Dear Mija,

Your daddy and I have been talking more about you recently because you are kicking and moving quite a lot these days. We wonder what you’re going to look like? Will you have a head full of dark hair? Will you have light skin like me or dark skin like your daddy? Your auntie Christine thinks you’ll be caramel colored. We talk about what it will be like with a newborn in our lives? Your daddy imagines all three of us going for breakfast and walking Pepe at El Cerro. I just imagine being really, really tired.

Mija, we are excited to be your parents, but we know we’re going to mess up. You will quickly learn that we’re not perfect. You’ll see me get frustrated and make loud exaggerated sighing noises from the kitchen when I find more dirty dishes in the sink. Daddy might get mad when I pepper him with a hundred questions as soon as he walks in the door. You’ll see us arguing and sometimes we disagree about what we should buy or where we should go.  But we love each other a whole lot and we hope you’ll see that, too.

In fact I think one of the greatest gifts we can give you is a healthy marriage; not a perfect marriage, but a healthy one. One where you’ll hear us say, “I love you” and “I am sorry” frequently. One where you see us having fun and laughing together, but also one where you know how our voices change when we start arguing and disagreeing.

We are fortunate that this is something our parents gave and modeled for us. Yes, Mija both of your grandparents, still love each other a lot and showed your daddy and I what a lifelong partnership looks likes.

Look at these pictures of your abuelitos:

They got married 40 years ago on April 7, 1973. They raised four kids and adopted one more. Your daddy says they showed him what sacrifice and commitment looks even when it wasn’t easy. Your abuelo, Papa Choyo, tells me that your abuela was always the strong one of the relationship. She trusted and prayed when he doubted and wondered how God would provide. Your Mama Hilla just smiled when I asked her if she was the strong one. She said, “No, no fue asi. I just supported him and squeezed his leg under the table whenever he talked too much.”

Now, these are my mom and dad, your Nana and Papa.

They got married 31 years ago on November 28, 1981. They also had four kids and a few dogs and cats and fish in the mix. I remember Nana and Papa always being honest with us kids about God, money and big family decisions. They didn’t hide things from us or sugarcoat answers. And they didn’t hide how much they loved each other either. My dad, your Papa, would write scribbled, barely legible, post-it notes for Nana, and leave it on her car just to say I love you.  And your Nana would plan and prepare meals and activities for us four kids, so that they could get away just the two of them for a few nights. Something I never realized was probably essential to their healthy marriage.

Your daddy and I are still learning how to do this; how to have the kind of marriage that endures for 30 or 40 years. But I hope you see how your daddy adores me. How he kisses me on the lips before he leaves for the day and how he reaches across the car to grab my hand and say “Yo te amo, Michelle.” How he gets gas in my car and fixes the shower when there’s no hot water and never complains when I ask him to pick up something from the tienda.

And I hope you see how much I love him, too.

Mija, there is a verse in 1 John that says something about you will know they are my disciples by how they love each other. And your daddy and I believe this with our whole heart. We want you to see God in us and in our marriage. We want you to see how much we love each other by how we treat one another and talk about the other person even when they’re not there.

So it may mean we leave you for a weekend with friends so we can have a few nights away. Or it may mean we take time as a family to rest and play and remember how to love each other well when we get tired, grouchy and short-tempered. And it will most definitely mean that we’ll need lots of grace as we figure out how to be parents to you and keep loving and serving one another well.

My prayer is that one day you’ll see a picture like this from our wedding day and say, “oh, the best gift my parents gave me was that they loved each other well.”

Mija, we can’t wait to meet you and be your parents.

Love,

Mama

(Mija is a Spanish word that literally means “my daughter.” It’s actually written “mi hija.” But when said quickly together it sounds like “mija” and it is said with endearment, kind of like sweetie or sweetheart in English. Female teachers often use it with little girl students. Mijo being the equivalent for little boys. It happens to be one of my favorite Spanish words.)

This is the second letter in a series of letters to my future daughter. The first can be read here.

I think I can safely say that moving while 30 weeks pregnant is not one of my favorite things. We packed on Saturday and moved on Sunday. I started by wrapping dishes and sorting books, and carefully placing picture frames and glass vases into separate containers, but by Sunday morning we were dumping entire drawers into plastic bags. Yes, just dumping.

All the stuff from the medicine cabinet dumped into a bag.

The entire contents of the sock and underwear drawer thrown in another.

Totally my style.

Thankfully, the house we found to rent is in the same residential community so our move was just one block away. But one block away might as well be 10 miles when you’re carrying bags and baskets and loading up the pick-up truck for the 5^th time. Let’s be honest, the guys did most, all of the heavy lifting, while I spent the better part of the afternoon dumping out the contents of bags and trying to organize the bottom kitchen cabinets without squishing my growing belly.

A dear friend brought us over dinner at 6pm: Chicken sandwiches, a bowl of guacamole with chips and two fruit smoothies. A perfect Sunday night dinner. I am convince sometimes love looks like strong arms that lift and carry and move your fridge, and other times love is a meal left on the table after a long day. I had never thought about bringing friends dinner at the end of a moving day, but it was the most nourishing moment of our day.

By 8pm, after 12+ hours of working, our conversation had deteriorated to:

 “Have you seen my socks?”

- “In the plastic bag.”

- “Which one?”

-“I can’t find the towels.”

-huh?

 -“My back hurts.”

- “Mine, too.”

 Clearly moving brings out my good side : )

I was so hot, irritated and sweating that I didn’t even take a single pictures to document our move. But as we fell asleep Sunday night with the fan blowing directly on our faces I realized this is where we’re going to bring our daughter home. This is where we’ll spend the first few weeks as a little family of three, probably groggy with exhaustion and pure joy. This is where we’ll host grandparents and friends and visitors who will come to meet out little girl.

We still don’t have internet at the house and our stove is not yet connected. But we’re getting settled. Poco a poco. I feel the sudden urge to get rid of half of the stuff the crowds my closet and clean the house and make space;

Space for this little girl who is coming in 10 weeks.

Space for little girl clothes and a bassinet and some place where we can change her bzillions of poopy diapers.

I think they call this nesting, right?

Well, baby girl there is space for you here. We’re making this our home for now…and in 6 months we’ll move back to our other home : )

And I let you know what’s easier…moving with a 30 week pregnant belly or moving with a 4 month old strapped to my chest Somehow I have a feeling I have no idea how easy I had it this time around.

My first nesting arrangement: The house is still rather unorganized, but there is space here for a picture of the newest little member of our famila.

Yesterday I had the chance to Guest post over at Sarah Quezada’a blog A Life with Subtitles.

Sarah is a blog-friend-turned-real-friend who writes about multicultural life with her Guatemalan husband and bi-cultural daughter. One of the things I love about the funny world of blogs is the opportunity to connect with people who I might not have otherwise ever meet. If you have ever doubted that you can form an online community and connections through blogs here’s your proof.

Thanks, Sarah for a chance to share part of my story with your readers.

Being White and Looking for a Brown Doll

Last month I was visiting the States and my sister-in-law asked if I could look for a soft, cuddly doll for her 9-month-old daughter, my niece. I googled “dolls for babies” and about eight different blond haired, blue eyed dolls popped up on my screen. But my niece is Guatemalan. She has milk chocolate skin and dark brown eyes and jet-black hair that barely fits into two little pigtails. I wanted to buy a doll that looked like her. I wanted to find a cute, brown doll, but I couldn’t find one.

Read more of this post

{ phone credit: http://www.sistersinbloom.com/ }

To: The women for whom Mother’s Day means something else-

There are many things I don’t yet know about motherhood. But I do know some of you have been trying for years to get pregnant and can’t. There are no answers, no explanations, just frustrating trips to the doctor followed by peeing on pregnancy strips, hoping for a + to appear. Each month the aching grows deeper;  the endless google searching for explanations continues.  I can only imagine the sadness, longing and frustration that eats up your insides, wondering…why? I know for you, whose deepest desire is to be a mom, Mother’s Day can be a reminder of what you are not.

And then there are others of you, who were pregnant. You know the joy of seeing a tiny blur on the screen and hearing the subtle heartbeat of the little one inside. But you also know the secret, lonely loss of losing the baby. We call it a miscarriage, but maybe for you it felt more like a death. I’ve heard it said that a “woman becomes a mother at conception, and a man becomes a father at birth.” I wonder if on Mother’s Day you grieve for what you had and feel the pain that any mother would feel when something happens to one of her children.

I read this week that a 31-year old professor from my old university died in surgery complications and left behind a beloved wife, expecting their first baby in July. Things like that shouldn’t happen. And maybe you know what that’s like. Maybe you’re a mom whose life didn’t go as expected. You know the tragic loss of having to bury your own child. I don’t think it matters if your child was 18 months or 18 years. The pain seems unbearable and unfair. Or maybe like the wife of the professor, you lost your first love. The man you dreamed of being a father to your children now will not. I am sure Mother’s Day is a swirl of emotions. You may remember the joy your children or grandchildren bring, but you cannot deny the gaping hole longing for the other child or the spouse who is no longer here.

You may be a mom who is not grieving the death of a child, but perhaps is longing for a restored relationship, or any relationship with your son or daughter. All you want is to be a part of their life or meet your grandchild, but maybe there is so much history and hurt in your relationship, that they have shut you out.  And maybe Mother’s Day is a reminder of your attempts to bring healing and forgiveness, but you still live the painful reality that you’re not as close to your kids as you’d like.

Or maybe you’re a single women and this Mother’s Day feels hard for a different reason. Something inside is ticking and with each passing year your desire to be a mom grows. Seeing a woman walking down the street with her baby bump or a baby snuggled in a stroller is enough to make you cry a little on the inside. You ask why it seems like other people get to live the life you’ve always wanted. You go to baby showers, and listen to friends talk about breast feeding and birthing plans, inside secretly wondering when you’ll get to contribute to the conversation. You so deeply want to be a mom, but you also want to be married first. And waiting for two significant things that feel very much outside of your control is hard. And Mother’s Day reminds you not just of what you don’t have, but of you what you had hoped would have already happened by now.

And then there are some of you who have lost your mom. It may have been a few months ago or decades ago, but Mother’s Day reminds you of her. Maybe she died when you were younger, but now that you’re a mom, you find  yourself longing for and missing her in ways you didn’t know. Maybe your mom’s life was robbed unexpectedly from cancer or a car accident. And you are angry that she wasn’t there for you growing up. Or maybe your mom lived a long and happy life, but your last memories of her- weak, frail and suffering- bring you sadness. Perhaps this Mother’s Day you to chose to remember and honor the mom who is no longer with you.

I don’t know where you will be this Mother’s Day. But I pray that when you gather with family or friends, at church or around dinner tables, in backyards or living rooms, that you would be able to just be. And that there would be room to celebrate new life, grieve the lives that are gone, acknowledge crushed dreams and hold on to hope for those that can longer dream for themselves.

I sincerely hope we can re-define this Hallmark holiday and write and speak about all that Mother’s Day encompasses.

From a woman hoping to one-day be a mother,

Michelle

P.S. What does Mother’s day mean for you this year?

Wednesday are my attempt to capture part of what life is like here in Guatemala.

Feel free to join in. Wherever you are. 

Sometimes I am reminded how different things are in Guatemala. Like last week’s sighting.

Now on to this week.

I was skyping with my friend earlier this week and she heard a horrible noise through the microphone.

She gasped and asked “what the heck was that?”

Oh, nothing. Just gunshots.

yes, gunshots.

this. is. guatemala.

I say it nonchalantly because it is. kinda.

When I moved into our home the next door neighbor warned me that every night between 10pm  – 2am there are gunshots. Supposedly, the guards from the different residential communities (ours included) shoot their guns into the air as a way to ward off potential criminals.

I imagine it’s like dogs marking their territory.

Something like, hey I got this place covered. It’s mine.

Although maybe it’s just what they do to stay awake between those awful hours. I dunno.

Regardless, it is somewhat normal. And now I don’t even notice it.

And if it’s not gunshots that you hear, then it will be firecrackers.

I tell you if there is ever any real attack in Guatemala, I will not know it because firecrackers sounds very similar to bombs going off.

(not that I really know what a bomb sounds like).

But just go with me.

However, most days my life looks pretty normal. No guns, no firecrackers and no bombs.

( see proof below)

normal life. waiting in line at the bank.

finally bought a bedside lamp. it’s a little small, but my stack of books finally has a purpose.

we take naps. like father, like…. dog.

And try to exercise.  This week we played ultimate.

However, the real reason I play is it’s the only opportunity I get to wear these sexy shoes.

i buy lots of fresh fruit and vegetables.

And carefully soak all of them for 5 min to get rid of any creatures that may have caused this.

(and yes, I keep our fruit basket on top of our washing machine. you don’t?)

see, pretty normal.

I refrained from taking pictures of the guns that our guards carry. This is a family friendly blog : )

If you’re really interested google “guns in Guatemala.” You’ll get the idea.

What did you take pictures of this Wednesday?

I don’t have kids. So I take pictures of our dog.

I never, EVER thought I would be one of those people who posts pictures of their pets on the worldwideweb. But here I am.

What is the world coming to?

My sister and friend Chelsea are going to be shocked. I know.

Let me introduce my sister, Stephanie….more commonly known as Steph. She’s creative, funny and full of wisdom on a variety of topics.

♥  ♥  ♥

Part 2 of Tales from the Wedding is told in her in perspective. I guarantee it will make you laugh.

{bonus: inside look into my wonderful, slightly complicated family}

you can read it here.

enjoy.

I realize I’ve been absent from the blog world for awhile. Sometimes I think being absent from the blog world may mean I’m actually being more present with the real world. However, I do want to share what’s been happening…especially because there are so many people I miss connecting with. I know pictures and post don’t suffice for long distance friendships, but it’s a start.

So here’s quick update from the past month…

#1 Teaching: We have 5 more weeks (not like I’m counting) until the end of our school year here. I realize SO many of you just started back to school– and it’s still weird for me to be ending school in October. But I will miss my lovely girls from Proximos Pasos (the all girls school in Santa Maria de Jesus) and my mostly, charming students from Vida y Esperanza (the co-ed school in Santa Lucia)

#2 House Hunting: We spent August signing papers, meeting with lawyers, banks, and all those other important people you meet with when you buy a house! Yes, here it is…still a work in progress. We did some painting and cleaning before I moved in a few weeks ago… and it’s slowly starting to feel more homey. Just 10 minutes from Antigua (15 if I am driving : )

#3 Water, Coffee and Graduations: Gerber continues working in Parramos building water filters and working with families and local leaders to plan for what’s next. I have been enjoying some time with new friends and making time for coffee dates here. It’s funny how cultural the idea of a “coffee date” is— definitely not a Guatemalan norm. And many of Gerber’s dad’s students just graduated from Harvest Bible University. For many of them it was their first graduation ever! And we got to join them for the celebration.

#4 Birthday parties, Soccer and Wedding Planning: I’ve always wanted to be a tia and now I have five (soon-to-be) nieces and nephews thanks to Gerber’s wonderful family. Now none of them will probably call me tia, but that’s ok. I’ll accept la gringa. We celebrated one of his nieces birthday’s with a piñata, churasco (bbq) and firecrackers! Wedding planning is underway and so are lots of emails, skype calls and details. But we still make time for some fun– Gerber’s fun is any form of soccer and since I can’t play very well, we settle for foosball. My form of fun usually involves walking to the park with coffee or chocolate in hand, especially when someone else buys it for me : ) We’re thinking of having all three at the wedding: coffee, chocolate, and maybe foosball. why not?!?

(totally kidding about the foosball….although I bet a certain mr. someone might actually like that idea)

I am not good at hellos and good-byes. I get so excited to welcome someone here, but then equally sad when the realization sets in that I also have to say good-bye. My parents were here for a week and I just said good-bye on Monday. Last month I got to spend a week with my sister and brother. But once again the hello-and-good-bye process felt hard.

I am nothing but grateful that they would chose to fly down here to spend time with me. There is something about being together- sipping lattes in a garden café, walking by colored walls and laying by the lake that cannot be shared via skype and text messaging.

I am firm believer that sometimes just showing up is the best way to maintain relationships. Show up for his presentation at work. Show up at their new house with cookies. Show up at the hospital to welcome the little baby, and show up at the funeral to mourn together. Showing up is important.

Last week my parents showed up in Antigua. They showed up at my school with 60 5^th and 6^th graders asking them questions. They showed up to see my apartment. They showed up for long dinners with me and G. They showed up for coffee dates and chocolate tasting, for good conversations and sunny afternoons. They showed up to see my life here. And it meant the world to me, especially since a lot in my life has changed in the past year.

I have much to be thankful for. There is a beauty to embrace and a challenge to accept living in a new place, within a new language and culture and country. I know it means there will be more good-byes to people I love, and probably some exciting hellos as well. My friend Carrie, has this quote on her blog from Miriam Adeney, an anthropologist and global studies guru:

“You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.”

This is how I feel.  Indeed there is a price to pay for loving and knowing people in more than one place.

Mom, Dad, Steph and Andrew, Thanks for coming to visit!

(Christine, you were here in spirit)

Did you know that today is the Internacional Dia de La Mujer? I was unaware until a colleague from work came over this morning and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and a piece of chocolate in my hand.

She: ¡Feliz Dia!

Me: ¿Por qué? (obviously, unaware)

She: Porque hoy es el dia la mujer!

Me. Oh, right.

So, on this day, International Women’s Day, I have been thinking about the women in my life who have inspired me, shared their wisdom with me and answered my questions with warmth and truth. There is something to treasure and respect about a woman; a mother, a friend, a mentor, a sister, a roommate, an aunt, a daughter, or a teacher.

I think every women regardless of age, culture, religious belief, marital status or jean size longs to know that “I am ok. I am enough. And I am loved”

I have learned those things things because of…

The perseverance of my grandmother, who left her county and came to the US at eighteen and enrolled in med-school when it was more common for women to enroll in marriage, than college.

The faithfulness of my mom, who sacrificially and wholeheartedly loves me and lives a life demonstrating what it means to love others.

The presence of my sisters, who have shown me the beauty of accepting who we are and the challenge of not letting family roles define who we become.

The loyalty of my best friends, who always offer a listening ear, a hopeful prayer and the freedom to dance around in our bikinis listening to loud music (yes, you know who are)

The joy of my students, who remind me that celebrating the little things and squealing is sometimes acceptable.

The wisdom of my mentors, who understand that walking with me through the process, is perhaps even more important than giving advice about the end product.

I am who I am today because of the encouragement from professors and doctors, counselors and pastors, teachers and authors, who understand that the best gift any woman can give herself is the freedom to…

just.   be.   you.

These women listed above have modeled how to be vulnerable, how to share a struggle and a triumph; how to name a fear and walk through it. They have shown me how to pray and not give up, and how to admit that we need each other. These women have taught me that real beauty is not measured with numbers and scales, but defined by laugh lines and a deep sense of purpose.

I am so thankful for the women in my life.

If I can be a little more like Bettina, Charlotte, Kathleen, Chelsea, Jen, Kirsten, Ashley, June, Kelly, Stephanie, Christine, Katie, Jenna, Hayden, Carrie, Sara, Ruth, Cam, Audrey, Stephanie, Maggie, Serenity, Abigail, Cathi, Megan, Krista, Jill, Anissa, Dee, Jen, Kelsey, and Amy then I will be a very lucky woman.

What women in your life are you most thankful for?

photo credit: christielockwood

Thanksgiving in Guatemala isn’t quite the same. I missed turkey and my mom’s homemade gravy and stuffing. I missed seeing friends and family gather around the table to share a meal where we eat too much and then somehow still look forward to leftovers the next day.

This Thanksgiving was different. But I am learning that sometimes in the different there is a lot to be thankful for.

I am thankful that what I once viewed as necessities, are now seen as privileges. I am thankful for running water that easily streams from my faucet with a turn of a knob. I am thankful for the men who drive the camionetas each day. I am thankful for the people who invented skype and that my mom still sends me care packages with dark chocolate. I am thankful for a hand to hold.

I am thankful for change, even when it may feel hard. I am thankful for the beauty of living with less and going slowly. I am thankful for the patient women who sell me vegetables in the market. I am thankful that three of my best friends flew down here just to spend 5 wonderful days together. I am thankful for surprises. And that some things don’t always go how I expected. I am thankful for parks to sit in and books to read and smoothies to drink. I am thankful that I am (slowly) learning more and more Spanish.

I am thankful that I sometimes feel slightly uncomfortable. And that I have to remember to ask for help. I am thankful that I have a new understanding of what it means to feel like a foreigner and not quite fit.  I am thankful for a wonderful boyfriend who writes me sweet notes on napkins, does the dishes and helps me be a better person. I am thankful for my health. And that I have legs that allow me to walk along these cobblestone streets.

I am thankful that I am learning the humble task of how to depend on God and not on my own capabilities. And I am thankful for tortilla soup on Thanksgiving with two of my favorite people.

What have you been thankful for?
Recipe found here (of course with some of my own adaptations)

(this was supposed to post the day after Thanksgiving. oops. Well, here’s to keeping the Thanksgiving spirit alive)

“Thou who has given so much to me, give one thing more: a grateful heart.” -George Herbert.