Battle Hymn of the Mexican Mother.

It is no secret that my mom drives me up a wall.  There is no one that gets my temper so out of control as my mother.  She is currently trying to convince me that sugar is akin to rat poison and that we shouldn't even be letting Ellie have flavored yogurt.  Around this time 2 years ago she was calling me daily to inquire whether or not I was making Ellie's baby food or feeding her "that crap" from the store.  I can't remember what she was bugging me about last year.  Baby-proofing maybe?

I can't count the number of fights we've had over the years.  The intense shouting matches over the state of my hair or the wrinkles in my shirt.  If I had a penny for every time I heard, "Honestly, Natalia, what are people going to say..." in reference to my appearance, I would be a millionaire.  Now it's, "What's Brandon going to say..."

She's a master-embarrasser. She'd get into arguments with anyone if she decided she didn't like their tone.  I can think of two times in particular where we almost had a security guard escort us out of a doctor's office and an optometrist's office.  One time she almost got into a fist fight at the grocery store (granted, the lady was asking for it).

And yet, I can always count on a kiss and a hug if I need it.  She is the most loving and affectionate mother I have ever encountered. She assured me my entire life that I was gorgeous and that people were secretly jealous of me (not sure why it had to be so extreme).  I have never ever heard a mother brag as fiercely about her child as my mom brags about me.  And I have never seen a mother fight as savagely as my mom did for me if she felt I was being mistreated.  

When she was 30 she put me on a plane and moved us to a new country, just the two of us.  She left her family, her job, her friends and her language so that I could have a promising and safe future.  She taught me that life can suck but it doesn't have to stay that way. She taught me that there is no looking back - only faith in the future.  She taught me the power of prayer and the peace in the scriptures.

My mom is a unique mix of grit and granny.  She's a very talented artist.  She can paint and draw.  My best fitting clothes have been made by my mother.  She's a killer cook and the notorious "Count Kisser" (where she pretended to be a vampire but instead of biting, she would attack with kisses).  And she can knit up a storm. But she can also very much kick your ass.  Her maiden name literally translates into "warrior."

She taught me how to throw a punch and how to outsmart a bully.  She used to say, "Chin up, you're Mexican." or "You can do it, Mexicana." She taught me pride in who I am.  She also taught me that there is no reason to hold back a kind impulse, that you shouldn't take yourself too seriously and that you should always greet people as you enter a room.  She was really adamant about that last one.

It is by example that I learned that you always forgive your children.  By example that I learned that you sacrifice anything necessary for your child.  By example that I learned kindness.  By example that I learned that it's better to laugh than to cry at misfortunes. By example that I learned that you work hard - always. By example that I learned that kids need hugs and kisses and to be told just how much they're needed.  

I am eternally grateful for my mother - even the crazy parts.  There is no way on this earth I can thank her for everything she's done for me.  All I can do is pay it forward, take what she's taught me and do my best with Ellie.

Madre, te quiero mucho.  Gracias por todo lo que has hecho por mi.  

Now stop calling me a bugging me about crap.

A Lesson in Parenting

Am I missing something? Nothing in the (one) parenting books I've read does it say anything about freely criticizing your children without regard for their feelings and for your own amusement. Maybe I need to read more parenting books.

I would have included this post in the Anger Management series, except I thought it was so ridiculous and idiotic that I found it hilarious. Below you will find an honest-to-goodness true conversation I had on Sunday with my parents via Skype.

Me: Hi guys!

Parents: Hi! Where's Ellie?

Me: She's on her way, so what's up?

Dad: Are you gaining weight?

Mom: I bought you an Indian dress for Archana's wedding!

Me: What?

Dad: ARE YOU GAINING WEIGHT?

Mom: Hmm...yeah... maybe the dress won't fit after all.

Me: Really, Dad? You want to go down this road? You look like a hippo.

Mom: Hi Brandon! Natalia, show me your arms.

Thankfully that's when Ellie appeared to save us all. Otherwise I would have been sitting there like an idiot with my arm to the computer camera.

Is this just my parents? Is it Latin parents in general? My Indian friends tell me that their parents are overly concerned with their children's bowel movements so maybe I should count myself lucky?

PARENTS: I'm calling you out publicly. Give it a rest, because two can play that game.

Family Pictures, Revisited

So, my mom insisted we take family photos. Everyone cringed and tried to fight it but she would not be dissuaded. My father-in-law who is a great photographer was enlisted and off we were toward Corona del Mar.

Let me give you a little bit of context here: We couldn't figure out what to wear, we were late as is, my dad missed the freeway exit, we were about to miss the sun, the fog was shockingly thick and everyone was at each other's throats. By the time we finally got there the car was dead silent and no one was speaking to each other. But as soon as we got to the beach we slapped on our fake happy faces and pretended we liked each other. Then as soon as my father-in-law started to shoot the FREEZING water hit our feet, all was forgotten and we started squealing and having a good time. These are a few of the awkward shots of the day (good pictures are so boring, no?)

That face.

My mom explaining to my dad that he is in fact, not European.

My mom was hellbent on making us run and skip the whole time. Also, little known fact, Brandon's wingspan is longer than his height.

The men are showing their true colors in this picture. My dad being wanna-be Broadway performer and Brandon trying to be super-rasta.

Charge! That bird is actually my sibling.

My dad insisted on becoming a sort of performer during this shoot. His theatrical laugh kept making us laugh so hard.

Don't you worry, we got a few (very few) good ones. But I kind of want to get the bad ones printed. Whaddaya think?

How to End a Conversation

We recently returned from winter break in California. One of my most/least favorite parts about going back to California is seeing my parents. Most, because I never laugh as hard as when I'm with my parents. All three of us turn red and just try to hold the pee in. Least, because I'm tired of explaining to my mother that Ellie is in fact not sick/losing weight/going to have permanent bruising.

However, our most recent stay turned out to be quite civil and equally entertaining. In fact, I've started taking notes because if those two aren't blog worthy then I don't know what is. This time around, I noticed a theme. It seems like my parents (and one of their friends) are experts at abruptly ending a conversation. Seems like a handy skill so I documented a few scenarios and hope that you can learn as much about randomly ending conversations as I have.

1. Death of a Stranger
My mom and Brandon were commiserating on how long Verizon was taking to get the internet at my parent's house up and running. The four of us were sitting in the living room one night as my mom was retelling how she dramatized the fact that Brandon was having to go to Starbucks to work, for the Verizon person on the phone.

Mom: ...and then I told her that it was incredibly inconvenient that you had to go to Starbucks all the time.
Brandon: Yeah, no kidding.
Dad: I heard a story about a guy, an Iraq vet, that came home from the war totally fine but then he went to a Starbucks and sat by the window and a car crashed into the Starbucks and totally went inside and it killed him. He died.

Insert crickets. We all stared at my dad in silence for about 5 seconds and then simultaneously burst into inappropriate laughter.
Me: What the hell does that have to do with anything?
Dad: Were we not talking about Starbucks?

2. Death of a Boss
My parents have these friends, Rudy and Leah, who are dear, sweet, stern, ex-communists from Romania. They have a certain gloominess only found in Eastern Europeans. Man, they have the best stories. But that's another post. Rudy and Leah were over for dinner at my parent's place while I was at my in-law's and Ellie was beckoned so they could meet her. Being her driver, I had to go too. During dinner Leah was telling us about her favorite boss who took her out to fancy meals.

Leah: He had a great Porsche and he would pick me up and take me to the fanciest restaurants in LA to talk business and order everything on the menu. It was so much fun. And he was gay so Rudy never worried or anything.
Me: Wow, I wish an awesome gay dude would come pick me up in a Porsche and take me to fancy restaurants.
Rudy: That guy, he died. He died from AIDS.

Insert uncomfortable silence that we are all communally pretending is for the late, gay, foodie boss but is actually because there is literally nothing that can follow that remark.

3. Death Prevented by Implants
Brandon's brother and sister-in-law were kind enough to give us tickets to the Aquarium of the Pacific for Christmas this year. I took Ellie one day while everyone else was working and came back and reported that Ellie loved every minute of it including sticking her hand in the petting shark tank.

Me: So yeah, all in all it was a successful day.
Brandon: Sweet.
Mom: I heard this story about a women (not a typo, my mom cannot for the life of her get the difference between woman and women, I'm just being accurate here) who was out to sea and a stingray shot its sting thing at her heart but it got stuck in her implants. So her fake boobs saved her life.

Insert exaggerated rolling of the eyes.

Me: I'm pretty sure you made that up. I'm going to take a nap. See ya in a bit.
Brandon: Me too.

There you have it. You now know how to stop a conversation in it's tracks, make everyone in the room uncomfortable AND repel your children with your conversation. Your welcome.

Thank you parents. Thank you for being appallingly bad conversationalists. Thank you for making me laugh so hard my throat hurts. Thank you for giving me stories that will make my children laugh. Thank you for mispronouncing things so I can make fun of you.

Adventures in Anger Management: Episode 3 - Ruining All Gift-Giving Holidays

I don't think Brandon means to be the worst, I think it just come really easily to him. And don't we call something that comes really easily, a talent? But like I said, he doesn't try or anything so we can't blame him. And if we're going to measure personality traits by that standard then we can't blame me either for getting mad at him for being the worst. I really don't try to get angry with him, it just springs forth as naturally as his effortless talent of being the worst. So remember, we're not blaming anyone.

That being said, Brandon really does have a talent for ruining all gift-giving occasions. Exacerbated by his impulsive nature, making him impossible to shop for. Why wait until Holidays when he can just buy things himself? Last Christmas, I asked him not to look at the credit card bill so he wouldn't know what I got him. Yet, he did. Right around his birthday he decided he was going to buy the exact same watch I had already bought him, so of course I had to give it to him early in order to stop him from spending the money again. Those are but a few examples.

And this Christmas, instead of perhaps actually waiting for Christmas to come around and seeing what Santa brought, he was hell-bent on getting himself a smartphone. I had to put on my best serious face and tell him that I thought that getting a smartphone was a bad idea, that we couldn't afford it, and that he was just being selfish. All true. However, I'm not as heartless as all that and had already gotten him a smartphone for Christmas. I just wanted to throw him off the trail.

I told him to consider it until the new year. A few short weeks without a smartphone? But why? When there is a Verizon store down the street? And now he's working so he can afford it! Ugh. I finally had to say no. Flat-out, NO.

Those of us that are married know that each spouse has the right to veto. And we also know that those vetoes are finite. You only have a few and you should use them carefully and prudently. Usually, a final veto is used to for things like stopping your spouse from spending your retirement money on a flashy car, or naming your kid Sunshine. Yet, Brandon's impatience (and my desire to surprise him) was making me use one of my carefully guarded vetoes and I was annoyed. I was saving those for juicier things.

About an hour after the veto conversation, Brandon was pouting in the bedroom and I was reading my Kindle in the living room, trying to ignore the simmering in my blood. Then I hear Brandon make a call.

"Hi, I'm calling about two things. I want to know what my upgrade options are ("Traitor!", I thought) and also because I got a text message on my phone telling me to activate my new phone, except I didn't order one..."
I ran off the couch, Kindle still in hand, and into the bedroom.
"I upgraded your phone," I hissed. "You stupid, idiot. Argh! Merry Christmas, ya jerk."

Understanding washed over Brandon, and it took all my self-control to not throw my Kindle at his face. To stop myself I just walked away and plopped onto the couch and back into the book I was reading.

"Sorry, my wife upgraded my phone and it looks like I just ruined Christmas," he said from the bedroom.

A few seconds later, he came out of the bedroom.
"Nat," he started
"I don't even want to see your face," I told him, not looking up from my Kindle. Because if I looked, my aim would not fail, and my hand was still twitching from wanting to impale that Kindle right between his eyes.
Brandon slumped back to the bedroom and we haven't talked about it since.

Ok fine, it wasn't his fault stupid Verizon sent him a text. I thought I had covered all my bases in my attempt to surprise him but no one told me Verizon is run by teenagers and they were going to send him a text. Sigh.

Here's what it comes down to: My pride was hurt. I'm not a great gift-giver to Brandon. I'm no Leslie Knope. I do ok with other people but Brandon is just ridiculously hard to shop for. And the few, few instances I have been able to guess what he wanted before he told me, fate steps in to ruin it. It feels like what was real effort on my part is reduced to laziness or something.

But hey, isn't that what the Holidays are about? Buying stuff at the mall and hissing insults at those you love? Isn't that what makes the Holidays so cozy? The comforting security in knowing that at least one tradition will be upheld every year? I know that brings me peace. I wasn't planning on yelling and wanting to throw stuff before I got to my parent's house, but remember, we're not blaming anyone.

Adventures in Anger Management: Episode 2 - Wrath at the Sacred Grove

So last month our Branch went on a temple trip. Babysitting was organized* though not as well organized as I would have liked since I was never able to find it. I drove about an hour and a half to get to the temple on time only to have my morning kinda ruined by what turned out to be an email I never got explaining where the babysitting was going to be. I spent about 15 minutes looking for the babysitting site and never found it, all the people I would have called were already inside with their phones off. I was forced to miss the temple session.

Let me just pause and say that things like this happen and I understand, I really really do. My name must have been missed on the email list explaining the babysitting situation, accidents happen, and its ok. But the "me" in Palmyra, NY at 11:00 am on November 19 with Ellie in her arms, was fit to enter a cage match. And win.

Fortunately, Palmyra, NY is where Joseph Smith is from and thus where our church originated. There are a lot of church historical sites in little Palmyra. Down the street from the Temple is Joseph's boyhood home and the woods where he received his first vision of God and Christ. We call those woods the Sacred Grove.

I say "fortunately," because if I wasn't going to be in the temple which is God's house, then the next best thing was to be in the woods where He appeared. So Ellie and I made our way to the Sacred Grove in other to find some of calm and peace. And guess what? We did find it.

But not before I shattered the buckle of my diaper bag in a small fit of rage.

I don't know if you can really tell from the picture but one of the buckles is missing and without it I can't really wear it. It went from being a diaper bag to being a diaper clutch. It takes a parent to understand the relationship between you and your diaper bag. Diaper Dude really does make the best diaper bags and I was head-over-heels for mine.

Enter rage. Once we had arrived at the Sacred Grove site, I was pulling Ellie out of her car seat while still fuming. I failed to notice that my diaper bag was sitting on the floor of the car with its buckle sitting on the exact spot where the door was going to close. Well... I won't describe exactly what happened next (don't worry, Ellie was unharmed) but in the end I did not gingerly shut the car door. And thus I was left perfect-diaper-bag-less.

I was sad until I realized this was an opportunity to buy this batch of awesomeness:

The best part is that it's a Diaper Dude bag. So it's the same bag I had before, just slathered in cool-sauce. It came out earlier this year, but I couldn't justify buying it until now.

Maybe a little anger is a good thing?

Stay tuned for more Adventures in Anger Management!!!

Next episode: Swearing with your Toddler

*For those of you who aren't LDS, kids aren't allowed in the temple most of the time, for lost of reasons but I suspect mainly as a way of keeping the noise level down. Plus they'd just get bored in there.

Sistahs from Different Mistahs

That's a thing, right? The title sounds like a Bostonian is reading it.

I recently returned from a trip to Portland (Oregon, not Maine) where I reunited with my college roommates from my junior year - the year before I got married.

Let me tell you a little bit about junior year. It was filled with crushes, good food, laughs, some yoga, A LOT of Arrested Development, a heap of Jane Austen, Saturday morning dance parties, tons of homework, a couple of panic attacks, a few tears, two proposals, one mission call and a lot of acting in order to portray the exact happenings of the date one of us had just been on. Oh yeah, and a good helping of make-up and house paint. And that's the Reader's Digest version.

As you may imagine, it was fun-sauce.

So, happy was the day when one of us (Kristin?) brought up the idea that we should start a roommate reunion so as to make sure we don't lose each other's friendships. Last year everyone came to Ithaca. This year we all went to Portland (Oregon, not Maine). I cannot begin to express how thankful I am to have women such as these in my life. Predictably, we are all very different (as characterized by the actresses we have chosen to play us in the movie version of our friendship) but we all just fit.

I am thankful that we each make the sacrifice to fly out to wherever to see each other and replenish each other's batteries. I, for one, NEEDED the weekend I spent with them. Holy crap. I didn't realize how lonely I was until I was with people that were happy to see me. It was just so nice to have friends around me that I had earned on my own merit and not because they came attached to Ellie's friend or even church. Don't get me wrong, I've met some great girls here in Ithaca, but there's nothing like going back to the friends that knew you when you were "you" and not someone's wife or mom.

I am thankful that we are all so different because we stretch each other's minds a little bit. We might not necessarily agree with each other but it sure makes for interesting conversation. Besides having a nice mix of personalities made it so I laughed harder than I had in a LONG time. We can talk for hours and we did. One day for like 7 hours. Ugh, so good to talk about everything and anything all the while laughing.

I'm thankful for friends that accept me exactly me. Friends I know I don't have to edit myself with. Friends who remember details about my life that even I don't. In short, I'm just thankful friends who I love and love me (or is it "whom," Mel?).

Can't wait for next year's reunion.