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.