¡Dame cinco! or… ¡Chócala!

When we were recording our last session of Habla Blah Blah music in Mexico, some of my previous “translating” errors became glaringly embarrassing causes for continuous chuckling at the studio. I turned to Maria (Sánchez Lozano), one of our female Spanish singers, and I said in my coolest purr, “¡dame cinco!” She, honestly, just looked at me. In perfect English, she said, “What do you mean?”

It turns out that “Give me five!” doesn’t translate! The intention does. The meaning does, but the words? No. The phrase is a colloquialism. It’s slang that differs by region and culture, though all people in the world practice some form of this casual communication… bumping knuckles, slapping skin, etc. After laughing at my naiveté, we translated, or better termed, we deciphered the correct phrase for it in Spanish and then French.

Tope là, in French, loosely translates to ‘touch this’, but it’s slang, so don’t try to find it in the dictionary. Fascinating, right? I started getting really excited… how would this translate in Greek? Russian? Chinese? Hindi? How cool would it be if you knew how to say the equivalent of “Slap me some skin, brother” or “Give me five” in any language. You could travel the world with your children and instantly offer signs of peace to strangers in a casual way. It would be a gateway phrase into another culture, another family, a new friendship!

Flash forward about a year later, and here we are. We want to do this, but we need help. We need people. We need YOUR expertise and connections. It gives me goose bumps (another phrase that I love to translate across languages because it doesn’t translate verbatim) to think of the possibility of assembling a collection of HIGH FIVEs across as many languages as possible. Send this to all of your friends! Go viral!! Let’s translate this song to as many languages as possible and put together a HIGH FIVE album that celebrates world peace and communication.

Here is a link to all of the downloadables that you’d need in English, Spanish, French – the music, the lyrics, and the instrumental.

Can you translate? Or do you know someone who can? Can you sing it in another language? Please, please send it in… written, recorded, or filmed, and we will publish you. I treasure the nuances of any language, and I love that some meanings just don’t translate perfectly.

Help us make the HIGH FIVE project come to life and take the challenge!

{First photo by  TheModernGypsy. Second photo courtesy of Amy Conroy}

Editor’s note: We continue our week-long series about immersion travel. The following post was written by Amy Conroy — creator of habla, blah, blah — who spent six months in San Miguel de Allende with her three children and wrote all about their experiences for SpanglishBaby back in 2011-2012. She was also one of our guests on our SpanglishBaby LIVE Google+ Hangout on immersion travel.

That is really my biggest worry – what if we never have another trip like that?!? What if that was the best we ever have? What if that was The Biggest Adventure of our Lives? I cannot explain how rewarding and glorious our last six months in Mexico were. Our time there changed our lives and our perspectives forever. There’s no going back (to who we were) and on my darkest days, I am prone to fits of melancholy at the thought of no future immersion travel/living.

But with our experience does come perspective, and there are things I would do differently and things I would do more.

Basics: food, water, shelter

Food is easy — you eat local, which luckily for us was pretty delectable. Water is a whole other issue, but one that I love. The scarcity of potable water in the world is an unfathomed concept to most Americans, but the global reality of its dearth reminds me of how lucky I am and has started a dialogue for us to explore further.

But then you have shelter. Here is where I would do it differently: stay in a place where you feel good and comfortable. During our last long immersion, I tried to save $$ in our accommodations. While that might have suited us fine for a shorter term, six months was too long for us to live ‘normally’ in sub par conditions. My advice would be to spend what is needed so that you and your family enjoy where you rest. You will need a place to recharge when you are immersed in a new language and culture — it’s tiring! Honor that need, and you will have more energy to channel into your immersion experience.

Luxuries: transportation, communication, and emergencies

These are not the essential items for living, but they are key to calmer living while immersed in a new place. First of all, always know where the hospital is for an emergency. Stitches at 10 p.m. was inevitable for at least one of my three children, but peace of mind rather than petrified panic in knowing where to go was helpful. Which is why I argue that, at a certain point, I highly recommend having access to private transportation like a car. Sure, there may be buses and taxis available, but will that suit you in an emergency? It’s easy to bum rides from friends when you are one or two persons, but squeezing an extra five into someone’s car ride to the country quickly becomes cramped.

My last bit of practical advice is to secure an easy way to communicate with home. It’s simple these days (via cell phones or Vonage) and well worth the cost so that you don’t feel estranged from loved ones at home.

Academic life: go immersive, go local, and try to steer clear of other travelers

If you want your child to learn another language, there is no better motivation for them than peer interaction. If they don’t have the option of communicating in their native tongue, they will quickly figure out how to join a game of tag in whatever language is spoken. Though we had spent a great deal of time vacationing in Mexico prior to living there for six months, they learned ten times more Spanish attending a private Mexican school than they ever did during leisure time. I was one proud mama when my eldest read a poem aloud to the parents of the school community, and a friend commented on his lack of accent! I’m not saying it was easy – it was painful to watch them struggle. We knew nobody and were the only Americans in a small, tight-knit local school. It was like Ground Hog Day for the first day of Kindergarten (when your child doesn’t want to go) for six months!! Hard times.

But, worth it.  They are (near) fluent and, eventually, made friends. “Nothing worth gaining was ever gained without effort,” so said Theodore Roosevelt.

Social life: volunteer or work

Immersion for adults is hard, too. It’s easy to connect with others with similar backgrounds, e.g. other Americans, so that is one pathway. However my most rewarding relationships grew from working together on a project when I volunteered with a non-profit. It was an incredible way to meet locals who shared a similar interest – I found “my peops”!

Overall, I’d do it all again, but the next time I’d do it with my husband. Our circumstances didn’t permit him a leave of absence from his job, so it was the four of us (me + 3 kids) most of the time. We rationalized that a temporary six months apart was manageable, since we plan to live the rest of our lives together. But truthfully, that was the hardest aspect of our adventure – not living together as a family unit. We survived it, but I’d be lying to omit that his absence was a major distraction to us all. I don’t want to leave without him again for that long, but two? Three? Four months? Count me in!  I can’t say no… there’s too much at stake.

{Photos courtesy of Amy Conroy}

“I want my kids to be immersed in REAL Mexican culture”…and “San Miguel has just so many ex-pats”; “it’s not ‘authentic’ enough…”. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard comments like these. My children and I are currently on a six-month stay in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico and before it’s done, we will have been here an entire year. Needless to say, my response to these sorts of comments has definitely done a 180°.

Admittedly, I WAS one of those people. I was a skeptic. I wanted a real, ‘authentic’ experience for my family. I wanted us to speak Spanish and make Mexican friends. Despite my concerns, convenience brought us here. Upon moving to a lovely house near the park, I even called my husband to tell him that I would never live here again because it was ‘little America.’ Most of our neighbors were ex-pats who spoke English!

My, how times have changed.

While I still understand those concerns, I now have a new perspective.

For one, I realized that before beginning any journey priorities need to be established …what is your goal for this adventure? Are you travelling for fun or relaxation? For culture? Language? To see a new world? Live differently? What do you want to get out of your immersion trip?

Back in Los Angeles, California, our quality of life is pretty high. Or course the cost of living is also high, but it’s safe to say that our family enjoys all of the amenities of a cosmopolitan city in a First World Nation. Target and Ikea keep us stocked in commerce, and sky’s the limit for the range of activities and opportunities available so long as you can a) navigate the traffic, and b) pay for them.

So, as much as I wanted my children to ONLY speak Spanish when we came here, and only socialize with Mexicans, I now realize that those superficial standards were keeping us from forming stronger natural relationships. It was only once I let go of those preconceived specifications that our real immersion started and we transformed from being tourists to travelers.

The truth is that my children most related to other kids from a similar socio-economic background, and they were not the kids in the campo initially.(C’mon, how could I expect a few kids from LA to instantly bond with kids who lived with chicken coops inside their house?! Life seemed so instantly different at that point!) With the kids that they naturally gravitated toward, they shared similar interests, quickly recognized their commonalities, and formed bonds. And it was this form of peer interaction that was the greatest motivating factor for them to learn Spanish. The more language they acquired, the more they reaped the benefits, and they went from simply being included in games of tag to learning the nuances of telling a joke that doesn’t translate.

But then, an even more interesting thing happened… As they sufficiently mastered the language, the door opened to my so-called ‘authentic’ experience. They spoke the language of all of the kids in Mexico now. So now, their comfort zone grew, and they formed relationships across socio-economic backgrounds. Afterall, don’t all 8-year-old boys have some interest in the spy/ninja world? Or fútbol, at least? And don’t most little girls enjoy a twirl in a tulle skirt?

As an anthropologist, we often discussed the now debunk term “Noble Savage” as it was used to describe Native Americans by scholarly Western folk. “Noble Savage” refers to an idealized concept of an uncivilized person and his/her pure goodness that has not been corrupted by the influences of modern civilization. It’s easy to dismiss that notion in an academic setting, because it is obviously patronizing and lacks acknowledgement of variable cultural values.

However, that is exactly the same idea as me wanting my children to be immersed in some antiquated idea I have of Mexico… in a rural setting, playing with sticks. If the “savage” is someone who does not have all of the modern amenities or conform to modern standards of living, then savages can be found as easily in the United States as in Mexico and around the world. This has nothing to do with culture or language, but has everything to do with inequitable opportunities, the persistence of poverty without adequate resources, and sometimes traditions. I did not and do not want my children associating Spanish and Mexican culture with poverty or a lack of resources any more than I would want them associating the South (U.S.) with bigotry and hatred. The two exist, of course, but they are not bound by transitive properties and are not true for all peoples.

The Spanish language is a rich and live language, the second most spoken language in the WORLD (after Mandarin Chinese). And the Mexican culture is equally as rich and vibrant, passionate, broad, historied, and detailed. THAT is the Spanish and the culture that I want my children to know. The purpose of our trip, our living here, is to expose them to an equally rich, advanced, and sophisticated culture and language as they have at home, to offer them a different perspective. I try to avoid value judgments as to which is better, but I know that HOW they are exposed and how they FEEL about their experiences will color their opinions and their association with Spanish and the culture. I don’t want to confuse the language and culture with systemic infrastructural problems in the country that dictate how potable water is, for example.

The point is that it takes times to form relationships, authentically; they cannot be fabricated for an ‘experience’, and it is exactly those relationships, once formed, that drive language learning. It’s an emotional need to connect (watch out: they say it’s most easily done between lovers!). It’s funny that children seem to know this truth intrinsically, while some adults still think it’s a malleable concept.

San Miguel de Allende is a sophisticated and cosmopolitan city set in Spanish colonial architecture with cobblestone streets. It is a Mexican city with a large population of ex-patriots from around the world. It is also a city with a storied and proud history, but one that has accepted gentrification with grace. When I finally embraced the realities of living here is when, I’d argue, our real cultural and linguistic assimilation took place. At that point, we were able to build organic relationships with people and the community. We made friends because of mutual interests and with mutual affection, not because we were ‘Americans’ and they were ‘Mexicans’ or ‘Swedes’ or ‘Italians’ or whatever, but just because we liked one another. But it’s been easier to do that when we share a common language.

Last weekend, we spent the morning swimming with friends: Americans who gave birth and are raising their children in Mexico. The ten kids played tag on a beautiful and expansive property in a smattering of English with peppered Spanish. That afternoon we attended a birthday party on the outskirts of town where we were the only Westerners that some guests had ever talked to. To look at us, we stuck out like sore thumbs with blond hair, sunburnt skin, freckles, and light eyes. But to listen… there was no difference. The kids played, ate cake, helped each other onto the brincolin (trampoline), and hit the piñata. The mamás talked about our families and acknowledged the normalcy of children throwing tantrums and eating too much sugar. The socio-economic difference between the two gatherings was plain: one might be painted as a more real Mexico, and the other as a result of gentrification, but there was no distinction made by the kids who were at each place simply to play with friends.

I like that my children do not see a difference in their quality of life between Los Angeles and San Miguel de Allende. I like that the friends they’ve made here would be the same friends they’d make at home. They play with the same toys, discussing items of similar interest — in Spanish, sometimes English, and all the time in ‘kidspeak’, that universal language that kids share to communicate. The idea of the Nobel Savage, or an unsophisticated being that is somehow more pure, is ridiculous – neither were they unsophisticated, nor more pure. But the idea that we, as outsiders, judge the purity of an experience based on external factors, such as country vs. city living, or how many foreigners live in a native country, is equally as ridiculous. The real Mexico cannot be boxed into any one stereotype; the real Mexico is a dynamic country with a passionate past and a thriving future. It certainly depends on your goals, but I don’t think it matters where you choose to study Spanish or immerse yourself in a culture, so long as the intentions are pure.

And when in doubt, just follow your kids – they’re always a beacon of purity.

{All images © Amy Conroy}

{Photos courtesy of Amy Conroy}

Editor’s note: This is Part 7 in a continuing series by Amy Conroy. To read the other parts, go here. 

“Finally, it’s over!”, said by the same homebody 5-year-old who requests leave of Disneyland after a few hours. Oh sweetheart, it’s only just begun!

True, it was relieving to come home after living in Mexico for four months. There is nothing like coming home, and the water here is so clean and plentiful! BUT, we are going back. I am determined to capitalize on this period of our life, when we are not too committed to sports’ teams, my children’s minds are malleable, and making friends happens over shared bubbles in the park. I know it is impossible to keep it this simple for long.

But coming home was funny, and the first 24 hours paint the picture well: after 6 hours of travel with 3 young children and a puppy, we arrived to our LA home around 2 a.m. Wired with excitement, each member of our family fully embraced their quirky idiosyncratic nesting practices: Jack took inventory of every toy that needed new batteries and kept a tally, Cecilia changed outfits ad infinitum from the repertoire hanging in the closet, and Calvin dumped out the entire collection of toys onto the living room floor. Cecilia was and still is at odds with what to do with her used toilet paper, carrying it in hand after her visit to the bathroom, panties around the ankles. And my appointment that took me to Beverly Hills by 10 am the following day was surreal if, for no other reason, than the valet had to ask me several times if this was my car when he drove up, because I just didn’t recognize it!!

Aside from those little silly glitches, it’s been incredibly rewarding to watch the kids adjust back to home life. It is difficult to pin-point the differences, but easy to recognize them. I have a Kindergartener who’s music class was attempting to rhyme each student’s name. Nobody could rhyme the name “Laila”, said with a long i. After a moment, Calvin suggested “baila”, explaining to his classmates that it meant “dance in Spanish”. In fact, at orientation, we spoke Spanish with several fellow students and their parents, and I felt my world open. This is our third year at the school, but I am meeting a whole new community. I ask Calvin if he speaks Spanish with the kids at school, and he shakes his head with a sheepish grin. But when I arrive to school, I am greeted by a lovely Spanish speaking little girl, who knows that our worlds are not split or separated. She is perfectly bilingual, but we prefer to speak in Spanish.  Bilingual potluck dinners are on the agenda…

Jack was very nervous that he would have forgotten his classmates, or his way around the school, all for no reason. He slipped right back into the fabric of second grade as any other child returned from summer vacation.  Though he is a thoughtful boy, generally more shy than aggressive, he is a zealot on the soccer field. Take no prisoners, animal, this guy hustles! Would he be this way regardless, or is it due to his time spent as the youngest player scrounging for the ball with A.C. Milan in the land that grooms their soccer players young? He is also sharing a bit more of his goofy sweetness with others which I’d have to attribute to an increasing self-confidence … probably normal developmental growth, but I’d like to think it is also due to pride in accomplishments overall.

We speak Spanish at home sometimes, but it is a complicated and delicate balance sought in the comfort of our own home without outsiders around. Ironically, it is often in their goofiest moments – in the bath, the car, playing with the puppy – but when their guards are completely let down, that the kids speak Spanish unsolicited. Joking with one another, they are playful with the language and use it to create double entendres that often make us all laugh. However initially back home, Jack begged me to NEVER speak Spanish in public while home in the U.S. – Mexico was OK, but not here. I obviously didn’t agree to this, but I am sensitive to his discomfort from the attention that it brings to a blond haired, blue eyed boy. He will answer me, but he is reluctant to be a trained monkey and demonstrate his skills. Cecilia, on the other hand, la muñeca princesa, eats up the attention, of course – happily performing ‘Las Mañanitas’ to any request! Interestingly, I can also use Spanish to get their attention while in a store or otherwise, as in “Mira, Cecilia!  Escuchame, no puedes ir….” It’s as if they suddenly hear my words differently when I switch to the other language.

Our pediatrician is one of the few adults who have successfully solicited Jack for information about his life in Mexico… Jack capitalized on this opportunity to convince me that he should have a birthday party here in the U.S., and then have another when we return to San Miguel! What else could I say but ‘claro’?! Anything, anything to get them to embrace the idea of our return and dual life!

So I find that it’s all about language. How we think of our experiences is shaped by how we talk about them – present, past, and future. I am reminded of the many articles I’ve read about ‘prestige languages’ and am very careful and cautious when creating our narrative. It is an ongoing process that we are constantly renegotiating in our minds and with one another. The reality of this process and our dual lives can be uncomfortable. The kids are beginning to see that it can also be recognized and appreciated, too, and I hope that they see the inherent value in time.

But it’s hard. There are still many people that fear the violence so much that they would NEVER consider a trip to Mexico, and my children are perceptive of those opinions as well. We have decided to live differently, because I’d like for my children to think differently. When we are away and circumstances are different, I have excellent opportunities to talk about those ideas – water scarcity, needs versus wants, traditions, expectations, and opportunities. When so many things are new in our environment, our perspective is open to observing even a common sight very differently than we would have at home – so that something as mundane as a grocery store outing becomes a huge exploration into culture.

Reflection is a very personal process, however, that is not easily monitored or quantified.  =Yesterday my boys were laughing hysterically dressed in bathtime bubbles convincing me that, “Ya hablamos español!”. They have accepted that we will return to MX, and I am more convinced than ever. It is not just because of the concrete reasons (like language acquisition, or accessibility to fabulous art classes), but because of the difference in ‘thinking’. I find myself in situations in Los Angeles where others tell me, “yeah, but that’s the way it is…” or “it’s the same everywhere” and I am taken back to some former sports coach telling me to just “deal with it” at age 15. And that is not the case. Life has options. And if you don’t like something, it’s important to find an alternative solution.

San Miguel seems to be composed of many people who do not find themselves constrained by expectations, or limited by their options or traditional roles. There are fewer rules! True, it is an expensive and affluent Mexican town (that can afford to offer privileges of the elite to the masses and yes, is uncomfortably colonial at times), but I argue about something more intangible than commodities – a way of thinking that embraces ingenuity and defies expectations. It is a place where 75-year-olds cruise around on motor-scooters, age nor background defines ‘dress’ or ‘behavior’, people reinvent themselves as sculptors, and the goal is to live well.

I hiccup sometimes when I am there and ponder our ‘productivity’, immediately sliding back into that Puritanical work ethic of the common American, but I really want my children to seek their sense of success, satisfaction, and happiness from within.  That can be difficult to achieve when you’re so busy checking boxes, taking tests… the awful old adage of ‘keeping up with the Jones’, which allows no time for reflection or personal exploration.

There are many ways to do this, I am clear. This is our path – for now. It certainly stands to change as my children mature, but the power to be flexible and adaptable,  to live untraditionally or uncommonly by other’s standards, is a power for choice that will remain in our DNA.

My husband loves to say that you need to “prepare to be lucky” in life, and that is how I see our whole Mexico experience – how lucky we are.

Editor’s Note: This whole week is dedicated to the topic of Bicultural Birthday Celebration. Make sure you’re subscribed to receive our posts because we have an awesome round up of guest posts and fabulous giveaways.

I asked my 7 year old if he thought birthday parties were different in Mexico than in the U.S.  He said, “Totally”.  Sweet, I thought, some food for fodder…

How?

“Spanish”.

Thanks for the insight, love.  I will argue, however, that is the cool thing with kids – they take it as it comes, and assimilate instantly. The clowns, the piñatas and cascarones, mordita (for sure) are as much a part of their repertoire now as the traditional ‘cake and ice cream’ in America.

Anyway, a gorgeous birthday party is why we’ve now spent so much time in Mexico: thank you to Olivier for turning 4 years ago. At his party, we were welcomed as complete strangers and introduced to friends.  We shared a slice of life that day touched with sweetness and frivolity, but underscored in tradition, that made us hunger for more. Seriously, was this how other people lived?

But let’s start with the basics: In the States, kids are often invited a month in advance for a birthday party from 2-5 pm. Lovely. In my experience in Mexico, you could be invited the day before for a party at “4”, which EVERYONE advises you not to arrive until 5 at the earliest, a la Mexi-time. An intentional late arrival makes me squeamish as I wouldn’t want to offend the host, but as others point out – the host might not even be there if you arrive at the exact time (and then where are you?!), and anyway, what’s the rush? The party will go on for hours… no host in Mexico would ever impose an ending time – THAT would truly be rude.

I have never been invited to a dull party here – children’s birthdays are celebrated with abandon and a full cache of families and friends. They are generally a rich blending of activities, not unlike those we entertain in Los Angeles, delicious food, and traditions.  

My favorite custom of singing the “Dale, Dale” song has given way to “mordida”. But the “Dale, Dale” song is a fun way for everyone to participate while one child beats a piñata to a pulp. I say it that way because I’ve often witnessed sweet little girls in princess attire (or for that matter, sweet little boys) baffled by why they should be hitting the floating castle with candy… thank goodness, someone usually jumps up, happy to demonstrate wild behavior to break it open. And only once have I seen the actual stick break before the piñata does. Either way, “Dale, Dale” keeps everyone in line (3 swats and you’re done) and involved.

Cascarones are great – hollowed out eggs with confetti. They are an awesome time consuming craft and can create quite a mess, but confetti alters moods like only the pop of a nice champagne bottle can. In Antigua, Guatemala, the novios purchased them to squash over amorous heads as a flirting technique when circling the town square on foot.  We made them for Easter, since they’re eggs.  But traditionally in Mexico, they are used for particular celebrations – like birthday parties. We made about 3 per person for  Easter, totaling around 2 dozen minus the ‘bad eggs’, of course… But my friend brought out a plastic storage box the size of a laundry basket filled with cascarones. She had to beg the kids to finish them up – there were so many that adults jumped in!  …another refreshing aspect I love in the Mexican culture… adults welcomed to act like children, again It is SO fun.

So aside from the bouncy houses, clowns and games, pony rides and piñatas, cascarones, and SCRUMPTIOUS FOOD, our hands-down favorite tradition is “mordida!”. This, I tell you, is not solely reserved for children’s parties – as witnessed when celebrating 39 years of an amigo one Friday night.

Traditionally, the cake is brought out as everyone sings “Las Mañanitas”.  After the candles have been blown, the excitement builds. “Mor-di-da! Mor-di-da!” is chanted in unison. Supposedly, somebody well positioned behind the birthday person, then gently aids in pushing his/her face toward the cake. Truthfully each time I’ve seen it, the birthday boy has welcomed the opportunity and without prodding, into the cake a whole face flies!  The crowd always goes wild!  It is hysterical – every time!! It is also completely shocking to the uninitiated… which can be seen in the face of my daughter. I am told that every ‘good’ Mexican family has an album for each child documenting the frosting faces over the years. What a treasure – that’s the album I would keep in a fire proof safe, along with a viewing copy on my coffee table.

The party never ends until the last person leaves. We’ve definitely carried home sleeping children from another child’s birthday party, because the celebrations never cease! And while my children’s heritage is a smattering of European ancestry heavily weighted toward the Irish, their cultural capital most certainly includes some Mexican traditions.

***All photos courtesy of Amy Conroy

Editor’s note: This is Part 6 in a continuing series by Amy Conroy. To read the other parts, go here. Although this is the last one from San Miguel de Allende, Amy has promised one more post a few weeks after they’re back home in Los Angeles to share their impressions on their immersion adventure. We hope you’ve enjoyed living vicariously through Amy and her kids as much as we have!

This will be short and sweet as I am sad to leave, but we get on our flight tonight and admittedly, we’re excited about going home too. A beautiful nameplate on the side of a house that encapsulates my feelings about San Miguel…

True, we’re all thrilled by the prospect of living under one roof.  My boys have already planned sleepovers with their best friends and we plan to celebrate our homecoming California style ~ on the beach!

But I will bring back mezcal to share along with my plans to return for 6 months in January! It was just too amazing to walk away from. And after you’ve had one of the best meals of your life at a particular restaurant – wouldn’t you go back? And order the same thing? On my honeymoon, I ordered tuna tartare at every meal.

Again, it’s the kids that are the clincher. Their Spanish grew and improved so rapidly that they were astonished, and a bit disgusted, when they needed to translate for me the other day. The schools were lovely – I have nothing but admiration for these teachers and administrators.  The kids brim with flourishment – and how could I not want a second cup of that?

So, hasta pronto to Canada de la Virgen…

Hasta la proximo vez al D.F., Mexico City, Tenochtitlan…

The Jardin and Parroquia…

Parque Juarez…

Our beautiful home we’ve shared while here…

The fountains…

History…

La Gruta & hot springs…

Helados, nieves, elote y guacamole…

Thank you to all of our friends who introduced us to the magic here… who brought the warmth of friendship to the new and exciting, and kept it all personal in the exotic and different.

I am grateful to our friends at home for their support of our endeavor, and offer a mil gracias to my husband for all of his miles logged and time spent in LAX customs. Thank you, SpanglishBaby, for indulging my tales and for all of your encouragement.

We are leaving, but we’ll be back. I will be nervous to return I’m sure… because it’s not that I don’t see all the bugs, or smell the uncomfortable stench, or read the papers. This is a country built on passion and not for the faint of heart (i.e. blood and gore are regular aspects of all religious, political, and social life), yet still I am not dissuaded. And still, I am not yet satiated. It’s an Achilles heel…

~ random leftovers from the last 4 months ~

Favorite quotes:

“Why does Daddy speak like an English person?” – Calvin (5) to me, when Daddy pointed out “basura”… uh, bcuz he is American?

“¿Cómo estás, ojo de pescado?” – 5 to 7 year old jokesters after learning about plantars wart

“¡No le toca!” – Cecilia’s first Spanish phrase, that she repeated over & over & over

“If you’re not nice, nobody will want to sleep with you” – me to 3 kids, because we all slept in one bed for the first month.  Prophetic, no?

“What is his name? Cowboy?” – new preschool mini-friend asking me Calvin’s name (unusual in Spanish)

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.”  – Mark Twain

Spanish words that, when confused, can be either a) amusing or b) alarming:

• embarazada vs. vergüenza (pregnant vs. embarrassed)
• borracho vs. berrinche (drunk vs. tantrum)
• chulo vs. chula (pimp vs. cute)

Other things we’re bringing back (aside from Spanish):

• new name for a fish: ‘ojo de pescado’
• stronger stomach
• sparkly 10 lb geode found on canyon floor
• baby/individual sized Tajin’s
• ‘Wizard’ costume designed by Jack and hand-sewn
• several pair of cowboy boots
• new appreciation for plumbing and electricity
• laissez-faire attitude toward fireworks
• princess love by Cecilia; my acceptance of said state
• naranjada mineral!!!
• the mexi-dog we’ve always wanted, named “Hola Ricky Fuente”, who followed my kids home one day   http://www.saveamexicanmutt.org/

Simpler Days {Photo courtesy of Amy Conroy}

Editor’s note: This is Part 5 in a continuing series by Amy Conroy. To read the other parts, go here.

What is ‘normal’? ~ the question of my life ~ To be honest, life in Mexico is really not so different than life in the U.S.  The details vary and one might say there is more ‘flavor’, but the basics are the same: Jack has soccer practice, Calvin does art class, Cecilia is starting gymnastics.  I grocery shop, we go to the hospital for stitches, and I still manage to jack-up cars even when they’re not mine!  Socially we’re not missing any milestones: Jack’s interest in girls has just begun to bud (which is made a wee bit more complicated/funny by the language component), Calvin’s first tooth is loose, and Cecilia is (still! ugh) potty training.  Just about boring, but normal.

The differences are the spice of life: Jack’s soccer coach is an Italian former pro player for A.C. Milan, an emergency hospital visit in the middle of the night is WAY easier, cheaper, and quicker than in the States, and Cecilia actually took a sweet nap the other day… on the front of my bouncing ATV. I don’t know how her head didn’t bobble off. Last Sunday, Jack was stuck in the middle of a zip line over a muddy pond, while Cecilia was cordoned off due to stalking geese. Normal.

Zip line over muddy pond {Photo courtesy of Amy Conroy}

Some of what I love in San Miguel de Allende has nothing to do with the fact that we’re in Mexico; it’s just a nice change of pace and scenery from urban living. Landscaped oasis’ surrounding natural hot springs that flow into paved pools, set on a knoll with a view of the plains and a slight breeze… it’s not a dream, but an alternate reality that somehow seems sweeter and simpler than my LA life. It’s also a life, for us, that has fewer rules and regulations, definitely harkening back to ‘simpler days’ of my mother’s childhood.

The truth is, however, that the ‘craziness’ of urban living is possible here, too, though it seems more of an ‘option’ than an inescapable aspect of life. You could sign your child up for an extra curricular activity every day of the week, and join carpools, camps, and hire specialized tutors. Initially, the options were dizzying.  We needed to settle, not busy ourselves.  Three months later, we’ve slowly joined what works for us.

However, it’s kind of nutty that such different ‘sides’ of Mexico co-exist simultaneously, and I don’t think that’s the picture of Mexico that many North Americans know.  There are shades of gray that thrive in this landscape, but the extremes are really interesting: alongside the extreme poverty of Mexico that is known worldwide with chiclé-selling tots, there exists a thriving affluent community that participates in every aspect of modern life that ‘First Worlds’ enjoy: gyms, yoga classes, behavioral therapists, Yakuit (otherwise sold in Whole Foods), fine dining, home & garden tours, art openings, country clubs and philanthropic groups galore.  And all of this exists alongside what is left of the ‘old world’… and THERE I go to buy our vegetables and fruit when I can, to pick up fresh tortillas, or better, maza, to make our own. There, we visit caballos and bring them carrots; we watch burros tote heavy packages through cobble-stoned streets.

Carrots for horses {Photo courtesy of Amy Conroy}

There is great charm and simple beauty to the undeveloped world – I crave it and the kids eat it up.  Perhaps it’s because we’ve previously only lived in a packaged world of ready-made products, I don’t know.  It’s not that we don’t appreciate our First World amenities – we miss our flushable toilets (see Part Three), like our organic milk cold, and bicycles have become our favorite comfort activity aside from Leggos. But we are really captivated by the campo and prefer to spend all of our free time there.

So maybe we’ve done it backwards? Traveled from a complicated world to a simpler one in some aspects, and I can’t help but wonder which is wiser? Or truly more sophisticated? There seems to be a depth of understanding of humanity here that is not so transparent in other places. It dawned on me that wisdom is not correlated to sophistication, complicated infrastructure, or simplicity, but exists in its own space – and the wisdom I’ve found in the life here is what truly captivates me.

Napping on horseback {Photo courtesy Amy Conroy}

How do the kids respond? Cecilia has suddenly declared she’s not going back to her school in “L.A.”, because you can’t pack a lunch there. Very complicated, that one. Calvin, to my complete chagrin, answered a Mexican-American friend’s innocent question of how he was with “No me gusta Mexico.”

Stop the press. Really? Did he really say it out loud?! Crap.

I could have died! How do you deny it? Back peddle? And he said it fairly emphatically. I was horrified by his retort and embarrassed by his blind stubbornness. I could give you a million excuses as to why that flew out of his mouth, but really I think that’s part of the ‘normality’ in living here, there, anywhere. It was just him. This child does not perform on cue, or seek to please others (great quality DOWN the road). So after berating him about how rude and offensive it is to say something like that, I quickly realized he was just a normal tired 5 year old. He’d had a 5 hour day at school, followed by a 2 hour art class (that he begs to attend), and he was tired. But for the first time, I actually did not worry that there was something terribly wrong with our time in Mexico; I didn’t worry that it was somehow harming his psyche or scarring his emotional growth process. For the first time, I felt confident that it was the right move for our family.  Afterall, he was acting as he would have in Los Angeles! Keep in mind, we’re talking about a child who has plenty of playdates and amigos. It is Calvin who wants to be a vaquero after his first horseback ride, and Calvin who declared that he will smash his face into the cake for his birthday a la Mexican tradition. This kid was not having a hard time in Mexico; he was just having a hard time! But it was normal = hooray!

Here’s my large caveat that I should have disclosed earlier: Despite my desire to wax prophetic about our romantic adventure, I am a completely normal mom to 100% normal kids. Oh yeah, and they/we are not always perfect.

Citizens of the World {Photo courtesy of Amy Conroy}

So I guess you could say that we’re all adjusting ‘normally’. We all have our different way that we are navigating this experience, and we will each bring back something unique. I can only imagine how it will come pouring out when they’re in their 20’s (lounging horizontal on a psychotherapist’s sofa)… but I also dream that it will all be normalized by then. That they will, in fact, be citizens of the world and better equipped to love, and help, and create, and be in spaces regardless of borders or ethnic differences. And, mind you, he told Daddy via skype that his day at school today was “great!” and then played “zapatito blanco, zapatito azul” with his brother and sister for the next half hour.

Happily normal.

{Photo courtesy of Amy Conroy}

Editor’s note: This is Part 4 in a continuing series by Amy Conroy. To read the other parts, go here.

I have never lived in such a celebratory environment in my life – the ‘fiesta culture’ here never stops! There are citywide parades and festivals all the time, fiestas and social gatherings for every reason, and childrens’ birthday parties that joyfully extend well past bedtimes. Fireworks are an everyday all-the-time occurrence, which is not easy to imagine until you are woken at 4:30 am by a neighborhood celebration that started the day before… at 4 am… los Locos. Our favorite parts are the differences, which I like to categorize: the hilarious, the ridiculous, and the sublimely perfect.

The Hilarious

We’ve been here 10 weeks as I write and there have been, at least, 20 holidays in that time period. I kid you, not! There are so many that when my kids saw a row of taxi’s lined up, they jokingly asked if it was the “Dia de Los Taxis”? There seems to be a Day of Everything Else!

More recently, the various neighborhoods have been celebrating their particular Saint. Each section of the city has their own “block party”, but they’re not like Ozzie & Harriet’s. Groups dress up, and everybody wears masks, it really is difficult to see the person behind the costume. Some are more religious, spiritual, or historical than others; some involve more music, food, and pop culture (my kids saw a little boy not over 3 feet high with an Obama mask on that they loved!).

The thrill and fascination of such revelry is literally available every weekend, and while I cannot stop flinging myself into the middle of it for a quick twirl and dance with some fake Lucha Libre; my youngest has a love/hate affair with it all. One minute, she’s dancing; the next, she can’t get far enough away. It’s a contagious feeling and a social phenomenon. As in Mardi Gras or Carnival, it is nearly impossible to observe without feeling pulled to participate.

{Photo courtesy of Amy Conroy}

And that’s not even mentioning the birthday celebrations! We love the piñatas, the ‘Dale Dale’ song, and cascarones, but our favorite birthday tradition is a new one we’ve been introduced to: “mordidita! mordidita!” is chanted all around after the candles are blown out.  It’s the prompt for the birthday person’s head to be smashed into the center of the cake by a loving party-goer who is perfectly positioned for the task. We were lucky enough to have been invited to the party by a very spirited mover-and-shaker who wasn’t waiting for the prod. Totally surprising us AND the whole party, the newest little 5-year-old on the block smashed his own face into his cake, filling it with frosting like a clown in a pie contest. It was awesome! Hilarious! And stunning. Immediately my 5-year-old declared, “I’m going to do that, too, when it’s my birthday!”

I love this culture. These people know how to celebrate life.

The Ridiculous

{Photo courtesy of Amy Conroy}

But the most ridiculous ‘tradition’ we’ve witnessed thus far was the highly anticipated blowing up of the Judas’. What? You haven’t heard of this before? Yes, it is a San Miguel tradition that pulls crowds by the hundreds into the middle of the Jardin, averaging nearly 99˚F, every Easter Day. Nothing like celebrating the rise of Christ by blowing up 30 larger than life-size piñatas in the center of town! Honestly, it was crazy! They string up approximately 30 huge paper mache persons (decorated with great political commentary), and then proceed to blow each one up to smithereens!

In disbelief I watched the first few and was informed that while they previously used M80’s, the ante had been upped.  So, the city employee nonchalantly puffs a smoke and then ignites the next “victim” with his cigarette. BOOM! The crowd goes wild with hands over their ears, “ohwww!” and then bursts into hysterical, inappropriate laughter. It’s like one huge tension release! Greek tragedians would have loved the catharsis.

The minute all has been blown, everyone rushes to claim their very own broken limb, a souvenir of the day. The heads that are still dangling, take notice, are worth quite a bit more – and for those, you must pay. What?! So let me get this straight: people make paper mache “dolls” of public figures, blow them up with the lite of a cigarette, and then bystanders collect the body parts as souvenirs, and some people pay money for their souvenirs… all to celebrate Easter? It is wild, absolutely wild.

The Perfectly Sublime

{Photo courtesy of Amy Conroy}

Hilarity and ridiculousness aside, I have also encountered the ‘magic’ of this traditional culture. It’s here everyday, of course, in the little things.

One Friday at the start of Semana Santa in April, we were walking down the street with friends at dusk. It was crowded. I asked what the beautiful smell was, and somebody in the street told me it was perfume. I thought to myself: I really should shower more. About 100 yards ahead, we realized that the streets were crowded because people were cued up to enter into a large privately owned house. It was Viernes de Dolores and altars were abundant – this particular home had created an altar inside their luscious courtyard and opened their doors to the community. We lined up, dutifully, to see the Virgin. But the minute we stepped inside, I lost all sense of time and space.

Hundreds of people had walked over the traditional Saltillo tiles covered in mint stalks. The aroma that I had asked about previously was that of the mint being mashed by people in line to view the altar and receive gifts! The aroma wafted down blocks… It was incredible. I was transported. It altered the city. We circled around the atrium and fountain decorated with candles and flowers and carpets of colored seeds lining the passage.

Upon exiting the gorgeous altar and home, the hosts graciously offered everyone flowers and a paleta, as a symbol of the sweet tears of the Virgin Mary. It was an anthropologists’ dream to participate in such a rich tradition. My son actually said to me “Now I understand, mommy, I am so glad you took us to Mexico!”  My heart floated, we laughed and I hugged my girlfriend. For a moment, I felt the world to be perfect.

When my first child marries someday (in the far off future!), I plan to line the aisle in mint stalks.

"The Three Mango Muskateers" - Amy's boys and their new friend

Editor’s note: This is Part 3 in a continuing series by Amy Conroy. To read the first two parts, go here.

I would like to revisit one of the golden truths I’ve learned, Point C: our children are our best allies, our most gracious and charming ambassadors (when they’re not throwing berrinches or acting like super-ninjas in the local supermarket).  What I mean by this is that my experience right now would not be as rich without my children.

The simple truth is that if your children make friends with another child, a whole new world is open to them and yourself – certainly a new relationship (between the children, but also between adults), but I am also speaking of invitations and opportunities that might never have found their way to you otherwise.  And thus, I am so grateful!  The mommy network is a powerful thing, and from the time we have arrived in San Miguel de Allende, we have been graciously welcomed into the social folds and homes of many locals.

All of this is not to say that we don’t miss our friends from home! We’ve been here a month, and it happened – Jack hit ‘the wall’.  Sadly but somewhat predictably, my oldest had his first break with cultural assimilation. Someday we will chuckle over the physical circumstances of the said ‘break’, but I felt so badly for him. I could absolutely empathize. I’ve been there myself, and it made me tear up. He is thriving in his life down here. I am seeing a whole new side of him, relishing in the stimulation of everything that is new and different. It is beautiful to witness. Still, we dined at the rooftop restaurant of a posh 5 star hotel when my parents visited and of all things, the restroom did it. I know that sounds ridiculous, but to be honest I think it was because it was so clean and offered American-style plumbing (i.e. you could flush toilet paper down the toilet). He spontaneously broke into tears. It was so inexplicable at first that I didn’t understand what was happening, “Are you hurt? ¿Qué pasó?” But his tears were deeper, not ‘a mere flesh wound’[i]. We had been watching the sunset with a gorgeous and captivating vista, eating scrumptious food, celebrating our family’s Easter visit, and it all came together – or you could say, fell apart. He missed home. He missed Daddy. He missed his friends, his toys, everything. I totally understood where he was coming from – everything here is different. He is adapting beautifully, but you’d need to lack memory to not miss the things that make you feel comfortable.

I hugged him, I empathized; I got it. It’s so normal, it’s so observant of him to notice the details, and that, too, is part of the whole experience. He actually recovered quite quickly while it hit me to the core. I had to stop myself from continuing to comfort him because he was fine, as quickly as he hadn’t been. It was a moment. And while it rocks my world to think that he might suffer because of something I’ve chosen for him, I know that it is a big step toward all of the gains and positive things that he will take away from our experiences. It is happening. He is building his ‘cultural capital’[ii], one of my most favorite concepts. As we all know, ‘capital’ – fiscal or otherwise, isn’t easily gained or lost. It is earned.

So, you have two worlds. Nothing can replace a good friend – there or here. I’ve tried to explain it to my 7-year-old like this:  if you have an orange, it represents everything about your home in Los Angeles – your bedroom, your toys, friends, school, food, extra-curricular activities, everything – and you have a ton! But you, you also have an apple. And that represents all of the things and experiences you have here, in San Miguel: the friends, fiestas, policía on horseback outside our breakfast window, the Jardín (& associated toys), Parque Juarez, numerous taxis and limonata, etc., etc. You are lucky because you get both. Before, you only had one. Now you have two. The orange and your world at home aren’t going anywhere. I promise that they will be there when you return.

All of which leads me to my next truth about our ‘sabbatical’ in Mexico: Point D. Whatever you think is going to be easy, most likely isn’t. Conversely, whatever you anticipate being difficult might just be easy.

I have lots of examples to share. First of all, referencing my little cuento above – you would have thought a quick visit to the restroom to be simple. Alas, it was a layered experience that unfolded and will continue to reverberate. Enrolling in school? Tedious at home (U.S.) and filled with applications and wait lists, but super easy here – done in a day. Joining a Country Club? Fill out an application and pay money in the U.S.  Here? Additionally, please provide us with copies of your marriage certificate, birth certificates, and felony record if applicable (what?!  – must be bad hearsay, but makes me laugh to consider). Fresh fruit juice? Dime a dozen here vs. costly at home.  Phone call? All depends on your resources available and how well you understand the cellular vs. landline infrastructure of Mexico, i.e. can easily be confusing. Transportation? We hop in our car to go anywhere at home. Here, you walk, which I LOVE, or you take a taxi for 25 pesos nearly everywhere. Parking is considered unmanageable and common knowledge, so you’re better off not having to deal with a car.

However, transporting three children to two schools and home each day isn’t so easily done in a taxi. Clearly, this should have been realized in advance but I had made our trip to Mexico into a panacea of sorts. So after spending 2.5 hours each day in a taxi without a/c for a week in 90 degree plus weather, I tackled the luxury of obtaining a car and returning to my comfort zone. I feel a tiny bit ashamed and my friends loosely mock me, but what can I say? I am a Los Angelean and we love our personal automobiles. After inquiring about sky-high rental rates and considering a cuatro-moto for our needs, a friend offered to rent me his car. It seemed win-win all around as he hadn’t been using it and I clearly needed to, but he was apprehensive of my driving abilities since it is a manual truck with a stick shift.

He had a quick errand to do and suggested that I drive to “test it out”. I leave my children with my parents (who don’t speak a lick of Spanish) and tell them not to leave the house (3 little ones can be unwieldly in America let alone MX!), as I’ll be back shortly.  Two and a half hours later I find myself on the top of a gorgeous mountain ridge somewhere between San Miguel de Allende and Queretero drinking mezcal with the charming owner of a stunning ranch. And while it is 100% lovely, I am anxious to get back to my kids! I don’t even know exactly where I am, and I’ve left them in a foreign country all alone — time is tickin’, my friends! “They all speak English, right? They’ll be fine…” the dueño says. I know he’s right, and I have to check myself. Nobody else in our posse has children, so they don’t understand that I am the sole and primary caretaker in residence of my lovies! Against my gut, I consciously tell myself to enjoy this unexpected treat. Years ago, there would have been no conscious telling myself of anything, I simply would have relished the absurdity of the adventure.

Needless to say, it was great. I returned three hours later than expected with a wonderful memory and just a tiny bit of angst. My parents were pleased with the time spent solo with my kids, and everyone was happy. Plus, going to school in our own vehicle has greatly reduced the stress of everyday life.

Again, however, none of that would have happened if we hadn’t become friends with somebody who took kindly to my children: no car, no ranch views, no mezcal.  And where is the adventure in that?!  Thank you, my little ambassadors…

Next up: Fiestas, Pageantry, and Fun

Amy's children at their new elementary school in Mexico

This is Part 2 in a continuing series by Amy Conroy. To read Part 1 go here: One Family’s Total Immersion Adventure in Mexico.

Some truths I’ve learned:
A. Vacation Mexico is not the same as Living Mexico.
B. Quaint, charming, ‘manana’ Mexico is different from Mexico 2011 with a family.
C. Your children are your favorite people and most ingratiating part of you, i.e. your personal ambassador and ticket in.

Some truths I’m coming to terms with:
A. No age is too young for telenovelas – my 3 year old would sit and watch these for hours given the opportunity.
B. While you can live cheaply, it’s a lot more pleasant to have a bit more.
C. Safety regulations are relative.
D. Bribes work.

I have to start this account of our experiences in full disclosure: we have visited San Miguel de Allende twice before for about a month each time. I didn’t realize the impact this would have on our stay. While our plans are to be here for four months, I distinctly feel that we’ve had a jumpstart because of our previous visits and contacts made. Immediately upon arrival, each child rattled off their favorite things that they wanted to do around town: go to Xote water slides (always #1 in their books and about #100 in mine due to safety), get ice cream, go to Parque Juarez, play with 10 peso toys in the Jardin, stand look out for the ubiquitous fireworks, etc., the list is long. When we couldn’t produce all of those experiences in the first 24 hours, our children began to seriously doubt our abilities to successfully proceed with this adventure. But, everyone was excited.

I am now in the middle of our second week. Daddy has left, and I wake to welcome sickness to my youngest and myself. No matter, today all parents have been invited to visit Jack’s school to view English class in the morning 8-9 am, followed by Sports Day at the preschool 11-12:30 am – please take a minute to consider somersault races with your most charming five year old, which couldn’t sound more unsavory with the disorienting affect of a pounding headache and clogged sinus’! In between those invitations, I navigate Cecilia and I to the Farmacia for medicine. I really cannot afford to be off my game; I need meds. Our trusty taxi driver advises me that I should rest a little more – ‘don’t I have some help?’ he asks sweetly. Truthfully, he’s probably right, but I am thinking that I have to be there for my children in this critical time of adjustment to new schools and life in Mx. All I want to do is take a nap and I find myself bribing my children –“a peso if you sleep through the night”, “chocolate chip cookies if you stay the whole day at school”. No matter where you are it’s difficult when you and your kids are sick, but it is magnified in a new city with a new language and customs. It’s as if they are the matadors circling around me, the dizzy bull, and they can sense my weakness. Another cookie?

Let me back up, we arrived Saturday, made school introductions Monday, and started ‘em up Tuesday @ 7:45 a.m. It felt hyper-speed-like and surreal – very similar to when you give birth and then all of the sudden have a baby to care for! My younger ones have started a Montessori preschool, which is lovely and I dare say could rival any in the States. We leave my 5 year old listening to classic music and studiously drawing red squares at his appropriately sized desk. My three year old gives me the finger when we stop in to her class to say good-bye – the finger pointing us out the door as she’s dancing around with little bilingual girly friends. The school is a bilingual immersion school and I leave, basically, feeling like this is too good to be true. Day One is awesome!

BUT I leave with a gi-normous TO-DO list – what?! By tomorrow a.m., I am supposed to bring two shoeboxes covered in paper (do I have to buy 2 pairs of shoes in town? How am I going to get my hands on 2 shoeboxes?), 2 Oral B toothbrushes (seriously? as though they had stock in the company or something – the brushes had to be Oral B), 2 cups, 2 hairbrushes, changes of clothing, photos documenting a timeline of their long little lives, a folder made of a certain cardboard and taped along the sides, and random other things that gave me the anxiety produced butterflies that I haven’t had since I last took the GRE! The scavenger hunt sent us to the Mega (which is like a Super Wal-Mart), and then to the Papeleria – four times. My head hurt and where was that margarita anyway?! I love the old lady in the Papeleria, and thanked God for her. Somehow she knew what I was talking about, because apparently it is quite common to buy an oversized posterboard that you fold in half to make a ‘folder’. The reasoning seems questionable, however, where there is a local Office Depot and there are ready-made manila folders available everywhere, but anyway… When I was finally assembling all of the ‘crafts’ required, I had that eerie feeling that all moms, no matter where we are, are doing the same sorts of things for our kids.

Jack’s school is another story. While the two schools are connected, they are in different locations and the elementary is based on Multiple Intelligences Theories. The school looks extremely different from his Los Angeles school – set on the outskirts of town with only 6 classes of 10-15 students each. It is small and simple looking. I was so nervous for my little guy, my eldest. He is thoughtful and pensive by nature, a sweet and gentle boy, i.e. not overly gregarious at the start and soft-spoken. How will he make friends? Does he understand that it will all be in Spanish? He bravely walked forward, and they whisked him away with smiles rattling away in Spanish.

Retrieving him was another thing: I arrived five hours later down the same dirt road with burros tied to trees and shacks nestled between modern castillos. I sit in the shade to size up the situation, and am greeted by the voices of Mexican school children singing “Hey, Soul Sister” by Train. Crazy, the music is a comforting bridge between our spaces. Again no different than home, parents drive in a loop to pick up their children while the Directora calls each child’s name over a PA system. When I approach, she switches to English in a way that sounded as if she could somehow elongate her audio track, “Ja-a-a-a-ck, yourrrr (roll your tongue with the ‘r’) mo-o-m is he-e-ere (rolled ‘r’ again)”. It sounded funny because it was so different from the rapido Spanish to which everyone was accustomed. I was grateful, however, for their thoughtfulness of both of us, and super grateful to see him walk up to me with all of his fingers and toes just as I had left him. Admittedly, I felt really… ubiquitous.

Driving back to our house, I petitioned Jack with all my might for information about the school day to no avail. I was locked out with no information, which made me privately insane. Hours later, we were getting dinner together and working on a family puzzle, and he said “there was this Star Wars song going on… like the whole day.” If I could only be a fly on the wall! I guess the day was a success. He seems non-plussed about it all.

Next: socializing.