Tuesday, 18 June 2013

Alas y raíces



Los hijos son las anclas que atan a la vida a las madres.
Sófocles

There are two things we should give our children: one is roots and the other is wings.
Hodding Carter




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.
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.
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.
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.
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 – ash, 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 ashes 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.
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. Reliquias de mi cuerpo que pierdo en cada herida. 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.
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.
Me quedo con todo. El Kleenex con las lágrimas de la ecografía que nos cambiaría.
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.
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.

Friday, 10 May 2013

Otras cagadas de no tener a mi hija

pintura de Natalia Tejera

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.
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.
2. En unos años, nadie me va a acompañar al baño en el restaurante.
3. Cuando la sociedad y la gravedad decidan que tengo que volver a usar corpiño nadie me va a avisar.
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.
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.
6. Nadie me va a avisar si tengo bigote. Por años seguro que voy a andar con bigote.
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.
8. Nadie me va a preguntar si en serio es mejor depilarse que pasarse la gilette.
9. Quería una nena para que fuera menudita, chiquitita, y poder portear por años sin que me doliera la espalda.
10. Todavía tengo guardado un vestido de disfraz de princesa. Re quería poner música, pintarnos, disfrazarnos, bailar juntas...
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!!!
12. Me voy a perder a las nuevas princesas del pop.
13. Para avisarme que he sido abuela, a mí me van a llamar después.
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.

Sunday, 9 September 2012

Back and Mad


I might start writing here again. My husband and my sister will be so thrilled, all both of my followers!

My husband (hi, baby, could you bring me up a glass of water? thanks) sent me this article 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.
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 5 year old brat 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.

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.

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? 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 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.

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. Not perfect; but I preempted with that.

Wednesday, 9 September 2009

Something to watch again and again




Last night we the parents watched Some Kind of Wonderful. Rather, I bawled my eyes out and subjected Wynn to watching yet another wonder from the 80's.

Critterness is developing his own obsessive consumption of art. He subjects me to many readings a day of Dr. Seuss's ABC. 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. 

Friday, 14 August 2009

Elaine, you gotta meet the baby

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. 

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.

Throw in a onesie, you don't want to seem tacky.

Sunday, 12 July 2009

Brooke Burke is just great


I love Brooke Burke in the same nutty way I love Tori Spelling. They make birthing children a claim to celebrity statues, have rocking bodies and little husbands they keep saying how much they like to nail.

This video of Brooke and blog partner making cucumber water is precious. How many mompreneurs does it take to make water? Two! Take two WAHMs and 2.49 minutes and you got water! Reeefreshing. 

Thursday, 26 March 2009

The shortest lived blog

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.

To all who clicked me, thank you. Y un saludo para todos los que me conocen.

Thursday, 19 March 2009

The Panchu`s back

After many days without internet and boxes on the floor life looks normal again.

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.

Thursday, 26 February 2009

We all hate the cold

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.

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. 

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. 

Wednesday, 25 February 2009

My son, the artist

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. 

But I digress.

The point, is, Wynn went to Valencia and brought back Giotto bebé pencils for the critter. He's recently started scribbling away (mostly on paper) and we got super excited. Short of setting up his own atelier, 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.

Tuesday, 24 February 2009

Food disappointment

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 books 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.

Things were fine and dandy with me and Jamie - until the magazine. Obviously, as Rachael Ray 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. 

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.

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.

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.) 

The whole magazine is an excuse for Jamie to get his face out there and push push push his Jme line of flatware cookware whathaveyou. 

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.

Friday, 20 February 2009

Sunny enough. Finally.

Madrid is trying to shake off the winter.  My mom got the critter this bike helmet and Wynn attached a bicycle seat.

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!

Thursday, 19 February 2009

Drink up, little monster

I bought into the whole BPA scare 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. 

Swiss aunt to the rescue. Lucas now has a funky new Sigg 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). 

I looked into other non plastic sippy cup options. I know Born Free is BPA free, but I'm iffy about all plastics now and would rather avoid them altogether if possible. Klean Kanteen and Safe Sippy are less cute, bulkier options. And just wait, in 09 cuteness will be proven to reduce risk of cancer in laboratory rats. Foogo, 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.

Sunday, 15 February 2009

Big people books

Jhumpa Lahiri, besides being gorgeous, is a marvelous and sensitive writer. My favorite of her books is The Namesake (I know, Jacinda Barrett, don't hold it against her). Probably because I like novels - I get sad when stories end. Unaccostumed Earth is beautiful and thoroughly enjoyable. Interpreter of Maladies is great too. Oh what the hell, I love Jhumpa.  

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. 

Saturday, 14 February 2009

Stupid things we bought

There's a fine line between being prepared and being a sucker. First time parents eagerly fall into the sucker category.

We bought a little hamoc-y bath chair for the critter. It was cute as hell and, we thought, insanely important. The teeny baby would lay on it safelly for his bath. 

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. 

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).