An Immigrant's Tale

I really wanted to post this yesterday but alas I couldn't sneak out of my toddler's drooly grip late into the night as I had originally planned.

August 5^th 1982 marks the day I set foot (permanently) in America. So that means that as of yesterday, I've been an American for 22 years. Pretty powerful stuff huh? Yep. I was born in Puerto Rico and at 7 years old, my parents decided to make a huge move I know they must have thought about making a million times. Puerto Rico is not that far from the U.S. Having been born there; I was automatically an U.S. citizen. But still, with the language and culture barrier, in many ways it might as well have been CHINA.

My parents made the brave decision to move for many reasons. If memory serves, I believe it was 3 such compelling reasons that made them act when they did:

#1 To provide us kids, all 7 of us, with the proverbial "better life" America promises

(Goal: Better life. Most definitely!)

#2 To provide my deaf brother a better education at Florida School for the Deaf and Blind -- I don't believe there was anything like that in P.R. In fact, he was mainstreamed a lot there and I know he struggled in his studies for a long while even though he is brilliant.

(Goal: Better education. Mission accomplished!)

#3 To get my other then-hooligan brother (you know I love you) off the path of self-destruction.

(Goal: Idiot teen emendation. It worked or so it appears [kidding]!)

I won't bore you with the details of how well we all turned out. Although I'm happy to report there's not even one criminal in our midst. (I was acquitted of all charges - ha ha -- kidding again)

Instead I'd like to briefly share my memories of that very special day:

• I remember exactly what I was wearing: a white button down blouse and blue jeans with little flowers on the back pocket.
• I remember exactly what my Mother was wearing: a blue and white striped "sailor" capri outfit with strappy heels. It was the 80's people. She looked BEAUTIFUL. I also remember her dieting prior to the momentous reunion with my father who was already here with 3 of the kids. Tee-hee
• I remember my arms being painfully sore after Nurse Cruel stabbed them full of vaccines.
• I remember the plane ride. Not my first but the first I remember.
• I remember arriving at this airport and being overwhelmed by new sounds, new smells (I swear) and the "noise" that was a language I did not speak.
• I remember "Los Americanos" (The Americans) so distinctly different than us in their shapeless skirts and  dowdy blouses with the leather elbow patches and thick orthopedic looking sandals. Tacky hats worn oddly to the back of the head with the mall bangs hanging out in front as opposed to properly affixed. Still a pet peeve of mine today. (ha ha) It was the 80's people but as a whole, in my 7-year old mind, I found "Los Americanos" terribly unstylish. Yet, I later secretly wanted to emulate them. My Mom would not let me. It was mostly proper leather shoes, tights, skirts and blouses for me. And don't forget the hair bows. You can still see the style difference between Latin American children and American children. It's slighter now than 20+ years ago but because of my experience and origin of culture, I always notice it.

I have to say that I'm so thankful for the foresight of my parents and the sacrifices they made to bring us to this country. I LOVE who I am. I'm an American with a past. Mainly, a past language that I so enjoy employing and a past culture that I so love integrating into my adult life as well as the lives of my children and spouse.

I came equipped with values, morals and ways of thinking that I could apply and reference. I'm such a firm believer in "reference" vs. "acquired knowledge." There is a difference. I think life experience is what makes you emotionally intelligent. I think the more expansive your frame of reference the better you can process new information. And I KNOW that speaking two languages proficiently helped in my studies. Still does! Not to mention how much it helped me learn other languages since many of the same rules apply.

I don't think I'm smarter than anyone is or better than anyone for my resources. I just think I'm BETTER period. For myself. And now, for my children. Hence the term "better for it."

I'm better for having been born in a beautiful, tiny little magical country fraught with a distinct, almost tribal culture. A culture that is a wonderful mixture of incredibly rich language, cuisine, music, dance...the list goes on and on. And I'm better for having been raised in another beautiful, driven, "Land of Opportunity" that is so revered, unique and special. The fact that the U.S. has embraced people such as myself and was basically built on the acceptance of diversity (cultural, religious, political, lingual) is not lost on me. This actuality and all that it implies is the very essence of who I am.

August 5, 1982. 

One of the most, if not, the most formative and propitious day of my life.

Une Journée Très Bonne

What a great day it's been! Many happy things have happened today but best of all is that my book is now available on Amazon and through special order at bookstores nationwide. OK now I feel like a "real" author. I'm SO jazzed!

For whatever reason, the image of the cover is not up on Amazon yet. I'm waiting to hear back on that. But it's there. Oh my gosh, I'm so excited!!!!

Thanks for letting me gush...

Update on Thursday, August 5, 2004 at 11:07AM by Ninotchka B.

Just found out from my publisher (book company) that I'm on BN.com too (Barnes & Noble online). OMG!

Check it out. She's working on getting the covers up.

This just feels too DAMNED good. My cup runneth over...

The Forbidden Taco

OK how about a more entertaining entry?

So Guy calls me and asks what we want for dinner the other night and it's the typical "I don't know what do YOU want?" conversation. He says tacos. Natalie says tacos. I utter a phlegmy "blech" and snap that if that's what they want for dinner, I want no part of it. What a bitch. It's OK to think it, I was thinking the same thing. I really do need to work on my people skills. Because I can be a bitch like that. A lot. And for the record, lately I've developed quite the aversion to tacos. Don't ask me why.

So back to dinner: tacos it is.

Guy gets home and "slaves" away in the kitchen. The very clean kitchen that I clean a million times a day. And he got to do it without a certain toddler, who shall remain unnamed; clawing his naked leg with her sharp little, freshly manicured, death nails. The same toddler that will all the while issue ear piercing screams that make the spatula in your hand look like the perfect instrument with which to "end it all." But I digress.

Well, wouldn't you know it? The sonofabitch tacos smell fantastic! So with dinner ready, I sheepishly step up and cheerily proclaim to no one in particular that these tacos smell so good, that I'm going to partake after all. No one in particular seems pleased at this submissiveness and even more cheerily offers that he used a different taco seasoning. Ohhhh, a new seasoning. Join me now: oooooh, aaaaaah.

All is well in taco land until the topic of conversation veers (like a car crash) toward a certain little situation I won't mention here. Let's just say, every couple bickers over it (shopping). Surprisingly, I'm not the culprit here but if I WERE, well, I'd be in hot water, that's what. That's as much as I'm willing to divulge to the World Wide Web. Or as Forrest would say "and that's all I want to say about that."

So, during this heated conversation and after the aforementioned hellion, ahem, toddler spills the content of not only her taco but mine too (boy was Charlie happy!), Taco Boy is miffed. Why? I don't know since I'm the one that cleans up the mess while he stands there once again a la Steve Martin in Parenthood. Who knew fatherhood was such a voyeuristic endeavor? I want that GIG! Where do I sign up? That's a whole 'nother entry, isn't it?

When I ask him why he's so pissy, you know what he answers me? You'll never guess. Maybe I should make this a contest. The winner receives a Taco Kit. I mean it's THAT good people. His answer is:

"IT BOTHERS ME THAT AFTER YOU PUT DOWN TACOS (as in: insulted...the tacos...) FOR DINNER, YOU GO AND EAT THEM"

It's not verbatim but that's the gist of it. BA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

It's obvious that it was SO NOT ABOUT THE TACOS but still, can you believe it? I lost it. As he walked away I yelled at the top of my lungs (which I can honestly say I've NEVER done in our near-10 year marriage):

"I'M SOOOORRRRY! I'M SORRY THAT I DIDN'T WANT TACOS AND THAT THEN I DID! FORGIVE ME FOR CHANGING MY FUCKING MIND ABOUT FUCKING TACOS!!!"

Naturally, that outcry put an end to the discussion.

As my heart pounded in my chest, I seriously thought of shoving my finger down my throat like a character in a bad Lifetime movie and throwing up the motherfucking tacos in his face.

I quickly changed my mind, but not because it would be over-the-top and would probably set off an all-nighter of separating the assets*. No.

I didn't throw them up because, Goddamn him, those tacos were fucking delicious!

*It must be said that if he ever found out I posted this on the Internet, this scenario wouldn't be as far-fetched as the satire suggests. Gulp. Anyone have a real comfy pullout couch for me and 2 kids and a dog to sleep on? [grin]

And it's only 4:20 AM

Things I have learned today:

• My Salon.com newsletter hits my mailbox at exactly, wait for it, 4:19A.M.
• Dave Chappelle is "rich, bitch"
• Mary is blessed (smile!)
• Insomnia sucks.
• This entry sucks but it's the best I can do at this ungodly hour.
• Or maybe not...(grin)

The Healing Properties of This Medium

After I posted my little rant the other day, I recognized a gaiety about me. It occurred to me that perhaps it was because I had gotten my ill feelings toward my husband off my chest. Imagine that! All of a sudden, I had an extra bounce in my step and an ounce of appreciation toward him that wasn't there before. Because for all of my complaining, he really is a stand up Guy (pun intended; that's his name). Still, I couldn't quite put my finger on it, until it dawned on me that I was having a Ouiser Boudreaux moment.

Remember Ouiser from Steel Magnolias?

That movie is chock full of memorable lines but the one that most resembles this latest enlightenment of mine is this one:

"I saw Drum Eatenton at the Piggly Wiggly the other day and I SMILED at the son of a bitch 'fore I could help myself!"

That's it! I unburdened myself to the entire World Wide Web and as a result, I'm a kinder, gentler, Ouiser...er...Nino. Who needs therapy, I ask you?

And for posterity, here's reason #1027 why I really do adore my husband:

"Your boyfriend is on Howard Stern (on E!)" he said as I was just sitting down to compose tonight's entry.

Oh yes. It was "Night" himself. I immediately ran across the hall from the office to our bedroom, turned the channel and literally belly flopped on our bed landing in a pose perversely reminiscent of a pre-teen. I didn't care. When commercials ran, I got up and threw my arms around him gushing "You're the best hubby EVER, honey, you really are!"

The Kind of Mother You'll Be...

When I was little, I always thought I'd be a PERFECT MOTHER. Loving, infinitely patient, funny, FUN, giving and eternally fascinated by her exquisite little children who, without question, would be a portrait of who else, but their PERFECT MOTHER.

HA!

In honor of imperfect Mothers everywhere, I present you with the Top 5 Mother-Types:

Perfect Mom -- Her children are perfect. They never misbehave, they are permanently clean, respectful and ever so happy. She's also perfect, always coifed to ideality, sweet as the apple pie she bakes from scratch every Sunday, her husband adores her. She...Can't...Possibly...Exist

Fun Mom -- The ultimate passive aggressive, everything is a game to Fun Mom. She's basically a psycho version of Mary Poppins. "Yes, a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down, the medicine go down, the medicine go down...the attic's filthy, Mom can't fit, just climb up there or I will hit, clean up good, not a spot or I will strike you with a pot...yes, a spoonful of sugar...tra la la"

Crazy Mom -- Perpetually in a tizzy about something...she maneuvers through the house like an angry tornado. You never know what direction she's going in and just when you think you're safe...WHOOSH....she doubles back and is right in your face spewing her wrath. She's known to yell a la Howard Dean at the mere sight of a carelessly strewn sock. "You're going to clean up your room, starting with the desk, then putting away the laundry, straightening up your bookcases, and the Barbie clothes and your closet and the doll house and then your messy underwear drawer and under the bed too....YAAAAAGH!"

Listen to the original in it's entirety: here

Drunk Mom -- Everything's OK as long as she's loaded. Drink in hand, she's often heard to say things like "oh, you want to burn down the house? ::::hiccup:::: sure, pigeon, go right ahead ::hiccup::: just let me wheel the liquor cabinet safely out into the front lawn, dahling ::::hiccup::::hiccup:::"

The Surrendered Mom -- She started out really trying to be the Perfect Mom which built resentment resulting in a transformation to Fun Mom. When that didn't suit her, she became Crazy Mom for a while but the guilt of that affliction drove her to Drunk Mom status. In desperation, she gave up one day (or in, if you will) and decided to sample the types on a revolving basis. Completely capable one day, threatening mild violence the next, she has come to realize that as a Mom you have to choose your battles wisely. She hugs her children repeatedly, tells them she loves them invariably and apologizes for her transgressions almost daily.

The one thing Surrendered Mom hasn't given up, though, is her Howard Dean scream. She's come to rather enjoy it...with a twist.

I'll drink to that, mes amis!

The Race

-- Me chasing Elle at the funeral home, as captured by Natalie, age 8* --

This morning we were running late to a funeral that was 2 hours away. Guy's cousin, Tommy, passed away after a long painful battle with cancer, bless his heart. I'm disturbed by how undisturbed I am by his death. We weren't close with him. Just saw him once a year or so at the family reunion. Still, cancer is such a devastating disease, I should feel something. Am I all fucked up or what?

So anyway, Guy wakes me up after a sleepless night lightly scolding me for being late. My retort? WE WILL BE READY. From that moment on, I moved at a swift pace getting Natalie, Elle and myself dressed and beautified. AND I got the house tidied up as per my usual morning routine. I accomplished this with plenty of time all the while loudly issuing snide remarks like "come on, girls, we've got to BEAT him."  When we were all safely in the car, I think I stated something exceedingly brilliant like "in your face, sucka."

Why do I enjoy this form of spousal torture so much? He always accuses me of turning everything into a competition between us. Damn straight, mothafucka. Because when you do most everything and it's still not enough, you want to prove your spouse to be the damned fool he is that's why.

Infantile? Probably. Do I care? Not particularly. The longer we're married, the less diplomatic I become.

"You have a pretty wife and beautiful children, Guy Lindsey" is what various members of his extended family are accustomed to telling him at events such as today's.

It comes at a price.

*I "doctored" it for artistic effect