Category: Motherhood

Last Friday, a little Elf with sweet, mischievous eyes, arrived at our home while we were sleeping. We don’t know exactly how he made it here; all we know is that he likes to sit in high places, remain silent, and keep an eye on everybody.

The first time my son saw him, he was enchanted. I asked him to name him, and at first he chose Steve, but a few minutes later he changed it to Cheepee. I have to say, he is a great guest. He keeps to himself, doesn’t have to be entertained, doesn’t make messes–at least so far–, and hasn’t devoured anything in the fridge.  Continue reading “Nosy Elf”

Last Saturday, my husband and I took our little boy to see The Good Dinosaur, the newest Disney-Pixar movie which is about the adventures of an Apatosaurus named Arlo and his little “pet-human” named Spot.

I have to say I was delighted to see again a movie with a simple, heartwarming story that teaches children how perseverance and hard work are necessary to overcome obstacles in life.  I won’t spoil the movie, but I’ll just say this, I cried a river at the end. Continue reading “The Good Mother”

I often hear people say that the brain of a child is like a sponge. My son’s is more like a vacuum, sucking everything in indiscriminately. Therefore, my husband and I have had to watch our behavior in front of our little “spy,” because he seems to have been trained by the CIA at Langley; he doesn’t miss anything.

Lately, he has been asking, “Stupid is a bad word, right Mommy?” I feel like such a hypocrite when I say to him, “Yes baby, and you should never say it,” knowing that I have the tendency to curse like a sailor–in Spanish mostly. But, besides his awareness about bad language, what I have noticed in the past few months is that my little man is starting to really grasp the difference between good and bad.  Continue reading “Halloween Monsters”

When you look at your child, do you hear that little voice telling you for a brief moment, “He is perfect,” and then it goes silent when he yells at the top of his lungs leaving your ears ringing? It happens to me every day, many times a day.

A day in the life of a four year old is like a day at a Disney theme park. The range of emotions go from excitement to frustration at the speed of light, and we, the parents, well moms mostly, survive these 24 hours under the influence of pure love; dads simply are deaf or immune to any kind of whining. My husband would say, “What? Did he say something?” Continue reading “My son is not perfect”

Last Saturday was my son’s first U5 (Under 5 years old) soccer game. He has already had two practices, but I was not allowed to go. In the past, I morphed into Mama Bear after a bigger kid kicked my three year-old baby in the back with his cleats.

For this reason, my husband fears that my mug shot may, one day, be broadcast on the local news, so we made a deal: he will take him to the practices,  and I will go only on game days.

There were at least 1000 people coming and going at the fields. Every where I looked, it was an ocean of little blue shorts and bright green or white jerseys moving from side to side like schools of fishes. There is nothing more entertaining than seeing the soccer ball move in one direction, and 12 pairs of short legs move in the opposite.  Continue reading “Youth Soccer Deams”

Last week was a very important week for two reasons: my son started pre-kindergarten and yours truly started working–outside of the home–once again. From the moment my son was born, all I wanted was to be with him and for him. My husband and I decided early on that he would be our only offspring, so I didn’t want to miss anything, not a smile, not a cry, not a burp!

Staying at home, was the toughest job I have ever had. There are no bosses, no co-workers, and no clear job description. I was in charge of everything, and my performance was assessed, every day, by the toughest examiner: myself.

Continue reading “Patience? Who has time for that!”

This past Monday was my son’s first day of VPK school (Voluntary Pre-Kindergarten), and regardless of how much I planned that morning, once again I ran out the door like a chicken without its head pushing my little guy in the car like a suitcase in a trunk.

On our way to his preschool, my son saw me driving with only one hand on the steering wheel and suddenly yelled at me, “Mommy, put both hands on the wheel or we are going to crash!” I looked at him through the review mirror thinking, “When did he grow up so much to be giving me unsolicited advice?” I told him that we were not going to crash, but still put my other hand on the wheel. It’s like I have two husbands!  Continue reading “First Day of School”

My son and I have been in Bogotá for a week now. Besides the normal adjustment to the colder weather and altitude–my home town is 8,530 feet above level of the sea–we have enjoyed the company of my Mom, Grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins –and their dogs, and my best friend from high school and her kids. Yes, you are not mistaking; in only one week I already have seen all those people.  Continue reading “Birth Right”

Next Monday is Memorial Day. Compared to my home country Colombia –which has holidays for each Catholic saint, and beauty pageants for every grain, vegetable, and fruit– in America, we hold those few holidays dear to our hearts.

This weekend, in particular, represents the gateway to Summer 2015 and the display of undesired views such as unpedicured toe nails that look like hawk claws.  Continue reading “Let’s get a pedicure, please!”

I will never forget the first time I wrote the word  “mother” referring to myself. It was two days before I was scheduled to be induced to deliver my son -April 5th, 2011- and I had to fill out some paperwork at Baptist South Medical Center. The nurse highlighted with a marker the areas that I had to complete. One of the lines read ‘relationship to the patient’ referring to the unborn child. Right there, it struck me like a bolt of lighting and I said out loud “Oh… this is the first time I write this. I am a mom!“, the nurse giggled.  Continue reading “Relationship to the patient: Mother”