The power of no

Since I'm recovering of a ridiculously adult case of strep throat that has kept me in bed for the last three days, I'm going to blog about one of the articles that I have read these days. The author criticizes a certain group of parents for their selfishness, self entitlement and over protection of their kids. It's ironic and funny, but sadly true. The fact that a mom thinks that ice cram carts should not be around playgrounds just so her kid doesn't beg for ice cream is ridiculous. At least to this poor European mom. Did you really say that you don't care if someone loses his job so your kid doesn't cry? Really? And don't give me the "it says it's illegal" line. U-turns are also illegal in most places and no one cares around here. You are not supposed to bring balls either. Oh, I caught you, you brought one! And dogs are also banned, but I'm sure that many moms would be perfectly OK with them roaming around their kids. I'm also going to assume that this mom is going to want to ban other parents from bringing bikes and trikes to the park. I've had to explain to my son plenty of times that it's OK to be sad about not being able to play with someone else's three wheeler at the park, but that he still couldn't do it. Or that he couldn't jump from the top of the slide. Or that he couldn't have an ice cream, for that matter.
One of the most important jobs as a parent is to teach them the meaning of the word "no". It's hard, because they whine, and cry, and beg, and pout, and make cute sad faces. But you still have to say no. Not always, obviously. Someone gave me one of the best advice I have gotten early in the game: "pick your battles". So you have to choose your nos wisely, depending on what you want to base your parenting style on.
The problem of these parents, anyway, is not just the ice cream. Is that they expect the world to revolve around their kids. In Europe, when someone has a baby, the baby is expected to adapt to his/her parents lifestyle and rhythm. I'm sure many an American has felt tempted to call children services while visiting Spain and seeing two year olds playing around a cafeteria table at midnight while their parents are enjoying some time with their friends. That's because here the parents are the ones who are expected to drastically change their way of life, catering to every single little need their kids can have. And that only brings us self entitled and self absorbed adults, who are starting to arrive to the workforce now with disastrous consequences. Ask recruiters around, and you'll see. They expect the world in exchange for nothing. No one has taught them better. And I'm not telling that Spain does a great job, either. Discipline is barely known there, by now actually it's probably banned by law. I will discuss that in another post.
Going back to that poor ice-cream vendor... If your child gets fat, it's not the ice-cream vendor's fault, McDonald's fault or Elmo's fault. It's your fault. If you smoke it's not Philip Morris's fault. It's your fault. I could go on, but you get the idea, right? After all I have written about this before. So, let's reflect a little, take back our share of free will, and start acting like adults. The kids will take care of their part.

Disclaimer: I am by no means referring to all American parents. I neither presume that I'm doing a prefect job. Actually, I asume from the beginning that it is impossible to do a perfect job.

Cuteness

My oldest son sleeps with socks. He has done it since he stpped wearing footsies to sleep. And they cannot match. His favorites are always old socks that are too small. I have already warned him that eventually there will be girls (or guys, who knows) and he may have to sleep barefoot. But twenty days shy of five that doesn't seem to concern him. As long as he is wearing them now, he is fine. Those little details are what makes us who we are. And seeing him crossed in his bed, with his little feet on unmatched socks hanging outside the mattress, makes an otherwise not so good day worthy. That cuteness is what justifies motherhood. As trying as it is, little things make you be thankful for your kids. They are irresistible :)

At least now we know

We finally have a prognosis for Little Pb. It's not good, but it could be worse. The other day a friend told me that this is not a tragedy, and she is right. It's a challenge. And it's going to be hard to overcome it. Actually, we will not really overcome it. He is deaf, and he always will be. But we may be able to help him hear. And speak. We may not, and that will be fine too. I just need to process all the information I have been given in the last couple of days, start my own research, and get to the task. The prognosis is Auditory Neuropathy. If you want more info about it, go to the link, but it basically means that his ear is fine, his cochlea is fine, but the nerve that connects them to the brain is not working properly. The worst thing about AN is that it doesn't really have a cure. And treatment varies from one kid to another, including the possible outcomes. So far it seems like we have a plan. We are going to try to habilitate his hearing and speech. That means that we are going to be seeing a speech therapist and an aural pathologist who will try to teach him how to hear and talk. I know, how do you teach someone to hear? I'll let you know when I find out. Right now we have appointments for them for the last week of March, but I called our audiologist to see if he can do something to move things faster. His ENT also wants him to undergo an MRI, just to make sure everything else is fine. It sounds like a lot, but it cannot be worse than seeing him go under yesterday. He was a champ, and it's unbelievable that after spending two hours under anesthesia and having a procedure done today he is back to being the happiest baby of the world, all smiles and giggles. The broad plan is to try therapy for a few months. If that's working and we see progress, great, we keep doing that. If it doesn't, we may try a hearing aid. They don't usually work, but is worth giving it a careful try. The last resort would be a cochlear implant. Which could not work, either. But we have many months until that.
This whole thing sucks. For many reasons. Not So Little L also needs our attention, and he is not getting as much as he is used to. We still should be able to live somewhat normal lives. But if you look at my IPhone calender for the next month, you would see that it is impossible. I don't have time. On top of all this, I decided to go back to work a month ago, and I start teaching again on March 26. And I have also accepted a small translation project. I'm looking forward to both, because they will keep me busy, but at the same time that's time that I won't be able to spend stimulating my baby.
Eventually, I hope to be able to go back to normal, trivial, frivolous posts. But for now, this is what it is. And my next question is... How do you raise a bilingual deaf child? That seems like a quadruple jump with loops...
About the ear tube surgery and sedated ABR test done yesterday, I have to say that it was unnerving to spend two hours waiting for them to be done, but everyone was great with us at Children's Memorial Hospital. Which was more than welcome. Northwestern doesn't always have the best bedside manners, but yesterday they were great.

A leap day I would have liked to leap over

February 29th 2012 was a gorgeous day in Chicago. I started my day at 8:30, going for a walk in a wonderful and breezy 55 F/ 14 C degree weather. That would have been a perfect start for a perfect day if it wasn't because the walk was taking me to Children's Memorial Hospital, where my baby, little Pb, was going to see an audiologist and then an otolaryngologist (ENT doctor). For months we have been thinking he was not hearing well, for months we have observed that he wasn't babbling at all (until, of course, the day I set up those appointments, when he started to babble a shy neneneneh). We took him to the pediatrician, we had an audiology report done in December, I took him to an otolaryngologist in Spain, and other than a mild hearing loss, he seemed to be fine. We were told that his ears were in perfect shape, or in the worst case, he would have fluid that was easily removed with ear tubes. But yesterday, in a more comprehensive audiology report, they saw that he was not responding at all in one ear, and only to elevated sounds (beyond 90 decibels) in the other. He pass the preliminary physical tests because the ear itself is fine, but he didn't pass the Otoacoustic Emissions Test. Now we are scheduled for a sedated ABR (Auditory Brainstem Response) on Tuesday. In that test they will place electrodes on his head to measure the brain's response to sound. At this point, they suspect he may have Auditory Neuropathy, which means that the nerve that connects his ear and his brain is not working well. Doctors don't seem to know much about it (according to Google, because no other doctor is giving us any information at this point), and it appears to be difficult to manage because it's unpredictable, it fluctuates, and can change from hour to hour, day to day, week to week or even month to month. Sometimes they hear something, sometimes they don't, and it fluctuates on the same child. That makes it difficult to treat. Apparently one of the options is a cochlear implant. But we are not there yet, we need to wait for the results. So far, they include an ear infection. his ears were perfectly fine yesterday at the ENT's, but today when I took him to the pediatrician for a pre-test physical he had an ear infection on his right ear, and fluid in both ears. Sigh. Now he is on antibiotics, and I cross my fingers so this doesn't interfere with the test.
So far, my next week has a speech evaluation on Monday, ABR test on Tuesday, otolaryngologist on Wednesday. That doesn't include music/soccer/Dr's appointment for me, Dr's appointment for "not so little L" and whatever else gets peppered on our week. Do I scream? I think I'll rather keep doing laundry and have a glass of wine and a cigarette, because it seems that, once again, we have a long road ahead of us. Plagued with decisions. Thankfully, I have an aunt who is an specialist in speech therapy, and a very good friend who is an specialist in disabilities and has been working closely with the Deaf community. At this point, all I have are questions. Starting with: How do marriages survive in these circumstances? I'll keep you posted.

Fernando Aramburu

I'm excited, because this is the first post I write from my IPad. Which, I love, by the way, although I vow to never use it for reading. Nothing will substitute the feel and smell of paper, of the fabric that binds it, of the leather of old books. But I'm not here to discuss books vs digital books, but to talk about my favorite writer of the last year. He has been writing for a long time, but I just discovered him last Spring. Yes, it has taken me these many months to finish one of the two books by him that I have read. The other one was devoured during the summer. The name of the writer is Fernando Aramburu, and he is from my native Basque Country. I just finished today Viaje con Clara con Alemania, a road trip novel in which the main character, a Spaniard whom we only know by the nickname "ratón" (little mouse) that his German wife uses to address him, narrates a trip taken with her. The purpose of the trip is to obtain information for a road trip book that the wife, Clara, is writing. I assume that it's unnecessary to mention the metanarrative aspect of the book within a book. I laughed with this novel. Loudly. It's very ironic and a bit cynical, a pretty acid portrait of how Germans view foreigners and of marital relationships. The witty dialogues between husband and wife are at times hilarious. I highly recommend it, although I wouldn't say it's an easy read. Lighter in the literature, but way heavier in content, Los peces de la amargura is the short story book that I finished in a couple of days during the summer. I was very surprised to find a writer who deals openly with Basque terrorism, and dares to explore it from every angle. Julio Medem tried to do it a few years ago with La pelota vasca, a documentary that, in my opinion, fails to capture the real situation that we were living in the Basque Country. The documentary was a little bit naive and unrealistic, unlike the fictional stories crafted by Aramburu, which, despite their "unreal" nature, resonate way more with what life felt then and there, and gives you chills as you read some parts. Most stories are told from the victims side, but some others address the feelings of the terrorists, the killers and their guilt. It also describes in a chilling manner the impunity that they enjoyed, even being worshipped as heroes in their towns. No other author has written about these issues as openly and as freely as Aramburu has, trying to take into account all sides of the conflict, but without forgetting or forgiving for a second, without excusing criminal behaviors with political explanations. I will go back to him soon, but now, it's time to move onto another writer. Ironically, this was one of the original purposes of this blog, writing about literature. Funny enough, I think this may be the first literary post. Hopefully others will follow soon. That will mean that the stage of motherhood in which you can't read period has passed. Coming from a girl who used to read five books a week on graduate school, and is happy to read one every five months now, that tastes like a triumph.

Excellent article

And so right on. It's what this blog is or was supposed to be about. But the other way around. How a European mom sees child rearing in the US.
 http://www.huffingtonpost.com/debra-ollivier/bringing-up-bebe_b_1224589.html?ncid=webmail5

DePedro

Mmmmhhh. It's been a long summer, and I will have to find some time for a long post about it, and a couple more about restaurants I have liked lately. But first, and before the hangover is gone, I want to write about a band I saw yesterday in Chicago, in a concert at the Instituto Cervantes. The are called DePedro, and I hadn't heard about them before. Living so far from Spain it's difficult to keep track of new bands, especially if they play in the indie circuit. I went by chance, and I loved it. My only complain is that being in an Auditorium, we weren't able to dance. Because some of their songs have contagious rhythms that your body is going to dance to even if you are sitting down, the lack of space was unfortunate. I liked the tunes, the lyrics, and the playfulness they instilled to their live show. It's always challenging to play in front of a small audience, but as we say in Spain, "se metieron al público en el bolsillo". Everyone seemed to love the band, the concert, and the optimistic tone of their songs. And they were pretty cool personally. We went for a beer at the Green Mill (which deserves an entry on its own) afterwards, and seeing a seasoned musician enjoy someone else's music so much is always refreshing. I'll leave a link to a beautiful song they perform with Russian Red, one of the trendiest songwriters in Spain right now. Go listen to them! You won't be disappointed, and in their albums you will be able to find music for all kind of moments. From dance worthy tunes to boleros. They are definitely joining my ITunes.
PD: credits to Natalia for sending me the video.
PPD: María, I hope we go together to another concert in Chicago. I missed you last night.

Are we all Apple crazy or what?

I certainly am. I'm trying to buy an IPad for my parents 50th wedding anniversary (I know it doesn't sound romantic, but I'm going to load it with pictures from the last 50 years). I've gone several times to the Apple store to no avail, they don't have the model I'm looking for. I've called every day this week to check if the received it, since they don't put items on hold. And today I finally got a positive answer. So I got quickly dressed and put my newborn on the carrier only for him to spit on me big time. I got him out, got rid of my bra and t-shirt, and put the Baby Bjorn back on. Only when I was by the door did I realize that I forgot to put another t-shirt on. I was in such a hurry that I almost exited my apartment half naked. I even drove with the Baby Bjorn still attached to me (don't worry, I put the baby on his car seat). I can't say much about the comfort level of that thing when worn underneath a belt.
And that IPad? By the time Ia arrived to the store, 15 minutes after my call, they were gone. Sigo buscando.

Going back to the mommyhood issues (and smoking)

As you see, I either don't post in months or do it twice in the same day. Yesterday was a crazy day, from start to finish. With two weeks left before we hop on a plane to Spain, i thought I could spend the day working on a project that was due on Christmas and that I have to finish by this weekend. I poured my tea, set up my laptop, had my newborn sleeping, and had been working for a good hour when the telephone rang. It was my four year old's school. He wasn't hurt. He was hurting others and I needed to go pick him up. I hadn't smoked since I got pregnant almost one year ago, but all I was able to think about at that time was a cigarette. And a glass of scotch. I don't even like whiskey, but it sounds dramatic for 12:30 pm.

I didn't do any, instead I put my baby in his Baby Bjorn (which I hate, but that belongs in another post), drove to the school crying hysterically, picked him up without a word (I probably should have talked to someone, but keeping my tears behind my sunglasses is all I could do by then) and I drove back home, letting the tears go down again. Actually they got worse when I was told that he had to stay home the next day too. I'm sure that at six weeks postpartum hormones are responsible for my reaction, but you have to admit that having your son expelled from school at the tender age of four is quite shocking. Where does he go from here? Straight to juvenile, and then jail? Will this stay on his academic record? What the heck was he thinking? What the heck were the teacher, principal, etc thinking to let the situation escalate to this point? Is he ok? What am I doing wrong?

At that time I was just mad as hell at the kiddo. I couldn't even talk to him for the first hour. He is been in his room since. But at least I extracted some information from him. His frustration was due to the rejection he felt from his peers (I know that classmates not wanting to see your really cool Bakugan may seem petty, but for a child this age it can be self-steem crushing). Knowing that, sending him home doesn't seem like the best solution, because it only makes him feel more rejected. God knows what will happen on Monday when he goes back. If were him I would be rather angry at all those people who kept punishing him without asking what was upsetting him. Thankfully he is not me, but a much better version, and probably he will just be fine. Until then, he is grounded. In his room during the hours when he should have been at school, no TV, no candy, no playing with him.

And of course we will have a little talk with the school about their handling of the situation. I don't want to turn into one of this moms who try to justify whatever bad behaviour their kids have. I'm not. My son's hitting and kicking was not acceptable under any circumstances. But I think they handled the situation poorly, to say the least. Sending him home for the rest of the day made sense. The second day at home sounds more like a tantrum thrown by a principal who is not used to disobedience. Leaving a preschooler alone in the corridor feet away from a door that leads directly into a very busy street doesn't seem safe. Doing it four times when it obviously is making him more frustrated and nervous and aggressive without trying to figure out what's the root of the problem doesn't seem very pedagogical. I guess we have some thinking to do.

And I ended up smoking that cigarette and two more, but it was much later, when I went out with my girlfriends. And just after spending a solid hour doing Internet research and making sure how long I had to wait before nursing in order for the nicotine to leave my organism. Hopefully, I won't need to smoke again anytime soon. Unless I'm sent to the Principal's office.

Fifty Words

A long time ago, back when I lived in a small city is Spain, I used to go to the theater quite often. A very good theater festival and a father an brother in law who were in politics and passed me the tickets they didn't want helped to feed my drama hunger.

Since I moved here I think i have attended four plays. In eight years. Sad, isn't it? The last one was yesterday night, with three friends, in a very cozy tiny theater in the north of Chicago called Profiles Theater. The play was Fifty Words, directed by Joe Jahraus. The theater itself is very interesting, a tiny place, probably not more than fifty seats, each half set on one side of the stage. It makes it feel very intimate. Which in a play that gets as intimate as this one, may be too close. Specially if you are in first row and things start flying out of the refrigerator (I forgot to mention that the whole action happens in a Kitchen) and break a mere foot from your own feet. Despite the risk it involves, I still loved the ambiance it gave to the night.

The play shows us a night in the life of a married couple, in particular the first one they spend alone since their son was born nine years before. The absence of their son makes them talk about things not related to him, and the underlying problems the couple faces start to surface. Infidelity, bankruptcy, anger, frustration, all drive the action to a climatic, violent and very graphic sex scene. I won't spoil the end, since I'm not a drama critic and I don't have the right to do so. It's worth going to see it and find out for yourselves.

The performances were both good, although i found Darrell W. Cox's Adam way more credible than Katherine Keberlein's Jan. Still, she has a difficult character to perform, going from coldness to giggles to rage in mere minutes.

I just hope this turns into a regular outing, because I really enjoyed the play, the company and the night out.

La vida de los peces

When I lived in Spain (single and childless) I used to go to the movies quite often, about twice a week. Since I moved to the States, got married, had kids, that doesn't happen any longer. Which is shame, because I really love film. But nowadays, I watch more children's movies in the theater than anything else. That's what makes occasions like yesterday special. About to give birth any day, and knowing that going out won't be an option in a while, I went to watch a movie from the Chicago Latino Film Festival with some friends. And it was great. From time to time I like a movie so much that I become sort of obsessed with it: I constantly listen to the soundtrack, research the director/actors and recommend it to everyone. My last addition to that list is La vida de los peces. It's a Chilean movie by young director Matías Bize (I want to think he is young because we were born on the same year). And it was great from start to finish, the setting, the characters, the performances, the screenplay, the music, the rhythm. If a drama can make me laugh hysterically, it has to be good. And there were hilarious moments in the plot, probably bizarre moments from an American point of view.

It tells the story of Andrés, a journalist who travels around the world and goes back to his native Chile after ten years. There he meets his old friends, and his former girlfriend, with whom he is still deeply in love. It is a great love story, and a very realistic one. Most of us are cowards regarding love, to scared of losing security over it. That's the lesson here, if there is one.

But apart from the great screenplay, technically is a very good movie. Bize manages to create an atmosphere that doesn't end up being claustrophobic even though the whole movie happens in a house. But the way the camera follows the characters around the rooms and garden, and the use of the focus and lighting makes it look like a magic underwater world.

And on top of everything else, and without wanting to sound frivolous (let's blame it on my nine months of pregnancy) the actor ho portrays Andrés, Santiago Cabrera, is as hot a s they come.

I hadn't been so impressed since Io sono l'amore, which I watched last summer. They share some common elements, and a topic, but at the same time couldn't be more different.

If you can, watch it. It's absolutely worth your time and money. I just wish Spain would produce movies as good as this one.

Da blizzard... or so they say

I have lived in Chicago for seven years, which means it's not the first time I hear about apocalyptic weather conditions, whether they are thunderstorms, tornadoes, rain... This time it's a winter blizzard, apparently monster size. I have spent all morning tracking different news pages, plus the University where I teach and my son's school. By now I know that De Paul is closed at least until Thursday, while my son is still in school. And all I can think about is a big fat chocolate cake from Bittersweet. It is one of my favorite cake shops in Chicago, and they have the most luscious velvety moist bittersweet chocolate cake I have ever tried. So yes, weather services, I'm going to brace myself, and while I wait for those flurries to come, I'm going to drive there on my way to pick little L from school, and get one. In case we cannot leave the house in the next couple of days. A pregnant woman shouldn't deny herself a craving, don't you think?

Family unfriendly Grounds

I'm mad. Very mad. Have you ever felt like you should have made a fuss about something and you didn't? Well, I did that today. And I have been left feeling like I should have punched the guy in the face. You know, that's my mama grizzly bear coming out. I was with "not that little anymore L" at Family Grounds, a local playground/coffee shop, when he was grabbed by the owner, walked across the room to where I was in a very violent manner, aggressively scolded, and left in tears. Regardless of what happened before, that kind of behavior is unacceptable from someone who works in contact with children. Whatever the kid is doing, you never grab a kid like that, especially if the kid is someone else's. On top of that I have trouble believing his accusations. I didn't see what was going on the exact moment before he brought L to me because the room was so packed that I couldn't see across it (probably too crowded, actually). I'm sure something happen, I'm not the kind of mom who thinks her son is a constant angel. But I find it hard to believe that he was banging other kids's heads against a wall. That would be a first for someone who calls me when another child pushes or hits him. The fact that he also accused him for interrupting his guitar performance endless times makes me even more hesitant. He had to stop twice, and the first time it was for no good reason. A girl grabbed a bongo from L's hands and he took it back. But of course the guy dropped his guitar to grab the toy from my son in return. Let's remember that this in an adult who should be trained in dealing with kids. Grabbing toys from them is a great way to teach through example. The second time was when the incident happened. I guess that, actually, if you don't want to be interrupted, you shouldn't perform for kids. They are not a calm and quiet audience.

Needless to say, I will never go back nor do I recommend it. A pity, since is one of the only places where you can take your kids to play in the cold Chicago winter. But since I don't think it is safe anymore, I won't go back. I don't think little L would want too, either.

Dream

I have a dream, and my dream doesn't include skyscrapers and one hour commutes to work. My dream happens in a house in the mountains, back in Spain, which happens to be my parents house. In it, my husband and I decide to turn our lives around and go back home to take over my parents land, to become agricultors and follow the steps of my father, who had to retire six years ago. In my dream my kids run free on the backyard, and build castles with straw. They pick apples from our apple trees, and help me grow tomatoes. They go to the mountains to pick up mushrooms in the Fall, a Christmas tree in December, flowers in the spring, berries in the summer. They are happy and healthy and always surrounded by family.
For now, it's just a dream. But I know it's possible: that's how i grew up. And the older I get the more I miss it. For now, I will keep trying to convince my husband (an actuary who doesn't really like the countryside and maintains that he cannot live without a decent amount of pollution) that it's a good idea.
Don't get me wrong, I love Chicago, and I love the USA. But I miss my family a lot, and my parents cannot travel here for medical reasons, which makes my stay here more difficult every year. I will keep reporting on how my campaign goes. Wish me luck. Because sometimes, dreams come true.

Mexique

Mexique
1529 W Chicago Ave

Here goes my first restaurant review. I owe everybody a warning: I'm neither a trained cook or journalist, just a plain aficionada. I guess in Chicago I could be considered a foodie, in Spain I would be considered normal. I like food, from the garden to the table setting, including the cooking process. And I feel at ease when I'm in my kitchen. I'm at my happiest. Which is how Carlos Gaytan must feel at his, otherwise his food wouldn't be as good as it is. I dine out often and there hasn't been a restaurant that caused such a good impression in a long time. The first thing being the space. From a Mexican-French restaurant you either expect your usual colorful decoration or some old fashion French. Mexique is none, it's a long sleek space, decorated with gusto and care, minimalist without feeling cold. It made us feel comfortable since we entered, despite the fact that our toddler was with us. They seemed kid friendly and accommodating from the beginning, which is welcomed in the quality restaurant circuit, where so many people are uptight at best regarding kids.
Our server was prompt to take our drink orders and bring them to the table. We were there for brunch, and the offerings were varied and original, as well as fulfilling. I order the Huarache de carne asada, and it was delicious. Riquísimo. The most tender carne asada I have ever tasted on a soft corn masa infused with rosemary. It melted in my mouth. And the chef respected my wishes. I like my meat well done, and he managed to do it without charring it or making it loose it's tenderness. Not an easy accomplishment, I can tell you. And the creme brulee we ordered for dessert was soft and delicate, as it should be, with a very fine cape of caramel con top. I loved it and I'm not a dessert person. I can't wait to go there for dinner. Hopefully, it will be soon, because the place is a keeper. Try it, because they deserve to stay around. And definite;ly bring your kids.

Restaurants

For a long time I have been writing random posts about parenting in this blog, and sometimes I review music or films. With the Fall approaching, and the purchase of my first lap top one month away, I would love to start doing this more often (now that I actually go to the movies :)) and add restaurant reviews. I have been looking around, and if I have found restaurant critic focused on kid friendliness, the subjects were family restaurants. I respect them and like them, but we like food too much to limit ourselves in that way. We have always liked cooking and eating out, and we included little L in our outings at the tender age of 2 months. Of course, we waited half a year to offer him food from our plates. Only in rare occasions he stays at home, like when we try to go on a date. Otherwise, he has been in Mexican, Indian, Italian, Chinese, Japanese, Ethiopian, Peruvian, German, French, Thai, Spanish and American restaurants. And in all of them he found something he liked. And it didn't come from the kids menu, from which we rarely order (why? It's basically Mac & Cheese and Chicken nuggets). At the age of three he is an adventurous eater who will try pretty much anything. His only pickiness is that he doesn't like cheese. But for me it was an acquired taste too, I didn't like it until five years ago.
Bottom line, I think it's totally OK to take kids to restaurants. But some restaurants don't agree, but don't worry, in the Chicago and Vitoria area, I will try to figure that out for you.
I'm also thinking about starting a blog in Spanish. Why not? I'm already taking two jobs, trying to go back to graduate school and taking care of my toddler and husband, so why not add something else in the mix, to give it a little shake? We'll see.

La Furia Roja

"¡Campeones, campeones, oé oé oé!" This is one of the chants we sang to the top of our lungs on Sunday. The other one would go "¡Yo soy español, español, español!" or ¡A por ellos, oé, a por ellos, oé!" And when Iniesta score the goal that gave us the victory I cried. I cried because we won, and I cried because as we did I was able to jump up and down wearing the Spanish national team's T-shirt, and scream "¡España!". And I was able to do all of this because I was in a bar in the middle of Chicago, 5000 miles from home. Back there, I would have never dared to do it. Where I come from, you don't display Spanish flag. You don't scream "¡Viva España!". You don't sing pasodobles. You don't walk down the street wearing your red and yellow T-shirt. You don't usually celebrate the victories of the national team. Where I come from, there is a beautiful land full of wonderful people and some snakes. And those snakes made it unbearable for me to live there. I don't want to live in a place where I cannot say what I think, as much as I miss it. I love going back there, because I haven't found yet a region more beautiful than mine, the Basque Country. If you haven't been there go without fear, it's an amazing experience, don't get me wrong. I love it, and because I love it so much it hurts even more that some people would say I'm not Basque enough. I am. But I am Spanish enough too. And today, still in disbelief like the rest of the country, I smile, because I was able to see on TV Spanish flags being flown in my hometown. That freedom made me happy. I hope we learn some more lessons from those humble kids who made history today. We need more Casillas, and Puyols, and Iniestas, and Villas, and Xabis and Xavis, who don't care that much where they come from, they just want to play well and defend their colors. And maybe, after they win, kiss their girlfriends.

De McDonalds y libre albedrío

Libre albedrío is the Spanish equivalent of personal choice, individual responsibility. We all know what McDonalds stands for in any language. Or don't we? I read in disbelief in the Chicago Tribune that several associations are trying to ban McDonals from giving toys with Happy Meals, and they even want to retire Ronald McDonald. How stupid are we getting? Do they really think McDonalds is responsible for childhood obesity? No, my friends, I don't think so. McDonalds doesn't put a gun on your head and make you eat a Big Mac. It's a choice you make. I make it some times, for that matter. My son loves the place, and we go once a month or so. I'm perfectly fine with that since he eats at least five pieces of fruit every day, milk, meat, fish, vegetables... He eats pretty much anything, and that's why I can go to McDonalds occasionally with a certain piece of mind. On top of that he is a firecracker who spends his days running, swimming, playing around... and yes, watching some TV.
The problem is not TV itself or big fast food chains. The problem is the amount, and that's within our control. The problem is the Big Mac followed by the mac and cheese, followed by the chicken nuggets followed by seven hours of TV. I have been extremely surprised to see how the same people who ban their kids from eating candy will serve them for dinner a gooey serving of the orangy stuff, or just pop processed food in a microwave.
If there is something I didn't adopt from the American way of raising kids, is the nutritional part. Since he was 1 Little L has eaten from whatever we eat. By age three, he eats pretty much everything but cheese, is adventurous about trying new exotic foods, and even helps me cook and plant vegetables and flowers. I want him to know where his food comes from. I was raised in the Spanish countryside, so I always did. And it does the trick. They will eat what they cook. But for that being possible, the parents have to cook in the first place. And stop blaming McDonalds for all of our culinary sins. I would be happy to post easy nutritious recipes that don't cost a fortune. And you can find cheap fine produce in many places, from Trader Joe's to Pete's to Mexican markets. Just give it a try. And enjoy your occasional Big Mac, Whopper, or the likes.

Of soccer and friends (two equally important parts of Spain's national identity)

First, don't call it soccer in front of Europeans. For us, it's football. Fútbol. And Spain lost today. Luckily, I didn't watch the game on my own, I had three nice guys with me, Little L included. It would have been worse to watch all alone. You have to understand that in Spain fútbol is more a religion than a sport. Even if you don't like it, you will know a bit about it. It doesn't matter where you come from, whether you are Catalonian, Basque or Castilian, you have watched your fair share of games. And when the Spanish team plays, you root for them, unless you are an extremely radical nationalist. So I did today, holding my red scarf, and smoking at ten in the morning. It was too early to drink, a shame considering how I needed a drink. But it says in page number 37 of the mommy rules that you don't drink while watching your kid. At least not until lunchtime. That's the other thing about seeing the game from far away, the time frame, even if you watch the game live, it's very different. Fútbol goes well with beer and olives, not pound cake and coffee. But I watched, feeling even more Spanish from the other side of the Atlantic. And I suffered. And I got upset. But we still have two games to go. And hopefully more friends with whom we can watch them.
Which takes me to my second topic of the day. Friendship is extremely important to your average Spaniard. Again, it doesn't matter which region we come from, we are gregarious people. Maybe the bond is deeper in the north, but all over we move in groups. We even mate in groups. There is nothing like American dating in Spain. There, you go out with your friends, and if you meet a guy you like, you will see him at the end of the night. If you really really like him, you'll have coffee or watch a movie the day after. And if you are lucky, it may eventually evolve into a relationship.
Today I had the chance to spend time with a friend I hadn't really talked to in a while. And boy, did I miss it. Some of the best moments of my life were enjoyed with friends. I ended up bonding with my husband thanks to one of them. And when my newborn was sent to the NICU, it was my friends who were there for me. Not to talk about the many long classes they made more enjoyable, the wild nights out, and all the cries of youth. I've lived with and through my friends. And today more than ever, I miss every single one of them. Most live abroad, and three of them are leaving Chicago this year. Which saddens me. Hopefully, I'll meet some new ones, I'm not the quiet type. But today, while I look to the east into the sky over the lake, I'm reminded of how much I would like to be able to pick up the phone and call someone seven hours ahead of me. It's this time of the day, too late for Chicago, too early for Europe, when I feel the loneliest. So from here, I make a toast for them. Os echo de menos.

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