the violin

on my eighth birthday i was extremely disappointed to find, amidst an ocean of wrapping paper, a violin. the good thing is that my parents, who gave me the instrument, were not disappointed to later find that i was a complete failure at playing it. at least i tried. three times.

i come from a somewhat musical family (i say somewhat because there is no confirmed evidence of musicality on my father's side). my maternal great-grandfather was an accomplished trumpet player, who taught herb alpert (who i always thought was herp albert, until i recently *five seconds ago* googled him) and played on gone with the wind and woody woodpecker. my mom has a beautiful voice and actually recorded a boleros tape as a gift to my dad back in the nineties. my sister and i were bored out of our minds in the studio, although it was cool watching our mother sing her heart out with a trío from tijuana. as a result, those six songs were imbedded in my brain forever. my sister also sings very well and will do so at any given moment, if there is musical accompaniment present, be it a complete mariachi or a karaoke machine. her most memorable performance, for me, was at panzón and my wedding in oaxaca, when she sang a couple of rancheras with the mariachi at two a.m. oh, and she also plays the piano.

so, with that musical background, i should have been a semi-talented violin player at the very least. what happened? it is a known fact that you must begin playing the violin before the age of seven, if you are to master this extremely difficult instrument. even if i had been excited about getting a violin instead of, say, a toy for my eighth birthday, it would have probably been too late anyway. still, i tried. i can only recall two things about my first batch of violin lessons, which began immediately after receiving it: 1. how the instrument painfully dug into my skinny collarbone; 2. how enjoyable it was to apply rosin to the horsehair of the bow.

after that, there was a three year long cease-play period, which ended when i was about thirteen. i really made an effort during the second bundle of lessons, which culminated in a retirement home recital with my fellow students, most of whom were seven years old and/or asian. i practiced my solo for weeks, a simple yet dignified piece from the pages of suzuki violin school, volume 2 or 3. my big moment came and i stepped on stage. it was actually going well when, all of a sudden, right in the middle of my performance, my mind went completely blank. i looked out into the audience and saw a room full of old people shaking their heads in disapproval. i truthfully cannot remember exactly what i did next, but i probably butchered the rest of the piece after a long, humiliating pause, and, with an either very red or very pale face, walked off the stage.

we moved back to guadalajara soon after that, where i attempted to play the violin for the third time. my mom drove me to class a couple of days a week after my daily nap (yes, i napped through high school and still do when the chance presents itself), dry-eyed and dazed. my teacher was an aged austrian man who had a fascist teaching technique, due to the fact that most of his students were young men training to be mariachis. i think he was fond of me because he would occasionally tell me an unrecognizable joke, revealed as such only by a fleeting, stiff smile. the lessons tapered off as my mom realized that the chemistry between teacher and student and violin was simply non existent.

maybe i'll take up the violin again when i'm eighty. i'm pretty sure vibrato won't be an issue then.

the cockroach and the tick (a love story)

panzón and i went to peru for our honeymoon because we did not want to relax on a beach somewhere. that's just not us. we wanted to do something adventurous like staying in the amazon rainforest and going to machu picchu, which we did by train because we thought the three day hike from cuzco was too much. and that's not us, either.

we spent the first two days in lima, where we visited the historic center of the city, went to a great museum (http://www.museolarco.org), ate unbelievable ceviche(http://www.larosanautica.com), enjoyed a delicious meal in an archeological site, (http://www.resthuacapucllana.com) and drank inca kola, the national soft drink, which is as yellow as the colonial buildings in the plaza de armas. the view of the sunset over the pacific ocean was breathtaking from the rooftop pool of our hotel (http://www.miraflorespark.com), but even more astonishing was the blinding milky substance with which the building was enveloped every morning, a dense fog called garúa.

from lima we took a plane to puerto maldonado and then a windowless bus to the madre de dios river and then a small boat to our eco-lodge (http://www.inkaterra.com/en/reserva-amazonica), located in the tambopata natural reserve, which is in the amazon basin. we spent four days there, amidst all kinds of wonderful wildlife (like an over-sized snail, swinging spider monkeys, the occasional toucan and the capybara, a.k.a. the largest rodent in the world), wearing black rubber boots that got stuck in the mud during our excursions. we were lulled to sleep by the sounds of the rainforest, but were awakened on our last night by an offbeat sound, the sound of a leak in the roof of our cabaña, of giant drops of water splashing into an open duffle bag filled with dirty laundry. although the smell of the rainforest is fresh after rainfall, our soggy, muddy clothes had a more rancid scent.

it's quite a change to go from the warm and humid lowlands of the amazon basin to the chilly heights of andean cuzco, so we arrived at our 16th-century-monastery-converted-into-hotel (http://www.monasterio.orient-express.com) in a daze. while sipping a welcoming coca leaf tea in the lobby, we were quite embarrassed about the foul odor emanating from our luggage.

the next day, we boarded the machu picchu-bound train before dawn and watched the sun come up as we zigzagged our way out of the valley (this sounds faster than it actually is, which is painfully

s l o w). the spectacular trip through the sacred valley, passing the colorful villages tucked in the foothills of the andes, following the urubamba river ended at the aguas calientes train station, where we took an exhilaratingly bumpy bus ride on a narrow road to the ancient citadel of the inca empire.

machu picchu is an awe-inspiring place to say the least. the heavy rocks that make up the architecture (temples, housing and terraces alike) are shaped and placed with utmost precision and uncanny delicacy. the energy there is unbelievable and it made me feel very big and very small at the same time.

we had been walking around for hours and i was getting kind of tired, so i decided to sit down for a bit. it was during this short resting period that a nearby llama got irritated at a tourist for taking its picture and charged towards me, the innocent bystander with partially sunburnt calves (namely, the part between my cropped pants' legs and socks). i had heard that llamas spit when annoyed, so i quickly left the scene, just like the perpetrator had seconds before.

a romantic inca bath awaited us back at the hotel that evening, complete with rose petals, bubbles, chocolates and champagne. as i undressed, i noticed a respectably sized mole on my left side and thought, huh, wasn't that on the other side? had one of my moles shifted from my right side to my left? i asked panzón to help solve the mystery, which he did with a pair of tweezers by extracting a tick. it was in fact a mole, a tiny parasitical mole burrowing through my skin to feed on my blood. the little sucker probably attached itself to me during the short break i took in machu picchu, right before the llama incident, probably right at the moment when that insensitive tourist's camera's flash went off.

we weren't going to let this spoil our evening, so we slipped into the no-longer-so-warm, yet fragrant waters of our honeymoon bath. we were clinking our champagne glasses together and popping a truffle in each others' mouths, when out of the corner of my eye i saw something, slightly more elongated than the chocolate melting in my mouth, but pretty much of the same size and color, move across the open doorway. we got out of the tub to investigate. there it was, a huge cockroach scurrying underneath our hotel room door towards the hallway. it had apparently hitched a ride with us all the way from the rainforest in our reeking duffel bag and was now on its way to mortify us, by making a public appearance. panzón, shoe in hand and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, valiantly stepped out of the room and returned with the SMACK!ed and CRUNCH!ed cockroach corpse.

and so it was that the andean tick and the amazonian cockroach went on their final journey together, individually wrapped in shrouds of tissue paper, flushed down the toilet of a high-end hotel.

three toddler toys

so, christmas is near, and i just wanted to share these three awesome toys that coco loves. who knows? maybe santa reads this blog!

1. sirch sibis max (http://www.sirch.de) ride-on vehicle: german engineering for toddlers. coco got this as a gift from our friends/co-workers from the architecture studio where panzón and i worked in barcelona (http://www.tonetsunyer.com) when she was born. we put it inside of a suitcase and stuffed it with clothes when we moved here three months later. it's been parked in our living room, making a great decoration piece, for two years and coco's finally playing with it, giving ofe the frog a well-deserved rest and taking her for an occasional ride in the bottom compartment, of course.

2. plan toys balancing cactus (http://www.plantoys.com): this colorful and non-prickly cactus reminds us of mexico, which is why we affectionately call it "el nopal". it helps coco develop different skills, while being eco-friendly and looking beautiful in its many configurations. it also sits proudly on a shelf in our living room.

3. bilibo (http://www.bilibo.com): "what is it?", everyone asked at coco's birthday party, as she unwrapped it. actually, the only downfall to this toy is wrapping it, which i did clumsily with paper and an oversized bow. anyway, no one really knows what it is, except probably for its swiss designer, but kids know what it's for - anything, really. like stacking, spinning, storing, siting, sliding... oh, and it looks sculptural, too!

two years ago, pt. 3

i woke up to see panzón in scrubs and a funny, shower-cap-looking hat, smiling uncontrollably and taking way too many pictures. looking back at those pictures, i realize that i, too, was wearing such a cap. the power nap energized me and, once the midwives came into the room, we were ready to go. i obviously had no idea what i was doing, but after a while, i understood that contractions are waves that you have to catch and ride out by pushing steadily.

there were about two hours of pushing and pausing and pushing, all of it captured on video by panzón, who was also there to hold my hand. while i pushed with all of my might from the inside, a midwife was using her hands and arms to push from the outside. coco was probably pushing too, with her little coconut head, because i felt a tremendous and slightly painful pressure right at the time when it PLOP!ed out. and then there she was: red, with a tiny scrunched-up face and a head full of hair.

she was placed on my breast immediately, which was beautiful, but also overwhelming. now what?, i asked myself, scared, excited, exhausted. i had been concentrating so much on giving birth, that i hadn't thought much about sustaining life.

two years ago, pt. 2

morning came and i was still not dilating in the dilating room. to get things going, a nurse applied prostaglandin gel in the form of a long, white shoelace that went in in in, against the current that was steadily flowing out. pretty soon, the contractions started (panzón and my mom took turns keeping me company and timing the waves of pain that came over me) and by noon, i was ready for the epidural. i was taken to the delivery room (alone!) and was told that the anesthesiologist would be with me in fifteen minutes. ok, i thought, totally doable, just a handful of contractions.

so there i was, alone and half-naked in a room filled with medical equipment, the most daunting machine of all staring me in the face. i could hear it mocking me with its ticking and its tocking. fifteen minutes went slowly by, then another fifteen excruciating minutes, and yet another. it seemed like the clock kept getting bigger and rounder and louder, the black numbers burning into my white pain. in between contractions, i was like a frog sticking out its tongue to catch a passing fly, or nurse.

when i finally caught one, she explained that another woman needed the injection first, to which the socialist in me replied "yes, i understand". after all, i was in a public hospital, receiving free healthcare, and if someone else needed it more, i would wait calmly. and i did. kind of. i ignored the clock and squeezed my pillow until the surprisingly young anesthesiologist came in, instructed me to lie on my side and stay still, which was nearly impossible during a contraction, and applied the injection.

oh, sweet numbness! i felt like i was floating on a fluffy, white cloud and fell into a deep sleep.

two years ago, pt. 1

two years ago, i awoke suddenly with the feeling that i had peed in my pajama pants, which are a pair of fuzzy, lime green drawstring sweatpants. that feeling took me back in time to a place in my life filled with the smell of apple juice and graham crackers, when i was a little over two years old and had the occasional potty accident. just like i did then, i felt embarrassed and confused and wet. i got out of bed in the two-in-the-morning darkness and clumsily found my way to the bathroom. then, sitting on the toilet, it dawned on me: my water had broken. the time had come (two weeks early?!). OH MY GOD.

i woke panzón up, by calling out from the bathroom, and told him what had happened. i was expecting him to freak out, yet he calmly asked me what color my waters were, so i parted my legs and squinted into the toilet bowl, but could not make anything out, since i was not wearing my glasses. he brought them to me, informed me that pinkish was good and instructed me to take a nice, relaxing shower while he called my mom, who was staying half a block away from where we lived. after hanging up, he thoughtfully packed my bag, helped me out of the shower and had me stand sideways in my underwear to take the last picture of my belly.

i was pretty uncomfortable and anxious, feeling the amniotic fluid drip drip dripping out of me, so when my mom arrived, we immediately left to the hospital, even though we knew we could wait until the contractions started. we walked to the car, which was parked in a public parking structure a couple of blocks away, past a bar overflowing with english hooligans from that night's football match, and over tiny rivulets of drunken urine that converged in the drains of our pedestrian street.

after a quick check-in/check-up at the hospital, we were informed that there were no signs of cervix dilation or effacement. they would have sent me back home, but let me spend the rest of the night in a dilating room, since it was so late. my mom went back to her hotel in a taxi and panzón stayed with me in the room that i shared with a south american woman, who snored very loudly during those last hours of the night and whose contractions started at dawn and rose with the sun. the snores behind the dividing curtain were replaced by "¡ay, mamá!" and "¡ay, mamita!" and "¡AY, AY, AY, AY, AAAAYYYYY!".

meanwhile, i was painless, but ¡AY!ing on the inside.

elephant in the room/car/boat

the stone on my engagement ring is lime green, which happens to be my favorite color. it's a peridot, probably from afghanistan, on a vintage setting, probably from the sixties. panzón and i bought it online and it came one november morning on a big brown truck, as we were leaving for disneyland with my parents. my dad, who has a sixth sense for delivery trucks, caught a glimpse of it and tracked it down, first by car, then by foot. we watched as he persuaded the man in the brown uniform, with matching socks, to give him the parcel by showing him the address on his drivers license. my dad got back in the car and triumphantly handed the cardboard box over to panzón, who opened it and, after rummaging through the packaging popcorn, extracted a small ring box. i covered my eyes as the three of them oohed and aahed.

once the ring was safely in its box in panzón's pocket, we stopped talking about it and it became the elephant in the room, or rather, the car. panzón smuggled the lime green elephant into disneyland, where it almost made its debut on the dumbo ride, which would have been so fitting, except that i made the mistake of saying that i thought that movie was sad. as the day went on, my initial excitement turned into anxiousness, then irritation, and finally into indifference.

later that afternoon, when i had already forgotten about the whole thing, i felt a nervous hand searching for my finger in the quiet, pitch dark of the pirates of the caribbean ride, between the blue bayou restaurant and the first drop, before all of the yo-ho-ho-ing. the ring felt heavy on my finger, but heavier still was the frustration of not being able to see it. i was so preoccupied with this that i completely forgot about the drop and suddenly felt the rush of weightlessness. the elephant fell off the boat and was replaced by laughing and hugging and kissing.

here's a lime green elephant that you can actually ride from danish company, bObles: http://tr.im/DmrH

quinceañera

i've only been to a quinceañera once in my life. it was not mine and i was not fifteen. i was probably around seventeen when my lifelong and then inseparable friend, ev, invited me to his cousin's party.

i met ev at the cute little french school in guadalajara (in mexico, not spain) when we were around three-and-a-half years old. he had extremely straight, shiny, dark hair, which he later dyed royal blue in high school, and very squeezable cheeks, which he still has, under his beard. he loved dinosaurs and slimy goblins and had a birthday party at guadalajara's first mcdonald's, which was so avant-garde at the time.

after many years apart, we reconnected in los angeles, when he came to visit with his family. we were delighted to discover that we were both avid listeners of the smashing pumpkins and other similar bands. we were moving back to mexico and ev, with plenty of encouragement from my parents, convinced me to go to his high school. soon after that, i myself turned fifteen, for which my parents gave me a very special gift: a pair of silver eight-hole doctor martens.

so here we are, around seventeen and at a quinceañera, dancing exaggeratedly like we've always enjoyed, mouths halfway open, arms flying everywhere. ev tells me in a serious tone that we have to talk. oh my god. the talk. this is going to ruin our friendship. he's totally going to tell me that he likes me. wow, it really took him a while to realize it, but it was bound to happen. now i'm going to have to tell him that we're just friends, but it'll never be the same again. i ineffectively try to avoid the talk and it eventually makes its way to my ears, but wait! what just came out of ev's mouth? did he just say that he's bisexual? i love it! i give him a big hug and tell him how great that is.

how embarrassingly enormous was my ego? huge. and how horribly wrong was my gaydar? very. ev is now a super talented artist in the gay art scene (http://ivanlozano.net).

you say tomato

the best halloween costume i have ever had is, by far, the custom-made tomato costume i wore when i was nine years old, and again when i was ten and living in another city in another country. i tried wearing it after that, because i am a firm believer of extending the useful life of things, but, sadly, i could not fit into it anymore.

my thin limbs were made red by leggings and a turtleneck, and my midsection was completely covered by a red bubble, giving me warmth, while providing me with much appreciated room to expand my stomach, privacy to scratch my bellybutton, if necessary, and storage space. the hat was the finishing touch, soft and lampshade-like with a green stem sticking out at the top, also doubling as an emergency treat bag.

now that i think about it, this would have been the perfect costume for me when i was pregnant, two years ago, had we celebrated halloween. it's super comfortable, the red accentuates maternal glow, and you can secretly stash all of the candy you can get your hands on, while giving a healthy impression to others, especially kids. the only drawback: running into naughty nurses, desirable devils, foxy french maids and feeling, well, like a big about-to-burst blob.

trencadís

every week i add a new recipe to my limited repertoire, as an attempt to expose coco to new flavors and ingredients, especially vegetables other than peas, tomatoes, corn, and the occasional carrot. last week, i made this zucchini lasagna (http://tr.im/BQ3O), which, of course, coco didn't even touch. can't blame me for trying.

when i make lasagna of any sort, i usually miscalculate the noodles, even though i use the super easy non-boil kind. foodies, say what you will, but cooking anything more elaborate than a quesadilla around a toddler is a feat. i just say, good thing these lasagnas aren't buildings.

in this occasion, i had to use my creativity to make up for missing sheets by summoning the pasta-shattering powers of antoni gaudí. with my yucatecan salt and pepper shakers looking on, i put together this masterpiece, that was later covered up by a sticky ricotta and cream cheese mixture and, by absorbing moisture from other ingredients, expanded in my toaster-oven, hiding its cracks forever.

by the way, coco didn't touch it because it had zucchini and because she didn't believe the white stuff was cheese, but it really did turn out delicious.

on & off

the weekend came and left, as did my sister and adorable baby nephew, and coco's cold. i was not quite sure how coco was going to react to their visit, even though there was definitely some mental preparation going on before their arrival, which included a framed photograph of said nephew in coco's room, right next to the paddington bear chata brought her from london. it's challenging to explain that tía chata is my sister, and therefore her aunt, when coco herself has no siblings to speak of.

the reason i worry about these things is mostly because on previous visits with family and friends, since she was an infant, coco would scream when she was held, and sometimes even touched, by someone other than myself, panzón or my parents. this would me to stress out because, for one, her screaming would pierce my brain via both of my ears, and because even though adults understand that babies are fickle, i just know that it made tiny cracks in the hearts of family members.

now that toddlerhood has given coco more independence and confidence in herself, and that she doesn't have to be held at all, she gives us one loud, juicy kiss on each cheek and a big hug, which, to my amazement, was the greeting tía chata received when she walked through the door. coco melted when she saw her baby cousin and immediately gave him his long-anticipated nickname, ov, which is pronounced OFF.

during their visit, she would gently pat his head, sweetly kiss his chubby cheeks, and lightly touch his nose with the tip of her finger. she wanted him to sit close to her, so that they could enjoy a book together. the cold situation had me a bit uneasy, but the tenderness that oozed from coco and ov being together was just irresistible.

incidentally, coco has started referring to herself by her real name, which she pronounces ON.

why bingo, anyway?

my mom and i planned a baby shower for my older, and only, sister, who we very lovingly call chata, which means short nose. this is a pretty common nickname in spanish-speaking countries. she calls mesnot face sometimes, which is infinitely worse, so it evens out. anyway, she was expecting her first baby, a boy, who is now almost four months and absolutely adorable, and for whom i still have not made up a nickname. i'm hoping something will occur to me during their visit this weekend, something that does not involve noses or snot. coincidentally, coco has just come down with a cold and a small, yet constant, amount of snot is trickling down from her nose.

anyway, we wanted to have games at her shower and looked desperately online for a modern bingo game, only to find hideous, outdated versions that did not go with our event, which turned out beautifully, by the way. so, i decided to make the game myself, using photoshop. it was a huge hit! a couple of guests went so far as to say that i should sell it. i was flattered, but didn't really take it seriously until i found that i had some extra time on my hands, in the form of small gaps during the day (coco's nap time, video-watching time and alone playtime), and that motherhood had transformed me into a more productive person (see procrastination post).

i started slowly, reading about home-based craft businesses, learning the basics of illustrator, finding suppliers and thinking about a format that would save time and money, while reducing waste. i developed the cluster design concept, which made sense to me, since every game is in itself a cluster of images. i made these illustrations, bought the necessary supplies and equipment, and, although it happened little by little, before i knew it, i had the first cluster design bingo in my hands. i opened my etsy shop and, as a way to promote it, opened a facebook page, twitter account and, finally, started my blog.

i have enjoyed every moment of the process, which has been a much needed creative outlet and a source of great personal motivation, and am exited about the journey that lies ahead. i can also thank bingo for my blog, which allows me to deconstruct my personal cluster and share it with others.

mary lou

my athletic performance throughout my life has been mediocre at best. it all started during toddlerhood, when my mother took me to swimming lessons at a dark, warm and humid place that smelled of chlorine and the promise of a chocolate chip cookie. i was outraged to find that my instructor was a male, who wore speedos, and demanded someone else if i was expected to attend subsequent classes.

when i was about three years old, i tried gymnastics. my sister excelled at the sport, won several medals and was obsessed with nadia comaneci. we watched the nadia movie (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087774) like a million times. we each had the 1984 olympics american leotard and pretended to be gymnasts at home. she was always nadia, of course, and i was mary lou retton because my hair was short like hers, my sister explained. i didn't even know who she was. anyway, at the gym, my underwear would bunch up and peek through the leg line. plus, every time i attempted doing a forward roll, i would pee a little, creating a dark circle that would be clearly visible when i tried to do side splits.

later on, i tried ballet. although wearing tights under the leotard was a great improvement in my opinion, i still detested the color pink, especially powder pink, and was quite disappointed to learn, after the first class, that i would not be using a tutu on a regular basis.

then, after failing miserably at tennis, there was swimming, again. i overcame some obstacles, like changing in the locker room and diving into cold water and wearing a swim hat and showering in the locker room after class. i was doing okay, until i was signed up for a swim meet by my instructor and mom, who thought it would be a good thing, at the time. the day of the swim meet came, my parents and sister were there, along with the parents and siblings of what seemed to be a hundred competitors. i swam and swam, while loud speakers announced winners. i kept swimming and swimming, while the pool slowly emptied out. i had swum my last lap, when i realized i was one of three swimmers left. yes, i came in 98th place.

i pretty much gave up on all sports after that. years later, i discovered yoga and have been practicing, on and off, for a number of years. my mom is happy that i finally found a physical activity that i enjoy, but wishes she would have known about it when i was a child. oh well, better late than never.

mixing the colors

coco and i started going to this crazy mommy and me class that is a hodgepodge of cultures, where at least six languages are spoken. the teacher tries desperately to get everyone's attention by shouting in english, while moms chat away in hindi or spanish, or encourage their children in russian or japanese, or scold their kids in farsi or hebrew. it is total chaos, yet coco loved it from the start.

there is a table set up for craft-making, which is always a messy affair. aesthetics are not a top priority for toddlers, who prefer to use every color within reach, usually resulting in a mishmash of hues. coco invariably ends up with paint on her shirt, although today it found its way to her socks and even her shoelaces. her artwork is proudly displayed on our refrigerator, right next to andy warhol and, ironically, the famous less is more statement by mies van der rohe.

circle time takes the form of an amoeba, specked with pom poms, hand puppets and bubbles. ridiculous dance moves are made, chubby fingers are accidentally stepped on, songs are exaggeratedly sung with accompanying hand gestures, and translations are simultaneously whispered, as coco exclusively understands spanish at the moment.

during snack time the moms tend to regroup, a picnic table per ethnic background, it seems. we're the exception, choosing to sit at a remote table with our friends, who got us into this mess in the first place, for which we are ever so grateful.

potty time!

the other afternoon, my parents, coco and i were sitting in the living room having cookies and coffee with/or milk, when coco suddenly announced "¡pipi, caca!" and tugged at her diaper. my mom, whom i had asked previously for guidance during the daunting period of potty training, asked coco if she wanted her to take her to the bathroom. coco, who calls my mom tita, sternly said "tita no". so, my dad, also known as tata, certain that she would give him a negative, offered. to his great surprise, she answered "tata sí". we all looked at each other in shock. coco had never wanted to go to the bathroom, not even with me. tata panicked and tried desperately to get tita or me to take her, but he was the chosen one, so now he had to go.

before coco, my dad had never changed a baby's diaper, ever. much like myself, he didn't know the first thing about potty training, since my mom did all of the dirty work with my sister and i. nonetheless, he took coco into the bathroom by the hand, lowered her pants, removed her diaper and had her sit on her potty. he encouraged her to go and waited a couple of minutes. even though it turned out to be fruitless, or pipi/caca-less, i was so proud of her for trying and grateful that my dad followed through and showed me how it's done!

never on sunday

panzón and i rented an unfurnished loft on barcelona's famous carrer dels tallers, an extremely busy semi-pedestrian street filled with record stores, tattoo and piercing parlors and trendy shops. it took little to furnish our tiny place, but for some reason or another, we ended up going to ikea many times. one of these times was on a sunday. i don't know what possessed us, since everyone knows that everything is closed on sundays in barcelona, except los pakis, which are small (usually) pakistani-owned shops that are packed from floor to ceiling with the bare necessities (toilet paper and beer, among other things).

emerging from the underground metro into the sun, we immediately realized that we were in a sketchy neighborhood, when the people at the local bar, with a beer-sponsored sign that read frankfurt, sitting on matching plastic chairs, gave us a you-don't-belong-here look. we kept walking, past low-income housing blocks, across a high-speed road with no crosswalk, through a construction site, and along the desolate streets of an industrial area. we walked for hours in the unbearable heat of an oppressing sun, not a soul in sight. we were obviously lost and very thirsty.

right when we were about to call a ridiculously overpriced taxi to come pick us up, we caught a glimpse the blue and yellow building, an oasis in that concrete desert. at last, we were saved! we would be able to drink water, devour a crispy onion-topped hot dog (or two), revel in the air conditioning, even rest on a pöang chair! we walked weakly toward our swedish haven and were overjoyed to hear muzak coming from some outdoor speakers. we were just about to step through the gleaming glass doors, when *gasp!*, they didn't automatically open. we thought something must be wrong with the doors and tried again. nothing.

so it was true, absolutely everything is closed on sundays.

¡olé!

when i was about six months pregnant, my mom, panzón and i took a trip to madrid. i was feeling great and even more energetic than i did before pregnancy. the three of us went sightseeing and visited the big three museums: museo del prado (http://www.museodelprado.es), museo thyssen-bornemisza (http://www.museothyssen.org), recently romodelled by spanish architect rafael moneo, and museo reina sofía (http://www.museoreinasofia.es), with its new extension by french architect jean nouvel.

panzón had some work to do, so my mom and i took a day trip to segovia by train, which only took about half an hour on the ave, which literally means bird, but cleverly stands for alta velocidad española or spain's bullet train. the city is small and quaint, making it easy to visit in one day. before leaving, we enjoyed a meal of cochinillo, which is a baby pig, at el mesón de cándido, right behind/beneath the city's tremendous aqueduct. cochinillo is segovia's specialty dish and we didn't want to miss out on this delicacy, which is roasted to perfection, crunchy on the outside and oh! so tender, that it is cut with a plate instead of a knife (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZmiH5FCz98).

i must have overindulged because that evening, back in madrid, i suffered from horrible heart burn. it was so bad, that i was thinking about canceling our reservation for a flamenco show later that night. luckily, after a couple of anti-acids and a short nap, i was as good as new, and we headed out. i can't remember the name of the tablao, but it was definitely not corral de la morería, which is a world famous show that was booked solid that week. anyway, the moment the flamenco artists started to soulfully sing and dance by quickly clapping their hands and stomping their feet, something inside me, namely coco, suddenly and tremendously moved. i had felt her before, in the form of a poke here and there, but never like this. it was as if there was a miniature flamenco dancer trapped inside of me. panzón and my mom took turns feeling my wobbly belly, their hands moving rhythmically with each blow.

i hope to take coco back to her country of birth to rediscover its unbelievable food and deep music and rich culture with her.

not in the mudra

shortly after moving back from spain, i tried out a local yoga studio, anxious to start practicing again and enthusiastic about contributing to a small business in the community.

it had been about three months since my last class in barcelona, which had been exactly one week before childbirth, as i had been going weekly to an amazing iyengar yoga class that was, coincidentally, directly behind our building. i could look out the window of our tiny loft and see, across rooftops, antennas and clotheslines, students in their little pouffy shorts, that reminded me of diaper covers, obediently moving their bodies from pose to pose. in class, i would hang upside down on the ropes, feeling like a bat with a belly full of butterflies, before resting on ten perfectly folded blankets and two precisely placed bolsters.

strange sounds were coming out onto the sidewalk from deep inside the studio, as panzón dropped me off. i walked inside and waited for them to stop, but when, after several minutes, they didn't, i peered behind the curtain, into the vibrating darkness. gradually before my eyes, a feminine figure appeared, moving intensely over some sort of box. the deep sounds came to a progressive halt, as she noted my presence. the crystal hanging between her eyebrows trembled as she calmly put away her instrument, which she explained was a traditional wooden portable harmonium brought all the way from india, but not by her, as she hadn't "made it there yet". her sedated speech agitated me, so i waited quietly for class to begin, which was about twenty minutes later.

the class was total crap, the instructor kept contortion-ing herself into complex positions in front of the mirror, not even checking to see if her three students were doing them correctly or hurting themselves. during relaxation, she talked on and on about floating up into the sky without losing our hold on the earth, blah blah blah. i was just glad it was almost over. ah-oh-mmmmmmm. namaste.

i jumped up and was quickly rolling my mat, when suddenly, my female yoga-mate shared that she had gone into a deep meditative state during relaxation and that she had felt the presence of her deceased brother-in-law in the room. apparently, he had put a hand on her and whispered that everything would be alright. i was right in the middle of rolling my eyes, when i heard my male yoga-mate starting to cry. he said that his wife had passed away recently and that she had made an apparition as well. the three of them shared a group hug and cried and held hands. i stared at them in disbelief, then felt uncomfortable and stared at the wall, which was painted blue with white clouds. i desperately wanted to leave, but knew the doors were locked for security reasons, and didn't want to interrupt their moment.

finally, there was a loud bang on the door and the instructor went to open it. i followed her in a hurry and was surprised to see panzón standing there. he had been worried, since i had taken longer than expected, and had gone looking for me, only to find locked doors and blacked out windows. he had been there for a while and was quite distressed. the yoga instructor looked at us like we were both neurotic freaks, let us out, and went back to her little séance.

i never went back.

backfired

going to barcelona was babushka's idea. i would basically go anywhere and didn't even know what barcelona was about, even though i wanted to study architecture after high school. let's just say that babushka was the more intellectual of the two and was keen on getting the most out of her time abroad. we made an agreement, she would direct daytime activities and i would be in charge of nighttime excursions. my brilliant idea, to reduce accommodation costs, was to stay at a hostel every other night and go clubbing on non-hostel nights. in order to achieve this, we packed light, so light that i didn't even take my glasses because the case took up too much space.

we took a night train from nice, complete with sketchy characters, took turns sleeping/guarding, and arrived at barcelona in the morning. walking up the steps from the underground train station, the first thing i saw was antoni gaudí's casa batlló (http://www.casabatllo.es) on passeig de gràcia. it came as a complete surprise to me, as i had not done any research on barcelona, and i was instantly captivated by the city. we spent the day sightseeing and that night, slept on one of the thirty or so, miraculously bug-free, bunk beds that made up the female section of the grimy pensión colón, near las ramblas.

the next evening, we had a nice dinner at a restaurant and, during dessert, took turns visiting the restroom, from which we emerged transformed, eager to dance the night away. my informal daytime investigation led us to the backfire, a benevolent club that opened its doors without asking for i.d.'s and let us store our small backpacks behind the bar, on which a masked couple in black leather thongs and six-inch platform shoes were dancing. by dawn, we were up there with them, having the time of our lives. when the club closed, we claimed our sacs, changed into our regular clothes again, and started another full day of sightseeing. we rested frequently on benches and ate many popsicles to keep our energy levels up. i actually fell asleep with my chin poised on a soda cup at the mcdonald's right outside gaudí's sagrada familia (http://www.sagradafamilia.org).

towards the end of our five day trip, during which i never removed my contacts, not even for sleeping, one of my eyes became red and teary. i eventually had to throw the lenses out to let my eye rest, which was inconvenient, as i can't really see well beyond my nose. at the train station, babushka placed me and our things near a vending machine and told me to wait there, while she got our tickets. i decided to get something from the machine, and had to press my face against the glass to see what it offered and squint to see what letter/number combination to key in. when babushka came back and saw what i was munching, she remarked, "i thought you hated maltesers".
i had intended to buy a kit kat bar.

in the bathroom

privacy practically ceases to exist in motherhood, especially during toddlerhood. i have learned to live with this and don't think twice about using the toilet in front of coco, which is extremely potty-educational, or bathing with the door wide open.

the real challenge is keeping her entertained and out of mischief for the duration of a shower. sometimes her natural curiosity is enough, though being scrutinized makes me feel somewhat awkward, but most of the time i have to be resourceful. i do a lot of disco-bathing lately, letting her practice with the light switch, while standing on a step stool placed against the wall. filling her potty (http://tr.im/z0f4) with bath toys (http://tr.im/z0eu & http://tr.im/z0eh) is also a great source of amusement and keeps her busy long enough to actually wash my hair! at least she's using her potty constructively, right?

vienna

three months before giving birth, panzón and i decided to travel to prague and vienna. i had just gotten my spanish resident card and was thrilled to use it for the first time, so i deliberately left my passport at home. at the airport in prague, an immigration officer quickly glanced at our papers and let us through, a triumph for this proud resident of the european union.

after a couple of days in prague, we took a train to vienna. i noticed, as an impeccably uniformed man approached our seats and held out his hand, that the czech officials looked shabbier than their austrian counterparts. i confidently handed him my card and was slightly annoyed when he asked for my passport, until i heard the words only valid with passport. i instinctively lied that i had lost it in prague. he took our documents and gravely warned "i'll be back" (http://tr.im/yUFl). i didn't know if i should laugh or cry. i did a little of both.

when the train made its last stop, the terminator came back and let us off the hook, recommending that we immediately go to our embassy. i could not fathom wasting a perfectly lovely viennese day at the mexican embassy, so i disregarded his advice and convinced panzón, who knew better than to argue with a pregnant woman, to go sightseeing.

after leaving our things at the hotel, which was a university dorm catering to tourists during summer break, we ate wiener schnitzels, which have nothing to do with hot dogs, bought a block of hazelnut manner wafer cookies and walked around. i fantasized about skipping arm-in-arm with wolfie (http://tr.im/yUIZ), giggling away in a breast-bursting dress and feathered hat. tee hee hee!

panzón snapped me out of it by handing me the phone, having already dialed the embassy. i told the ambassador about loosing my passport in prague, knowing perfectly well that it was safely stowed in barcelona. i thought, and suggested, that he could give me some kind of note, like a bathroom pass at school, that would allow me to return to spain and that would be that. impossible! he wanted details, so we spent the rainy afternoon in his office.

ambassador: was it stolen? if it was, you have to report the robbery.

me: oh, no. it was accidentally left at the hotel.

ambassador: what hotel? address and telephone, please.

me: um, can we google it? *we googled*

ambassador: i'll call. if they find it, i'll have it mailed to my office and you won't be able to leave the country until then.

me: but our flight is tomorrow! what if they don't find it?

ambASSador: they will, if what you say is true. *gulp*

he personally called the hotel in prague. no signs of my passport. i would have to get a new, emergency passport. so, the next day, after reporting the "robbery" at the police station and rushing to get my picture taken, where i was told not to smile, which made me laugh uncontrollably, i got my austrian-issued mexican passport.
we barely made our flight.

wah-hah-kah

panzón and i got married in oaxaca, which is the capital of the state of oaxaca in mexico.

we first travelled there with our fellow architecture students and a couple of teachers on a private bus from guadalajara, armed with snacks, (hidden) beer and excitement. by the time we got there, eighteen hours later, we all looked (and probably smelled) terrible and a streak of fluorescent orange vomit decorated the side of the bus.

we quickly recovered after eating tlayudas, which are actually like really big tostadas, even though some people refer to them as mexican pizzas, under the giant laurel trees of oaxaca's main square (it's heart!), el zócalo. we walked around the city's colonial center and visited the 16th century convent-turned-hotel camino real (http://tr.im/yHy1), where i had a vision: this is where i am getting married to him *turned around and looked at panzón, who was oblivious to my vision*.

that night, we all went to la casa del mezcal, a true cantina, where you can taste different kinds of mezcal (worm or worm-less), which is similar to tequila. we ordered round after round of caballitos (shot glasses), each sip preceded by a ¡salud! and followed by a bite of orange or lime. five rounds later, i proudly declared myself reina del mezcal, or "mezcal queen", when i realized i was the only female left. my glory was crushed, as our friend kbuz, short for "caboose", walked in and mercilessly took my title by ordering six caballitos for herself. we crawled out of that cantina, at the innocent hour of nine o'clock, like arañas fumigadas, which literally translates to "fumigated spiders".

that night, we all sang wah-hah-kah. it turns out that the bus decoration was but a sign of what was to come.

mouse ears

i don't know the exact number of times i've been to disneyland in my life (too many to count with fingers and possibly even toes), but i'll write about the last four.

on the fourth to last time, i went with almovi and his wife, muntsa, who was pregnant with their first child. we each got a mouseketeer hat: almovi's said mies (as in mies van der rohe, german master of modern architecture), muntsa's said zyanya (their baby's name), and mine said panzón (my boyfriend at the time, my childhood friend/crush, my future husband). we got our picture taken with mickey mouse: eight mouse ears and one big belly. this memorable photograph would later haunt me, as a friend of almovi's commented, with childlike cruelty, that i didn't need a mouseketeer hat because i could have just painted my own ears, that stick out a little, black. grrrrrr.

anyway, on my third to last visit to disneyland, panzón and i got engaged. i'll leave this story for later, but i'll just say that it happened in the darkest moment of pirates of the carribbean, right before the first drop.

the second to last time i went to the happiest place on earth was last year. it was coco's first time, two months away from her first birthday, and it was not very happy at all. panzón, coco and i met with almovi and mutsa (pregnant with their third child) and their two beautiful daughters. coincidentally, the first ride we went on was pirates of the carribbean. i guess i had forgotten about the darkness, the drops, the bony pirates and the loud BOOM!s, but as soon as we got on the boat, i knew it was a mistake. coco cried during the entire ride. and on every ride after that. i feared a lifelong disneyland-trauma.

my last visit to disneyland was on tuesday. this time, panzón, coco and i went with loquillo. for coco's second time, two months away from her second birthday, we decided to avoid pirates all together and went directly to it's small world. to my relief, she absolutely loved it! she kept saying todos, referring to all of the children of the world singing together. we got her her own mickey ears, which she wore happily during the parade. the photos we took would later remind my mother of my own toddlerhood, when i would wear my mouseketeer hat as an everyday accessory in guadalajara, and panzón's mother and grandmother would call me ratoncita, meaning "little mouse".

igualada

around the time coco was conceived, panzón and i, quite ironically visited the igualada cemetery (http://tr.im/xVye) with our close friend, who everyone knows by loquillo, which means "smallish crazy man", a pretty accurate description. the cemetery was designed by catalan architects enric miralles (http://www.mirallestagliabue.com) and carme pinós (http://cpinos.com), who were married at the time. i had used this quarry-turned-cemetery as a reference for my thesis, that was about the reuse of abandoned industrial sites, but had not bothered to look it up before our visit, which is probably why it surprised me on many levels.

we got in our 1985 red two-door volkswagen golf, inserted the cassette that was connected to my ipod into the radio and began our short road trip away from barcelona. loquillo and i exasperated panzón, as always, by having multiple conversations at the same time, some of them pointless, some of them leftovers from another day, some of them mere parentheses.

after getting lost a couple of times in the cemetery's industrial surroundings, we finally crossed the enclosing gate, which was a victim of oxidation, and were greeted by a handful of delicate blossoming trees, scattered on a clearing. the complete lack of signs and people made us feel like we were entering a forgotten place and our descent towards the main space, enclosed by tomb-lined walls, but open to the sky, humbled us and reminded us of our own earthliness. just then, we saw the presence of the living: horrid benches and cheap trash cans and tacky plastic flowers, and we were reminded that is place is not forgotten.

maybe our visit wasn't ironic at all, maybe we unknowingly took home a lonely soul awaiting rebirth.

gemz

it seemed that, upon my arrival to mexico, i confused people, who, not seeing a bow or earrings, quickly assumed i was a boy. my short curly hair certainly didn't help. neither did my disgust for the color pink, nor my reluctance to wear dresses (this reduced the possibility of showing my underwear, which i believed was one of the biggest mistakes one could make. i must admit, however, that i did enjoy the repetitive display of men's underwear on torso-less, leg-less mannequins at department stores. and the stockings, one pointy-toed leg after another, all reaching for the sky).

it irritated me that these strangers didn't look further for hints of my subtle femininity. like my pink gem-studded moccasins (each shiny gem a different color), which were the only pink exception i allowed because of their comfort and uniqueness (after they were worn out and outgrown, i received a second, seemingly identical pair, which turned out to be, in my opinion, an inferior, gem-shedding replica). they could have seen that my outfit had beautiful, shimmery seashells on it, which everyone knows that boys never wear.

i would later become accustomed to the frustrating reactions of people to my appearance and would eventually thrive on them during my teenage years, when i wore my hair even shorter, my shoes even shinier, and my gems (glued) on my face.

two lines

the night after we confirmed, by peeing on a stick, coco's existence and imminent arrival, we went out to dinner for our anniversary, during which, over fondue (www.gadesfondues.com), we had one of many what-are-we-going-to-do conversations. well!, we agreed, first we need to find out if it's true, if the pregnancy test is right, right?

so, the next morning, i called the doctor's office and asked to make an appointment. "what for?", asked the receptionist, dryly. "i need to know if i'm really pregnant", i responded, voice and hands trembling. "what makes you think you're pregnant?", asked the receptionist, irritatedly. "the pregnancy test i bought at the pharmacy was positive", i explained, eyes welling up. "well then, you're pregnant, aren't you? what do you want to see the doctor for?", she said matter-of-factly, slapping me with her spanish (from spain) tone. "um...", i said, looking around, trying to find the words that were cruelly hiding from me at the moment. i panicked and hung up.

wow. home pregnancy tests are that accurate.

procrastination

motherhood changes you. there's no way around it. it changes your body forever because, even if you lose the weight afterwards, the pregnancy fairy always leaves something under your pillow. bigger feet, for example, or, in my case, a tiny shift of the tailbone. i'm also pretty sure my bellybutton moved, though i can't precisely tell in which direction. most of my senses are sharper now, making danger-detection easier. unfortunately, my eyesight didn't benefit at all from maternity.

motherhood also affects the brain. priorities are reprioritized and attitudes towards life (or at least towards giving life) are carefully reconsidered. procrastination is reduced to a minimum because there is certainly no room for laziness in motherhood. you have to act now and you have to plan ahead. always.

these are things that i didn't do on a regular basis before. i have found great empowerment in ridding myself of the sticky slime that is procrastination. and now that napping, a pastime that had given me great joy for years, has become (almost) extinct, i have made a huge discovery: i have enough motivation and time and newfound structure to actually do something productive with my creativity. bingo!

couscous

the other night we saw a movie called la graine et le mulet (http://tr.im/xAYD), which is titled the secret of the grain in the u.s., but should actually be named fish couscous. i really enjoyed this franco-arabic film, even though a couple of scenes were too close, too loud and too long, but realistic nonetheless. it reminded me of my love for couscous, which i developed at age seventeen upon my first encounter with the grain in the south of france.
i was lucky enough to spend my next-to-last semester of high school at a boarding school in sophia antipolis, which is basically le petit silicon valley français. i remember the first time i ate at the cafeteria i had a personal sized bottle of red wine to go with my meal, which would also be my last, and an invitation to the program director's office. when i innocently explained that i just wanted to get some local color, he kindly suggested i get it elsewhere.
it was at that same cafeteria, where most of the food was mediocre at best, where i tasted couscous. most of my female peers abhorred it, preferring instead to eat tuna salad, for which they each brought canned tuna and mixed it with three side salads. for me, the couscous, in its chunky vegetable sauce, was the culinary highlight of the week.
i have not dared try to recreate the dish, for fear of spoiling this very special taste memory, but i do make couscous in the form of a ridiculously simple side dish. so, to celebrate the goodness of the grain, i will share with you a recipe that martha stewart shared with me (and the millions who buy her everyday food magazine). voilà the recipe for chickpea couscous:http://tr.im/xAUF!

bubble friend

panzón, coco and i were recently in san francisco visiting my sister, her husband and their adorable baby boy. during our visit, we met up with our childhood friend, who i affectionately call ñaña, at the california academy of sciences (http://www.calacademy.org/). talking to ñaña on the bubbly green roof of the building, designed by italian architect renzo piano (http://rpbw.r.ui-pro.com/), i felt like we were in one of our childhood make believe worlds and was half expecting spot a grazing my little pony, or two.
at the little french school in guadalajara (mexico, not spain), ñaña and i were instant best friends, immediately becoming uña y mugre, which literally means "fingernail and dirt". we both spoke english and held a firm belief that no one else at the school, except for our sisters of course, could understand us. so, with our english and our imagination, we created a big and soapy, yet delicate, bubble around ourselves, where we had fabulous carrot-juice-in-a-thermos-top tea parties and took really long bubble baths that made our fingers wrinkly. we happily floated together.
ñaña has detailed memories of it all. my memory, like san francisco, is foggy, but, over a thai soup, she patiently reminded me about things that i had forgotten. for example, her eating my unwanted hard-boiled eggs and the time she choked on a piece of food and turned blue and the time i threw a marble at a boy's head.
even though i can't remember exactly what we played, i do remember how we played. peacefully. there was no such thing as a power struggle. we understood each other and always agreed on something. one of the things we agreed on, and this i do remember, was that we would be friends until we were one hundred years old. or was it one hundred and one?

moloko

the moment i looked at this vandalized city sculpture in reus (small city, south of barcelona, where famous architect antoni gaudí was born), i identified myself with it. with her. i was breastfeeding at the time, and let me tell you, it's tough. sure, it's healthy, natural and beautiful, but exhausting and, at times, even excruciating. that is something i was not expecting while i was expecting, during which a lot of my energy, and a little bit of fear, were focused on childbirth.

for the first few days, it was a cup of tea, lovely and sweet. as the hours progressed and the feeding continued, a slight discomfort turned into shut-your-eyes-and-squeeze-someone's-arm-pain that eventually became unbearable pain. after all, a tip of me was being sucked ferociously by a tiny, yet very hungry person.

what did i do? i pumped my way through three months of breastfeeding in a bottle. i did it every three hours, whether at home, in the car, at the museum (in the restroom, of course) or on an airplane. it was physically draining, which is why, when my coco became as plump as a cherub, i gradually stopped my supply. apparently, if i had originally sweated it out for two to four more weeks, everything would have gone back to cup-of-tea mode. unfortunately, i learned this after pumping my heart out.

three-and-a-half years old/ago

panzón and i met when we were three-and-a-half years old. i can't say that i remember the exact moment when we met. after all, a lot was going on in my life.
we had just moved to guadalajara (in mexico, not spain) and were living in a hotel, a tall mirror-paned hotel, mind you. my sister and i had red lunch boxes that were packed every morning by the restaurant staff. we went to a cute little french school, for which we wore cute little uniforms that looked somewhat alpine, kind of like gretl von trapp's outfit. coincidentally, the sound of music was very much a part of my life then, as we owned the videocassette and my sister insisted on playing it repeatedly during this time. years later, when i watched the movie again, i was shocked to learn that it was a story about the holocaust, not just about some singing kids wearing funny clothes.
i would have never admitted this at the time, although i probably did by turning bright red every time someone asked, but i secretly liked two of my classmates. one had freckles, the other was skinny. one was very outgoing, the other was shy. i was skinny and shy, too. we had something else in common: older sisters who liked magic, dress-up and feeding the neighboring cows at school. such was this fascination with dress-up, that they once dressed us up as bride and groom, except that i was the groom. three-and-a-half years ago, we found ourselves dressed up as bride and groom again, except that this time, panzón was the groom.