Easter is probably my favorite holiday with Thanksgiving being a close second. Imagine that, two holidays that really stand out with food and sweets! Growing up, I was very lucky that my mother held tightly onto traditions. She built these traditions into our family and I’ve now passed on those traditions to my girls. Easter dresses, chocolates, grilling, and cascarones (confetti eggs)!

The Goods

--Egg shells

--confetti

--food coloring/dye + white vinegar…to color eggs

--1/4 c flour + water…natural glue

--tissue/crepe paper (squares large enough to cover the egg)

The Process

To make your own you will need egg shells. This requires some planning—saving of shells or some epic baking. I decided to start saving our shells for the past month. This means you save the shell and the egg carton. You rinse off the inside of the shell, and let them dry until you are ready for use. My family eats a lot of eggs. Plus, I made some homemade goodies, so we had 11 dozen shells to decorate and fill.

Step One – Prepare Work Area

Have a decent sized work space and be sure to cover with newspaper, plastic wrap, etc. Also, have on hand, spoons, paper towels, refreshments (because this is gonna take some time), and some music. Also, wear some work clothes!

Step Two – Color Eggs

Lay out your eggs, boil your water, and measure out vinegar/food coloring for dyeing eggs. Need help with that? Check out these gals.

Note: Brown eggs DO NOT color as great as white eggs.

Step 3 – Fill Eggs with Confetti

When your eggs have dried, place them back in the carton and fill the shells with confetti! If you are NOT like me, you already have your confetti and have had it for a while. If you are like me, then you have to take your trusty Marta Stewart Fringe scissors and make some confetti! (see, now you know the REAL reason why it takes so long!) You give up making confetti and you dive into your decorative stash of flakey glitter and fill your eggs because your smallest one has gotten into the glue and decided to paint herself and the dog. Much excitement, for sure!

Step 4 – Cover Eggs

So you can use regular glue, but I like to get messy! Here is where I take my flour, add a bit of water until it is just the right amount of creamy. You don’t want it runny, but a thick creamy like regular glue. Dip your finger into the glue and line the top of your egg shell. Then cover with the paper and run a layer around the top edge again to secure. Gently put aside to dry. Go to the next egg. It took my eldest about half an hour to get through a dozen. In that same time, my smallest one successfully completed one egg. And managed to get glue on herself, the dog, and all over the workplace. It was fun times watching them and just giggling. Be prepared for much laughter and complaining.

Step 5 – Let Dry

Once you have covered all of the eggs, let them dry at least over night. They are so pretty! You did a great job, you deserve a glass of wine. But you can’t have one because you have to chisel off the homemade glue from yourself, your little ones, and your dog. By the time you are done, you will just want a long bath and a nap.

Step 6 – Crack on Heads

Now the hard part is over. Go out and have some fun. Chase each other cracking the eggs on top of the heads for good luck. When it is all over, witness the aftermath on the floor. A nice storm will help wash it all away. You can also sweep it up.

Hope y’all had a wonderful Easter!

2013…

What a year. I’m grateful for the life I’ve been given, the incredible people in my life (especially the guy by my side), and the opportunities & adversities I have face this year. I prepared myself for 2013, choosing the word COURAGE as my one little word. I had no idea the ways it would present itself to me.


I took a bit of a hiatus from writing my thoughts in this medium, popping in and out only in moments (really 47 posts for the ENTIRE year??). I had to take a few months to process some very personal things. Rather than spewing my most personal thoughts on the interwebs (like really, who wants to read all of that? who needs to read all of that? I’m not that important.), I took some time to write them the old fashioned way, pen and paper, and loads of self-conversations while running. I probably could have published some of it on here, but it boiled down to a simple concept. I have been blessed with a gift. Rather than use words as weapons to destroy (no matter how vindicated or justified I’d feel in spewing so much snark), I’d rather use words to motivate or uplift (because who wants to hold onto that negativity? I have certainly felt a huge weight lifted from my shoulders when I finally released some of my demons. Too much baggage, gah!). Instead of sharing what I saw as my own truth, I opted to contain it so as to not hurt others and myself. It took a great deal of courage for me to come to that decision, especially when I felt like I was being attacked. Then again, when you are in the thick of things, it is easy to latch onto the smallest of things and run with it until you are positively insane. We’ve all been there, consumed by madness! In any case, I wanted to say thank you to all of my friends and family who lifted me up. Many of you reading this had no idea that the tiniest bits of things you’ve posted online, texted me, emailed, written, tiny gestures…meant so very much to me when I was feeling quite low. If you feel compelled to share exciting news or come across a phrase that motivates/inspires you, then share it. You have no idea the ripples you create in doing just that!

I had the courage to embrace my imperfections. I began to appreciate that I was a broken pot, used to water the plants along the side of the road. I hadn’t really understood my own rippling effect, until I was forced to push pause on my life an reflect. I’m gonna own that as a major win. I’m also going to celebrate that I kept on keeping on.

These were the goals I’d set forth and nearly accomplished them all. (We didn’t go camping and I flew on aerial silks instead of a trapeze):

These are my major accomplishments for the year:

1. I jumped out of a plane and lived.
2. I ran a half marathon and amazed myself with my finish time. (I even amazed myself with my 5K improvements.)
3. I saw my eldest off to her first day of school.
4. I also witnessed her happily read her first several books to me.
5. I also cried a great many tears of joy after she completed her first 5K with an average pace of 12 minute miles (she’s 5!!!).
6. I witnessed our youngest master potty training and running her first mile in a race with a 13 minute mile pace (outstanding! She’s 2!).
7. I also saw her vocabulary expand exponentially. She also knows how to flip off of the ottoman, jump on one foot, dance whenever music is playing, and sings along to the radio.
8. I went to a great number of concerts, even scoring a media pass to document the experience.
9. I had a year’s worth of dates with my Beloved (at least one a month). Several of them were overnight dates, too!
10. I visited California 3 times, dug my toes in the sand, climbed a mountain (twice), and sat under the redwoods breathing it all in.
11. I got a new car!
12. I hosted my very own 5K for my birthday (and will be doing it again in 2014).
13. I survived the health scare of my fractured vertebrae and venous cavernous malformation.
14. I let go of personal aches, made peace with my past, and found myself better for it.
15. I began a type of art therapy for myself by incorporating devotions/scripture in a journal.
16. I drank a lot of coffee. ha ha!
17. I worked out a lot with my Beloved.
18. I started to incorporate skills from my professional life and began a new project that will hopefully launch next year.
19. I had SO MUCH TIME with my bests!!! It wasn’t weeks on end, but hours, certainly, and such good quality hours, too!
20. I ate a lot of really good food!
21. I tried to grow a garden, which basically amounted to basil.
22. I held two new babies birthed by my friends (even helping one of them through pre-labor).
23. I stood next to my nephew/godson as he was Confirmed this year.
24. I had my first ever facial…which is big because I don’t like anyone touching my face.
25. Embraced gluten-free cooking/baking and have had much success!

Whew.

Cheers to 2014! Looking forward to it!

What's the Matter with Butter?

I've been in a baking frenzy lately. Seriously, I made cookies, pie, cake, cupcakes, icing, whoa. It's been nuts. Last night, I went to make Paula Deen's Pineapple Upside Down Cake when I realized that I was out of butter!!! I don't remember the last time I'd run out. I usually have 8 sticks in my fridge as "emergency" butter. 4 salted, 4 unsalted What makes it even more bizarre is that I'd just come back from the store to pick up some essentials for that recipe (buttermilk) when I realized I didn't have the glorious butter. *sigh*

Anyway, I like to leave my butter out in the morning, and let it get nice and soft for evening baking or even for spreading on toast. I don't have one of those butter crocks, so I guess that is something to put on my wishlist. Well, I kept thinking I was having serious pregnancy brain because I would swear I had a couple of sticks of butter out, but only see one. Or I would leave a tablespoon out, but then I wouldn't find it. I never saw a wrapper, so I just chalked it up to me not really setting them out or just doing a lot of baking.

When I was making homemade cinnamon rolls last week I caught the Sugarbean happily devouring half a stick of butter!!!! She must've eaten about a tablespoon of it and was smearing the rest of it on her hands, her face, and painting the kitchen window with it. (It's never a good sign when the kiddo is THAT quiet!)

MAH-RISSS-A-BELLE!  is what came out in that evil Stepmother voice from Cinderella. I hate it when I do that, by the way! She stared at me with those gorgeous brown eyes, wide and surprised. She smiled and said, "I like butter. It's goooooOOoood!" and grinned. (No I didn't get a photo, but needless to say, her hair had some extra shine and apparently, Guapo is a fan of it too because he "aided" me in the clean-up effort.) Her daddy wasn't very happy about this, but then I got to thinking...

Blythe Beck, The Naughty Chef, loves her some butter.
Paula Deen can't seem to get enough butter.
Tony Bourdain...another butter lover.
Primo also loves butter.

These are all chefs. They all know really good food. I know for a fact that two of them are huge fans of wine and are extremely adventurous eaters. Heck, Mari prefers to have her eggs cooked over easy, and I mean for real, over easy. (When we had a breakfast date, I ordered them this way and the waiter said, "Really? That's great! She likes to eat eggs the right way." Not sure what he meant, but he followed up with, "She's going to be an adventurous diner!"--she already is, darlin'!) I don't know many children who like their eggs that way. Before she discovered over-easy, she would eat her eggs scrambled with cream cheese or just barely pick at the eggs. I was the same way growing up. If my over easy eggs weren't cooked perfectly, I would pass and not eat them. My mom would chop them up in tiny, tiny pieces like perfectly broken bits of egg-glass. I could never get them like she would get them, but now I can. And now, that's how Mari likes them too. I went on an egg tangent, sorry. Anyway, all this to say that I know she has a fine palate. It was my goal from the very beginning to continue to cultivate that palate and introduce her to all sorts of foods and have a greater appreciation for them. I never wanted her to be limited to just a few select choices. I don't want her to grow to be the picky eater I was, even though I never knew I was a picky eater. I was just narrow in my scope.

I'm not going to let her continue to eat butter straight from the stick, but if she wants to add a tiny bit of flavor to something with butter, I'm not going to tell her no. I do try to instill good eating habits in her, but at the same time, I don't want to compromise the flavor. Besides, I'd rather she eat the natural butter, churned from milk instead of that margarine that is just one molecule away from being plastic. (which I don't knock too hard for those people who are on a special diet that requires they eat that stuff, but man, I'd just rather do without than have the substitute.)

What about you? Do you love and appreciate butter? Which kind do you prefer?

The Santa Innocence

I've been mulling over writing this post for quite a while now (as in the past 3 years, actually) and in my sleep deprived state, I have ultimately decided, 'eh, why not.

Growing up, Santa Claus was a big deal in our household. There were many things that we celebrated throughout the year, but few paled into comparison as the way we would celebrate Easter, Christmas, and our birthdays. Each of those days was very special to us: our birthdays because it was one single day where the focus was solely on us; Easter because of our risen Lord, Christmas because of the birth of our Lord. Like many Americans, we adopted the cultural norms surrounding each holiday and it wasn't until I was older that I discovered the rich history behind the traditions...and the not-so-rich history behind them. I digress...

We believed in Santa. I don't know where it came about or how it came about, but I believed in Santa Claus. Or maybe the idea of him. Because I honestly believed that Santa Claus came to visit us, even though we didn't have a fireplace, he somehow made it through the central heating unit and flooded our tree with extravagant gifts. I also believed that there was a Pancho Claus and a Black Santa who would sub in and out for him, all of whom were traveling the world at a break neck pace to deliver the toys to the good children. Mom...well, mom made it very special for us. Looking back, it wasn't like she made it unobvious. I remember going to K-Mart and putting our toys on layaway. I also remember going there in the summer to shop for school clothes and late summer to stow away our jackets. Oh the wonders of layaway. I remember going to the back of the store to wait in line with my mom while she made the layaway payment. And less than a handful of times, I was there when she made the final payment and loaded up on the giant bags that were stashed away. I remember when the first Toys R Us opened in our town and the first time we were given the catalog to circle what we wanted for Christmas. I remember begging my father to take us there so we could oogle over the shiny new toys. He begrudgingly took us one afternoon and after that visit, I was completely turned off by the store all together. Until I saw Big, and then I couldn't wait to visit F.A.O. Schwartz. I remember getting my hands on one of their catalogs one time and again, drooling over the shiny new toys. And then I saw the price tag of them and quickly realized that those types of toys were not for a gal like me. They were reserved for the rich kids whose neighborhoods we would visit during the holidays and stare in amazement of the twinkling shimmering lights from the comfort of our station wagon while we sipped on cocoa from the thermos lid cup. Those kids lived like Richie Rich and that boy from The Toy. I remember thumbing through the Best catalog in the toy section and circling toys that I wanted. Every year, I circled the trampoline and ant farm. Neither of which I ever got. After my friend's ants had escaped from his ant farm one time, I was quite content with staring at the ant farm from at distance at my school. I still wanted the trampoline. One year, I knew I had been extra good and asked for a bicycle from Santa. I wasn't at all surprised when it was sitting there for me. I was very happy about it, and smiled and tried to give it to my sister. I knew she had wanted a bike and in my opinion, she hadn't been very good, so I was going to give the bike I knew I'd get to her. It didn't end well. To this day, I don't like to ride bikes and I seem to crash them. One year I really, really wanted a Cabbage Patch doll and a Care Bears sleeping bag. That year, I received both from Santa.

All that to say, this was the tradition. We'd get the toy catalogs in the mail. We would take out the pen and circle what we wanted. Occasionally, I'd tear a page out of the very special toys I wanted most. We'd watch Miracle on 34th Street and be amazed that the little girl didn't believe in Santa. We'd also watch A Christmas Story and part of Charlie Brown. We would string garland from popcorn, make Christmas tree crafts, and make colorful construction paper chains. We would put up our Nativity Scene first, then the tree and stockings, which were stapled to the wall. We'd visit Santa in the mall, and I knew that all of those were fake Santas, not the real deal, but I still posed for the photo. We'd write our letters to Santa and light our candles on the Advent wreath. Then Christmas Eve would roll around and mom would always feign illness and have to lay in bed for the night. We would have to be very, very quiet and go to sleep early. If we had a nap, maybe Mom would feel better and we'd head to Midnight mass with her, which always seemed to be earlier than midnight. Always, when we got home, mom wouldn't feel up to par and have to go lay down again in the dark.

We'd leave out the homemade sugar cookies and a glass of eggnog or milk for Santa with a thank you note for him. I remember looking to the sky, not for his sleigh, but for the star that was leading the way for the wise men to Jesus. I would go to sleep a thousand kinds of anxious. And when we'd awake, my sister would always tell me how she heard bells and hoofsteps on the roof and how I must've missed it because I was such a heavy sleeper. She and I would sit together in our room in our Christmas pajamas, eager to run to the tree to check to see what Santa had brought. I don't remember it being tremendously early, but we'd fly into my parents room and get them up. We'd race to the room with the tree, and every square inch was covered in gifts. Beautifully wrapped gifts with shiny bows and fancy tags. Then, in the back, there were the quilted patchwork of wrapping paper gifts, some with a sliver of wrap covering the name of the item. But the Santa gifts!! They were fancy wrapped in thick paper, pristine corners, fabulous bows, with our names in a fancy script...a handwriting we had never before seen. Santa was real. He just had to be! The night before there were only ever one or two gifts under the tree and nothing in the stockings.

I guess I never stopped believing in Santa. Heck, at times, I even became Santa, Santa Bianca. Flitting around here and there performing random acts of kindness for strangers wishing them a Merry Christmas along the way. Because, yes, Jesus is the reason for the season, but it is in the generosity of St. Nick where we learn that giving is a wonderful gift in and of itself. It is for that reason alone that we have tried to pass on the tradition of Santa to Mari. I hope that we can be as patient and creative as my parents were, taking the time to ask friends with great handwriting to write out our names so that we don't have a clue. Sacrificing sleep to wrap the gifts perfectly. It's all a part of that childhood innocence that somehow goes hand-in-hand with the tooth fairy...belief in something magical, wondrous, and beautiful. It was believing in the unseen and unknown back then that would reinforce and strengthen my faith. She won't lose sight of the real reason for the season and we won't fall complete victims to the commercialism. But I think there is a happy medium that can be found there some how.

Unfortunately, I think I have just a few years to celebrate in this innocence, as my cherished friend put it, because so many of her peers' parents aren't "doing" Santa. Here's to hoping she'll understand the spirit of what Santa represents and have that generosity in her heart all year long. I think she already does because she is a giving child and very eager to share the gifts she has received and give them too...just like Santa.

Let's Go Rangers!

You faithful readers know that I'm a big fan of baseball. I revisited the stadiums I have been lucky to visit here. I talked about last year's world series and how many of the Yankees were former Rangers here. We took Mari to visit the Ballpark on her almost 6 month birthday. Last year, I was able to see my name in lights again when I celebrated my birthday there with many, many family members, just like when I turned 12 and Daddy took me and my friends to the old Arlington stadium to heckle Bo Jackson. In those days we cheered on Pete Incaviglia and Ruuuuuuben Sierrrrra! In college, I cheered for Pudge Rodriguez and Juan Gonzalez, the mighty Puerto Ricans! I still remember the first time I visited the new stadium, the Ballpark in Arlington.

My first professional baseball game was at Chavez Ravine. I liked the Dodgers. I was told by my cousins and uncles that to be a true baseball purist, you need to like and/or respect the Yankees. I saw their pinstriped uniforms and I was sold. I learned about the history of baseball and fell in love with them some more. But then, I went to a game in the old Arlington stadium. Something about having a team so close with likable guys made me relate. We spent many summer nights at that stadium. We saw the concerts after the game (I've got sunshiiiiii-iine, on a cloudy day. When it's cold outsiiiii-iiide, I've got the month of May.), we were in awe of the fireworks, and I had grand dreams to be proposed on the big screen one day. Little did I know that the dream would be a reality, while my two favorite teams, met up, no less: Rangers v. Yankees May 2004

The Rangers managed to win that day. On the outside, I told everyone I would be happy regardless of the outcome, and frankly, my head was elsewhere that day, yet, I still rooted for our guys, especially because A-Rod's departure to the Yankees was a thorn in my heart.

A part of me always wanted the Rangers to win, but time and time again, it was the Yankees in October, so I took small comfort knowing one of the two would be representing. But when they come head-to-head, I'm always a Rangers fan, despite being witness to more losses than victories against them. So here we are, battling the Yankees for the ALCS. Each night, I am glued to the TV and when I feel my blood pressure rising, I change the channel and fix my eyes to my facebook account waiting for the fan updates. So many play-by-play updates, it is almost like watching the TV. When I know it is safe for me to watch again, I will turn it back. The rituals the same, always. Every 7th inning, I stand up and sing along to God Bless America even though I know I can never finish the song because I'm always crying. Again, I can't believe it. I do believe, but it is unbelievable! Our guys, they are here. They've been in the show all along, but now they are center stage and every night I watch them, I get so full of pride and happiness. Each night after the game, I want to call my father and gleefully revel in the joy. Baseball has always been our thing. It's our family thing, but a very special thing between my father and I. When we trek to the stadium from the parking lot, I'm instantly a kid again, clutching the coupon for the discounted program, wearing our Ranger gear, in excited anticipation of what the game will hold.

This year, summer has been stretched a little bit longer, along with it, hope. It's so great to know that Mari already likes it as much as I do. It makes me even happier to know that no matter the distance between our family, we are all listening and/or watching the game. Go Rangers!

Abuela's Gifts

Sivje over at Goosegirl sews is having a giveaway and the immediate entry was this:

what is your favorite "gift" you have received from a grandparent or another person who invested time and love into your life? By gift, I mean wisdom, a skill lovingly taught, a story shared, or even a physical gift like a locket or book or some other special item.

Well, I couldn't limit my writing to the small comment box. I have a bit of an overview, but here's the real story:

My grandmother, Hortencia ("Tish" to her close friends, grandma/abuela to me) was the epitome of back in the day. If you watch Mad Men, then you know the era in which my grandmother grew up and she fit the bill to a T. To me, she's an icon. She is a quick learner, self taught in most things and excels at every thing she's tried. And she's an itty bitty bit of a woman, but definitely a force to be reckoned with. Anyway, after she graduated from high school (at the tender age of 16), she attended a college to learn to be a secretary (administrative assistant in nowadays terms). She wasn't far along in the program when she met my grandfather. Three months after they'd met, they were married. This year they will celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary. a-m-a-z-i-n-g!

I spent the summers of my childhood in her presence. I know I might have mentioned it before. However, I have to admit that every summer I had a bit of anxiety going there. Uncertain if my parents would return, it also didn't help that my sister told me that Mexicans would come and kidnap me and mom and dad would forget about me and leave me there. After the first day, my anxiety would abate and we'd fall into a familiar routine. We'd be up by 7, eat a cereal breakfast M/W, oatmeal on Tuesdays, cantaloupe on Thursdays, and eggs on Fridays. No cheese with the eggs. No sugar with our cereal. And only a handful of times were we awarded with ice cream with our cantaloupe. It was a rare treat, but I still dream of that meal. At 10, we'd watch The Price is Right. Then, we'd watch The Young and the Restless while we helped her dust or fold linens. Lunch was promptly at one. We'd have a nap until 2. Once we were up, we'd hang out in the back room which was a spare bedroom/sewing room. I'd fall asleep to the machine whirring and when I awoke, I'd hear it still whirring. I was always amazed by what she would accomplish during the time I napped. There'd be a stack of fabric when I put my head to the pillow and when I awoke, there'd be a new blouse, dress, or even a skirt for me.

She had air conditioning, but didn't turn it on. She didn't have ceiling fans. Even though she lived in a desert,  an occasional breeze would greet us, forcing the curtains to happily dance in the sunlight. She insisted we wear socks indoors so we wouldn't "catch a cold." On Sunday's, we'd get up early and we were always in dresses and usually we'd wear pristine white gloves. And Grandma, whoa, was she a looker. Her beautifully designed and made dresses rivaled Chanel. True story: she designed and created my aunt's wedding gown. She was such good friends with the women at Cloth World (do y'all remember that store?) she gave them one of the bridal photos. Well, they had it posted and a major pattern company wanted to buy the design from her. She wouldn't sell it. It was a one of a kind and that's the way she wanted to keep it.

It was in that back room that my real learning blossomed. I say real learning because my folks would always send us workbooks and we were also tasked with looking up new words in the dictionary to improve our vocabulary. Those lessons happened in the morning immediately after breakfast. Yet, in the afternoon, she taught me to crochet, embroider, and sew. More than that, though, she taught me patience, too appreciate and look for the small details, and most importantly, not to take shortcuts. All wonderfully crafted items are meticulously made with pride, love, and full of craftsman's details. The first year, I made potholders and learned to hand sew. I had to master threading a needle before I could sew anything. Each year, I steadily honed my skills. I didn't practice the remaining 10 months out of the year, so you can imagine my learning curve. But after a week I'd have dusted off the ol' skills enough to where physical memory of the task would take over. The last summer I spent with her, I'd crocheted a pair of baby booties, embroidered several hand towels, made some adult booties for my parents, and had several new Barbie clothes. All of those clothes were sewn by hand. Grandma was afraid I'd sew my fingers together, so it wasn't until much later that I would actually use a machine, despite her teaching me all about hers: how to thread it, the different feet she'd use, and proper posture while sewing (that one clearly didn't stick).

She was over the moon when I told her of my own creations in Home Economics. I had stopped sewing for many years and only recently took it back up. I also picked up my crochet hook(s) and have bought a new embroidery hoop with several accompanying flour sacks screaming to be decorated. Again, she's ecstatic that I have taken it all back up.

Over the years, we've kept in touch and I do find a high level of comfort talking to her. While being fiercely independent, she waited on my grandfather in no way that I've ever again witnessed in real life. I've seen it on TV and in movies, though. Anyway, she reinforced that I could be anything I wanted to. I remember asking her why she always followed Grandpa. Meaning, why would she serve him and wait to eat until after he was done? Why did she do ALL of the chores in the house (including ironing all of the sheets and underwear)? Why did she walk behind him? Why didn't she work? I was even more confused after she'd left a fairly lucrative position in the department store and didn't go to university to learn more. Her answer was simple: "I was married and it was my choice to make that sacrifice. I had a choice and so do you. All mothers and wives provide for their families in some way. One day when you get older you'll know what I mean. And I hope you'll know that kind of great love." Those words echoed and burned into my brain like law.

Even more years after that, I called her to let her know I was getting married. A few months prior to the wedding, we went for a visit. Initially Grandma acted as the translator since she speaks English and Spanish with serious ease. This was the first time Don met my grandparents. Immediately, they fell in love with him. Despite the language barrier between he and my grandfather, they were fast friends over food. My grandmother's cooking can unite opposite sides like no other. It's no wonder why the great nations of the world don't break bread with our grandmother's food. I'm certain all of our issues would be resolved. I digress. While Don and Grandpa were discussing salsa and construction, Grandma pulled me aside to the back room. She went to a drawer and pulled out a hunter green jewelry box. It was old. She handed it to me and said, "Here's your something old and borrowed." I tenderly opened the box and inside was her mother's double-strand pearl necklace. The clasp on the back is an antique setting, an unpolished emerald backed with an intricate gold starburst. I wore it proudly on my wedding day as you can see below.

Less than two months later, was my birthday. Grandma gave me my traditional birthday phone call. On that call, she not only gave me my additional birthday blessing but she gifted me with the pearl necklace. Saying, "Now it is no longer borrowed, it is yours to keep." I don't remember her mother, but she talks of her often. While the path I've chosen to take is far different than the one she's chosen, I remember her wise words. I have been blessed with the great love of my life and have sacrificed differently, but I finally understand what she meant.

Thank you Sivje for giving me this opportunity!

Photographers are Awesome

One of the biggest reasons I like the holidays are the photos I take at this time. It isn't that they are super amazing by a professional photographer's standards, but they are captured memories of family and friends that I don't nearly get to see, nor spend as much time with them as I'd like.

This year, I did something out of the norm. I booked a professional photographer to meet us the Saturday after Thanksgiving and get a BIG family portrait of my immediate family and their loved ones. I'm so flippin' excited about this opportunity! Normally, we rush and try to squeeze time and head to a photog-in-a-box. This inevitably is very stressful, because trying to squeeze that many people into a room and get them to cooperate, then finally agree on a photo to buy...well, it's just a mess! This is an investment in a moment captured. Thanksgiving is my 2nd most favorite holiday of the year, just inches behind Easter. This year, we're all going to be together! Not on Thanksgiving proper, but two days after isn't so bad. I can't even remember the last time I had everyone around me. It isn't like years have gone by. I know it's just been a few months, but still. We're a tight knit family and I get a little skittish when it's been too long since we've connected.

Anyway, I first "met" Jackie on a local moms board and later met her briefly in person on another photo shoot. I was taken back by her incredible eye and the photos she took of me blew my mind. Seriously, normally I don't like being in front of a camera. I prefer to be behind one, in fact. However, with her at the helm, I'm confident and know that she'll not only get a great shot, but capture my personality. If she could do that with me, well, then it'll be easy-breezy with the rest of my family. They are all super photogenic! That probably has to do with Mom insisting on getting our photos done in the studio every 3 - 6 months since birth. :D Thanks Mom! Good thing none of our photos have turned up on awkwardfamilyphotos.com

While Jackie runs mini-session specials, which are quite a bit less expensive than a typical session, I wanted to have her keen eye for fabulousness all to ourselves. I have wanted to participate in some of her mini session specials for a while, but the timing just wasn't right. Anyway, she is running a wonderful Christmas special: For $175, you get 3 mini sessions throughout 2010. That's a $60 savings!

Also, one final brag on her, she's giving away over $1000 in custom photography to a very deserving family. If you know someone, you should definitely email their story to her.

Speaking of giveaways, another photographer's blog I stalk is Spink Studio. And she's giving away 50 custom Christmas cards for anyone who enters the contest. Go check it out if you want a chance to win.

What are some of your favorite family photo (or general photo) experiences?

Aprons & Holidays

Every year around the holidays, it is a baking frenzy in our home. This is probably due in large part to my own mother fast and furiously whipping up all sorts of nummy-nums when we were growing up. Autumn and Winter go hand-in-hand with flour, butter, sugar, and brown sugar. Lately, I've been finding myself stocking up on this stuff without realizing it. Last night when I was fishing around the cabinets looking for something sweet, I realized that I had a full container of sugar, a half opened bag of sugar, and another bag of sugar stashed away in the storage pantry. Not to mention the three kinds of flours hiding along side the sugar container, the two bags of brown sugar, and the 10 sticks of butter I have in the fridge. Wow...I think it is intervention time.

No seriously, hopefully this weekend I'll get to whip up some goods and freeze them to be ready for all of the holiday baking. This year, I really want to whip up some delicious kinds of cookies and give them to family to enjoy. We'll see how that works out.

Anyway, for those who have been to our home, they know that as soon as they walk in the kitchen, they will notice the large silver hook and how it is adorned with nearly a dozen aprons. They are in several different sizes, colors, and styles, and each one of them means something different to me, all are very special!

I remember both my Grandmother (dad's mom) and Mother wearing aprons while working over a stove or when baking. When I was around 5, mom began allowing me to help her in the kitchen, but she always insisted I wear an apron. I still remember it was an old maroon ladies apron, very industrial. She would put it over my shoulders, then fold the longer side in half, completely wrapping it around my small body, and even then, it nearly dragged on the floor. But I felt fancy and bold in that apron, and boy did I create all sorts of fabulous goodies in it. Over the years, I eventually grew into the apron. When I graduated from school, and moved off to my own place, Mom tried to give the apron to me, but I told her I wanted her to keep it there, so I'd have something to wear when I would come to visit. I hope it is still there!

Anyway, this post was inspired by a new blog that I happened up while visiting another blog that I frequent. Sivje over at Goosegirl Sews is giving away one of her delicious Yaya aprons. I do so hope that I win. If you want a chance to enter, go read more! Click here to check it out.

Do you have a favorite apron/baking/cooking memory?

SIN-Amen! Rolls

My niece and nephew spent the Friday night with us and the entire following day as well. We had such a great time and as always, we didn't want them to be bored. For Saturday, Don came up with yardwork to do with my nephew, while I came up with baking and other creative ventures. We had made the decision to be involved during their visit, so on Friday after returning from dinner, we didn't touch the television. Ian showed Don how to play a game on his DS.

I mentally made a to-do list, while we colored, glittered, painted, and stamped to our hearts content. Even Mari got in the middle of all of it, successfully writing on me, inking her tiny hands a BRIGHT red, and putting her own mark on Zeni's art. (ahh...don't you love it when kids have to sort out the imperfections of life?) Zeni handled it with her typical Jackie-O grace. Seriously, I don't know how that girl has THAT much patience and tact at such a tender age. Incredible!

After we were crafted-out, we played Monopoly waay, way late into the night! Well, it was late for them. I'm still trying to figure out this bedtime routine and because it was Friday, we let them stay up until midnight. We had a fun time playing. Zeni was queen of Monopoly, beating us with just the cash she had on hand, not including her properties. It was a cool night, so I propped open the front window (the one that is hidden by the bush) and within minutes of completing their nightly routine, they were fast asleep and happy.

The next morning, we were up and at 'em at 8:30, which was pretty remarkable, because we were able to sleep in an extra hour and a half. I can't tell you how happy that made me. I guess Mari was worn out from her cousins too, because she was not wanting to get out of bed, but when I reminded her that Zeni and Ian were waiting for her, she perked up and immediately called out for Guapo.

We all dressed to go out for breakfast. The kids were all crowded into our hall bathroom, Mari standing on her frog stool to see. I brushed her hair, while the cousins washed their faces, brushed their teeth, and entertained Mari long enough to finish with her hair. We headed to La Paloma. Zeni and Ian skeptically looked over the menu, not quite sure what to order. Ian is a little less picky, and just pointed to a regular torta and picked out a Jarritos soda. Zeni, just got a burrito and another flavor of Jarritos. I ordered chilaquiles, with a Mexican coke. Don had a Sprite and I don't remember what else he had. Mari had rice with eggs. Although, that was a mistake on our part because she prefers their beans over the rice and they comped us a side of beans for Mari to eat. (LOVE THEM!) While we waited for the meal to finish cooking, we let Mari go for a ride on the mechanical burro. She loves this thing. It's a quarter for the ride and it makes a silly galloping sound while riding, but she doesn't mind it. Fifty cents later and our food was ready.
We piled around the table, happily munching away on our food. Zeni ate all of Mari's rice, Mari ate most of her beans, Don finished up my chilaquiles, and Ian tore up his torta. They both enjoyed their Jarritos drink.

We were sufficiently food drunk when the girls split from the guys. We headed to Target to pick up some essentials, then swung by Kroger to get the ingredients for some cinnamon rolls! Earlier in the week I had the pleasure of reading one of my friend's articles that was published in a magazine. (yes, she's amazing!) Anyway, while I was browsing around, I found a recipe for homemade cinnamon rolls. I figured, why not? The only time I've ever made any myself was popping them out of the Pillsbury can. In any case, this was just the excuse to dust off the ol' apron and get ready for Fall.

When we returned to the house, Ian and Don were in the middle of yard work. Mari was on the edge of a nap, and had Zeni not been there, I would've joined her. Instead, I took three aprons off of the silver hook in the kitchen and handed the yellow and lime green one to Zeni, tied the black and white polka dotted one around Mari, and wrapped the vintage style turquoise one around myself. I handed Mari a wooden spoon, a bowl, and tossed in some dry ingredients for her to play around with. Afterwards, I handed Zeni the recipe and we read it together. I showed her how to measure wet ingredients and informed her that cooking was a good foundation builder for both Chemistry and Math. I gave her a quick overview about fractions and what they meant. I also dreamily told her stories of my childhood spent in the kitchen with her Bisabuela and Nana. How they both cooked and cooked and cooked and how very important it was to wear a delantal so as to not dirty your clothes. Which, is probably why I had so very many aprons handy, that way whomever wants to come to my kitchen to cook, they'll have one. I think she likes to hear those stories. Shortly before we got into the thick of mixing the ingredients together, Mari informed us she was ready for a nap, so we paused, and made her comfortable in her toddler bed.

Zeni and I retreated back to the kitchen and finished our work. Not having really gotten down and dirty with baking in a while, I'd forgotten to take my rings off. Also, we started mixing everything by hand instead of using the mixer. Also, I didn't sift my flour (which probably would have been better, but it didn't specifically say so in the instructions, so I wasn't too guilty). In any case, the first go-round with the dough yielded a very runny dough. I divided it into three parts and made it better by feeling with texture and consistency. Overall, I think we had to add about 2 more cups of flour than what was originally stated.

Zeni made her batch of tiny cinnamon rolls and she really got into rolling it out and spreading on the butter and cinnamon. My hands enjoyed the butter treatment, much more squishy than paraffin that's for sure! On the first batch, I made regular cinnamon rolls (closer to the front of the photo) and for the 2nd batch, I added craisins.

Sidenote: When I was younger, much, much younger than Zeni, I saw the word cinnamon and didn't know how to say it. I pronounced it kin-NAH-mahn. My mom chuckled and annunciated sin-amen, proclaiming "you know, like sins, then say amen! You pray for forgiveness for your sins, followed with amen, right?" Yes, mom, you're right.

In any case, we had a delightful time baking and every tiny crevice of my rings was covered with cinnamon roll dough. Lucky for me, Don took them the next day to be cleaned. That evening, we all enjoyed delicious homemade cinnamon rolls and they turned out to be quite a treat the next morning too!
Let me know if you want the recipe and I'll post it.

If you're a Red Raider, you'll understand...

College football is here! I know many, many people who are completely indifferent to the whole thing, and I can certainly understand why.

Once upon a time, I was in that group of people. Growing up playing volleyball in school, I held quite a bit of resentment towards football programs. Jealousy ensued primarily because when they dictated to me that their thriving revenue helped to pay for our shiny new uniforms. I guess it was their pompous attitude towards it all; that I should give gratitude for their hard work, not giving praise/attention to my hard work. I can remember many, many times where we were kicked out of our gym so the football team could practice. Nevermind the fact that they had an all purpose indoor training facility (in high school, no less), which was being occupied by other football players, and as a result, left us in the hallways practicing without the ball because there were low ceilings. Regardless, I had a healthy love/hate relationship with football. I never understood why my father would be parked in front of the television on Saturdays and Sunday nights (and some Mondays too). I didn't get why he played "tackle" with my Brother in the hallway just before bedtime. But then Brother grew up and started playing football, much to my chagrin. Yet, when I watched him play I had a great sense of pride for him, and my love/hate faded to love/dislike. This continued on until the Fall of 1999.

By this time, my I'd hung up my volleyball shoes and was a full-time student, holding down a full-time job. I was a regular ol' college student, but I was dating a football player. That summer he and I had shared a couple of classes and during that time, he made it a priority to educate me on all things football. I'd had some familiarity with the game, but I never really learned the rules, the hand signals, and such. He asked me to come watch him play. My father liked going to the games, so it was a given that I'd be there. However, I'd only sat with the alumni, never in the student section. There was a big game coming up and he requested that I be there. Dad planned on taking Brother, so I didn't mind sitting in the student section.

On October 2, my life changed. We were playing Texas A&M. I remember it being a typical autumn night, cool, but not cold. I had on a Tech shirt, a jacket, and secretly wished I had a Tech jacket. I sat with my cousin in the student section, the two of us cheering. That was the first time I saw her school spirit. She had such a fever for it all, and she began to educate me on the traditions. In that game, I learned all of the hand signals, the cheers, the fight song, and the Matador Song. Earlier in her university career, she'd been a member of the Goin' Band, even scoring a place on Zeta Iota Tau. (yes, she has skills!) Anyway, that was a phenomenal game and the very night that I caught the Red Raider fever. We pulled off a very, very dramatic win. I rushed the field and joined 20,000+ other friends at the 50 yard line singing the fight song, and we later rushed to the goal posts and tore them down! I felt a part of something larger than myself and I finally "got it." I knew what that comeback feeling was like. I was keenly aware of all of the fans in that stadium and every where else, giving a prayer of hope in unison for our boys. RAIDER POWER...the double T, the masked rider, guns up, cowbells, tortillas, Bertha, March Grandioso, Raider Red, Will Rogers, victory bells, STRIVE FOR HONOR...all of those symbols came together for me, finally...I understood that all along I bled scarlet red and black. It started very young, because in utero my mother walked that glorious campus in West Texas.

Now, it is no wonder that I'm drawn back to that very place every Fall. I recharge. So Tech fans, watch this video (below), even if you have seen it already, and tell me that you don't get tingles, especially at that last image. Mikey & Brother, you should know it well, YOU WERE THERE! (Mikey, I think that's when you caught the fever.) It was November 1, last year, the day we defeated Texas.

Man, I have to make a game soon!

jumping on the wagon...

Many of you are probably "over" hearing about this poor man. As with any emotional moment, I had to pause for recollection and remember why the reality of this man passing was causing me to grieve. And so I sit quietly and take a long journey, deep into my childhood, because like my virtual buddy Ed so eloquently said, his songs were a major part of my childhood soundtrack.

My sister and I shared a bedroom until she turned 12. It was at that time that she moved across the hall to the office and I patiently awaited the birth of Brother who would be my new roommate for the next 3 years. Anyway, our bedroom was an average sized room from the 70s. Immediately to the left when you walked in, were a set of bunk beds. On the wall adjacent to that was a window. Under the window held our chest of drawers. The two on top for my sister, the two on bottom for me. Next to that window was a large bookshelf filled with all sorts of books and scattered with a few dolls. The wall opposite the bunk beds had another window and underneath that was our little vanity that we shared, complete with a mirror that popped up to reveal an extra storage space. I had a drawer and my sister had a drawer. The wall next to that held the closets. We each had a closet with these french sliding doors.

Mom had splurged one year and bought a complete Bambi bedroom set, complete with curtains for each window, sheets, pillow cases, and a thin Bambi throw to go over the beds with these little tassels that hung at the bottoms. We had two posters in our room. One was The Fonz, with his signature thumbs up pose saying "Sit on it." The other, was the the above image of Michael Jackson's Off the Wall album. Interesting because near it was my little angel nightlight and a few feet from it was our framed photo of the Guardian Angel watching over two small children.

So stood Michael in our room, the glowing socks, that brick wall, etching a permanent place in that memory. We lived in a predominantly black neighborhood. EVERYONE knew Michael Jackson. Everyone wanted to dance like him, dress like him, and sing like him. We all knew his songs. I remembered practicing in the office (which would later become Sister's room) with a hairbrush, singing and dancing to Rock With You, Billie Jean, and Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough. Man, how I wanted that glitter outfit! I wanted to float above thigns like he seemed to do. I had no idea what he meant by his lyrics. I just knew I wanted to dance my little butt of and smile a big kook-aid smile that he always had when he performed. Oh, and I we listened to these songs on a record player. Gotta love that vinyl. We played that album over and over and over. Then came out Thriller and the Moonwalk. We'd then spend an inordinate amount of time trying to do our own Moonwalk down the hallway in our socks. Later, poking and touching one another to emit some of the electricity we'd build up. Little shocks here and there, followed by a giggle fit. Man, my sister was really good at moonwalking. She could do it on carpet, on tile, on sidewalk, in the snow, on a gym floor, she really rocked it. (Sam, do you remember it? Do you think you can still do it? I need to teach Mari!) The office became our stage and we were Michael Jackson, dancing with our Brooke Shields Barbie (because we were so excited to hear they had dated). Outside, we pretended the sidewalk would light up with each step, black penny loafers were cool, white glitter socks, bow ties, zipper jackets, parachute pants, one glove, and Weird Al. I had no idea who Weird Al was until he made his parody Eat It.

And yes, I knew the Thriller dance, I knew the dance sequence to Beat It. I don't remember us really having cable, but I remember when MTV first televised. I remember seeing Michael's videos on it. When I later moved, I realized that Michael's music wasn't just for black people or brown people, but white people, all sorts of people. Everyone who liked dancing liked his music. One of the first social gatherings I went to with our church was playing Beat It. I was SHY. Yes, hard to believe, but I was. Yet, when this song came out, I didn't hesitate to go out there and bust a move because I knew the steps. While I was the only one at first, I was soon joined by others. (By the way, I really liked the one gang member with the striped shirt who kisses his gal goodbye, was that just me? Ok, I was 6!)

I won't go into the personal after effects and his own issue. I'm just focusing solely on the music. Because like I said, that was a big part of my childhood and a little bit of that died the day he passed on.

And this post is mostly for my Sister anyway. Today is her birthday. I'm so very happy (and lucky) to have her as an older sister. We had sibling rivalry on an epic scale, but it also made our bonds so tightly woven that it was never broken. When we'd get in trouble, our parents didn't give us a conventional grounding, but rather would ground us from each other. Separating us was a horrible punishment. It's no wonder that in this day and age, I still seek her out. Looking to her for direction, guidance, and yes, even approval, at times. Still desiring to be included in her life, and ever so grateful for our morning chats about life, exercising, and anything else that comes to mind.

Happy Birthday Sam! And I hope Michael is able to finally rest in peace.

Whistling Dragons, Sippys & Carseats, Plus a Movie Review

We're in that in-between age where Mari is starting to express herself and understands that she's her own person. She is really frustrated because she can't always communicate to us what is going on or what she's thinking. She's pretty effective at pointing, doing some signing, and can say some words, but when she wants to convey more complex feelings or thoughts, that's when we get the tantrums. They've started and sometimes are quite funny. We try not to laugh and when they get especially bad, we try not to let it overwhelm us. Sometimes she lashes out and we have to put her in a time out chair. She understands the concept of time out, that it is a form of punishment, but also, it gives her time to let out her frustration and calm down. It is sooooo hard to just let her sit there and cry, though; especially when the tears flow it isn't just screaming. Breaks my heart, to the point that I sometimes have to leave the room and cry myself, but I'm getting better. We're all getting better.

Yesterday, when Don got home, he and Mari will hang out in the office. She has her toys and some books in there. She'll sit and "read" aloud while turning pages or will freely explore the corners of the room. But she keeps her favorite book in the office. It is called If I Had a Dragon/Si Yo Tuviera Un Dragon. She absolutely LOVES when we read her this book. So much so that she will sign more or make a mamama (mas=more in spanish) sound while thrusting the book in our lap or face. Don swears that not only did she beg to have the book read to her, but she also said "dah-go." It was so sweet. There's also a part in the book where they talk about whistling or silbar. During that part of the book, Don and I will pause and whistle out a melody. Him, a fun and whimsical tune. Me, a sassy cat call, ha ha...I think I should get more creative! Well, when we got to that page, wouldn't you know that she was blowing her little cheeks out trying her darndest to whistle. So, so, so precious!! [thank you Carol for the book! I think we may need to get another!]
Avent Magic Cup
Next up, we decided that it was time to put away the bottles and transition on over to sippy cups. We had three different kinds to begin with and the one she really seemed to like the most were the Avent cups. She refuses any cup that has the handles on it! Well, yesterday, we attempted a full day without a bottle. We weren't very successful. She hardly drank any milk, but she did have more water. We're going to keep trying for the next couple of days. This morning, she did have her milk in her cup, but didn't drink all of it and it was a slow go getting her to start. She did, however, refuse to let me hold the cup or put it away. Instead, she insisted on cradling it in her tiny arms like she does her two dolls (one is a plush Lilo from Lilo and Stitch and the other is a little babydoll that we've yet to know the name because Mari hasn't given her one yet). I don't know if I'm rushing her to the next stage. While the doctor recommended it about a month ago, I held off hoping to slowly transition into it. We were pretty successful with juice and water, but not the milk. We'll just have to see. The pacifier is the next step...eeek!

Britax
Also, this past weekend, we broke down and bought Mari a second car seat for the car and decided to put away the carrier and base to be used later. (Sigh! At least we got just over a year's use out of it!) After much research, we finally settled on the Britax Boulevard CS. This was my original choice for a car seat, and when we bought the first one for our Equinox several months ago, we opted for Evenflo Advance primarily because it fit all of our requirements and the price was right. This time, we shelled out the extra dollars and let me tell you, each time we've put her in the seat, it hasn't been one single struggle. She just gets in there and settles in for the ride. I can't say the same about the Evenflo. Plus, the straps won't turn and get caught up like they do on the other. Not a big deal, right, but when you have to reposition them at least once a week, it is kind of a pain. AND best of all, it is made in the USA!!! High five!


MOVIE REVIEWS

First off, I watched Dan in Real Life online via Netflix. I'd been on the fence to watch this movie because the trailers didn't readily agree with me. From the trailers, I wasn't sure what was actually going on. But wow...what a wonderfully beautiful story filled with awkward moments. Not just those romantic awkward moments, but genuine family awkward moments. You know what I'm talking about. I could probably outline an exact moment in regards to my family, but this is about a movie review, so I'll refrain. Anyway, I really enjoyed it. There were some definite laugh out loud moments, some angry moments, and some incredibly heart wrenching moments where I just sat there and bawled. I made it a point to add this to my list of must owns! Steve Carell is hilarious, yes, but in this role, it showed a vulnerable side that I only caught glimpses of in Get Smart. I also love, love, love Juliette Binoche. She's simply amazing and that smile of hers is incredible! The entire cast, for that matter, is just awesome!
Next is Killer of Sheep another movie that has been out for ages and I'm totally and completely ashamed to admit that I didn't know of it already. Don put it in our Netflix queue thinking I would enjoy it and boy did I. I watched it twice and I still haven't sent it back! I need to find this movie and buy it. It was so real. It truly took you back to that time and era. There are several scenes of the children playing and it reminded me of my childhood. From age 2 to age 10, I spent in a predominantly black neighborhood. It was a very friendly neighborhood with neighbors that actually talked to one another. However, when it came to the schoolyard, there were times when kids would be kids and they were rough, both verbally and physically. Lucky for me, I was best friends with a gal who had many brothers and cousins, so I was "protected" from any harm. I guess for this reason, the movie really reached out to me. There I go again with personal anecdotes. Anyway, this is the best quote about the movie:

"If Killer of Sheep were an Italian film from 1953, we would have every scene memorized."— MICHAEL TOLKIN, SCREENWRITER

Powerful words, right there. But seriously, it was so very honest. Despite the low budget, the filming was spot on. If you aren't a fan of theater, with live acting, then you probably aren't going to like this movie. I would consider myself a fan of all types of film. So much so that I took a Film Appreciation: History of Movies class my last semester in college. I don't recall this film being on the list of required materials, let alone one that was screened in class. Then again, it was just recently restored and last year it was screened, unfortunately, it didn't make it over to Texas. In any event, it was a great film.
Happy Earth Day!

Feliz dia de Pascua!

This is just a photo montage.





Hope you all had a fabulous Easter!

Just keep snappin'

This past weekend I did a photoshoot with a friend. Prior to the subjects arrival, my lovely assistant helped me test my lighting by sitting for me. We had a little bit more time to kill, so I figured I'd sit in front of the camera for a couple of shots. This one is my favorite of the bunch. Yes, I'm laughing hysterically, nearly as crazy as my hair is in this picture!

Have a fabulous Monday!

Here's the link to the photo session:

Twins 1 Year Photos

I'm All for International Business...

but when did it become the norm for our stores to be filled with items made OUTSIDE of USA??? Yesterday, I had to pop into Babies R Us to pick up some essentials for the little one. (She's growing up so fast and she needs a sippy cup and utensils of her own.) I spent half an hour looking for a sippy cup that was made in the USA. Didn't find one single cup. NOT ONE! I'd narrowed down my search to one NOT made in China. There were two: one made in England and the other India. I bought the one made in England because it was cuter. I was seriously apalled that there was such a lack of choice. No wonder our economy sucks. We stopped producing and focused our efforts solely on consuming.

Please, if you know of places that sell Made in the USA items, please let me know.

Oh and I didn't find one single utensil set for her that wasn't made in China. Last year I was so paranoid with BPA and phtalate free items, that I didn't think of buying American as much. This year, I'm focusing more on American made things. Once upon a time, Made in the USA stood for quality and pride. We used to build things to last, not to throwaway.

Last night while watching the football game, there was an Allstate commercial talking about getting back to basics, especially in time of a recession. Spending quality time with family, cooking meals at home, sharing with friends, all of those things that we grew up with and I couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic. I remember riding a bike to my friends house and playing outside all summer long, bouncing from house to house. I remember hearing stories about a creepy white van filled with strangers offering candy, but I was usually surrounded by my sister's friends that I wouldn't have to worry about such things. God forbid a big bad stranger meet up with that rogue crew of rabblerousers. We invented games on a daily basis. We would fashion our own slip 'n slide out of Hefty garbage bags and a water hose. We'd make do with spare parts from the garage to build our forts, and it didn't matter if we had blisters or a splinter. We didn't wear safety goggles or gloves. My knees were scraped and scuffed underneath my pocket skirts my grandmother sewed with love for me. Birthday parties were at home with a homemade banner, balloons, and a cake my mother baked herself. I handmade all of my Valentines. I remember asking my mom why we couldn't just buy them and she couldn't articulate the why then. Now that I'm older, I understand and appreciate.

And I feel guilty. How will Mari be able to grow up in a world similar to my own with all of the modern luxuries at her fingertips, but I won't let her use them. How can I impart that handmade is a good thing. Taking the time to craft something and to MAKE something beautiful is far more important and soulful than going to the store to buy something cheaply made.

On our travels over Christmas, we were so very happy at the thought of going to Kansas, but at the same time, we were saddened by how much more commercialized it is becoming. Something that I complained about initially, is actually saddening me. All of the mom and pop shops are disappearing and being replaced. We entertain the thought of moving to a place like that, but then we are reminded why we like it here. Not for the conveniences, but for the things we can't find anywhere else. For example, Chettinad Palace has a special place in our hearts. We love that we can find a diverse mix of cultural cuisine within a 15 minute drive. I was craving some Palak Paneer and Paneer Tikka Masala over the holidays, but we'd have to wait until we returned before we could have any. The cultural diversity just wasn't there.

But I have hope. I think we can make a change and I know our generation can do better! Do you think we can?

Take a Walk Down Memory Lane With Me

One of the blogs I stalk has this RAD playlist up and I had to "borrow" it. Enjoy!

p.s. John Hughes is flippin' brilliant, so what ever happened to him??