Forgive vs. Forget

Dear Ex-stepfather,

This letter will never get to you because I am doing this for personal therapy rather than anything else. In fact, none of these words will ever reach your ears as I have said everything I need to say to you and although I hope that our paths never cross again, life probably will throw us together once or twice more before you finally bite the dust. Your daughter and son are my half-sister and brother, after all, and there are still weddings and such to think about. Besides the fact that the rest of the family is dreaming about future Christmases together. Makes me want to bark personally, but so be it. I will try my best to ake sure those Christmases are not the ones that my small family chooses to spend in the States, but if we happen to have to share them, just know that we will spend as little time together as possible. And you will have no contact with my children. My husband and I will make sure of that.

You, along with many others, probably think that these words are written in bitterness but you are wrong. They aren’t written in bitterness. As I have told you before, I forgive you. It took me a long time to get to that point of forgiving you, but I did it. Not without pain, not without stepping forward and back on it many times, but I finally did it. By the Grace of God I forgave you and I stepped into a life without you. Remember that email I wrote to you about seven years ago? The one that told you to forget about the money you said you would pay, forget about contacting me and forget about me. I told you that I no longer wanted contact with you and I told you why. It wasn’t until Jake was sick that you admitted there might be some truth to what my reasons were. And even then when you apologized you still tried to blow the reasons off like I should forget and allow us to start over.

And now you have apparently changed. And while everyone else in the family believes you and is charmed by the way in which you have changed, paid back money you owed and are actually spending time with them. And that’s great. I think it’s about time, at almost age 60, for you to clean up your relationship with your children and apologize to your ex-wife. That’s great. But I am not charmed by you or your change. I don’t want your money, not that you have offered, and I haven’t changed my mind about you or our relationship.

So stop trying to get the rest of the family involved in bringing us back together. Stop playing stupid and asking everyone else why I still hold a grudge. Because I told you that I hold no grudge against you. I haven’t the time nor the energy nor the will to harbor any feeling towards you, much less hate. I have forgiven you. And God’s grace has taken away the need for me to hold a grudge and has instead allowed me to move on and have a normal life.

Unfortunately for myself, God is not able to make me forget. He can make it so that my life doesn’t revolve around those terrible memores, he can make it so that I no longer have break downs about them, but he can’t make me actually forget.

And I don’t want to forget because I don’t want my daughters around you.

This is what you must understand: your actions have consequences. Losing me, any possibility of a normal father-daughter relationship with me along with any normal relationship with my small family, are all part of the consequences. There should be more consequences for you, honestly, truelly, you should have had to suffer for these terrible actions that you took against me, but you haven’t had any and you should be grateful for it. I am not here to threaten you. I am here to tell you: this is your consequence and this is the only one, so take it and leave me alone. Leave me out of your plans. Leave the rest of the family alone about me. Just let it go.

Be grateful that you are forgiven, but understand that you cannot be forgotten.

Not a creature is stirring…

Except for me, of course. I’m watching Pride and Prejudice. The new one. The best one ever made. And that is an opinion coming from someone who adores old movies. But the electricity between Elizabeth and Darcy is stimulating and contagious. They are such good actors. Ohhh! The scene after the church sermon when Darcy first proposes makes you want to scream, “Kiss him, you foolish girl! Just kiss him!” But she doesn’t, of course, which makes the movie continue as it should to the incredible ending that it has.

Anyway, I just finished my second cranberry scone smeared with butter and cup of herbal tea. Queenie is in bed, Principe is in Miami working 14 hour days and eating all the great food that the United States and I am scrambling to make a small scrapbook for my mother-in-law for Christmas. I have spend the day drenched in glitter and paint in order to keep Queenie busy on such a gray, cold day. Our living room door is now covered in purple and red snowflakes. Okay, okay, one is blue. There are also three “maninos”. (Snowmen in Queenie’s language.)

I have spent way too much time trying to make a digital photo album of our trip to Tuscany for Principe for Kings Day. It isn’t very much, I know, but he is also getting ski glasses as a combination Christmas/birthday present along with a long ski weekend with his friends as soon as he can organize it. Not bad, right? He claims not to have even thought about what to get me, but I am sure he will return from the States with some sort of expensive face cream or perfume. Expensive in our terms, of course!

Tomorrow will be spent making cookie dough and Friday or Saturday we will decorate sugar cookies, something that Queenie will enjoy as it is almost like glitter, just sugar and edible. Hmmmm.

There was something else that I was going to talk about here, but it seems to have slipped my mind. I guess between the late hour and baby brain I am losing almost all of my thoughts about five minutes after they pass through my mind! I should probably go to bed. My feet are freezing and I am extremely tired, but I feel like all I have done today is make that digital album three times before I got it right and reading this forum that I must delete from my computer all together so that I stop wasting time there. Really, some of the topics are so trivial and are really unworthy of my time. Others are not so much, but is there a good reason for me to visit it five times or more in a day? I think not. I need some discipline. In that and in eating scones. Tomorrow is another day and I better place half of what is left in the freezer before I end up eating only scones tomorrow and nothing else. Yes, I am still a bit obsessed with my weight gain, even though I claimed I wouldn’t be. I haven’t weighed myself, couldn’t really even if I wanted to as our scale doesn’t seem to work. I do walk a bit, but then there are days like today in which my longest walk is from the washing machine to my bedroom and then to the living room before I’m back in the kitchen getting another snack or cup of tea. I have been a bit better with snacking this week, but not as good as I would like.

But anyway, it really is time for bed. Queenie has been getting into my bed half-way through the night (my fault as I am the one who puts her there) where she grinds her teeth and makes sure I don’t try to cover her up. It is so cold out and the house, although the heat is one, is not able to get above 18 degrees Celsius (64 degrees Fahrenheit) but at night is gets into the low 50s. Outside it is freezing. But that doesn’t deter Queenie from her mission to remain absolutely uncovered in all temperatures. Stubborn little girl. When I change her diaper in the morning her feet and legs are cook despite wearing a onesie, tights and heavy cotton pjs with feet.

Oh, here comes the good part of the movie. The end. So romantice. Would it surprise you to learn that I am a romantic? I try not to let anyone know. Half the time my husband questions if I really am. I am. But more in my fantasy world than in the real world. It comes out more in my writing that in my speech. Hmmm. I’m going to have good dreams tonight…..with Principe’s face as Darcy’s, of course!

Cranberry Oat Scones from Joy of Baking

1 3/4 cup all Purpose flour

1/3 cup (65 grams) granulated white sugar

1/4 teaspoon salt

3/4 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 cup (113 grams) (1 stick) unsalted butter, cold and cut into small pieces

3/4 cup (60 grams) old-fashioned rolled oats

1/3 cup (40 grams) dried cranberries or cherries I added dehydrated strawberries and it’s so yummy!

Zest of one lemon or orange

2/3 cup (160 ml) buttermilk

Egg Wash:

1 large egg

1 tablespoon milk or cream

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C) and place rack in center of oven.  Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside. In a large mixing bowl place the flour, sugar, salt, baking soda, baking powder and whisk to combine.  Add the butter and using two knives or a pastry blender cut in the butter until it resembles coarse crumbs.  Add the rolled oats, dried cranberries and zest.  Mix until combined. Stir in the buttermilk (adding more buttermilk if necessary) and mix just until the dough comes together.

Transfer to a lightly floured surface and knead the dough four or five times and then pat, or roll, the dough into a circle that is 7 inches (18 cm) round and about 11/2 inches (3.75 cm) thick.  Cut this circle into 8 triangular sections.  Place the scones on the prepared baking sheet.  Make an egg wash of one beaten egg mixed with 1 tablespoon milk or cream and brush the tops of the scones with this mixture.

Bake for about 15 – 18 minutes or until lightly browned and a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean.   Remove from oven and then turn your broiler on high.  Sift confectioners (powdered or icing) sugar heavily over the tops of the scones and place them under the broiler.  Broil for just a few seconds, turning the pan as necessary, until the sugar has melted and turns golden brown.  Make sure to watch the scones carefully as the sugar will burn very quickly.   Transfer to a wire rack to cool.

Makes 8 scones.

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Are you overly sensitive?

I check in at an online moms forum every once and awhile…..or sometimes twice a day…..and I find many things interesting. I have been guilty of getting addicted to other mom forums but this one has kept my interest the longest, even if there are weeks that I look through and leave without reading anything. There was one post that has almost 7 pages going now on the things that we say and how hurtful they can be. I guess it is a spin-off of another post where a girl complained that her grandfather had passed and that many of her friends had not sent their condolences and how hurt she was for that.

Anyway, the spin-off post started out asking what hurtful things had been said to others who have been through rough times and asked for examples on what would have been better to say instead. And all started out fine, but, like many conversations that are not really conversations but small, typed, snippets of people’s reaction not just to the first question given but to other comments posted, it turned into people posting the nasty and hurtful things that had been said to them and getting their chance to blast those people for having said those things.

Now, believe me, some of the things posted on there were obviously hurtful and obviously said to that person just to be mean. But many things were taken in offense when it isn’t quite obvious that the person was trying to be hurtful. But the fact that these women still remembered them specifically is evidence (contrary to what some tried to say at the end of their post) that they were still harboring them in their hearts. And harboring them in their hearts basically to have a reason to be bitter or angry or victimized.

And don’t we all just love to have a reason to be THE VICTIM?

I mean, really, don’t we? In Western, developed society, being the victim is what will get you noticed. Gosh, I mean, if you had a great childhood them you must not have anything to talk, write, sing, or paint about, right? You have nothing to rant about. If you have had it “good” in this life (or at least it appears so because you don’t complain about every time you step in a puddle or someone cuts your off) then you just aren’t interesting, are you? Women are especially at fault for this. Just ask a group of women what their labor was like for any of their children and you will soon see a quiet intent to top each horror story. Either the epidural didn’t work or they couldn’t have it or their water broke at the grocery store or they almost didn’t make it to that hospital where the incompetent staff made a mess of their birth or they got sick afterwards or almost died or their child almost died or the food was just bad or the stupid day nurse wouldn’t let you have regular coffee, blah, blah, BLAH! I am at fault for this. Just a few months ago someone asked me where I gave birth here in Madrid and how it was. I told them the hospital and said that overall things were great there. She looked at me in horror and said she had given birth at the same hospital and had a TERRIBLE experience. My first reaction was to explain myself and give more details about the trauma I had in almost getting a C-section because…….! Then she went on to give me more details of her TERRIBLE experience while I regressed into my thoughts, regretting I had added more to my original comment.

See, I am trying not to be a victim anymore. It isn’t easy, but I am trying. I am also trying not to take offense to ever little thing that people say to me because taking offense gives me more room to victimize myself, something I am tired of doing and just want to stop.

But it isn’t easy.

It isn’t easy not to relay my life experiences in a way of playing the victim at times. Come on, it’s nice to feel validated that you have had it rough at times, right? Of course! The hardest times not to make yourself the victim is when someone else is and their story “isn’t half of what yours is” ….but I’m trying not to do that.

Why? Doing so in the past actually led to me resenting my inlaws and almost hating them. “Getting it off my chest” by complaining about their poor tack or what I thought was lack of compassion for my mothering style didn’t help, but only fueled the fire. It reassured me from the inside that I had a right to be mad, that I had a right to want them to back off, that I HAD A RIGHT…..etc!!!!! This ended in a shouting match in which I put my father-in-law in his place (“the first time anyone has ever yelled at my father,” my husband told me in a sad voice) and made problems between my husband and me. And while if you ask me I would quietly tell you that I do not regret telling him the words that I said, I do regret the way in which I did it, yelling and stomping through the house and practically slamming the door on the way out. It was childish and rude and wrong. But I had allowed all of their comments to be harbored in my heart instead of brushing them off with a quick prayer. And although things are better between my inlaws and me now, and I do give credit to my words at that time, I do know that they were harshly surprised and hurt that I thought that way about them.

So, after having long discussions with my husband and after apologizing for my actions to every member of the family I realized that I needed to change something. And the only things that I was able to change was myself. So I decided to walk in love with not only my inlaws but with every stranger in Spain who doesn’t think I should be wearing my baby in a sling or rocking my toddler to sleep or breastfeeding past such-and-such a date or gain so much weight, etc. First, I tel myself that I am choosing to live in another culture where people are more open and honest about their opinions. Second, they don’t know me from Adam nor I them so why should I care what they say? Third, I can choose to be offended or choose to blow it off, or even choose to feel sorry that this person feels that way.

You see, I think being offended is a choice. A choice many of us have to make on a daily basis. I certainly do when I am with my mother-in-law. She and I are just so different. But that is just it. I don’t think she is saying these things to be offensive. Like many people, she is just talking or trying to be funny or just trying to find something to say. Sure, there are times when she is also trying to get a point across without being too harsh and still comes across harsh. Sure. But then I do that too, apparently. Just reading through the forum post on this subject I realized that I am guilty of probably hurting or offending quite a few people in my life when I was just trying to be funny or talking just to talk. But because we don’t know what that person is going through or what possible trials they are having, etc, it is easy to offend or hurt without trying to. And it is almost as easy to show some grace and choose not to be offended.

I guess my lesson learned is that perhaps we should a) Listen a bit more and talk a bit less B) Smile, consider that the person who just spoke was not trying to be graceless, heartless b**ch.

How to get gooey chocolate on your newly clean clothes

Try making your Christmas cookies while catching up with the last month’s laundry, that’s how. Then think that you have cleaned yourself throughouly enough to try getting that ironing done only to fine more blotches of chocolate before you learn your lesson. I think my two year old is quicker at learning than me.

I still think that I can do it all and then some. When I obviously can’t. Just look at my blog and my non-existant Christmas letter and no as yet non-existant Christmas pictures. In fact, just try and find a Christmas dress hanging in Queenie’s closet because you won’t find one. Not yet. Today we were supposed to get one. But last night she stayed up until midnight playing with three other children before literally asking to be put to bed and woke up at 7:10 as always. Apparently she was an angel for Principe as I went ot the gym in the morning but as soon as I got home she turned on the water works. All she did was whine. And whine. And ask for food, then not eat it and then whine some more. So I put her in bed. And she fell asleep. But why doesn’t she whine to her father for goodness sakes? It is apparently the mother’s plight to be the go-to whine person for children, which is so frustrating. Especially when they do it in front of the thier abuelos who they were “perfect angels for before you came home”. Seriously. Why do kids have to be like that? I mean, I know why, I guess. The mother is the nurturer, the one who feeds them, clothes them, gives them medicine and puts them to bed. Even when the father is super involved the child wants mom when they are sick or overwhelmed with sleep. I know. But it doesn’t make it feel any better to have people try to point out that you are the cause for your child’s sudden temperment change!

Ahhhh. And Christmas is coming. Which means two whole weeks of living at the in-laws house. Awesome. Well, it should be better than previous years because I am determined to be in a good mood, to smile, to NOT take offense and to walk in love, love, love. And the fact that I am getting bolder in saying, “No thank you, I want to go for a walk ALONE. I know you don’t understand that, but I NEED it. So thanks for offering, but no thank you.” Yes, it should be a grand Christmas indeed! That is, as long as I get around to buying those presents…..that I haven’t even looked into buying yet….!

If you think we are basically good, just watch a toddler

Do you believe that we are basically good or basically bad? Most likely if you are a Christian you automatically say that all humans are basically bad. Why? Because it says so in the Bible. That is the most common response. And while obviously I believe that because I believe in the Bible, I have many friends who are either athiests, non-religion believers or of a different religion and most all of them believe that we are basically good. I mean, no one really wants to believe that they themselves are evil at the core.  Right? I mean, really. I’m not a bad person, am I? And surely you aren’t a bad person. We all get up in the morning  and try to be the best we can be….usually. We try to be good parents, good spouses, good friends, good, good, good.

But are we really that good?

When I thought about this for some reason in the shower (I do my best debating there!) and started forming a discussion in my head the image of my daughter on the playground suddenly came to me. I think we can see the true human form in young kids on the playground. The pushing, the shoving, the yelling, the taunting, the hitting, the discrimination, the outright meaness that happens on the playground is enough to convince me that we are basically bad. We are bad, bad, bad at heart.  We are impatient, we care nothing for the other person in front of us or behind us, we only want to show off, have fun oursleves without really caring if anyone else is having fun. Without really caring about anyone but ourselves.

But what about the good things that young kids do, you ask? What about the kisses that they give their mothers and fathers? What about the fact that they want to please their parents, well, most of the time? What about that?

See, I think that all the good things that we are come with the training that we recieve. And I bet most of you do too, really. How many times have you heard that you must discipline your toddler well if you want to have easier teenage years with them? I’ve heard it a million times and now I see what they were all talking about. Seriously, if you let your toddler do whatever the heck they want to do and try to reason with them instead of disciplining them (I don’t mean spanking. I’m not much for spanking. What I mean is, if you child takes something from another you make your child give it back. If they hit another you make them apologize and them possibly even take them home, all the while telling them they want be allowed to play if they act like that. …something along those lines, anyway.) you aren’t going to get a very good result. What you will get is an adult that thinks he/she can do whatever they want. And that isn’t really true, is it? There are rules to follow in life, mostly rules that keep us being good and from not following our bad core.

Don’t you think?

Pecan pie

All I can think about right now is pecan pie. To the right that I don’t even want to be writing on here right now, I just want to be chewing a big bite of gooey, crunchy pecan pie. We are onto our third pie this week. Thankfully the first pie was shared with many people, but the second one was eaten between me, my mother and my husband. And now so is the third. Except that my mother left today, along with a large piece of pie, but left 2/3 of said pie with Principe and me. And I want it. I need it. I have to have it. Unfortunately for me I will be able to see my spreading ass in the reflection of the gallery door as I cut said piece of pie and then will notice even more how my thighs are rubbing together more skin that is usual when not pregnant and will generally feel bad about myself for not having gone to the gym for two days in a row. But the pecan pie will help me feel better, I think. At least until I have to get naked to have some sexy with Principe. But I can always turn out the lights and he will be too preoccupied with my breasts which have doubled (not much to double there, but they HAVE doubled) to notice my ass and thighs. So here goes. I’m going in. I’m eating the pie. Really, someone has to eat it. Queenie won’t touch it. And I would just get jealous if I let Principe eat it all. Besides, it wouldn’t be good for his diet!

Turkey Day preparation

Okay, okay, Iknow that today is Turkey Day, but here Principe doesn’t have the day off so we always celebrate on Saturday. Besides, my mother comes in tomorrow.

Anyway, my preparation is starting today and includes:

1. Make corn syrup. Not that I have anything against corn syrup, it’s just that they don’t sell it here. The sugar-water is boiling now.

2. Crack pecans open. I’m getting a few blisters from it, but I don’t mind. Takes me back to me childhood and the Texan pecans that used to be sent up to us from my mother’s cousins. I’m just grateful I can find pecans here. No Spanaird I know recognizes them as anything.

3. Broil pumpkin. Yep, you got it, no canned pumpkin here either.

4. Figure uot how to make everything gluten-free. Mother has celiac disease. She is bringing some flour to help with the preparations.

5. Find a good turkey breast recipe. For the four of us, we are only doing a breast.

6. Clean the bathroom.

7. Mop the floor. Although, I’m sure it will need to be mopped after dinner preparations.

8. Figure out how to get Queenie to use up her energy with all of this rain. Should be raining all weekend. Sweet.

9. Try to get my inlaws not to show us when they haven’t been invited. They were invited to come on Sunday because we make Thanksgiving an “only us” holiday. But they misunderstood and planned to come Saturday. I think I straightened it out though. I hope.

Poopy diapers

This past weekend Queenie learned to wag her forefinger in front of her face as she said, “NO!” Man, can she say no with definition and authority! She will make a good mom. Maybe that means I’m being a good mom? Hmmmm. I’d like to think so even though I got frustrated today that my two year old didn’t understand how to turn her handle bars to the LEFT, NOT THE RIGHT! Then I had to step back and remind myself that she doesn’t know what I am saying much less why I am getting frustrated. Perhaps that is why she only rode it half-way through our walk and then didn’t want to get back on…..But I made up for it by letting her watch two cartoons while eating lunch. Yes, I’m a good mommy….!

Anyway, the point of this post is to ask: Why is it that toddlers don’t want their poopy diapers changed? Is it a control issue? Is it just to push mama’s buttons since they always seem to poop just as you are trying to get out the door? This morning it took about half an hour to get Queenie’s absolutely purtid diaper off of her. The first time I asked her to get a diaper she said “NO!” and ran away laughing. Then I came after with a diaper and she used her new trick of finger wagging at me. Why do I bother asking her you want to know? Because many times she will come after a few minutes and get it changed. She is at the point now where she won’t sit down if she has poop, but she will still run, bend and slide down the slide. When I have to wrestle her down it usually becomes a frustrating mess and I normally get poop where I don’t want it. So, I ask.

But today asking didn’t work.

Neither did pleading. You should have seen me. Had you seen me you would have thought that I lived to change poopy diapers. As if I wake up every morning jumping for joy that another 24 hours has passed and I once again get to wipe nasty, spongy feces from my daughter’s butt. Not that I mind it. It is in my job description. But I am definitely not one of those who volunteers to wipe any other child’s butt. Not even nieces or nephews. My MIL is. In fact, all of the brothers have made fun of her for it because her enthusiasim is such that it make you suspect that she likes the smell. Now, I know it isn’t that she gets pleasure from smelling the waste product of what her grandchild ate the day before more than she likes having a moment or two to herself with her grandchildren where she can sing and play without her sons making fun of her. I get that. What I don’t get is her informing me later about the quantity, color and texture of said diaper. That I don’t get. Nor do I understand why I would want to know or why she looks. I don’t look. I immediately wipe down with the diaper as much as possible and wipe said butt as quickly as possible. I don’t want to know how much there was or argue about what it means to have chunks or for it to be yellow instead of brown. Apparenlty this was all very important 30 years ago when her children wore diapers.

Digressing…..

I finally got the diaper off, got no poop on the floor, although I did get it on my hands, and finally into the garbage. And then my kitchen smelled. So we went outside in order to throw away said nastiness. But, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I have to say that I am grateful my daughter chooses morning time to do her business in order to allow me time to throw the garbage out before it makes my kitchen smell like a landfill.

What a weekend!

As you may have noticed I don’t usually get to blog on the weekends. Not unless Principe is either working or I wrestled the computer out of his hands and promise him some silence during his soccer game whilst I rapidly blog something out before he asked for it back in order to make a bet on the game. Yes, he bets. We can get into that later….

If I had blogged on Friday before or during spending 3 hours in the ER with Queenie the tone of my blog post would have been a bit depressing, yet still optamistic. If I had blogged after the ER visit it would have been tired and I would have spent much of my time complaining about the long wait since there were only 7 kids in the pediatric waiting room while raving about the good organization of Gregorio Maranon in making a separate waiting room for possible Swine flu patients. I might also have mentioned a small worry that I caught something anyway in the 90 degree waiting room since my throat was scratchy. If I had blogged on Saturday morning I would have been optamistic. Until around 12 o’clock when the 3 vanilla cake came out of the oven and immediately fell to about 1 centimeter thick. The post at that moment would have been blotched with tears. Saturday night I wouldn’t have blogged since I would partying with my two year old daughter and one year old niece along with 7 other children who brought with them their two parents. A grea time was had by all. And the cake ended up working out. Quite a success even if it wasn’t what I had envisioned from the beginning. But with a lot of frosting people will eat anything!  See the picture? Yeah, I’m great, I know. But what you don’t know is that Friday afternoon I had spent 6 hours with a whiny child trying to make the bottom and top layer of the cake. The chocolate, strangely enough, turned out light and fluffy and wonderful. The vanilla, the recipe I spoke of before that takes forever and a day to make, fell flat. So I made another one from a tried and true recipe. It finished just as we decided to take Queenie to the hospital for an ear infection. When we came home it was about a centimeter thick also. I almost throw a knife through the gallery door. Instead I contented myself  on slamming the dishwasher door a few times since it wasn’t working either and ate  my Cherrios in dissapointed silence. Principe convinced me to go to bed and make another one in the morning. It was 2 am by that time.

We all woke up at 9 am after a very bad night of sleep and I immediately set off to make another cake. I had just enough ingredients left and was excited that THIS TIME IT WAS GOING TO WORK. Why I didn’t think of just making another chocolate I will never know. Stubborn, bull-headed grandma in me.

And the cake fell flat. I cried. And cried. And tried desperately not to smash a glass into the floor. And cried a little more. Queenie saw me and hugged my legs. Principe hugged me and said he was sure I would make it work and where was the grocery list of the things we need for the party?

I made it work. And only served the chocolate part to the guest. The decoration was the hit, really, and the frosting since Spanairds don’t use frosting. All four pregnant ladies at the party were delighted. But this pregnant lady is now stuck eating half-raw cake that is chewy and too toasted on the bottom to be called cake really, but tastes like vanilla so it is sort of okay. But I am stuck doing this for another 2 cakes since Queenie won’t touch it and Principe claims he is on a diet as he finished off his second beer of the night. If only I could throw food away…..instead I eat it and get fat and then complain about how two of the pregnant ladies at the party were in their 38th week and looked amazing! Really, one had only gained 13 pounds and the other had gained 16. I smiled and complemented them, but really jsut wanted to scream and dunk their heads into toilet water. But the music at the party (oldies from our childhoods) made my temperment a bit more controlled and sweeter than it would have been after the trying day. On the other hand, the party was a hit. Did I say that already?

Of course, then there was Sunday. The morning was filled with us wiping Queenie’s snot leaking nose and putting together her tricycle. Many swear words were screamed by Principe as he is not a tinkering sort of guy and has a hard time putting things together that require tools. But it was finally together and the water main was turned back on (did I mention it was turned off for 3 hours without warning? Awesome.) and we hauled ourselved outside to take our sick child for a walk. She rode her tricycle to the park but had to walk home. We lied and told her grandparents she rode it all the way there and all the way back.

Sunday evening was spent with my SIL and niece while the brothers played padel. I was promised up and down by Principe that he would take care of Queenie while I went to the gym, but since she wasn’t feeling well by 8pm he asked me to stay and put her to bed. By 10pm she was sleeping. The gym closed at 10.

And today my throat hurts. But really, besides all of this the party was so much fun. So many people came and it went on for about 4 hours. The kids all got sugar highs from eating too much Nutella and cake and suckers. Queenie didn’t eat anything except for the green sucker next to the lion on the cake. Wouldn’t touch her cupcake. And it had to be the green one next to the lion. What a strange child. After the party she ate a plain scrambled egg and drank a glass of water. Wouldn’t even touch the potato chips at the party. Antibiotics do strange things to my daughter.

Two years old and half way there

This last Sunday my little girl turned 2 years old. When I had a moment to be with my own thoughts I spent the time thinking back to that very day two years ago as we greeted our little angel and then one year ago as we celebrated her first year. I sat in the car, on the way to her abuelos’ house, sifting through my memories and trying to come up with the clearest pictures I could. Then I moved on throughout the last two years and thought of all the things that had changed for us, for the better, and then I thought about the years ahead and all the things that await us.

I love birthdays. I think I’ve said that before. I especially love birthdays for little kids. Even if they don’t understand why you are giving them special attention, I love giving it to them, spoiling them rotten all day long. I love the joy that spread over Queenie’s face as her daddy gave her a small bag of gummies that she doesn’t normal get to have. I love her, “Oh, WOW!” exclamaition as she realizes that the very large, pink box is for her to open. I love her saying, “Yum, yum, yum” as we place a piece of cake in front of her. And I love laughing as she only eats the decorative blobs of pink and green frosting and leaving the rest in order to go play with her cousins. I love the fact that she doesn’t actually have many toys and so has been playing nonstop with her miniature kitchen to the point of not wanting to go to bed because that means she has to stop playing.

Birthdays are the best. The cake. The day of being special. The day of no chores. I love birthdays so much that I selfishly didn’t want to share my Queenie’s day with anyone else. Mostly because they don’t celebrate birthdays (normally) as I would have them celebrated, but Sunday went really well and I couldn’t have asked for it to be anything different. With only 4 hours of sleep under our belts (from spending a long night with friends) we woke up at 8am in order to be at my in-laws house where Queenie had spent the night. (First night without her. Principe made that decision at 4 in the morning, for which I was quite angry, but I got over it by morning. Sweet ol’ me!). My brother-in-law couldn’t understand why we didn’t sleep in longer, but, besides the fact that Queenie needed her medicine, we wanted to see her for her birthday and give her a present. Plus, there is the fact that everything is always pure choas in this family and the earlier you get to one destination, the less stress you feel. And I needed as little stress as possible that day.

Queenie oohed and ahhed over her large box of puzzles and was generally in a good mood. The most interesting thing is that so was her mommy. I was in such a good mood that with only 4 hours of sleep I was able to brush off my mother-in-law’s comments like they were feathers, smile sweetly and then just turn away. I wasn’t very talkative all day long, but I was in a good mood, which is the most important for me. Otherwise……the inlaws get to me in a way that spoils not only that very day, but those following that day. But that is for another post….

We went to eat together, 18 people in all, to celebrate all of the cousins’ birthdays that we had missed. We ate too much, then brought out the cake, sat all three of them down, sang Happy Birthday twice as more cameras flashed than at a movie preview and ate more. Queenie, as I said before, barely touched her cake, her girl cousin had a grand old time shoving her piece bit by bit into her abuelo’s mouth, but my precious, little nephew ate almost all of his! He tried being patient as his father fed him with a fork in order for him not to stain his new clothes, but soon had his own fingers into the gooy chocolate, enjoying every sugary bite with a huge smile on his face. Nothing could have made me more proud (well, except forr my own Queenie to be as enthusiastic about my baking as my nephew!). As I said, the day was a success. It was perfect.

And today, two days later, we got to see our next little one at 20 weeks old gestationally. The doctor told us everything was fine; heart, liver, stomach, kidneys, ten fingers, ten toes, etc. He said he saw no more risk in having Down Syndrome and in fact said that he was pretty sure there was no extra chromosome. He looked through our papers and told us that our 1/233 chances is low risk for him and told us not to worry. Not that we were worried. We weren’t. Just curious. And after a month of looking at blogs about kids with Down Syndrome and families who are blessed with these extra chromosomes I wasn’t sure how to feel about the news. Of course the main thing is that this little one is healthy and strong and growing at the right pace. And of course I am feeling blessed to have a “normal” child. But no matter what category my child falls into, I would still feel blessed. Know what I mean? It’s hard to explain, but I guess I am saying that I feel strange celebrating the fact that our baby does not have an extra chromosome, because we wouldn’t have loved her any differently.

….Did you notice I used her? Yep. That’s the other news. Although the doctor admitted that with the baby only showing us her butt there is still a small possibility that it is a boy, he is pretty sure that we are having a girl! Now onto to names and getting through the next 20 weeks in order to have more birthdays in the future!