#ThaliaEnVivo Tour Por HBO Latino -- ¡No Te Lo Pierdas!

Revelación: Parte de una campaña patrocinada con The Niche Parent Network & Conference y HBO Latino. Las opiniones expresadas son mías.
 
Cuando yo era una niña, mis padres fueron dueños de una barbería situada en una vecindad poblada mayormente de gente Mexicana. Allí fue donde pasé mi niñez, escuchando la música de Crí-Crí, Jorge Negrete, Lola Beltran, Vincente Fernandez, Pedro Infante. Allí fue donde intentaba leer las revistas Vanidades y Impacto y los periodicos Miniondas y La Opinion. Alli fue donde me pasaba los veranos con mis hermanitas viendo a mi mamá y papá cortarles el cabello a varios personajes que nos cautivaban con sus cuentos de México y Cuba.

Es una temporada de mi vida que extraño.
 
Por mí parte, ha sido difícil mantener el español, principalmente porque mis padres insistieron en que nosotras habláramos y viéramos la television sólo en inglés. Los programas en español nunca fueron permitodos. Ahora, que soy adulta, lucho para mantener lo poco que puedo de mi cultura Mexicana. Sé que nunca hablaré el español con fluidez, ni lo escribiré (si supieran el tiempo que me tomó escribir esto!). Pero sigo tratando y después de muchos años de sentirme mal, he aceptado la persona que soy -- Mexicana-Americana -- orgullosa. Yo escribo mis propias reglas.

Sí me siguen en Instagram, Facebook o Twitter, probablemente han visto unas fotos que he compartido con ustedes de mi cultura Mexicana. El desafío comenzó el 20, pero todavía quedan cuatro días.

Me siento afortunada al haber sido invitada a participar en esta promoción para el espectacular concierto en vivo del 5 de Septiembre, cuando Thalia regresa a México por la primera vez después de haberse mudado a los estados unidos. Thalia no sólo es una artista talentosa que ha tenido gran éxito como cantante, pero también es compositora de sus propias canciones, actriz, filántropa y empresaria. Invitados especiales al concierto incluyen Maria José, Samo de Camila, Jesús Navarro de Rei y Leonel Garcia. Todos se unirán a Thalia en un concierto inolvidable.

Participen conmigo en el desafío de fotografías. ¡Sólo quedan 4 días! Comparten sus fotos en Instagram, Twitter y Facebook, usando el hashtag #ThaliaEnVivo.

Día 7

Escapa Cultural

Día 8

Bailar

Día 9

Mis Abuelos

Día 10

Mi Orgullo

Eventos Celebrando #ThaliaEnVivo y Nuestra Cultura Latina

• 4 de septiembre --  1 PM ET - Google Hangout con Thalia
• 5 de septiembre -- 6 PM ET - Twitter Fiesta (¡Habrán premios!)
• Visiten la pagina de HBO Latino para la oportunidad de ganar un premio valorado en $200 
• No se pierdan el concierto. Si no subscriben a HBO Latino, pero tienen caja de cable digital, contactan sus compañias de cable para obtener HBO gratis del 9/5/2014 al 9/8/2014. 

I Don't Know Where To Start

I Made It -- Graduated And Licensed!

I don't know where to start writing about all that's happened since my last post in April. For starters, I'm done with graduate school -- for the moment, at least, and am officially licensed (hallelujah). Events leading up to my graduation on June 1st were intense. Between classes, finishing my internship at the middle school, working, job-seeking and holding things together for the end of our son's first year in public school, the last weeks of the academic year for both my son and I were harder than the last three years combined.

Was It Worth The Sacrifice?

A part of me says, "Absolutely." That's the goal-seeking, self-actualization side of Ezzy that wants to continue to learn and grow. However, the mother-wife in me often contemplates the time I took away from my family, especially my eleven-year-old son, to accomplish this goal. I felt guilty the week of graduation, too, because he'd been selected to participate in a little league competition taking place the same day. You see, this was his first year playing baseball, and considering he'd never played before, never mind pitched, he'd done pretty darn well. My husband had assistant coached and I attended every game. Seeing his developing grit, pride and ganas to play baseball made this mom happy. I didn't want to rob him of his opportunity to compete in something he felt passionate about.

Our Son Was Given A Choice

So we gave him the option. He could either accompany my mother and husband to an over three hour ceremony on a hot day, where he'd most likely be bored, or he could play baseball. I told him the decision was his to make and that as much as I wanted him to see me receive my diploma, I also didn't want him to miss out on something important to him. I was only sorry that I wouldn't get to see him compete. He could let me know.

Our son pitching.

The Verdict

A couple of days before my graduation, as he sat across from me in the living room playing Minecraft, while I caught up on one of my favorite shows, I casually asked him if he'd made a decision about what he wanted to do. His response was, "Mom, your graduation is way more important than baseball. It's not, like, you graduate every day. I can play baseball anytime." He said this wearing a look of disbelief -- disbelief that I'd ask him such a question.

The doubts, worries, and insecurities that had plagued me about my decision to pursue graduate school evaporated at that moment.

This mom had done something right

Mrs. Easter Bunny Stopped By

Easter Eve was always more special than Easter morning in my home. My sisters and I would stay up late eating capirotada, a Mexican dish my mom made every year that filled our home with the smell of melted sugar.

At bedtime, we'd giggle in the dark, as we speculated over the size of the Easter baskets Mrs. Easter Bunny would bring. More than Peeps and jelly beans, we hoped for giant chocolate Easter bunnies whose ears we'd devour before breakfast the next morning. I say might because sometimes there was no chocolate.

I remember waiting for the sound of crinkling plastic, until one year, without warning, Mrs. Easter Bunny never came. Is there an expiration date on the Easter Bunny?

My eleven-year-old son cornered me in the grocery store last year and asked if Santa and the Easter Bunny were real. So many thoughts raced through my mind as I thought of how to answer. "Well ... " It was over. My baby was no longer a baby. I remember how he scrutinized me with his big brown eyes that communicated without words that he knew the truth.

A dear friend and neighbor dropped by yesterday afternoon to return a dish. During our conversation I realized that with the craziness of preparing to have family over for Easter, I'd inadvertently forgotten to make our son's Easter Basket (something that's proven challenging each year due to his food allergies). When I mentioned that our son didn't believe in the Easter Bunny, anymore, my neighbor laughed and replied that her twenty-something daughter still expected her chocolate bunny. That's when I remembered how much I've missed mine.

Mrs. Easter Bunny did drop by before six a.m., leaving tracks all the way up to our son's room. He'll wake to find a small basket bursting with yellow grass, a book, Swedish Fish, Skittles, and Minecraft toys. He'll even find a small, stuffed, yellow chick to remind him he'll always be my baby.

Why is the Easter Bunny a Mrs. instead of a Mr? I'll tell you why -- because The Country Bunny And The Little Gold Shoes says so.

When There's No Other Way But By Plane

Whoever forgets their first trip on a plane? I remember mine. It was 1987, and while all my high school friends took our class' senior trip to Mazatlan, I flew across the country to the Big Apple. That was a long time ago. Still, I remember so many details of that flight. Like thinking that the twenty-something law student who sat next to me was "old." Or how annoyed I was to have to crane my neck to watch Some Kind of Wonderful on the cabin's movie screen.

A Fear of Flying

Over the years my discomfort fear of flying has waxed and waned. There was a point after I moved to Boston where for a period of three years I traveled all over the U.S. and other parts of the world. Flying became so routine and mundane, like washing dishes or folding laundry, that I eventually looked forward to those few hours of uninterrupted quiet in the sky. I could read, sleep, watch a movie or just stare out at the clouds.

Know The World

A lot has happened since that has changed how I view humanity. For starters, I'm more outwardly focused; I try to stay abreast of current events (social media helps a lot). And while I'm more informed, it's a constant battle to not become hyper vigilant. Living as though danger lurks around every corner is, well, no way to live. Yet, that's exactly how many in this country and abroad have to live, in order to survive.

Children Watching The News

As parents, our challenge lies in gauging how much of the morning news to allow our children to watch. What I can tell you is that we monitor our son's TV time. He watches. He asks questions. My husband and I answer as best we can. It's tough sometimes, knowing how much is enough. We want him to examine issues from all angles. We want him to be age-appropriately informed to walk in reality, but not be traumatized. We want him to know that there's more good than evil in this world. 

The problem lies in knowing that with knowledge comes its companion -- loss of innocence. 

Learn The ABCs Of RSV (Respiratory Syncytial Virus )

This post is part of a compensated campaign in collaboration with MedImmune and Latina Bloggers Connect.

* As always, opinions are my own. *

One upon a time I had a baby and like every other mom who loves her children, I worried. A lot. Although much has changed in twelve years, two things have remained constant: my worries and the fact that the respiratory syncytial virus (RSV) is as dangerous today as it was when my son was born. Especially scary is that there's no cure for it, so the best medicine is prevention.

"Despite being so common, many parents aren’t aware of RSV; in fact, one-third of mothers (and two-thirds of Hispanic mothers) have never heard of the virus" 

I was one of those women who'd never heard of the respiratory syncytial virus. So imagine my reaction when the pediatrician told us that our baby was at higher risk because of his having been born prematurely.

If you're expecting, have a baby under the age of five, or know someone who does, you should familiarize yourself with following facts of figures.

ABCs of RSV: Facts and Figures

A is for Awareness:

"RSV is a common seasonal virus, contracted by nearly all children by the age of two, and typically causes mild to moderate cold-like symptoms in healthy, full-term babies. Preterm infants, however, are born with undeveloped lungs and immature immune systems that put them at heightened risk for developing severe RSV disease, often requiring hospitalization.

• RSV occurs in epidemics each year, typically from November through March, though it can vary by geography and year-to-year
• RSV disease is the leading cause of hospitalization for babies during their first year of life in the United States, with approximately 125,000 hospitalizations and up to 400 infant deaths each year
• RSV disease is responsible for one of every 13 pediatrician visits and one of every 38 trips to the ER in children under the age of five
• Despite being so common, many parents aren’t aware of RSV; in fact, one-third of mothers (and two-thirds of Hispanic mothers) have never heard of the virus

B is for Babies:

• Premature babies—defined as those born before 37 weeks gestation—are most at risk for developing severe
• RSV disease because they have underdeveloped lungs and fewer antibodies to fight the virus than babies born full term.
• Amongst Hispanics, the preterm birth rate has grown six percent over the last decade. Currently one in eight 
• Hispanic babies is born premature and it is likely that high prematurity rates are a reason for increased risk of RSV within Hispanic communities.

C is for Contagious:

RSV is very contagious and can be spread easily through touching, sneezing and coughing. Additionally, the virus can live on the skin and surfaces for hours. Learn the symptoms of severe RSV disease and contact your child’s pediatrician immediately if your child exhibits one or more of the following:

• Persistent coughing or wheezing
• Bluish color around the mouth or fingernails
• Rapid, difficult, or gasping breaths
• Fever [especially if it is over 100.4°F (rectal) in infants under 3 months of age]" 

 

RSV Infographic

Remember, prevention is the best medicine. For more information go to www.rsvprotection.com

Have you had any experience with RSV, or did you know about it when you had your children?

 

SPANISH FRIDAY: ¿Un Perrito, Dos Perritos, Cuál Es La Diferencia?

Amigos Inseparables -- mijo estaba enfermo cuándo tomé esta foto.

¡Tengo muy buenas noticias que compartirles! 

Hemos decidido conseguirle un compañero a nuestro mascota, Albert. 

I have great news to share with you! We've decided to get our dog, Albert, a companion.

Albert buscando su compañero en linea.

Lo que pasa es que nos da mucha lastima dejarlo al pobre solo tantas horas durante el día.

❤

The thing is that it bums us out to leave the poor guy alone for so many hours during the day.

Soy gato.

Cuándo no estamos en casa, se la pasa durmiendo arriba del sofá, como un gato.

¿Se ve triste, no?

❤

When we're not home, he spends his day sleeping on top of the couch, like a cat.

Doesn't he look sad?

¡Que flojera!

Este perro excéntrico nos ha traído tanta felicidad. Sí, al principio nos volvia locos (y todavia), pero como cualquier otro miembro de la familia, lo aceptamos con todos sus defectos y malas costumbres. Nuestro perro nuevo llega entre junio o julio. Lo llamaremos -- Einstein.

A ver cuales aventuras nos esperan.

❤

This eccentric dog has brought us so much happiness. Yes, at first he drove us crazy (and still does), but like any other member of the family, we accept him with all his defects and bad habits. Our new dog arrives sometime between June and July. His name will be "Einstein."

We'll see what adventures await us.

It Snowed Again

 

"Expect a dusting," the weatherman, said.

Instead, snow dropped from the sky in heavy chunks.

"I'm going to make a snowman," my son said.

So, he did.

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THROWBACK THURSDAY: Electra Woman And Dyna Girl

Left to our own devices as youngsters, my two sisters and I managed to get ourselves into a lot of trouble. We may not have gotten along very well, but when it came to being traviesas, boy, you'd have thought we were the best of friends. Summers were especially difficult for us, having to spend all that time together, but we always found ways to make the time pass quickly. How? We'd dedicate ourselves to scheming over what prank to concoct next.

Our targets were the unsuspecting passersby. You see, we lived on a busy residential street that saw a lot of foot traffic. Some were neighbors, or an occasional tamalera or paletero, but mostly day laborers who lived in boarding housing along our street. We were equal opportunity pranksters, young, imaginative and in need of entertainment from behind our sheer curtains.

I've shared the intro to a show that my sisters and I drew inspiration from when we role-played. When I think back to those sweltering summers in the seventies, I can't help but smile remembering our antics and those of Electra Woman and Dyna Girl.

I shared the clip with my Minecraft-playing eleven-year-old son. Wish I'd snapped a picture of the expression he wore when he asked, "You watched that?"

How times have changed.

The Year In Pictures

I didn't want to let the year end without sharing some of the moments that stand out in my memory.

2013 is the first year since I moved to Massachusetts that I've seen this much snowfall. Note the snow at the entrance to the garage. And I live here because …

One thing's for sure, this is not where I plan to spend my Golden Years.

Human Development Across the Lifespan was an intensive summer course that I took in which we were required to present our stages of development with a thirty minute presentation at the end of the course. The class was intense not only in the volume of material we covered in seven weeks, but, also, because of the intense emotions and life experiences shared by our cohort.

I think it was the first time I didn't dread knowing a presentation awaited me. My biggest worry was that I wouldn't be able to talk for thirty minutes about myself. Much to my surprise I was so into my presentation that I lost track of time talking about my family and ancestors. The class laughed when I flashed a slide that said to "Google at your own risk."

It was while I wrote my presentation that I discovered that an actual word exists for healing with books: bibliotherapy.

Yes, books heal. 

Hispanicize reinvigorated me. It was loud, colorful and charged with energy. This has become an annual event where I look forward to spending time with mis blogueras amigas-hermanas. 

Our son is not a little boy, anymore.

Maine in the summer is where I wish to be.

These are smiles that make me happy.

Pearl (top right) arrived via USPS recently. She replaced my rooster Richard (bottom) who had to go live on a local farm where he could do what he does best -- crow. Thank God for great neighbors.

I love Latism and everything it stands for. It's challenged me to step into discomfort. I am a better person because of it. Life is colorless without a sense of community.

I accomplished a lot this year and continue to learn about myself. My two biggest goals for 2014 are to graduate in May and secure a job in my field of study.

Happy New Year, my friends. :-)

We Start At A New School This Week

We start at a new school this week. As some of you know, our son attended a small, private school close to home, and when I say "small," I mean K-8-under-one-hundred-students-small, where everyone knows your name. We're moving for a number of reasons, but the only one that matters to us is that our son requested it. He's ready to experience life outside his small brick building. Both Mom and Dad are a little nervous, because this will be a big change, not to mention culture shock for him. There will be no daily chapel, children aren't expected to hold doors open for their elders, he won't eat his lunch at his desk, nor will he be expected to attend eighth grade graduation each year. Having said all that, despite all that we'll miss that made his previous school special, we're proud of him for advocating for himself, stating that he's ready to make new friends, while firmly and confidently letting us know that he is not going to be siting at the peanut table, either.

Today we attend his new school's Fourth Grade Meet-and-Greet, where we'll drop in to the class, meet his new teacher, other parents and classmates. It's a huge fourth grade wing at a school that will be the equivalent of a small high school for a middle schooler used to a small brick building. I'm grateful beyond words for the role the school adjustment counselor, in addition to the other supports, that are being made available to make his transition as comfortable as is possible, for a ten-year-old, transferring to a new school. I can only imagine the anxiety a family must experience if they or their child are new to the country and don't speak the language. What supports are available to them? As a student of school guidance sitting on the other side of the table, I empathize with these concerns, and for that I'm also grateful.

This week we'll be chronicling a lot of firsts. We're not expecting everything to be perfect and we welcome the unpredictability and excitement that starting something new brings. I came across a wonderful article written by Dr. Michele Borba, a renown and multi-book published, parenting expert. The article is titled "Helping Kids Fit In to a New School and Make Friends." She makes some wonderful recommendations you might find helpful if you have a child starting at a new school.

Is there anything special you've done to ease your child's transition to a new school?

I've Got Chickens On My Mind

You can fool a rooster some of the time, but you can't fool a rooster all of the time. So lemme tell you a story of an urban chick who got it into her head that she wanted to raise chickens. And by "chickens" let me be specific -- I mean two chickens in particular. If you read my Raising Chickens In The Burbs post, you know that my son brought home two baby chicks from his third grade's incubation project. At the time, the sex of the two baby chicks was unknown. I was hoping and praying that Ricki, my white feathered beauty with the rosy comb and waddle, was a hen. It was obvious that my sweet Samantha was a hen. No question. But, Ricki? Welllllll.

I'd convinced myself that I had two egg-laying hens. I so wanted to believe it. That was until a week ago Monday, when at 5:42 a.m. this creepy, croaky sound (like that of an animal being strangled) drifted up from the coop two floors down from my bedroom window. It sounded something like this: cocka-cuu-cu. My eyes snapped open at the strained crow of my Ricki. I knew it was Ricki. Who else could it be? So I waited, holding my breath, watching my husband, hoping he wouldn't wake up. The raspy crowing continued for about fifteen minutes and by six a.m. he was done. This scenario has repeated itself every day since.

5:30 a.m. .... 5:45 a.m. .... 5:20 a.m. I can tell you with certainty that the bird's found his voice.

What's an urban farmer girl to do? Do I keep him and risk having someone call the town to complain about the rooster in my backyard? I decided it would be better for Ricki to go live on a local farm where he'd roam free. I learned later from the friend who arranged the placement that the farm is called BLOOD FARM. Hello. I can't make this stuff up. You don't even want to know what I imagined. We'd decided that the farmer would take Ricki and introduce him to his flock, and in return, I'd get a hen. Then when I learned about the whole business having to do with quarantining a new chicken for up to six weeks to make sure it's not diseased (because it could kill my existing chicken with its bugs), I decided to give up Ricki in exchange for no hen. My Samantha would need to live a solitary life, until I could accommodate quarantine quarters. But then, what about the winter? She'd freeze to death. Even though Ricki bullies her around the coop, they roost practically on top of each other. He's her bud.

Could this story get any longer? So here's what happened next. It was the night before Ricki was supposed to go away, when I had an idea. Why not cover the coop at night and trick the rooster into believing it's still night when he rouses? So I did. With a half dozen Glad trash bags that I taped into the shape of a big blanket. I covered every inch of the coop, leaving the bottoms loose for the free-flow of air, and crossed my fingers. Wouldn't you know it? Ricki did not crow the next morning until I removed the cover from his coop at a more suitable time, like 7:30 a.m. I was ecstatic, jumping up and down in the kitchen in my pajamas, while my husband held his coffee mug and shook his head. He does that a lot.

Later that afternoon I texted my friend and told him I was going to keep my rooster because I'd solved the crowing issue.

Do you think the ruse worked the following morning?

Nope.

Tonight the door into the enclosed part of the coop is closed enough to block Ricki's exit in the a.m. AND the coop is covered with my Glad bag invention.

We'll see what the morning brings.

(Samantha's now laying eggs :-)

Raising Chickens In The Burbs

We stopped for chicken feed and our son wanted to buy another chick!

I'm raising chickens. Never thought I'd hear myself say those words. I mean, we're not farm people. At all. We live on a quiet residential street, where the most exotic pet you might find is a pet frog or turtle.

It all started when our son's third grade class conducted their annual egg incubation project ...

"Mom, the eggs are going to hatch in twenty-one days."

"Mom, we can hear scratching."

"Mom, you can see the chick in the egg under a lightbulb."

"Mom, can I please bring home a baby chick -- everyone else is."

After a good seven days of some pretty serious begging and pleading by him, and deliberation between my husband and I, we gave in. "Okay, but only one." Where it would ultimately live, how we'd care for it, or what we'd feed it didn't even come up in conversation. Never mind, the implications of potentially ending up with a rooster. I guess we figured, we'd figure it out.

Raising Chickens? You Must Take Two

I went online a couple days before the chick came home to do a little research and discovered a great website called Backyard Chickens. It's chock-full with every chicken fact imaginable. There are even floor plans, with step-by-step instructions and pictures, for various chicken coops. I thought, "I can do this." The research was going pretty well until I learned that solitary chicks don't do well; they need to be in the company of at least one other chicken to thrive.

Sam and Richard sitting on a chicken recipe.

Hmmmm ...

So I wasn't surprised the day before the chick came home when our son's teacher sent a note home informing us that if we took one, it would die. Therefore, we had to take two. And so we did. Two chicks. One black. One yellow. Their names are Samuel and Richard, at the moment. Should they turn out to be female, their names will be Samantha and Ricki.

The chicks have been home two weeks and things are going smoothly. We've had no drownings or electrocutions in the makeshift coop, and they seem to be happy in their new home: Albert's (our dog's) crate. Glad we were finally able to put it to use.

They have about another five weeks indoors, then they'll move outside into a build-it-yourself chicken coop that we're ordering. The hubs isn't too crazy about the idea about keeping them, especially since their coop is going to be right under our bedroom window, because we don't want to disturb the neighbors with possible crowing you'd be able to hear two streets over, anyways, but hey -- they've grown on me. And it's not so strange to keep chickens in the burbs. The more people I talk to, the more I discover that there have been chickens in our midst without our even knowing it.

Should be interesting.

Read The Sequel: I've Got Chickens On My Mind

Classroom chicks in the incubator