We knew we wanted to mark the occasion. R's family is rather large when you consider aunts, uncles and cousins. For space and because July weather is iffy, we needed a tent. Here's the inside... And the elephant dress that Ely's grandma made her for her Elephant-themed party. The elephant fun straws that I meant to give to the kids as favors and only remembered to give away about three of them.... The perfect plate that gave fuel to my elephant-themed party idea. Ely's grandpa working hard to save the "fondant" (which turned didn't turn out to be fondant-y at all. What can I say? I got cocky thinking I could pull that off. Finally got the frosting on the cake and topped it off with a bow... and the refreshments...
The one (modified) sign Ely does is “all done”. We didn’t get much further than that. I wish she’d sign “water”, “juice” or something. Then again, I wish she’d DRINK water, juice, or something! Signing “more” would be nice, but a "point and pant" gets her point across just as efficiently.
To be honest, I don’t see the purpose of signing “please” and “thank you”. Sure, they are important words to SAY and we model them, but signing them? I’d rather her concentrate on learning something else.
There’s all sorts of “If you teach them to sign, they’ll never talk” out there, especially for babies in a bilingual environment but, I try to disregard any and all “If you…, they’ll never…” advice, anyway. ( I cross-my-heart-hope-to-die, she’s not going to go to college waking up to nurse, sleeping with us, or wanting to be carried.) Our decision to stop signing at “all done” was based on, well, honestly, nothing besides a lack of need.
So, we happily sign “all done” and pay attention to her cues. For the most part, we communicate pretty well. She’s rarely frustrated by my lack of understanding. At least I haven’t heard, “You just don’t understand, Mom!”followed by a stomp and slamming door (yet!) On her end, he seems to understand the basics: “Don’t touch.””Careful.” “Hot.” “Kiss.” “No.” “Good Morning, Guavaberry” (Oops! Did I just give away my addiction to Juan Luis Guerra?)
This first word milestone has been appearing in books since about nine months, but Ely wasn’t even close. Of course, she’s been tickilmg our funny bone by looking at us pointedly and proclaiming “Num” and other such baby words in a bossy self-assured tone since about seven months. She also said “Mamamamamamamama” and “Daddadaddaa” aroung ten months, but neither R nor I were willing to swear she knew what she was saying.
In the last month or so she has been repeating the same strings of sounds in the same context. So, we figured we were getting close. As we neared a year, R and I were expectant. Would it be Spanish? Wouldl it be English? We’ve been waiting (im)patiently.
About a week ago, the “all done” sign was complimented with “ahhhh dahhh”. We called it coincidence, until it happened again. Then, we paid attention. Now, it sometimes replaces the sign.
Yesterday, my mom was trying to show her how to get down from the bed feet first. Ely made it quite clear that she wanted to try the “head-first” method and grandma objected. (Crazy, right?) Ely was quite upset with her grandma. I picked her up to do something and as I carried her away, she gave grandma a killer look and said, “Ahhhh dahhhh” and waved goodbye. We both burst out laughing because it was pretty apparent that Ely was ordering inviting her grandma to skidaddle.
I’d say we have it! : a kid with her mom’s attitude and tolerance for frustration and a first word!! Not” mommy”, not “daddy” or “papi”, but “All Done!” I should have known! Anything taught in the context of food, sticks! She is my daughter, afterall.
So, it's been a while, a long while, since I sat down to write. My parents are here for a visit and I’d just rather spend time with them than in my head or on the computer. However, since Ely is napping peacefully beside me and everyone else has declared it a lazy day, it seems like a good time to check in.
Yesterday, we went to a kids' show for which Ely was a bit young. I knew that going in, but it was put on by a team I worked with a while ago. So, I wanted to check it out. If you have kids 2-4ish in Santiago, definitely check it out!
After the show, we headed to Epicúreo, that restaurant where the owner offered to take care of Ely while we ate in peace. We've only been there four times, but it's become a real favorite. The food is delicious and the environment is unbeatable. I don't mean ambiance. I mean environment because while the decor is quite nice, it's more than that.
There are only two waiters and, by Chilean standards, both are excellent. One of them remembers us each time and greets us as "amigos". (As proof that he doesn't just do that to everyone, he always makes reference to something that happened last time we were there.)
I tell you all this because I love the restaurant and because I had another "This is the Chile I love" moment there yesterday:
There was a little boy, 2 years old, maybe? With his face painted like a tiger. The waiter who remembers us carried him over to our table to introduce him to Ely. Ely looked at him, kind of confused because she still thinks she's the only baby in the world. The little boy was equally disinterested.
Shortly thereafter, we heard LOUD wailing. It sounded like Ely's would-be-friend was not happy. Then, we saw the little boy tiger bouncing down the front hall as happy as could be, but the wails hadn't stopped. That's when we realized that it wasn't wailing. They were roars! Tiger roars!
He was having a blast prowling the restaurant roaring at the top of his lungs... and no one was trying to stop him or even quiet him, for that matter. No one rolled their eyes. No one shot him evil looks. People smiled and accepted, even enjoyed his kid-ness.
It was Sunday lunch, a time that is traditionally a family time. So, it didn't matter that we were in a nice restaurant because kids can be kids most places and at most times in this long, thin country- not just at Chuck E. Cheese's.
After pondering for months about what to get Ely for her first birthday, I've decided:
Spoons. Spoons. and more spoons.
She loves them. She loves them more than anything else at this point in her life, I tell you.
On Thursday we met some friends for dinner. She behaved like an angel until it was time to leave and she wanted to bring home a souvenir- a spoon!
We currently have a spoon somewhere at the bottom of our bed because last night she would not let go of her spoon from dinner! So, I nursed her to sleep and fell asleep myself, which means the spoon went MIA after repeatedly hitting my forehead as she dozed off. (Maybe I should go rescue the spoon now that she's asleep in her Pack n´Play unarmed?)
Today, she carried her spoon from lunch all. around. the. mall.
The kicker: She doesn't eat from a spoon! She prefers her mush served on my pointer finger.
What do you think this is? a sign of her destiny to become an old lady with a horrible spoon collection from all the places she's visited? Do you think she's hoping to find a silver one?
P.S. I'm (semi-) joking about giving her spoons, but if I don't come up with something soon, spoons it will be!
As the topic of expanding families begins to emerge among my mommy friends, the "Can you ever love a second one as much as you love the first?" question arises with regularity. The experienced moms among us usually say, "Yes, but you love them differently." It's much the same with countries.
I love the USA because it's the place that made me who I am. It's the place that holds all my childhood memories. It's the place where neighbors know and look out for each other. It's the place where kids whose families have helicopters go to the same public schools as kids whose families struggle to make ends meet (and the kids don’t care who has what!) It's the place where a person's word means something. It's the place where sweets taste as good as they look. It's so many things...
My great love for my homeland doesn’t diminish my love for the land where my daughter was born. I love Chile because it's the place where I became an adult. It's the place where you can enjoy life and if that means being a little late sometimes, it's okay. It's the place with ferias and whole streets dedicated to selling one thing. It’s the place where the majesty of the Andes reminds us of how very small our problems are. It's the place where people are allowed/encouraged/expected to take time out from their day to nourish themselves and spend time socializing as they partake of the sacred right to almorzar (eat lunch). It's the place where those who have the least are the most generous. It is so many things…
(Disclaimer: I’m well aware that “Santiago no es Chile”. To be fair, the metro DC area is not the USA, either. Let’s just say that my examples refer to my experiences and not the whole country.)
I’ve had two “This is the Chile I love” moments lately. The first was reading this blog entry, written by a dear friend who captured a slice of Chile perfectly. Domingo is Chile in so many ways.
The second, was driving up San Pablo after this morning's soccer win. The street was flooded with people wearing red, waving flags, tooting horns, jumping, screaming, and overflowing with joy. The beat of the drums jostled every bone in my body and the street was alive! This is the Chile I love. It's not the sparkles of Sanhattan or the flawless new highways; it's this, when Santiago shows the world that it is not "Latin America-light”, that I fall in love all over again!
All of this re-infatuation makes me wonder how Ely will feel about her two countries. Will she even feel like she has two? Or is the USA just the place where mommy's from? Will she feel like she “belongs" in both places? or will she struggle to find a place for herself in either one? Which will feel like home to her?
I hope that she will achieve what I finally have. I hope she loves each country the same, but different. Azadeh Moaveni said it so perfectly in Lipstick Jihad: “I resigned myself to never saying goodbye, because I now realized that I would perpetually exist in each world feeling the tug of the other.”
I learned a lot in college, most of which I can’t regurgitate on demand anymore, but it’s all there somewhere. One of the few lessons that I remember clearly was from the Marketing section of the dreaded COB 300.The professor was talking about qualitative marketing research, specifically the Product Diffusion Curve .
I remember this lesson clearly, not because the concept was so ground-breaking, rather because I could identify where I fell (and still fall) on the curve, immediately. I, my dear friends, am a faithful member of the late majority. While I’m not necessarily a follower by personality, I’m not a trend-setter, by any stretch of the imagination.
My dear husband, however, is a card-carrying member of the early adopters for all things technology and automobile related. He’d love to be, and sometimes is, an innovator, but he shares most purchasing decisions with people who are waaaay behind him on the curve (me at home, his family at work).
Whenever we’re about to make a big purchase, our differences are really brought to light! It drives him crazy that I go with tried-and-true and I get sleepless about his love for the new-fangled and sparkly.
This particular episode of “one spouse frustrated, one spouse sleepless” began a looong time ago when R started bugging me hinting about getting a bigger car.I tried to fend him off and was successful for quite a while.
Then, about two weeks ago, he cranked it up. His technique was impressive. It really became apparent how well he knows me because if he’d said, “I think you should get a model car that’s just being released.” I would have told him where to go with that idea. But, step-by-step he talked his change-resistant, uncool, late majority wife into it.
We compared, contrasted and test drove until we came back to the car R had (in retrospect) been mentioning throughout the whole process…the new Chevrolet Cruze. And here it is…. Wait for it… He was right! It was the perfect car for us. So, for the very first time in my life, I became an early adopter!
I’ve had the car in my possession for less than 24 hours, but I’m so much more excited than I ever expected to be about a car. This afternoon, I had a moment that made me love it even more:
I was driving home and decided to try out the CD player (yes, CD as opposed to MP3 or whatever the cool kids are listening to these days. Remember? Late majority!) I dug out an old CD and sang along (horribly off-key, of course) to some of the romantic, country songs that I used to listen to in college. I used to listen to the words and think, “I’d like to have that some day.” Only, this time around, I got all giddy, butterflies in the tummy (There’s a ten month old in the house, we say “tummy” around here.), and I realized I do have that!
It was an especially cheesy moment when I realized all over again how lucky I am to have R. He knows me so well (and loves me anyway! Crazy man!) Even if he can use that knowledge to “work” me, that’s not a bad thing when he has my best interest at heart and I get a new car out of it! It’s pretty priceless to not only love your husband, but to be in love with him. It’s also pretty darn nice to feel that new love sensation (almost) five years into a marriage. It beats the heck out of the new car smell!
On a semi-related note: R is pretty in love with the car… Kinda makes me doubt my rank on his list of loves... I know the list includes: Ely, me, his “big black truck”, new models of cars, and technology but I’m not sure in what order. Maybe it’s better not to know. Hey, I’m happy with Top 5! Ooooohhh, but what if soccer is in there too? I could be in trouble!
As a child who grew up taking extended-family summer vacations on Lake Winnipesaukee, taking swim lessons, being a (less-than-stellar mediocre) member of a swim team (what can I say? I’ve never been much for athletic competition), and with a dear friend who had a pool in her back yard, water was an important part of my childhood. I have priceless memories involving water.
It was not by accident that I was comfortable in the water. My mom started taking me to swimming lessons, cutely called Bitty Baby Bubbles when I was a bitty baby and continued on with me into Buster Baby Bubbles. (Considering the clumsiness that has been and remains my faithful life companion, I’m pretty sure the latter would have been a better name for what I’d been doing all along!) Then, there were years and years of swimming lessons after that (Tickle, T, Pull anyone?)
So, when Ely was born, or rather when I found out I was pregnant, I just knew I’d take the babe to swimming lessons as soon as possible. In fact, when R and I were going through finances when we decided I’d stay home with Ely, I’m quite sure I told him, “ I just want to make sure we’ll still be able to do swimming lessons and things like that.” (At least I have my priorities straight, right?)
I’m happy to report that my little mermaid had her first swim lesson on Tuesday. She, along with nine other adorable babies clad in bathing suits and ridiculous swim caps, took the plunge. Most of the babies really loved the water and all of the moms loved the lesson (but not the equally ridiculous swim caps we all had to wear!).
The teacher did a nice job of getting the babies progressively more comfortable in the pool.We sang lots of fun songs, one that was particularly catchy: “Tengo una casita, muy linda y chiquitita. Si quieres entrar, tienes que soplar” (I’m pretty sure R has had enough of my off-tune rendition of that one!)
It was all fun and games until… the part where the babies were supposed to go under water! I knew this was coming, but I didn’t expect it at the first lesson. The first baby under was Sam-the-Swimming-Super-Star. He did an awesome job! While we applauded him, my stomach wrenched.
As a mom who really tries to respect my daughter’s personal rhythms and timing, I was really conflicted: She seemed totally comfortable with the lesson up to that point, but I know from bath time that she’s not a big fan of the whole water-on-the-face idea. Yet, I didn’t want to underestimate her or let my own reservations get in her way.
So, after two solid minutes of thinking about whether to take our turn, I decided that I’d try it once, but if she didn’t like it, we’d wait until she put her face in on her own to try again. Well, this little mermaid did just fine. There wasn’t a tear or a cough and she went right back to playing with the water.
Maybe she had no idea what happened, maybe she’s just blissfully unaware of the danger not being able to breathe presents (I realizes there was no real danger at swimming lessons) or maybe it rocked her world and she can’t wait to do it again. Who knows? I’m just glad I didn’t stand in her way. And I hope, with all my heart, that this is the first step to a childhood chock-full of as many sweet, water-related memories as mine.
Ely's grandpa working hard to save the "fondant" (which turned didn't turn out to be fondant-y at all. What can I say? I got cocky thinking I could pull that off.
Finally got the frosting on the cake and topped it off with a bow...
and the refreshments...
