Sometimes you can have it all

...and sometimes you can't.

That has kind of been the holidays for me this year. For some reason, even though there has been so many great things happening around me, I've just found the holidays very lackluster and even, dare I say, disappointing.

Here goes.

Thanksgiving. I had that fabulous idea of going to Seattle for Thanksgiving. 8 days sounds really good on paper. But, when you live it with a non-sleeping, teething toddler in the worst stage of separation anxiety, you have just turned an 8 day vacation into 8 days of motherhood hell. Don't get me wrong. I absolutely loved seeing my family and a few close friends, but it really just reminds me how much I miss my other home. I miss how I feel going to church. I miss the conversations with my sisters and best friends. I miss watching my nephews grow up. And, as much as I love my little girl and would go to the end of the universe and back for her, she didn't give me a second's rest or break nor did the people who miss watching her grow up get to enjoy time spent with her.

December. Work and home have just been challenging. I won't say terrible or bad, although sometimes I would like to find the nearest bridge and take a plunge, but I digress. My students are challenging and I'm yet to see the fruits of my labor. AV, like I mentioned is magnet baby and is attracted to all things me. She has also decided that cribs are overrated. Why sleep in a box when you can stretch out in Mommy and Daddy's bed. Why go back to sleep when you can scream bloody murder and wake the whole neighborhood? So, with challenging days and challenging nights and me being a person who thinks 10 hours of sleep a night is just an okay night, I was left really drained and ready for some Christmas traditions.

Enter Christmas cookies. Seriously, it's like I don't even read my own blog (I'm probably the one who reads it the most. Weirdo.) Why do I attempt to bake? I know it leads to disaster. I know it does. The Hickey family is full of Christmas cookie baking maniacs. That's all there is to it. We get together one Saturday in mid December and bake. and bake. and bake. We're talking like at least 6 or 8 different kinds at a minimum of 2 dozen a pop. Lots o' cookies. So, why wouldn't I just half some of those recipes and do it on my own? My cookies turned out disastrous. And that might be an understatement. I had to put an entire tray under water and soak them all night because not a one of them was going to come off the tray of its own accord or even the gentle (or not so) nudging of the bigass barbeque spatula. That night was my Christmas meltdown. Ramon came home to find me sobbing over a tray of what would have been thumbprint cookies. They were likened more to pancakes and I was a mess. All I could say was, "I just want it to be Christmas."

I turned off the oven, left the kitchen a mess and went to bed at 8:45. In my long winter's nap, it occurred to me to stop trying to make Mexico Christmas like Seattle Christmas. It's too warm, it's too sunny; it's to Spanish-y. It's just not going to happen. Why not enjoy what Mexi-Navidad has to offer and celebrate the fact that I can do one without the other. So, on the 24th, we went to mass at 8:00, had dinner at 10:00 and AV went to bed at midnight on the ride home. She was amazing (until about 2:00 when occupy mommy-daddy bed reared its ugly head). Christmas morning we were up at 7:00 opening presents, like we should (according to me). I made eggs and sausage and cinnamon rolls and we had our friends over for Christmas brunch. We spent the day together as a family and it was just fine.

The word that has been coming to my mind the past few days is ABUNDANCE. It's what I have such a challenge recognizing. The abundance of blessings in our family. Abundance of health considering two weeks ago we weren't sure if Ramon's aunt would still be with us for Christmas, and now she is not only still with us but is out of the hospital and on the road to recovery. Abundance of joy that we have a beautiful and healthy child who loves us and who we love. Abundance of wealth as we spend our first of many Christmas mornings in our own home with food on our table, clothes on our backs, and presents under the tree.

Although, Christmas wasn't "Christmas" as I know it or expected it to be, it has brought me to a greater reflection of what I need to spend my time and energy creating. I need to create an atmosphere around me that recognizes the abundance of blessing that are showered on our family, both immediate and extended, every single moment of every single day.

With that, I don't exactly know how to give the holiday salutation. For me, it wasn't especially "merry" nor was it as joyous as it should have been. What I can hope for is this, for all of you, a year of abundant blessings for you and yours.

Cheers.

Making Minnie

Minnie Mouse.

Ana is obsessed. A day does not go by without many conversations about Mickey, Minnie and their friends. I use this to my advantage most days by getting AV to eat, do, pick up, etc just about anything because, well, Mickey Mouse would want her to.

Halloween. A holiday where parents take complete and total advantage of the fact that we have utter wardrobe control for a very short period of time. Child, you will wear what I say you'll wear. No questions asked.

Enter "The plan." Now, when it comes to Ramon and me, I am just about 99% of the time the ideas person. Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I come up with pretty stellar ideas. But, when it comes to fabrication and general follow-through, I lose some awesome points. Step in, Ramon. And you will see why.

It could be why I love him. It could also be why I hate him.

The mission that we chose to accept as any doting and unknowing first-time parent would, was to turn one tutu (my idea), one meter of red polka dot fabric (that I bought), and one piece of black foamy (I have no idea what we call this product in English. I only assume it's called foamy. I learned this word in Mexico.) into one Minnie Mouse costume (Enter Ramon).

This was the beginning. I gave myself bonus points for knowing that I should measure something, probably use a pencil and have all of my materials in the same place. That is about where my self-crediting ends.

I feebly attempted to bring my ideas to fruition. My husband very generously let me fail miserably. I think mostly because he was interested to see what disastrous confection I would create. The result was not, in fact, a Minnie Mouse skirt, but is a very nicely hand-stitched red polka dot square that could morph easily into a quite dashing sleeve. I don't understand how it happened really.

So, Ramon offered a suggestion. Why don't you cut two equal pieces and then all you have to do is sew the two pieces together. Sounded intriguing. I tried that idea. It was worse than my first attempt. At least my first attempt was able to be un-sewn and used again. My second attempt was nearing complete and total disaster land. The good thing about this was that I found it hysterical. If you don't have a sense of humor, you don't have anything, right? The other funny part is that I really thought that I would be able to do it. Kind of like how I think I should be able to paint like Bob Ross, or paint the nails on my right hand.

So, I let the architect take over. Ramon quickly fashioned a compass (like the tool that makes circles not the tool that tells where North is) out of a pencil, a needle and a piece of string. He went on to make a pattern out of old newspaper consisting to two perfect concentric circles. Then he spent approximately 12 minutes cutting out those perfect circles. He used every single needle and pin possible to perfectly attach his pattern to the fabric and then spent approximately 20 minutes cutting the fabric without one single string or messed up cut. (Not something I could claim as a success) Then he let me sew it together. What a guy.

He went further, though. He glued and wrapped, centimeters at a time, a purple headband, so that it could become a polka dot headband. He made perfect ears and glued them on. He sewed little white buttons on her leotard.

I made the bow. I think I'm going to write that again. I made the bow. Feel free to tell me how awesome it is.

And her little face made it all worth it. My little Minnie. I love every little inch of her.

"Sorry"

I don't know how or why over a month has passed since I shared with you my disasters in the kitchen. Actually, I do know how. The deal is this, when it comes to either spending time blogging or spending time vegging with my husband or child, the latter always wins. It may also have something to do with the fact that my computer is not so much a computer anymore as it is a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse machine. Ah, the joys of an 18-month Mickey-obsessed munchkin.

So, to sum it up, I'll say "Sorry." I put sorry in quotes not so much to quote my own speech but to seamlessly lead myself into what I will bless your eyes with today. The use of quotes in Mexico. Or should I say the "use" of quotes in Mexico. Or better, the use of "quotes" in Mexico. Or, best yet, the use of quotes in "Mexico."

I love it. Love it!

I usually find it both amusing and accurate.

Case in point. At school this year, the staff has been gifted with a special parking lot. And by parking lot, I mean that we may use a small portion of the soccer field from 7 am until 2:30 pm. The sign outside the grass with some crookedy spray painted lines and illegible numbers reads: "Estacionamiento" para personal. Translation: "Parking Lot" for staff. See what I mean? Both amusing and accurate. It's not so much a parking lot as it is a "parking lot."

We now live in the grand pueblo of Cuautlancingo, Puebla. Home of the Volkswagen plant, a haven where no pot hole or speed bump will be turned away, and where the tricked out lights of the three-wheeled cart taxis can confuse even the most experienced Mexican driver into believing that a UFO is heading straight their way on a dark road. But, I digress. Around the corner from our house is a little shack (and by shack, I mean shack) that sells Birria "de res." Birria is a spicy soupy broth with shredded beef. So delicious. However, I don't know exactly how I feel about it being made from "beef." "Beef" like cow? Or "beef" like there might be some roadkill in there?

How about this one? Tiendita "Harry's." Now is it Harry's store? Was it once his store and is no longer? Do we just call him "Harry" but it's really not his name? I don't know, but I'm intrigued.

I also love when you go into "Harry's" store (if that is your real name) and there's a sign on the counter that reads. Please pay with "change." "Gracias." From "Harry." Now, what is "change?" Shall I pay "Harry" by paying it forward and making a difference? Or is "Harry" now mocking me with some sarcastic "Gracias?" Does the real Harry even care if I pay with change or is it some Big Brother speaking as "Harry."

Weird. Funny. Another reason to love it here.

"Thanks" for reading.

Red Velvet Cupcakes

AKA, Nasty brown volcanoes.

AKA, One more reason I shouldn't bake.

I don't know when I will learn that either baking at high altitude is not something I'm good at, or just baking in general is not something I'm good at. Either way. Disaster in the kitchen once again.

Ramon's birthday was August 18th. Being the loving, creative, and oh so good looking, wife that I am, I thought that I would put my creativity to work in the kitchen and make him a red velvet cake. Then I realized that I don't have round cake pans. I have everything, except that. So, I decided, oh how adorable would cupcakes be? Right? Wrong.

First issue. Apparently you need like 2 tablespoons of red food coloring. Apparently in one of those boxes of colors, the whole, entire, every last drop of the little squeeze bottle, only adds up to about 3/4 of a tablespoon. Apparently this is not enough for the cupcakes to turn red. They just turn like a turdy color of brown. De-lish.

Second issue. Apparently even if you use a high altitude recipe, that does not, in fact, give you a recipe for success. The batter tasted delicious, albeit ugly. The cupcakes went into the oven and started rising beautifully. Oh, I finally did it! was my overly eager thought. I walked away. Maybe that's the problem. Because, when I came back, I found volcanoes. What had once risen had now sunk. What's that phrase, the greater the height the harder the fall? I don't know, but that's what it looked like.

I kind of, and I use kind of verrrrrry loosely, saved them by filling them up with lots and lots of cream cheese frosting.

Now, Ramon is no stranger to my baking disasters. He usually responds in good husbandly form with something like, "No, honey, It tastes great." This time he calmly asked me, "When you bake, do you follow what the recipe says to do?" If it weren't his birthday, there might have been blood.

As I reflected (I say reflected. You say fumed. Semantics.) on his comment, I thought to myself. If no recipe recipe works wonders with chocolate chip cookies, then maybe that's the real problem. God is telling me to not conform myself to the measuring system of this world, but to make my own way!

I tried with muffins. It worked. They're delicious. I may never use recipes again.

Or, I might just start buying baked goods...

Economy...my way.

Man. Have you been on Facebook these days? Since I can't stay awake for much more than 10 minutes of the nightly news, I have resorted to using the good ol' fb as my source for news. Did you know that there is a Starbuck's secret menu? I didn't until like 5 minutes ago.

But, not the point.

If you're like me, which is both awesome and terrifying, then you also have a pretty clear division in the political opinion part of your fb crowd. I'm talking some serious Right-ers and some serious Left-ers. I especially like it when the righters and the lefters post at the same time. It's interesting to see just how similar and different the arguments are.

Here's what I have noticed.

1. Everybody recognizes that our country needs to make some changes. If you don't see this as a reality, then you are a dodo brain.

2. No one has a good enough answer for how to get there.

Here is my logic. I have no research to support it because I'm just not that kind of girl. I likes my opinions and I'ma keep 'em.

1. If you make more money, you should pay more taxes. I don't care if you are a trillionaire, a billionaire, a thousandaire, or a hundredaire like me. If we all pay the same percentage, that's just fair.

2. Right-ers, please stop saying that the Left-ers are just bleeding heart, Robin Hood-like, edging up to Comunist, steal from the rich to give to the poor, can't understand reason, Godless, conservative haters. It's exhausting.

3. Left-ers, please stop saying that the Right-ers are religious, money-grubbing, selfish, can't understand if it hit them in the head, poor people are poor because they want to be, people haters. It's exhausting.

Our country was founded both on Christian principles and the ideal of freedom to make our own decisions. So, therefore, as a country, we should uphold those universal values (as in serve the most in need, protect life, liberty, and the persuit of happiness, yada, yada, yada) as well as make and take responsibility for our decisions.

I really honestly, truly believe that if we had a balanced budget before, we can have a balanced budget again without sacrificing either our national security or the needs of the the weakest members of our society.

Is it going to take work? Yep. Is it going to take sacrifice? Yep.

I won't ever pretend to know what it's like to run a country. Mostly because I hate that the people who run our country a lot of times pretend to know what it's like to run a classroom. But that's neither here nor there.

What is here and there is this:

1. We should never ever take for granted that we can say ANYTHING we want to about our country.

2. With that great gift, I would put on my Santa list that people would use that gift with respect.

3. Vote. We're the ones who decide who we let make our decisions.

4. Be thoughtful. The Lefters are not always right or always wrong. The Righters are not always right or always wrong. Think things through, people, pleeeeeease.

So, that's what I think. I don't expect to get a million shares or reposts, but I put my drop in the bucket.

Kerplunk.

Another Rain Story

Are rain stories getting old? Cuz if they are, maybe stop reading right now.

Yesterday was another rain storm. Like, the heavens opened up and decided to send down all of the hail and rain that they could find up there.

AV and I were inside, which I wrongly assumed meant that we were safe from the wrath of the sky. Not so.

We stared out the window at the hail coming down for a while, because, that is somehow mesmerizing and interesting to a 1 year old. Toys? Meh. Rain? Killer. When we found our way back to the living room, we found with it, water.

Water. Everywhere.

I don't know if because the rain was coming down sideways it came pouring in from under the door. I don't know if it came out of the drain in the bathroom. All I know is that there was water in my living room. And that's not right.

Agua, said AV. Thanks, kiddo. I'd noticed.

Damage control. Crisis mode. Operation Remove Agua from the Living Room. I started pushing furniture out of the way and squigee-ing as much agua as possible out the door. Unfortunately Operation RAFTLR coincided with AV's Operation Grab Mommy's Leg and Scream like Crazy.

AV's op was successful. Mine? Let's just say I'm preparing my official report on what went wrong and why. On the top of my list of errors? crying to a one-year-old about the rug being wet. Second on the list? Lack of control over tears when related to water. Seriously. I'm starting to think I may have some sort of syndrome. Rain Tear Syndrome.

Then, we looked in the back yard. Hey there, Noah. Need a place to float your Ark? Because, my back hard had a good 4 inches of standing water.

Agua, said AV. Yep, you've got that down, sweet girl. You know it and identify it in all its forms. So smart.

The buckets floating around the backyard. Now, that was a sight. Thank the Lord the rain dissipated because if it had started coming in the back door, I don't think I would have survived to tell the tale.

After the follow up Operation Clean Up went off relatively successfully, I rewarded myself with Operation Double Margarita.

All is well.

One of Those Days.

Today has been one of those Mexico days. Or maybe one of those Mom of a one-year-old days. Or maybe a combination of the two.

Wanna know why?

I'm starting to get one of two feelings. Either having a one-year-old can be a royal pain. Or I'm not a very good mom. Either way, AV is having major trouble being satisfied or appeased by anything I do. There are only a very few things I can do right, right now. They are these:

1. Make bubbles in a bucket.

2. Feed her Jello.

And that's about it. If I stop making bubbles or choose to try to feed her something nutritious, there is a long, long, long time of crying, moaning, screaming, laying down, running around. And it's quite possible that the crying, etc isn't just AV.

There have to be more things that please her. There HAVE to be. Bubbles and Tina (aka Gelatina en espanol) That's it??? Those two things are what lead me to believe that maybe I'm just not that great of a mom. How is it possible that I can keep 50 5th graders at least somewhat entertained for 6 hours, but I cannot entertain my own child?

Are there parenting books that I should be reading? Are there foods that are magical? Should I just let her play with the stupid bucket and one inch of water and a few squirts of soap and a couple clothes pegs all the livelong day even if it's raining out?

Now, about rain. I've talked about before, but seriously. Rain has made me cry more than weather ever should. My mom gets here tomorrow and we're planning a weekend out and about which means that the clothes needed to be washed today. But since the Clothesline Snafu of 2011, I can only do one load a day. Well, today, I pressed my luck. I tempted fate and Mother Nature. And I lost. Well, AV's clothes lost. Now, the Lord only knows when those clothes will get dry. It's quite possible that they will hang on that broken clothesline until we're back on Monday, and then they'll get washed again. Lame.

Speaking of lame. Mexico City's car circulation laws. Now, those are lame. If you know me, you know that I am a friend of the environment. I recycle even though it means driving my recycling across town. I don't feel goofy taking my bags to the grocery store. I don't mind showering quickly to save water. Whatev, you get the picture. We want to go into the city tomorrow because Ramon has to go for work anyway, and then head to the airport to get my mom. This will save us time, money, energy, and be a fun way to spend the day. But, I can't drive my car in Mexico City until 11 am and Ramon has to be where he needs to be by 10. What this means for the Alvarez Familia is this. Ramon has to get up super early, take a taxi across town, take a bus to Mexico City, take another taxi to where he needs to be, Ana and I have to drive to the bus station later, take the bus to the airport, Ramon has to take another taxi to the airport to meet us and then Ramon, my mom, AV and I will have to buy tickets and ride the bus back to Puebla, then drive home. Not only will our environmental impact be much greater, the financial impact will go from around 40 bucks total to over 100.

Today has made me want to scream quite a few times. I may, just may, have not been the most patient, loving mother to my little AV. I may, just may, have found myself sitting on the kitchen floor crying. And, btw, complaining is so obnoxious that I really don't even want to press publish on this post.

Sorry, better luck tomorrow. Silver lining? My mom will be here tomorrow. Yes, yes she will.