8/365

Checkers looks a little bit different across the border. In our neighborhood, we play with bottle caps- right side up and upside down. In Mexico, the pieces are female, damas, not male. When the piece reaches the farthest row across the game board, she becomes a queen, not a king. And she is queen with superpowers, no less! Unlike American checkers, the Mexican queen can move diagonally across the board without stopping as long as there is a free space, taking the opposing piece and then continuing to slide to a safe spot on the board. This can prove extremely problematic to the unaware and quickly forgetting American player.

Another difference- Mexican checkers don't jump their opponent; they eat them. Accurate description, sure, but it seems to be kind of an aggressive description. If your opponent has less than 12 years of age, my experience is that they eat your ladies quite joyfully, almost with glee. My inclination tends to be towards compassionate, sometimes ignoring possibilities that my opponent doesn't see. That mercy flies when I see a young mind relishing in my defeat.

That leads to the other problem if you happen to be an American playing Mexican checkers with a kid- they cheat. (Hmm... this might be a problem not matter what country I'm playing in...) As if it's not enough to learn these Mexican rules, then they try to add their personal, and very temporal, conditions. "Sí, sí!" they tell me with wide eyes and a nodding head. "¡¡Puedo hacerlo!!" Thankfully, usually another kid watching the match either feels sorry for me or just doesn't want to see the other kid win, and calls the cheater's bluff.

Cultural differences come in places you might not ever expect. As is often said across the border, "Poco a poco."

357/365

(DPP23- "How did you become the woman with 86 Christmas bears?!")

It started as an innocent purchase in 1993 to celebrate the birth of a granddaughter coming to town for Christmas. You've seen them, probably, those of you who shop at K-Mart. They sit there on the shelves waiting for you every year. Most of us see them and say something like, "Oh how CUTE!" But then we keep walking.

No, not this GrandT. She saw the Mama Bear and Papa Bear and Baby Bear in coordinating Christmas hats and scarves, each with the date embroidered on the foot. She said something like "Oh how CUTE!" And then she put them, all three, in her cart.

And the next year, it happened again. And the following year. And it was if K-Mart started noticing that she would buy- and some years they might have two baby bears. Or an aunt and uncle bear. Not one to miss an opportunity, she would bring those bears home, too.

Fast forward to 2017. 24 years later. No one is really sure how many make up the Christmas bear population. The guesses number somewhere between 72 to 86. At any rate, it's more than can be displayed in the house. A few bears stayed in hibernation in their red and green plastic storage box caves this year.

The good news is that although the Christmas bear population has grown, so has the number of grandchildren. It is well known that at some point, probably not anytime soon, the bears will be relocated among 8 grandchildren. No bear family will be separated.

But as a warning to those of you who might be tempted by such a thing- perhaps you should keep walking!

287/365

Confession: I stopped regularly making my kids breakfast and lunch many moons ago. I could give explanations why, but suffice it to say, yes, they always have food. But those first two meals at our house... well, usually you are on your own. But sometimes, usually when you least expect it (or if we have a house guest), I jump to the task. And then I do it cheerfully- because I don't do it often...

But this isn't really a tale about breakfast. Rather it's a story of foolishness and the kind man who loves me anyway. To make breakfast on this day, I need to go to the store and gather provision before the rest of the house was awake. Around 7:30 I sneak out and head to our Morgan HEB. (note: Our Morgan HEB plays 80's tunes. That, if nothing else, is sufficient reason to shop there.) Surprisingly, this Saturday dawn breaks gray and foggy, and even though there aren't many of us on the road, I decide lights might be a good idea.

I do my shopping. I'm pretty sure I sing along, out loud but hopefully not too loud, to "Karma karma karma chameleon." (It comes and goes. It comes and goes.) I wisely refrain from the Buy 5 Candy Bars Get 5 Candy Bars Free deal at the checkout counter, pay for my goods, roll out the cart out and approach my car. I notice, the back lights are glowing red. Not Good. Red back lights mean that, sigh, I did it again. We love our little white CRV. It has 200,000 really good miles on it and is still going strong. But its pitfall? It doesn't have a little dingy reminder warning bell when you leave the lights on. Who remembers that they turn their lights on in the fog? I mean, technically it's light outside... And not only that, but our little white CRV has a very short lasting battery. I remember the Sears Die Hard battery commercials of days old, "We are parked here at International Falls, Minnesota on a frozen lake through January, through February, through March, and the Die-Hard STARTS!" Our CRV battery simply would not compete. It would probably fall through the thawing ice in April, not able to start. Sure enough, this time too. No matter my coaxing, my turning off the radio, my tender pats on the dashboard, the car will not start. I call my dear guy, and after only one, "Kristy. You left the lights on again?" he comes to rescue me.
(note: Yes, I know that it's not good for the battery life to run it down. Yes, I know that I really need to pay attention. Yes, I know...)

He arrives and maneuvers the Rescue Van in front of the little white CRV. I pull out the jumper cables. (note: Thanks to this problem, well, ok, thanks to MY problem, we now have really nice jumper cables in this car...) We perform the life support maneuvers on the battery and sure enough, she starts right up. I'm back in business, ready to drive home. My guy pulls out ahead of me. But you know, it's still a little bit foggy out. Maybe I should turn on my lights... (yes, I hear you laughing...)

I get home and carry in the groceries. I make tasty, surprise breakfast tacos and we enjoy a leisurely meal around the table. We make plans for the day, and shower and dress and finally, a couple hours later, we head out to the car. DEAD. Well, I didn't leave it running long enough to charge, I think to myself. I call my guy one more time.

"Sorry, but the battery is dead. Maybe it didn't charge long enough. We'll have to jump it again later," I tell him. Right away he asks me, "Did you leave the lights on again?"

With all my soul, I really want to say, "NO!!! Of COURSE NOT!!!" But then I remember. I remember the fog, now long burned off. I remember the lights. "Mayyyy-beeee," I answer sheepishly. "Well, probably yes..." "KRISTY!" he groans. I close my eyes and nod. Honestly. Twice in one day?

I want to say, I'll never do THAT again. Except I probably will. So all I can say is "I'm sorry."
And I hope that there will be a good breakfast waiting for my rescuer afterward next time, too.

281/365

"Girls, this is an Absolutely True Story that happened to me and Kim and Kate at the market. The guy selling me my shirt asked us, "Are you Christians?"
"Yes," we answered.
"My mom was a  Christian, but my dad was a Jehovah's Witness," he told us, and I start to continue the rest of the story.

"Mom," interrupted my girls, "That is from Nacho Libre."

Like the time that the homeless lady I befriended just happened to have the same name and hometown as a Marvel Comics character.

Life. You can't make it up.

275/365

Last week I read an article about moms who feel "touched out." Nursing babies. Infants who pinch and touch and pet. Toddlers who need to be carried, who need to be assured with a kiss, who get swept up in a hug. Preschoolers who should be kept close, "keep your hand on the cart." Kids who probably will not learn how to read unless they are physically connected to you.
Let me simply state-
five babies in five years.
I know.

There was a period of time when perhaps I was thought of as unaffectionate. That very well might have been absolutely true. But it wasn't out of mean-spiritedness. Certainly, at no point in life has this introvert been mistaken as overly affectionate. But, for a long period of time, I recognize now, I was "touched out." It only has been within the last five years or so that I have neared recovery.  Still, I probably will never be accused of being super demonstrative. At this stage, I have grown to adore the hugs that come in the Latino culture I live in. It is normal for me to greet friends with a pat on the shoulder or even a hug. I love when my kids give me an embrace.

Even so, every once in a while, I am tested. Like when the neighborhood girls want to do my hair. Really. I've had short hair, more or less, since I was 5 years old. I never had ponytails or braids or barrettes. I remember watching my nieces "style" my father in law's hair and cringing, so glad they chose him, not me. These days, especially, I'm pretty low maintenance. Morning shampoo, a few minutes to blow-dry and I'm done. On this particular afternoon, my up-do lasted about 5 minutes. Thankfully, that's around how long the styling took as well. I took a deep breath and survived.

Baby steps.
Maybe one day I'll get a massage...

262/365

Late afternoon doldrums and I'm all over the chance for a snack from the little store across the street. "Just a coke," I say, thinking that he'll come back with my usual 12 ounce bottle.

1 liter of coke and the sugary, chocolate-filled, chocolate-frosted, hot dog bun-like, cavity in a sealed bag (and look at the label- is that 'fro impressive or what?!), Nito later, I am thinking that I might later regret that momentary lapse in judgment...

247/365

Hey friend-
I know that I told you this story would be better told in person, and really, it would! But there are so many stories to tell in person and never enough time. This one I'm going to try to share in writing. I had an Amazing Race practice adventure today. I think I may have learned a few things for when we make it on the show. (grin!)

It starts as an ordinary travel day. We arrive in the lobby on time, even early. We check out of our room, surrender our door keys (yes! Real old-fashioned-cut-from-metal-hanging-on-a-keyring-keys!) and give our towel cards back. The cashier notices that we still have a safe key, oops!, and we give that one up too. One of us arranges for a minibus to transport the 12 of us traveling to the airport at the same time. Somehow the minibus for 12 turns into two vans for 6, but that's fine. We hit a major pothole on the highway and Tim hits his head on the ceiling and yelps loud enough for the driver to laugh out loud. We're all good.

We arrive at the airport with time to spare. LOTS of time to spare. We say goodbyes to two friends and we are again a party of 10. We wonder if we might be the first through security that day. We drink coffee and wander through shops and refrain from buying the same souvenirs we might find in Progreso. We read books and send silly faces to family on Snapchat and watch people. We move to the gate. We wait. FINALLY we load the plane and take off up through the clouds and all is well. Free drink and chips! Bonus camera on the nose of the plane for live landing video!

We disembark and notice that there is a luggage conveyor. We notice there are bags coming out. Surely we don't pick up our luggage here? Or do we? No, you don't. Yes, you do. Yes, we do. We pick up our bags and try to discern where to go next. We make our way back through security. Take our phones and change out of pockets. Lose the water bottle. Lots of time to spare, time enough to sit down for lunch. We move to the gate. We watch people. We are bored. We board.

(I know. This is not Amazing Race adventure worthy. I know. This is Ordinary Americans Travel Home stuff. I know. Wait for it.)

We arrive in Monterrey. This is where it gets interesting. We know that we need to get a ride from the airport to a bus station, and a bus to Reynosa, and we're not sure how that happens. We collect our luggage and the guys get in line and we see a few nodding heads and a few pointing arms and a few nodding heads. We see wallets come out, which is always a sign for something. The guys come over. YES! SUCCESS!! We have a van for 10 arranged to the bus station; we have tickets on the 6:55 bus. We have an hour to get there. We head to the taxi stand.

We line up. We wait. Turns out the van for 10 is really two taxis for 4. So we will put five people in each. I go in one taxi, Tim goes in the other. Our taxi leaves the other group behind. (Freeze frame! Amazing Race Tactical Error happening RIGHT NOW! Tim has both bus tickets. We are no longer together in the same place. Loyal watchers groan!) How many races have been lost in the taxi?! We tell our driver we have 6:55 bus tickets. He tells us that we'll never make it. (Cue anxious music!) He tells us if we pay the extra 35 pesos for the toll road, it will go faster. YES! The driver takes this challenge seriously. The four of us in the back seat try to arrange ourselves strategically, as in strategically find a spot where neither butt cheek nor leg loses circulation. We move into traffic.

We are stopping! (cue brake noises) Rush hour- Monterrey. Traffic waiting to go through the toll booth comes to a COMPLETE stop. Not one other option exists. We inch forward. Slowly. VERY slowly. The taxi driver tactically changes lanes. The green digital numbers on the dashboard clock turn. We exchange text with the other taxi. They are somewhere behind us. They also choose the toll road. Tim's cell phone dies. If you are at home watching the Amazing Race right now, you are screaming at the TV. NOOOOOOO!!!!! If you are in a packed taxi in the middle of Monterrey rush hour traffic, you have to just look at each other and laugh. How will this end?

Finally, precious minutes lost, we pass through the toll and the driver really steps on the gas. REALLY. As in we pass through the digital speed zone that says SPEED LIMIT 78 KPH. YOUR SPEED 98 KPH. (Metric measurements make it look much more dramatic than it is- that's really just 60 mph when we should be at 50mph... but still! It seems like 98 mph with all the traffic around us, with all the lane changes...) I stop looking at the cars we are about to hit the traffic ahead. I look at the clock numbers change. 6:50. 6:53. 6:55 There is just no way we are going to make it to the bus in time.

But suddenly ahead! The bus station. Except we are on the wrong side of the road and need to make a U-Turn to the parking lot. SO close yet SO far. Along with several other drivers, our driver noses into stopped traffic. He sees a gap and accelerates ahead into an empty space at the bus station drive. There is a bus at the curb- "REYNOSA" on the front. Our driver opens the trunk and we grab out bags and run. This would be the point where viewers at home might scream at the TV- DON'T FORGET THE TIP!!! And then groan. Confession: I forgot the tip. SIGH! Major travel fail! So sorry, Admirable Taxi Driver, so sorry!

(NOTE: Still no Taxi Number Two with Tim, and so, I still have no bus ticket. If a million dollars is on the line, I'm standing on the curb and can't board the bus... Let's be honest- we are traveling with two families with cute kids. We are probably not the Fan Favorites. Maybe the folks at home are cheering... )

But wait! The bus on the curb is not our bus. In this instance, we give thanks that Mexico is known for flexible, not linear, schedules. Another bus approaches the station, another REYNOSA bus. YES! We haven't yet missed the bus! We look up and the Taxi Number Two is pulling up to the curb. YES! They haven't yet missed the bus!

And then just as quickly as the last two hours ramped up, time slips back into Mexico tranquilo. We show our tickets to the lady at the stand and get our bag of drink and cookies and earphones. We climb the steps and make our way to the back of the bus and slide into the very last 10 seats on the coach. My leg rest is broken and I'm next to the bathroom, but I'm on the bus, gracias a Dios. The bus slides into rush hour traffic. Twilight turns to dusk turns to dark and we settle into the rocking rhythm of road. The home stretch.

Chalk it up to one more training run, sister. I think we could compete!
Life is indeed an amazing race.

HeartFistBumpDancingLady,
xo,
k

230/365

In dog years, he counts something around 84, we suppose, though there remains some dispute that it could be closer to 91. He naps a good many hours a day, moving from the expected back of the couch or curled up in a chair to a hidden corner behind a side table or next to the toilet. Yes, the toilet. We can't figure that one out either.
He lived a bit of a sad existence through the summer, when most of us were away and we had to count on the kindness of friends to feed and water and love on him when we weren't. He became a bit neglected, smelling doggydog, hindquarters a bit matted, beard a bit disheveled.

Therefore, it was time for a long overdue spa day at home, a gotta-get-him-cleaned-up-before-we-can-pay-to-get-him-groomed, makeover. He tolerated the wash and spin cycle well. Of course, he ran around like a pup once released from the tub, rubbing himself caddywhompus on the entryway rug, siding back and forth against the couch, shaking and spraying innocent kitchen bystanders. We left him to dry on his own. But once his fur lost the wet, he couldn't avoid the inevitable brushing. We fluffed and detangled and cut out knots, one set of hands at work on the coat, the other set petting and restraining and calming him, all while whispering sweet nothings like "you're such a good boy." He remains a patient pup, with a very short memory and awfully forgiving towards his people.

The end result?
Still in need of help. But awfully cute while waiting.

229/365

I pulled off the blacktop and into the shoulder and rolled down the window and tried to get the steer to look my way. He did, and he looked rather annoyed at the intrusion on his mid-afternoon stroll.
Really, I can hardly blame him...

Sure, the skies are clear and the view is sublime, but does a care even care? Certainly, cows feel the August heat too, don't they? I keep wondering, when the sun beams hot overhead, when there's no shade in these south Texas fields, where there's not a drop of water nearby, when the grass is on the driest side of green, do the cows think, "Psheesh. I'm over this whole summer thing..."

Or do they just graze and sometimes stop to look up at the crazy lady on the side of the road?

186/365

Never take for granted the friends who let you invite yourself over to their outside-the-city-limits home to blow up your leftover not-advised-for-the-cul-de-sac fireworks.
Never take for granted the friends who zealously stuff the back of the Normandy full of grass and paper to get the box to light, and who risk life and limb to rip open hot cardboard to find the hidden fuse.
Never take for granted the friends who cheer when the spark finally flies and who whoop when the mini tank rolls off the deck and onto the asphalt.
Never take for granted the friends who use up a full pack of matches to light the Flying Pig because you were too cheap to buy a punk.
Never take for granted the friends who yelp as loud as you do when the Ladybug screams into the air and at the same time, are thinking how to put out a potential grass fire when it lands on the opposite side of the canal.
Never take for granted the friends who laugh with you and love you well.
Those friends, they are golden.

185/365

Some people like the pop-pop-pop of the Roman candle, bursts of color exploding in the air. Kids of all ages enjoy waving the sparklers, using neon script to write their name in the air. The changing colors of the fountains always bring an oooh and an aaah. My dog, he could do without, running to get closer to us in shaking tremors at the first whistle of explosives in flight.

But me, my favorite? The Fire Engine. Have you seen it? It's just a little box, a red cardboard rendition on tiny black plastic wheels. But the entertainment value of this little guy? Super high! You first light fuse at the back and the truck propels forward with a stream of red flame sizzling out the back. Next the headlights light up bright, complete with sparks; then the top siren neon lights fire up. And finally, best of all, the ladder on the top pops up!

Last year, I bought fireworks, but then we never used them. We really aren't supposed to light up inside the city limits where I live. We got home late after the party last year and deemed my quiet cul-de-sac much too still for pyrotechnics. My birthday was the next likely date, but something happened and the displays never were set.  So they waited patiently in a plastic bag on top of the freezer, pink sticks peeking out in ready anticipation. This Independence Day, I used up my last Fire Engine, and immediately, I wished I could watch in delight one more time. So I quickly scooted over to the nearby stand to get another before the clock struck midnight. Alas, "We didn't get that one this year." No Fire Truck for sale?!

You are missing out, Black Cat.

153/365

If you have a key to the house and permission to enter, it doesn't count as stealing, even if it sure feels like it, right?
That boom box? Flashback gold.
And those girls? Making me laugh since 1999...

140/365

Really, who wouldn't want their ball to come back through the gator's mouth? How is it that playing under the lights and aquatic life is somehow that much more cool than the ordinary bowling alley? And bowling balls with fish and hunting dogs and alligator eye balls? It somehow makes up for a very sub-par game, salvaged only by a semi-miraculous tenth frame that pushed my score across the 100 point threshold. Playing with this alley-full is nothing but laughs.

138/365

(ummm... confession: I had the chicken tortilla soup...)

136/365

When you take your charges to the playground, you will see the lawnmower man come by in his very noisy cutting machine.
And when the lawnmower man comes by in his very noisey cutting machine, you will see a rabbit scurry through the tall grass for safety.
You will see the lawnmower man get off his machine and get out his tools and check the valves on the sprinklers.
And when he checks the valves on the sprinklers, you will hear the spurt and spizz of the water coming through the sprayers.
You will see your charges yelp for joy.
And you will see them suddenly running and jumping through the morning mist.
Your charges will run and jump through the morning mist, and get wet and cut grass will cover their feet and splotches of mud will paint their legs.
And you will wonder if an apartment complex has a hose.
You will find that an apartment complex does NOT have a hose so you will try to herd your charges to the bathtub to rinse off without covering the floor with grass.
And you will find that your charges get completely undressed and decide to take a full-fledged bath.
You will run the bath and add a cap full of bubbles just because.
And you will laugh as they pour pitchers of water over one another.
You will dry them off and re-clothe them and color with them and feed them and watch a movie with them.
And then your charges will be ready to go to the playground...

131/365

Half-price frappucinos
and a meet-up at Target
and friends at the door
and tables pushed together
and girls who make me laugh
and boys who make me smile.

109/365

Little did I know, that all the talk that day would be about some unicorn pink and blue sparkly drink.
No thanks.
Give me Raspa Wednesday.

101/365

“Nothing
would be
easier without
you,
because you
are 
everything,
all of it-
sprinkles, quarks, giant
donuts, eggs sunny-side up-
you
are the ever-expanding
universe
to me.” 
- Kate DiCamillo, Flora and Ulysses: The Illuminated Adventures

96/365

Spring Fling prep in high gear and we were getting close to finishing. When she came across the darkened room crying, I really thought that they were tears of laughter. I really thought they were because of my version of Total Eclipse of the Heart. Let's be honest, Bonnie Tyler I am not, though "every now and then I fall apart" is not all that inaccurate...

But as is most often the case, it wasn't about me. Goodness, a staple gun misfired into the palm is worthy of a few tears. And even a ride home.

"Turn around bright eyes..."
:-)

(and the goat picture? What cuteness! Wouldn't you post a photo of baby goat too?)

59/365

Today.
After a week of coughing and sneezing, no more excuses. Back out today.

My husband still fast asleep, I slide out of bed and move as quietly as I can through the dark. I collect my wears. No light necessary. I know the feel of my shorts at the top of the drawer, the bright white of the shirt, the weight of the socks, the elastic of the headband. I walk into the closet and kneel down right where my shoes will be and feel for the tell-tale laces. One. Two. I dress from habit, without thinking. I pull my laces tight and tie my shoes without thought. I feel for my watch and strap it on and feel for my music and clip it on and feel for the little flashing light for my shoe and stick it around my heel. I go to the cooler with my water bottle, knowing when it is full by sound. I exit the house and enter the street. I wait for my watch to be ready and do that simultaneous music/time click. I am on my way, looking forward, sunrise to the east, birds calling, dogs barking, the world waking. I never once look down...

...until the jog through the 'hood is complete and I'm back on my street.
What?!
I laugh out loud.
Two different shoes!