I am reposting this video, which got all kinds of love this week on the Tiki Tiki, so that anybody who pops over here from the Spanglishbaby Blogging Carnival sees an update on the abuelito. The post I contributed to the carnival is from 2007…and not much has changed. My father continues to delight and offer unique lessons.

Witness here Papi and Maria playing pick-up sticks. He’s not acting. He’s being himself. 100% It is why my house is very quiet when he is gone. Also notice my kid cheating her 72-year-old Abuelito in the game.

But, in truth, I had another agenda as my prime focus.

To ask women who are focusing on making money online Just How in The Ever Living Hell they balance the constant pull the of computer with kids, husbands and toilet cleanings.

I am here admitting I am woefully lacking in setting strong limits on computer time.  My kid has told me I don’t play with her enough. She has told me I am on the computer ALL.THE.TIME.

And, I am.

Now, I have taken steps to remove myself from the computer more, and my obvious lack of regular of posts here is evidence that I am making strides. However, I still work over at the Tiki Tiki and I have private PR and copy writing clients and all that requires I sit on my culo a lot. And, of course, I am the production, office, shipping and customer service departments of Los Pollitos Dicen.

There’s always one more e-mail to write, one more post to edit, one more Tweet to send. But, if  I died tomorrow, you, dear reader, may leave a comment here,  or if you know me for reals post a link on your Facebook status. My demise may end up as a Tweet, even. But, my husband and only child would not be giving too much of a crap about whether I posted enough.

So, I have been struggling to make it all work.

How to I continue to build something for myself, something I love and adore, without sucking as a mother and a wife?

Turns out few of us who are blogging full-time have got it all together. At least that is the feedback I got from the women I hung with at Blissdom. They wanted more on the topic, they wanted the speakers with successful, money-making blogs to tell them exactly how in the hell they manage to produce content, make a living, nourish their families and themselves. One panelist said she realized there were days she didn’t look into her small child’s eyes because she was online and Tweeting. WTF? Sadly, too many of us would have to nod in agreement.

For the record, I know if I was working for someone else, I also would be complaining and whining about lack of time…but, in my fantasy land, the fact I work for myself should translate into clean closets and time for mani-pedis.

OK, OK, blah blah blah on my part.

Are you online too much? Not sure? Read the wonderful Angelica Perez’s post Is Your Time on the Internet Impacting Your Children? Powerful Ways to Find Out and What to Do.

Now, I’m going to go play with my puppy.

Screw the tweeting.

xo

I am truly wondering why some parents would choose not to diapers their babies, and instead “intuit” when their tiny infants need to eliminate.

I have been chasing the new puppy, Buddy, around for five days now, making sure he makes it to the wee wee pads. A whole lot of intuiting going on here, and oh dear goodness, I am exhausted.

It hasn’t helped that we have been snowed in here since Friday. Yes, I said Friday. One.Two.Three.Four.Five days. Maria has had three snow days. Three. Including today. I am breaking out of here, no matter what.  Aire! Aire!

I feel like Laura Ingalls Wilder in The Long Winter. This is Nashville, and seriously, this is not supposed to happen like this for so long. But, the ice on our country road has been slick and scary, and so we have stayed in. You can check out some local pictures here.

While I am grateful for the time to just hang out, it is taking a toll. I slept in my clothes, people, and that is just not right.  Much longer and I turn into good old Jack from The Shining.

So yes, we have a puppy. I wrote about him over at the Tiki Tiki. There’s video too for your cuteness quota of the day. He is pure deliciousness.

And, if you haven’t already looked at the Smart Latina vs. Sexy Latina video we posted over there, do it. It is fabulous. Then, for grins click over to the artist Maya Escobar’s YouTube page and look at the difference in the comments, between the men and the women.

Anyway, happy Tuesday and think of me in this frozen tundra.

She asked me  not to go into her room until she said it was OK.

I waited.

She said: “You may enter now.”

She was sitting on her pink chair, a pink-jeweled crown atop her head. Long, brown hair flowing at her shoulders.

“Hulll-ooh, I am the Queen,” she said, smiling.

“And, I am your humble servant,” I said, bowing.

She is 6.

And this is the throne of her own making.

Plug and suggestion for Nashvillians looking for an easy, festive, sweet, fun birthday party…

Maria celebrated her 6th Birthday at the Nashville Farmer’s Market, a truly wonderful place that reflects the diversity and spirit of this city.

A good friend owns Fleur de Lis Flavors, a New Orleans-style snowball and treat shop in the market, and another friend owns a catering company, peace love tea, with the most awesome of cupcakes. We put it all together and we got sweets and sugar-highs in a great space.

As part of the Fleur de Lis party package, the kids got unlimited snowballs in great flavors like Tiger’s Blood and Wedding Cake and Lime. They had to hit their parents up for the dinero for the gummie worms, though.  They got to run and play outside in the leaves after they were all sugared up and one-two-three, we were done.

Instead of presents, we asked for donations of dog and cat food, plus treats, for the shelter in our county, which struggles mightily with abandoned animals. We collected 203-pounds of dog food, 61 pounds of cat food, almost $100 in cash, and lots of treats and toys for the animals. Our friends are generous.

Of course, it was my idea — a way to reduce the amount of stuff that comes into the house. My mother, Abuelita, thought it was criminal to deny Maria of a gigantic pink haul. But, Maria was fully on board with it. She is proud of the mountain of animal food that is in the back of my Pilot and she’s enjoying the horse-riding and vet Barbies she got to pick out herself.

We are dropping the food off this weekend, and I expect my Birthday Girl (Oh, goodness, she is almost 6!) will even further see the good she and her friends did while they slurped up snowballs on a warm, November afternoon.

(If you’re in Nashville, and go get a snowball, I recommend the Stuffed Snowball. An orange flavor with soft serve ice cream in the middle? Oh goodness me! And, by the way, Fleur de Lis will bring the party to you in their awesome green party truck. And, if you have an adults-only Snowball party, what do you think goes great with Lime and Margarita and many other flavors? Hmmm? And furthermore, yes,  full disclaimer, I do PR consulting for Fleur de Lis.)

“This is not a baby shower, it’s a coronation!”

That was spoken by my best friend (a Nebraska native) as she walked into the hall on Calle Ocho in Miami where my Cuban-style baby shower was hosted. She was right. My mother and aunts turned that simple little place into a regal palace of pink. They made little candle favors and pin favors with prayers and “Carrie’s Baby Shower” printed on them. Pink balloons, pink tablecloths, pink frosting. Pink everything. They willingly became my subjects — or subjects to the unborn child every single one of them had helped me pray for.

I had made no secret of the battle with infertility we had for 18 months. I made no secret in the 10 years before I already knew it would not be easy. Every person at my very Latina baby shower — from tias to old neighbors to best friends from grade school — rode the wave of expectant joy with me when it finally happened in my 36th year.

A few weeks later, in the long hours I labored with Maria, the image of those women huddled together in their perfumed glory, giving me Mami advice, laughing at my plans for natural birth (“que loca!”) helped minimize the fact my hips felt like flying out of their sockets each time a contraction hit. I meditated on them. I needed them.

My daughter was occiput posterior — head down and sunny side up. Not the ideal position for unmedicated delivery by a first-time mother. She was stuck. (The image of mi familia and friends, by the way, always will compete with the memory of my yelling “The butt, the butt!” and begging my husband and midwife to squeeze my hips together…but that’s another post.)

At hour 37, Maria Felice was delivered by C-section as my exhausted midwife cheered. My husband and I cried the instant we heard our daughter’s fierce howl. She was pink, hairy and a little banged up. But, strong and perfect too.

She was born into a gang of people in various cities and countries who loved and adored her way before she was conceived. I am not an overly cautious or fearful mother. You would think, given the fact we’re “older” parents who overcame infertility, that I would be. But, if I had to give a reason, I would say this child has been so wanted and so lifted up by the prayers of my people, that she will be fine, fine, fine. She is a happy, healthy and tough little chiquitica. Crowned as La Pink Princesa de Calle Ocho and Middle Tennessee, how could she not be?

Maria is 4-years-old today.