monday morning quiet.

in this very moment the only sound i can hear is the hum of my laptop and the pattering of my fingers on its keys. ah, what a nice way to enter into this new week. as i pause, a car whooshes by. and then, quiet.

our car is in the shop. hopefully nothing major. Mr. P left early today for a 5 day work trip, and Rainer picked up on my anxiety and cooperated by sleeping through the night last night.  it was the boost i needed to get a running start today. already this morning Rainer & I ventured out on the bus to pay our rent and go to the gym. i'm feeling like we can do this.

he's quite the popular little guy with the trainers at my gym. when i walked in with him strapped to my back in the Ergo carrier, they thought i showed up without my little one. then, 'pop!' came his head out from behind me to their (and his) delight.

today i'm thankful for community. it's been almost seven years in this foreign land, but the days when i feel loved and supported remind me that in many ways, we do finally belong. this morning our neighbors gave Solo a ride to school. this afternoon his buddy's mommy is giving him a ride home. later today a (new) good friend is coming over for tea & to keep us company. this is how it should be. 

it feels nice to not feel alone. and right now in this very moment, the quiet is exactly what i need.

thank you, sweet baby, for taking your nap for mommy.

cheers to this week; LET'S DO THIS THING!  

all those swirling questions.

Have you ever thought about the choices that you made to lead you to where you live; where you call home? For most, I imagine the choice was made for them to a certain extent. Maybe it was where you were raised, where you got a job, where you partner is from, where the house you could afford happened to be.

When we moved to Guadalajara, it was our choice. We found jobs, the city seemed to have everything we were looking for (good climate, lots of things to do, urban, Spanish-speaking). It was an easy decision, a no-brainer. Everything was perfect.

And, finally, we feel our time here slowly coming to an end. (Of course, I use that term loosely... within two years minimum) However, I know these last months of living here will fly by, and before I know it I will be chin deep in job applications, rental opportunities, elementary school and pre-school brochures, and how the heck we are going to get ourselves & all our stuff across the border.

It scares the heck outta me. Like, shaking in my boots, sweat prickling my neck, chest tightening, overwhelms the pants off me.

So, here I am, trying not to get ahead of myself, but wondering nonetheless, where will the next few years take my little family? Where will we settle? Where should we settle? Where is home? How will the boys adjust? What is best for them? How will I ever leave this place, this godforsaken country that both tears me apart and mends me up again? Will I really have the strength to say goodbye & walk away & start completely new again?

here i am foreign.

The other day one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, tweeted
"Writing is about not being in the mood and doing it anyway. When I blow off my Writer, it injures my Being, my wild creative worker-bee soul."

This resonated with me, mostly because lately I find myself staring at a blank screen more often than not. I have all sorts of thoughts rumbling about in my mind, emotions clamoring inside, but no words to attach to any of it. This summer has been a time of reflection, solitude, and pleasure. We've begun each day slowly, rubbing the sleep out of our eyes while sipping coffee and chewing bites of warm oatmeal with ease as the boys play with plastic motorcycles at our feet. The four of us, enveloped in our family, together and alone at the same time.

Down the street from our house the local Templo was having its yearly celebration last week, complete with food booths, carnival rides, and fireworks. Solo blended in like a local almost-four-year-old Mexican boy (except for being the only kid who wears a bike helmet). He rode the rickity roller coaster, munched on tacos al pastor slathered in salsa and slurped down ice cold horchata by the litro. Jumping on the trampoline, he hollered, "Mommy! Mira!" (Look!) When we asked if he was having fun, and if it was as fun as Nonna & Grandpa's trampoline, he responded without hesitation, "It's more fun! It's too cold on Nonna's trampoline."

The struggle to come to terms with missing our home & feeling uncomfortable as expatriates along with raising our boys in an environment they love and know won't ever go away. As much as I feel alone here at times, Solo does not. As much as I feel foreign, he does not. (Or does he?) As much as I miss home, Solo is home already. Moving to the U.S. will mean 'going back' for us and it will mean leaving home for them.

I'm not sure I'll ever know what's the right thing to do, but for now we are here. And we have two more weeks of summer to enjoy being together all four of us.

{I'm going to unplug for a few days and hopefully will be back with fun stories and pictures this weekend!}

It is good.

The initial adjustment "home" after visits in the states with family is hard. Sad. Lonely.
But then we eventually snap out of it and lean harder into one another and recognize the beauty in this little life we have here. Far away from our families, yes, but together here we are nonetheless.
And there's lots of beauty in that.
It's going to sound cheesy but whatevs. You guys? My kids are bringing me so much joy lately. Like bursting, overflowing, delicious amounts of joy.
So many people told me it would happen, but it's not until I experienced for myself watching my boys play together that I could truly understand how happy and light it would make my heart.
So happy.
They adore each other. It's basically the cutest thing I've ever witnessed. Solo tickles Rainer and he squeals. Rainer practically tips himself over head first trying to watch everything his big brother does across the room.
Solo squeezes his chunky thighs, tousles his hair, and asks to see his butt because "it's so cute!!"
I love them.
The bond I feel with Rainer lately is something I treasure more than words can express. I could kiss and hug him a million times a day and it would never be enough. He is so fun. SO FUN. Yes, I'm saying this about a baby!
The other day Solo exclaimed, "it's so fun having a baby!!!" I love seeing life through his eyes. And it IS so fun.
(that last picture is a "piece of cloud" according to Solo. & how lucky are we that it landed in our house?!)
We spent the weekend doing a whole lot of nothing. Just being. And that's exactly what we needed to feel refreshed after an emotional week transitioning back.

How was your weekend?

our two worlds: through Solo's eyes

To 3-year-old Solo our worlds are different in the simplest of ways.

Oregon is cold. Mexico is hot.

Oregon is rainy. Mexico is sunny.

In Oregon everyone speaks English. In Mexico everyone speaks Spanish.

In Oregon he has cousins. In Mexico he has friends.

In Oregon he takes long baths in big tubs. In Mexico he screams through his shower.

In Oregon the swimming pool is chilly. In Mexico it's warm.

In Oregon he has to play inside. In Mexico the back door is always open.

In Oregon Nonna makes popsicles for us to eat. In Mexico we buy paletas on the street.

In Oregon the parks have swings and slides. In Mexico there's a sandbox and fountains.

I often forget that to him, it's not so complicated.

It's really as simple as Oregon is where we visit, but Mexico is home.

reality.

sometimes I don't like my reality.

I know I have so many blessings, so much to be thankful for, and the grass-is-greener-over-there-mentality is such a trap. I know this.

But, for some reason, every trip "home" to Oregon is followed by a series of sad, gloomy days. Even though the sun shines brightly here in Guadalajara, my skin is warm, my belly full of sweet popsicles and tacos and mangoes, I still long for what I don't have.

The journey back on Saturday was smooth. Funny how having conquered traveling alone with two kids made the process feel like a walk in the park with Mr. P's arms to help. All flights were on time, the kids napped, our luggage made it unscathed. And Solomon was giddy. Giddy, I tell you! We must be doing a few things right if our child is giggling-excited to be home. When we pulled up to our house his face broke out in the cutest-ever sheepish grin. He pranced around the sidewalk as we unloaded our bags. And, at 11:00 pm, we let him tear up his room with toys because the joy was contagious.

But, inevitably, the emptiness follows.

The suitcases are unpacked, zipped up and tucked into their places to rest until the next journey. The hum of the laundry rolling and the buzz of the traffic a few streets over are all that's left to fill our ears as we toss and turn, begging for sleep to come.

I laid in bed making our Sunday grocery list and errand list on my iPod, as tears pricked my eyes. I know I have my boys, I know my life is full. But still. Something always feels like it's missing when we come back. I finally succumbed to sleep with the help of Ambien and a prayer.

Yesterday was hard, as the first day always is. Today is better already. Solo is at school, back in his routine. Baby is napping peacefully in his bed. Here I sit, hair still wet, barefoot, the hum of the sound machine drowning out the street noise, birds cooing in the backyard, my fingers pattering out the cries of my heart.

Thank you for listening.

Tomorrow will be even better.

we're here.

We woke up to a dusting of SNOW completely out of nowhere! A fun surprise for my Mexican boys! Solo wanted to check it out and promptly declared, "I'm FREEZING!" So we lasted about 2.5 seconds.

Today is day three of our visit, and we are getting into a new routine, sleeping better and enjoying the love and attention of family. Solo is in new toy heaven, however he is quite disturbed by the fact that going outside means bundling up & "freezing." Quite a change from our 80 degree days. Yup, we are spoiled.

I look forward to sharing more pictures and fun experiences in this 'new' place we once called home.

dear mexico.

Dear Mexico,

I'm sorry. I know that I often see the worst in you. I curse the crowded streets and the traffic and the mosquitos and the sidewalks torn up by overgrown roots. I get irritated by the banda music and the long lines at the bank and the lack of customer service. I get frustrated when people can't understand my accent over the phone or when I call the health clinic and no one ever picks up.

But then I overhear Solo speaking Spanish with his buddy, Gael, as they play trains in his room. And it's March 4th and we just harvested broccoli from our garden and squirted each other with the hose. And last night we walked a mere two blocks from our front door to buy fresh fruit popsicles, fresh homemade pastries and all natural barrel churned ice cream. And we filled our bellies for less than 10 bucks. And this morning I went for a five mile run in capris and a tank top.

So, I'm sorry. I know our relationship is rocky, but I think we'll last a couple more years.

missing fall.

I am a Pacific Northwesterner at heart; born & raised. I spent my childhood puddle jumping in rainboots and romping through muddy trails in shorts and a t-shirt despite 50 degree temps.

As a 24 year old I was sick and tired of the gloom, so we escaped to a place where the sun shines 365 days a year. Literally. There might be a few days each year where we don't see the sun.

This is what greets me when I look up.

Everyday.

And I never thought I'd say this, even five years later, but I miss the clouds. I miss the excuse to curl up under a blanket and sip hot tea. I miss counting down the months til summer, the excitement to bust out flip flops and bermudas in May, the long runs in misty fog, the latte's that don't make me drip with sweat.

Maybe it's that I'm pregnant this Fall, (which I've never been pregnant in the Fall before), & I am about 10 degrees hotter than the average human being... buuut I think I'm done with sunshine. Just for a little while. Even just a day would be nice; I'm not asking for much. A little drizzle, gray skies and a legitimate reason to wear shoes and a hoodie. Heck, I'll even take a downpour, but it needs to last more than an hour, k?

Pretty please?

I'll even stop whining about never having tasted a Pumpkin spice latte.'

Maybe.

scenes in mexico.

This weekend is a celebration of Mexico. Tomorrow is independence day. If you've been reading along for awhile, you know that this is our 6th year in Guadalajara, that we have a love-hate relationship with Mexico, that our sons are/will be Mexican by nationality. We grew up here. We became parents here. We've overcame struggles and defeat and even depression here. Even though we have our days filled with frustration, our hearts will always have a section that's red, white and green, smells of carnitas, and is filled with the sounds of tropical birds, mariachi and bus horns.

Here are some scenes from the past year in Mexico as I browsed through our photo library. Enjoy!

Carnival in our neighborhood

Tiny dancer - Lake Chapala Parade

Skipping rocks, Lake Chapala

Sunrise, Manzanillo

Happy mariachi

Tortilla soup

Guanajuato at night

Beautiful doorMercado de abastos, GDL

Lake Chapala

Balloons, anyone?

Snacks in the park

Handmade

Birthday partyLa Barranca, Guadalajara

five years.

On July 5th we celebrated five years living in Guadalajara, Mexico. All week I have been trying to awaken my senses to the beauty of our life here. I'm allowing my mind to drift back to random memories of those first months, first years. Growing up, growing in, growing out.

I remember vividly our trip down. We had four suitcases and two large backpacks. That was it. We awkwardly stumbled onto the Continental express jet, panting and sweaty, everything about us way too big for the tiny plane. Thinking we might miss our flight we had run through the airport, lugging huge packs and bundles. Our first slice of Mexican culture was appropriately served before even lifting off the ground in Houston, as our Mexican flightmates leisurely sauntered on after us, steaming cups of Starbucks and bags filled with french fries in hand, comfortably chatting amongst themselves.

So much to learn.

The director's wife from the school where we would start our new jobs picked us up from the airport. I remember the humid air, the traffic lights, the city beckoning us welcome as we crested hills and turned corners. Upon arrival to the apartment that would be our home, it was dark. Not just 11 PM dark, but no-electricity-dark.

Welcome to Mexico, she joked. It's the rainy season. Don't worry.

I remember scanning the apartment for water, our Nalgene bottles furiously licked dry. I remember feeling strangely animalistic. Give me water. Give me food. Give me bed.

Day One.

We slept until the sun awoke us. Immediately began the adventure. We found a map at a local corner store, and we hopped on a bus going North. Mission: Find the University where we would begin our language classes the following Monday. The classes that would gift us the language that would be the key to all of this.

For years Mexico has felt like a foreign land. So close to home, yet so very, very far away. For years our emotions about this land, these people, this place have ebbed and flowed. We have fallen into pits, we have sunken into sadness, we have emerged with joy. We have yelled, we have cursed, we have cried tears of love. We have celebrated anniversaries and birthdays and births and deaths. We have moved, we have changed, we have traveled, we have seen.

And, somewhere, somehow, someway, without our understanding or approval, it has become our home.

I will never be Mexican.

My sons are and always will be.

But, this land is my home. For now.

home.

where the smells are familiar.

where the shampoo in the shower is yours.

where you fall asleep with ease.

where the sounds are comforting.

where the ones you love the most are near.

where your jacket hangs on the coat rack.

where your favorite cereal sits on the shelf.

home.

it's so good to be back.

I have lots of pictures and adventures to catch up on here in this space, but for now, I am just resting and snuggling my boys extra tight.

soaking.

That's the best word I can think of to describe visits to Oregon. Visits to our other "home." 

Soaking.

Soaking up the smells, the tastes, the views, the silence.

Soaking up the love, the laughter, the memories. 

Soaking up the conversations, the comforts, the giggles.

So much to soak up, soak in.

It's so good to be home.

so good to be home.

After 21 hours of nonstop travel, I finally arrived home on Friday night. Seeing my boys at the airport was the best feeling in the world. I scooped Solo up in my arms and squeezed him as the tears streamed down my face. He just stared at me, awestruck, with a goofy perma-grin plastered across his face.

Oh how I missed him.

We spent the weekend looking through pictures, playing with his new toys that traveled across oceans, and catching up on sleep (me, mostly).

Highlights include: sharing and savoring fresh fruit "paletas" (popsicles) and "agua de limon" (fresh squeezed lime-ade), trips to the park to watch Solo cruise on his bike, mommy & son outing to the grocery store, donuts from Costco, hearing Solo repeat with love his new favorite phrase "You and me", snuggling up to watch a movie during naptime with Mr. P, hearing the details of their adventures while I was gone, and rocking Solo to sleep last night.

Just the sweet simplicities of my mommy routine, and reminders that I am home. & it is so, so good.

Bringing home paletas for momma. :)

may it come. may it come.

o sweet place,

it's been too long.

entirely too long.

here, in my other home,

i have raged at the traffic

and the long lines

and the bills to pay

here, in my other home,

i have laid on the grass

under streetlights,

listened to the wind in the trees,

admired the green of their branches,

and thought of you.

only you.

here, in my other home,

i have run dirt paths until my legs ached,

surrounded by wooded trails and pine needles,

but on those trails,

i thought of you.

i missed you.

o sweet place,

it won't be long

until i eat your blueberries

and bathe in your sun

and wade in your ocean.

o sweet place,

may it come

May, come soon.

See you then.

This is in response to Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop!

4.) Write a poem about something you are looking forward to.



greener grass.

This morning I was playing with Solo-boy in his room, when Mr. P walked in and announced,

"I really do want to live in Southern California. I do."

(side note: who doesn't? just wondering.)

Since it was about 8:00 a.m. and we had not been talking about moving or future plans or anything, really, except for how glorious it was to sleep through the entire night without getting up for the first time in... weeks... months...?

I was stumped as to where in the heck this comment came from. So I asked,

"Um... where did that come from?"

With a childish grin on his face, Mr. P answered,

"I just took the garbage out and the air was so crisp, and the sky was a beautiful shade of blue, and I looked up to see palm trees swaying in the morning breeze. It just made me realize I want to live in Southern California."

I laughed.

Because, obviously. Mr. P is a silly, silly man.

"Not to point out the obvious, but why don't we just keep living here. This experience with nature did happen here after all, right outside our house."

"Yeah, but.. but.. California is just so much better."

He's got a point there. Even though inside I was chuckling at how funny the whole scenario was, describing our current situation and then suggesting we move away.

Isn't that the way life is though? We spend our lives working day in and day out, for what? To buy the next best thing we can (or can't) afford? To upgrade our cars, our homes, our clothes? We constantly wonder if changing our jobs, our locations, our relationships, our material possessions will make us happier, more content, more fullfilled.

I am absolutely guilty of this.

Ever since we moved to Mexico in 2006 it has been a struggle for me, a regular struggle, to reject the "grass is greener on the other side" notion. We probably re-evaluate our situation on a bimonthly basis. We constantly question our decision to live here, thousands of miles away from family. Since having Solo-boy we have agonized over whether or not we are doing the right thing, analyzing the pros and the cons, and struggling with what we sacrifice on a daily basis.

It's not easy. It's never been easy.

We long for the "greener grass" all. the. time. But, then, in the same breath, we must ask ourselves the hard questions,

Is the grass really greener over there?

Is it right to always long for what you do not have?

Are we content in our circumstances, content to live in the moment that we've been given?

This moment? Right HERE? Right NOW?

the season of sadness for some.

I don't know exactly why I feel all kinds of nostalgic and melancholy and just plain sad today.

Well, I guess I sorta know.

It's December, and now I'm thinking about getting our Christmas tree tomorrow and putting up some lights and baking some cookies. Then I'm thinking about the holiday break and the 2 1/2 weeks off my husband gets and the fact that we have no plans at all. Which a couple months ago sounded just fine and dandy to me. But, as the holiday cheer spreads and the decorations go up, and the date approaches, I feel the loneliness set in. Subtly at first. Then flooding over me in waves.

I tend to get a little obsessive about hopping on the internet and attempting to drown my sorrows in airfare and shuttles and train tickets, if necessary.

So I *might* have spent a couple of hours click-happy, trying to make something, anything, work.

To not have to be alone in Mexico this Christmas.

Which leads me to think how ridiculous I am being, since I won't actually be alone. I have a fabulous husband and adoring son to share my holidays with. I should be thankful. I should be content. And I hate that I'm not.

And, if for no other reason, I feel this way as God's little nudge of empathy, then it's worth it. How often do we think about those people who dread December because of its haunting reminders of all they have loved, and lost?

And how often do we think about those people who dread December because they truly are alone and everywhere they look are reminders of their loneliness?

I am guilty. I am often sucked into the glory of the season, and completely oblivious to the pain this very season causes so many.

If that is you? And you are reading? I am thinking of you. This very day, because of my own self-absorbed pity party, I am thinking of you.

The verdict remains the same. We will be, just the three of us, home for Christmas. Only this time, Mexico is our home. And I have to be okay with that. And the small twinge of pain that causes my heart? Will pass.

this is his home.

I had a bit of an epiphany today.

This place that we live? This country? This city? This house on this concrete slab of neighborhood?

This is home to Solo-boy.

This is all he's ever known.

Duh, right? Well, I guess I've never stopped to really think about it that way.

Yesterday I took Solo-boy to work with me for a couple of hours. I planned to let him watch Sid the Science Kid in my office so I could meet with a few students and catch up on some paperwork. He's had a terrible cold/flu since Friday and it was still too soon to send him to pre-school. But, yesterday he seemed to have more energy, and I had to get a few things done. So off we went.

I snuggled him up with some snacks and the iPod touch loaded with his favorite Sid episodes. After about five minutes, he squirmed his way out of the chair he was in and over to my lap. He looked at me with the most pathetic puppy-dog eyes and snot-covered face you've ever seen and said, simply, "Home."

(actually, if we're being technical here, it was more like "Ome."

Again, he repeated, but this time as a plea, "Home?"

Right then and there it dawned on me. My little boy is tired & weak & frail and more than anything in the world he just wants to be in the comfort of his own "ome." The only smells he's ever known. The only bed he's ever slept in. The only blankets he's ever snuggled. All the familiar sounds of the water truck and the tortilla guy on his motorcycle and the fruit vendors in the street. The rise and fall of Nora's chest near his and the steady sound of her breathing. His country. His city. His house. This is his home.

I don't know how long it will take, or if enough days will ever come & go for this to become my home. I think I am too rigidly or carefully and unwillingly or unwittingly Estadounidense for the sounds and smells and tastes of this place to truly be my own. To ever bring me comfort. Or maybe one of these days it will happen effortlessly, and the longing for the familiar will disappear & this will become what I know most.

In all likelihood this won't happen until we return "home" someday, only to find our beings are overwhelmed by what we called our roots. Maybe it will be the quietness that is most foreign. Or maybe the cold rain against our skin. Perhaps it will be the clean streets or the wide sidewalks or the consistent flow of traffic. Maybe it will be the English ringing in our ears.

I'm not convinced. All I can see, in my mind's eye, is my son with that sweet look of longing for his "ome."

What just may shock us the most is the realization that our home is not Solo-boy's at all. In order for us to be home, he has to leave behind all he's ever known.

This. Mexico. This is his home.