tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68325872214986927182024-03-06T05:44:19.376+01:00PanchuMomComments and observations from a new mom.Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-6115298511509744692013-06-18T21:55:00.000+02:002013-06-18T22:35:08.444+02:00Alas y raíces<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm; direction: ltr; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); }P.western { font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; }P.cjk { font-family: "Droid Sans"; font-size: 12pt; }P.ctl { font-family: "Lohit Hindi"; font-size: 12pt; }A:link { }</style>
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<i>Los hijos son las anclas que atan a la vida a las madres. </i>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sófocles</span></div>
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<i>There are two things we should give our children: one is roots and
the other is wings.</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/null" name="firstHeading"></a>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Hodding Carter</span></div>
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Me
estoy preparando para cuando mi hija ya no esté. La hija que todavía
sigue creciendo adentro de mi cuerpo. Mi Lunita, con su cuerpo que no
se está formando para poder quedarse a vivir con nosotros. Voy a
hacerme un anillo moldeado de la leche que mi cuerpo preparará para
ella. La leche que me va a dejar Luna. Leche que mi cuerpo va a
tardar unos días en entender que nadie la necesita. Pienso en días
de derramar leche, derramar sangre de mi útero contrayente, derramar
lágrimas sin ruido, esas lágrimas que no dejan respirar. Mi cuerpo
vaciándose sin sentido. Pero esa leche es lo que me deja Luna. Lo
que hago para ella. Lo último nuestro. La leche de las dos.
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Vamos
a hacer una impresión, en una hoja enorme, de la placenta... quedará
como el árbol de la vida. Hay que sellar la impresión con laca,
aunque a Lucas le preocupa usar tóxicos cerca de su hermana. Porque
aunque esté muerta, no quiere químicos cerca de ella. Entonces lo
vamos a hacer después, afuera, lejos de todo, de la placenta y del
cuerpo de Luna.</div>
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Una
artesana me va a hacer una medallita en forma de media luna y va a
imprimir sobre ella una huella que le mandemos del pie de Lunita.
Wynn me regaló un collar, con una lunita en oro rosa y otra luna más
grande en oro blanco cuidándola.
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Vamos
a deshidratar y pulverizar nuestra placenta. Lucas quiere guardarla
en una urna y poner encima la camiseta con un monito andando en
elefante que tenemos guardada para nuestra hija desde nuestro primer
embarazo.
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Pero
su cuerpo. Su cuerpito maravilloso y perfecto, que todavía temo no
poder parir, que no me perdono de antemano si me llegara a dar
impresión. Ese cuerpito lleno de amor que no se forma según ningún
patrón conocido. Ese cuerpo que va a ser tan chiquito, más chiquito
de lo que me imagino hoy. Ese cuerpito que sigue siendo parte de mí,
lo vamos a cremar. Se va a convertir en cenizas – <i>ash</i>, como
supo explicar Wynn - porque la queremos soltar. No quiero que mi
hija quede atrapada bajo la tierra. Una tierra que no es nuestra,
donde no hablan como nosotros, donde comen cosas que no terminamos de
entender. No quiero que el cuerpo entero de mi hija quede atrapado en
un lugar donde podríamos no vivir. Nómades como somos, no tenemos
tierra. Mi hija no puede ser parte de una tierra que no es parte mía.
Entonces la vamos a soltar. Poco después de su muerte y nacimiento,
vamos a llevar sus <i>ashes</i> y soltarlas al mar, al aire, al agua,
a las estrellas. Para que forme parte de todo, para que esté en
todos lados. Para dejarla volar, para darle libertad.
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Pero
con todo, todo, todo el resto, todo lo q nos den su cuerpo y el mío,
como testigo y recuerdo de que fuimos, de que vivió, de que fue
parte de mi cuerpo... todo, todo, lo quiero guardar. <i>Reliquias de
mi cuerpo que pierdo en cada herida.</i> Reliquias nuestras,
reliquias de que existió, de que tuvo cuerpo, de que es parte de
nuesra familia. Y voy a ser la vieja loca con el anillo de leche y
las lunas colgando por todo el cuerpo. La vieja loca que prende una
velita casera todos los días, porque las hice para el parto pero las
empecé a prender cuando Luna vivía en mí. Me estoy tejiendo una
bufanda, así tengo algo que empecé a tejer cuando estaba embarazada
de Luna.
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Me
quedo con todo. Las fotos, las muchas fotos de la panza, de los
chicos abrazando a Luna en la panza. Videos de Gaspar cantando su
canción de Lunita. Dibujos de Lucas. Algunas de las primeras
palabras escritas por Lucas, con su nombre y el de Luna.
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Me
quedo con todo. El Kleenex con las lágrimas de la ecografía que nos
cambiaría.
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Pero
su cuerpito, lo vamos a soltar. Porque solo se pueden quedar sus
huellas, los besos, lo que pasó por nosotros. Su cuerpo, que es de
ella, no lo quiero atrapar. Lo quiero soltar, para que ella esté
libre. Y para que forme parte de todo. Para que esté donde sea que
estemos.
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Y
ahora, definitivamente, no pertenezco a la tierra. Ni a esta con sus
únicas dos temporadas anuales, ni a la que me vió nacer, ni a la
que me dió a mi hombre, ni la que recibió a nuestros hijos. Ahora
sí que solo tengo lo que llevo encima y lo que respiro. Justo ahora,
que más que nunca, siento en cada mujer, cada abrazo, cada mensaje
que pertenezco, que este lugar del mundo me quiere y me cuida. Lo amo
y no es mío.</div>
Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-81566421546610531882013-05-10T20:28:00.000+02:002013-12-29T21:34:05.500+01:00Otras cagadas de no tener a mi hija<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXaV7NEOEJ0h0TIUWRLySz5-CuSuHYeDMvTDXEgHks_FJEclZ2R55vD0dNaUfclGMTnaLE5KDqmlWgE2Em6jeHm-t6644bfTU_r2iJ4MHGEw1zQG7clZs-HlHBR7bpB6LjZt1LEtqTw/s1600/mother-and-daughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxXaV7NEOEJ0h0TIUWRLySz5-CuSuHYeDMvTDXEgHks_FJEclZ2R55vD0dNaUfclGMTnaLE5KDqmlWgE2Em6jeHm-t6644bfTU_r2iJ4MHGEw1zQG7clZs-HlHBR7bpB6LjZt1LEtqTw/s320/mother-and-daughter.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">pintura de <a href="http://fineartamerica.com/featured/mother-and-daughter-natalia-tejera.html" target="_blank">Natalia Tejera</a></span></div>
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Mi
hija Luna está creciendo hermosa y chiquita en mi panza. Pero su
cuerpito no se está formando para quedarse en este mundo con nosotros, y
morirá dentro mío. Son días de magia, de regozijarnos en el regalo que es
tenerla, y de profunda tristeza. Pero también, aunque suene frívolo, hay
otras cosas que me voy a perder por no tener a mi chiquita, mi
chiquitita hermosa. Tengo dos hijos profundamente maravillosos que quiero con locura, pero
ahora que la vida me había ofrecido una hija, me doy cuenta de que
también me voy a perder de algunas trivialidades al no poder quedarse
Luna para crecer a mi lado.</div>
1. No voy a poder decir "nosotras". Nosotras vamos a ir a la pelu, nosotras nos vamos a poner bañador, nosotras también queremos jugar a
caballos.</div>
2. En unos años, nadie me va a acompañar al baño en el restaurante.</div>
3. Cuando la sociedad y la gravedad decidan que tengo que volver a usar corpiño nadie me va a avisar.</div>
4.
Tengo un montón de anillos y collares lindos que no va a poder heredar. Se los voy a tener que dejar a alguna de las turritas que se
enganchen a mis hijos. Y seguro que van a hacer Estivill las muy perras.</div>
5. Encima me voy a tener que callar la boca, y nadie me va a
preguntar sobre mis ideas de crianza, cómo fueron mis partos, si amé a
algún ex antes de conocer a papá, porqué me hice las tetas, si lo llamo o
no lo llamo. Putas, las muy putas. No me importa que ahora sean unas
niñas de unos 4 años... desde ya son mis nueras, estén donde estén-
que se cuiden.</div>
6. Nadie me va a avisar si tengo bigote. Por años seguro que voy a andar con bigote.</div>
7.
No voy a elegir vestidos de novia, flores, menú. Voy a ser una invitada
cualquiera. Y malvestida, posiblemente, porque nadie se atreve a
decirle a la suegra que ya no dá para bigote, lentejuelas y vestido años 20. </div>
8. Nadie me va a preguntar si en serio es mejor depilarse que pasarse la gilette. </div>
9. Quería una nena para que fuera menudita, chiquitita, y poder portear por años sin que me doliera la espalda.</div>
10. Todavía tengo guardado un vestido de disfraz de princesa. Re quería poner música, pintarnos, disfrazarnos, bailar juntas...</div>
11. ¿Con quién voy a ver pelis románticas ochentosas? ¿A quién le
voy a compartir la magia de Pretty in Pink y Some Kind of Wonderful? Y
Dirty Dancing!!!</div>
12. Me voy a perder a las nuevas princesas del pop. </div>
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13. Para avisarme que he sido abuela, a mí me van a llamar después.
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14. Y nadie, nadie, va a querer ser igualita a mí cuando sea
grande. Y después, jurar que nunca, nunca se parecerá a mí. Y después
darse cuenta de que sí, la puta madre, es igual a mí, mierda.<br />
<br clear="all" />Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-41807516553287892132012-09-09T17:00:00.002+02:002012-09-09T17:00:53.483+02:00Back and Mad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I might start writing here again. My husband and my sister will be so thrilled, <strike>all</strike> both of my followers!<br />
<br />
My husband (hi, baby, could you bring me up a glass of water? thanks) sent me <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/09/09/opinion/sunday/a-terrifying-way-to-discipline-children.html?_r=3&hp" target="_blank">this article</a> this morning. He was indignant. He is a much devoted dad, non-violent, a homeschooler. He is a person. He, like most, doesn't appreciate people hurting kids. <br />
Well, thing is, apparently, allegedly, some public schools in the US have gone berserk. As there is no money, or little money, and too many kids and not enough teachers, and kids do tend to misbehave, being kids and all, well ... what do you do when a little <strike>5 year old brat</strike> student misbehaves? Teachers can't be expected to deal with 30 or so of these tinies, especially if they are going to be stubborn, unpredictable and defiant. Apparently, the quick go to is locking them in the closet. Isolating them. Time out. What have you.<br />
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What you do have is a child, Rose. She is small enough to be oh so vulnerable, still trying to figure out the world, scared shitless.<br />
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Mr. Lichtenstein wrote the article. He is Rose's dad. And my beef is with him. I am not carte blanching the teacher, the school, the district or sick and twisted humanity as a whole. Those are all accountable. But Mr. Lichtenstein is Rose's dad. Why in the spinning world did it take him 3 months to find out what was happening to his daughter? <i>She started freaking out during Nemo, when the shark attacks, he says. We thought that was kinda weird, so we like totally called the school and everything. We were like hey, what's up with that, what's up with Rose? And they were all, like, uh, nothing, oh, I don't know, you know, she's like little and all, who knows, I mean, yeah, nothing. So my wife, Mrs goes by her maiden name and I were all like, ok.</i><br />
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I think the really frightening part, in social development terms, is not as much that our schools are locking children up for misbehaviour, but that as parents it takes us a good 3 months to find out.<br />
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Our four year old overheard us discussing this. He asked, what does misbehave mean? Bless his little homeschooled heart. Which is not to say that we are too neo-hippy, all loving, AP perfect to get it right every time, or to notice every little thing, although I do hope we'd notice if someone was routinely locking them in closets. But we do strive to let them be who they are. Although, sometimes not, when who they are spits on the living room floor. <i>Not</i> perfect; but I preempted with that. Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-35421391630457594302009-09-09T11:19:00.002+02:002009-09-09T15:15:41.310+02:00Something to watch again and again<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/pexeCP4gNcQ&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/pexeCP4gNcQ&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><div><br /></div><div>Last night we the parents watched <a href="http://www.somekindofwonderful.org/">Some Kind of Wonderful</a>. Rather, I bawled my eyes out and subjected Wynn to watching yet another wonder from the 80's.</div><div><br /></div><div>Critterness is developing his own obsessive consumption of art. He subjects me to many readings a day of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dr-Seusss-ABC-Amazing-Alphabet/dp/0679882812/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1252501973&sr=8-1">Dr. Seuss's ABC</a>. Thanks to my mil, we read the copy Wynn had as a child. It is a wonderful book. And if you watch the video, read in Patios, it is amazingly refreshing. You will never be able to read it without the accent. Ever again. Which is great, because when you read it three times a day, accents make it funner. </div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-15917210071833049042009-08-14T12:18:00.004+02:002009-08-14T12:29:43.142+02:00Elaine, you gotta meet the baby<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlnbJbrbbmbGLsonKzwTTbvBXREwRQ5LHvYmW_EyUpWkTp0OSRAwOQvjt8RncJRm5FZ7vvsr3LwlxJM9DC5yS_53pG7mWZ1KGiOV4RxYzB42T0AexwST2rWbaYMzLxMhKMyLLBNvoMlA/s1600-h/626985_chicken_and_egg.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlnbJbrbbmbGLsonKzwTTbvBXREwRQ5LHvYmW_EyUpWkTp0OSRAwOQvjt8RncJRm5FZ7vvsr3LwlxJM9DC5yS_53pG7mWZ1KGiOV4RxYzB42T0AexwST2rWbaYMzLxMhKMyLLBNvoMlA/s320/626985_chicken_and_egg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369762066058272706" /></a>New babies are sprouting up everywhere. As a new mom I feel the pressure to give really good gifts, thoughtful, useful, non-stupid. I've given onesies too small and returned, gee thanks stuffed animals, useless George Bush Leapfrogs. <div><br /></div><div>The best thing to get stiched up new moms and overworked dads is food. Whatever they will not need to reheat, clean up, cut up. Anything they can pop in their mouths and forget about. It has to be delicious, fibery, guiltless.</div><div><br /></div><div>Throw in a onesie, you don't want to seem tacky.</div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-63789006036699359132009-07-12T14:43:00.003+02:002009-07-12T14:55:05.480+02:00Brooke Burke is just great<object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/JhCvLmf9yr0&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/JhCvLmf9yr0&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><div><br /></div><div>I love <a href="http://modernmom.com/">Brooke Burke</a> in the same nutty way I love <a href="http://panchumom.blogspot.com/2009/02/donna-martin-procreates.html">Tori Spelling</a>. They make birthing children a claim to celebrity statues, have rocking bodies and little husbands they keep saying how much they like to nail.</div><div><br /></div><div>This video of Brooke and blog partner making cucumber water is precious. How many <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">mompreneurs</span> does it take to make water? Two! Take two WAHMs and 2.49 minutes and you got water! Reeefreshing. </div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-68196142312821529592009-03-26T15:37:00.003+01:002009-03-26T15:43:43.430+01:00The shortest lived blog<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhywJJeNbOWOim1cSaiVujt7JiJeUo02goOfKLIjW4RngFihMZs8DWXUqQAbW13uJPlS4YZrOnktUW4gIRiq2y6WfhhJZoYjywoCuCL-acX4E8Bjz7SkmGGJEc6WtQVoBjzUnAOqyaFKw/s1600-h/elefante.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhywJJeNbOWOim1cSaiVujt7JiJeUo02goOfKLIjW4RngFihMZs8DWXUqQAbW13uJPlS4YZrOnktUW4gIRiq2y6WfhhJZoYjywoCuCL-acX4E8Bjz7SkmGGJEc6WtQVoBjzUnAOqyaFKw/s320/elefante.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317506570732777106" /></a>I have been lazy and excuse-y, and the truth is my lovely little blog is taking a back seat to what I hope will be a book. I am writing. That is all I can confirm. I will pop in every now and then- bloggerstyle.<div><br /></div><div>To all who clicked me, thank you. Y un saludo para todos los que me conocen.</div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-84732817151092132052009-03-19T12:31:00.002+01:002009-03-19T12:38:29.693+01:00The Panchu`s back<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXXPNbTgNZ_AfPBMHFn6Zlqa3IN-0ffXGySGypIf7hffpoDoXiJILWU0HVVdbKEQMlkq998UrnUeB3m-4EnM4bbMgmKBdAXL4ig_NHBf64F0sHU92rOPX4oJFFjqFXyDhyphenhyphen61_MzMUbg/s1600-h/haha.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXXPNbTgNZ_AfPBMHFn6Zlqa3IN-0ffXGySGypIf7hffpoDoXiJILWU0HVVdbKEQMlkq998UrnUeB3m-4EnM4bbMgmKBdAXL4ig_NHBf64F0sHU92rOPX4oJFFjqFXyDhyphenhyphen61_MzMUbg/s320/haha.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314860960813315762" /></a>After many days without internet and boxes on the floor life looks normal again.<div><div><br /></div><div>Lucas and Wynn went for a Father's day bike ride. Little Panchu is sitting on the terrace with the laptop, a 0% beer in a frosted mug and naked toes in the sun. Happy Father's day to me.</div></div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-8757958582317917202009-02-26T14:16:00.000+01:002009-02-26T14:16:00.335+01:00We all hate the cold<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmBv9QQ-y3mzrhCuHzOE1E-3LIJgkTPlCAzyiPMjXPki3uzW0-JOI3SHp_nvyGNSBvAvoQe6XTX4IzQ-KwBSmvCt8oOkcmKI-uOqVeWbm6Vq05upxVEvcaLvkQ8N5nYkT6ayKlmavIg/s1600-h/cold.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 199px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmBv9QQ-y3mzrhCuHzOE1E-3LIJgkTPlCAzyiPMjXPki3uzW0-JOI3SHp_nvyGNSBvAvoQe6XTX4IzQ-KwBSmvCt8oOkcmKI-uOqVeWbm6Vq05upxVEvcaLvkQ8N5nYkT6ayKlmavIg/s320/cold.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305238997531350338" /></a>Except Wynn. New Jersey freak that he is, he thinks winter is for playing in the snow, calls freezing your ass off "chilly" and is actually happy in the cold dark grey of winter. I like the summer.<div><br /></div><div>Bird and fish fell in love, moved to Spain and had a child. Poor child is bundled up until he can't move by mom and taken out to play hacky-sack in the snow in baby Birkenstocks by dad. Neither is strictly true, but the critter has a cold. </div><div><br /></div><div>His baby instincts are in high gear and he is nursing a ton, hoping the wonderfulness of breast milk will ward off the cold. He has a runny nose, and we respond by blasting the humidifier and playing in the bathroom with the shower running nice and steamy for hours. Poor critter has not seen un-humidified land in days. </div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-47045393378105425782009-02-25T14:02:00.001+01:002009-02-25T14:02:01.100+01:00My son, the artist<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qi8P9NsLfrnjIhAtJILA-SzPZV3Q-7oTv2VMR1JmT2GiNaUheAjuifi6e_QNRPVZvybKSWBE3Dgf2ZSZKAIKyCy99Zb9o7OVlGR2w8ciDXvhIIWa2aOYdXNe1icX2gun9ukTbTLT4w/s1600-h/giotto+2"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 194px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qi8P9NsLfrnjIhAtJILA-SzPZV3Q-7oTv2VMR1JmT2GiNaUheAjuifi6e_QNRPVZvybKSWBE3Dgf2ZSZKAIKyCy99Zb9o7OVlGR2w8ciDXvhIIWa2aOYdXNe1icX2gun9ukTbTLT4w/s320/giotto+2" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305235623151556466" /></a>I hate when people say that. Let your darn kid be whatever he wants to be! A drawing - finger painted, at that - does not an artist make. Let him draw to his little heart's content without you labeling him. Say lovely cow, little baby, I love its purple stripes and it's so great that it's playing the guitar! Leave that pressure pushing attitude for your bum-y husband, who, frankly, could use a little shove in the right direction anyway. <div><br /></div><div>But I digress.</div><div><br /></div><div>The point, is, Wynn went to Valencia and brought back <a href="http://www.10doigts.fr/dessin/giotto-bebe-cp587.aspx">Giotto bebé</a> pencils for the critter. He's recently started scribbling away (mostly on paper) and we got super excited. Short of setting up his own <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">atelier</span>, we were happy to find something he can draw with and occasionally suck on. These pencils are safe to suck on, glide on easily for optimal critter drawing and ... they wash off faces, floor and table as well as fabric. There's not a lot more you can ask of a pencil.</div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-1751336308617820082009-02-24T09:59:00.002+01:002009-02-24T09:59:00.631+01:00Food disappointment<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLww7EaH1XdjPxnrnJ3F9nTRAk3VlY09qbL1gmIv9L55Qa98n2JW-VNeCS7XRMHWZg0-07jUA6-GhMwWOTYT00umQ7LRS8JjuHp5EvNbKWB8K53Imup0VjJpZUBUeF6w_TJxsT8Jo_Pw/s1600-h/jamie.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 162px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLww7EaH1XdjPxnrnJ3F9nTRAk3VlY09qbL1gmIv9L55Qa98n2JW-VNeCS7XRMHWZg0-07jUA6-GhMwWOTYT00umQ7LRS8JjuHp5EvNbKWB8K53Imup0VjJpZUBUeF6w_TJxsT8Jo_Pw/s320/jamie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304523462731881938" /></a>I am a big fan of Jamie Oliver. I loved every show, from when he was young with odd hair to when he got rich and cocky. His food is amazing, and his <a href="http://www.jamieoliver.com/books">books</a> are genius and beautiful. He has changed the way I think about food, convinced me of going organic, made me a more dedicated cook - which is why Wynn likes him and book by book makes Jamie richer and me happy.<div><br /></div><div>Things were fine and dandy with me and Jamie - until the magazine. Obviously, as <a href="http://www.rachaelraymag.com/">Rachael Ray</a> has demonstrated, no good can come of celebrity chef magazines. Rach you can forgive, she's not the real deal to begin with, just a loud chick with a skillet. My lovely mil got us a subscription and I loved every one of them, to the point of knowing them by heart. But, Jamie, come on, mate. </div><div><br /></div><div>Wynn was in London and brought back the first issue. First of all, relax, you can launch a magazine without calling in the big guns, ie, Ange and Bradley. Specially when the "in depth" article are ten questions answered in 50 words or less.</div><div><br /></div><div>The recipes- we know them by now. I've let it pass that the different books tend to repeat a slightly modified version of some recipes. But the magazine just rips them right off. Photographs included.</div><div><br /></div><div>Don't even get me started on the final note by wife Jools. This woman cannot make up her mind wether she hates cooking (like she claims here) or is the cook of the family (as she conveniently claims in her book, recipes included.) </div><div><br /></div><div>The whole magazine is an excuse for Jamie to get his face out there and push push push his <a href="http://www.jamieoliver.com/jme/index.html">Jme</a> line of flatware cookware whathaveyou. </div><div><br /></div><div>But, alas, there are some great new recipes, in depth feature articles on produce, gourmet city tours, cuisines. Bottom line: I won't go through the trouble of subscribing, but every time Wynn jumps the pond, I'm sure he'll bring one back. And we'll both be so happy.</div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-26884600828656706442009-02-20T08:11:00.008+01:002009-02-20T12:59:05.611+01:00Sunny enough. Finally.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzWqOGBpz7YpHV5RWoF_mT3n2q-10DCBnSLyavKDi5eRtB_JNSooDCvjsRAjuEVTqGeVMfqnfTWpF9R1AXW_oZev9bn5DEWpNGWqPUz-fSJV0cG0p2dZ9RC6c8iMx6UyQGYXASQkxopw/s1600-h/casco.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzWqOGBpz7YpHV5RWoF_mT3n2q-10DCBnSLyavKDi5eRtB_JNSooDCvjsRAjuEVTqGeVMfqnfTWpF9R1AXW_oZev9bn5DEWpNGWqPUz-fSJV0cG0p2dZ9RC6c8iMx6UyQGYXASQkxopw/s320/casco.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304775946458885602" /></a>Madrid is trying to shake off the winter. My mom got the critter this <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bell-2008-Shell-Bicycle-Helmet/dp/B000X387WM/ref=pd_sbs_sg_47">bike helmet</a> and Wynn attached a <a href="http://www.bicycletrailers.com/For-Children/Child-Bike-Seats/index.cat?viewall=1">bicycle seat.</a><div><br /></div><div>The critter loves it. He doesn't love the helmet, but he'll tolerate it once he's seated on the bike. I stopped a few times to check how he was doing, and the only thing that bugged him was my stopping. Pedal, woman!</div><div><br /></div><div></div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-48750976853014827452009-02-19T11:31:00.008+01:002009-02-19T12:30:14.979+01:00Drink up, little monster<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIqUyX0N_9_9T_Kl2EQDzGmFXo7yhBWXHdmAhMtJ1lGrwGpvLcIVJ4qAOk4PdfGsYLM9Goq4claD7yPXfPkqhUzGyEk1RVWCgz0UEfPtf2c7pTjyizT5cob9xCT3R6MFz0_PkXy-JCw/s1600-h/sigg.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 91px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIqUyX0N_9_9T_Kl2EQDzGmFXo7yhBWXHdmAhMtJ1lGrwGpvLcIVJ4qAOk4PdfGsYLM9Goq4claD7yPXfPkqhUzGyEk1RVWCgz0UEfPtf2c7pTjyizT5cob9xCT3R6MFz0_PkXy-JCw/s320/sigg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304457697558948898" /></a>I bought into the whole<a href="http://www.sigg.com/shop/index.php/en/kids"> </a><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bisphenol_A">BPA scare</a> of 08. But we only had plastic sippy cups, so the poor critter mainly just went without water. I didn't want to leave water sitting in the cup, and it seldom occurred to me to refill and offer the poor child some water. His first words might have been I'm thirsty, you moron. <div><br /></div><div>Swiss aunt to the rescue. Lucas now has a funky new <a href="http://www.sigg.com/shop/index.php/en/kids">Sigg</a> bottle. He loves it because it is so darn cute. I wasn't sure he'd be able to drink form it, since it has a sport bottle type of sprout, but he just went for it (probably cause he was so thirsty from waiting). </div><div><br /></div><div>I looked into other non plastic sippy cup options. I know <a href="http://www.babybornfree.co.uk/Catalog.aspx?categoryid=19620">Born Free</a> is BPA free, but I'm iffy about all plastics now and would rather avoid them altogether if possible. <a href="http://www.kleankanteen.com/products/klean-kanteen-sippy.html">Klean Kanteen</a> and <a href="http://www.thesafesippy.com/features.html">Safe Sippy</a> are less cute, bulkier options. And just wait, in 09 cuteness will be proven to reduce risk of cancer in laboratory rats. <a href="http://shopthermos.com/detail/TMS+B1000BL3">Foogo</a>, besides being a a funny word, has adorable stainless steel sippy cups with handles (Marcia Cross's girls have them.) These I like too. But we're Sigg people all the way.</div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-59349956990613450572009-02-15T21:56:00.006+01:002009-02-17T11:36:41.684+01:00Big people books<object width="425" height="344"><p><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/F4IAhZhMi3U&hl=es&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></p></object><p></p><p><a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/search-handle-url/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?%5Fencoding=UTF8&search-type=ss&index=books&field-author=Jhumpa%20Lahiri">Jhumpa Lahiri</a>, besides being gorgeous, is a marvelous and sensitive writer. My favorite of her books is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Namesake-Novel-Jhumpa-Lahiri/dp/B000OLK1ZE/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1234866003&sr=1-2">The Namesake</a> (I know, <a href="http://www.foxsearchlight.com/thenamesake/">Jacinda Barrett</a>, don't hold it against her). Probably because I like novels - I get sad when stories end. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0307265730/ref=s9_sims_c1_s3_p14_i3?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=1R33G4WXZ38H7XBX750E&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=463383371&pf_rd_i=507846">Unaccostumed Earth</a> is beautiful and thoroughly enjoyable. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/039592720X/ref=s9_sdps_c1_s2_p14_i4?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-1&pf_rd_r=1R33G4WXZ38H7XBX750E&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=463383351&pf_rd_i=507846">Interpreter of Maladies</a> is great too. Oh what the hell, I love Jhumpa. </p><p></p><p>Lahiri writes simple prose that conveys a detailed setting and personable characters. I suppose it is important that she writes about Indian immigrants. More importantly, she writes about loss - of cultural identity, of loved ones. There is no doom in her stories - even with the melancholy yearning for a homecoming that can never be because when one sets sail no home will ever again be able to claim us. Lahiri writes about people, with an understanding of their complexity, their love, and acceptance of the limitations that life imposes. I like these books. I wish I hadn't read them so I could read them new again. </p>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-43658384078001161312009-02-14T12:01:00.003+01:002009-02-14T12:13:46.134+01:00Stupid things we bought<p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.todobebitos.com/b2c/index.php?page=pp_producto.php&md=0&codp=2178"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 172px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYt2ug5XTLbuHe3eG9KWAaGXzRxV02YGFUe3nyE-AlhW41v6l_JW_sAyFM1ZgIYd4Uh7S8l4oCpccUO1XYmxyI5htPUS48I-a6EeWXAgPhN4-wd218gnZyvsmjwhmwJ2kCuPD5pI_DVw/s320/silla+baño+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302607993537467042" /></a>There's a fine line between being prepared and being a sucker. First time parents eagerly fall into the sucker category.</p><p>We bought a little hamoc-y <a href="http://www.todobebitos.com/b2c/index.php?page=pp_producto.php&md=0&codp=2178">bath chair</a> for the critter. It was cute as hell and, we thought, insanely important. The teeny baby would lay on it safelly for his bath. <br /></p><p>When he was small enough to use it we ended up having to fill his tub higher with water to accomodate the chair. He felt safer in our arms without the chair in the way. A week later, he got too big for it anyway. </p><p>It's now in a bag in the closet, making Wynn mad it adds to the mounds of crap we have to pack. I want to hang on to it, though. We might need it for when we have another kid - the colors are so pretty and I'm sure it will be useful. (I am a pack rat with the memory of a goldfish).</p>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-55303225132766417212009-02-11T14:59:00.003+01:002009-02-11T20:38:57.448+01:00Donna Martin procreates<p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgapB8JJfkEwn4sjZmm2yw_AVkjoep8_ZRI91GOCdo3SNW7ESaCMTO5FwUOXljdc2BWYRG1sct_9LIFVe_lvHvSIDj2xfdLjR8FMkN7Er2aF8ma4NHyJ4nVFNtU7_oSiPISreAoJXeKgw/s1600-h/mommywood"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgapB8JJfkEwn4sjZmm2yw_AVkjoep8_ZRI91GOCdo3SNW7ESaCMTO5FwUOXljdc2BWYRG1sct_9LIFVe_lvHvSIDj2xfdLjR8FMkN7Er2aF8ma4NHyJ4nVFNtU7_oSiPISreAoJXeKgw/s320/mommywood" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301539734986082402" /></a>Check out the cover for Tori's new book. Beautious.</p><p>There's something about this woman, I just cannot look away. It's like a train wreck- a needy, money-whoring train wreck.</p><p>But, the title. Is <em>mommywood</em> a pet name for daddy's hard on? Is it a lauda<em>tori</em> tale of Dean's thing?<br /></p>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-45865571082663705182009-02-10T23:18:00.003+01:002009-02-10T23:29:14.994+01:00PanchuMom disclaimer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZoDdiw34xxWbZFJofQPLUqz6yKRZ55IKyVXkRolmEqxLID6pVLlvZgWqS_TBZDEr9GLu4j-PBJUvjIPUXw_dwQcaRQYFc8jFthSKdacymqA-F9ruR0c4B2U9ZqvJ29C7_wSHWYcG_Jg/s1600-h/perfil.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 127px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZoDdiw34xxWbZFJofQPLUqz6yKRZ55IKyVXkRolmEqxLID6pVLlvZgWqS_TBZDEr9GLu4j-PBJUvjIPUXw_dwQcaRQYFc8jFthSKdacymqA-F9ruR0c4B2U9ZqvJ29C7_wSHWYcG_Jg/s320/perfil.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301296898552531170" /></a>Things around here are crazy. Wonderful and happy, but crazy. <div><br /></div><div>We're moving house - actually, my whole family is moving, in what can only be described as insane house swapping and coincidence. My mother is coming to visit/help. I'm attempting to write what might be a book while putting in my two cents in another more advanced book. </div><div><br /></div><div>Posts will come as permitted by the mess.</div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-27133194886508362122009-02-09T09:31:00.002+01:002009-02-09T14:30:28.036+01:00Sleepy time stories: co-sleeping<p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSO9js7e_hUKuF4FC63axsTnXOcW6i28_-YXoszBYVN8ed0YVWzZ19NIBCEmthN9RTozDKSSoKQrgCcLt4a_yUOkQCoBpyDa4Fo4_cLMuKegI2zAfPnBsGY42uYXXf3nTdtrKGvWpwZw/s1600-h/sleeping.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSO9js7e_hUKuF4FC63axsTnXOcW6i28_-YXoszBYVN8ed0YVWzZ19NIBCEmthN9RTozDKSSoKQrgCcLt4a_yUOkQCoBpyDa4Fo4_cLMuKegI2zAfPnBsGY42uYXXf3nTdtrKGvWpwZw/s320/sleeping.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297542932805770402" /></a></p><p>There are many benefits to <a href="http://www.naturalchild.com/guest/tami_breazeale.html">co-sleeping</a>. The main one: everyone's happy. The baby is warm, cozy and safe. You can nurse very easily during the night, which means you sleep better too. </p><p>We did the co-sleepign thing for a while. Then we tried having the critter sleep in his crib, in his room. Which worked out fine, except we missed him. </p><p></p><p><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Our-Babies-Ourselves-Biology-Culture/dp/0385483627/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1233480145&sr=8-1">Meredith Small</a> explains that "the usually recommended solitary sleep is exactly the opposite of what is the naturally evolved sleep situation for babies, and tus not what the baby really needs." This seems to intuitively make sense.</p><p>In <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Aware-Baby-Aletha-Jauch-Solter/dp/0961307374/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1233480139&sr=8-1">The Aware Baby</a> <a href="http://www.awareparenting.com/">Aletha Solter</a> share that her son slept on a mattress next to her until "he was three-and-a-half years old, [when] his grandmother came to live with us, and he was quite happy to move into a room with her." Which give way to the only hiccuo in this otherwise lovely sleeping arrangement: when do you encourage the kid to sleep on his own? And is it awkward when he brings a girl home? Does dating make the fmaily bed uncomfortable?<br /></p>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-63373618133354981802009-02-06T09:43:00.001+01:002009-02-06T09:43:00.816+01:00Mom, you're ruining it!<p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.facebook.com/index.php?lh=e3367aad219c31c64e4c600e4a97f9ec&"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 100px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbckRq8EeyGZcvi5u7FjGcWezfUwK-trs2_t_LHiec4EgFkDtNkrx9iosyR0zBj_nBl2SjIPWfQVK6O_8zBCMKT3Rn9zhxOqg7IQxrzVOUir-p3K7aB0BCQtf7mKWhapJ8mJpceoJ29g/s320/fcbk" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299422226427183570" /></a>It's the demice of facebook. It's coming. Brought on by your mothers. How did they get on it? When did they decide it was ok for them to sign up? Why do our friends keep accepting their friend requests?!!? <br /></p><p></p><p>The cool kids are going to move on to another friendster-facebook-Hi5-where in the world is-small world- what have you soon. And Fcbk will be left to thirtysomethings who just post pictures of their new babies. And you know, our moms.</p>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-57368878907537724042009-02-05T10:12:00.008+01:002009-02-05T11:41:08.903+01:00Open Letter to Jessica Alba<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP04fxukFArFWjSr7-H5QSxDc0J8AlHdNJ0w62W6fympEHhCEz1jC5vcWldjbPPsx5Gpt25PI4s7mu54tX95OIPFDuU-RiYNV_pcrT8mZB3L2t7agC8KRyFmNUN3GciCT-V8HfFZClLg/s1600-h/jess.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP04fxukFArFWjSr7-H5QSxDc0J8AlHdNJ0w62W6fympEHhCEz1jC5vcWldjbPPsx5Gpt25PI4s7mu54tX95OIPFDuU-RiYNV_pcrT8mZB3L2t7agC8KRyFmNUN3GciCT-V8HfFZClLg/s320/jess.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299258839933108034" /></a><div>Dear Jess,<div><br /><div>Congratulations on the baby and the hotness. Although, dear, you are making us look bad. And I don't mean by the hotness. So you wore a <a href="http://www.elle.com/Entertainment/Cover-Shoots/The-Changeling2">girdle</a> and the pregnancy weight velcroed right off with it. Good for you! I mean it. I wore a girdle and the only thing I got were creases on my skin from where the poor stretchy band was tightening for dear life. </div><div><br /></div><div>I do take offense on your comment on contractions, though. They feel like bad cramps!? Next time around I want your drugs. You must have had an epidural for the whole last trimester at least. And keep it coming. </div><div><br /></div><div>Contractions are not cramps, just like orgasms are not a quirky giggle. Perspective, my friend. </div><div><br /></div><div>The <a href="http://www.elle.com/">Elle </a>shoot was beautiful, your girl is adorable and I'm no hater. Just, seriously, don't be going around creating myths. Or we will all be paying for it quietly with our stretch marks and distorted female geography. </div><div><br /></div><div>Peace,</div><div><br /></div><div>Cheli</div></div></div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-61514956159254974572009-02-04T13:48:00.004+01:002009-02-04T14:08:20.135+01:00Non-stupid kid music<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjVp6WS7LaNxmcbGQ9Ji5L75pj-dpW5qswn3oYBCNSj-fXVUiXrv-eQQLvSsLLrLngHhIN1Wt9GOSOtNne1bQOwMQNjdbTV2ICaNBKttzbxcvXxvpTlE5jbjbuuWycLITZqjFiptbTA/s1600-h/music.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjVp6WS7LaNxmcbGQ9Ji5L75pj-dpW5qswn3oYBCNSj-fXVUiXrv-eQQLvSsLLrLngHhIN1Wt9GOSOtNne1bQOwMQNjdbTV2ICaNBKttzbxcvXxvpTlE5jbjbuuWycLITZqjFiptbTA/s320/music.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298927592593481922" /></a>Saturday mornings Wynn plays <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://sparetherock.com/">Spare the Rock, Spoil the Child</a><a href="http://sparetherock.com/" style="text-decoration: none;"> </a>for us. Unlike <a href="http://www.rockabyebabymusic.com/ecom2/index.php/music">Rockabye Baby</a>, which I kind of hate, it's music for kids that is cool, enjoyable and won't make you regret you ditched the pill. </span><div><div><br /></div></div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-55661889614541085072009-02-03T13:10:00.003+01:002009-02-03T13:30:26.875+01:00Not all gyms are created equal<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnZqljoqIJ01JT1Su1WVjd3snHaxHkBenu0t5QbngF1K_GM79vLV_gZPEFY5dfBGPPLRyFMUXiJTlQGtuHlWdBJJf8OBr3V8-ZDDuD_bsbFXlgYyaJTX9oo-5WaqrXFsPYSuTkUvFBMA/s1600-h/bebe+divino"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnZqljoqIJ01JT1Su1WVjd3snHaxHkBenu0t5QbngF1K_GM79vLV_gZPEFY5dfBGPPLRyFMUXiJTlQGtuHlWdBJJf8OBr3V8-ZDDuD_bsbFXlgYyaJTX9oo-5WaqrXFsPYSuTkUvFBMA/s320/bebe+divino" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298544349383354210" /></a>We checked out another baby gym today. Not great. It was more important for the facilitators to stick to their schedule and go through all their planned activities than to give the kiddos time to explore. <div><br /></div><div>During the "warm up" the parents moved their kids' arms. Moved them! They're 9 months old, they can move their own darn arms. There was free exploration of the gym time, but only for however long it took them to bring out the next activity. We must have gone through 8 different activities in 40 minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>These facilitator ladies had that 9AM on a Saturday morning children's TV show vibe, with too much fake energy right up in the kids' faces. The music was too loud. We could have been playing with kittens instead of kids for all they cared. I spent the whole hour trying to fend them off the critter. </div><div><br /></div><div>The bonchibón is taking a nap now. I'm blogging - but, I swear, I'm still a bit overstimulated. </div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-69081658008377727092009-02-02T14:30:00.002+01:002009-02-02T14:39:33.930+01:00Sucks playing alone<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/StMLx4db920&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/StMLx4db920&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-75470825406977932112009-01-30T12:38:00.003+01:002009-01-30T13:14:36.225+01:00No, Maisy, noooooo!!!!<p><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 316px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ7SDFTPhvm2dg3iL6qzg5KCkNjhDSo_bcfAENW-bCj6QNpACBypCt-abOk3t5tMLepG7BMSuIxGIFGP0ulOUyzKRuE6rHd8L5-PqyJvrJfl0YiUNx9xIy8_UE2AzM34S0qAocHo9BQg/s320/maisy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297052669704283570" />Lucas's favorite book right now is <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Donde-esconde-Maisy-Where-Spanish/dp/8495040050/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1233316286&sr=8-1">¿Dónde se esconde Maisy?</a> (We got the translation.. I know, we're lazy and horrible.) He lifts all the flaps and he gets super excited when he hears "toc toc" lifts the flap and (spoiler alert) "es Maisy!". <br /></p><p><br /></p><p>We took <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Donde-Vive-Maisy-Lucy-Cousins/dp/8495040468/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1233316423&sr=1-1">¿Dónde vive Maisy?</a> out of the library, which we haven't read as much yet but I'm sure will be equally engrossing.</p><p><br /></p><p>We read along, looking for Maisy, lifting flaps and finding that "No! Aquí no está Maisy". Every time it's "no she doesn't live here" or "no, she's not hiding here". I take issue with that. As as mother who is trying to impress the notion of "no" on her young'un I try not to overuse the word, to use it with precision and intent, not too often and not too sternly, hoping, with time, it will come to elicit specific behavior (other than mischievous smiles). I take offense that Maisy uses it willy-nilly. So we end up improvising and not reading the overused "no". Lucas gets a translated, edited Maisy- far from the original work. </p>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6832587221498692718.post-86440085374032863602009-01-29T09:21:00.011+01:002009-01-29T15:37:58.090+01:00The only book you need to read<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsg_Yd0I75NcyQIaIZnaVLvQLPht2vjGvC_LVkJRp3k1Vd3DM709iZ9Zsj34P-FfhF8zu1OSqQg8OrBVfh-8WdBNOf0MQx1D-2FAJ2EX-iZksEl33qOJ__yKxNxU3SMPb5ksWL5-xniw/s1600-h/combat+boots2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsg_Yd0I75NcyQIaIZnaVLvQLPht2vjGvC_LVkJRp3k1Vd3DM709iZ9Zsj34P-FfhF8zu1OSqQg8OrBVfh-8WdBNOf0MQx1D-2FAJ2EX-iZksEl33qOJ__yKxNxU3SMPb5ksWL5-xniw/s320/combat+boots2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296629956937026738" border="0" /></a>I am not a punk. I like Disney movies. I dress my son in gender coding blue. And for a while I hoped that Diaper Genies were "someone you hire to change your kid's diaper". Needless to say, <a href="http://mymotherwearscombatboots.blogspot.com/">Jessica Mills</a> and I are not exactly two peas in a pod. We probably disagree on most lifestyle choices. Except the ones about raising kids.<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.akpress.org/2007/items/mymotherwearscombatboots">My Mother Wears Combat Boots: a Parenting Guide for the Rest of Us</a> is the best parenting book out of the very many I have read. It is so wonderful because it encompasses everything I look for in these things: an inside look into her own parenting fiascos AND actual information. This book is well researched. There is information on fetal development, child psychology, birthing options, education and bigger political planet saving things as well. </div><div><br /></div><div>Jessica's political activist punk mama stories are interesting, funny and relatable. I am not one to be scraping off a cloth diaper, but I agree that "having a parenting relationship with a brand-new person is unique and truly freakin' sweet, fun and amazing." This book was written for "the rest of us", which might just be all of us. Don't we all want children that are free and interested in the world? We try to raise them respectfully, lovingly and with patience. And we try real hard to understand and accept when they show their own personal colors, even if it is pink.</div>Chelihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05691853111359714021noreply@blogger.com0