Libros

Eight books for July

July felt like a really long month. Maybe it’s because I was counting down the days until Xavi’s first birthday, it was hot, or I was going through the job application/interview process.

I took advantage of those 31 days by sticking my head in a book. Or eight..

I read the first three books below as to finish off the A-Z challenge.

Breath, Eyes, Memory by Edwidge Danticat
For several years, I’ve come across Edwidge Danticat on lists of women writers, young writers, people of color writers, etc. I knew I should read something by her, and wasn’t sure where to start. Her first novel seemed appropriate. Overall, I enjoyed the story of Sophie Caco coming to live with her mother, Martine, in NY after many years of living with her aunt and grandmother in Haiti. Of course, the relationship between mother and daughter (and the other women, niece/aunt) are quite complicated given that Sophie is the product of rape.

Bilal’s Bread by Sulayman X
TRIGGER WARNING. Breath, Eyes, Memory was depressing in it’s exploration of rape and complicated or abusive family relationships. Bilal’s Bread topped that by adding in Kurdish refugee issues, marginalization of Muslim families, physical and sexual abuse/incest, and the coming out process. I’m not sure I’d recommend it since the depictions of physical and sexual are very graphic. However, it does explore homosexuality and Muslims — what does the Koran say vs. how followers interpret this — which was interesting.

Black Widow’s Wardrobe by Lucha Corpi
I picked this up on a whim because I remembered reading Corpi’s poetry in a Chicana/o literature class. The best way to describe it would be a mystery novel for Chicana/o studies majors. Overall, it’s okay, but it wasn’t my favorite and I don’t think I’ll read Corpi’s other two novels following her heroine and PI, Gloria Damasco. Maybe I would’ve liked it more if I had read the other books in the miniseries? I don’t read many mystery novels, but in the few I read, the villain’s motivations are always quite flimsy. That was the case with Black Widow too. I did appreciate the tie-in to Mesoamerica and the brief lessons on Malintzin/Doña Marina/La Malinche. I’ve read at least one other historical fiction novel about Malintzin, but I like Corpi’s approach more.

***

I went a little crazy in the new fiction section at the library one day and picked up 4 of the following 5 books. (I read The Commitments via e-book.)

At Night We Walk in Circles by Daniel Alarcón
Earlier this year I read Lost City Radio and didn’t love it as much as I expected. Part of what bugged me is that the sense of place was ambivalent. Peru is never mentioned, just like the word Chile is nowhere to be found in Isabel Allende’s The House of Spirits. Perhaps because I know a little more about Chile this didn’t bother me.

Despite never mentioning Peru in At Night We Walk in Circles, I didn’t feel annoyed or loss. There was a much stronger sense of place especially as Daniel Alarcón described the slow life in the provinces away from Lima.

This wasn’t a “can’t put down book,” for the first 3-4 parts (250+ pages). The set-up takes a while as the unnamed narrator tells us about Nelso and his family, the Diciembre theater troupe members, the revival of the troupe and ensuing tour in to the slow countryside.

Once I got to the end, I was surprised at how much I liked it and how well Alarcón set everything up. I remember thinking, “Whoa, I see what you did there. Cool.” Sophisticated, review, I know.

A few quotes that stuck out and are a good example of how great Alarcón is with language:

In response, Henry explained that heartbreak is like shattered glass: while it’s impossible that two pieces could splinter in precisely the same pattern, in the end, it doesn’t matter, because the effect is identical. [p. 223]

That morning, he was afraid of becoming old, and it was a very specific kind of old age he feared, one which has nothing to do with the number of years since your birth. He feared the premature old age of missed opportunities. [p. 262]

The Commitments and The Guts by Roddy Doyle

I picked up The Guts because I liked the cover. As I read the book jacket closer, I realized it was a follow-up to The Commitments so I downloaded that one first. The Commitments is the story of Jimmy Rabbitte and his friends trying to form a soul band in 1980s working class Dublin. It’s very short, but entertaining. I can see why it was made in to a film and musical. The Guts is a return to Rabbitte and some of his friends from his youth. Now he’s married, has four kids, and is still working in the music scene though not as a manager. He’s worried about his finances and health — rightfully so, he has colon cancer. I didn’t like The Guts much, mainly because I didn’t like Jimmy all that much. Also, reading a novella in Irish English is one thing, but the whole novel feels like a little too much. At least I learned new slang.

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

I lived in books more than I lived anywhere else.

There’s a reason this is a NY Times bestseller. Just go read it. You can probably do it in one sitting, but you’ll regret it because you wished you had spent a little more time with it. That’s okay. You’ll do just as I did and re-read the prologue and first chapter. Then you’ll re-read the final chapter and epilogue. Maybe you’ll re-read everything because it’s the type of book that gets better with each new read. Then you’ll go re-read your favorite passages and quotes. There will be many. Then you’ll sadly return the book to the library, make your husband read it and promise to one day buy the lovely hardcover version. When you’re done, come back and tell me if you cried.

The Uncoupling by Meg Wolitzer
I really enjoyed The Interestings and hoped The Uncoupling would be similar. Not really.

The premise is interesting. The local high school where Dory and Robby Lang teach puts on Aristophanes’ play “Lysistrata.” In the play, the women abstain from sex in protest of the Peloponnesian War. This spell overtakes the New Jersey town and all heterosexual women, from teens to those married for several years, are suddenly disinterested in sex. While I loved The Interestings as a character study, I wasn’t drawn to the men and women in Wolitzer’s Stellar Plains. They all sort of fell flat. Also, the protest of the actual war in Afghanistan felt like it was shoehorned in. Overall, it was okay, but nowhere nearly as memorable as The Interestings.

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Bebe

Little mornings for Xavi’s first birthday

Xavi 12 months

Xavi’s birthday was ten days ago. I’m still processing it. Not really, I’m just slow to write.

Getting emo listening to Las Mañanitas on Alt.Latino. Soon I’ll get to sing this to Xavi. Baby’s first mariachi serenade…

What I didn’t reveal in that tweet a few weeks ago is that I wasn’t just emotional. I was full on crying at my desk before the singer got to “el día en que tu naciste, nacieron todas las flores” (the day you were born/all the flowers were born — inspiration for the title of Xavi’s birth story).

Luckily I have tissues at my desk and no one seemed to notice that my eyes were a little red. I didn’t have to explain to anyone that I was crying because a certain number of days had passed and my tiny newborn was now a 50-something week old.

Xavi polo shirt

I’ve always been sentimental and one of those people who cries easily (see: Toy Story 3 — I wouldn’t even deign to see watch that now). Getting pregnant and having Xavi multiplied that at least five-fold. I lost whatever poker face I used to have. To be fair, the version Jasmine and Felix, the AltLatino hosts, played was one of the most beautiful recordings of “Las Mañanitas” I’ve heard.

And all I could think was how I’d be singing it for Xavi so very soon. I’d sing it as soon as he woke up for the morning, still groggy, smiling and looking up at me.

***

I sang “Las Mañanitas” to Xavi shortly after he woke up on his birthday. Sean was already gone for work. It was just us two (sort of, my in-laws were in the guest room) cuddling in bed on a warm summer morning. It wasn’t too unlike last August wwhen Xavi was still single-digit weeks old and Sean had already returned to work. Of course those days felt so long, so slow. The nights even more. At some point — probably when I went back to work — they just started to zoom by. Three, six, nine months. The firsts piled on faster than I could blog about them.

I don’t know if Xavi liked “Las Mañanitas.” He didn’t clap nor smile like he does when I sing his favorites (“All I want for Christmas,” “Part of Your World,” and “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”).

Xavi versus the piñata

It’s okay if he’s not in to this tradition yet. At least he’s down with the piñata.

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Familia, Fotos

Celebrating into the nineties

In older photos of the grandparents, Papá Chepe is typically the one smiling and laughing as he pokes or tickles Mamá Toni in an effort to get her to crack a smile. I don’t remember know why she had the giggles in the photos above from Mother’s Day, but I think they’re cute. It was one of the first times in a while that they’d sat beside each other.

A month after Mother’s Day, Mamá Toni celebrated her 92nd birthday. She shared her day with Lori who was celebrating her graduation with a small reception. Papá Chepe’s 94th birthday is today. He’ll have a cake at Xavi’s birthday party and his very own horse piñata — his request, according to my mom.

I guess when you’re the patriarch and matriarch of a large family, you get used to sharing your special days. Nevertheless, I’m glad that we can still celebrate these days with them.

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Bebe, Cultura

Baby’s first racist encounter

In just four days Xavi will complete his first year of life. There will be tears (mine, no doubt) and clichés (where did the past 12 months go? Can you believe he’s one?), a (Hulk, naturally) smash cake and lots of family and friends. There will be reminiscing over a year full of firsts and reaching milestones. And we’ll look forward to ones we’ve yet to reach (without trying to rush the natural developmental process).

Most of those firsts have been pleasant, awesome even. They’re captured in pictures and text messages filled with lots of exclamation points. Occasionally there will be one without formal record. Just memories that will become the kind of story that ends with “so that happened.”

This is that kind of story.

Hanging out on campus

Normally, Sean, Xavi and I go to Sunday mass at 5 pm. It gives us time to lounge around in the morning and not interrupt Xavi’s late morning nap. During the academic year it coincided with the service for confirmation year 1 students. (I volunteered to be a catechist last summer.) Finally, I like the music played at that service. This Sunday I had to work from 4-6 so we opted for the latest morning service at 11.

We arrived at church and took our usual seats in the crying room, 3rd mini pew, second from the back. I’m new to crying rooms since I never sat in there as a kid. SJV didn’t have one, but this church does. We’ve been using the room for the past 6 months or so and have become familiar with the regulars. While it’s nice to attend mass and not worry about the baby getting too loud and fussy since the room is soundproof, it’s also worrisome for it provides a glimpse of the toddler years.

This Sunday the room was pretty sparse and we were joined by only two or three other families. The family in the pew in front of us consisted of three boys, Larry (~9), Moe (~7) and Curly (~6)*, their father and grandmother.

Shortly into the service, the children were invited to leave the sanctuary to attend a specialized kids service. Moe and Curly joined the group, but Larry didn’t want to go even when his dad and brothers encouraged him. While his brothers were gone, Xavi dropped one of his teething rings in the aisle by Larry. The boy kindly picked it up but seemed disgusted when he found it was wet with drool. Fair enough.

Halfway through the service the kids came back. The boys got out their toys. Xavi watched with curiosity and leaned forward trying to touch the toys. Rather than turn around and ignore Xavi, Moe and Curly showed Xavi their toys. Moe, the middle brother, even let him hold a Batcopter. Larry didn’t like that.

“No, don’t let him play with it. He’s a brown baby! We only like Jonathan.*”

Moe and Curly looked at Larry like “what’s wrong with you?” and ignored his plea. Larry whined to his dad, but he didn’t do anything.

Sean and I didn’t say anything, but for the rest of the service I tried to keep Xavi from touching the boys’ toys even when they offered because they weren’t baby appropriate and I didn’t want Larry scowling at us or his brothers. Xavi did get in a couple spins of the Batcopter propeller and Tumbler wheels. [Aside: Sean helped me with the proper terms.]

The mass ended and we walked out to the car.

“Did you hear what the boy said?”

“I think I did. What did you hear?”

Sean repeated what I thought I’d heard and confirmed that I didn’t hear wrong. He was sitting closer to Larry so he could hear better.

“That doesn’t even make sense. Those boys are the same color as Xavi! They’re probably Filipino too.”

“And who is Jonathan? We gotta warn that kid.”

“Well, I guess that’s another first. Baby’s first racist encounter.”

So that happened...

So, that happened…

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Bebe

I love curls, curls, curls

Well before I was pregnant, I thought about hair. In particular, mixed kid hair.

My hair is thin and stick straight. I’m lucky if it holds a curl for more than a few hours. I rarely do anything to it besides the occasional dye job. Styling is wash and go. I don’t bother with many products. My kid(s) wouldn’t have a different experience thanks to the other half of the genetic equation.

I thought I would have time to learn the ropes and figure out what to do. I could take my toddler to my cousin Patty’s house and ask her for lessons. Her grown children are also blaxican and over the years she’s learned to braid their hair. She even tried once on Xavi but he wouldn’t sit still too long.

I thought I got off easy when I found out we were having a boy. I wouldn’t need to worry too much about styling, the right products, moisturizing, conditioning, and the rest of the stuff whole natural hair blogs are made out of.

I was wrong.

Xavi was born with a full head of hair. Everyone said it would fall out, but it never did. Instead the shiny black, straight hair covering his tiny newborn head grew and grew. It’s spiraled out into a thick set of curls that strangers think they can touch. [Grrr.]

Not excited about 4 month checkup time

Well-meaning and curious family members also have stuff to say and ask. Have you cut his hair? No. [Aside: When I was a baby my Padrino José shaved my hair so that it would grow back thicker. Baby me would’ve been so jealous of Xavi’s curls. You know, if I cared about that sort of stuff.]

When are you going to cut it? Never! Okay, that’s not what I said, but I really have no plans to cut it. I love how big it’s gotten. However, if it starts bugging him or if he pulls at it a lot, we might have to change course.

He has a lot of hair. I know.

Reading time, 11+ months

Really. I know.

Sean does all of the work when it comes to Xavi’s hair. He gives Xavi his baths and washes his hair a couple of times a week. He combs through with an afro pick after spraying with detangler. Xavi is the youngest in the family, but has the most complicated hair routine.

Last month our neighbor filled in for Xavi’s usual babysitter. She tried Shea Moisture curl enhancer on Xavi’s hair and it looked great, just like his hair does when it’s wet. “You have to define each curl,” she told me in a text. Sean bought the product and he tried after Xavi’s next bath. We couldn’t get Xavi to sit still long enough. Oh well.

I’m fine with the bedhead big hair look.

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