Embracing fairy tales

"Why do you read those to your kids?", my friend asked.
"They're fairy tales. They all have a lesson to be learned." I said
"Yes, but you read them the original ones. Everyone dies in those. why cant you let them watch TV and be done with it?"she looked at the book in disgust.
"Well, yes, but reading these tales fosters their imagination and problem solving skills. I mean, how else would you know how to handle a big bad wolf, or a giant? Do YOU know when it's appropriate to call out Jack Frost's name?" The blank look she gave me told me everything I needed to know. She didn't. What a shame.

This was probably the zillionth time I'd had this same conversation with this same friend. She honestly believed that I was harming the girls by letting them learn about all kinds of mystical creatures and old folklore, because that's what fairy tales are. In her mind, they're old, have no lessons whatsoever, and therefore, no value at all. I disagree completely, which is great, because that alone fosters discussion...but, I digress.

Fairy tales are wonderful! They do teach lessons, no matter how embedded in the tale they are. They are meant to be frightening because the world is not always such a kind place and their value is astronomical! These tales were collected from elders a long time ago. We should treat them as treasures and not some stories meant solely for the entertainment of children. When did it become ok to dismiss these stories this way? How is it harmful to feed a child's imagination?

I love watching children's faces as they hear about Hansel and Gretel, about Little Red Riding Hood, about Snow White and Rose Red, about creatures that haunt the woods: pixies, fairies, goblins; you name it. It's akin to lighting a torch in a dark cave! They want to know what the lesson in each story is, how the problem was solved, how they could have done it better....it's a perfect way to engage them in conversation. Why not foster that? I mean, it's wonderful to teach children facts, give them the truths of daily life, but why take away all magic? I think my friend is missing that part of it all.

I get a little mad when I have conversations like this. Not because I have to defend my position, there just isn't one right answer when it comes to how people parent their children, but because people are losing their love of reading and the magic that comes with it. That's really what it boils down to. It's ok to watch a show about facts, the reality of life, but it is absolutely boring to pick up an old book and get lost in it. There is magic let loose in the world, when a book is opened. You're absorbed, transported, taken away to a different place, different worlds, and take part in an adventure that is unfolding right before your eyes. What is so harmful about that?

My friend just doesn't see that. It doesn't make sense to her because she has replaced books with electronics. She loves techie stuff, which is probably where the disdain for books and fairy tales comes from--it's just not "in" enough for her. That's fine for her but not for me. While I love the techie stuff too, I respect these tales from long ago. Someone thought they were valuable enough to put into a book, to preserve for future generations. This information, no matter in what form it was presented, was deemed valuable or essential to life. Surely, they still hold weight today, in this age. At least, they do at my house.

So, our friendship plods on, not as strong as before. My friend has since moved away, life gets busy. My consolation: when she does come to visit, she can continue to look at me blankly, or even shake her head at me as I teach all our children about when to call on Jack Frost, or how not to upset a house brownie. Deep down, I know the little girl in her is listening and thinking about walking to that dusty old bookshelf and letting a certain book's magic choose her to be its next great reader. There is magic everywhere, you just have to know how to find it, right?

The Simple Joy Club

For years, I have kept a thankful journal. Every day I would jot down some things that I was thankful for each day and sign off with the affirmation I learned from Miss Stacey in Anne of Green Gables: "Tomorrow is a brand-new day with no mistakes in it."

After my father died, a couple of things happened. One of which, and perhaps the most profound, is the fact that I lost my thankful journal. It is nowhere to be found. And I mean, nowhere. I have torn up this house, only to find dust bunnies. Well, not dust bunnies, more like tufts of fur that the wolves have left during their shedding times. You get the idea. I felt so completely lost without my  journal, because it had somehow turned into a crutch; a getaway of sorts. I could always pull out some things from my day that I was thankful for. I was heartbroken.

Right about that time though, The Simple Joy Club came into existence. Yes, there is a slight reference to The Joy Luck Club with that title, even if the stories aren't the same--I digress. What is the club? Well, all the members are the mothers of Banshee's classmates and the "simple joys" is something we are asked to start our weekly pow-wows with at Banshee's school. It was a blessing in disguise. This was my way of regaining my lost thankful journal. 

The "simple joys" are something that brought us joy, it can be related to our children or just to ourselves. Anything goes, but the idea is to begin our weekly meetings on a positive note and know that we can find joy in the simplest things. This is something I try to do everyday, otherwise I would end up in grumpy-old-Puerto Rican-woman hell. (I have seen it, it exists.) 'I so got this!', I thought. Ha! I can write about one thing that brought me joy. Easy! Boy, was I in for it.

During that week's meeting, we were handed our first sheet with a spot on top for our simple joy. I think I stared at the blank spot for a very long time. My emotional baggage wanted me to say: You have nothing to be joyful about, but deeeeeeeep down I knew that I could find something to be happy about, despite the circumstances. The meeting went on as planned, we all got to share stories about our children, gave each other encouragement, and offered hints about things we could do to make our homework assignments easier. It was great, but in the back of my mind, I kept on thinking about the simple joy spot on the paper that I would have to fill. It became a big monster for me, because I honestly did not feel like writing anything down. I didn't have time for feelings, I had things to do, dammit! How can I think of a simple joy, when everything going on in my life was anything but joyous?! I will confess, that this simple task, was becoming a huge chore.

As the week progressed, the simple joy remained hidden from me. I kept looking for it and didn't seem to find it. I found many simple joys in my children, don't get me wrong, but I thought that maybe one time, I could claim a simple joy for myself and see where it took me. I brainstormed like crazy and found myself thinking of the women that made up The Simple Joy Club: each with their own story, their own daily battles, and their own simple joys. Suddenly, I knew what my simple joy was. I had found a new pack. That is what we are. Not a traditional pack with an alpha, but a pack nonetheless. We are there to help each other when we stumble, to cheer each others successes, to help find those damn simple joys when life has handed you a raw deal. THAT was my simple joy, but I didn't fill the spot on the sheet with that. Another less powerful simple joy happened that needed to be recognized immediately. If you are a writer, you will understand that need to get this one thing down on paper or it will be forever lost. If you aren't a writer, just think of writers as people with really bad OCD, where tasks need to get done immediately or you go crazy. It seems, the universe has a funny way of making things happen when they are supposed to and not when we want them to. My simple joy would have to wait for another time.

Finally, today, the chance to share this simple joy just seemed to materialize. I wrote it in the spot on the sheet prior to the meeting and I shared it. Granted, I was late to the meeting, I didn't feel up to being there emotionally, I felt drained and I want to say that I didn't speak very much during the first half of the meeting...but I did share it. My simple joy was having a support group of people I could talk to, knew what I was going through,  and look to for help. A pack. It felt good to acknowledge everyone in the room that way. That simple joy helped me to regain what I had lost in my thankful journal: the feeling of wonder, excitement, happiness at little nothings that happen throughout the day. Little nothings that without meaning to, pack a big punch and make you thankful for it all.  It felt empowering.

Yup, you know where this is going. This new world opened up before me and it led me to thinking, which led me to asking questions, which led me to this little nugget: why don't we share a simple joy at the dinner table every night to help us out of this funk? We tried it, felt a bit foreign at first, but we kept at it. Soon, we were sharing laughter and smiles at all the dinner conversation that these "simple joys" brought us at table. I still marvel at how something so "simple" as sharing one small thing that made you happy throughout the day, can have such an impact on how you feel.

I am still on the hunt for my thankful journal. It has to be here somewhere, but until I find it and can write about ten things that I was thankful for that day, I can keep working on my "simple joys" with the Simple Joy Club. It gets the same job done and helps me ease right back into acknowledging that only you are in control of how you view the world, simple joys and all. It is up to you how you want to harness it, digest it, and deliver it back out there to the world.

Simple joys...who'da thunk it? 

You're taking this really well...

I looked at the doctor and I must have not given her the look she was expecting, because she said, "You're taking this really well." I moved my eyes off hers for a minute and looked at the Banshee, who was busily playing with a toy in the corner. She looked at me and smiled. I grinned at her. Banshee, so nicknamed by the primal scream that came out of her when she was born, is one of the best things I have ever made. Pixy being the other best thing.

It had been a long road to get to that moment. One we decided to keep private, mainly because the people we told thought we were crazy and went so far as to say, " I think you are the one with the problem." To us, her parents, something in the puzzle that is Banshee, was not fitting correctly. We suspected Banshee was autistic and we needed validation.

You see, in Banshee, there is a spot where the pieces didn't quite fit. Let me start by saying that she is a happy child. When the world has the rest of us down, she always has a smile to cheer the rest of us back up. She is extremely smart for her 2.5yrs of age. She knows her colors, uses 8 words or more in a sentence, and loves music so much, it is almost as if it is an extension of her person. All amazing traits in a child, but... she lacked social skills. She didn't like to play with children, not unless it was the Pixy. They didn't inspire curiosity in her, nor the need to be with them. We believe that there is no need to be social in her world because she is happy the way it is and that we are allowed in it because we inspire love and safety. We are her pack, along with our dogs, who are an extremely important part of her life. In our little wolfpack, Banshee is the lone wolf. Full of surprises and mystery. And awesomeness.

I guess when the doctor told me that Banshee was mildly on the Autism Spectrum, she was expecting denial, shock, tears, maybe even anger on my part. I am not sure, so the fact that I was smiling and breathing quite a few sighs of relief, really must have been startling to her. "I am happy that now we can start finding her the help she needs," I answered the doctor. To that the doctor replied, "Honestly, I am happy that you are ready to go. Let's get the ball rolling!"We talked shop: scheduled visits, took down some numbers of local agencies that can help us out, and completed some forms. Banshee, meanwhile, just played happily and would check-in with me by asking, "Are you ok, Mama?" The doctor loved this exchange between us and made a note of it, while telling us that our 2 hour ordeal was over. I couldn't help but thank her profusely, as I finally got the validation I needed. I wasn't crazy, or making up things, I wasn't even being 'too watchful' of my children. It made the load I was carrying on my shoulders feel quite light.

Still, as I broke the news, I was met with resistance. Perhaps it is because of the stigma that autism carries, or maybe people just don't  know enough, but no one wanted to believe that the Banshee could be mildly autistic. Let me tell you, that this inspired a bit of anger in me, which is always dangerous. The need to be fiercely protective of my family is so strong, that it trumps decorum any time of the week. I couldn't understand for the life of me why it was so hard for people to accept what was in front of them.  We could see it, why couldn't they?! I found myself speaking through clenched teeth things like, 'Yes it could be typical of a 2 year old to repeat certain things, but it is NOT typical for a 2 year old to repeat them ten times, and no it is not because the answer you gave her isn't satisfying. ' It was frustrating beyond measure, and still is to this day. This, however,  wasn't going to stop me from my mission of finding the help I needed for the Banshee, no matter what. Come what may.

In spite of all that, and with the help of some amazing friends who pointed me in the right direction(as in, met me there and walked me to the right office. You rock!), I was able to get in touch with a preschool program at the Kennedy Krieger Institute geared toward children like Banshee, who need a little extra help to understand the world around them. I was floored at how fast the process moved along for us and before I could process everything that was going on, I was told  that Banshee would begin school on Tuesday. WOW!

Needless to say, my head went into a tailspin. How am I going to do this? The Sailor isn't here (he is away on tour), I am on my own, and I have to get the Pixy to school every day. It was crazy to think that I could make all this work. I mean, I am good, but am I that good? 'I guess we shall find out soon enough!', I muttered under my breath. I took a deep breath, made the necessary arrangements to have Pixy get to school on time, and organized myself so that life would be a little bit easier for me. HA! Tack on appointments, activities, and just keeping up with the housework...well, let's just say that the calendar looks more like a rainbow than an organizational tool. But, it is there. Our new reality. In technicolor splendor; or something very close. I will say that we are lucky The Sailor is a phone call away and can keep him updated on life as we know it. He feels awful that I am on my own right now but his confidence in me feels good: "I have faith in you. I have never known a person that can take so much, and make it look like the easiest load in the world. You are one tough lady and I am proud of you." He makes me smile.

Every now and again, as I find myself meditating on life as it stands, I think of all the things that could have been different. I could have ignored my gut feeling, I could have never taken Banshee to the doctor, I could have even learned to dismiss what was in front of me. Maybe, I might have even told the doctor that I didn't believe it, or ignored my friends help. So many things could have gone differently...it humbles me. It makes me thankful that my belief that 'the universe always unfolds as it is supposed to' holds true, in everything. It might not take the route that we envision, but eventually, we get where we need to be. Come what may.

For now, I sit here waiting on tomorrow, when Banshee begins her first day at school and Pixy begins her first day in Before Care, not fully wondering how it will all go. No. I am thinking of taking that first picture of my youngest baby with her backpack and new clothes on, ready to face the future. I am thinking of hugs and kisses for each child at the door, of words of encouragement that today will be the best day ever, of the sigh of relief when everyone makes it where they need to be, and of the strength it takes to get it all done because 'I will be damned if I let all this beat me!'. Tonight, Mama Wolf just sits here, gathering her strength for battle, because we all know that she-wolves are never truly off-duty, no matter what. Come what may.

Mama and the Jabberwocky

Here's a conversation that I overheard on the monitor:

"I am not afraid of the Jabberwocky. Mama is MUCH more scarier than that."

I laughed out loud when I heard it! You never know how much a child retains from all you expose them to until they make such an interesting comparison. Yes, I have read the poem to the girls and yes they know exactly what it is. Why was this comment made? You see, I had just asked the Pixy to help clean up because the Banshee's bedroom looked like a horrid war scene. There were dolls everywhere, My Little Ponies strewn about like casualties, a princess castle looked like it had been stormed by a rabid group of Vikings--it was bad! I want to say that I laughed and that was that..but it made me stop to think.

It is no secret that as a Puerto Rican woman, I hold fire in my belly and use it as I need to. It's a great skill and I believe there should be an Xmen heroine that uses it. But, because of this quick temper, I really do try to be careful about exploding on anyone and it can be easily misunderstood for some other emotion. Those who know me well, always say that I carry this sort of intensity about me in everything that I do. As if I am busy taking in absolutely everything, internalizing the good things, and slowly burning up at the bad out there. That's fine. I am perfectly ok with that. The fact that my children think the Jabberwocky, a dragon-monster-nightmarish-nasty thing, is just a pet lizard and I am scarier than that, kind of bothers me. Who knew? She has feelings!

That being said, while I am patient with my children (and animals), I do expect certain behavior from everyone. Sure, we can have fun and play, but Mama's word is law and it must be done. No matter what. I expect them to treat others with kindness but suffer no fools. I expect them to want to learn new things every day. I expect them to put good things forth into the world, so that they may receive good things in return. Simple. Discipline(without harshness) is something that honestly comes naturally to me, as I was a teacher and I worked with children living with autism. Being proactive and getting things done is a must here, otherwise we run the risk of not getting a thing done. Life really is that hectic here, as the Sailor's schedule is anything but. In actuality, we live a crazy fun life, with lots of music, laughter, and mischief. So, it certainly surprised me when I got a report from the Pixy's teacher that she had misbehaved at school and called the teacher "selfish".

The incident? Well, Pixy needed to use the restroom and the teacher asked her to wait while another student finished up in there. Pixy exploded. Part of me was proud that she's a spitfire and is not afraid of saying what's on her mind, but I also couldn't help but feel sad that this was happening to her. It is my belief that she is acting out because the Sailor is not home and we are under what is lovingly referred to (note the dripping sarcasm dripping off the page) as "the adjustment period." Oh yes, that lovely period when the kids, the animals, and the Mama all try to make sense out of one of their pack members just up and leaving. Sigh! On a trip across the country. To play music for adoring crowds. Oh, and did I mention they are stopping in Disney? Groannnnnn....

Naturally, I had a good conversation with my daughter about respect and how we must always respect others, because it means that the person in question is important to you somehow. She looked at me, sheepishly, and asked what I thought the best course of action was. I turned the tables back on her, mainly because I believe that life is a huge teachable moment: "What would you do?"She said she would first apologize to her teacher, take away some of her toys, and turn things around. I thought that was a good idea and it was put into effect immediately with great results. I also was able to get the Sailor to talk to her via FaceTime and soothe her worry at his not being at home. I think that was the icing on that cake. Things, thankfully, took a turn for the better after that. 

Now, I am a tough cookie. Life throws punches at me and I am the type that says: "that all you got?" Very much a la Anita Blake. But, that was probably one of the hardest conversations I have ever had to "watch". Pixy was extremely down about the Sailor not being here. She was angry about it all and she confessed that she was taking it out on the wrong people. She also mentioned that she didn't like all the things that were going on with the Banshee and that she was sad she couldn't "protect her". (Banshee is currently being evaluated by doctors on her awesomeness level) It was heartbreaking. I think I took this all to heart and somehow turned it into failure. I felt like I failed my children. (They smell fear, though, so I had to put up a front) Talk about a weird feeling. Here I thought life was dandy. So, needless to say,  I was probably a bit tender when the Jabberwocky comment was made in brutal honest fashion, as children are wont to do. 

Truth is, life will be different for us without the Sailor being around for a bit. It will definitely be harder on the girls now, as they are more aware of their environment. However hard this may be, I am resolved to make this whole odd time called Tour, as easy on them as possible. We don't have much help, due to many factors, but we will tough it out together and make this look easy. I will try my best to not sweat the small stuff and put enough good energy out there to make these girls feel safe and happy (and stable). I want them to continue to be the happy little monsters that they always are. 

Now, as for the Jabberwocky thing. Well, I think I shook it off , laughed about it, and moved on. After all, what did I expect out of children who think zombies are fun playthings? Can't help but laugh at that!! I guess what I internalized from this is that even Mama Wolves have their little moments. What happens after that, well...that's what truly makes us leader of our pack or a spectator on the sidelines. N'est pas? 

Lost in Austen

I have been obsessed with Mr. Darcy since I was extremely young. I believe I found a copy of Pride and Prejudice sitting on a bookshelf somewhere and I was bored. I believe it was love at first sight...or first read. This love carried on, even as I picked up the book again and again. It was a constant. I was obsessed. Still am.

I have always had a love affair with books. My family used to laugh that if you didn't hear from me in ten days, the search party would only need to look in the nearest library, where I would be buried in a book completely oblivious to the world around me. Other girls had their dollies, their clothes, their dreams of being princess one day; but I always wanted to be Elizabeth Bennet. Don't get me wrong, I had all those things too, but books were more precious to me than anything in the world.

Every time I have been depressed, or just needed a quick escape, I have gravitated towards Pride and Prejudice, where I've gotten lost in the wonderful world of The Bennet family many a time. I am sure that Jane Austen never thought her work would speak to a young Puerto Rican girl, but there it is. It is my belief that she wrote it for women everywhere, regardless of where they were topographically speaking or where they were in matters of the heart. Maybe I lived in Georgian England in another life, who knows? Somehow, that book is real. It absorbs me and becomes a portal into that world.

Today began as any other Sunday. I was exhausted. I hadn't slept well the night before and I knew that we had to stop by church today. The Pixy had Sunday School and we needed to get there early because I wanted to get a seat before the crowd got there. Today, everyone would want to get to church early and pray--the Ravens were at the Superbowl later. The problem though, was that I couldn't get up. I heard the alarm from far away and just couldn't get up. I think I started to shout all kinds of obscenities at the alarm clock and I heard the Sailor say: "Today we are staying home. I am exhausted." I think I did a happy dance, albeit while half-asleep. As the Sailor and the girls made their way downstairs for playtime, I decided I would sneak away to Longbourne, with all the other crazy Bennet girls, through a movie called 'Lost in Austen'. Trust me, the book is sitting on my bedside table.

I believe this movie gives the novel a fun twist, and one that has probably been imagined by every single female the whole world over. Who has not thought of being transported into a novel and having to adopt the role of a main character, simply to meet the love interest? Most bibliophiles, I am sure. I, for one, never thought to plant myself in the story, much as the protagonist of this movie (Amanda Price, played by Jemima Rooper) has. She has taken Lizzy's place in the book and Lizzy has gone to live in modern-day London. A fun idea, to be sure! As for me, I always became Elizabeth Bennet; never switched places with her. I didn't want to. I saw through her eyes, and to a point, agreed with her view, regardless of how many other times I'd read the book before. I know..lunacy, I am sure. But, I treated myself to the film, no matter how different the movie is from the book, since my book club had just finished reading the actual novel and I needed a pick-me-up. Mr. Darcy=Lisa-candy, and everyone knows it.

Soon enough, I found myself in Amanda's shoes and thoroughly enjoying this new adventure. I found myself laughing along at Amanda's antics, shocked at the modernized Lizzy Bennet, and entranced by the first glance of Fitzwilliam Darcy. I know I always hold my breath at the first sight of him, maybe thinking that if I breathe, the spell will be broken, and he will be just a man in a funny hat. When I regained my composure, I found myself wondering what Jane Austen would think. I wondered what Mr. Darcy would think of this film. I also wondered what could possibly drive me to seek him out every single time something went awry in my life. Mr. Darcy MUST be my knight in shining armor.

You see, I remember reading the novel when I was younger and being made fun of by everyone, because it was a belief that girls who read were doomed to be ugly and boring once they grew up. Remember, I lived in prime beauty queen country and anyone who didn't really fit that mold, was ..well, odd. So, I swore to myself, I would never lose this awesome gift of reading just to become part of the throng. It worked.Very well. Quite a few people read(pun intended) my desire to pick up a novel instead of doing things typical for my age as a huge need to be completely antisocial. Maybe they were right. Who knows? In my head, though, I always hear my grandfather saying that a "woman who can read book, drink a beer, tell a joke, and hold intelligent conversation is a great one, and only a fool would let her go." He was really big on intelligence and always made me feel beautiful because of it and all the quirky things that made me who I was, regardless of the 'ugly duckling' thing I had going on. He was a good guy.

Soon enough, the movie was done and the spell was broken. I was brought back to the present by sounds of my girls fighting over who got to tell me that the broom had fallen on its own, which in my family's tradition means a visitor would come today. I also heard the Sailor tell them that no, it probably wasn't going to be Harry Potter, as he probably had a test to study for. I laughed out loud at that one. It seems that the gift of imagination was passed on quite well! Life got back to its typical rhythm very quickly, as it always does at our house.

 I still couldn't help but think that reason I am so drawn to this novel, so in love with the unfolding of events and its characters, is that they represent much more to me than what they are; fictional characters in a book. To me, they have become real people. I have assigned each a real world counterpart, even as I am the interloper in their midst, the one who they must accommodate every single time I pick the book up to read. A reader carries their own baggage, you see. (Thank YOU Thursday Next, for that wonderful idea) I also wonder, what about mean old Mr. Darcy is so attractive to me. What makes him the ideal? I want to say it is mainly because he is completely misunderstood. Events in his life have shaped the person he is, and until he learns another life lesson, he will continue to live on as he does. Or perhaps, it is because despite his flaws, he is not afraid to try new things,  showing himself to be courageous in spirit. I guess I am not sure.

Maybe, just maybe, I think of the one moment in the novel that pops out at me every single time. Yes, THIS must be why I seek out Mr. Darcy. For everything else he is or embodies, he likes a woman who reads. He told Caroline Bingley and Lizzy Bennet so. And a man who likes a woman who reads...well, he is a catch as well. No matter that the truth universally acknowledged is that "a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." Hmmm. Perhaps, there is also truth in that a woman in possession of a good book must always be in want of a new adventure. Yes, I think I like that.

On an airplane, with Anita Blake

I was tired. We were in the airport, after an uneventful flight, to visit the Sailor's family and I was ready to call it quits. Find me a cozy reading spot already, won't you?! We had woken up early, taken the boys to their sitter (a chore by itself, not everyone wants to babysit these two. They're huge), and made our way to our airport for an early afternoon flight.

I had packed my book in my awesome Little Red Riding Hood bag and as we settled ourselves into our seats on the plane, I told myself: I dunno why you delude yourself. The girls are gonna be jumping up and down and you are not going to get any reading done. But...I had to. You see, the book in my bag was an Anita Blake novel and it was begging for some attention. I had just left Anita in the midst of an encounter with some wererats and some vampires. I.must.read.

The plane took off and within 5 minutes, the Sailor and the spawn were passed out! EUREKA! All asleep. We use white noise at bed/nap time and the white noise created by the plane in flight sounded the same. It was perfect! I opened my book and escaped again into the world of Anita Blake, which let's face it, is an awesome place.

In Anita Blake's world, vampires are everywhere, ruled by Masters of the City in which they live, wereanimals live by strict rules and always look for loopholes for them, and zombies are a lucrative business. See, Ms. Blake is an animator. She raises the dead for a living, so that grieving families (and sometimes shady people with ulterior motives) can take care of any unfinished business between themselves and the deceased. It must be done within a certain amount of time after death, so out to the cemetery Anita Blake goes, and she takes care of business. Anita might think she does this because of her great work ethic. Me? I attribute this all to the fact that she is part Latina, Mexican to be exact, with awesome curly hair and a no-nonsense attitude that gets things done. YES!

 I am sure, that by now, you must be asking yourself: What the hell is so cool about that? Well, besides the fact that culturally speaking, the line between fantasy and reality is extremely blurry for Latin people, Anita Blake shares some of my characteristics. I have curly hair, I do not tolerate nonsense easily, I am comfortable in my skin (for the most part) and I get things done. I am also not tall, which is a Latin thing. Put me next to the 6ft. tall Sailor and I look positively puny. But, don't let the size fool ya! I have a temper on me that rivals whatever boogeyman you got hiding in your closet. Hell hath no fury like a Latina, baby.

Because I tend to lose myself in my reading, the short flight was even shorter. I had to put my book away. Sigh! We made our way through the airport and finally, met up with the Sailor's family. After our round of hellos and hugs, we made our way to the baggage area. As we were waiting for our bags, I grabbed my book, ushered the spawn to a nice seating area and began to read. In this certain passage, it seemed like Anita was wrestling with what her place in the world should be, and that hit very close to home. I may have mentioned before that the Sailor is bi-racial, Polish, Slovak and Filipino, and I am Puerto Rican (a whole 'nother kettle of fish as Puerto Ricans have African, European, and Native blood in their veins). My children are what is considered bi-racial here, and to be frank, if they ever ask me where they come from, I am going to have a hell of a time explaining everything to them.

While I was reading, the girls decided to start taking things out of my Little Red Riding Hood purse and play, but something about this must have made it different, or interesting. All I know is, suddenly I felt eyes on me. I closed my book and began to look around. There, in the corner, there were some people unabashedly looking at us. Nay, staring.

Let me clarify, I am by all accounts a nice person, but I am no shrinking violet. I am also really good at reading body language and I am not afraid to ask for clarification. So, as I saw this group of people staring my way, I stared right back at them. Enough to get them all to look away, except one. He had a mission, I could tell, and he soon started to walk over to us. Call it instinct or being overprotective, but the she-wolf in me was not happy and ushered the girls a little behind me. He came over but stopped about 4 feet away, since I hadn't stopped staring him down. I waited patiently for him to speak and this is what he had to say: "Excuse me, but your children are striking. What are they?"

I think I may have stared at him for a couple of seconds, as he repeated the question. I answered: " I got you. What do you mean?" I was a little shaken, because there I was reading this passage and being moved by it, only to be interrupted by this person asking me about the very thing that bugs me. He went on to explain that he was there with his family and they were drawn to the sounds of the girls playing. He said once he looked at them, he couldn't stop because he couldn't figure out what they were. Why does it matter?? I thought about his question, looking for the best answer. This is what I gave him: "Do you really want to know what they are?" He nodded. Oooookay,  "My husband is Polish, Slovak, and Filipino. I am Puerto Rican. They got the best of each of us." He looked at the girls again, who by now, were looking very curiously at him. He whispered, "Wow.", wished us well and walked backwards for a bit before returning to his group. I presume he shared his findings with them. Huh.

See, the thing is, after reading that specific passage and having this encounter, I realized my kids are totally like Anita Blake. Probably more like her than I am. They are the best of each of us. Just as she was the best of each of her parents(though I am sure she'd say no dice).  One has brown skin, the other has light skin. One has curly hair, the other has straight hair. They both have more than their fair share of sass and prefer Monster High dolls to Barbies (Banshee actually walks around with a voodoo doll in her pocket; a gift from a friend). They are perfect in every single way. What bothers me is that they might wake up a day not too far from today, and ask: What is my place in the universe? Do I live on the sidelines or take an active role in something? Where do I fit in? Maybe, I realized, what I am really afraid of is that I am not going to be able to answer and that they will be disappointed in me.

The rest of the day went by as any other, we got our junk, got to the house, had a great time with family. But this thought, this idea, would jump out at me in between chapters of the book. It became this huge monster in the room and I had to acknowledge it.

Finally, after an eternity, I did. I thought about what I would say to Pixy and Banshee... and the answer is actually quite simple. I am going to start by saying,  "I don't know. I have brought you here for my own amusement and you will deal with it." If that doesn't work, which I am sure it won't, I will say " You know, a long time ago, I was sitting in an airport reading a book...." I will talk it out with them and see where it leads. I might explain to them how I was always looking for my place in the world, questioning everything, and maybe how their Dad felt. Who knows? He might have something to say about fitting in too. How many Polish-Filipinos do you know that live in Milwaukee? 4. Just 4. I will also give them a copy of the book, so they get hooked but so they see something concrete of that day.

Sigh! I guess that is something I will have to deal with when the time comes, but one thing is for certain, I will try to answer it to the best of my ability and let them come up with their own conclusions. Because otherwise, I'd be teaching them that being afraid to question is ok, or that not pushing boundaries to get answers is ok, or that dealing with monsters is better than dealing with people because the monsters don't discriminate. Yeah, I like to think that Anita Blake would have a problem with me if I taught them that.

Here's to continuing a tradition of strong women who kick ass! Guess what I am giving the girls on their 15th? Thanks Anita.