The mom stays in the picture

I love the wisdom of Allison's words when she wrote a piece for the Huffington Post urging mothers to stay in their children's pictures.  I AM so guilty of the opposite.  Having taken hundreds of pictures of my daughter with my camera and cellphone, I went looking for a decent picture of us among them after reading her article, and it made me sad to realize I was only visible in less than 10.  This is a dismay.  I'm correcting this right away.  I want my children to see me in pictures.  To see their mom, young, vibrant, tired, overwhelmed but perfectly part of their lives.  I went browsing through my childhood albums, and my own mother was absent in many of them.  She was the picture taker, yet she could have easily handed someone else the camera.  So I went and dug the only pictures I have with my baby daughter to show you here.  I'm not perfect, in fact, I don't like how I look in them, but they are the ONLY pictures she'll see of me at this age.

First a hand, then the whole heart

As you can see I'm still going through the pile of pictures from our vacation in the DR. This set of images I took one day during lunch in my mom's apt. My grandmother had lunch with us almost everyday. It was our time together, and one of the most fulfilling hours of the day. After lunch, we'd have coffee and dessert, and Emilu would play on the floor until her nap time. Then we'd all take a little siesta (I never could). That was my time at the computer. When we first arrived, Emilu was shy and introverted toward my grandmother. She always is. I think her white hair  makes Emilu distinctively suspiscious. But, my grandmother never acted dissapointed by her reactions. She would tell me that children raised by their mothers, especially around this age, are more attached and more suspicious of strangers.  She would even tell me not to let her whimper when she'd see her.  My grandmother is acutely distressed by babies' cries, especially when they are avoidable.  So, everyday we would set out to modestly have her interact with my grandmother on her own terms.  And my grandmother, who's wise and patient, would entice Emilu with small gestures, little by little, day by day, until she finally gave her a giggle, then a hand, and finally, the day before last, her whole heart.

Emilu's Birth Story

I’d like to tell you about the time I got it in my head I wanted a natural childbirth. That’s right.  I wanted to experience the raw pain, the ring of fire and the love hormones flooding my body.  You say crazy right?  I say, delusional. But before I begin to recount my experience, I ask you: Why are we in America so obsessed with childbirth?  I get it, it’s special, a memory that lives in us for the rest of our lives.  But aren’t we missing something? It’s not the defining moment people romanticize about.  When everything is said and done, you file it in the back of your mind and then the real work begins. What I took from my birth story is this: Labor is unpredictable and strenuous and childbirth is a jubilant but tiny event in the life of you and your baby. What’s really transformative is the aftermath. It’s both, Kafka’s Metamorphosis and Aphrodite’s craft. And despite recent literature of the New Age kind, it doesn’t matter much how, when and where your baby is born.  Childbirth doesn’t change you. Child bonding does. A bond you will weave from the love, patience, tolerance and compassion you are suddenly endowed with.

Laboring at home

Birthday memories

I just rehashed my old Photobucket password and came across these old pictures of my then boyfriend, now husband's birthday dinner at Michael's in Miami.  It was such a great night.  We had a lovely dinner after enjoying a gallery walk in downtown.  One memorable moment was when Iori,a friend of ours, started singing happy birthday in her stunning opera voice (she's a mezzo soprano).

Under the Christmas tree

I snapped these pictures of Emilu under the Christmas tree days ago and now is when I have been able to post them.  She was so perky and giddy, she played with some of my mother's ornaments and tried to 'precrawl' in the cold marble floor towards me.

My mother's vintage ornaments, include a drum and a 'nutcracker' mouse made of paper mache and felt.

I love her collections of nutcracker men,she must have around 20 throughout the house.

Oh Christmas is soon here, and we are can't wait to wake up on Christmas Day and have Emilu open her first gifts.  Merry Christmas, friends!

Memories in paradise

My mother showed me this picture the other day and I can't stop looking at it.  This was taken in Sosua beach in the Summer of '78.  My mother is the young woman in the pale yellow tee.  My cousin is talking to my mom and I'm the little girl with the bucket and scoop.  I don't remember much but it sure looks like fun. 

In Memoriam, Goldie (1995-2009)

Last week was the second anniversary of Goldie's death.  She died of kidney failure at age 14.  She was a rescued dog (scooped off the streets) and became the most loyal canine companion.  She was with us for 10 long years.

Recreating the stuff of life

I came across this post on Ohdeedoh via Apartment Therapy and couldn't help sharing it here.  I have tons of pictures with my parents I would love to recreate with my kid.  Duplicating your parents' prints is a fun way of commemorating your family.  The website responsible for the idea is called Like Mom, Like Dad: Recreating Pictures of your Parents. Here are a few samples. For more samples checkout their website.