El Gringoqueño

I brushed my teeth and turned to get into bed, but was impeded by various space-faring vehicles: an X-Wing, Rocket, and some little people.

“Oh look at the little space port that someone built in our bed. Isn’t that cute?”

“They are so cute, with their little spaceships,” Laura agreed.

“I hadn’t realized that the NASA budget cuts would take affect so quickly. Seems they’ve gotten pretty desperate if they’re using our bed as a launch location.”

*ROFL*

“Hey, Javier, can you get Asier’s shoes for me?” We were heading out to the hardware store to replace our butane tanks. Need some fire for grillin’. I asked Javier, if he could put on Asier’s shoes for me.

“Yes, Daddy, I can do it.” And he scooted off looking for Asier’s shoes. I watched him unstrap the velcro on the little red, blue, and yellow Superman shoes and carefully place them on Asier’s little twinkly toes.

“Good job, Javier. That’s great. I didn’t know you could put Asier’s shoes on.” Javier smiled. “Okay, let’s go get in the car.” I looked down and noticed that Javier’s shoes were a mess. The laces were dragging in a tangle. “Javier, do you need me to tie your shoes?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Hey Javier, we need to practice tying your shoes, so you can tie them yourself.”

“I already tied them, Daddy,” he declared.

“Oh really?”

“Uh, huh. I tied them myself.”

Now it was becoming clear. They were in a tangle because he had attempted to tie the laces himself, looping and pulling and twirling this way and that until they held together.

“I like your style, Javier. You’re a can-do boy.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” He understood from my tone it was a compliment, but didn’t quite grasp why his failed attempt at tying his shoes would warrant praise.

“I just like that you just tried to do it yourself. I liked that you didn’t let anything stop you. You didn’t know how to tie your shoes, but you tried anyway. That’s cool,” I said.

I looked back at almost five year old Javier sitting in his booster seat, his shoulders straight, his head held high.

All the kids are in nine million different after school activities, and as per our lot in life, Laura and I get to drive them all over God’s creation at all hours of the day.  Recently, Olaia, auditioned for a local production of the opera La Boheme.  Awesome, she made it.  It’s an honor, and our talented little singing girl is excited beyond measure.  But – the rehearsals are murder.  Tonight for example, she has a rehearsal from 6:30pm to 10pm.

“Olaia, do you know we’ve made 4 round trips to Santurce today?  Twice for Jaimito and now twice for you,” I complained.

“Daddy, you and mommy are like Miracle Max and his wife – making miracles.”

I laughed, ’cause that little girl knows how to tickle my funny bone.  She knows I’m weak for Princess Bride quotes and uses that knowledge to her advantage.

“Hello,” she said next, “my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.”

“That’s funny, Olaia.” And I launched verbatim into the battle of wits and other snippets.  Suddenly I forgot that two hours of my day had been spent as a bus driver.  I was just hanging with my wise and funny little girl.  I am one lucky daddy!

“Hey Asier, say Chewbacca.”

“Boo-boo-bacca.”

That’s been our running joke for the past couple of days.  Asier is little Mr. Boo-boo-bacca boy.

That reminds me; a couple of months ago, Olaia said to me, “Hey Daddy, there’s that one store – the store with that sloppy joe chair.”

“The what, Olaia?  Sloppy Joe?”

“You know, that chair that goes back and is comfy.”

“Oh, you mean the La-z-boy chair.”

“Yeah, you know what I meant.”

Haha, it’s been a few months but every time we see a La-z-boy recliner or anything that resembles one, we all say in loud voices, “Hey Olaia, look, there’s a Sloppy Joe chair.”

Good times were had by all.  My family never ceases to crack me up.

Javier Ignacio just started pre-kinder, or “school” as he calls it.  What will those kids think up next, huh?  He has been so excited to attend school like his siblings.   On his first day, he asked for his lunchbox, his lonchera, and I had to tell him that it was only to be a half-day.  No lunch.

“Why, Daddy, I want my lunchbox!”  And he cried and wailed.  He was so excited to pack a lunch and head off to school.

“Javier, you’re only going to be there for a half day.  There’s no lunch.  You’ll have lunch when you get home.”

And Javier was despondent, thoroughly dejected and disillusioned.  Poor little munchkin.

“Javier,” said Laura coming to the rescue, “why don’t we pack you a snack in your lonchera.  You can take an apple, a snack bar, and some juice.  Does that sound good?”

Javier cheered right up and all was right with the world.

His first day was a success.  Javier was just like Jaimito, ready to learn, ready to be in SCHOOL!  But the next day, due to the swine flu and a staggered schedule, he didn’t have school.

“Why?!  I want to go to school.  Why does Jaimito get to go to school?!”  And Javier cried, for the world was not fair and just.

Here they are heading out on day one.  Jaimito didn’t have school on that first day due to a staggered start schedule.

Don’t confuse squinting in morning tropical sun for frowning… at least I don’t think they were frowning.

After an uneven start, the next few days were uneventful, except for Javier’s excessive requirement for sleep. This little boy would come home so happy, so thrilled, so excited, so tired, he started falling asleep at 6pm and waking up at 6am the following morning.   But on days, he was deprived of his sleep, his tired yet still passionate brain would complain:  “I don’t want to go to school.”  And he cried,  “Daddy, how do you make the world end?”

“Huh, like end how?”

“End. I want the world to end.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to go to school.”

“Oh, who’s my little evil super villain in training?  Shall I get you a monocle and a Persian cat?”

“What, Daddy?”

We teased him and made fun of his overly dramatic attempts to ditch.  He seems to be over it, but Javier, as it turns out, is not a morning person.  For the past two days I’ve been forced to awakened my little sleeping super villain with whispers of strawberries, his favorite fruit.

“Javier, it’s time to get up for school.”

“I don’t wanna,” and he curled up in his blanket turning away from me hoping I’d go away.

“Javier, Daddy has strawberries.  Would you like some strawberries on your cereal?”

“Uh huh.” And he got up in a flash.  He got up for strawberries.

The next day it was strawberries and pancakes.  “Javier, I have pancakes with strawberries and syrup.  Yum.  Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Yeah, Daddy.”  And he bounced right up.  Cute.

We seem to have gotten past the whole destroy the world to avoid school scheme.  Whew!  That was a close one.

These beauties were made in the style of Mandela and generously topped with strawberries, blackberries, and blueberries, and finished with Cool Whip and maple syrup.  Yum yum.  Anybody that went to college with me has had these and knows how good they are.

We were watching CNN this morning.  The morning show gave a brief introduction to Soledad O’Brien’s "Black in America" with a short report and a plug for the series. 

Jaimito asked me,"Daddy?  What means Black in America?"

"It’s kind of complicated, Jaimito, but let me try to explain."  So I ran through a basic primer of just what it meant to be black in America since the days of slavery and why it was still an issue.  Olaia helpfully pointed out that things had gotten better because Barack Obama was elected President.  "I agree," I said, "and I think it says a lot that the majority of America has gotten past color as a qualification, but that doesn’t mean prejudice doesn’t exist."

And that was that.  They asked, I tried to sum up years of legal and cultural discrimination over breakfast.   They seemed satisfied and a few minutes passed until Jaimito, who was obviously still pondering something, asked.

"Daddy," he began, "am I black?"

I’m a whiner.  Anybody who knows me, knows this to be true.  But I really prefer to keep my whining verbal, rather than fix it in written word, so it is only sometimes that it spills out here.  In any case, things have been kind of rough for us here for a while, for me personally and for the family.  I’ve been in a funk, lost my mojo, and been a mofo.  I could blame approaching forty, economic downturn, feeling like I’ve not accomplished what I’ve wanted to, stress, overworked, underpaid, blah blah blah.  It’s just not that interesting.  I’m sure we all have funks, no? 

So here’s the scoop: I just had a really nice dinner made possible by the following:

1. My new super duper outdoor kitchen grill.  It’s an early Father’s day gift, a super awesome backyard propane grilling monster with rotisserie, external gas burner and 36,000 btus of gas grilling power.  Hear me roar.  I like to cook, and this makes me feel useful.
2. Squash and churrasco cooked and grilled to perfection eaten on our patio that we tiled ourselves.  It was a beautiful clear night.  The wine was delicious, the lights added a cozy ambiance, and the dinner conversation with the niños was sparkling.  Javier smacked my shoulder every time he had something to say.  He’s boricua through and through, and it tickles his mommy so.
   
3. Olaia’s iPod, loaded with my music because she knows I like it.  Such a sweet little girl.   Midway through dinner we jammed to the Digital Underground’s, Humpty Dance.  It was a riot.

It just doesn’t get any better than eating under the stars, laughing with your children, cracking each other up, and jamming to the Humpty Dance.

­­Laura said she hadn’t had a tom­ato that good since Italy.

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Doesn’t that look good?  It was.  I haven’t had a tomato that tasty since the ones we were forced to grow as kids.  I never would have known what I was missing.  Thanks, Mom and Dad.

I finally got off my butt this year and planted a little vegetable garden.  I have always loved fresh tomatoes, and I find the quality of grocery store produce has declined so drastically that you’re basically paying for tasteless fibrous water.  Starting with Olaia’s science fair project on compost, we began our green journey to the perfect tomato.  The vegetable garden is about fifteen feet long by two and half feet wide or so and has been stocked with nearly three cubic feet of homemade soil from compost. 

Our compost is composed of yard waste (green grass and leaves), vegetable and fruit waste from the kitchen, coffee grounds, a bit of ash from barbecuing, some paper waste, and egg shells.  You should not use meat or protein as it is said to attract varmints.   Anyway, all that lead to the creation of this:

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Lovely, isn’t it?  Isn’t nature cool? 

I planted two varieties, roma and these called beefeaters.  Today, I was surprised to find that a third variety had sprouted from the composted seeds and was bearing a different type of fruit. I imagine that even though they are from tasteless grocery store tomato seeds, homegrown they will taste much better.

I can’t wait to eat it tomorrow on an egg sandwich with lettuce, fresh mayonnaise, and cheddar cheese on bakery bread.

And then I took this little picture for Olaia for a class project as we dined outside next to our garden in the cool night air.

Chee-bow-bow, the moon.

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