhood park, under a highway, across some train tracks and past numerous taco stands.

It's not a beautiful walk, or really even that pleasant, with the traffic and endless sounds of cars honking and the smog filled air.

For a few seconds, I found myself liking the idea of raising Isa here for a substantial part of her life. For the amazing cultural experience that would be for her. But then thoughts of Isa playing by the ocean crept in and the clean, fresh air she would be missing out on back in San Diego entered my mind. A five minute trafficless car ride to a much less crowded store entered my mind, and I quickly focused back in on the pothole I needed to dodge in front of me.

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People here are mobile because they have to be. They walk everywhere. They do not complain.

As I found myself lagging as I climbed the steep steel staircase to cross the train tracks, having to push past the young men and chatting women coming in the opposite direction; I was immediately annoyed. Don't they see that I'm carrying a baby? Don't they think they should be more careful and let me pass?

But then I look around and see five other women my age carrying their babies and walking, some with bags of groceries in hand and they don't complain.

I see a 60-something woman carrying food for her family, slowly but confidently walking down the stairs with her cain in hand and she does not complain.

I have this sense of entitlement going on. I feel as though I should receive special treatment since I have a baby and more to carry, but I quickly realize that this is such an Americanized idea, this feeling of entitlement, because all I need to do is look around and I'm quickly faced with the reality, which is, we all have to do it.

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People here do what they have to do to get things done. They take an hour long metro ride followed by a 30 minute walk while carrying a 5 month old baby, in order to get to the store to buy tortillas and chicken for dinner that night.

They wake up at 4 am to open a tamale stand on the side of a highway to catch the morning commuters in time.

They don't complain.

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I tend to complain too much. I complain about the weather, the smog, the traffic, long lines, heavy loads to carry. Whether that's because of a sense of entitlement, or simply a gap between cultures, I find that it creeps into my daily life.

We all have heavy loads. They are different, they are the same, they are heavy. Sometimes we forget the weight and sometimes it's all we can think about.

Rather than dwelling on the load itself, I will look to my left and my right and chose to realize that I am just another person carrying my load. I am not any greater or any smaller.

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I am thankful to live in a place where I can be reminded of this everyday.

Really?

So I'm not normally one to get all upitty about inapropriateness in music. I love music. I believe artists have the right and freedom to express themselves.

But there's expressing your art and talent and then there's this:



Miley Cyrus' new music video, "Who Owns My Heart."

The girl is 17 (this I know for sure because I looked it up; she'll be 18 in November) and is writhing around in a bed blindfolded in her underwear, then following it up with a wild romp at a club in some daisy dukes and a backless top.

Maybe it's because I have a daughter of my own now that I feel so strongly about this, but WTF. How is this OK? How do her parents believe this is OK?

I don't consider myself a conservative person; in fact I'm pretty much the opposite of that; but this is not OK.

Miley has many fans, most of which are young girls. I just can't imagine what those girls are going to think when they see this video of their beloved Miley. Are they going to look in the mirror and think, I'm just not that pretty, but maybe if I curl my hair, put on some makeup and a sexy top then I will be.

Even knowing it's possible that they will think that breaks my heart.

It makes me think back to Britney Spears' video, "Baby One More Time" and how up in arms everyone got about young Brit in her school girl uniform showing her middrift.

Miley's new video makes that look like Sunday school.

I think there should be a line, or at least, with a girl like Miley who is under 18, a parent who puts their foot down.

I don't care if you daughter's famous. Step it up Billy Ray.

House Tour

I've been meaning to do this for a while, but I wanted to wait until our house was more put together. So here it is...

Our colorful home.

2 years

I have been married to this man for 2 years...



We've shared adventures, low points, air mattresses, 40 ounce beers, friends, family, high points, a baby girl, more low points, and most of all a love that is constant through all of that.

Because that's what love is. It's choosing to love someone else more than yourself; even when everything in you says that's not what you want to do. It's taking your guard down and being completely vulnerable. It's a comfort that you've never experienced before.

I love this man who I get to call my husband. He is often times a better person than me. He loves me fully, he loves me deeply, and everyday I am amazed by our life together.

We moved to another country where we didn't speak the language, where we had no plans, no place to live, little money; and managed to find a house, jobs, friends, have a daughter and ultimately make a home.

But then again, I think we've always had a home together, even if it didn't include four walls and a roof. We are each other's home and that is what I am thankful for more than anything else when I think of our marriage.

Here's to 2 years and many many more to come.

Colic

Colic....


Our child has colic.


It's terrible.


Crying almost every night between the hours of 7 and 9pm until she finally falls asleep.


A friend of ours whose child also had colic said this... "I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."


So true.


I hear they grow out of it around 6 months old, which means we have 3 more months to go...


James and I are hanging on by a thread. We bicker like never before because of the frustration and exhaustion.


We love each other; we love our daughter, but man; this is rough.


Luckily I have this to cheer me up.