When wrong is right

So how did I end up down here in the land of the brave and the home of the beans? As like all things in life, it’s a long story so let’s stick to the highlights… Met the misses in the States, moved to Mexico to court her, married her, back to the States, lived on the right coast, then the left, wanted extended family close, found a telecommuting job with a cool boss, moved to Mexico, and loved it -- strike that, loving it.

One of the surprises has been the polar views folks in the States have about living here. One conference on, let’s call it Pi, in the course of 30 minutes I had the expected “So you have a team there… do they show up on time and work hard?” to the other extreme of “Awesome, I’d love to do that.” followed by an intellectual remark not at all bigoted.

During a trip to the Lone Star state I caught a silly show on the tube. Not what I would be proud to admit watching, but a show about catching people on camera reacting to different situations. This time, it was all hyped up about these poor “Mexicans” who couldn’t order food at a restaurant. The punch line? The majority of people who came into the experiment supported the actors playing Mexicans who couldn’t speak English.

Once you get past the vocals who love to speak out about all those political causes, and while living here you might guess my views, this isn’t what my blog is about. It’s about what is great about living here on the “wrong” side of the border.

For me and my family, living here is very right.

Neoism

pi·ya·mas pa·ra na·dar: (from Spanish, well sort of.) noun.

1. Literally: Swimming pajamas
2. Bathing suit
3. Neo's own (and apparently necessary) concept coined to call a garment for which she already possesses not one, but two names.

Cutting corners

I was a late bloomer in the maternal instinct department. I remember fondly playing with Barbies, always setting up a story with career, house, and great friendships, I guess my definition of success back then included being a journalist moonlighting as an ice-skater living in a pepto-bismoed house and sports car and a white horse in the living room, yes, the horse had to be in the living room.

I can’t remember really enjoying cuddling a doll as it was my own baby.

Later, I remember being in school in a class about vocations (yes I went to catholic school) and they talked how you felt a calling to the type of life you wanted: married life, career life, religious life, and I seriously asked about having a calling to be celibate, you see I defined myself as a plant.

So, Fast-forward to me reproducing. Got lucky. The kid is everything I’m not.

Thank God.

Now, once I was actually contemplating the idea of me having kids I remember thinking about all the cool staff I’d do. They’d call me by my name, wear vintage rock tee shirts, boys would have long hair and girls would do, I don’t know, something equally outrageous.

My kids would identify Mozart and Beethoven’s music in their toddler hood just by listening to it, and know all Beatles songs. And I would read high literature to them every night, something in the lines of Proust’s In search of lost time… In French…

Fast-forward a little more to me cutting corners.

Neo’s watching Hercules for the n-th time.

Can’t name Beethoven’s symphonies but can demand for Apple TV.

The husband asked if she can go to sleep in the pony tail he did earlier today, in the hopes it’ll look good enough in the morning for school.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked

“You don’t waste good hairdos like this one… You have to get at least two good days out them if not more…”

Oh yeah… Someone is going to call social services on me…

Or my mother…

Enjoying the corner bodega life

One of those little things you barely notice when it starts, until you realize you are in a love affair with the corner bodega. To pick up a phone and ask for anything from a kilo of limes or a half kilo of fillet especially when you are in the middle of cooking a meal and realize you need an item -- priceless. A few minutes later, our local bodega delivery guy shows up on his bicycle with your items. Definitely brings convenience to daily life.

The downside? None? Makes grocery shopping easier when you know you only need to get 98% of the items for the next few days. And all with a two dollar delivery minimum!

Welcome to the wrong side of the border

It's inauguration day, not of the new President of our former home, but of our blog! As a bilingual, biracial couple raising Neo down in Mexico, we're enjoying the beauties of a cultural existence the likes of which my forefathers would not have likely imagined.

I am the wetback gringo who moved south of the border -- the same one who passed sophomore Spanish with an average D. Clever thinking, right? If my teacher could see me now...

My wife, she's the intellectual of the two - brilliant poet, writer and deep thinker. Neo, is the little bundle of joy who loves to spout expressions like “Quiero washa mis hands” – yes, the true epitome of Spanglish.

Now if only the misses and I could stop picking up Neo’s expressions, we might continue to be taken seriously in our professional lives! What this blog will contain, only time will tell, but expect a mix of Spanglish scattered throughout!

The Wetback Gringo saying bienvenidos a nuestro blog!