Faster than fast food? Try running food!

For about two weeks, I've had a huge craving for Church's Chicken. On Wednesday, Little Girl and I finally hopped on our first bus together and had our first fast food meal together. The bus ride was a hit, between watching the traffic from our high vantage point on our left and watching the man playing guitar on the bus to our right, LG was well entertained. Furthermore, she was very patient watching the other diners and the TV, whilst I plowed through my three pieces of crunchy, fried goodness. Ah, nothing like Church's!

But fast food is an enormous guilty pleasure for me, particularly in Mexico. Beyond the obvious reasons (nutritional quality, buying from a non-local business, environmental degradation, etc), fast food is even more ridiculous here. After all, paying roughly 6 USD for a meal combo isn't a terrible value for your money, provided you really, really want greasy crap packaged in cardboard (I'm clearly not judging, as obviously the urge strikes me, too). However, upon crossing the border, the price for a meal combo does not change a bit. A six dollar meal may be a fair price in the US, but here, where the price of food is much, much cheaper, paying 60 pesos for greasy crap packaged in cardboard is rather ridiculous. For this reason, US fast food chains are generally only located in the upscale neighborhoods. A happy meal is honestly unaffordable for the majority of the population.

Furthermore, the Mexican institution of comida corrida (roughly translated to "running food") makes US fast food chains appear downright vulgar. I stumbled on the comida corrida at the end of my semester at the UDLA ten years ago and promptly fell in love.

City centers are filled with small restaurants, mostly run by women, that have a set menu for the day, which is generally posted on a chalkboard by the door. For anywhere between $30 and $50 (roughly 3-5 USD) diners are treated to a noodle soup, lemonade, a huge plateful of rice, an entree such as enchiladas, fish fillet, or pork tenderloin; beans, tortillas, a few tomato slices, and a little cup of rice pudding for dessert. Not only is the food always excellent and very filling, but the service is impeccable. As soon as one's fork touches the plate after polishing off the last piece of rice, the entree is immediately brought out. Competition is tough, and these ladies refuse to lose clients to the restaurant next door.

Given this quality of "fast food" that existed long before the US chains ever entered the market, I am a bit baffled as to why these chains succeed here. I blame it on the kiddie playgrounds. Yes, Little Girl, I saw you eyeing that playhouse at Church's Chicken. And next year, I'd be delighted if you go and enjoy it while I finish my (and two-thirds of your) greasy deliciousness. But thanks to the comida corrida, we most likely will not darken the door of Church's Chicken for the better part of a year--it's just so hard to justify!

Destination: Monterrey (Paseo Sta. Lucia)

Monterrey is not much of a tourist trap, and there are many good reasons for this. It is one of the biggest industrial centers in Mexico. Therefore, large factories and pollution often dominate a drive through Monterrey. Furthermore, the city is freakin' hot. While there, I often wonder if we're not really just a block away from hell. It's that hot.

However, Monterrey boasts some nice areas in order to make up for all its industrialization and to make it livable for its millions of inhabitants. The Macroplaza (I believe it would be Monterrey's zocalo, except it stretches through the entire downtown area), is green and fresh and is bordered by nice restaurants, stores, and museums. I wish I could say more about their museums, but I know that my 4-month-old daughter would not be a happy camper if I were to introduce to her to a museum, Jill-style (aka read every word printed), any time in the next ten years or so. So I'll just look at them longingly.

But the entire Rodriguez-Douglas family is a big fan of the Paseo de Santa Lucia. The Paseo is Monterrey's canal walk. It begins on the edge of the MarcroPlaza, between the Mexican history museum and the museum of the Northeast, and winds its way for about a mile to the Foundry Park (a much nicer place than the name implies). The popular pontoon boats cram at least 20 visitors onboard for their guided tours. Given the lines for these boats, it must be a good tour, but I don't know that I'll ever experience it--the line always looks too long. Walking is pleasant though, as the canal is decked out with public art, fountains (which kids are encouraged to enter), and tantalizing cafes. On weekends, children's theater takes over a few of the sidewalks, which are thankfully wide enough to admit the stage, bleacher seating, and plenty of room for those of us who are just cruising past.

As Monterrey is so notoriously hot, the crowds really come out in the evening and at night. Families pull out blankets near the playground areas and listen to bands play. Soccer games are televised on huge screens, so many, many Tigres fans can celebrate or commiserate together, outside, in the nicest area of their city. Someday, I'll be occupying a table at one of the cafes near the entrance. Sipping a beer while watching people on the canal sounds like an excellent evening to me. Ah, Santa Lucia!

Haunting . . .

For a few weeks, we've been teasing Little Girl about her "man fascination". Whenever we're on the street, she seems to pick out the men and stare at them. While this might worry me in about fifteen years, now it's just pretty funny, and speaks well of her relationship with Mario. I've known far too many kids who are terrified of all men, thanks to the scars (literal and figurative) that the men in their lives have left them.

Often when we're at home, we find one of us holding her and the other doing everything in our power to make her smile (which isn't hard). I ask her, "Isn't it great to grow up in a house where you're adored?" But really, all babies should live in a house where they are adored. Unfortunately, in too many cases, it's apparent that not all parents feel that way.

This past week, I've been reading Empire Falls by Richard Russo. In it, he describes a character that grew up with small-time drug dealer parents.

"When John was a little boy, it had been their habit to stuff him into a laundry bag, pull the string tight and hang him on the back of the closet door, where he could kick and scream to his heart's content. After awhile, he always calmed down, and they could have some peace. The trouble with the silence was that sometimes they'd forget all about him, fall asleep and leave him hanging there all night." (pg. 403)

That passage has been haunting me all week. Yes, this is a fictional character, but real kids are put through this everyday (and worse, if such experiences can be qualified).

Normally when Little Girl wakes up in the middle of the night, I like to wait awhile to see if she can't get herself to fall asleep again by herself. This week though, I've gone in quite a bit earlier than I normally would, more to reassure myself than her. While I never say anything while in her room in the middle of the night, running in there to put my hand on her chest or hold her is my way of praying for all those kids who are living through nightmarish experiences. Would that there were more that I could do.

As it is, I'll continue to do my best to adore the little one that has been entrusted to my care.

Food Fun Fridays: Nopales

I don't eat enough vegetables. I've known this since about the third grade. But now I'm trying to do something about it (at least for a few weeks). My May resolution is made so much easier as I've discovered my new favorite vegetable--nopales!

I've loved eating nopales (aka prickly pear cactus) for years now. They've got this fascinating combination of squishiness and crunchiness. I finally learned how to cook them when Mario's mom was here in March. And recently I've found that they sell them at the grocery store all cut up. Wicked easy. (Here lies a huge reason why I don't eat more vegetables--chopping them up just seems like so much work . . . until I actually do it.)

In the US, nopales can be found in any Mexican grocery store that carries vegetables. They come with the thorns cut off already. Just rinse it off and chop into small squares. Heat one teaspoon of olive oil on a a skillet and dump a cup of the chopped nopales in the skillet once the oil is hot. Add about half a teaspoon of salt, so they don't get too slimey (and so they have some flavor). Stir them around for a minute or two and enjoy! As they're exceptionally rich in fiber, your colon will thank you, too!

Tiny Tenacity

About three weeks ago, Little Girl learned how to nap. It was a great discovery--I got a bit of a break, she woke up refreshed and smiley, and we'd all have a very pleasant afternoon and evening. But, note that I've been writing in the past tense. As of this past Saturday, she decided that she has outgrown the nap phase. Nevermind that she still falls asleep every time she eats between 11:30 and 4. Whenever her head touches her bed, she's wide awake. And when I leave her in the bed, convinced that she really is very tired and will nod off on her own if I just leave her alone, she has no problem convincing me how very wrong I am.

*sigh* I've just lost another of these sessions.

Count for this week: Little Girl--5 Mamma--0

Now, I am encouraged by the fact that she's so very determined. It's an important character trait to have and will suit her well for the rest of her life. I just wish she didn't posess such huge amounts of determination at so young an age. Can't it be a personality trait that develops over time? Or maybe it is--yikes!

Yesterday after Mario got home, I decided that I needed a break, even if she was determined to fight sleep forever. I left her in her little play area and let her express her frustrations to her heart's content. After about 20 minutes, Mario decided to take pity on her. They started out walking around the house. Then I heard the stroller rumble down the hallway. Around and around the patio they went (and our patio is a 12 x 12 foot square . . . basically, they were doing doughnuts with the stroller). Then right before the Simpsons came on at 8, Mario entered, alone, as Little Girl had fallen asleep in the stroller.

Uh-oh. I usually start to put her to bed at 8 and she's normally out by 8:30. Will she wake up again tonight? Will she spent the whole night in the stoller?

In a nutshell, Little Girl had her first camping trip last night. Like most kids' first camping experiences, it was nowhere exciting--in the stroller, parked in the laundry room. And like most other kids' first camping experiences, she decided that she had enough at 2am.

There's nowhere like the bed . . . there's nowhere like the bed . . . there's nowhere like the bed.

NOT coming to a store near you!

For the first time in years, I finally bought a new pair of tennis shoes. They were desperately needed, as the pair I'm retiring was nicked from LMC's lost and found. That was two years ago. My toes were poking through the mesh in the sides.


But shoes are really expensive in Mexico and usually not great quality. Therefore, I was waiting for Mario to be sent to Portland for work and he'd pick me up a pair while he was there. Unfortunately, that trip got cancelled, thanks to the economy. My next plan was to have my parents bring me a pair when they came to visit. However, thanks to the swine flu, that trip was also cancelled. I was about to suggest a weekend visit to Texas when I saw a pair downtown that looked decent and were only $300 (pesos, that is--a bit less than 30USD).


Therefore, on Friday I trotted myself downtown and 30 minutes later triumphiantly returned home with my new pair of tenis. They're made-in-Mexico Pumas knockoffs. The brand name is the letter H, which they proceed to spell out phonetically on the label posted on the tongue of the shoe. In Spanish H is pronounced Ah-CHAY. However, it's not written like that in Spanish. It's written more like this:



Yes, my shoes are Aches. I did not notice this for a full 24 hours. (My husband, who is not a native English speaker, noticed it right away . . . go figure.)


I don't think this brand will succeed in the US market. Good thing they're not trying.

Insomniac Musings

Squeak squeak . . . squeak-squeak-squeak.

Dragging myself out of blissful unconsciousness, I immediately recognize that squeak. It's the bassinet in the other room. It means one of two things.

1) The child is moving around in her sleep.

2) The child is waking up.

At 2am, I fervently hope the first option is true.

[quietly from the next room]: "awr . . . awr . . . awr."
[picking up intensity]: "Awr . . . eh? AWR!"

Instinctively I pray, "Dear God, please help her go back to sleep again."

Blast. Now I've ensured that she will be fully awake. These three months of having a baby have taught me many things, one of them being that, while I know God hears that prayer, He generally prefers to sit back and giggle to Himself instead of sprinkling my semi-conscious baby with a healthy dose of sand from the Sandman. I do believe that prayer works. However, while He answers many other prayers, every time I pray that Little Girl would just drift off to sleep without parental intervention, God prefers to turn a deaf ear. Or He just sits back and giggles to himself.

Now, I realize that God doesn't really work this way. But at 2 in the morning, my theology reverts to the theology of an 8-year-old . . . with a little 30-year-old cynicism. In my head, I just can't help imagining God (as Matt Groening draws him, huge, with a long, flowing beard, walking hand in hand with a tiny Homer Simpson) sitting back in his rocking chair in the sky, eating a doughnut (probably with Homer), watching us through His celestial closed circuit TV as I groggily rock the baby back to sleep. As He and I both know, Little Girl normally sleeps very well, so He figures a night of waking up every two hours is good for me and I'll have more compassion on other parents who deal with this every night.

Trust me, I do feel for them. But come on, God--make her go back to sleep!

This then reminds me of Baptist friends I've had. When mentioning a nagging cold, they claim that they can pray all sickness away. They'd ask me, "you believe God's all-powerful, right?" Right. "So OF COURSE He can make that cold go away! Ask ANYTHING in Jesus's name with complete confidence and it WILL happen."

Excellent. "Dear God--I believe with every fiber of my being that you can make Little Girl go back to sleep."

The trouble is, she's still talking to herself.

Yes, I know God doesn't work like this. And I don't at all claim to know what God is thinking. After all, I barely understand what goes on in my own head (but believe God's got mine all figured out). God isn't just a big Santa Claus, giving treats or breaks to the good kids (or sleepy mommies) who deserve them. I do not believe that God denies blessings to anyone. I believe that God is more concerned with helping us through trying circumstances, be them cancer, imprisonment, torture, grief, or just a sleepless night. Yes, God is all powerful, and I do believe that blessings do come from Him. But, believing that, is the next logical step to think that the denial of a blessing is judgement from God? Or, more to the point, as everyone wonders at some point or another, why doesn't this all-powerful God stop tragedies from happening?

Like most people, I have no answer to this. Or, better put, no satisfactory answer. After all, I am not God, nor have I been allowed privileged access to His thought process. Believing that God is love, all I know is that God cries with us when tragedy strikes. Perhaps He allows these tragedies only to avoid larger ones. Small comfort to those grieving, I'm sure. But I do believe that when we're all hanging out in heaven, sometime over the course of eternity we'll have the opportunity to ask God why He lets tragedies happen. And He'll have all the time in the world to explain it to us. And as our brains will be so much more open, only then will we be able to understand.

Perhaps some people find this too simplistic or unsatisfactory. But it works for me. For now.

And now that I've muddled through the mysteries of the universe in the middle of the night, I notice something. Silence.

Thanks God. I'll take divine intervention over parental intervention any night.

Now, please God, help ME go back to sleep.

Destination: Saltillo

Well off the beaten path, Saltillo is now the city I call home. It is the capital of the enormous state of Coahuila and claims itself to be the "best capital in all of Mexico". I don't know that I'd go that far, as I'm a big fan of Mexico City, Puebla, and Oaxaca, but it is a pretty nice place.


When Mario and I first moved here in October, we kept saying to ourselves, in awed tones, "wow--these people are so civilized!" For example, when driving, Saltillenses not only know what a four-way-stop means, they actually stop and wait their turn--without honking their horns. By and large, the sidewalks here are large enough that three people can comfortably walk shoulder-to-shoulder (OK, possible slight exaggeration). But the sidewalks are wider than I have been used to and better maintained than in the country in general. Also downtown, they consistently provide wheelchair ramps (not sure they're always wide enough, but it's a start). The cathedral's noon mass is translated into sign language--and the first three pews are reserved for the deaf community, so they can actually see the interpreter. And my personal favorite mark of civilization--drivers will let pedestrians cross the street! Are we really still in Mexico?!?


The zocalo, better known here as the Plaza de Armas, is a great place to rest after a long walk, with their French-inspired iron benches that have suprisingly comfotable back rests. From this vantage, I've spent many a lazy half hour contemplating the Victorian fountain, watching toddlers send flocks of pigeons scattering, and trying to identify figures carved into the elaborate doorways of the white cathedral, like a giant game of I Spy. About five blocks away from the Plaza, a newly refurbished shopping corridor leads one directly to the Alameda. The Alameda is a public garden with a proliferation of trees, meandering pathways, seculuded benches, statues, a public library, children's playground, and even clean public restrooms. Given the amount of trees, it's almost like being in a forest. Just ignore the noise of the traffic, people selling things, and the fences barring all passerby from walking on the grass. And, as the Alameda is just 10 blocks away from my house, it is most often our destination of choice when I know that I need to get out of the house and take a walk.

When we were living at the Hampton Inn, in search of a house to rent, taxi drivers would always ask me if I had visited the Desert Museum. After my friend Chris and I visited in November, I understood why they were so insistent--it is a quality establishment. They have one room dedicated to explaining what a desert is, examples of different kinds of deserts, and how the Chihuahuan desert varies from these other deserts. Visitors are then ushered into the fossil rooms where there are a number of small, yet significant, fossils and complete skeletons of a T-Rex, petrodactyl (the flying dinosaur), and a few other towering and lethal looking creatures which have been found near here. Also, visitors can talk with palientologists cleaning newly found fossils. The museum also highlights the impact that various people groups have had on the region and it finishes off with a tour through their snake room (last time I went during feeding time . . . excellent).

Saltillo is known for their serapes, the rectangular poncho-looking blankets that are stereotypical of Mexico. However, thanks to industralization, there are now only two places in town where hand-made serapes are still made--El Serape de Saltillo (an excellent souvenir shop . . . visitors can watch the weavers work) and the Serape Museum run by the state government. The main weaver at the Serape Museum is in his eighties and has been making serapes by hand for over seventy years. And when you watch him standing on the pedals to the loom for however long he stands at a stretch, it's pretty impressive! I really enjoy the Serape Museum as they have a nice collection of serapes from various time periods, they explain the process to make one, and they aquired a collection of traditional Indian clothing which they have on display. Besides it simply being a quality establishment, it's free and is air conditioned. I may be spending a lot of time there this summer!

The only drawback to living here is that Saltillo is located in the middle of nowhere. Monterrey is about an hour and a half away. Parras de la Fuente, a cute little weekend getaway in wine country, is also an hour and a half in the opposite direction. San Luis Potosi is four hours away. The Gulf of Mexico is about five hours away. San Antonio, Texas is six hours away, and Mexico City is roughly nine hours away. Thank goodness Saltillo is so pleasant, as there's nearly nowhere to escape!

My friend Chris, in front of the cathedral.

10 Years

Ten years ago today I thought I was saying goodbye forever to Mario and Mexico. To date, I think that was still the saddest day of my life. But, to quote While You Were Sleeping, "life doesn't always turn out the way you plan." Thank goodness for that!

Like most people who have experienced the study abroad semester, I'll stand in line with the rest of them to say that it was hands down the best semester of my college career. Not grade wise, certainly. But I learned more in that one semester, about myself and the world in general, than is normally possible to experience in four months. (Finding my future husband was an additional perk.) While I'm waxing reminiscent, I'd like to send a huge thanks to anyone who joined me on that path during the spring of 1999, particularly Aubrie, Kelli, Liz, Nilaja, Smiljana, and especially Sally and Enrique. It's an experience that has changed my life.

Normal semesters abroad involve language classes and maybe a few nearby trips. Thanks to Sally and Enrique, our semester involved an extended, guided trip every other weekend. Often, we probably got more history thrown at us than we would have chosen on our own, but I was always grateful, as we left knowledgable about the places we visited. And oh, the places we went! Puebla, Mexico City, Oaxaca, Veracruz, Morelos, pyramids out the wazoo . . . I think we saw more of the country than the average Mexican ever sees, let alone the average study abroad student. It was well worth all the "pena" I endured, trying to make myself understood on a day-to-day basis. (While I was wrapped up learning about the world at large, learning Spanish was not one of my big priorities. Oops.)

If reading this you think, "man, I always wanted to study abroad, but never could." It's not too late! Language schools all over the world cater to adults (and families) for just a week at a time, up to months at a time. The average travel guide usually provides language school ads. Furthermore, full-time volunteer opportunities abound if you're willing to take a year-long leave of absence from work (ooo--find yourself unemployed during this financial crisis? What are you waiting for?). I recommend starting with the Catholic Network for Volunteer Service www.cnvs.org (not just for Catholics or even Christians . . . there are opportunities for your average agnostic or atheist, too. They're just a little harder to find here). Just click on the Response directory and have fun searching! And if you've always dreamed of working with orphans in Latin America, I recommend Nuestros Pequenos Hermanos www.nph.org. Two tough, but rewarding years of my life were spent in their Mexico house.

OK, I'll get down off my soapbox now. If you know me, you knew that volunteer speech was coming. Now it's over. Whew.

Tree Hugger Alert: Huggies DO Have an Upside!

I have always hated disposable paper products. Everytime I use a paper towel, it feels like such a waste. I think of the tree that died to make my paper towel, all the water and energy used it its creation, the landfill my towel will sit in for years and years . . . are they really worth the little convenience they afford? When I was finally old enough to have my own house, I invested in plenty of towels and cloth napkins. Ah . . . my overactive environmental conscience was finally at peace.

Then I married a man with an addiction to paper napkins.

However, this same paper napkin addict proceeded to explain to me that his addiction really isn't that unhealthy (yeah, ALL addicts try to convince others that their addictions aren't that serious, right?). However, this addict has worked in Kimberly-Clark and knows what he's talking about. The truth: no trees died in the making of these napkins.

Really?

Most paper products made in Mexico (everywhere but the state of Durango, apparently) are made from sugar cane stalks. After the sugar juice is squeezed out of the sugar cane, the leftover canes aren't good for much else, except to make compost, paper towels, toilet paper, and diapers.

Huh. All my years of righteous indignation just got flushed down the toilet (literally, when you think of toilet paper).

So while Little Girl's bottom is usually covered in cloth diapers, I am no longer guilt-riddled when she's occasionally slapped into Huggies for an evening. Thanks for recycling at the industrial level, Kimberly-Clark!

Adventures in Health Care

"So, you're going to have your baby in MEXICO?"

"Yes." For a variety of reasons:
1) We live here.
2) We can not afford to have a baby in the US. (We do have emergency health insurance for the US, but I don't think they'd count a full-term, natural delivery as an emergency.)
3) . . . OK, it appears that the money issue pretty much seals the deal.

Having now experienced Mexican health care in a variety of forms, I am fairly satisfied with the system. However, keep in mind that Mario's job provides us with excellent private health insurance, on top of the national system (which will hereafter be referred to as social security). Also keep in mind that I was one of those millions of uninsured Americans for at least two years, and it is such a relief to know that I can now seek medical attention without being thrown into welfare.

In summary, Mexico has two systems for its citizens. Well, let me be honest--I could say it has three. The most overarching system is the public system (social security). Any Mexican who pays taxes is eligible to receive services from social security for themselves and immediate family. A second option for many Mexicans, though unfortunately a small minority, is private insurance provided through one's employer (or for those who have the cash to shell out for a policy). The third option, for those who don't pay taxes, which comprises a significant amount of the population, is the shift-for-yourself method. Clearly, this is the failing of the system. However, keep in mind that Mexico is a developing country and I think the country as a whole does very well with the resources it has (in health care, at least). It's still absolutely horrible that many can not access decent health care, but the majority of the population do receive proper attention. In some ways, I think this system has the US's system beat, especially when you consider how many tax-paying Americans have no medical insurance.

I have had limited experience with Mexican public clinics, but my experiences have been positive. When I lived in Puebla, I woke up one day with a horrible, horrible sore throat and could not go in to work. The people at the school called in an appointment for me at the clinic that day. I didn't have to wait horribly long, they provided me with a translator, and prescribed me some antibiotics. I paid nothing apart from the taxes taken out of my paycheck. (Side note: I also went to a private doctor, as it was recommended from my school. That doctor forgot to check which medications make me throw up and prescribed me something that made me feel sicker than I already was. I would have been better off with the basic antibiotics from social security!)

Now that Little Girl needs vaccines, we do go to social security for those. We could get them through a private lab, but we'd be paying out the nose. Social security gives them out for free. We decided it was well worth our time to stand in line. So early on a Saturday morning (hoping it would be less crowded), we registered Little Girl and began a wait that we were sure would take roughly five hours. Only two hours later, we were called in, Little Girl received her monthly medical exam from the doctor and was sent to the lab for the shots. Fifteen minutes later we were out of there! The lab technician scheduled her next vaccine, so we wouldn't have to wait. And true to his word, we didn't wait at all. That last visit, we spent 10 minutes in total at the clinic. Not bad. So, in my opinion, social security works--particularly if you have an appointment and arrive on time.

Normally however, we use our private doctor. But honestly, we do not need an insurance policy apart from hospital visits. Every appointment I've had with either our obstretician or the pediatrician costs $400 (roughly 40 USD), and is paid in cash. And the beauty with the obstretrician's visit is that it included an ultrasound (3D) at every appointment at no additional cost. When I heard that my friends pay roughly 100USD for an ultrasound, I swore up and down that the next child will also be born in Mexico.

I have asked my sister-in-law (who's blind and therefore has trouble finding steady employment) what happens to those citizens who are permanently disabled or have chronic illness and therefore can not work (and pay taxes) because of their disability. After all, these people are the ones who have the most need for health care and no way of paying for it. She assured me that the government does indeed have a program to help the permanently disabled. No doubt there are quite a few who are not covered by such a program, but her assurances made me believe that they government is trying. I hope that is the case.

But for the average, tax-paying citizen, health care in Mexico seems to be on the right track. It is also one of the things that makes me grateful to live here.

Happy Mother's Day!

First of all, a big shout out to my own momma, as I give her yet another way to stay connected with her girls. I love you!

Today is Mother's Day, and for the first time in a number of years Mexican Mother's Day and US Mother's Day coincide. Mother's Day in Mexico is ALWAYS on May 10th. And no matter which day of the week May 10th falls on, EVERYONE has the day off. This holiday is bigger than Independence Day, bigger than Days of the Dead, bigger than 3 Kings Day, bigger than Thanksgiving (which doesn't exist here) and way bigger than Cinco de Mayo (which nearly no one celebrates outside of the city of Puebla). Many mothers often receive the most extravagant gifts--washing machines, stoves, furniture. My own husband, who never buys presents for anyone if he can help it, regularly gives his mom paintings, sculptures, and pottery for Mother's Day. This is even more impressive when you consider that I have to give him gigantic hints for weeks before Christmas if I expect to receive any present from him.

In short, Mother's Day is a big, fat, huge deal here.

This is my first Mother's Day. My own daughter is three months old. Even though she's Mexican, she's far too young to understand the magnitude of this holiday yet. (And as I'm a gringa, it's just fine with me if she'll never celebrate it like a Mexican.) However, something must have clicked in her little head, as she has given me the best Mother's Day present she's capable of--rest. Last night she went to bed at 9 and slept through until 6 (this has happened before, but it's an extremely rare occurence). Then she went back to bed and slept until 10. Excellent. Difficulties with her sleep schedule usually arise in the afternoon--she's only just learning to nap. Yesterday was a no nap day. Not fun. But she's making up for it today, as she's currently alseep and pushing just past the hour mark. So even if naptime ends now, we're pretty well assured a fun afternoon. So, thank you Clarita! I truly appreciate it!