But I Don't Speak Mexican!

Yesterday I had planned a trip to the National Museum of Mexican Art, where I was to choose a topic to write a report on for my Latin American History class. I tried to talk the kids into going with me, but Belly protested, "I'm not Mexican!" To which, of course, I reminded him that he is Mexican. He then yelled out (while in line at McDonald's) "But I don't even speak Mexican!!" Here are a few of my favorite pieces from the museum.



*Side note* I'm typing this at work, and there's a new guy sitting at a desk sort of half facing me. I just sneezed, and when I did, I pulled my jacket up to cover my face. He now looks like he wants to run from the room. What? I covered!

Thanksgiving went well, and Hubs and I went out for Black Friday for the first time. Three people were stabbed in the wee hours of the morning, waiting for Best Buy to open. Who brings a knife to a shopping spree? Apparently 3 people, since I don't think they were all about sharing it and taking turns with the shanking.

Yesterday we pulled out our Christmas tree and all of the assorted STUFF we've accumulated over the years. I had more fun than the kids. Anyway, our house now looks as merry as it feels :)

Years of Guilt... Gone

The setting, grandma’s house. The year, probably 1985 or 1986. The fashions… well, we’ll leave that alone.
It was my birthday, and I’d unsuccessfully lobbied to stay home from school. To make me feel better about being shipped off to the institution, my grandmother promised to make me a special birthday lunch, just for the two of us to share.
Being a child means living in the moment and having a totally egocentric world view, right?
So, that day, I invited my friend Jenny Pagan to lunch at my grandmother’s house. My grandmother didn’t miss a beat. Didn’t seem surprised or disappointed. She led us to the table, already set for two. She fed us salad and steak (my favorite foods at the time – yes, I was a strange child) and sent us on our way back to school.
Years later, I looked back on that with shame. Here was my grandmother, trying to do something special and nice for us, and I didn’t consider her feelings at all. I felt so terrible, for so long.
Last week I picked up the phone and called my grandmother, launched into the story and said, “I’m either calling to apologize, or to thank you for rolling with the punches.” She laughed and swore she hadn’t even thought of it since the day it happened, and couldn’t imagine I’d actually lugged around guilt for something like that.
I blame my quasi-Catholic upbringing.

Back to Basics

As in walking, sitting, reaching. Those basics. The ones I couldn't do after yesterday's fall down the stairs. Today I'm sporting a few nasty abrasions and bruises, but I feel much better. Nothing broken except my ego. Because of course, Hubs was there to see this colossal FAIL of stairwalking. After all was said and done, he asked me kindly to never do that again, as seeing me get hurt almost killed him.
I just love it when he thinks of himself in these situations ;)

Looks as Bad as it Feels

This morning while rushing out of the house carrying 1) my heavy book bag for school and 2) a big, steaming cup of coffee and 3) Hubs' jacket to be dry cleaned....
I slipped down the wet back stairs. Feels like I went totally airborn before the weight of my bag helped slam me into the stairs. Then of course I slid down the remaining stairs, and lay in a crouched, crumpled heap at the bottom.
Now I'm at work, in terrible pain. My ribs hurt when I breathe. I can't even lean back in my chair.
There's no way I'll make it to school tonight, so sit for an extra 3 hours in a hard, plastic chair.
I just want to go home :(

DIY Dog Healing

My little man if feeling better now. *Whew!*
Wait….
Now my dog is sick. My 75lb baby. He wasn’t acting like himself. He was kind of down. Maybe I’m projecting human feelings on him, I don’t know. Then he started throwing up. Then yesterday he didn’t want to eat. I sat up with him half the night, cleaning up puke, coaxing him to drink water, and reading online about DIY dog fixing. Gave him some maple syrup, because one site suggested his shivering may have been due to hypoglycemia from not eating. He threw that up. On my bed.
This morning Hubs took him into the vet, because seriously, I threw a tennis ball and he just watched it go. Now you KNOW that means he doesn’t feel well. So he’s there, and they’re keeping him overnight.
OVER. NIGHT.
My poor dog!! He’s going to be so sad! What if he freaks out? What if he thinks I’ve left him??

Eva, on the other hand, is living it up. She’s getting all the food and treats that Ilio doesn’t want, and she’s tossing around a pair of brand new tennis balls that she’s got all to herself.

Making it in the Big City

I'm having a rough week, fellow bloggers. At a crossroads, and don't know which way to go. Feeling a bit crapped on. Feel like yelling out, "It's just not fair!", but know it won't change anything.
As you know, I'm one of the 700,000 people who lost their jobs in January. I'm thankful to have found another one, but it comes at a great decrease in salary. My husband worked a lot of overtime to make up for the shortfall, but the City of Chicago has recently stopped paying overtime. With the recent increase in property taxes, we've now reached a point where it's very hard to afford our home. We live in a modest home, in a modest area. Nothing fancy. No marble bathrooms. No 3 acres. We're told that our property value hasn't declined, but foreclosed homes are selling like hotcakes around here, for far less than we owe on ours. If we sell, we may walk away with nothing. That's if we can sell at all.
If we stay, we will run into problems the next time something major comes up - maybe a plumbing emergency, or a car problem. We are truly in that unpleasant situation where we can't afford to stay, and can't afford to leave.
This is my first home. As in, I lived in apartments my whole life. Moved around a lot. I don't want to do that to my kids. We've been here almost 5 years, and that's the longest I've ever lived in one place. I played by the rules, did my part, and still come out behind. The Making Home Affordable program seemed like it might help us. But you know what? We're $11 under their criteria to qualify. Eleven. Fucking. Dollars.

If we could sell, and move into something smaller, more affordable, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

But it's never that simple, is it?

She's WHAT?!

Yesterday I was informed by a parent at the school that a girl in Daimean’s 6th grade class is going around telling people she’s pregnant. So I called the school and talked to the teacher and she said, “Oh, she’s still saying that?!”

STILL?????

It’s going to be a long school year.

Turns out the teacher has already made the girl's mother aware of this, and thought the whole thing had been put behind them. Good lord.