Uh, ma'am what do you have in there?

Oh just a drum,




Some maracas,




A tambourine,




And this lethal quira (thank goodness it wasn't in her carry on),




Yes that would be my mom, aka Abuela's doing. Now before each parent cringes in horror at the thought of a grandparent showing up with the equivalent of a percussion section as a gift, I asked for it. I really did ask for it. Promise. See in June when my mom was partying her soon to be 60 year young patooty at my grandfather's birthday party she mentioned she was having trouble coming up with gift ideas to bring back for the boys. I told her that she didn't have to bring anything but if she felt she had to that I would love some instruments for the kids and to use in our homeschooling. No I have no visions of us as the Partridge Family, just wanting to let the kids bang out their preferred rhythm without worrying about expensive gear. One of the markets in DR sells these for a song (ha!) and I remembered how much fun we had as kids with the drums just like that flag painted one on my table.

That would be how my mom found herself explaining away not one but two sets of instruments (for both sets of grandchildren) to a US customs agent. A whole suitcase worth of instruments mind you. She just shrugged her shoulders and said, "it's for my grandkids" and apparently he believed her. Like I said thank goodness the guira picks (3 very pokey metal tines) were not on her carry on or I might have gotten a call from a TSA agent holding my mom for questioning. But thanks to her we now have a rocking family band to which we've added the collection of harmonicas that have somehow made their way to our home over the last couple of years.




And if you come to my house a certain little two year old might treat you to her version of the blues.




Here's a proper use of those instruments and featuring the voice of the Dominican equivalent of John Lennon, Bob Dylan and P Diddy all rolled into one - Juan Luis Guerra. I dare you not to get up and dance.

Beginnings. Week 1

First, a belated Happy New Year! There have been a host of changes for our family including the very surprising move of my little sister and her mirror image family to NC. Yes, she and her were both crazy enough to have four kids too and with both sets of cousins close in age we parents are anticipating some creative hijinks in the future. It's been pretty neat to have some family around since both Mr. Maricucu and I moved up here 10 years ago on our own. Now we get to inflict *cough* spread our fabulousness on some relatives. Be afraid, be very afraid.

On a different note if you see some cryptic photography posts in my blog it's me messing with the camera again. I've decided to try my hand at Project 52 which is just taking a picture once a week to match a selected theme. With the attention issue doing something like Project 365 would have been a guaranteed failure. Even with the weekly version I'm not making any promises and will feel free to do it the Marielle way. Which means whenever I remember.

For the first two weeks the theme is Beginnings and here's mine. I sewed 27 of these little newborn diapers for my second before he was born. That same baby just turned five years old the other day and I can't believe he ever fit in these (that's a matchbox car for scale). Since then two other siblings have worn these wee diapers and they've been packed away for the last time. See it's the beginning of new stage for our family as we slowly move from the land of babies and toddlers into one with biggish kids who have some pretty interesting personalities.




I will say I've looked forward to this in between stage of big enough to be cool but young enough to still need momma and daddy. I do have an inkling that it's quite fleeting. My mother, my grandmother and many an experienced mom all confirm that in far too short a time they'll be off having babies of their own. But for now I'm freezing time with the shutter and looking at them in awe as they transform.

The birth and an update.

Wow, long break but so needed. My friends may already know this but I tend to become a bit of a recluse as I get near the end of a pregnancy. Then right after the birth Mr. Maricucu and I line up his time off and my mom's visit to make sure our family gets an extended babymoon. Nothing fancy, just a good amount of bedrest for me with the baby and time for the siblings to adjust to all the new hubbub in the household. Mr. Maricucu is now back to work and my mom is back in Florida. The first two weeks Mr. Maricucu carried the whole load on his shoulders. Caring for the kids, the house and then on top of that me (in bed remember?). By the time my mom showed up he was exhausted. Thankfully my mom stepped in to help and gave Mr. Maricucu and I the best gift a parent could ever get. Sleep. She would let the kids join her on the sofabed at whatever early hour they rose, then Mr. Maricucu and I would get to do something we haven't done in years - sleep in together. Even if she hadn't done dishes, cooked us some meals and did laundry (including putting it away - my nemesis) all of which she did, the sleeping in part alone was worth its weight in gold.

Abuela in action.




Now about the birth. I'm kind of a strange one. I'm not interested in recreating romantic detailed birth stories piece by piece. What's more, being the sarcastic cynic, what usually imprints in my memory is what goes wrong in a humorous sort of way. I remember most of the birth until transition and then after that it's all a blur/whirlwind which sometimes comes back a few months later. But I'm also not the type to journal, have babybooks or any other introspective tool besides my camera. I don't have my kids' measurements or developmental milestones written in chronological order somewhere to pull out later. It's either going to make me one amazing mother in law, "Oh I can't remember when his daddy walked but the baby is doing just fine", or a horrible one, "Hmmm, I remember his daddy walking at 6 months old. What do you mean kids don't walk at that age?" Before the horror sets in let me just say that I do mentally catalog sentimental and sweet memories of the kids - I'm not an entirely heartless momma after all.

So do you guys remember John Moschitta Jr. the World's Fastest Talker and better known as the micromachines commercials guy from the 80s? I'll do the birth story a la Moschitta which will give the birth junkies a detailed account and spare the I-don't-want-tmi crowd. Deep breath . . .

Friday before 4th of July weekend having some contractions, Saturday had some amniotic leaking, Sunday more contractions but then they petered out, Monday contractions on and off but nothing consistent, woke up 3am on Tuesday with more contractions but they stopped, off to bed, 7am my older daughter nursed then the contractions picked up and were more intense, called my doula she came to assist and use some tools to keep the contractions consistent, soon called my midwife during the first half of the day to come over and check on me, she did and predicted I'd be calling her over for the birth around 4-5pm, took a walk with my doula/friend, came back and ate an early dinner, bam right around 4pm and at the end of dinner had to stand up during contractions, called the midwife . . .

. . . deep breath

That leaves us here. Me in the birth tub thanking the Lord eternally for blessing us with hot water to soothe during contractions. From this moment to the next picture I can't even recall how much time passed. All I remember was hitting transition and puking (as is usual for me) then feeling very pushy. Once I hit transition I pretty much close my eyes and keep them closed until I've pushed the baby out.




Here we are. Having gone from intense contractions one moment to relief, euphoria and awe in another. Like her other siblings and despite the early leak baby's bag of waters was pretty strong. I'll have to confirm this with an attendant but I think she crowned still in the sac. A few moments after this picture and while we were still in the pool my other three kids each came over and gently touched her on the head all while cooing over her.




Being weighed by the midwife's assistant.




Mr. Maricucu doing what he does best. The thankless behind the scenes support work. Yeah he's a good egg.




Of course after baby and I were looked over each sibling had to take a turn holding "their baby".

Number 1, he's a veteran at this birth thing. This is the third sibling birth he's witnessed. He's blossomed into the designated baby soother, patting and shushing as she fusses while I change her diaper.




Number 2, snuggling and smiling at the baby sister that looks just like him as a newborn.




And number 3, who alternates between wanting to dress the baby up like a doll and looking at this suspicious creature who now forces her to take turn for nursies.




So here's the newest member of our family. I hope she doesn't mind growing up the youngest or at the very least that the chaos of three older siblings makes it interesting.








Oh and lest he feel forgotten a certain someone in our home turned the big 4-0. He's lucky I was incapacitated by a little syndrome called pregnancy-in-the-southern-summer otherwise there could have been a lot more devious planning on my part. One day . . .

A momentous occasion.

Tomorrow this whipper snapper is 100 years young. My grandfather who has outlived most of his peers, all of his siblings and many more will be feted today like nobody's business. As I type, my mother and most of her siblings are in Santo Domingo rigging up wayyyy too much delicious food for a birthday party this afternoon. People have flown in from out of the country, driven into the city from the outskirts of Dominican Republic and if I know my family like I know my family then they will be partying way past my grandfather's bedtime (which is a very early 5-7pm mind you).

I'm hoping one day someone actually sits down with him to cobble together my grandfather's life story. From sitting around trying to catch the grown up gossip as a kid I've picked up a few interesting tidbits. Hopefully in revealing them I won't be disowned. *kidding!* I know he's been married three times (the last was my grandmother with which he had 6 children). He lived in New York as a young single guy then returned to Dominican Republic, the cosmopolitan man having been to the big city of dreams. Abuelo was involved in developing agriculture with the Dominican government. My mom tells me that before it was cool to be organic he had a set aside plot on the land he managed, just for his family's produce that the workers were instructed to not spread with chemical fertilizers or insecticides. He said even back then that those chemicals would be the undoing of agriculture.

He has 13 children and even back in the 80s/90s we would all keep count of the dozens upon dozens of grandchildren he had. Now we're keeping count of the great grand children instead. I also know that my grandfather was known for his hot blooded temper and that it only slightly calmed down with age and diminished hearing (which I imagine would pretty much calm down anyone). He loves baseball and politics, two subjects which are a sure way to unleash that healthy temper on anyone daring to disagree with views. Until his eyesight got worse he was the most avid reader of cowboy novellas I've ever known, devouring many a week then exchanging them for new ones at the local shop.

He's made about as many mistakes as we can all make on a journey 100 years long. Yet, he was always willing to extend a helping hand to anyone in need many times in discretion to preserve a person's dignity, grew up with a shrew of a stepmother that shipped him off to an uber strict boarding school yet while strict did not transfer that to his kids. He's been loyal to a fault, both to family and friends. Most of all he loves his family fiercely. So today he'll be surrounded by the seed he sowed and I can only hope to get to such an advanced age surrounded by family and friends that see beyond my imperfect human nature to what God has been able to accomplish through that life.

Happy Birthday Abuelo. Felicidades Abuelo y que Dios lo bendiga con muchos mas.

Why vanilla was postponed.

First, let me whine a little. And if you don't like to hear whining then skip down to the last half of this post. I'm all of 5 feet tall and short torsoed. Which means barely any room in my torso to begin with. Then I get pregnant with my husband's super long offspring and sometime in the third trimester I'm eating supermodel portions not by choice but because anything more in such a limited space and it's reflux city. Breathing? What's that? I don't take a normal deep breath again until I've literally pushed out a baby. Beautiful picture huh? So on Friday I was gifted yet another one of my beautiful, children's colds. Which pretty much had me tired but not much else. Then bam! on Saturday I could barely breathe and with no sleep was pretty much useless all day long. Thank the Lord for a husband that takes as good care of me as my own mother would. Seriously, kids fed & entertained? Check. Marielle fed and sleeping like a wheezing baby? Check. Laundry done? Check. Dinner cooked and cleaned up? Check. Blessedly on Sunday after he had to go work for a few hours and run errands, a friend brought over a meal to give the poor guy a break and our family some nourishment. I avoided pneumonia and even though I sound like Carol Channing am on the mend and can semi-breathe. So that was our weekend and I was all set to come back and hit you with my vanilla method. But then something else happened.




My little sis went and had herself a beautiful little baby girl! She who is now breathing freely, welcomed baby A., the adorable little sister to 3 very proud and loving older brothers. To say she's going to be spoiled is an understatement. Isn't technology wonderful? My too-cool-to-be-old-fogie parents sent me the cell phone pics and I was able to admire her right away. The only thing I'm missing is smushing on those beautiful cheeks in real time. Congratulations to my little sis and my brother in law as they welcome their newest blessing.

A little excitement before the weekend.

Growing up, my family had one cardinal rule. No one ever goes to or stays in the hospital alone. Much like the marines and their "never leave a marine behind" command, in our family we took shifts, called on friends and pretty much ensured that a person was not alone in the hospital. No we're not paranoid but in an imperfect world with many shift changes a human can make an error so a loved one keeping a watchful eye helped reduce that risk drastically. That person would also serve as an advocate for someone likely under sedation or too weak to persist in requesting comfort measures.




Well I'm here to say the tradition continues. Here's my crew at the hospital ER while poor Mr. Maricucu was being seen for kidney stone pain. Bad cell phone pic but even if I did have my camera I think they would have poorly on me trying to snap pictures at the emergency room. Mr. Maricucu is not usually one to complain about smaller symptoms so when he called me to tell me he was coming home early and panting through pain I knew it was not just back pain. Sure enough, a couple of hours later instead of heading to our family doctor the whole crew was packed and ready to head to the ER. Once there they sat still for a good 2-3 hours and munched on the food I had hastily packed up preparing for the worst. We tried every hand sanitizer station, discovered all the bathrooms and spoke with both police officers on duty. I steered them away from a TV playing one of the most gruesome vampire movies I've ever seen (hello?) until we found the little kid section which was a mixed blessing. When Mr. Maricucu was called back to be seen he told me to go ahead and stay in the lobby thinking it would be easier on me. Three hours into the ordeal I asked which room he was in and found that they had yet to do any type of diagnostic procedures on him. I camped the three kids and me in the small room while I peppered the now surprised nurse and PA about the course of action. Thankfully I touched bases with a friend who sent her husband to rescue my two older boys from the boredom of the ER and unleashed them in their backyard to play then fed them dinner. Finally, after a cat scan, an IV bag and a whole bunch of sitting around waiting Mr. Maricucu was sent out with a little less pain, some prescriptions and a referral. He's recovering now and doing well. Definitely not our idea of fun and now we get to sit around and wait some more on the hospital's idea of fair billing.

Happy Birthday Papi!

That's right, my dear old Dad is a ripe 60 years old today which led to a whole lesson on how that is ten times the current age of my oldest. It's great to see a kid's eyes get wide open as if your age in years translated into money. Needless to say he was impressed that Abuelo was 60 years old.

On a day like today in 1950 my grandmother became a mom for the very first time.




My father as a young kid. Surrounded by his cousins, I'm sure back then at his age there was nothing better than birthday cake and presents. He hadn't yet begun to obsess over Elvis so there's no tell tale high pompadour until much later. Too bad those pictures are in his possession.




I've shared this one before but it still amazes me that I'm now officially older than my dad was in this picture with my sis and me. See? I told you from where I acquired "the look".




Now one from December. I think the grays have softened him a little. As a birthday gift I won't share the story of how he asked a then teenage me to dye his hair dark black and the "I Love Lucy" episode that entailed. Happy Birthday to you Papi, hope you are blessed with many more.

Don't complain . . .

. . . that you don't like the pictures I posted of you on the blog if every time I approach you with a camera you do this.




Instead, chill. Relax. Crack a smile and remember in the legacy we leave our families are included the snapshots of us in every stage of life. Remember that your daughter loves you and despite trying to get pictures of you in embarrassing poses when she was a kid, this time around she naturally wants to capture your spirit in order to show the kids when you are far away. Then be sure to remind that same daughter when she runs away from the camera. But don't threaten to take embarrassing pictures of her and post them on facebook when you're not even on there yet. I'm on to you Dad. Love ya.



Disclaimer: Marielle is in no way forcing her father to be on the blog or in pictures. This is all in good fun.