On cultural appropriation vs. celebration, I would like to say that we have said a lot recently on the subject of appropriation but not enough on celebration. Have we paused in our offense to consider the difference. Ok, get angry. You have the right but I have the right to say the following, and it’s not simply because I’m a Latina living in a world of constantly offended people who for some reason can’t see beyond their own noses to the beauty around them. Again, get angry

“About that assignment,” and I see my son shrink in the backseat. Which, considering he’s almost six feet tall is quite a feat. ” Did you ask your teacher about it?” “I don’t like talking about it.” Yeah, neither do I really. But a fifty percent is not really normal for my straight A child, so here we are. Ok, I’ll move off topic for moment. I ask about his day, friends, other subjects that are still on the table. Being a mom, though, we circle back, “So, not really on the su

I now have two middle schoolers. Before school even began, my daughter excitedly discussed all the things she wanted to do to her locker. She bought magnets and organizers. She bought colorful folders for each subject, then further color coded them. She describes in detail how she’ll put it all together, shows me each of her notebooks and why she chose the bright blue one instead of the boring black one. My son shrugs his shoulders, “I’m good on supplies.” His last two years

Last week we were in the home of some acquaintances. You know when adults and kids are kind of forced into mingling situations. Adults have to make conversation and kids have to be around other children that they don’t normally play with and they have to figure out how to make it work. There is usually some back and forth “what do you want to play, what do you want to play?” But eventually they do figure it out and everyone has a good time (adults and kids). At least that’s h

Every year, I say, “This was a crazy summer!” And every year I mean it, but then the next summer is even crazier, busier, more exciting. Call it what you want, summers go by in a whirlwind of activity. More so, even, since my kids have been going off to the grandparents the last four years. I don’t just mean trading off each year, one set or the other. No, both, every summer. That means that four weeks of the summer I don’t even get to see my kids. I miss them when they’re go

If you know anything about me or have read any of my posts in the past, you know that Valentines is not my favorite holiday. So, when I get a call from my husband today saying, “I wish I could have brought a bunch of flowers to your office and candy and really made a big deal about today,” I laughed because I never want that on Valentine’s Day. He knows that but he would still make a big deal if he could but it’s been a busy week so he couldn’t and I because I wouldn’t want t

Sunday, I submitted the final paper of my Masters program. After almost three years of weekly homework, I’m done. No more required reading, deadlines, pages and pages of writing. And I’m feeling lost. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still busy doing life. I still have kids to take to school, run to classes, feed. I still go to work every day. I still have my husband and it’s nice to have more time to hang out. That’s all really great stuff. But there is something about that Masters,

If I were to describe my family I would start by dividing us up into two groups, “the doers” and “the thinkers”. Two equally fascinating but different creatures. The Doers This group moves a lot. You’ll only see them still if they’re sleeping or they’re baffled by one of “the thinkers” and trying to figure out what to do about it. These “doers” are all about getting stuff done, “Can I get you something?” “Can I help you with that?” If the answer to these questions is “No”, th

Eleven has always been my favorite number, the perfect symmetry of it. I couldn't help thinking of that this morning when I woke up and remembered it was your birthday. It was eleven years ago, in the early morning hours, that I started laboring with you. That intense struggle between mother and child that begins in those first moments of contraction and doesn't end until you say goodby to me from the front door of a college dorm room or walk a new bride down the aisle afte