Took the Plunge

All year, I've suffered from a wee bit of stress and a wee bit of guilt about a decision that I put into effect aroundabouts August. 

I didn't enroll my daughter in school.  *gasp*

Nationwide, in Mexico, school starts at the tender age of 3.  Every day.  All day.  (OK, for preschool it is just 4 hours a day.)   But 4 hours a day for 5 days a week?  To me, that just seems like a lot for a three-year-old. 

So I made the executive decision and said, "nope.  She'll start school when she's four." 

Clearly, this is not a terribly radical idea.  The first year (I think the first two years) of preschool aren't obligatory.  My niece didn't go to the first year of preschool.  Nor did my comadre's kids.  And most of my friends' kids here are homeschooled.  But every now and then I'd feel a little bit ribbed that she wasn't in school yet. 

And the older she's getting, the more I'm sure she'd enjoy preschool.  She's really interested in other kids.  She loves drawing, pretending to write, stories--all things academic.  I have no worries that she'll do well in school.  But this first year just felt like pushing it. 

But it is now February, and February is the month to register children for the following school year.  So we took the plunge, pounded the pavement, and checked out the schools near us to make a decision.  I limited our school choices to those schools within walking distance.  That left us with four options:  two Catholic schools; a secular, bilingual private school; and a public preschool.

For years, when walking past this bilingual private school, I was always secretly in love with it.  I dreamed that I'd send my kids there (and perhaps would eventually work there).  The grounds are just beautiful and visible from the street.  It's a sweet, small school.  They advertise that the have a pool.  In addition to English, the students also learn French.  I was sold even before talking to anyone about the place.

However, in the bottom of my heart, I did hold some misgivings.  Those beautiful grounds reminded me a lot of the last school I taught at.  Those grounds and play equipment were also beautiful--until one was close enough to realize that most of the play equipment was broken and the kids were not allowed to use it.  The students in this school (including my preschoolers) were meant to pound out workbook page after workbook page.  They failed to pay me the entire month of May and still owe me 2000 pesos. Clearly, I do not want my children to go to such a school.

And one interview with the director--who I'm sure will tell me anything I want to hear--will not be enough to sniff out what the school is really like.

But we went and interviewed with the director.  We came during recess time for the preschoolers.  The playground equipment was usable.  The students were well supervised.  Both Clara and I were in love with the place, and the director just reinforced my good opinion of the place.  I was ready to sign her up.

Until I saw the price tag.  Monthly, it wasn't much more than I expected.  But the registration fee was 7500 pesos!  That's two months' rent!  I was about to pee my pants about that, but Mexico City Man wasn't too put off by the price.  So we could still consider it.

Catholic School #1 was nice, and about half the price of the beautiful school.  However, we didn't get to see the kids in action and the walk from our house is up one VERY steep hill.  I'd be Iron Woman after climbing that hill with a stroller twice a day.  Still worth considering.

Catholic School #2 scared me off on their website by hanging pictures of Mary over every classroom's blackboard.  Had they hung a crucifix, no problem.  I may be Catholic, but I grew up Protestant, so Mary and I have a bit of a strained relationship.  They may be fine, but I don't think I want them teaching my kids religion.  And this school was farther away.  No dice. 

The public preschool is on the way to the park where we go running, and last year when Mario was working second shift we'd be coming back from running when school was getting out.  The kids seemed happy enough.  However, neither Mario nor myself have any experience with public schools in this country.  Being educated in public schools in the United States, I want to believe they work.  But public opinion here is against me.  That being said, having worked in private preschools in this country, I know that it's not necessary for private preschool teachers to have any kind of training in teaching at any level (let alone preschool).  However, public school teachers--even preschool ones--have to be trained to be teachers.  And the preschool ones are trained specifically for early childhood education.  There's a plus for the public school!

Furthermore, friends of mine who still have their kids in private schools (as opposed to pulling them out for homeschooling) complain about the teacher turnover.  A friend's daughter in first grade has had--as of February, only halfway through the school year--four different teachers.  Yikes.  While many people may (rightly or not) complain of Mexico's teacher's union as being the scourge and shame of education in this country, I think I'm pretty well guaranteed that teachers in the public schools stick around for the entirety of the school year.  And I've seen it that when parents complain in private schools that that teacher's job may be at stake.  Let me tell you, when the administration has the tuition-paying-parents' back rather than the teacher's back, it makes for pretty inefficient teaching.  I'm quite confident that parents don't have that kind of clout in the public schools.  Ironically, as a parent, that really does make me happy. 

Now, don't get me wrong--there are some very good private schools out there.   I've worked for one of them (it wasn't my last job).  I do think that all the schools we looked at would give our kids a good education.  But this is preschool.  And my only two goals for my kids in preschool is that 1) they get some socialization  and 2) they perfect their Spanish.  Given the facts we know about our options and the pricetags attached to each school, we decided that the public option will fulfill those goals at least as well as any of the private options.  Possibly better.     

So we signed up Clara on Tuesday.  Let me tell you--forking over 300 pesos (for parents' association dues) instead of two months' worth of rent--that felt pretty good.

Dragging My Feet

A few months ago, I mentioned a thought of giving up the blog.  It was a passing thought.  I didn't really mean it. 

But then the husband stopped working nights, so instead of hanging out with you all in the evenings, I thought it might behoove me to spend some quality time with the husband instead.  (Tonight he's spending quality time with Quentin Tarantino--otherwise known as JillyRepellant, so here I am.)  The four-year-old stopped taking naps, so internet is out of the question during the day, as she'd be happy to spend her day looking at photos of her friends (and imaginary friends) on facebook.  And if the computer of on when the one-year-old is awake, he is not content unless he's pounding every button he can reach.  Skype conversations have been rather torturous lately, until I feel compelled to banish the boy to his bed.  To further complicate any blogging attempts, my computer is on its last legs and is   so . . . .  stinkin' . . . . . . . . .  slow.  

On top of all that, every few months I feel that it just frees my soul to severely limit my internet time.  Unsurprisingly, when I unplug myself and simple live in the real world with real people I feel like a real person!  It's been nice. 

But I guess I've had enough of reality, so here I am again!

Celebrating Day of the Dead

 Ever since we're gotten back from Indiana, each mealtime has been the forum for Serious Questions.  Deep Questions--down where the fish ain't got no eyes.

Who's God?

Why did he make us?

Why do we die?

Why did your Grandma die?

Clara with the decorated Pan de Muerto

Am I going to die?

Is Papa going to die?

Now, these last couple aren't asked in any kind of fear.  Just idle curiosity.  And very persistent curiosity, at that, as they're asked quite frequently.

But all this curiosity is well timed, as November 2ed is known as the Day of the Dead throughout Mexico.  It's pretty much like Memorial Day in the US, just honoring civilians.  Well, veterans can be remembered, too . . . it's an all-inclusive holiday. I've posted on Day of the Dead other years, but this is the first time we celebrated it as a family. 





First of all, throughout October, pan de muerto, loosely translated as Dead Bread is sold at all bakeries.  I buy pan de muerto a little obsessively--basically as often as I go to the grocery store.  It has an alluring, flowery taste that has had me baffled for years.  What is it that makes pan de muerto taste like flowers?  (The scent of flowers, if that describes it better.)  I found a recipe in my yeast package and it turns out that that flowery taste is simply orange extract.

Decorating the Dead Bread

Biggest letdown of the year.

Since we eat pan de muerto so often throughout October, I wanted our pan de muerto on the actually Day of the Dead to be something special, so I tried that recipe and made it myself.  It was wonderful, and a lot of fun to make.


It just wasn't quite like store bought Dead Bread.  (In my defense, the recipe was a little vague.  And I let it rise waaaay to long.)

But it was very, very good--almost like cake.  I'll make it again next year.  It'll just be redefined as "my" pan de muerto.  

a traditional altar (NOT at my house)

Furthermore, as Clara has been asking questions about my grandparents and Mario's grandpa, I decided that we could make a scaled-down Day of the Dead altar.  These are set up in people's homes to remember loved ones.  


On the right is a traditional Day of the Dead altar, remembering one person.

Below is our "altar".  We're all about simplicity here.

Mario's kind of weird about funerals and Day of the Dead, so I didn't know how he'd feel about me making a Day of the Dead altar.  At the same time, I knew it was a valuable teaching moment for Clara, so I went ahead with it anyway, knowing he'd be weirded out about it if I talked with him first.  And when Clara proudly showed it to him, he actually seemed pleased! 

"Oh wow--it's like an altar!"  I translated that to be a pleased version of, "Oh wow--we're teaching our kids to be Mexican, too!"

So we'll keep doing this.  I do enjoy the day. 

Our little "altar"

In Search of Gringos

I was debating giving up this blog, but then a new friend of mine stopped me on Sunday and asked if I blogged.  She told me that she read this when she was looking for information (or maybe simply ANYTHING she could find) on Saltillo before she moved here two weeks ago.

Well, shoot.  That is why I write this, after all.  So I'll keep singing Saltillo's praises here.

How did I meet my new friend Beth?  Though one of my very favorite organizations, the Saltillo International Church.  Despite Saltillo's smallish size, there are an impressive number of expatriates here, thanks to a slew of multinational companies that have plants here.  However, after nearly a year of living here, I couldn't figure out where they were.

[Long Side Story, but I will make my point eventually]  One weekend we were in Parras, buying wine, and the other customers were also speaking native English.  Curious (and so lonely I was willing to approach people at wine counters), I found out that one of the couples lived in Saltillo.  They were Jehovah Witness missionaries, but instead of targeting the Mexican population, they were in town to evangelize all the expats. So lonely that I was, I gave her my phone number, essentially saying, "please evangelize me!  Just call me, talk to me, anything!"  I was so excited to meet this woman. 

Alas, she never called.  I guess those Jehovah's Witness missionaries like the hard-to-get type.

So I resorted to internet stalking.  And on facebook I found a gringa who was also married to a Mexican and living in Saltillo.  Thank goodness I did not creep her out.  Furthermore, she knew where the expats were hanging out!  (I'd love to hang out with Mexicans, too, but those circles are apparently a bit harder to break into.)  She knew of a secular coffee group that meets on Fridays, and a Wednesday morning Bible study for women.  The Bible study offered free babysitting.  I went to Bible study.

It turns out that the Jehova's Witnesses aren't the only ones who target the expats.  The Tripps, a missionary family who came to Mexico almost 17 years ago, came also to minister to the expat community.  Or, in their words, they came to "be family away from family."  For me, they really are. Four years ago, the Saltillo International Church, a nondenominational, English-dominant church, officially formed (having held services for a few years previously).  It began with a mainly expat membership, but now Mexicans make up at least 60% of the members.  So for those sent to Saltillo for a few years, it provides an easy means to hobnob with not just other expats, but to form meaningful relationships with Mexicans, too--even if your Spanish is nonexistent.

They have services at 11am on Sundays with about a half hour of  worship (singing) in both English and Spanish, followed by a sermon in English (Spanish translation is available).  Nursery service and kid's classes are held for kids (babies through 6th grade) during the sermon.  They also have my women's Bible study on Wednesday mornings, a youth group, men's groups, and a variety of other small groups throughout the week.      

I can't explain how much I appreciate this community.  And I can't quite imagine where I'd be mentally if I hadn't resorted to internet stalking and Missy was understanding enough to introduce me to this community.

By the way, if you're in Saltillo and looking for the expats, they're all way out north.

And those who want to go to church in English, the International Church is way out on Los Gonzalez, smack between Blvd. Colosio and Los Rodriguez--right next to the bar La Milla--and La Milla graciously lets the church borrow their parking lot. 

"Where Are You From?"

"Jill--you're not from Indiana!" 

What?  That's news to me. 

However, a few months ago, my father-in-law read in my passport that I was, indeed, born in Wisconsin, not Indiana.  To the Mexican psyche, one is from the place they were born.  So yes, if you were "accidentally" born in Florida because one of your parents was in grad school there and never stepped foot in the state after the age of six months, to your Mexican friends, you are a Floridian. 

 Mario got lucky in the fact that he was born within the official confines of Mexico City, as he likes to refer to himself as a chilango.  He spent the majority of his growing-up years 10 blocks from the line that officially divides the DF from the state of Mexico.  But, to his way of thinking, he was born on the "right" side of that line.    

I don't mind my newfound status as a Wisconsite.  All my extended family is from there,  and while I haven't lived there since the age of two, I've spent plenty of Thanksgivings, Christmases, Easters and summers there, so Wisconsin and I do have a connection. 

But I'm a Hoosier, baby.  And that's all there is to that.

******************************************************************************

On the opposite note, when in the US, I've been introduced to people as "my friend from Mexico". 

Woah, slow down, Sparky.  I live in Mexico.  I am not from Mexico, and it's clear that no matter how many years I'll spend there, I will NEVER be considered to be "from" Mexico.  Don't get me wrong--I love Mexico, and I sure hope I'm assimilating.  However, when I'm ninety years old, I will still get asked, "Where are you from?" 

It's clear (to Mexicans, at least) that I'm not "from" Mexico.

Got Your List?

Greenga Girl got me thinking the other day with her list of cravings from the US.  As I'm planning a trip to the US soon, I've been writing lists in my head about things we need to do, people to see, food to eat, and things to bring back.  And this made me think about how these lists of mine have changed over the years.

The "People to See" category has remained fairly constant and still remains a mad dash of trying to cram as many visits to my favorite people as possible in whatever time frame I have to work with.

The "Things to Do" list has always included a visit to the Indiana Dunes, but now that I'm toting kiddos with me everywhere, this list has changed significantly.  It now contains many more playground and zoo visits than it did in the pre-Clara era.   Fortunately, the Dunes are still a necessity.

This year, "Things to Eat" is pretty vague.  However, as I'll be at my mom's house for my birthday, a Kahula cake is my one very well-formed craving.  Ooo--and any beer that isn't Corona, Victoria, Modelo, Sol, Indio, XX, etc.  Mmm . . . seasonal beers . . . microbrews . . . I'm ready to hop in the car now.  

"Things to Bring Back" is in a constant state of evolution. On this year's list:

• footed pajamas for the kids. I know they sell them here, but the jammies from the US feel softer. 
• Books, books, books.  Particularly children's books.  Ironically, I have a much easier time finding quality children's books in Spanish in the US than in Mexico.  (They don't have Ghandi or the Sotano here in Saltillo.)  It's no understatement to say that Mexico really needs to work on fostering a culture of reading--which is unlikely to happen during Pena Nieto's government.  *snicker*
• hummus mix.  The Three Rivers Co-Op in Ft. Wayne sells a dried mix.  When I add warm water and olive oil--presto!--I've got hummus.  While it's slightly less tasty, it's waaaaay cheaper than what I can find at the grocery store, so I'll keep supporting my favorite co-op. 
• Rechargable batteries.  They're just way cheaper.  
• A pair of jeans.  I was desperate for a new pair of jeans a few months ago, so we went to Parras, where they're famous for making jeans.  (Parras is home to the Dickies factory, too!)  They have men's jeans aplenty, but I was sorely disappointed at the women's selection.  The one pair that I found that fit decently was made of really thin material and, after I got home, I realized that it didn't have front pockets!  They were just sewn to look like pockets, but there's nothing there!  Grrr . . .

Man, I'm struggling to come up with more.  Either I'm really settling into life here, or Texas is just within too easy access.  Or a combination of the two.  

That which used to be on my lists?

• Peanut butter.  Really, this is often still on my lists, but I'm still well stocked from last year.  They do sell it here, but in minuscule quantities at twice the price.  So yes, I import peanut butter.  
• Cheddar cheese.  I really don't miss it any more.  (But I'm sure I'll eat plenty when I'm there.)
• Cherries.  Unfortunately, I"m not going during cherry season.  Next year, perhaps?
• Shoes.  I have now found a shoe store that I really enjoy in Saltillo.  If I were in need of good tennis shoes, I'd still wait to get them in the US (combination of cheaper and better quality).  Other than that, I'm having fun with my odd, made-in-Mexico finds. 

OK, looking over this list, I see that it really hasn't changed much.  However, my former intense attachment to these objects/experiences has.  Particularly with the peanut butter.  I used to ration my peanut butter.  Sometimes I'd gift it to friends.  Fortunately, they understood how very, very dear this peanut butter was to me.  (It was to them, too.)  We used to spread it on Maria, dip Oreos in it . . . man, I guess I'm growing up!  My friends here in Saltillo often ask me before they make a trip to the border if I need any more peanut butter.  But now that I'm no longer pregnant, it's just not quite so necessary as it used to be.  I guess I was a little desperate last year.

Then again, maybe I should double-check my peanut butter stock.  I may be halfway through my last jar.

Yikes.   

****************************************************************************
What's on Mario's list?

• Mt. Dew.  Yesterday, he opened his last 2-liter of Mt. Dew and I heard him say, "oops!  Last Mt. Dew--I guess we'll have to go to Laredo soon!"  Really?  For Mt. Dew?  Goofy man. 
• Cargo pants.  He wears them to work and work tends to tear them to pieces.  And he can't find any in this country. Again, thank goodness Texas is close. 
• Beer.  Unfortunately, Laredo has really disappointed us in their beer selection.  Sam Adams is about as interesting as Laredoeans want in their beer, apparently.

My Salute To Those Other Mexican Immigrants

While there are around a million of us gringos calling Mexico home, another group of immigrants to Mexico has been making their presence known for well over 100 years. 

Lebanon, of all places, has been providing Mexico with thousands upon thousands of wanna-be Mexicans.  After more than 100 years of Lebanese immigration, there are now an impressive number of Mexicans of Lebanese descent . . . their ancestors weren't just wanna-bes, like yours truly.

Saltillo's Lebanese Immigrant Plaza  (on Jose Musa de Leon)

Between escaping the Ottoman Empire in the 1890s and leaving civil war behind them in the 1990s, Lebanese have settled all over the Americas.  Some cities in Brazil claim to have a larger Lebanese population than Beirut.  But plenty have come to Mexico, particularly in Merida, Puebla, Mexico City, and Tampico (according to Wikipedia and other sources).  Glancing through the last names in Saltillo's social pages, plenty of Lebanese also decided that Saltillo is a pretty great place to live, too.

Why is this worth mentioning for me?  Arabic restaurants, baby!  During college, I got involved with a group that served international dinners once every couple of months, and I fell in love with Middle Eastern food.  Unfortunately, I'm from northeast Indiana, and Middle Eastern food is rather difficult to find.  To the best of my knowledge, the nearest restaurant that serves anything wrapped in grape leaves is in Ann Arbor, a good three hours from my house.  So how delightful was it to move to Saltillo, which--while twice the size of my hometown--seems half as small, I could find not one, but a number of Lebanese restaurants!    

Embarassingly, though, we have only tried one.  Almajal, on Jose Musa de Leon, just north of Figueroa, serves an excellent buffet every Sunday.  We like it so much, we haven't bothered trying anywhere else.  (But we will, we will!)

After a year of living in Puebla my hands-down favorite Mexican meal is really a Mexican-Lebanese creation, the taco arabe.  It deserves its own post.  We spent many a Saturday afternoon at the Antigua Taqueria Cholula, scarfing these babies down until I discovered something even better--the falafel taco.  Nestled in a big, warm, pita tortilla was a bed of slivered beets, cradling a generous portion of falafels, bathed in jocoque.  A-mazing.

Then Mario moved out of Cholula and the next thing we knew the Antigua Taqueria Cholula went out of business.  (If anyone in Cholula/Puebla can find out that they just moved, instead of going out of business, please let me know.  We will make the 12 hour drive some weekend just for the joy of the falafel taco.)

Recreation of the falafel taco--success!

A few months ago, when I was missing my falafel tacos more than usual, I was inspired while at the market.  My verdulero had great-looking beets for sale.  I had never bought them before, but thought, "Hmmm . . . with fresh flour tortillas, jocoque, these beets and falafels (from a recipe that I had just found on pinterest) I could make falafel tacos! 

And I did. 

And they were amazing.

And we even got Clara to eat beets, because my girly-girl three-year-old was pretty excited about a pink vegetable.

Anyway, that's all a very long, roundabout way of saying, thanks for coming to Mexico, all you Lebanese immigrants!  You make this country even tastier than it already was.