Some Of My Favorite "Secret Stack of Books"

I know, I know, to call a book a "Secret Stack of Book" is grammatically incorrect, but it feels much righter ;-) than saying a "Secret Stack of Books Book". With my comfort in our incorrectness now established, I would like to share some of my most favorite children's authors and books I have had the pleasure to get to know through this nightly ritual.

First and foremost, the one and only ROSEMARY WELLS. Every book she has written has warmed my heart. She makes me feel like a happy, loved little girl. You might know her characters Max and Ruby, but I am especially fond of her characters Yoko and Timothy, who make a stellar appearance in a few of her books.

 And I will forever admire Hazel's amazing mother. She truly is amazing, and knows exactly what to do to protect her daughter and help her feel safe.

Next, Mr. MO WILLEMS. He is awesome! And I am not talking about the Pigeon who wants to drive that blasted bus. My favorite book of his is called "Naked Mole Rat Gets Dressed". It is a genius way to tell children that it's ok to do away with limitations rudely imposed by those around us, and that it is more than ok to be yourself and have your own big ideas.

Also, his easy readers "Elephant and Piggie" are a much needed boost to the category of learning-to-read books. They are funny, they have a story that actually makes sense, and the illustrations (as all of his book art) are simple and eye-catching.

Third, KEVIN HENKES. Have you met Chester? or Lilly? They are a force to be reckoned with and I highly recommend being their friend. You will be a little nervous around them for what they might do next, and at the same time you will be forever in love with them. Kind of like me with my 3 year old Joanna :-)

I also love Lilly's Plastic Purple Purse, Lilly's Big Day and Owen. Too bad I don't have those handy right now.


Lastly (but not leastly) for now, I must mention the Buehners. CARALYN and MARK BUEHNER are a local team (Salt Lake City) and have come up with some fun stories. Fanny's Dream is about a farm girl who dreams of meeting the mayor's son and becoming her own kind of Cinderella.

Snowmen at Night makes us wonder about the whereabouts of snowmen while we are not watching. Have you ever wondered why they don't last very long? Other than the physics of matter changing from solid to liquid?

Excuse my blurry pictures. If you are intrigued by any of these picture books, check them out from the library or buy them, and give them a good read. The picture quality is much better in person and the stories are guaranteed to make you happy.

A Redemption From Poor Parenting

Do you ever have the kind of day/month/year when you are certain you have turned out to be a complete failure as a parent? You are so sure you are messing things up, you are mentally preparing yourself for the day when your grownup children will come to you with a mile-long list of complaints and accusations? I can hear it right now in my head: "How could you, mother?!"

That kind of day/month/year comes around my turf often.  I love being a mother, I have great girls, but in those times when I am in the mindset of failure as a parent, their greatness is more a result of... I don't really know...

Anywho, in my preparation for that day of doom when my daughters realize that all along they could have had it better, I am making a list of comebacks. Here's what I have so far:

1. GrownUp Child: Mother, I can't believe you would take me out in public with that hair! Didn't you     know that that's what hairbrushes are for?!
   Me: At least I brought you back home. I could have left you somewhere, you know...

2.  GUC: Why would you wait until 8:30pm to start thinking about what you would make for dinner?! we could have starved to death!
    Me: You didn't.

3. GUC: Do you realize you took me late to school 80% of the time?
    Me: It could have been 81%

4.  GUC: If I a had been you, I would have...
    Me: Don't even go there.

As you can see, my list so far is short and weak. But I have one thing. THE one thing that I know we have done right. I am counting on this one to be a good "so there you go".
Notice I say "we have done right". If I am going to rip myself apart as a parent, I might as well throw my accomplice into the mix. I mean, let's be fair.
I also say "we" because the one thing I am sure we have done right happened to be his idea. It figures.

A few years ago, the hubster decided he wanted to arm himself with a pile of picture books that none of the girls had read before. A SECRET STACK OF BOOKS. Oooh, sounds sneaky, doesn't it?
Since the library has a 3-week loan period, we check out around 20 books at a time so we have a healthy stock of stories to choose from. We pick books that look interesting, bring them home, hide them in our closet and after dinner we pull one out to read together.

We pick them randomly, and without sifting through them too much. The illustrations of the story are the main parameter we use to judge whether the book will be any good or not, we don't really read them ahead, trusting picture books to be appropriate for children.  So the secret stack of books really is secret, because not even we really know the book we will be reading at any given night (unless we've chosen an old favorite).

So picture this: Dinner is over (very late), we pick up (sort of), either Damon or I go get a book from the closet and return to the living room announcing that "It's time for..." at which the girls reply in unison and in a sing-song kind of way:"SECRET STACK OF BOOOOOOKS!"with the pitch going painfully high on the word "boooooks!". Then we all seat on our stain ridden couch for a brief session of togetherness, sponsored by the book of the night. Even our 13 year old still seats and listens along, because there are a few things more intriguing than an unheard story about to be told. Oh, the joy. Something has gone right for a change.

To add to this modest success, after we are done reading and talking about the story, we read two pages of The Book of Mormon as a family with virtually no whining. The advantages of that are countless.

∗Disclaimer: I should make clear before continuing with my account, that although this is meant to be done every night, there are many nights when it just simply doesn't happen. Sometimes it takes us several days to replenish the secret stack once we've read it all.∗ 

So there it is. The truth has come out. I am not perfect. Shocking, I know, but I am counting on a couple of things that I/we have done right to redeem me from the endless torment of poor parenting. The Secret Stack of Books has been heaven sent and I am holding on to it like there is no tomorrow.

When you find yourself in one of those pitiful days/months/years, look for the things you have done right and make sure you keep some sort of record of them, 'cause if you are anything like me, you'll need them later.

How do you keep up with the return dates, you ask? Let me just say that our family has been single handedly financing our little library on late fees alone. But it's worth it, we need this item on the comeback list. And if the children complain about that too, then my comeback would be "you owe me cazillions in late fees, start emptying those pockets".

Maña del Día/Pet Peeve of the Day: Categories Gone Bad

I have a good friend who sometimes highlights his pet peeve of the day (or "maña del día" in Chilean)  on Facebook, and lately I have found myself doing the same thing in my mind. I am going through my day, minding my own business, and when I am confronted with something rather irksome (or "rawther" as Eloise would say), I think to myself "oh, that is sooo going to be my pet peeve of the day". Do you ever do that?

While these observations can be helpful in processing why something bothers you and what you can do about it, it might be a good idea to couple them with observations of what makes you happy. Pet peeve of the day/joy of the day, pet peeve of the day/joy of the day. You get my point. Because focus on the positive we must, although it is not as easily accomplished.

Any who, today I shall share with you (whoever might actually read this post) a big "maña" of mine. A pet peeve of a lifetime that has been irking me for a while, and hopefully by the time I am finished writing I will be able to come up with a "joy" to counteract it. Pay attention, because I have the feeling that this post will bring on life-changing insights. Seriously. I am deep that way. Here we go:

Henry Cho is a Korean-American stand up comedian who was born and raised in Tennessee. He says of himself: "I am an Asian with a southern accent, to a lot of people, that right there is funny".
I searched hi and lo for a video clip of one of his routines that addresses Asian stereotypes but couldn't find it, so a brief description will have to do. In the scene he depicts, he is chatting with a neighbor who says "hey, I know some Japanese people, you should come see them". Cho's response is "well, in that case, I know some fat people, you should come see them". Or something to that effect. Now if you don't see the humor in such exchange of words, let me enlighten you.

One of the ways in which the human mind works is by categorizing objects, events, feelings, foods, experiences, people, etc. Everything must fit in a category somewhere. This makes the process of making sense of things (cognition) faster and more simple. It is a great strategy of the brain, because really, who has time to analyze every single thing, every time. The problem comes when we oversimplify an item for it to fit in one of our ready-made categories. Did you notice that Henry Cho is from Korean descent? Did you notice that the neighbor told him he should meet his friends because they are Japanese?

I had a Japanese college roommate once. She figured that the fact that I was Chilean and not Uruguayan, or Ecuadorian was of very little importance, since "we are all the same". When I tried to explain to her the err of her thinking, she quickly pointed out to me that surely that's how I thought of her as a Japanese girl. Sadly, she was right. I didn't know enough about her Japanese culture in contrast to other Asian cultures, so my whole life I had thrown her and all Asians into the same category. Her closed mindedness about me opened my eyes to my own closed mindedness.

Why did Henry Cho answer with an invitation to meet his fat friends? well, it could have been anything really. Blonde, skinny, short, tall. The fact that somebody fits in one of your categories doesn't override everything else about that person. I mean, if you are blonde then you must be alike all other blonde people. If you are skinny you must love being around just skinny people, because you are all alike. "Oh look at you, you are tall, you should meet my neighbor two houses down the road, I bet you will get along famously!".  Aaarggghhh!

Taking it to a more personal level, I struggle with this on a constant basis. I happen to live in a very white community where many if not most people have never had meaningful interaction with other cultures and their awareness about diversity is limited. Please now, don't take me for a jerk. I am only talking about this particular issue, I do not intend in any means to put myself above anybody or belittle anyone. I am simply bringing something to the attention of those who mind.

Here are some of the assumptions I have to constantly deal with.  Because I am Chilean, no, even better, because I am from a Spanish speaking country surely I:
-grew up in a small town in the middle of the jungle
-love spicy food
-walked barefoot and picked my meals off of trees
-don't know as much as most everybody else
and my biggest pet peeve of all:
-you must get along with all other people who come from those Spanish speaking countries.

I was talking to an acquaintance once about a Peruvian lady we both sort of knew. I was telling her about the chance I had had to talk to her and get to know her and her story a little better, and about how I thought she was a delightful, amazing person. I truly really like her. But this person I was talking to oversimplified me and the lady from Peru, and brought us both to the ground, just by saying "surely you both got along, since you are both from... you know.... uuhmmmm.... Southamerica". I felt like asking her if she got along with every single gringo she had met. Surely she did, I mean, they are both from ... you know... uhmmmm the United States?

She didn't mean to belittle me or her, she didn't mean to be mean, she didn't mean to make me feel like nothing but a southamerican. She just assumed. And although I don't hold it against her, the thought of people thinking of me or anyone else as the result of belonging to a category makes me so mad, I feel like spitting. Or washing something. Or punching that kickboxing bag.

Couldn't it be possible that I like or feel identified with somebody for more important reasons?
When people are far from what is familiar to them, they tend to flock towards those who are similar to them. So yes, it is nice to find someone I can speak to in Spanish, or who has had experiences similar to mine, but that is not all it takes for me to like someone. If that were all, I would be a simpleton of a person, and that I am not. I am as complicated as it comes, with all it's pros and cons.

I mostly flock towards people who:
- hold principles that I treasure as well.
-have a similar education level (although not always)
-are not judgmental
-are kind
-appreciate what I appreciate
-keep me engaged in conversation
-are funny
-use their brains
-have a heart
-etc, etc, etc

And all of that cannot be constricted to one oversimplified category. There are people of all different walks of life that I know and love. There are more that I would love to get to know, because of who they really are. Because of who I really am.

And here is the worst catch of them all, oversimplifying somebody in order to make him/her fit in a category happens all the time, in all sorts of circumstances, even with the ones we love (as my friend Ann and I discovered):
- Betty is a neat, attentive student? that must be because she is a girl
- James is a rough, loud, rambunctious kid? that's because he is a boy
- David likes the current president of this country? he must be a communist
- Your life is not going well? you must be doing something wrong
- Katie doesn't believe in the same things I do? she must be a heathen

Background, culture, language, beliefs, family, customs, are all factors in the formation of any person. But they don't necessarily describe a person in particular. That needs to be done by the person itself, and we need to be willing to observe and listen. Otherwise, how could you truly like, love or even hate somebody?

I raise my voice to this issue because I believe that everyone is special (except for that guy that cut me off on the freeway, he must be a drunk ;-) ). Everyone deserves a chance to be heard and be recognized for who they really are.




PS: As far as the joy to counteract this peeve, I must say that living here has made me comfortable with being different. I LOVE being different (most of the time), tearing down preconceived notions can be fun sometimes. I am who I am and I will happily "describe" myself to anyone who truly is interested in listening. I also appreciate the fact that my daughters can grow up with the guts to be different too. That, gives me joy.

Life after the Winter

My stomach has been tied in knots for weeks now. But I can't help but be comforted whenever I see these flowers.

Read this post to understand the story behind them.

Now that my mother is battling cancer, life, it's purpose, and what comes after it have been the topic of choice for my wondering soul.

Aren't the flowers beautiful?

Who Do I Think I Am?

*be warned. the only purpose of this post is of a cathartic spewing of feelings, thoughts and moods. no need for pity. really. life is good.*

Me on that life-changing day as I left for the airport, back in 1996

Life has a way of taking you places and weaving itself in ways you don't notice until you take the time to look back and retrace your steps. But looking back brings a certain self-awareness that evokes an array of emotions.

You might realize that you have been in a slump for years without noticing, or maybe you will see that you have truly outdone yourself and done a bang up job with your time and talents, or you might have a great feeling of gratitude for all the blessings that are now evident. Maybe you'll find out that there are certain areas in your life that could use improvement, or perhaps you will realize that in the middle of your extenuating efforts to do your best, you might have lost yourself. Even if just a little. And I find it safe to say that in such moment, most of us would have a mixture of all of the above, and maybe more.

I had such a "looking-back" moment a couple of weeks ago.

I went to Chile to visit my mother who is battling cancer, and to reunite our family after many years. Having left my home country at the age of 19, the story of my life and its weavings are spread throughout, and are divided into two main stages: the before (leaving) and after.

Every time I go back home I am engulfed in memories brought on by sounds, smells, places, tastes, voices, people. All the memories of the experiences that made me part of who I am today come back to remind me that I am still their girl, and they ask me what I have done with her.

These questions haunted me even more this time, during a visit that was encompassed around the impending loss of someone who had most to do with my formation.

I realized that I had left too much behind, and forsaken things that used to be intrinsically me, and I found myself gasping for my identity, flapping my arms trying to hold on to everything within reach that could remind me of who I was before: family memories (the good ones), the love for my brothers (despite them), history, friends... oh, my dear friends.

There is something so precious about good old friends. Those to whom I need not explain how things were for me growing up. No need to explain, because they were there with me, they know me, and remember things about me that even I no longer do. You see, now in the "after" stage I spend a lot of time explaining myself to people: where I grew up, the foods I ate/eat, the kind of education I had, my family, my Spanish, my English, my skin color, my accent, my lack of accent, my height, the music "people down there" like, the weather, healthcare in a South American country, my customs, my thoughts (many times it's assumed that I think as a Chilean and not as an individual) and on and on and on.

I cherish my old friends more than I have shown. They allow me to rest, they get it. But when the time comes (if it comes) to talk to them about life nowadays and what my daily life at home is like, I find myself explaining again, and then all of a sudden, I don't belong anymore. Once more.

My grownup self has taken up residence somewhere strange and foreign.

So if I end up having to explain myself in both places, where do I belong? Who am I? What do I do when I long to come back home, but am left unsure whether it is still home?

I am bothered by the fact that my history is not a continuum. It is one part here, and the other there. I am also bothered by the fact that I have seemed unable, at least until now, to meld both together, so they are not two lives living within me without really knowing each other. Almost like strangers.

It was Friday night and I was sitting in the airplane that would take me away. We hadn't taken off yet when the pinnacle of my look-back moment began, coming in waves of tears that eventually became uncontrollable sobs. I am sure I was quite the spectacle, but I couldn't help it. It was long overdue and it had to be done. Too bad for the guy sitting next to me. At least he was nice enough to pretend to be asleep.

Sadness overcame me. I was so sad to leave "home", leave my mom, leave me. Then the sadness became anger. Why had my life taken me in such direction? how had I let this happen? what would my life be like if I had stayed? what was the use of wanting to be in one place, when I knew I had to be in another?

how had I become such a ridiculous dichotomy of beings? and why do I think it's a dichotomy? why can't I just be one whole? Why did I leave in the first place?

And then the guilt, of course. How could I ever overlook, even for one second, the marvelous wonder that has been my life "after leaving".

The experiences I have had in this second stage have only added on to the "before" and made me into someone I am mostly pleased with. I have found love, I have my own family that is my most precious treasure, and I have accomplished things here that I don't believe I could have anywhere else. I also have found new friends that enrich me and buoy me. My current life that I love, happens to be here, for now.

I have been tremendously blessed with the way my life has been woven. I believe that everything that has taken place has been for my benefit and has given me a great vantage point. I have learned however, that as a co-weaver (in partnership with God), I need to put greater effort towards the pattern that results from all this living so that I can recognize myself as a whole person and let go of the feeling of being torn in two. I want to be able to say, without hesitation, that I am the result of the interaction of many kinds of threads that have come together to make me unique and to make me a happy person.

So, who do I think I am?

Esperando la Primavera

El 9 de noviembre fue el cumpleaños número 44 de mi prima Carmen. Ese día la encontró en la cama de un hospital defendiéndose de la muerte con uñas y dientes.

Nunca nadie se lo había imaginado posible, pero ahí estaba ella, con un solo deseo: vivir y poder volver a su casa, a sus hijos y su esposo. Y ahí estaba yo, a miles de kilómetros de distancia, deseando poder estar con ella.

Son en momentos como éstos cuando te invaden recuerdos tan viejos que ya se te había olvidado que existían. Sentimientos de pertenencia y cariño que la distancia y el tiempo habían desteñido.

Carmen era la estudiosa. Crecimos en ciudades lejanas (ella en Iquique), pero vino a Santiago a estudiar Derecho. Vivió con nosotros ese primer año. Fue mi compañera de pieza. Lo más cercano que tuve a una hermana grande.

Recuerdo haberla ayudado a estudiar. Siempre se quedaba estudiando hasta tarde. Una vez, años después de haberse recibido de abogado, me dijo que siempre se sentía mal por tener la luz prendida mientras yo dormía. No recuerdo que me haya molestado.

Su mamá, la tía Delia, de vez en cuando le mandaba tremendas encomiendas con cosas de la zofri. Me encantaba verla abrirlas. Ella había crecido en el desierto, y ahora vivía en un lugar mas frío y donde el clima se atrevía a hacer lluvia. Pasaba con frío. Tenía sábanas de franela (de la zofri por supuesto). Yo nunca había ni siquiera visto sábanas de franela; me parecían sofocantes. A ella le encantaban.

Se casó con un buen hombre de la marina, así que le toco cambiarse mucho de casa. Hasta vivieron en Punta Arenas. Me imagino que necesitó de mucho mas que sábanas de franela para pasar ese frío.

Fue profesora en una universidad, pero pronto dejó su carrera de derecho para dedicarse a criar a sus hijitos, decisión poco común en Chile. ¿Será que sentía que su tiempo con ellos sería limitado?

Con todas sus mudanzas y conmigo fuera del país, perdimos contacto. Una nota al márgen: perder contacto con un ser querido parece ser algo fácil de permitir que ocurra, pero es algo que siempre me ha pasado la cuenta. Algo en qué pensar.

Ella ya se fué. Viví cada segundo de esos últimos días pensando en ella. Mis pensamientos y mi corazón estaban en esa sala de hospital. Sentía su angustia que me perforaba el alma. Pero hay algo que ofrece esperanza:

Alma 40:11-12

11...he aquí, un ángel me ha hecho saber que los espíritus de todos los hombres, en cuanto se separan de este cuerpo mortal, si, los espíritus de todos los hombres, sean buenos o malos, son llevados de regreso a ese Dios que les dió la vida.

12 Y sucederá que los espíritus de los que son justos serán recibidos en un estado de felicidad que se llama paraíso: un estado de paz, donde descansarán de todas sus aflicciones, y de todo cuidado y pena.

Carmen no quería irse. Yo no quería que se fuera, pero Dios tiene planes que no siempre podemos entender . He aprendido que nuestras vidas están en sus manos, y lo antes que uno lo comprenda, mejor.

Dios nos provee de todo lo necesario para sobrellevar nuestros desafíos, ganar la vida eterna y poder estar con nuestras familias nuevamente. Gracias a su hijo Jesucristo podremos vivir de nuevo en felicidad.

Mosíah 16:8

Mas hay una resurrección; por tanto, no hay victoria para el sepulcro, y el aguijón de la muerte es consumido en Cristo.

Moroni 7:41

¿Y qué es lo que habéis de esperar? He aquí, os digo que debéis tener esperanza, por medio de la expiación de Cristo y el poder de su resurrección, en que seréis resucitados a vida eterna, y esto por causa de vuestra fé en él, de acuerdo con la promesa.

El evangelio de Jesucristo le da esperanza y paz a mi corazón. Espero que haga lo mismo por tí cuando te veas enfrentado con el dolor.

El día del funeral de Carmen planté cientos de bulbos en mi antejardín. Lo hice porque cada primavera deseo haberlo hecho el otoño anterior para poder disfrutar la belleza de las flores.

Resultó ser el tributo perfecto para mi admirable prima. Trabajé mucho todo ese día, y al final no había ninguna evidencia de mi esfuerzo. Como si no hubiera hecho nada.

No puedo ver esos bulbos ahora, estarán descansando todo el invierno y no los voy a a poder ver hasta que llegue la primavera. Pero espera no más y mi jardin va a estar lleno de narcisos, tulipanes, hortencias, y muchas otras flores. Van a ser hermosas.

También lo será Carmen. También lo seremos todos nosotros.

About the Wait for Spring

November 9th was my cousin Carmen's 44th birthday and it found her in a hospital bed, fighting death with teeth and nails.

No one ever thought this possible, and yet there she was with only one desire: to live and go home to her children and husband. And there I was, thousands of miles away, hoping I could be there for her.

It's moments like these when you are invaded by memories so old, you had forgotten they were there. By feelings of love and belonging that time and distance had faded.

Carmen was the studious one. We grew up far away from each other, but she came to Santiago to go to law school. She lived with us that first year. She was my roommate. The closest to a big sister I ever had.

I remember drilling her for tests. I remember her always staying up late studying. One time, years after she had graduated, she told me she always felt bad keeping the light on when I was asleep. I don't remember it bothering me.

Her mom, Aunt Delia, would send her huge packages every now and then and I LOVED watching her open them. She had grown up where it's hot and dry, and now she was living where it was cooler and where the weather actually dared to rain. She was always cold. She had flannel sheets. I had never even seen flannel sheets and they seemed suffocating to me. She loved them.

She married a good guy from the navy, and they moved a lot. They even lived in the southern-most city in the world, next to the penguins and huge icebergs. I bet it took a lot more than flannel sheets to keep her warm.

She taught at a University. But soon she gave up her career so she could raise her children, a decision that goes against the grain in Chile. Did she feel her time with them would be limited?

With all her moving and my leaving the country we lost contact. About that: losing contact with a loved one seems like such an easy thing to let happen, but I have always come to regret it. Food for thought.

Now she is gone. I lived every waking second of her last days thinking of her. My thoughts and heart were there. I felt her anguish and it pierced me to the very soul. But there is one thing that offers hope:

Alma 40:11-12

11 Behold, it has been made known unto me by an angel, that the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, yea, the spirits of all men, whether they be good or evil, are taken home to that God who gave them life.

12 And then shall it come to pass, that the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow.

She didn't want to go. I didn't want her to go, but God has plans that we cannot always understand. I have learned that our lives are truly in his hands. The sooner we realize it, the better.

God provides us with everything we could possibly need to overcome trials and have eternal life and be together again with our families. Thanks to his son Jesus Christ, we can live again, in happiness.

Mosiah 16:8

But there is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ.

Moroni 7:41

And what is it that ye shall hope for? Behold I say unto you that ye shall have hope through the atonement of Christ and the power of his resurrection, to be raised into life eternal, and this because of your faith in him according to the promise.

The gospel of Jesus Christ brings hope and peace to my heart. I hope it does to yours when you are faced with sorrow.

The day of Carmen's funeral I planted hundreds of spring bulbs in my front yard. I did it because every spring I wish I had done it the previous fall to be able to enjoy the beauty of the flowers.

It turned out to be the most perfect tribute for my amazing cousin. I worked so hard all that day, and at the end, you couldn't tell I had done a stitch of work.

I can't see those bulbs now, they will be resting through the winter and I won't be able to see them until spring comes. Just you wait and my yard will be filled with daffodils, tulips, hydrangeas, and so many other flowers. They will be beautiful.

So will Carmen be. So we will all be.