¡Mierda!

Literally. I mean, poop all over my living room. You don't realize how much you love someone until you clean their shit out of your white carpet floor. And everywhere else, for that matter. How can someone so small produce so much waste? Then you wonder about global warming... My son is partly responsible! Poor thing, it wasn't his fault. He isn't potty trained yet, and my first thought was that he took off his diaper and did it on purpose. But I was wrong, it was just that the amount of poop he produced was so unbelievably huge the diaper couldn't hold it. I gave him a quick bath, and he kept thanking me. No wonder...
Well, considering he is 31 months old, it took a long time to have the first stinky accident, with it's accompanying funny story.

The maid

After a long long time, I went to the movies on Tuesday. It was totally out of the blue, my friend S called in the middle of the afternoon, and after hesitating for an hour (I'm becoming a home bug), I decided to go. It was good to see some friends and meet some new people. It was a pretty cold, snowy/rainy night, your typical Chicago winter weather... We went to the Music Box Theater. I had never been there before, but I would highly recommend it. It is a beautiful, old fashion place in Southport. Their usual fare is independent/foreign, with a The Sound of Music sing-along here and there. We watched The maid, a Chilean movie that got good reviews at Sundance. It tells us about Raquel, the maid/nanny who has worked with a family for 23 years, and the different relationships the family members and her have developed through the years. Although she acts as if they are her family, they are not. That's one of the biggest achievements of the movie, the fact that it is perfectly able to convey to us that thick glass of separation, in which the family treats her well but always drawing a line, always intending a "but...". Catalina Saavedra's performance is remarkable. Without so much of a dialogue, she is able to perfectly depict Raquel's feelings, specially that glimpse of craziness/stubbornness we can see when they hire other women to help her, so exaggerated that it becomes humorous. But we can also see her insistence on locking the other maids out as a metaphor of her way of keeping them off her territory. She wants to keep being "their" maid, and that means no one else should be able to claim her place inside the house, linked to that family, to which she has devoted her freedom. Only when someone who values her freedom more than this form of 21st century endowment, does Raquel open her heart.
It is definitely a character movie full of open questions. Why does she hate Camila, the oldest daughter? Does she finally sleep with Lucy's uncle? Where is she running at the end? And more than anything, why does she devote her life to this family who will never appreciate her efforts? It is also a cruel depiction of the Chilean upper middle class, la burguesía. In a way it reminds of Luciana Martel's films, it's like a Christian clean version of La ciénaga. In any case, it's worth seeing.
I always forget that there was a time when I went to the movies at least twice a week, when I bought and read film magazines, and when I knew what directors were going to be up to for the next two years. That was long gone. I don't have the time or money to do all that. But I will try to get back in shape. Maybe this blog will eventually evolve into a cultural one... Don't even get me started in books.

TVE

Since little L has decided that he prefers to speak English, and since we want to watch the King's address to the nation on Christmas Eve, and the Reyes Magos parade (or cabalgata in Spanish) on January the 5th, I upgraded our cable so we can watch Spanish national Television, or Televisión Española. I'm so excited about it that I haven't stopped watching the thing for three days, even though it wouldn't be my channel of preference were I in Spain. But it's the only one I can get here, and that makes it precious. There are not many things that make me feel so at home. Maybe a couple of magazines, like Hola (the Spanish People) or some foods, like Cola Cao or espárragos en lata. And I was very lucky that I was able to catch two very interesting interviews, done by Juan Ramón Lucas, with two gentleman I really admire: Joaquín Sabina, my favorite singer-songwriter, and the author of the song which title I stole for the one of this blog, and José Saramago, a portuguese writer so well known that he won the nobel Prize of Literature in 1998. I have seen both in person, Sabina in a concert almost ten years ago in Vitoria, in the Teatro Principal, and Saramago in a weeklong narrative workshop at Santander's well known summer university, UIMP, with a very good friend, and a long lost venezuelan lover. Itruly enjoyed both experiences, and learned from their wisdom. If you can watch their interviews, do it. If not, you can listen to any of Sabina's songs, or read any of Saramago's books, and you will for sure learn something new. My favorites: Y sin embargo, of course. And El evangelio según Jesucristo. Enjoy.

Silk Road Theater

Today I attended my first fundraiser. I have to say tat it was a very American experience. For Europeans like me, it's a gathering of people to raise funds for a cause. You meet for drinks, dinner and dance or a show. You buy tickets to profit the cause. And you try to attract more people from outside. Pretty much what the Catholic church has been doing for several centuries. I have to say that it was fun. A friend took me there, since she had a last minute spare ticket. The food was good, we dined at the Walnut Room in the former Marshall Fields. Then we headed to the Silk Road Theater, which is located in the basement of the First United Methodist church downtown. For Chicago outsiders, this is a church that has twenty stories between the church and the tower. Stories with windows, it looks like a remarkable office building. The theater itself is the charity, and it tries to address issues of diversity in America. The show was very well put together, enjoyable, and performed by an ensemble that was very dedicated to the project. A lovely night. And I even had some extra entertainment exchanging glances with an extremely well dressed Bardem lookalike who seemed completely serious and insensitive until he started singing along to one of the songs from Miss Saigon. Curioso.

cooktopless

Only when you are deprived of them do you realize how much you use, thus how much you miss certain things. Like a cooktop. Since the fire incident last week we are without one. I'm sure this will be solved in the next days, but the experience is teaching me how much one can miss boiling water for tea. Or eggs, for that matter. Cooking pasta, or making a soup. Grilling steaks, and sandwiches. Frying any kind of stuff. Brewing coffee in a tiny Bialetti. There are so many things one can do with a little fire...

Craziness

I hear that we are in a recession. And somehow, even when I am not looking for one, job interviews land in my lap. The last one is quite bizarre, so much that I did it today and I am still not sure of what the job is. I don't think the employer has a clear idea either. Which makes it double fun. He is an artist with a gallery that is selling very well. And he needs what we could describe as a marketing/PR adviser, none of which I am, but both of which I could become. It sounds really interesting, and as we say in Spanish, I think I am able to sell sand in the desert, so, if I am offered the job, I may give it a try. It's a challenge. And I love those. I have half a PhD in Spanish Literature, but I don't think that will fly as marketing experience. But the guy is a risk taker who seems to go with the flow, and I am certainly flowy... I will keep posting about this.
Last Friday I went to a Department drink meeting, and I really enjoyed meeting the people who work there, including the cute young Italian professor. Hmmmm, maybe I should start taking Italian classes again. And I found out that they are going to renew my contract for Winter, and most likely Spring. I'm very happy about it, since I like my students, and they like me enough to want to sign up for my classes. I may not be the disaster I think I am. And I love the University where I am teaching.
Little L likes his new teacher, although I am not sure if I like the daycare enough. I'm still on the lookout for something I like better. While I do that, I wait impatiently for my mom to send me the third installment of Millennium. Is nowhere to be found in the United States. So she is shipping it from Spain.

Wired after the fire

I'm trapped in a huge hotel bed. I guess it is a King size bed, although since I have a Full, anything looks big to me. I'm trapped by wires, the one that connects me to the Internet to my left, the one that connects me to an electric outlet to my right. I should be grading exams, but I had a night too interesting not to tell about it. It started fine, I was grading, while delicious bolognese pasta was being cooked in the kitchen. And then, my name screamed interrupted me. I took my son, left the apartment, called the doorman, sit down by the elevator with my heart racing... It was little, but smokey. They managed to take care of it, but the smell of burned plastic was so dense, and Little L's throat and mine were already so sore by our lovely colds/infections.whatevers that we (meaning I) decided to spend the night at a hotel, so we could sleep. The bed is comfortable. We are downtown. It could even be sexy, if it weren't for the fact that there is a toddler sleeping in the room with us. And I still have to grade. But I have to make sure I can still be fair...

Bummer

Chicago didn't get the Olympics. I was rooting for Chicago, a fact that surprised many people, who would expect a Spaniard to root for Madrid. But I have lived here for six years. I know they would have been great in this city. But probably Mayor Daley doesn't fit the European like diplomacy that goes on before this kind of election. Maybe next time. I'm just sad we won't see Obama hosting them. In another order of things, I'm mesmerized by the David Letterman story. Not by the story itself, but how it is being told. For a long time I wanted to be a journalist, and as a Literature major I remain interested in how the media work. Depending on what you are reading, the headline is totally different. They could be divided in two groups, the ones that start
"David Letterman had sex with his female employees", and the ones that state "David Letterman denounces blackmailing attempt". Depending on which of the two you get, the guy is pictured as a devil or a hero. Of course I have my opinion on the issue, he was very brave to denounce it, and whom he sleeps with is none of our business. But I'm surprised to see that in American media, it's him the one that's getting the guilty mediatic verdict, instead of the guy who actually committed a crime, the blackmailer. It's just a thought.

Back to work

Now I know what working moms talked about when they said they are busy. Today is Monday, and yesterday I went to bed at 2:30 am. I was grading until then. Both my classes had homework due and exams last week, and since I only gained access to the University system last week, I am still trying to set up all my Blackboard functions. I am exhausted. Beyond exhausted. I haven't almost had any time for myself, which is terrible, because I am terribly hooked to the second Millennium book. These week all the big TV series had their big seasons premieres. I usually watch a bunch of them, but this time I was only able to catch a part of House on Monday. I missed Law & Order SVU (although after a very judgemental episode on vaccines I swore I would never watch it again), Grey's Anatomy, Desperate Housewives and part of Brothers and Sisters. I also would like to watch some Jay Leno. I like the guy, I guess I fit in the 5o year old demographic. But I guess I have to say goodbye to TV. Our Netflix copy of Slumdog Millionaire has been sitting in the counter top of two different apartments for months now. Yes, more than two.
Little L is not doing too good in school. The other day he was throwing toys to other kids. And according to his teacher (too young, too blonde, too innocent) the worst part is that he is a good hitter, with a strong hand. I would have cracked up, and then I realized that I am actually his mom. So I shouldn't. I have to adult up, and try to help him ease his stress over the whole school thing. We were sure he would love it, because he loves to be with kids. But apparently he is so mad, that for the first seven days he got the teacher convinced that he doesn't understand any English. And trust me, he does. Absolutely everything. And there is no mom's pride involved in my statement. Some friendly wisdom I got on Saturday from my very pregnant Spanish friend: routine, routine, routine. We'll try it. It may work. We had a lovely and very Spanish evening at her very Spanish apartment. Una velada encantadora. I only met her in January, but I'm growing very close to her. Which helps when you get disappointed by other friends. But I won't get into that. It's Monday and it should start with a positive note. I had a very happy and very busy weekend. So now I feel like that very useful little blue engine...

My last day as a stay at home mom

Tomorrow I start working. Little L, who is 28 months already, will start going to daycare three afternoons a week. I found a lovely school, and I am sure he will be well taken care of. But it is going to be hard. If he smiles less, I will blame it on myself. If he loses weight, I will blame it on myself. If he is not as bubbly as his usual, I will blame it on myself. If he is not happy, it will be my fault. When I started to look for a job we really thought that sending him to school would be the best option for him in a city with a six month long winter. It doesn't sound that good twelve hours before I drive him there. I am trying to prepare my class, but all I can see is his smiley face.
I wanted to have a special day today. Go to the park, eat together, go for some ice cream in the afternoon... Instead, he, as usual, spent the day in front of the TV. I asked him what he wanted to do, and his answer was, four times : "Buzzzzzz..." Which, in his language means "I want to watch Toy Story again". Which we did. At the end, it was his day, wasn't it? But I still feel like the worst mom ever. No park, no ice cream, no glory.

By a split second

Today I could have died. I don't think I have ever seen death closer than today. As close, maybe, and the other few times a car also was involved. I went with my seven months pregnant friend E to a mall in the suburbs. We wanted to go to Zara, can you get any more Spanish? We had lunch, bought many clothes for our kids, enjoyed our time there... It almost looked like a movie, some kind of feel good soap. Then, on our way back to the city, we suddenly saw something bouncing our way in the highway. We saw it in slow motion. At first glance we couldn't tell what it was, but as it came closer we realized it was a huge truck wheel. Not only the tire, but the whole huge wheel. Bouncing 15 feet high at a crazy speed directly towards my friend's car. I saw it crashing, I swear, but thank God E, who is way more reflective than I am, was able to turn a little bit to the left and we missed it by a couple of inches. Thank God there was almost no traffic on Sunday. Thank God it didn't hit the car in front of us, or any other car behind us, for that matter. For someone who doesn't usually believe in God I named him quite few times today. I know that's convenient. We didn't speak for a couple of minutes, as we were in shock. When we did, we could only say one thing: "Coño, estamos vivas. Lo demás da lo mismo". I think our friendship is closer today. Our bonding deeper. Our luck, untouched.

Back to work

I am starting to freak out. I have been a stay at home mom for the last two years and a half. I have been very happy with this arrangement. I really enjoyed taking care of my son. I know it was a privilege to be able to spend such a long time with him. But we have reached the point when he is watching way too much television (we watch The Incredibles twice each day), and I think he is longing to spend some time with other kids. I found a daycare I really loved, recommended by a friend. It's called Wee Care. And I surprisingly found a job in the middle of a recession. My first try. I'm going to be teaching Spanish at De Paul University, which is four blocks from the apartment we are moving to. Lots and lots of changes, all to happen within a couple of weeks.
I was surprised when they offered me class after interviewing me over the phone. I jumped when they told me they had a second one for me. The schedule is pretty bad for a mom, but I haven't worked in more than two years, so I couldn't ask for more. I just hope I haven't forgotten how to teach...
On top of that I had an interview at an Spanish government office in Chicago, for a job that seems rather interesting. I don't think I will get it, because it was my first formal interview ever, but I didn't think I would pass the exam and make it into the interview either... And here we are. I should know by next week.
Everything looks like it goes so well... If only those babies would want to stay in my uterus... But thats a whole different blog. More about changes soon.

Enganchada

What a month I have. I found a teaching job, I'm moving to my favorite neighborhood and former building, my son is finally (when I find one we like with a reasonable waiting list) going to school... And what do I do in my busiest month in three years? I get hooked into a novel. A novel I actually intended not to read. It's the first of a trilogy that has been huge in Spain for the last three years. The author is Swedish, Stieg Larsson, and the name of the trilogy is Millennium. The title of the first novel in English is The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, much better translated into Spanish as Los hombres que no amaban a las mujeres. At first I refused to read it as I do with most best sellers. But I eventually always end up falling for them, even The Da Vinci Code, four years late. But this one is actually really good, specially if you like mystery novels, as I do. I liked it so much that I destroyed it, as I have been doing with long books since I had little L. On Saturday I stayed up until 2 am skipping through it. I don't skip pages, I just read the central column of every page until I reach the end. It's a visual trick, you just need some words to understand a text.
Going back to real life, I'm going to start teaching at a local private university in two weeks. Spanish 101 and 104. I'm excited, because I haven't worked in almost three years. And scared. Do I still remember how to teach? How is L going to do in daycare? I feel like a traitor, sending him there, but we think he will be happy surrounded by other kids. He enjoys playing with other children in the park, and in Chicago in the Winter, there is no park.
I will post about the move another day, because the lease hasn't been signed yet and we don't want to jinx it.
But if you have a few hours available, try the book.
Back to life.

Letters

And I don't refer to the ones I'm trying to teach my son. I'm talking about the kind you put in an envelope, and post through the mail, with a stamp on it. I am one of those weird people who still prefer letters to e-mail. It may be the hopeless romantic hiding at the bottom of my self. But there is something in the whole process that makes me happy. From picking up the paper and the envelope, the pen I'm going to use (and I still use fountain pens), placing a pretty stamp on it, and taking it to the mailbox, whether it is a blue USPS one, a yellow one for Correos or my favorite, the red Royal Mail. Letters are so personal... You have to put your time and effort in them, inside that envelope. It's easier to communicate your feelings through them. And there are not many things that make me as happy as seeing another envelope with my name on it in my own mailbox. The electronic experience has nothing to do against the paper one (said the blogger, in an ironic twist). So, all of you, go get pen and paper, and start... It's relaxing. And cheaper than a mani-pedi. And it will make someone happy. You don't need to go to Paper Source. CVS will do.

Blogging bug

I haven't written in a while. I have been busy, or stressed, I guess. My year so far can be summarized in: a very long winter, two miscarriages, an exhausting trip, three months worth of visitors and a job. The last one looks promising, and it may be a sign that things are going to start to go better. We didn't have a lucky year so far. In three weeks I will leave stay at home mommyhood to become a part time teacher of Spanish in a local University. I can't wait. I haven't taught in almost three years, and that makes me a little uneasy, but the mere thought of being able to use my commute to read excites me. Beyond believe. It will be only twice a week for a couple of hours, but it's a good start, specially in the middle of a recession and with a two year gap in my CV. We may also move back to my beloved Lincoln Park, but that is pending. I need to leave this place, which I think is taking all the energy I had left, which was not much t start with.
Why did the blogging bug attack? I went to watch Julie and Julia with a friend tonight, and I just couldn't resist all that typewritting, as I couldn't resist all that smoking, and I wouldn't have resisted all that beef bourgignon if I had been able to find a place that served it at midnight in Chicago. I briefly played with the idea of going to a Borders, getting the book, and cooking it myself, but last time I checked there were no emergency butchers around. This is not New York, or Tokyo or London. If it's midnight, you just got to McDonald's. I resisted that, at least. I guess I'm back. And this time it better is for good.

Sneakers

Today I learned that my 14 year old nephew and godson sold the last birthday gift we sent him, a pair of trainers he apparently didn't like. We took our time to pick them up for him, but it didn't work. I am not angry, but I am disappointed. We don't return gifts, exchange them or e-bay them. We keep them, and thank them. Even that horrible pair of Canadian horns my mother-in-law brought us when they visited Chicago. We may not display them, but they are somewhere here, they weren't thrown away, sold, donated. I think the new generation is losing all sense of manners. The blame should go on their parents, who laugh at their ideas, like my sister today. Not schools, not society, not the kids. It's the parents. You get your ticket in the genetic pool, and then you make the best out of it. At least you should try. As a mother of a mischievous two year old I know I will make many mistakes. But at least I try my best to teach my son a couple of basic principles: respect and generosity. If he gets those two, we are off to a good start. Let's see.

Terrible Twos

I had heard about them, but I had hope they would be another myth like sugar rushes. I was wrong, and had my first taste of them today. In one hour little adorable L broke the video player (yes, we still had one of those to watch old movies), ate eight chewing gums (not mine, someone probably dropped them at the party and he kept them hidden somewhere) and broke our coffee table in two parts (it was Ikea, but I still loved it, and they don't make it anymore). Not kidding, not exaggerating. He survived all the mishaps unharmed, and the nurse said the gum will eventually leave his system. But he could have hurt himself. He is fast and fearless, and I'm desperate. I'm seriously considering sending him to day care at least a morning a week. He will benefit from spending some time with other kids, and I can use one morning a week to tidy the house or iron (that's another thing about Spaniards, we iron even socks). With luck, I will be able to work. And it will break my heart, because I love him and spending time with him more than anything else in the world. But I tried to play with him today, to read him books, to do something together. It didn't work, and I realized... he is bored. He is tired of seeing me every single hour of every single day. He needs more independence, he needs to meet new people. I will drown myself in Margaritas tonight.

Vaya fin de semana...

What a weekend! I threw a birthday party for my son at home (apparently an oddity these days), I cooked dinner yesterday for my friend S, her husband and his parents, and I finally got my employment authorization card. Which means that, as of today, I can work. Right now if I want to. I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but I have plenty of ideas. Ideally I would get a free lance job doing translations... But I'm also going to explore the teaching arena. Let's see. But the party was a success, and as I usually like to do I mixed people from different circles, which turn out great. And, surprisingly, parents appreciated the fact that I served alcohol at a toddler's birthday party. Apparently it's not usual. But parents deserve a treat, too. A childless friend said it was a good idea so parents can survive the kid overload...
I'm tired, but quite happy.

22 de abril

How decadent it is to drink Veuve Cliquot in a regular glass, while I smoke, after I had croquetas (one of the humblest foods in Spanish cuisine). Very decadent, I would say. But I don't care, because today it was my son's second birthday. He spent an hour in the morning just opening presents and experiencing each and every one of them. Slooooowlyyyy. We went to swimming class, but keeping the routine didn't work this time. He would have been much happier if we had let him stay home and play with his new toys, mainly trains. He had his chocolate cake, his broccoli pizza (yes, I have a baby who loooooves broccoli, even more than pizza), and had a pretty good day. We are leaving the big party for Saturday, so everyone can come, and we got to enjoy his day alone with him. It wasn't a good day last year. In a way, his birthday for me is also the anniversary of the hardest day in my life, the day he was born. It wasn't a happy birth. Everything went wrong, I didn't get to give birth, and he got a pneumothorax during the C-section that sent him to t he NICU for eight days. What should have been his first happy hours bonding with mom, were spent in a cold room, surrounded by strangers who didn't even know his name, being cured and at the same time attacked by needles, tubes, breathing devices... It was horrible, we couldn't see him for three hours, and we couldn't touch him for four days. Not the kind of start you expect, not the kind of birth you hear about. Most people don't talk about the bad ones. I wish they had. At least we would have been prepared. Today, he is a healthy, strong and happy baby (well, definitely toddler now), and I'm still healing from the whole experience. But I try to make the best out of what I have. And I try to give him the best I have. So he can forget about that day. Because I'm sure that, in some way, he can remember. And I can't forgive myself for that.

A day in the park

Some days I wish I could go back to work, to my PhD, anywhere but where I am. But today I felt really happy to be a stay at home mom. For the first time in weeks it was really niece outside. Nice enough to go out without a sweater (fellow Chicagoans will understand what this means). We went to the park with a friend and her kids, we run into another childless friend at the Post Office, and she joined us. The kids had lots of fun and activity and air (not pure, but air still), and it was so nice that I decided to run home and prepare some food to have a picnic in the park. It was messy (try to feed toddlers in the ground), but great. For the first time since I moved to this neighborhood I had a sense of community. We even run into Little L's swimming class teacher. It was good. The best part? We still have half a sweet nice day to go, and another playdate in the park at five. Now I have two shifts, the morning one with the stay at home moms, and the afternoon one with the working moms. Because I don't believe in wars...

Maybe Spring?

For the third time this year (and the other two took place in February) it's warm in Chicago. By warm I mean we were able to go to the park, we were able to leave our coats hanging in the stroller (most moms were still wearing them, probably not trusting their senses after such a long winter), we were able to have lunch in a patio, watching the trains while my son screamed "choo-chooooooo!!!!!" every time we saw one. Spring may be here. Finally. I can't wait to go back to the park tomorrow. Today, all of a sudden a group of about 40 7 year olds arrived to the park and took the whole place... At first, as moms of toddlers, we tried to remove our kids from their energetic way, in case they got run over... Of course my adventurous baby, who will be two in one week, decided that being around the old kids was more fun, so there he went. I was totally scared until he had a moment of hesitation before climbing up one more step, and one of the big kids held him and got him up. Then he carefully helped him go down the slide. It was a very cute moment that gave me some hope about the future of their generation. At that age they don't think before acting. But if they are still able to be generous and kind, and give you a huge smile in the meantime, we have a better future ahead of us. It was a teaching moment for me. That boy with the big smile taught me many things today.

Mistresses

A couple of weeks ago, while I was going through a really hard patch, I discovered a pretty good British show on BBCAmerica. It's called Mistresses (www.bbc.co.uk/mistresses) and it's broadcast over and over and over again every Friday night. It has probably been compared with Sex and the City, because it's about four professional women in their late thirties/ early forties. But at the same time, it has nothing to do with it. The wit and bravery of the British show make the American one look whimsical and even a little adolescent. I should warn that I love most things British, I'm a britófila, and just the accent turns me on. But I find very amusing to watch four ladies talking about sex and practicing it as freely as they do in the show. No prudity here. No modesty, no fear. They take what they want, they take chances. They seem secure. They don't seem happy, but, does happiness even exist? At least they seem satisfied. Way more satisfied than the average woman I know...

¿Quién me ha robado el mes de abril?, que diría Sabina...

It's April in Chicago. But I can only tell because I see it on the calendar. It snowed two days ago. Badly. It didn't last, but it's cold. Very cold. Hat, gloves and scarf cold. We are done. We want Spring. We want to go to the park, go for walks, play outside, say goodbye to our socks. We want warm, and sun, and birds, and flowers. We want the whole package. We deserve the whole package after a long cold winter.
It's April in Chicago. And I look like a newcomer. As if I hadn't said this the last five Aprils.

Manifiesto

This post is going to be partially in Spanish. The Basque Government wants to shut down four degrees in my Alma Mater, the University of the Basque Country (UPV-EHU), one of which is Filología Hispánica, the degree I took. We are mad about it, and trying to do something. Here goes the Manifiesto written by Professor and students. I love to see how they can come together in times of crisis. ¡No nos moverán!

Hace unos días comenzó la preocupación de alumnos y profesores de la Facultad

de Letras de la Universidad del País Vasco / Euskal Herriko

Unibertsitatea ante los crecientes rumores sobre la eliminación de

cuatro titulaciones en Filología en dicha Universidad: Hispánica,

Clásica, Francesa y Alemana.

Pues bien, parece que los rumores se confirman, y tras una semana

larga de movilizaciones en la Facultad de Letras, que han contado con

el apoyo directo del equipo decanal y que han tenido un importante eco

en prensa, radio y televisión, el Rectorado, en una reunión con el

Decano que se celebró el lunes, desautorizó la propuesta de la

Facultad de mantener esas cuatro titulaciones en Filología en la

UPV/EHU. Como consecuencia de ello, el equipo decanal en pleno

presentó ayer su dimisión. (Más abajo os adjunto el link con la

noticia de prensa aparecida hoy).

http://www.elcorreodigital.com/alava/20090304/pvasco-espana/goirizelaia-afronta-primera-crisis-20090304.html

Nuestra intención como profesores y alumnos de la Facultad de Letras

afectados por la supresión de estas cuatro titulaciones en la UPV/EHU

es protestar enérgicamente ante el proyecto del Rectorado. Para ello,

se ha constituido una Plataforma de Defensa de las Letras y se ha

redactado un manifiesto que se leerá mañana jueves, 5 de marzo, en una

asamblea que se celebrará en la Facultad de Letras de la UPV/EHU, en

Vitoria.

Nos gustaría poder contar con vuestro apoyo a nuestra protesta. Para

nosotros, alumnos y profesores de la Facultad de Letras de la UPV/EHU,

sería un elemento inestimable en nuestra reivindicación ante el

Rectorado.

Agradeciéndoos vuestro apoyo y vuestra amistad, recibid un cordial abrazo de

Natalia Vara Ferrero

Departamento de Filología Hispánica, Románica y Teoría de la Literatura

Facultad de Letras

Universidad del País Vasco / Euskal Herriko Unibertsitatea

Paseo de la Universidad, 5

Apartado 2111

01006 - Vitoria

Growing list of differences between child rearing in Spain and the USA

When I had my baby here, I was completely lost. I didn't know the system, I didn't know what I was supposed to do, what to do with him... I paid for that the first week of his life. But when I started asking and trying to learn, I encountered myself in a constant question: do I do things the Spanish way, or the American way? Because they are totally different. But, guess what? Kids survive in both. I will try to compile an ever-growing list of differences. If any of you wants to add anything, feel free. I'll let you try to guess which one I follow in each case. You can comment, and I will edit the answer afterwards. I'll add one more every time I blog.

1. In Spain you bathe babies every day. No matter what. In the US, at most every two days. Everyday bathing is not considered healthy, actually. (I follow Spain here, mainly because I have a messy kid. Everyday)
2. Breastfeeding is not as encouraged as here. It's getting better, bust most moms only breastfeed until the fourth month. Breastfeeding a two year old still looks bizarre over there. (US. He's almost two and I'm still breastfeeding)
3. Everyone tries to hold newborns in Spain. Friends and family visit you in the hospital, and everyone wants to hold the newborn. It's socially accepted, and moms are usually happy about it. In the US the bond between parents and baby is protected, and everyone else asks for permission to take the baby. Usually they are not passed around until they are a little older. (Half and half. I don't think newborns like to be taken far from their mamas, but if someone close asks, I'm fine with it)
4. In Spain we don't do swaddling. It was a totally new concept for me. No receiving blankets, no "bebe burrito". (Spain. I was never able to learn how to swaddle a baby. And I tried...)
5. You can see plenty of pregnant women smoking is Spain. Sometimes doctors tell them than reducing to five cigarettes a day is better than totally quitting. Less stressful. Hopefully, that's changing, too. (US. I quit smoking when I found out I was pregnant. It's not that difficult)
A. , you are right on. I'll add yours, which were going to be my next three:
6. Spaniards give pureed food to babies until they are 18 months (at least). When they transition to regular food, they are fed, so they don't get dirty. Strawberries are considered highly allergic, and not recommended until they are two at least. But we give 10 month olds cured ham... (I went with the US here. My baby "feeds" himself, along with the bib, the high-chair, the floor... since he was twelve months. And he is a wonderful eater).
7. Car seats are not optional in Spain either, at least legally, and in the north where I am from everyone abides by the law. But, if you switch off the airbag, they can go in the front seat.
8. Yes, my friend, Spaniards pour litres of cologne and lotion on babies. Watch out... My mom does it when I'm not around. I pretend not to smell it. (I follow US rules here, they don't need it, and it damages their skin).
9. Spaniards let babies use pacifiers and bottles forever. Actually, cereal is given with formula in a bottle, not with a spoon, like here. Until they are two or three.

10 rules for desperate moms

I usually hate these kind of lists, but I haven't yet found a really useful one. In case mine is useful for anyone else, here it goes:
1. Chill out. Relax. They don't break. Really. Newborns are amazingly designed to survive the first four months of life shared with first time parents. So just chill. Most likely, if you are calm, the baby will be calm too. I know, I know, easier said than done. Maybe the second time around...
2. Babies are persons. I was recently told by someone that my toddler looks like a little adult. He IS a little adult. Treat them as such. They are not stupid. They just have communication issues. Like political parties. And you still vote for them, don't you?
3. Raising my child between two cultures has shown me that rules are not that important. Most of them, at least. I will link another list with the cultural "raising babies" differences between Spain and the USA. http://spanishmom.blogspot.com/2009/03/growing-list-of-differences-between.html
4. Everyone said so and I didn't listen: time goes by sooooooooo fast. Suddenly, they are two.
5. Babies don't need tons of things. They are actually overwhelmed by too many toys. Most of them prefer to play with the boxes that contain the toys. Or with a wooden spoon and a pot. Or with a piece of fabric...
6. They love to imitate you. And to feel included. Our son has eaten with us at the table since he was very young. He is a very good eater, and eats almost everything.
7. Don't create picky eaters. Get them used to real food since the beginning. Pureeing food doesn't take long. It smells better, it tastes better, and it is healthier. Expose them to anything you are eating (within safety standards), and they will be open to give it a try.
8. Shower them in books. I wasn't sure it would work but... it did. I have a 22 month old whose favorite toys are books. Not always his, though, we are still working on that.
9. Don't monopolize the baby. Fathers are able to do everything we do but breastfeeding. I often find that moms tend to consider fathers unsuitable to take care of them. They are not. They can be as effective, resourceful and compassionate as we are. Give them a chance.
10. Take time for yourself, specially if you are a stay at home mom. Go out with your friends, enjoy a movie, go shopping, or sit on a park and read. You will be happier, which will make your baby happier. It took me a while to admit this, but it really helps. And this way dad has time to bond with the baby alone.

I don't pretend to know everything. Actually I don't know much, but at least I know more than when we came back from the hospital with little L. I hope to keep learning for years to come. That's the most amazing thing about kids. They teach you many more things than you teach them.

A pain in the neck

And, unfortunately, it's not a metaphorical one. It hadn't come back in several months, maybe even a year, but here it is, making me think about the good old times. And it has to hit now, when I'm getting some of my energy back, when I'm reorganizing my life, and relaunching my social life. Because I am a social being, and I only thrive in society, surrounded by peers.
Going back to the pain, first, it was cause by a silly car collision (I wouldn't dare call it a crash) eight years ago, November 2000. I was driving to the University, stopped at a roundabout (you should have seen thousands of them if you have ever been in Spain), and the driver behind me hit me. At first I didn't feel bad, probably because my beloved Corolla was in pretty good shape, but in a few hours the pain started. I went to the ER, they gave me some Voltaren (powerful pain killer) and sent me home. I had a trip to Paris booked for the following week (by bus, of course), and I got the green light from the ER doctor to go. It was long and painful, I survived thanks to Tylenol (recommended by my gorgeous Venezuelan friend, who lived in Baltimore at the time), and called my mom to beg for a doctor's appointment. As soon as I got back to Vitoria I saw the doctor, and I had a esguince cervical grave, or cervical sprain. One month of physical therapy, three months without driving, a year on Tylenol and some money from the car insurance after, I was left with a recurrent pain, that comes back from time to time. I has gotten better with the years, and it doesn't hit often anymore. But a yoga class and six days without proper sleep (including one half spent on my baby's bedroom floor) have taken me back to 2000. But I don't have Venezuelan friends offering to get the best doctors anymore...
I'll go back to my life later. If I have time, and can still sit and hold my head...

Hiding, or prohibir es despertar el deseo

And I wish this post would be about a more luscious theme, but I'm sorry, it's just about smoking. I'm having a cigarette hiding in my own house, with the window opened, even when its 25 degrees outside. I live in a rental with no balcony, and the contract says I cannot smoke. But tonight I don't care. I just had a wonderful dinner cooked by Husband, and enjoy a glass of delicious Albariño, a Spanish white wine. But like if I were fifteen again, with my feet hanging from my bedroom's window, I am hiding.

Surviving

This week I spent two days alone with little L for the first time. As ridiculous as it sounds, husband had a seminar right here, in Chicago, but still had to stay in a hotel downtown. Networking, he said. So I was alone with the baby. I'm a scary cat. I don't like to spend the night alone anywhere. Not to talk about a house in a quiet street in Lincoln Square... I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep. Well, that was not the case. I have discovered several things:
1. I don't get scared that easily anymore. I turn off the lights, I would read for a while, and then I would go peacefully to sleep.
2. I sleep better alone. I know it's not romantic, but I think separated beds are a very civilized way of living. I miss him, but I got much better quality rest.
3. I was able to keep the house clean and tidy. Probably because I didn't expect anyone to help me. My daily routine was way more organized.
4. L is going to keep throwing tantrums. I have to learn how to cope with them.
I survived. I'm happy. I feel stronger.
I also made a new friend, a mom I meet n swimming class months ago. She is from the Philippines, and has a lovely eighteen month old. The boys had fun, and we were happy to have someone with whom we could have a girly grown up conversation. I need that sometimes. I need a break from intellectually charged conversations.
Loner mom is not so lonely lately. I guess that's good. Last Saturday I even went out and got pretty drunk. Not something I do often, but I had lost all of my alcohol resistance (remind me to talk about Spanish drinking habits another time). The hangover was horrendous, but I survived it too. And I want to go out again. Soon.

I met a mom!!!!!!!

And a Spanish one... Actually, two of them. I was with my friend S in an Austrian coffee shop (Julius Meinl, I'll write about it another day), and we met two Spanish moms, with kids the age of little L. I was ecstatic... They live around here, and we are meeting tomorrow, again. I'm happy. Like Rainbow Rob, "I made some friends, and had some fun". Loner mom met someone!

Yoga

For me the YMCA was part of the lyrics of an old 80's song. I actually never heard the original one until I came to the States, just a rendition by a Spanish group, "La década prodigiosa", that was pretty big in the late 80's. Now, it's the place where I take my son to his swimming classes once a week, and where I have started torturing myself with a yoga class. I don't think it's a particularly good one, but it fits my schedule. Not that I have much to compare to. The only other yoga class I have ever taken was a prenatal one, and it was amazing. Imagine twelve seven months pregnant ladies doing poses. Funny. It actually was. And I met my German friend there. The pace of this one is much faster (we are not pregnant, I guess), and not relaxing at all. There are a few guys, and I ended up revealing my bra during inversions. That's my fault, for trying to hide in XXL clothes. Lesson learned, I'll wear at least a sporty bra next time. Lace is not appropriate. Neither are nursing bras. I have been sore for four days, but I'm not giving up, I'm going back next Thursday. I'll wait a little bit more to start Pilates, until I get used to the soreness. In any case, I had a feeling of accomplishment when I finished. Job done. Or something like that.

Lottery

I didn't play the Lottery in Spain, where it's pretty big. Maybe I would buy a ticket for the big drawing on Christmas, but that was all. But for the last months I have been religiously playing the same umbers, twice a week, for the Mega Millions. Just a dollar a time. I just play because I would love to be able to go back to my former neighborhood, Lincoln Park, and I know that the only way I will ever be able to buy a house there is if I win the Lottery. I don't think I would change anything else. Maybe I would fly business on my long hauls with Lucas, but that would be it. I just want a house. In the most beautiful neighborhood in Chicago. While I wait, I see the snowflakes falling, just a few of them, but so constantly that I'll have to walk on snow when I go later to get my ticket.

Revolutionary Road

My twenty one month old son just bit me. Hard. After he broke his bedroom's door. Is the "terrible two's"? I had never heard of that term until I had a baby in the States. We don't have anything like that in Spain, but I guess that kids there are terrible at any time... It may be a result of how badly my parents spoiled him in Spain. It was their house and their rules, they said, and babies don't cry there... Six weeks of that, and L has turned into a little "monstruito". I hope it's just a stage, and that it will pass quickly...
But I was going to talk about something else. I went to the movies on Saturday with husband. Brave of us, considering that it was 8 degrees when we got into the theater. We watched Revolutionary Road. It was so good that I didn't minded how depressing it was. Dense and hard movie to watch, but very very good. I don;t go to the movies often anymore, maybe once every couple of months at most. When I was younger I used to go twice a week, since I love cinema. I even made it part of the PhD I was taking (and I hope to resume at some point). But I don't have time anymore. Going to the movies involves a babysitter, dining out, prepare everything to leave the baby at home (specially my self consciousness, since I still feel a little bit guilty when I leave him; you can call it Stockholm syndrome). So I usually enjoy it a lot, since it's a special occasion. This time it wasn't a exception. And the movie touched so many aspects of my life... I could be April any day of the week. I get her sadness, her lost, her hope, broken once again... But it helped me realize that I am still on time to avoid getting to that point, to fix things, to fix my life... I didn't like Leonardo Di Caprio until I saw Gangs of New York on Christmas. I still think he looks a bit too young opposed to Kate Winslet, but he does a remarkable job, and so does her. Great performances, that help build the tension throughout the movie. Tension not eased by the fact that you cannot smoke on cinemas anymore, and they smoke hundreds of cigarettes. But that deserves a whole entry on its own.

Jet-lagged

I'm tired, fussy, dizzy, bored and unhappy. All together. Like my son. I didn't feel like coming back this time. It happens every six months, we go to Spain for six weeks, to see the family (and friends). I'm usually done with the trip by week number four. But this time, I didn't really want to come back. I was quite happy and content back home. And that may be it, the term home. Before I had a lovely apartment in my favorite neighborhood in Chicago (as I delete "u"s I realize I still write with a British accent). My little yellow apartment. It's still ours, but we don;t live there anymore, we live in a rental apartment in a two flat home, in a different neighborhood. I thought I would get used and like it, but I don't. I miss my old place. But I can't go back. I'm trapped here for a while. It's not the house's fault, it's me. I don't like changes, unless they leave me in a much better position, which was not the case. So I'm sad. And I feel lonely. I am alone, in the sole company of a sleeping one year old. At least he is lovely and warm and funny and smiley. That may brighten my afternoon. When I'm in the mood, I'll write a vacation post.

Mi hermana la cosmopolita

That´s probably what my sister says when she rolls her eyes to criticize something about my lifestle, behaviour, clothing, choices...It happens way to often for my taste, specially considering that we see each other at most twenty days a year. She is 45, I´m 29, and that my be one of the reasons why we clash so much. But it´s not only generational. It´s just that we couldn´t be more different. She could have been my mother, and for a while I thought she was, after a stupid line she dropped once a loooooong time ago after reading my school report card. I researched with a friend, but we couldn´t find anything, apart from a couple of suspicious things. But we are in Spain, where it´s very easy to forge any kind of official document you have. I have forged my husband´s signature whenever necessary (I´ll say moe about that whenever I write a wedding post). I guess it couls still be possible, but at 17 I decided I didn´t care anymore.