What the Bunny Will Bring

 

All was good until the children in front of us flipped out. I swear. Noah was so excited to see the bunny that he kept trying to cut in line and photo bomb people's family shots. And then the two little girls in front of us completely and totally melted down when it was their turn to sit on the fuzzy bunny's lap and Noah stepped back. Actually, he turned around and with a look of "You better get me the hell out of this hell-hole," and bolted for the back of the line.

 

Reason #867 I should be mother of the year: I picked up my panicking child, placed him on the bunny, kicking and screaming, and yelled at the photographer, "Take it! Take it! Take it!"

 

Nico just stared. At me. At the his dad. At grandma. At the rabbit. In true form, my observer took it all in and for the rest of the day, talked about how Noah cried on the bunny.

 

Mother. Of. The. Year.

 

 

This year, the bunny will bring floss for Nico (Yes, floss. He is obsessed with floss. He took three containers of floss with him to daycare this morning. Three.), a broom for Noah (It's all he ever wanted. He will fight for it to the death), and individual savings accounts for all future therapy bills.

 

 



In Color

Yesterday, I confessed to two women that I have been stalking them. Blog-stalking them. For over a year. I have been blog-stalking lots of women who write about being white moms to brown babies. Especially white moms whose brown babies came to them through another. Especially these two.

 

I so want to get this right.

 

I so want to be the mom that each of my boys need me to be.

 

Most recently, I have found myself pondering how to prepare my boys for a world that professes "color blindness" as the answer to racism and ethnocentrism, while knowing deep down in my soul this can never be true. And so I look for families that look like mine, in hopes that perhaps they have some light to shed on this particular parenting business. And often they do. So I stalk them, and when I meet them, I tell them I stalk them. It seems they understand this. It seems that perhaps they once stalked other families too.

 

I know, quite well, that "color blind" is a fallacy. Sometimes it's even presented as a fantasy. In fact, there was a time - like when I was 6 - that it used to be mine. But I know, from my very own personal experience, that "color blind" is dangerous. It's a lie. A big, fat dangerous lie, and I want my sons to know that before finding out the hard way. I want them to know that seeing color is beautiful, not oppressive, and that at the same time, seeing what's behind color is how love happens. All kinds of love. And love makes the world go round, so we must always strive to see color, to note its beauty, and then look beyond the wrapping to discover the real gift.

 

You learn these sorts of lessons pretty quickly when your name is Sara Gonzalez and you happen to be white. This confuses people...a lot. People were never, ever blind to my whiteness. I am pretty sure this whiteness of mine bothered people quite a bit. Sometimes it still does. Cubans aren't supposed to be white, in case you didn't know. At least that is what I was told.  But I am, and I knew that Cubans were indeed often white. Lots of people from Spanish-speaking countries are white. Nonetheless, I was told - sometimes blatantly and sometimes inadvertantly - that I just didn't count. I didn't count because they could see my white, and I wasn't supposed to be white according to what they had been told. It often felt that what lay behind that white never counted to them. But it did to me.

 

Yet, despite knowing in all ways possible that no one is blind to color, until very recently, I somehow convinced myself that my own children didn't see color. That Nico didn't see Noah's white, and that Noah didn't see Nico's brown.

 

But I was wrong. Surprise, surprise.

 

The truth is, I have always know that they see each other on the inside, but I now know that they see each other on the outside. Noah points at brown boys in books and proudly says, "Look mama, Nico!" He sees his brother. He sees his brother on the outside with excitement and with pride. Nico calls the white babies on TV "Noah," and smiles with the satisfaction of "getting it right." 

 

They see color. My babies see each other in color. They don't apply labels to each other's color, but they see it. They see it with excitement and with pride. My children are not color blind. No one's children are. But they aren't color saavy yet. So that's my job and Trevor's job. I wish it weren't so, but it is, and my children will not be clouded in lies. My children will grow in truth.

 

And so they must know that others will see their colors - just like other saw mine - and that others might suggest that somehow, their colors are confusing. That perhaps their colors don't match their insides. Or that their colors don't make a family. Or that their colors may cause some people to cross a street when they see one of my son's coming their way.

 

There are few things I know for sure, but for sure I know this:

 

My children in silhouette are gorgeous. Nico's lean next to Noah's stocky is, to me, breath-taking.

 

 

My children in color count. My children in color may cause others to be confused. My children in color are not responsible for that confusion, nor do they have to ease that confusion. For anyone. My children see each other in color with excitement and with pride. Maybe I am doing something right after all...just maybe.

 

 

 

 

 



 

Obsessed

I am obsessed. Obsessed with pictures of mamas and their babies.

 

Even furry mamas and furry babies.

 

'Cause they're just like us. And this makes me cry the love cry.

 

You know, the one where you have SO MUCH LOVE flowing through every millimeter of your body that you have to cry to avoid combustion.

 

I found these on my phone today. I took them a couple of weeks ago at that Natural History Museum, the one where shortly therafter the homeless man walked away with my nacho cheese.

 

They make me cry the love cry. Most people are drawn to the babies. I stare at the mamas. They are me. I want to talk to them about it and tell them I understand.

 

Is this normal? At all?

I am starting to think not. Crap.

 

 

This one I just want to smooch.

I want to wrap my arms around his furry little body and smooch him right on the lips.

Not normal? Crap again.

 



35 at 35

We all have that stuff that keeps us up at night. This stuff is stuff that we don't usually say out loud. Or at least we like to pretend we don't, when we probably do. This stuff is what you think about when you have nine hours of standardized testing to proctor in one week. Thank you, Washington State public education!

This is my stuff - my stuff on the inside. You can take it as my confession.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

1. People who drive slow in the fast lane make me rage. Like rage that begins in the form of a very small flame but within 60 seconds is a forest fire that has engulfed several neighborhoods. Usually this rage reults in what some would call "expressive words" coming out of my mouth. Sometimes my children repeat these words right after I say them. Not. Good. At. All.

2. I am addicted to my phone. I panic when I don't know where I put it. I am bored when I have to pee without it, and I even get a little angry. It's a serious problem.

3. Cheap nacho cheese might just be my favorite food. I like it. A lot. Especially on nachos at the movie theater with a Diet Coke. Or with a soft pretzel, no salt please. Recently, while leaving the Natural History Musem in D.C., I bought myself a big soft pretzel with a big cup of nacho cheese. I took one delicous, heavenly bite and then I was approached by a homeless man who asked if I had any food I could give him. I gave him my pretzel and my cheese...and if I am honest, I almost asked for my cheese back.

4. Thanks to PBS, I have been addicted to cooking shows before there was ever a Food Network. "Yan Can Cook" and "Caprial's Cafe" were good shit. I miss them.

5. Sometimes I contemplate how I would feel if one day, all of my pets went for a walk and never came back. Sometimes I think this would make me feel really good. This, I understand, makes me the devil. And I don't really mean it, because sometimes Norah Jones will disappear for a couple of days and I start to hyperventilate, especially when she is not sitting on top of me while I read. I then demand that Trevor hang up signs around the neighborhood looking for her, which has me convinced this cat can read because once the signs are up, she comes back. Every single time.

6. I like big - and I mean BIG - cotton underwear. None of that g-string, silky, lacey, patchy crap. That's not underwear. That's a pirate patch. And pirate patches don't go there.

7. When Noah was born, like lots of babies, he had blue eyes. I thought I wanted them to stay blue, like his daddy's. But I was wrong. Now his eyes are hazel - just like mine - and the truth is, this makes me really, really happy. Like somehow I won. Mama -2 (I get 2 'cause Nico's eyes are brown and genetically, brown comes from my side), Daddy - 0.

8. My mom cut off my hair in the 2nd grade. I proceeded to look like a boy for three years after that...until the 5th grade when I begged her to let me grow my hair out. She relented, but  said I could only grow out the back. Yes, only the back. I rocked that mullet like it was going out of style, which it was. So embarrasing.

9. I fall. A lot. There was one time I fell while crossing a very busy street in Seattle, and another time while walking down the Lincoln Memorial, and another time in front of one of my junior English classes. They gasped when that happened. I stood up and took a bow. They informed me that wasn't funny.

10. I love sleeping in sheets right out of the drier. I love bedding in general. I may or may not have lots and lots and lots of bedding that I switch out depending on the season.

11. Can someone please explain to me why my husband can go DAYS without wiping a kitchen counter, but if the tupperware drawer that nobody sees is "not organized," he loses his shiz-nit?

12. Sometimes I dream about plastic surgery. I think it would do this body good. And that is all I am going to say about that.

13. Sometimes I dream about leaving teaching and opening my own book store/bakery/refinished furniture store. It's a good combo, right? 'Cause I could sit in a really comfy refinished rocking chair with the next Barbara Kingsolver novel in one hand and a crossaint with cream cheese filling in the other and tell people that I was working.

14. Me gusta Reality TV. Amazing Race, Survivor, Dance Moms, The Biggest Loser, Real Housewives of Orange County. LOVE them. I dreamt a couple of weeks ago that I was The Bachelorette and I was down to my final two men. They were really, really hot. And then I woke up. I wish I was joking.

15. Khloe Kardashian is my favorite one. I just don't see how it could be any other way.

16. Sometimes I pretend I am middle-of-the-road politically. But I think this is a big, fat lie. I don't know why I do that.

17. I hate bullies. Actually, that's not true. I hate bullying. I feel bad for bullies, too, because I know they have their own stuff that keeps them up at night. But bullying makes me really, really mad. I don't lose it very often as a teacher, but bullying makes me lose it sometimes. Probably because I was bullied every day of my life in the 6th grade by a kid whose parents were going through a really awful divorce, and as the chubby girl with a mullet, I was an easy target. He called me "Sara-potomos" and I went home and cried. Every day. Sad. For both of us, really.

18. Sometimes I think my college boyfriend and I bullied each other a lot. That lasted for almost five years. Sad again. There was a time when I thought I couldn't live without him. For the record, that is a much different feeling than just not wanting to live without him. That's how Trevor makes me feel. And that is very, very different.

19. My brother and my sister are the best gifts my mom ever gave me. I hope and I pray that Nico and Noah feel the same way about each other. It is one of my greatest hopes, actually.

20. I love a brand new, freshly sharpened pencil almost as much as I love nacho cheese.

21. I hate boogers. And spiders. With a passion.

22. Trevor looks hot when he plays soccer every Sunday across the street. And when he skis. I like it. A lot.

23. I don't think I went swimming without wearing a t-shirt over my swimsuit until college. Seriously. As if this made me look smaller. I love being in my 30s. I love walking around in my swimsuit, free of wet t-shirt clinging to my body. "Love" might be a little strong, but whatever. If you don't like my thighs, then don't look at them. I try not to on most days, and it works out really well.

24.My BFF tells me the truth, even when it hurts, and I reciprocate this. She told me today my eyes were bloodshot. Everyone needs a BFF like this. Everyone.

25. Motherhood has made me morbid. I wasn't morbid before these babies. I swear. Now, I sometimes can't sleep for fear of babies not breathing or parents having aneurisms or planes with whole families in them falling from the sky. I hate this. Being alive has never mattered so much before, and that in and of itself is morbid. I don't want to miss one second. But just in case, Trevor has been informed that if I die, he has to buy a new bed for his new wife to sleep in. She can't sleep in my bed. And she better love my children or I will HAUNT THAT HOUSE UP! Clear?

26. Both of my children believe they are very funny. They will often say, "I funny!" Trevor has informed me this is my fault. "Why?," I asked. "Because you tell people you are funny all of the time," he said. "Oh." End of conversation.

27. I won the Soup Cook-off at school a couple of months ago. I was sooooooooo excited by this, that my excitement scared me. I didn't win much as a kid. Chubby girl + Mullet + Books = Lose. A lot.

28. I talk to my mom via phone and email numerous times a day, and she lives eight blocks away. The first time Trevor and I hung out at my house together, my mom called and she must have said something that upset me, so I yelled at her and hung up. Apparently I told Trevor not to worry. That this happened a lot and she would call back in a little bit like nothing happened. I was right. And nothing has changed in the six and a half years we have been together.

29. Has it really only been six and a half years? WTH? 'Cause it feel like a LIFETIME. In a good way, of course. A couple of houses, a couple of dogs, and a couple of kids will do that.

30. I think I want one more. I think. Just one. I am talking about a kid. Which means I will never sleep again and this makes me want to cry.

31. I cried last night because I was sooooooooo tired that I didn't know what else to do. I cried and I told Trevor I was mad that he hadn't cut his hair in a really long time. This is why I need to sleep. Not. Good. At. All. Again.

32. I want a garden with tomatoes and strawberries and green beans and onions and pumpkins. I want to can pie filling, and maybe some tomato sauce. Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong generation, and then I think about the generations of women who came before me who lived in kitchens with three times as many kids as I have and I am happy that "wanting to garden" and "wanting to can" is just for fun.

33. I would pay a lot, a lot, a lot of money to see Phil Collins in concert. A lot.

34. I worry my house smells like dog. This worry can literally send me over the edge sometimes. Having a "dirty" house sends me into a panic. And this isn't pretty. Not pretty at all.

35. I almost just peed my pants at school from laughter at the impersonation of someone. Someone who shall remain nameless. This means it is time for me to go.

The Second One

From the moment I found out the second one was coming, I was terrified. TERRIFIED.

 

Terrified that I would lose that pregnancy, too.

 

Terrified that the 4 1/2-month-old I was holding in my arms wouldn't have enough time to be my only baby.

 

Terrified that the second one wouldn't have enough of my time as his mama.

 

Terrified, that in the end, I would screw them both up royally and never get to retire because I would have to foot their psychiatric bills until the day I died. After all, it would be ALL. MY. FAULT.

 

And then the second one came. Please make sure you read that correctly. The second one came. It was not, however, the second coming. Just clarifying, people. He's no Jesus and I'm no Virgin.

 

The second one came, and for the first year of life as a mama of two, the truth is, my terror was often realized. Overwhelmed doesn't seem big enough to describe my emotional state. A 13-month-old and a 1-month old are still babies, but babies with very different needs. An 18-month-old and a 6-month-old have very clear opinions about how stuff should be done, but that stuff is quite different for each one. I was exhausted. I was a mess. And I was hurting really badly. 'Cause the thing is, I just want to be a good mom. A mom who plays and feeds and laughs and dirties and says "Good for yous" and "I'm sorries." Instead, I often found myself with a baby in each arm, crying right along-side them because, damn it, my needs weren't being met either.

 

Thank God for the ones who told me it would get easier. The ones who reminded me that this too would pass. They were right. Thank God they were right.

 

Just about the time the second one started walking and talking, things indeed got easier. My terror began to wean and I began to see that maybe, after all, they did both get to be babies, that there was enough mama to pass around, and that I might actually get to stop working someday because those two screaming boys were now, actually, sometimes happy.

 

The second one is actually so happy, so much of the time, that I have to wonder where in the hell he came from. The second one has a belly-laugh that is to die for. Sometimes I find myself tormenting him with tickles just so I can hear it. That laughter is the sun, my friends. The sun.

 

The second one climbs and runs and dances and destroys. Yes, destroys. He often has help, but the truth is, he is Lead Destroyer in the Smith household. In a matter of five minutes, this child can open every drawer, pull out every item in said-drawers, throw these items around a bit, and then move on to the next area to repeat the destroying process all over again.

 

The second one talks and talks and talks and talks. He talks in complete sentences. He talks to anyone and anything that will listen. I heard him the other day say to his blankie, "Bye, blankie. See you soon." He says, clear as day, "I love you, mama." This reminds me that he is indeed mine and that I indeed know where he came from.

 

 

The second one is now 20-months-old. I now have an almost 2-year-old and an almost 3-year-old, and while there are still moments of terror, there are mostly moments of great appreciation and joy. Mostly. The first one rocked my world. The second one shook it.

 

 It has been quite the ride.

 

And I wouldn't trade one measly second of it. Not one. I have the first and second to thank for that.