Grit, Hot Dogs, and Waterfalls in Pina Vieja

We have been in the Dominican Republic for five days now, in my mother-in-law's small village of Pina Vieja, where not only does everybody know your name, but everybody is also related to your husband. This part of our trip is a mixed bag of joy and headaches, as it always is. I have loved this country for a long time, it feels like home. It's gritty here, dirty and loud and completely third world, without a hint of tourism. Fortunately I have been coming here for as long as I've known Francisco, and so the people are jolly as Dominicans are, and happy to accept me as one of their own. I do wish we had a little house of our own here, as staying as a guest for this long wears on everyone, although my mother-in-law would never admit it.

We've had a few hilarious moments, like my mother waking up at 2 am to a cockroach crawling on her leg and screaming like she was on fire, and then again when she thought she felt the cockroach again, only to find out it was just the mosquito netting that canopies over our beds at night. Or the pudgy and somewhat dumb-witted girl that lives next door who is aptly named Juleisy (pronounced You Lazy) We are serenaded almost every night with the sounds of dogs fighting in the street outside our window, and blasts of music every now and again as a car rolls down the street. Trying to nap here is like trying to nap in a tent inside of Grand Central Station, just not a realistic plan.

I went dancing two nights ago with a friend who lives next door, and that was indeed a treat of epic proportions. Dancing the night away to the sounds of La Banda Gorda, something that only someone who came here with me in 1997 would appreciate. We left the disco in a rum soaked haze, ate a Dominican hot dog from a street vendor (read: hot dog buried underneath a delicious pile of cabbage and condiments), and then couldn't find anyone to take us home, poor planning at best. So we walked (or perhaps stumbled) the two or so miles home where I promptly puked up the hot dog (sorry for that bit, but that is what usually happens when I eat them, but they're soooo good) and felt into a coma until the rumble of the neighborhood woke me up. Totally worth the hideous hangover the next day. Totally.

Today we took a journey to the far off town of Jarabacoa, a mountainous region in what's known as the Dominican Alps. We had planned to visit one of the famous waterfalls, although it took us many turns to find the one that didn't involve us crossing a hanging footbridge to get to. When we finally found Salto Baiguate, a waterfall deep in the countryside, my mother-in-law (Erma) was completely horrified at the complete and total isolation of this place. I thought it was amazing. Peaceful, quiet, with a short walk down to the cascading falls. It did involve about 50 steep stairs, and I was pretty sure Erma was going to die of a heart attack or out of spite for us bringing her to such a place. We took some pictures, and then made the climb up and out of there, even more to her dismay. We couldn't swim at that spot unfortunately, so we had to head out to somewhere better. Our driver for the day, Lilo, took us to a river called Acapulco, which was great, but nothing like it's namesake. The kids swam in the cool deep river, which was sparkling clear and a lovely treat.

This is the part of our trip that I don't call a vacation, I call it an adventure. I love it, but it's not for everyone. I'm pretty happy to be in this chaotic third-world tropical place today and not buried under four feet of snow back home.

Preparing to Shovel on Out of Here

One week and two days!!!! That is how long before I hit the tropics once again. Nothing gets me through winter better than knowing I have a warm weather trip right around the corner, not even the two feet of snow outside my window and on top of my car can bring me down today.

It is no secret that I love to vacation. It is an addiction of the best kind, albeit pricey and sometimes unreasonable. I would spend most of my life on vacation if I could, but being as I am not independently wealthy I settle for a few times a year. This, I realize, is probably more than most, but we all have different priorities, and travel is what fulfills me unlike anything else.

Fortunately for me all of Francisco's family happens to live in the tropics, and none of them have the money or the visas to come and visit us up north, so we must go down there to visit them, and let our kids spend time with their abuela and get to know their heritage.

Next week I am taking the kids, and my mom, and we are going to the Dominican Republic for three long weeks, in the hopes that a longer stay will help grind in some of the Spanish that Francisco and I are terrible about teaching them at home. People are constantly judging us for our lack of Spanish at home with our kids, and I wish it weren't true, but we have not found a way to consistently speak Spanish to our children without complete and total uproar and rebellion. So for all of you who are constantly criticizing me for not raising bilingual kids, here you go. Three week immersion, of which I plan to spend the entire time speaking only Spanish. Learn or starve, the same way I did. Hopefully this will be the first of many trips like this one, to set in motion the seed that has been planted in their minds for years.

So hurry up and get here vacation! I don't want to shovel out my car one more time before the big day, but that seems like too much to ask from the weather gods, so I'll just pray for a sunny day on the 11th as we make our long trek south. See you all in March!

Into the Woods: A musical lost in translation

Last night we went to see the movie Into the Woods, a whimsical yet action-packed Disney film with a new twist on several different fairy tales, combining all of their happy endings into a not so happy and somewhat unpredictable ending. We went as a family, with our visiting El Salvadoran friend and his teenage son. What I did not know about this movie before heading into the theater was that it is a musical. And what I did not know about musicals was how confusing they can be when English is not your first language.

Francisco's reaction to the flick was hilarious. "That was theeeee worst movie I have eeeebbbeeerr seen, you could pay me all the money in the world to go again and I would say no! I jam more confusing than eeebbbeeerrr..." and so on and so forth all the way home. He was so baffled as to why any movie would ever involve so much singing, and why did they have to have five story lines going at the same time? And what exactly happened anyway? Who would ever pay money for such a complicated bunch of crap? Hysterical.

So Disney, let me advise you. If you are going to make a musical, let people know when you show the previews that the movie will be nothing but song, as this does not always translate well for some. Or maybe I would have paid the $48.75 anyway just to see the look on my poor husband's face as he scratched his head all the way home. Also this movie, while entertaining, was three too many songs, and at least 15 minutes too long, tra la laaaaaaaaaa!!!

A Graceful Beginning

I am delighted to report that earlier this week I was lucky enough to attend the birth of one of my closest friend's first baby, and what an extreme honor it was.

Working in the birth world I see women labor and deliver all the time, so much so that I probably take the miracle for granted sometimes, although I never get over the gorgeous sound of a healthy newborn baby crying for the first time. Maternity nursing is almost never boring, it keeps us on our toes and has us always examining the unpredictability of nature. Nothing pleases me more than watching a woman pull her infant up onto her chest, heaving a sigh of intense relief as she cradles her little one in her arms. That is all very wonderful, but this time was different.

 There is something so magical about being present for a birth when it's someone you really love. Your heart races with adrenaline as you secretly keep your fingers crossed and pray that everything goes the way it's supposed to, and that she won't end up like the women you occasionally see with complications or unexpected outcomes. The joy that I felt when that little person took her first breath was second to nothing. My beautiful friend easily brought her daughter into the world with a huge smile on her face, radiating with joy that was palpable. She was nothing but grace as she welcomed her girl into the world, and Grace is the name she gave her.

 My mind is still swimming with joy over being part of such an important life event. No matter how many times I help women through labor and birth, and how much I love and cherish my work, it will never compare to being there in that moment for someone so dear to my heart. I welcome her with loving arms into the circle of motherhood and all the powerful ups and downs that come with it, and with this birth I remember that life is a miracle each and every day.

Broadway Baby

Last year I began a tradition with my kids: Taking them on a surprise birthday outing instead of the traditional birthday present. It began with Nathan's surprise trip to Fenway Park, which was so successful last year that I decided that all the kids needed to be in on the action. Last year I took Sofie and her friend Evelyn to see the Nutcracker. This year I'm pulling out the big guns for my girl's sixth birthday... Broadway.



 When I was young my grandmother was notorious for surprising various family members with a trip to the city and a Broadway show. I was fortunate enough to be the recipient of several of these outings, and I still remember them as being the most exciting days of my life. We'd board the train from Princeton and Vally would sing an old song;

"You reach the Pennsylvania station 'bout a quarter to four, read a magazine and then you're in Baltimore..."

Until at last we ducked under the tunnel and arrived in the city. Then we'd have lunch in Times Square and head to the theater of her choosing for that day's production (she never told us what show we would see until we arrived). I loved every minute, from the line outside to the curtain closing on the bowing actors. I envisioned myself up on that stage, belting out the lyrics, in full costume with the rest of the cast, and dreamed about it for weeks afterwards.

 Sofie and I are going to see Cinderella on Broadway this year. It's a surprise so WHATEVER YOU DO, don't tell her! I want her to have the full on surprise fantasy day, just like I had. I hope it goes over half as well as it did with me, I will consider that a huge success. She may totally not get it, and she may wonder what the hell we're doing there, but somehow I doubt that. If nothing else, we'll have a good lunch and a great time just the two of us, something I can never get enough of.



http://www.cinderellaonbroadway.com/

Kicking My Ass

My legs are aching tonight as a result of something I never thought I'd do: Kickboxing class. I've been back to my local YMCA three times this week (Hallelujah! The kids are back in school!) and have participated in three aerobics classes, each slightly more torturous than the first. Today's class was painful on so many levels.

I have never thought about kickboxing. Never even dabbled in the idea. Sounds hard, I've always thought, and it was. But the funny thing was the aerobic intensity of the class wasn't what bothered me the most. What bothered me was the creepy look of rage in the eyes of the other (seemingly mild-mannered) ladies in the class when the instructor told us to "knee him in the groin!" and "punch him in the jaw!" These ladies strolled into the gym with their small coach purses and bouncy ponytails, and then became psychotic killing machines thirty seconds after the spastic techno beat came blaring through the speakers. I looked around me after just a couple of minutes in the sweaty mirror covered room and thought "Have I gone insane? Why am I the only one who doesn't get joy out of jabbing an invisible enemy in the face while he's lying on the floor?" Jab Jab Jab! Left hook! Upper cut! Speed bag! It was like a weird alternate universe of tiny fighting women (and one old dude who didn't look that angry, but was struggling to stay alive). 

After pondering it for a bit this afternoon (before my three hour nap and mega dose of ibuprofen), I realized that I had no idea how pissed off so many women are. I guess I just don't have anyone I seriously yearn to punch in the face, and that makes me a bit of a freak in this town. But who are these invisible faces they desire so greatly to sock? Are they husbands, bosses, their parents? Is the invisible face just a metaphor for how society has kept these gals down? Maybe that's too deep, and maybe they're not mad at all, but man, did they sure look it. 

All I know is I won't be rolling up to kickboxing class again any time soon. I prefer my gentle Jane Fonda-esque step aerobics with the happy music and peppy instructors cheering me on, encouraging me to let my ponytail keep bopping and to leave my rage face at home.  

Tooth Torture

Yesterday I went back to the dentist with my five year old. As many know, the poor gal has terrible teeth, and they have been terrible forever. Unfortunately for both of us, this situation does not seem to improve without significant medical intervention, as the teeth that are rotting out are not due to fall out for several years. For the past week she has been complaining of pain in one particular spot, rendering us, once again, at the mercy of the pediatric dentist.

I hate everything about the pediatric dentist. Or let me clarify, I hate everything about any dentist, but the kids' dentist is particularly bad. I hate that there are three kids getting work done in one big room (read: one screams and they are all horrified). I hate the stupid cloud covered walls, the hanging birds and monkey masks, and the faux friendly hygienist who is quietly judging the crap out of you every second of the way. ("Well, you know, juice is not that good for them", as though it was the apple juice that rotted her teeth out before they even came in). The last time we went for a cleaning the woman taking x-rays got so fed up with Sofie not being able to hold still enough (wait, hold old is she again?) that she huffily jerked her head back and forth and brought tears to my girl's eyes. It was enough to make any mother go postal.

Yesterday Sofie had to endure yet another crown placement, and let me just say, this is definitely getting harder each time. It took me, Francisco, and the assistant to hold her down while she screamed bloody murder and wept, leaving me a sniveling wreck of a mother, while the dentist tried her hardest to get that damn cap on quick. Hideous. My poor girl just kept saying " I want to go home!" through her wrenched open mouth and her gas mask covered nose. When it was over she collapsed in my arms and sobbed, thoroughly worn out from the experience. If she ever makes it to the dentist as an adult it will be a total shock to me, I know I will do my best to avoid taking her back there any time soon.