Another Planet

I used to marvel at the varied conditions of Juan's and my childhood, particularly at the geographic and linguistic differences between us--he, having grown up in Colombia, speaking Spanish,  and I in Texas, speaking English.  Had we met 15 years ago perhaps we would have smiled in passing, but wouldn't have been able to converse.

The continental divide was nothing compared to the different planets we now inhabit during the day, however.

This morning, Juan arrives at the office with his colleagues, they say hello, shake hands, and eventually sit at their desks to continue weaving together intricate mathematical models and abstract theorems.  Occasionally they break to chit chat about sports and perhaps politics; and laugh over dorky jokes about betas and gammas walking into a bar (I don't know I'm making this up).  

Meanwhile.......I'm on the toilet--playing peek-a-boo with an infant at my feet.  And since no space is sacred on my planet, my toddler, Mateo, walks in to the bathroom to say hi and join the "party". His mouth is too full of milk, though, which is typical, so he chokes on it and vomits it all over the infant, Tomas', head.  Tomas tries to look at me through streams of milk vomit, but the involuntary flutter of his eyelashes makes it impossible.   Mateo just looks on, wondering who the heck vomited all over Tomas. 

I'm trying to imagine a context where this scenario might somehow play itself out in Juan's world, but I can't think of one. Not one where anyone is welcome back, anyway.

On my planet, however, it's business as usual.

Selective Hearing

Lately Cata has supported Mateo's water habit by filling a red bucket of water from the faucet in the bathroom and bringing it to him to play with.

Today, rather pathetically, Mateo is appealing to Cata for help getting water again.   He is following her around, holding out his little red bucket as if collecting alms, saying, "Tata? Agua?"  UNfortunately, his pleas are falling on deaf ears this morning.  It's kind of heart breaking. 

"Ta-oo Nuna"

Every night before bed, Mateo and I look out both of his windows, searching for la luna.  Most nights, either the moon isn't in position to be seen, or it's covered by clouds.  Tonight, the sky is clear, and we see not only la luna, but two bright stars ("up up up's") and an airplane ("an-on" for avion).  His huge eyes grow even larger.  He lets out a giggle, waves to the sky and says, "Ta-oo Nuna, Nie nie An-on."  "Ciao luna, night night, avion." He blows a kiss to his celestial buddies, and reaches his arms towards bed.

I never ever ever want to forget this moment.

Sound Bites

Cata:  Mom, does the car have gas?
Me:  Yes, honey, that's right!
Cata:  Just like me when I was sick?
Me:  "Hmmmm, kind of!"

Warm Fuzzy Convo Goes Awry

With a little imagination I might have better directed the course of our conversation about Jesus.  It wasn't until we got out of the car, though, when Cata asked me to carry her, and then scanned the sky, wide-eyed, that I realized how creepy I made Him sound.  "Mom," she whispered, while practically trying to crawl under my skin, "I think there's Jesus!"

We didn't start the conversation talking about Him.  We started because Cata asked me about where her Grandad lives.  "Wow," I asked, "you mean your Abuelo?"  "No, Grandad."  Cata and I had never talked about my dad, and I wasn't sure how she realized there was a Grandad apart from her Abuelo. "Ok, so Abuelo is your Daddy's Dad, and Grandad is mommy's Dad."  "Yeeeeees, mom, where does Grandad live?"

Deep breath.  "Grandad lives with Jesus."
"Why, mom?"
"Because Jesus wanted Grandad to live with him, I suppose."
"Where do they live?"
"Well, they live in Heaven. Heaven is in the sky, above the clouds."
"Jesus is in the clouds?"
This is where face-to-face may have been helpful.  Instead I was driving, so I missed the part where her nostrils flared, her eyes grew large, and her eyebrows furrowed (which prob happened right about here).  So I kept going.
"Yep! He lives there.  Up in the clouds, but we can't see him.  He can see you though.  And you can talk to him if you want to.  He can hear you. "  Imagine me in the front seat, with smiley pigeon perch lips, the goofy expression of a mother whose heart is exploding, while Cata was in the back seat, locking up with trepidation.
"Is he going to come down?"
"Sure, someday."
"When?"
"We don't really know."
Oh...my...goodness.

 I can see why she couldn't leave my side all evening.  I finally pulled this one out of my back pocket:  "Jesus also lives at church, honey.  He's there now.  He'll stay there."

Relief.  Phew!  Later I overheard the last piece of a conversation she was having, "You're welcome, Jesus!"  Guess she finds this arrangement more satisfactory :)!

My Beh beh's at 7 Weeks.

Tomas (Born 1/4/2012), @ 7 Weeks

Mateo (Born 4/21/2010), @ 7 Weeks

Catalina (Born 8/18/2008), @ 7 Weeks

Paci Sell-Out

I had a talk with Cata a few nights ago and let her know that soon we had to start throwing away her chupos, one by one, since they are bad for big girl teeth.  I told her each night she throws one away (of the surviving 5) that she may have a cookie, and that on the day of the last one, we will have a party. I expected tears--at the very least resistance. I definitely thought this would be something we would do slowly (maybe 1 per week/ month) to soften the blow.  Bear in mind that she has been sleeping with all 5 pacifiers for months now. And that she could walk up to her crib and practically smell which color is missing.  "Mom, where's my orange paci? I need it!!!!!" Then she lines them all up on her pillow--except for the lucky one to go in her mouth.

After this talk though, Cata has met me the last three evenings with an enthusiastic, "Mom, can I throw away another paci and have a cookie?" Woah-- the swift detachment in favor of a sweet nearly makes me feel sorry for her oldest and dearest plastic friends. Even Juan (Mr. Anti sleep crutch) is concerned:  "Cata, maybe we should slow down with this." At which she melts onto the floor in a fit crying, "but I want to throw away another chupo!!!". Ok, I guess she's ready.  Best response we could hope for at a terrifying juncture.

May I Help You?

Tomas is hilarious.  When we lie down to nurse now, before I've made a move toward feeding him, he just lies there and opens his mouth really wide, waiting for his food.  So funny.

You can take the boy out of Colombia, but.... :)

True Diversity

I don't know what kind of company you keep in your house, but we're partial to little cowgirl fr-umans.

Tomas' Baptism

"Excuse me, Jesus, are we all done?"--Cata to Fr. Paul

This round we kept the baptismal celebrations intimate:  Just our family, the godparents, and two of their children.  In the past, we threw a bash after the baptisms, but given the current economic climate of our household, the celebrations called for a little austerity :)  Solemn, they were not, however.  We shared the most wonderful day with our dear friends Mary Pat and Joe F.  This time, I was able to be (a little) more present  during the ceremony, instead of mentally checking off my to do list for the after party.   Joe reminded us that baptisms are the most important day in our life that we'll never remember.

Tomas was a champ--peaceful, as usual.  Mateo and Cata, true to form, rocked that little chapel with their competing echo's.  In my arms, Mateo was calling for the "agua" in the baptismal font.  He's obsessed with any vessel with enough water to experiment with.  Cata, in my periphery, was jumping up and down, grabbing her Abuela's arms, trying to snatch the camera.  Props to a patient priest, who didn't bat a lash even though he was drowned out half the time.

Highlights from the baptism itself:

1)  Tomas receiving this ever important sacrament
2)  Cata concernedly asking me whether she had to also "take a bath"
3)  Cata interrupting the priest, asking, "Excuse me, Jesus, are we all done?"
4) QT with MP and Joe

 Good thing the success of this process didn't depend on us in any way!