Miguelina

Today

I spent the morning at my son's preschool - we were busy celebrating both Valentine's day and his birthday (which is actually next week, but next week is February vacation - so he will never have school on his actual birthday for as long as we live in Boston. You're welcome, son.)

Seeing the children's delight at exchanging little paper hearts managed to melt my own frosty little heart, and the fact that I brought chocolate cupcakes for the kids to decorate with colored frosting and that then we all sang Happy Birthday to my boy, and he got to blow out the big candle shaped like a "4" on his own cupcake - well, that made my day.

My needs are simpler than I ever imagined.

Next week: 20+ kids take over my house for the real birthday party. I'm  not going to lie: I was in a panic at the thought of all those kids in my house. That is, until today.

Playing Ketchup

You guys, being snowed in has seriously put a crimp on things to tell you. I've run out of things to do with the kids (my newly NON-napping kids) so you can just imagine how happy I've been lately.

However, here are three things that make me smile - because if I think too much about the weather I'll cry:

1. This episode of 30 Rock cracks me up because it's true. Anyone that shows up at a Hispanic family event will be handed an overdressed baby and a plate of food. It's just the way it is. Also? "It's OK, you were not being rude, you were just being stupid," is my new favorite way to accept apologies from jerks. HA!

2. My new spring dress. Isn't it lovely? I know shopping's not the thing right now, but I needed something to give me hope that I'll be able to wear flip flops again ... someday! I'm hoping that by buying something so hopelessly out of season I'll give Mother Nature a nudge in the right direction. And it's convertible! It's like buying two dresses and a skirt for the price of one! I know that I'm totally being virtuous and delusional all at once. Let me be.

3. My 21 month-old has discarded his beloved Ernie doll:

Instead, he has made an empty Prosecco bottle his lovey of choice. I'm not even kidding - he dug it out of the recycling bin one day and will not let go, which is slightly alarming and, well, not surprising knowing our habits.

This sounds weird I know, but it's all very age appropriate and adorable - he calls it Papa and hugs it in a meaningful way. The fact that he sits on the couch and pretends to drink from it - he puts it to his lips and tilts his head back giggling the entire time, like a miniature drunken aristocrat - could give some people pause I'm sure, but I can assure you it's not like you think. The bottle's completely empty, this I know for sure. In this house, adult beverage bottles don't go into the recycling bin until they've been sucked dry. Do we look like the kind of people who would waste perfectly good bubbly? That would be shameful.

Rockstar

We're back from our Christmas vacation in Miami - as evidenced by the many pictures of pink flamingos and festive decorations on this post.

(These work better when it's cold outside - in Florida, the candy just sliiiides down.)

It doesn't matter how many times I've driven on the Rickenbacker, I always do a little gasp on the approach to Miami Beach and fall in love with my hometown when we're headed back home all salty and toasted amidst the palm trees swaying in the warm December breeze:

My mom's Christmas tree:

I can guarantee that I will NEVER have a snowman on my tree - because I have a foot of snow outside my door AT THIS VERY MINUTE and you can't pay me to make one. I guess you always want what you can't have!

Of course, there was more to our vacation than Nochebuena and the beach. I also got to hang out with fellow latin superstar Diego Marquéz:

This being Miami, Diego was salsa dancing with his handler as I brought the kids over. My son wanted nothing to do with this culturally accurate Diego. I think he prefers the Nick Jr. version.

All in all, a wholesome family vacation.

And then there was Rock Band.

My brother and SIL are known for their Rock Band parties. They’ve told us about how they and their friends dress up in their best rock star finery and all about the “Battle of the Bands” competitions they wage. Competitions over a VIDEO GAME. That’s, like, a step beneath a Star Trek convention, except that there’s beer involved.

We not-so-secretly laughed at their geekiness. I mean - a video game party? COME ON.

But then they invited us over to see what all the excitement was about. We picked up some Miller Beer (not Miller Genuine Draft, mind you - we picked up “the champagne of beers” otherwise known as “the cheap stuff“) and showed up at their house. What we found was my brother tapping away at a plastic drum set-looking thing, a plastic guitar at his feet and a mike on the couch.

He was, in his words, ”warming up.“ HA HA HA.

We shyly watched him and them more people arrived. And they brought strobe lights, and a bass guitar, a mic stand, and a smoke machine that was synchronized to the music. Let me repeat that - the strobe lights AND the smoke machine machine were synchronized to the music. And the music was loud. And my brother’s TV is like 100 inches big. And I drank some Miller beer. And some orange juice. Spiked with Malibu.

I think don’t need to tell you what happened next:

(That's me in the scarf. You know, the one taking the lyrics to "American Woman" a little bit too seriously.)

(But, guess who got a 96% score? THAT'S RIGHT.)

Rock on, man.

Let me just tell you this: If you are Of A Certain Age you will find yourself wailing ”Living on a Prayer“ and ”You Oughta Know“ and the Rock Star software will tell you that you are awesome, so you will want to sing ”Creep“ and ”Buddy Holly“ and OMG THEY HAVE JOURNEY AND JIMMY BUFFET! and you will have to be forcibly removed from the microphone.

Ahem.

Which is fine, because then you will play the guitar on Bon Jovi’s ”Dead or Alive“ and you will believe that you’re Ricky Sambora. And you will declare to the world that you ARE A ROCKSTAR.

Tropical lights

I'm writing this from sunny Miami. Hello!

We're here to visit family for the holidays. I swear it has NOTHING to do with the great weather. No, not at all.

Last year, I wrote about my conflicted feelings about missing out on a white Christmas. I was feeling the same way this year as I dug through out of season clothes to pack for the kids. I was really getting upset that we wouldn't be using our fireplace and that we didn't decorate - yet again.

Then we got that messy snowfall last week - the kind of snow that isn't picturesque in the least, the kind that makes for messy driving and slippery walks. It falls heavy and hard and clings to your spirit and smothers it under its icy weight. It was the first snowfall of the year that stuck AND it was the day I was assigned to work at my son's preschool. Let me tell you, for someone that thinks the fact that I have to put on socks everyday now (oh my God the EXTRA TIME IT TAKES!) it was the last straw.

And! More snow was predicted for Friday! I have never been happier to get on a plane with two small kids. I'm completely serious.

So we flew out on Thursday - when the walks were icy but the sky was clear - and landed safely in Florida before the first Big! Storm! of! Doom! arrived. Talk about timing. I'm glad we missed out on the fun - from what I understand the snow wasn't as bad as expected, just picturesque, and most of you have stocked up on food and rum. So I'm assuming you're all good.

I'll be back to this soon enough, so for now I'll pig out on latin food and let the balmy breezes melt me away.

Sunday Night

No matter how long it's been since I've had an office job, Sunday night is always bittersweet. Every day is pretty much the same for me, but I still can't get over that Sunday night feeling where you try to make the weekend last a little longer by trying a little harder. Too bad it never works.

How I met my husband...

My favorite Thanksgiving memory has nothing to do with my childhood. Oh, we had a few wonderful Thanksgivings when I was a child - we celebrated it every once in a while when we were living in a country where November means "beach season" and they were still great in their own way - but I'd be lying if I said that any one of them stood out.

Instead, my most memorable Thanksgiving is the one where I met my husband. Forget Valentine's day - Thanksgiving is the most romantic time of the year for us. It's a little weird, but it works for us.

It wasn't always that way, of course. When I was a carefree young professional, Thanksgiving meant a slow work week where we already had 2.5 days off - so a couple of girlfriends and I started the tradition of taking the entire week off work and when you're young and single and mostly broke, that can only mean one thing: ROAD TRIP!

So that year, that's what we did. We drove on I95 for two days, and when we arrived in Washington DC it was the Saturday before Thanksgiving. The city was abuzz with young people out for one last night out before they headed home to be with their families. And that was the night I met my husband.

We had just met, but he acted horrified by the fact that we didn't have any plans for Thanksgiving dinner. Weren't we Americans? (Yes.) Isn't that against the law? (No.)

So he and two of his friends did what any good American boys would do - they invited us over for Thanksgiving dinner.

Only thing is, my husband is not American. He's European. He'd never cooked Thanksgiving dinner - or really, any dinner - before.

Let's just say you should be thankful I'm alive.

(Oh I kid!)

We had no other plans, and he's kind of cute, so we said yes. And then the guys went into panic mode, ordering a precooked turkey from Giant, buying napkins and candles, and - here's my favorite part - collecting assorted pieces of silverware from their various bachelor friends because they didn't have enough forks and spoons for a dinner for eight.

Isn't that the cutest thing you ever heard?

The best part is that when we arrived everything was perfect - there were candles and wine and they even invited other friends over so that we could meet new people. After a few glasses of wine one of my friends asked how much longer until the turkey was done.

Done?

In all the wining and chatting, they forgot to put the turkey in the oven! (Even "pre-cooked" turkeys need to go in the oven.)

Thankfully, my friend Andrea is a fantastic cook, and she somehow managed to save the day. The turkey was fine, but the best part was after dinner, when the man who would one day be my husband came over with the wishbone and asked me to make a wish.

I did. 

And it came true.

I am not a good traveler

I got up at 4:00 AM this morning - which is never a good way to start the day - to go to Chicago for another work meeting.

My flight was so turbulent I promised myself I wouldn't fly again - like, ever!

I was pretty thrilled to sit in an office with a view of Grant park - my hostess was nice enough to point out Obama's victory rally location. It was pretty cool to see, even from a 62nd floor window.

Then I had my meeting and I got back on another plane by 3:50 PM. This time the turbulence was even worse. I've turned into a chickenshit flyer.

When I got off the plane I wanted to kiss the ground like the Pope used to do. I didn't, of course. Instead I hightailed to the car service. My driver gave me the award for "quickest sprint through Logan airport." I was in the car a mere five minutes after my plane landed.

But you see, I wanted to make it home in time for bedtime. And I did. It was the best part of my day.

Now it's time for me to go to bed. There's no place like home!

We did it!

(Boston.com)

Good work, America.

Voting: A cautionary tale

I need to tell you something.

That whole George W. Bush thing?

It's kind of my fault.

Well, it’s not ALL my fault, but still. It kind of is. At least it feels that way.

You see, that fateful summer of 2000 I was so busy preparing for graduate school that I forgot to vote. No, really - I had to find an apartment and a roommate, but  mostly I had to wrap my mind around the fact that I was leaving everything and everyone I knew behind to move to Virginia. You’d think I was moving to another planet. But that’s the reason that that year’s election simply wasn’t a priority. I didn’t even realize that I had forgotten to apply for an absentee ballot until I was immersed in my new life and it was too late.

To be honest, I didn’t think it was that big a deal. I’d voted for Clinton in 1996 - so what? Tons of people did. What difference was my one little vote going to make?

As much as I disliked George W. Bush, I wasn’t worried that he would win. I was pretty sure people wouldn’t vote him into office. Surely people would vote for the qualified candidate and not for the one they’d like to share a beer with?

Right?

I was so naive.

I’ll admit that I was a little surprised when I left the election night party and things weren’t settled yet. But I had an 8:00 AM class and needed to go to bed. I remember being more worried about the financial model I’d been working on all day than about the election itself.

When my radio alarm went off at 7:00 AM a voice informed that we still didn’t have a president - the election was too close to call, and the difference was 183 votes (at the time). In FLORIDA.

Did I mention that I had forgotten to apply for an absentee ballot in Miami?

(I felt very, very bad.)

Like the rest of the country, I became obsessed with the election. But unlike the rest of you, who eventually found the whole “hanging chad” issue ridiculously hilarious - it hit me to my core.

I felt so very stupid every time I saw a picture like this:

You might remember those pictures. They were everywhere.

I felt stupid a lot.

I felt sick to my stomach whenever people would discuss the Florida votes. Whether they said that it came down to 1,000 or just 40 votes in a county it was clear that every vote was precious - so precious that it was counted and recounted endlessly. But I was an experienced Florida voter and I never left any hanging chads - I knew that if only I had voted, Gore would have had one more vote that counted.

So whenever Leno or Letterman made fun of Florida voters they twisted that knife I’d stuck in my gut by choosing not to vote that year. Because those weary poll workers? Weren’t counting and recounting my vote. And it was all my fault.

People talk about Catholic guilt, but it’s nothing compared to the guilt I felt that November.

I wouldn't want you to feel like this. Don't be stupid - go out and vote.

Focus

I'm tired of feeling like I'm running to catch up - I'm always five minutes late to something, dinner's never ready on time, I'm always forgetting how to do things. Things have been like this for so long that I've pretty much resigned myself to never being "with it." On top of that, I'm always exhausted - but at the end of the day I rarely feel like I've accomplished anything.

I don't like this feeling. I'm stressed, and can't shake the feeling that I'm missing out.

Things came to a boil last week when, as I was trying to reply to a friend's email (one that she had sent me three weeks ago) and I was simultaneously trying to feed my sick baby a snack while cleaning up the breakfast dishes (because we had to abandon them as we rushed out the door to drop off my preschooler and now I had two bowls of half-eaten oatmeal that had dried to a cement-like consistency), the doorbell rang.

Of course.

I ran to open it, and standing before me was some guy from the Water Department. I must have looked really confused because he reminded me that I had scheduled this appointment weeks before - because we needed a new water meter? I didn't remember making this appointment - in fact, I had no idea whether we had a water meter or not - so he could have been one of those homicidal maniacs for all I know. I was about to tell him to wait outside so I could check my calendar, but then I heard the clang of the baby's bowl as he threw it across the kitchen and I just let him in and pointed him in the general direction of the basement.

As I got on my hands and knees to pick up apple juice soaked Kix from the kitchen floor I started to get really mad at myself for not having my act together - it probably didn't help that at that moment my baby was screaming his head off because he was still strapped on the high chair, that my laptop's screen had gone dark because the battery had run out and probably eaten up the email I had spent 45 minutes trying to compose; the fact that I had let a stranger in the house was really just the icing on the cake.

That's when I realized that things were Not Working and the solution was clear: I need to Focus.

Focus. That sounds so perfectly simple! But it's easier said than done.

This is going to sound ridiculous, but I've been living in denial: I have young children. You know that shampoo commercial that says, "everything changes when you have a baby?" They don't only mean what car you drive and your clothing size. No. They mean EVERYTHING.

I try to do twenty things at once because I used to be able to multitask, but that was once upon that mythical time before I had kids. Nowadays I have two little ninjas ready to pounce whenever my attention is diverted. I simply can't juggle a social phone call, work email and dinner - at least not while the toddler is literally hanging off the kitchen table (don't ask) and the preschooler is "coloring" the hardwood floors.

Instead, I have to do one thing at a time. One. The phone calls need to happen while the kids are napping or at school. The work email needs to be taken care of after the kid's bedtime. Dinner has to be on the table by 5:30 - which means that the kids are getting something simple or whatever we've prepared the night before.

I've also realized that I need to sleep. I simply can't run on 6 hours of sleep - not anymore. This has been the hardest change of all. I don't know about you, but I feel like my REAL day starts once the kids go to bed - is that any way to live? Instead, I've been forcing myself to go to bed earlier and it's starting to make a big difference during the daylight hours; I'm starting to actually enjoy them. The first night I forced myself to get 10 hours of sleep (that meant a 9:00 bedtime for me, which is a HUGE sacrifice because I normally turn off the lights at midnight) and the next day I felt like I could do anything. I hadn't felt like that in a long time. It felt good.

So that's it - my plan: Get to bed early, and when awake - to focus on one thing at a time.

Simple, but it's all I can handle right now.