Loco at Taco Bell

Have you tried the locos tacos at Taco Bell?
I had a run in with a loco and it wasn't a taco.
Visiting a fast food establishment can be a loaded activity.
Man, there are some angry folks out there.
My kids, parents and I had an impromptu visit last weekend, when we sampled the crispy tortillas filled with ground mystery meat.
On occasion one has to swallow one's pride and knowledge of our fast food nation, and well, eat it.

My mother was taking a long time to figure out what to order, and was standing on the far end of the counter. Taco Bell's menu was shared with KFC, and only KFC's menu was directly behind the register, so it was a little confusing where to place your order.
I suddenly had the sense that one of the customers on the line behind me was getting impatient. He was standing directly behind the register, apparently ordering KFC.
"M'am," he intoned, glaring at my mother. "You need to order over HERE." He pointed to the register in front of him. At  5'11"  and white haired with a moustache and sporting a red collared shirt, he looked like a younger version of the Colonel himself. I stood right besides my mother, who took yet more time to decide on what to order, and the Colonel's face grimaced impatience when he saw that yet another order was imminent.

We sat down to wait for our order. I fed Vicky bits of soft tortilla, cheese and ground beef that I ordered a few minutes earlier.
"TB8," I heard the clerk say.
Aha! That must be our order, the 3 taco combo and the soft drink.

"What do ya want, a waiter to bring it to you?"
I looked behind my back and realized it was the same moustachioed dude from the line. He was leaning against the wall near the counter like a cowboy.
As I approached the counter, I looked straight at him and asked, clear as day, "Excuse me, are you talking to me?"
"Yes I am, it took you long enough to order your food!"

Whoa.
I was a bit taken aback, but I had to retort.
"I don't know what's wrong with you, but I'm not going there," I said.
As I picked up my tray, I noticed his face grow red, and he started mouthing something unpleasant to me, which I chose to block out by saying "God bless you," loud enough for the other customers to hear and walking back to the table.

I thought it wise to pass on an escalating argument.
A fast food restaurant is too golden a tableau for a random stranger to go psycho.
I was a bit shaken up by the unpleasant exchange, my hand trembling  as I ate my loco taco.
A female customer to my right turned to me and said,"I can't believe what I was hearing."
Neither could I.

Sunday Blah Blah Blahs

There are some Sundays when we just can't seem to get any plans off the ground.
Take yesterday for example. 
It's summer, it's the weekend, and as I manage my current daycare and plan the opening of a second daycare all week long, I like to think that it's possible to carve out even a tiny window of time to do something engaging or meaningful with the kids.
When lofty plans like the beach or the pool or a museum seem remote, I scale it back. I settle for something more tangible -- a local park.

It's funny, though, even planning to go to the park for a bike ride for an hour or two gets foiled by ordinary tasks and a sleeping husband.

Vicky (now 15 months) and I woke up around 7:30 a.m., which is late for us. (Usually one of us is up by 6:30!). I prepared her breakfast, and when Benji and Julie (now 8 and 7) woke up, I surprised them with chocolate chip pancakes (yay! a mom-child bonding activity...applause please!).

Then it was time for Vicky's bath. Diaper change, fill tub, sponge, soap, rinse, play with silly pink and orange polka-dot duck, towel dry, apply almond-scented baby oil, change clothes, etc.
Next!
My husband woke up and was watching Joel Osteen, some Spanish telenovela and a news show. He did some dishes in between.
It was around 10 a.m.
"How about we go for a bike ride with the kids?" I suggested a park about a 10 minute drive away, with lots of trails and bike paths.

He didn't object and I got excited.
I handed Vicki to him.

"Here, I'm showering!" Woo hoo. Didn't that feel good to assert myself. Ha! Soap, water and peace of mind.
For 10 minutes.
The list of activity continued.
More dishes, make bed, organize cabinets, put food away,change diaper again
At 11 a.m. Benji still hadn't taken a shower.
Time to feed Vicky lunch.
She dozed off in the high chair around noon..
On your mark, get set, GO!
Hair, makeup (look human!) Figure out on paper and then email the work schedule to the teachers at the daycare for the week.
There would be no park happening at naptime, so my husband suggested he go out till she woke up.
Our retired friend from New Jersey was staying nearby, and while Benji was showering (and Vicki napping and me tapping!), he and Julie picked him up and went to the Spanish service at a local church.


Around 2 p.m. I got a text from my husband that they were all eating at a local Mexican diner for brunch and  that we should join them.
The park got pushed ahead.
"We will go after we eat then," I reminded him.
Vicky woke up, Benji got Vicky's stroller out of the garage, I popped some water and milk in her diaper bag, and we were off.
They were just finishing lunch, Benji ordered a cheeseburger and french fries (which he barely touched) and I ordered enchiladas in mole sauce with a mango shake. Mmm-mmm.
Benji and Julie slid some dollars in the jukebox as they (and Vicky!) bopped and grooved to

We sallied home in slow motion, our bellies full. It's like we were sleepwalking in the 90-degree humidity. Our clothes stuck to our skin like banana peel.

A/C on, Tequila Rose in shot glasses.
The Couch.
My husband and I searched the net for prices on laminate flooring for the new daycare.
And then it happened. Poppy flowers.
My husband and his pal were SLEEPING, mouths open, on the sofa.
That being the case, I had to keep an eye on Vicky.

After a time, I sent Juliana downstairs to ask her dad if he could take off her training wheels.
"He didn't answer me," she whined.
"Why, did you ask him nicely?"
"He's SLEEPING!!!!"

By the time they woke up it was close to 5 p.m. The kids were munching on carrot sticks and the sky was getting darkish.
But my husband was good. He went out and took those training wheels off. He even put air in the tires of all our bikes.
A dark cloud hovered overhead.

We made the decision to go to the neighborhood playground instead, as the chance of a storm was well, inevitable.
Drops started trickling down. Wind whipped around.
Plans were scaled back even further.
"Ok, let's go for a bike ride around the block then," I announced, still eager to stick to the original plan.
We didn't even bother with helmets.
"Cmon, follow me!" I called to Benji and Julie.
My husband pushed the stroller with his friend alongside him.
Lightning flashed and thunder gargled in the distance as we rounded the bend, heading down the hill. I double backed one block to take advantage of the opportunity of being outside on two wheels.
We were one block from home when the dark clouds surrounded us on all sides.
We stood on the front steps enjoying the stormy breeze until we could take no more and shut the door.
The Couch. More snacks.
Bedtime.
Goodnight!

Nothing Like the First Time: BlogHer 2012

I admit it. I'm a BlogHer 2012 virgin.
It's with mixed emotions that I attended my first BlogHer conference at the New York Hilton these past 3 days. The conference brought together more than 4,000 women bloggers with influence spanning the nation and the globe.
I didn't know anyone here before I came. I had to arrange for childcare for my 3 kids and break away from my daily routine. Until this point I've only dabbled in blogging. I don't even have a business card.
But I came here because I've had a feeling of incompletion since I started this blog on a lark a few years ago, and I wanted to absorb the energy of women who believe in themselves, and who have transformed themselves personally, professionally and financially due to blogging.
I've never been around so many women at one time who speak so eloquently and confidently about what they do, what they know and what they want.
Big media personalities Martha Stewart, Katie Couric and Soledad O'Brien were keynote speakers at BlogHer2012 because they know the power of the voices of women, how women can affirm and share their beliefs, ideas and recommendations with those in their spheres of influence.
Many women who were here have amazing writing skills and technological and marketing expertise, some reaping impressive lucrative rewards.
Some women have hundreds or even thousands of followers, and they have built friendships and their own village of affirmation in the blogosphere.
I'm not there yet.
I just recently created a Twitter account, I'm not that technologically savvy and I haven't spread the word about my blog yet.
But it's ok.
Things will change, because I am the agent of my own change. And I have promised myself I will get there.
If it's one thing I can take away from the conference is that I have a voice and that it matters. I have a lot to say and I should be proud to say it. I can (and will) find and build a community in the blogosphere that can transcend me and my life.
As the saying goes, each journey begins with a single step.

Move Over New Orleans, Here's the Hot Mama Burlesque

On a Saturday evening in May, my husband and I had our first night out together since our baby Victoria was born. I wanted to do something a little bit off the beaten path, not another dinner at a Thai eatery.

It was Mamapalooza's MAMA Festival and Expo week in New York City and the Hot Mama Burlesque was one of the nightly acts that I felt was definitely worth seeing. To quote a description from their website, the hot mamas "explore all sides of motherhood through striptease and song: the upside, the downside and the backside."

The last time we'd been to anything remotely 'red light' was the adult night club on our pre-children trip to New Orleans. But that was a bit cheesy, what with the pole dancers and musty, bayou-reeking seats.

Red light bulbs and cozy little chairs and tables in the dim basement of the Delancey certainly hinted at something dark and decadent. But this was another class of performance, or performance art. These were mamas of all ages and body shapes and sized reinventing themselves, exploring their creativity, sensuality and femininity through a misunderstood art form, known for its extravagant costumes and lavish theatrics.

Campy and comical Mistress of Ceremonies Raven Snook provided the laughter in the house, taking swings at Wonder Pets and other juvenile fare, and introduced the mostly tongue-in-cheek mom performers.

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The platinum blonde Little Brooklyn was literally attached at the hip to King Kong, who dragged her and undressed her to the top of the cardboard replica of the Empire State Building on the tiny stage.
The flamboyant Viva Caliente was the reincarnation of Carmen Miranda, and included a banana in her act (nohting suggestive, she simply ate it and through the peel into the audience!) The Incredible Edible Akynos swathed in purple feathers, mimed and sprawled along to Prince's "Purple Rain." Miss Ivy League, an actual Ivy League grad, used a ball and a plastic umbilical cord in her act. There was even a young pregnant performer, Lolita Von Cake, whose presence in some circles was controversial, but with her pink fluffy feathered costume and soft musical accompaniment, she was the epitome of softness and femininity.

Other acts included Creamy Stevens, the '50s housewife stereotype turned upside down (her props were a kitchen stove and a baby doll), and Cat Mon Dieu and Papa Bear (the only male performer), who reenacted a smoky backroom scene of gambling, garters and a Fedora hat.

The Hot Mama Burlesque was an entertaining and empowering evening. Being a mother doesn't have to be boring -- far from it.

The Birth of Victoria Fernanda Part II

After an examination revealed I was almost 6 or 7 cm dilated, one of the nurses asked me which number child this was going to be and when I said my third, her eyes popped open, big as dinner plates.

"This is her third child, we have to get her over to labor and delivery!" she shouted.

Someone finally 'delivered' and brought over a wheelchair, and the nurse raced me down the corridor to a labor and delivery room.

"Take all her stuff," she commanded my husband, 'and meet us there. We're taking a short cut."

Down the corridor we zoomed, through the linen closet and into the delivery room, the glare of what looked like bright headlights bearing down on us.

The pain was more palpable than I'd ever experienced. It felt like a bowling ball pushing down inside of me about to split me in two.

The baby's head was unstoppable now. During the split seconds between contractions the resident doctor determined I'd reached 9 cm of dilation. She called in the covering doctor -- my doctors were unavailable -- one went to a wedding out of town and the other one was not on call this night.

The covering doctor sauntered in, cavalier, like this was no big deal. Yet the urge to push was like a running waterfall.

"Keep breathing in and out," one of the delivery nurses said. "That's the only thing that can help you at this point. And try not to push, you can break your cervix."

Well-meaning advice, but so is like politely trying to ask Niagara Falls to stop flowing.

"How the hell am I supposed to do that when she is COMING OUT RIGHT NOW?" I began screaming on top of my lungs.

The covering doctor examined me again and offhandedly remarked to the others, "No, she's not ready yet, only 7 cm, call me when she's ready." And he walked out of the room.(What was he planning to do, take a stroll and have a tour of the new hospital wing?!)

I felt the baby's head already coming out at this point and at one point the nurse told the resident doctor, "Let's get him back in here.

The covering doctor came back. "Listen," she told him, "the way this lady is talking, that baby is coming out RIGHT NOW."

How many women does it take for a man to GET IT?!

At this point they put me in the stirrups yet again, which felt like such an unnatural position. Gravity and the baby were bearing down, and they wanted me to spread my legs UP?!

He told me in a regular level speaking voice when to push, as if he were commenting on the daily weather forecast. Each time the burning sensation and the pressure of the baby's head was almost unbearable. I screamed on the top of my lungs, "I feel like I'm going to die!"

"You're not going to die," the delivery nurse stated, as matter-of-factly as one might say "Pass the ketchup please."

The covering doctor told me each time he saw the baby's head, so I knew the light at the end of the tunnel was coming soon. I couldn't wait!

That final push to get Victoria out was heaven. What a RELIEF!


She cried and cried, and was poked and prodded, weighed and examined, cleaned and dried. Meanwhile the crew was mopping up the mess so to speak, and hubby Alex was taking pictures and videos.


"Hey, this is a Kodak moment!" said the delivery nurse, posing with Victoria. Everyone was posing and watching the replays in the camera viewfinder.

One more push for the placenta and it was a fait accompli.

I held little Victoria for a while, and looked at her big blue gray eyes, her cute nose and fabulous head of thick black hair. All the pain and drama were a distant memory. I lay back in the hospital bed and relaxed.

After a while Victoria was taken to the nursery to have a bath. I talked to hubby and my parents for a while, then watched the end of a Seinfeld rerun as I waited for a recovery room in the maternity ward. As it turned out, it was a private room. And I was in no hurry to go anywhere.

The Birth of Victoria Fernanda - Part I

So she's finally here...yes, I made it through the labor and delivery of our third child -- Victoria Fernanda. Yippee! (For the record she was born on April 7 at 8:29 p.m., weighing in at 7 lbs 9 oz and measuring 20.5 inches long.)

I have to say it was the most painful but probably the most natural and fastest delivery of all three kids.


It all started when I went to my scheduled doctor's visit on the 7th in the morning for a possible 'natural' induction (stretching of the cervix). The doctor thought that due to my age and the fact that I had a mild case of gestational diabetes, I should get things started earlier than my predicted due date of April 11. My husband and I tried our own form of stretching the cervix in the the, ahem, privacy of our own bedroom, but that didn't yield any productive contractions, though I had plenty of Braxton Hicks false ones! I knew there was a good possiblity that my water could break in the office, so I came prepared with my hospital suitcase.

However, when the doctor took a sonogram of the baby, he said the amount of amniotic fluid looked significantly lower than it did when he examined me earlier that week. To avoid potential risks to the baby, he wanted me to head over to Long Island Jewish Hopsital to get induced.

The induction would be done through the vaginal insertion of either Cervadil or Cytotec. The purpose of doing this would be to begin contractions and ripen the cervix. This could take, the doctors predicted, up to 12 to 24 hours.

After filling out paperwork and waiting two hours for a pre-delivery room, I was seen at about 2 p.m. by a resident doctor, who inserted the Cytotec. My mom was with me the whole time. We both whiled away the time talking, reading and listening to music. She was reading a Sonia Sotoymayor biography and I was listening to itunes on my husband's ipod.


Around 3:30 I started to get regular contractions every 2 to 5 minutes. This went on for a good 3 hours. Overall I would say I was pretty relaxed. During this time period my cervix stayed dilated for about 2 cm.

Around 5:30 the contractions started to get more painful, and the doctors made the choice not to insert another Cytotec pill because I responded immediately to the first dose. I had to resort to exhaling a succession of quick puffs of air (something I learned in a Lamaze class over 7 years ago), and having my husband massage acupressure points on my body on my prompting. It was getting quite uncomfortable, though not unbearable, not yet anyway....

At around 6:30 p.m. I heard a sudden pop and my water began gushing all over the hospital bed mattress. More water continued to flow out. Gush, gush, trickle, trickle. The pain began to increase, and one of the nurses asked if I wanted pain relief yet, such as an epidural, but that would mean they would have to bring me over to labor and delivery. I said I was ok and that I would try the breathing and acupressure for the time being. That didn't last too long -- around 15 minutes.

A resident doctor's examination showed now that I was more than 5 cm dilated. At this point I insisted on an epidural, but they told me I had to wait because there was no delivery room available.

Then it happened. It was around 7:30 and I felt this enormous pressure in my pelvis. The contractions were so strong at this point I could hardly move or talk, but I could curse.

"It hurts like hell! S&*^t! F*&*! Do something!" I screamed to whoever would listen.

'Twas My 9th Month of Pregnancy

Yep, it's here! As daylight savings time took place, I began my ninth month of pregnancy.

As this pregnancy comes to a close, I have really been reflecting lately on how amazing it is having this living, kicking little creature inside of me.

I also acknowledge (very willingly, don't get me wrong) that this will probably be the last time in my life I feel this sensation ever again -- the little fists hitting my public bone, the little feet dancing like waves inside my belly. I am 41, and this pregnancy wasn't even planned. There's always a chance I could have more children but I really don't wish to. This was a gift of a third child that I treasure but realistically don't want or need to happen yet again. But it's somehow bittersweet. I always wanted to repeat this experience of prenancy and early motherhood one last time, to savor its magic and its essence. My children are now 6 and 5, and it seems so long ago since they each came into our lives. I am thankful for the chance to repeat the miracle.

I also got inspired to write 'Twas My 9th Month of Pregnancy (loosely modeled on 'Twas the Night Before Christmas" by Clement Clarke Moore.)

'Twas my 9th month of pregnancy, and all through the house
There was only one creature stirring, and it wasn't my spouse.

Baby items were strewn all around without a care,
In hopes that my older kids' new bedrooms would be painted and ready, no longer bare.

My family was nestled all snug in their beds
While I kept tossing and turning, trying to position my legs and my head.

And my husband in his underwear and me with my emotional crap
Had just settled down for an early spring nap

When deep in my belly there rose such a clatter
I sat up straight to see what was the matter..

Away to the bathroom I flew like a flash
To stay alert in the dark, to avoid any toilet splash

The itching of my belly, the cramps in my legs
Simply meant it was the 9th month of pregnancy, nothing more to dread

When what wandering thoughts in my head did appear
Enthusiasm, excitement, then sleepless nights and fear

Now, Benjamin! Now, Benjamin, Now Juliana my daughter
On, Victoria! On Victoria, will the doctor break my water?

To the top of the world! To be a mother of three!
I'll love my kids equally even if I have no time to pee

As dry leaves that before the hurricane fly,
I wonder when labor will start, & if it'll make me start to cry

But I go back to my maternity pillow, my long early spring nap
And realize thinking negatively is a pointless 'ol trap

I groan and I moan 'til I get the correct position in bed,
Laying down my sleepy little head.

There's only a few weeks of this tumolt, soon my legs will be spread
On a hospital table in front of a man or woman I didn't wed.

Pretty soon this will all be behind me and I'll remember these times well
And look for a way to live normally, despite the baby's frequent kvell.