Happy Halloween

I wrote all about how different Trick or Treating is in Chile here last year.  So I will save you the words and leave you with our pictures.  Some from coloring our pumpkins- no, we do not carve them here in Chile, Click here and you can read why.  Things may be different here in Chile, but the smile that lights up a little girls face is still the same.  And it warms my heart no matter what side of the equator I am on.

Happy Halloween Everyone!

Just something to get us in the mood to create great pumpkins!

These are the costumes we wore to school today.  MadHatter chose the same one that I wore over and over in my childhood and that was my mother's!  Stinkerbell picked Snow White but doesn't seem to agree with her own choice...

My Princesses - Ariel and Brave (or by us Sirenita and Valiente)

Let's get this show on the road...

 Those wigs and little legs just killed me...

And then the wigs got too hot for the kids.  So we did what we had to do...

 

Emergency Announcement

We interrupt this blog for a much needed adult vacation.

We will return to our regular scheduled programming after we are done taking a flight (or two) that includes a magazine or a book (not High Lights or "The Hungry Caterpillar"), a glass of wine (no juice boxes for us) and maybe even a nap, and then checking in to a hotel that does not have a roll away bed for me to stub my toe on at 3 am.  After soaking in a hot tub with a glass of wine by my side before heading out to dinner.  A dinner that will involve a pair of too high heels, a sexy dress and actual conversation - maybe even two of them.  Not conversations, dinners.  And the meal will still be hot when I take that first bite.  I will wander around the streets of Buenos Aires holding hands.  With an adult!  I will Tango.  With someone taller than me.  Somewhere outside of my kitchen.  And I will do it without laughing because I keep hearing, "Mom, this is really silly".  In the morning {oh, who am I kidding} In the early afternoon when we wake, we will eat a leisurely breakfast in bed without an extra two sets of arms and legs crawling all over us.  We will listen to the music we want (OK, so I do that anyway) and if I feel like swearing, I will.  I will go where I want, when I want.  Without thought to who is hungry or may need a nap.  Unless of course it is me.  I will wander aimlessly without wondering who else may be wandering aimlessly and walking into on coming traffic. I will relish the silence, bask in the solitude (of being together - is that possible?) and enjoy the respite.

I will be back to the grind soon enough.

I will savor every moment.  Because they don't come around often enough.

And when I have recovered from all of the galavanting around in another country without my kids, I will return to tell you all about it.

Until then, carry on as you were.

This Mortal Coil

James died today.

And he will probably die again tomorrow, and perhaps next week.  Because, to the 4 1/2 year old mind, that is a possibility.  {If you don't know the story of James - click on the very first word - it will give you the background you need}.

She has lost her Abuelo and her Great Grandma this year.  Within 10 months of each other.  One of them she loved through their visits on Skype {and love she did} and one she clung to each and every time she saw her.  To a little girl, loving them and then losing them, is unfathomable.  So she turns to James, the one that can fathom such a thing happening, and then she kills him off.  I don't know how he died.  I just know that his passing was sad.  And she would really like to cry about it but doesn't think that he would want her too.

Sweet baby girl stop breaking my heart.

She talks about how when I am old and a Grandma she will take care of Stinkerbell because I have died too.  I tell her that, in all probability, by the time I pass on Stinkerbell will be able to take care of herself.  She isn't buying any of it {as evidenced by the 5 am visits to my room from that bad dream}. She keeps telling me it will be "a long, long, long, long time" before I die but that Sintkerbell will still need her. And that I am sure of.  Because Stinkerbell will need her for the rest of her life.  Even if she, too, is a grandmother.  She tells me she will be a grandma by then..but I take that with a grain of salt because she also tells me  that she will get married next year "wearing the dress that you wore when you married Papa, but I will have a veil".  So she is a bride at 6, a mother at 10 and a grandmother at 12 in her world?  That doesn't add up to "a long, long, long time" before I die using my old school math.

This little soul shouldn't have to wrestle with understanding these issues at such a tender age.  She should be able to live carefree and not worry about when the next person she loves is going to be out of her life.  Forever.  But it is her reality.  And as much as I don't like it for her, I also won't shield her from it.

Why, you ask? Why can't you just gloss over it until she is really old enough to understand it?  To process it properly?

Because it is her reality.

And because it is her reality, it will become a part of her story.  The story of her life.  The one that she tells to her future husband when he asks where she came upon her empathy.  The one she talks about when her friends ask why she is always available- even in the worst of situations.  These will be the experiences she will draw upon when wondering whether to cancel  the hot date she has tonight just because her college roommate has a bad boyfriend moment.  {Of course, she cancels}.  These are the things that will make her the friend she already is at 4, the intricate and caring woman that she will become at 20 and the mother that stays up late at night, without a thought in the world for herself, whenever her babies need her too.  Because she knows that there are things that truly matter in our lives and being with the people we love, while they are still here, is one of them.

I do wish I could make this type of learning easier for her.  The pain of losing someone that is dear is never easy.  No matter our age.  The heartache of having to go on and live each day without those we wish we could hold in our arms, just one more time, is something you don't ever get used to.   The knowledge that no matter how good you are or how greatly you live your life, there are still things outside of your control.  These are lessons that I am still struggling with and I am 10 times her age.  It's not something I would wish for her.  But it is something I am so proud of her for handling the way she has.

She has faith. She has strength.  She has empathy.  And she has the biggest heart of anyone I have ever met.

I just hope she knows how much she was loved by both of her grandparents.  And by those of us still here on this mortal coil.  And even after we have shuffled off...

Forever.  You are loved.

*For those wondering how Stinkerbell is doing - she is great.  She is still too young to understand any of this.

Yla

We are in a fine frenzy around the house this week.  We have a very special visitor coming on Friday.  (Not that all visitor's aren't special but you will see what I mean in a minute).  We have been painting pictures, making decorations, and cleaning up our rooms so they look just perfect.  We have been asking questions about what we are going to do and where we are going to go.  We can't wait for the long weekend where it is just us, because the parental unit (B and I) will be in Buenos Aires, and we can do whatever our hearts desire.

It is a long overdue visit.

Yla is coming!!! (That would be B's mother).  She does NOT go by Grandma, Abuela, Grammy,  Nana or any such thing.  She is simply Yla and we have not seen her in almost 4 years.

4 YEARS.

This is what MadHatter looked like the last time we saw her...

She has changed a bit.

And Stinkerbell has never met her.

We will remedy that on Friday.

Now you know why our house in a bit of a tizzy.

You say Milk, I say Leche...

Another for the "Things that are different in Chile" files.

It didn't really shock me and I haven't really thought too much about it since living here, but sooooo many people I know comment on it, that I thought it deserved it's own post.

Milk here (and in most of South America and many parts of Europe) is sold unrefrigerated. As in warm.  Just sitting on the shelf in it's own cardboard box (some are plastic bottles).  It is sold by the liter.  You can buy it by the case but there is no discount for buying in bulk.  Just convenience.


And there is an entire aisle in the supermarket dedicated to milk and it's different forms - Entera (whole)

          

The plastic bottle will cost you an extra $.26 at today's exchange rate.  Per liter (about $1.00 a gallon)

Semi-Descremada (2%) and Descremada (Fat Free). 

I find that Descremada is cheaper - even within the same brands.

There are also the Lactose free, the Extra Calcium, the Extra Omega, the anything you can think of that would make the milk more expensive, but there is one thing there is NOT, and that is fresh or refrigerated milk.

It takes a bit of getting used to for most people.  I only say for most people because I had been exposed to this way of drinking milk before I ever left college.  My parents lived in Mexico and it was the only way to buy milk there too.  At first, I was hesitant.  Who wouldn't be?  Milk that spoiled at room temperature was all I knew up to that point and now they were handing me a box from the pantry for my morning cereal.  But guess what - It was good.  It actually tasted no different than the milk I had been drinking for years.  Granted - I have heard the complaints about it not tasting exactly the same.  But I can't tell the difference. I also don't drink mild straight from the glass. 

And when I found it in California - I bought it by the case.  It didn't replace my regular milk. But it was my emergency stash.  Just in case I didn't make it to the store in time, I always had milk on hand.  And with two babies under the age of 3 having milk on hand at all times was uber-importante (making up words now.  Yes, I am).

And now you are wondering how I could feed this to my babies.  

Because all it is is MILK.  Without any additives.  No hormones.  No Vitamin D (go outside and get some, it's healthier).  Nada.  It is simply milk.

People have so many questions - How can it possibly have a shelf life of 6 months?  Shelf - as in my pantry.  How can you say they haven't added anything to it to make that possible?  Why does it not spoil?  There has to be a weird taste to it?  It can't be milk if it doesn't need to be cold.  And if it's not milk, what is it?  Does it really come from cows?  Seriously, what kind of cancer causing, three head making, extra limb growing things are added to the milk to make it fit for sitting on a shelf in a cardboard box?

The answer is very simple actually.  The milk is heated and then quickly cooled and packaged in an airtight container. Ok - maybe not that simple, but really, it is easy.

Milk (all pasteurized milk at least) is heated and then quickly cooled and stored.

Good ole, regular, just pasteurized milk (or High Temperature, Short Time) is heated to a maximum of 165 degrees F and is held there for 15-20 seconds. It must be refrigerated to keep the nasty buggy's that might have survived from breeding.  This is what you find on the shelf in most U.S. grocery stores.  It will last for about a week to ten days and it will simply be labeled pasteurized.

Ultra High Pasteurized milk (Ultra High Temperature) is heated to 280 degrees F and only held there for one second or so.  It kills ALL of the bacteria in the milk (and from what I have read - it leaves it nutritionally intact).  But that isn't all that is necessary - you also need the special packaging that goes with it.  The boxes (and now some plastic bottles) are sterilized and they must be filled in a sterile environment.  It is commonly called an aseptic package made of layers of polyethylene  aluminum foil and cardboard.  The same thing most juice boxes that kids drink are made from.

But it still seems to gross people out when I tell them about the fact that I can't buy "fresh" milk in Chile.  And yet, most of them wouldn't hesitate to snap these up from Costco to send in their kids school lunches...

These were always a favorite of both girls.

There are a lot of things that I have had to get used to here in Chile.  This is just one of them.  But it was probably one of the easier ones to wrap my head around.  It's about the same price (about $4.50 a gallon), tastes pretty much the same as long as you refrigerate it before drinking, and my kids didn't even suspect anything had changed.  I also don't have to worry about running out of milk.  I just run to my pantry where I have a case on hand at all times.  That never spoils (well, at least not in this house)

I hope there are bearskin rugs in heaven...

I don't have a lot of words.  I don't know why.  Because there is so much that I could say about this woman.  My grandmother.  But I don't think any of my words will do her justice.  They can't tell you the intangibles.  About her heart.  Her love.  The sound of her voice.  Her courage.  I can't tell you about how much she will be missed now that she is gone.  They can't speak of the love that her children, her grandchildren and her great-grand-kids had for her.  Especially my MadHatter, who thinks she hung the moon.

I am never at a loss for words.  But here I am.  Unfamiliar territory, so I am going to do what is familiar and put in some pictures...because they each say a thousand words that I can't seem to find.  Maybe this way I can say all the things I wish I could.

I wish I could tell you about how much she loved her children.  All five of them.  So different in so many ways and yet together, they made the perfect family.  They didn't have a lot growing up but they had each other.  And to me, that makes them one of the richest families in the world.

I wish I could tell you about how much fun she was.  She never lost her love of life or of children.  She never lost her love of play.  I can attest to that personally - as can both of my girls.  I thank my lucky stars that they both got to see that side of her at such a young age (and that I got it on film for them to relive as they get older).

I wish I could tell you about the life she led, the struggles she fought and the triumphs that reigned supreme.  I wasn't there but I heard the stories {oh, did I hear the stories :) }...

I wish I could tell you about the bear skin rug that we were supposed to have our picture taken on.  Much to the chagrin of my entire family.  It was a picture they never wanted to see.  It was a picture that she and I would have proudly displayed in our homes.  It was between her and I.  An inside joke and one I am keeping dear to my heart for the rest of my days.

She was a fighter.  Determined, stubborn, lovely.  She was honest (sometimes brutally so), she was a spitfire, she was sociable.  She was a mother.  She was a friend.  She was my grandmother.  And she was loved.  By her family.  By her friends.  By anyone that happened to make her acquaintance.

She was mine.  And I still can't believe I have to let her go...

Circa 1971.  Grandma with my brother Spike on the left.  My brother Chris in her right arm.  And my Uncle Chuck (her youngest) squatting in front of her house.

Her second oldest - Jim with Ruth and Chuck (her two youngest)

The neighborhood.

A picture of my grandparents at my wedding. 

At B and my wedding....she partied until the cows came home...

Her oldest son and his family.

All of her kids in one spot...

Grandma and her oldest son's entire family.

Stinkerbell and her Great Grandma meeting for the first time.

The.  Whole.  Family.

Me and my lovely Grandma.  Circa 2010.

Our last pictures.  All of her great-grandchildren together...

I hope there is a bearskin rug in heaven for you Grandma.  Keep it warm for me.  I promised you a picture.  And a picture we will take.

Dulce de Leche

dulce: (dool-seh) 

                                                             adj.   1. sweet

                                                                     2. soft, gentle, mild

                                                            adv.   1. softly

                                                            noun. 1. candy, sweet, dog (see photo below)

I am not a dog person.  Or a cat person.  Or a bird, hamster, or rabbit person, for that matter.  I am an animal person.  Almost all (the warm blooded ones at least) make me want to bring them home.  I love having some sort of pet in my house at all times (mostly just a cat or dog - though I am up for trying the others) and for most years of my life growing up I shared my space with a four legged friend.

B on the other hand didn't know if he liked animals.  At least not living with him.  You see, his mother always said she already had three other living things to look after, she did not need another one.  B had never lived with another species (if you discount some of his college roommates) until he moved in with me.  

I broke him in gently.  My cat, Shiraz, had been traumatized some time in kittenhood and did not like anyone.  Even me sometimes.  She didn't come out often and when she did, she was skittish and paranoid.  But she was loving and purred to high heaven when she did find the courage to sit on your lap.  Unfortunately, she was not able to make the trip with us to Chile.  Please, don't judge.  She was like a family member - but like any family member you want what is best.  Moving her 6000 miles to adapt to a new home was not what was best for her.  My girls didn't miss her (they had only seen less than a handful of times in their entire lives - she hid when the "monsters" were out) but I missed her to my very center.  She really was a part of the family - one that now felt like it had a hole in it.

I needed a pet.  Now I just had to convince B that he needed a pet.

It didn't take me too long.  The girls really helped my case because who can resist two little girls looking up through huge brown eyes, batting their eyelashes, and saying "puhhhh-weeeez Papa"?  And, if that wasn't enough, who could resist this...

It was love at first sight.  But we still had to think about it.  For about 10 minutes.  You see, we had recently had a very bad experience with a puppy.  When we first moved into our house here in Santiago, we adopted a Maltese.  Long story short - she got very sick with the Parvo virus and died within two weeks.  The girls were devastated but still wanted a puppy.  B and I talked and decided it wasn't fair to have promised them a dog and then, due to circumstances out of their control, take that away.

We brought Dulce de Leche (de Leche is her middle name, according to MadHatter) home the same night we found her.  And we fell in love all over again when she rolled all over the floor with the two girls, who were pulling her ears and stepping on her tail, and not one little sound of complaint came out of her mouth.  She was just so happy to have found her family.   We had to drag them away from each other so they all could get some sleep.  (And with B - who swore he would never like a pet was right there with them).  Their bond was fast, their bond was deep, and their bond knew no bounds.

                                 

And then the unthinkable happened.  

Unbeknownst to us, the previous tenants of our house left behind rat poison.  It's common here in South America to have it on the perimeters of your house.  But if I had known it would have been gone in less than a heartbeat.  The same thing that makes it enticing for rats to eat, makes it enticing for dogs to eat.  And eat it she did.  She is a Golden Retriever, after all.  They will eat ANYTHING.

And if you don't know how rat poison works I will give you a very short version - it stops their blood from clotting.  Same thing for Dulce.  All of a sudden she had a huge lump above her shoulder.  She was bleeding out and it wouldn't take long for her entire system to collapse.  Thankfully, the vet made the house call within hours.  He didn't know it was rat poison just yet but before the night was over, Dulce was in the hospital.  Three blood transfusions,  one surgery and a ton of Vitamin K later - she would be as good as new...  But not before having to spend two weeks behind bars...

She was sprung that same month and life was good.  Full of walks.  Frolicking in the courtyard outside the house.  Being tormented by the girls.  She grew at an alarming rate.  Pretty soon she was taller than Stinkerbell.  And yet, she was still a puppy.  Full of puppy love.  For everything. Especially the girls.  The girls could do no wrong (even when pulling on her ears, eyes, tail...) and they were her best friends.

So, when we were told at her one year check up that she had hip dysplasia,  we were devastated   This poor puppy - who had already been through so much - would now be in pain for the rest of her life.  She would need therapy, surgery, pills...It was almost too much to bear.  But we knew we would do anything to help her.  She was a part of the family.  So we set a date for surgery.  When the girls and I would be gone for home leave and she could do her rehab and recuperation at the hospital without the girls having to see it all.  Until then we carried on... 

With love and hugs...

Some torture...

Some water play... 

 And a bit of rest for those poor hips...

And then the time came.  Surgery.  They were removing the ball of her left hip and letting the scar tissue take over.  It was her bad side and by doing the surgery now, we may avoid having to do the right side in the future (she was putting all of her weight on the right side since it didn't hurt as much and was wearing that joint out fast).  

She was in the hospital recovering for a couple of weeks.  As much as she loved them all, she missed her family and didn't understand why we weren't there.  Especially when she was in pain.  She became depressed and lethargic.  She had surgical complications.  We second guessed ourselves for not having just put her on meds until the pain was too great to bear.  What had we done to our sweet and loving Dulce?

And then she came home.  We did her physical therapy.  We loved her.  We walked her and we just stayed with her.  She pulled out of her depression.  She beat the complications and she thrived.  She was home and that was all that mattered to her.  It was all that mattered to us.

Dulce is now in her 2nd month of recovery.  She has a bit to go before things are back to normal again.  Well, her new normal.  She has lost most of her limp.  She runs like the wind whenever a bird dares fly by and she can't help but stand on top of you, tail wagging, ever single time you come in the door.  She is back to her old self.

She is the girls best friend. She is my best friend.  Dare I say it, she is B's best friend.  

With a face like that...

How could you not love her?

As for the name...Dulce.  She could not have a better moniker.  She really is that sweet.