Big Mama's House

As though Harper wasn't already sufficiently in love with Big Mama next door, a few days ago we were all called over from across the barbwire fence to visit with our surrogate family. Because this inter-yard beckoning happens regularly as Big Mama waits near the fence with plates full of hot food, bread and dessert, we figured we would obtain some sort of nourishment. When we entered our second home we found two cakes sitting on the table; one for Guillermo (Big Daddy), and one for Harper. Our new family explained that since they wouldn't be with Harper for her first birthday, they wanted to celebrate her almost 6 month half-cumpleanos. Harper's candle was lit and the room errupted in an awesome rendition of "cumpleanos feliz". As I whipped out the camera to capture Harper's excitement, something new and strange happened: Harper got scared. Her bottom lip started to quiver as she looked around the room at what must have appeared to be aggressive mouths chanting to the beat of loud, clapping hands, all directed at her. Looking at me with the same sort of vaccine-betrayal face, Harper seemed to be asking me why I had brought her to such a scary, loud, occultic place. And then she started to scream...The worst part was that when it was all over, I couldn't even console her with a piece of yummy cake. Good thing daddy came to the rescue with a little spoonfull of whipped cream. It's just milk, right?

snuggle puppy

I spent the evening quizzing Rivs on Harper-care in preparation for my week-long departure (yes, I took your advice and decided to go). Of course Ol' T-Rivs doesn't need the constant reminders and sporadic "what-not-to-do" pop quizzes, but it satiates my anxious heart to know that Harper will be well cared-for. Rivs has been a good sport about the patronizing and unnecessary nagging. When asked if he would remember to clean the grimy neck crevases created by her ample fat rolls he calmly replied "Yes, Steph. I will care for her as if she were my own child." Point taken. On command, he even sang a beautiful rendition of "Snuggle Puppy" (a story I've created a tune-to and sing to Harper at 5:45 am every morning while Rivers is out running) with the pauses, voice crescendos, kisses and whispers in all the right places. What a good daddy.

To make me feel even more confident about leaving, our next door neighbor Alyssia has been caring for Harper in the mornings for the past 3 weeks while Rivers attends classes with me. Harper absolutely adores her and her soft, snuggly body, and Alyssia (AKA Big Mama or Abuelita)loves her as though she were her own granddaughter. On the days that Harper is home with us, Big Mama comes over around 5pm to feed and say goodnight to Harp Face. They even make tortillas together, which I have to admit makes me a little jealous. How am I supposed to compete with that? "Hey Harp, wanna watch me make Jello? I can even make the Jiggler kind..." Anyways, Big Mama said she would be more than happy to help Rivers while I'm away, which is great so long as Harper doesn't decide that she likes tortillas better than Jello and that she'd rather stay in Costa Rica. Well, too bad, Harp. We went to the US Embassy today and made you officially American. Sorry, Costa Rica.

local distractions

After a Riversless day spent with a sleepless Harper and an awesome Costa Rican karaoke show on local TV, I am officially unmotivated to write my thesis proposal. Theorizing on effects of the new media is far too much for my tired mind to process, especially with the impressively tone-deaf voices assaulting my quiet house. Sure, I could just turn off the tube and be left in peace, but the anti-melodic tunes somehow make me feel better about myself. And also, Rivers is running in an international 10km race today and I'm waiting to see the results on the news. I don't know what time Costa Ricans watch the news, but so far, I do know that they can't sing.

The hardest part about writing a long paper is starting. I sit down at the computer, try to tune-out the ten year old girl and her accordian, and my mind is blank. I bite my nails, scratch my head and take a sip of the precious Diet Dr. Pepper I bought at a high-scale grocery store designed for people like me-gringos pretending to love the rustic, "ethnic" lifestyle of Central America and then, when no one's looking, sneak out of their little rural village, get on the freeway and feel a calming sense of familiarity as they walk through sliding doors and into an air-conditioned store filled with all the guilty luxuries they've professed to be better-off without. Yeah, that's me. What a poser.

Where am I going with this? (Oh wow-a translated version of "Total Eclipse of the Heart". Yes, it's even better in Spanish.) Anyways, I'm obviously just trying to avoid the fact that one way or another, this paper has to be written.

Okay, back to work, I guess. Or I might just give up on homework for the night and cozy-up to the sweet, sweet sounds of Costa Rican falsetto. Tempting...

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

So here's the deal...The culminating course of my Masters degree is a field training excursion in Southern Nicaragua. Although our professor (who has been a journalist in Chechnya, Colombia, China etc.) is unable to disclose any details about the training, he has told us that we'll be in a conflict-zone simulation, under intense physical and mental pressure with little to no sleep for one solid week. When I asked if we were going to be shot-at, he ambiguously replied: "I can not tell you any of this information". Sounds like fun, right? Well, I'm crazy enough to think so, especially because ideally, I would love to be a journalist reporting in conflict zones.

All this to say that if I attend the training, I'll have to be away from Harper and Rivers for 8 days. Although the prospect of leaving an early-rising, sometimes whiny baby behind for a week would have sounded like a blessing only 6 months ago, I've grown quite attatched to the little sucker and don't know if I can be away from her. I mean, I doodle her name surrounded by little hearts on my notebook when I'm in class for 3 hours...How am I going to do 56 X 3 hours? Will she forget about me? Will she be scarred for life? What if she miraculously starts talking, and because I'm gone, her first word isn't Mama? Is she going to turn into a teenage delinquent because I left her for a week when she was 6 months old?

I have to make my decision by tomorrow evening. What do you guys think?

I've been bad.

Sorry, everyone. I've really been slacking, and you're probably losing faith in me. This current class has been draining and demanding (I probably say that about every class), and I really haven't had time to write anything that isn't school-related. The good news (or bad news, if you're doing this research project by force) is that this class ends tomorrow, so I'll be able to get my groove back, just like Stella. Here are some photos as of late, just to keep the interest going. Yes, I'm resorting back to high school-esque behavior, like leaving little notes with "Hey cutie" written on them and handing them out to five different guys, just to keep the interest alive. That's what these photos are. So, do you still like me? Circle your answer.

YES
NO
MAYBE
I LIKE SOMEONE ELSE NOW






And now a little update: As of last Sunday, Harper is a bilateral roller. I lost my husband once again, although this time I found him two hours later without the aide of The Red Cross. He was simply having a conversation with our 50 year old landlady (the "missing Rivers" theory still stands true). I now make my own baby food. Yes, pat on the back, please. Rivers has created about five more pairs of sandals, all made with different types of rubber. Life continues to be awesome.

And now a little more 9th grade flirting.

no time for words

just pictures.

Don't You Forget About Me.

Hi all my wonderful followers,

We've successfully conned 100 people into this life-altering research experience. I think you all deserve a big, warm hug. My older brother Dave is thinking about starting a global enterprise called "Hugs for a Dollar", and let me tell you, his hugs are worth a lot more than that. So, to show my gratitude, you each get one free coupon. Without all of your help and networking, I would still be down to about 10 people (including my husband, in-laws, and 4 immediate family members.) So, thank you. And jusr FYI, the more the merrier, so if you know anyone else who might be interested, let them know!

I've just met with my research advisor, and we are going to start working on the survey. They take a lot longer than one might think. In our Research Methods class we spent a whole class period debating how to accurately ask about sex/gender. Seriously. As such, I'm hoping to have the survey up in about two weeks.

I'm currently in class full-time with a pretty arduous workload, so daily posts will have to be postponed for a couple of weeks. However, I promise to do my best to do my duty to keep you all family-y and politically updated as possible. Once I finish classes (May 18th), I'll have no excuse not to blog daily.

Thanks again, everyone! You rock.



p.s He's very much taken, so the offer ends strictly with a hug.

Huarache Sandals and the Case of the Missing Husband

I nearly lost my husband a few nights ago. At least, I thought I had. At 3pm last Tuesday afternoon, Rivers left on his bike in search of a cobbler who would be willing/able to cut a piece of car tire (found in the river behind our house which he had hacked in two with a machete) into a sandal sole. A strange aspiration, however in context of Rivers' years-long obsession with the Northern-Mexico Tarahumara tribe who live the same way they did centuries ago and wear simple sandals to run over a hundred miles a day, it seemed a credible endeavor. Assuring me that he would be back "soon" so that he could run at 4:30 before his church activity at 6:30, he left on his way to the little town ten minutes from our house.

When it hit 4:00 with no sign of Rivers, I barely bat an eye. Having worried extensively and needlessly over his longer-than-anticipated running adventures many times before, I thought nothing of his absence. When it turned 5:00, I felt badly that Rivers wouldn't have time to run before going to church. When 6:00 rolled around around, I started to worry that he would be late to the activity. At 6:30 I was worried. Where was my husband? Why hadn't he called? What song would I play at his funeral? What if no one finds his body and I never have closure? Yup, it was time to panic.

Although it was past HarpFace's bedtime, I frantically called a taxi and headed to the church. Surely he had gone straight there after realizing he was running (way) late. When I entered the church building to find a bunch of teenaged boys waiting for Rivers' arrival, I started to cry. Rivers had obviously been hit by a truck as it tried to pass a car on the right, crashing into my hubby straight-on. Poor Harper was going to grow up without a daddy. In between sobs, I asked the cabbie if there had been any accidents in the area that evening. When he said that he wasn't sure, I told the cabbie to just drive me home.

I put Harper right to sleep, then called my mum, still sobbing. She calmy told me to ask a neighbor to take me down to the police station. In broken Spanish I desperately explained to Blanca and Manuel that I had lost my husband and didn't know what to do. They kindly offered to take me to the Red Cross and start a search for him. So it was really happening. All of my nightmares had come true. Good thing I had, by this time, decided that the perfect song to play at the funeral was "Cotton-Eye Joe". That was one less decision I would have to make.

Around 7:00, just as I was on my way to wake up poor lil' Harper to go on a quest to find her dad, the phone rang. It was Rivers. I broke down, demanding to know where he was. It turns out finding a cobbler with the means to cut tire was harder than he thought, and having recently misplaced his watch, he had lost track of time. Great story, Hansel. But then he came home and explained how the cobbler had been a blind old man who was doing his best to cut through the metal-laden tire by feel with a grinding disk and kept insinuating that it would only take "5 more minutes" (turned out to be 30 x 5 minues) while stopping ever other minute to raise his hands and pronouce blessings on our family. Ultimately, I've come to learn that when Rivers is late, it is always because he is either helping someone, has made a new friend, or is too kind and polite to leave a given situation. I must keep this in mind next time I pre-emptively debate whether I should finish the school year or jump on the next plane home to mourn my late husband.

Rivers came home appologetic, safe and sound and of course, with an awesome pair of Huarache sandals. He even made a pair for Harper. Although I was mad for the rest of that night, I'm really glad to have my Rivs back. It gives me the opportunity to discuss with him the "Cotton-Eye Joe" song selection, although I think it's a no-brainer.

these are a few of her favorite things

Out-Foxed

My new BFF is a 65 year old Canadian fiddler who wears a straw fedora and says "aboot" instead of "about". He also happens to be my professor and one of the leading experts in propaganda studies. (And if you're wondering how I know he's a fiddler and why he's my new BFF, see the photo below.)

The past few days of class we've been discussing examples of modern propaganda. One of the main propagandistic phenomena we've been disecting is Fox News. Not to say that CNN is a posterchild for objectivity (Yes, yes, Katie Couric. You successfully boom-roasted Sarah Palin on national TV). In fact, every news network has an agenda to promote, however none diseminate "information" with such irresponsible biases while under the guise of being "Fair and Balanced" as Fox News.

One of the primary characteristics of a propaganda machine is their propagation of falsehoods when honesty is expected from them. As such, the unknowing consumers of-let's say-Bill O'Reily, will believe his words and views to be truth when in reality the consumer is receiving only a selection of truth that leaves them with a negative impression of-let's say-Democrats.

For example....If I said "I saw Obama on TV today, and he was SOBER!", you would be left with the impression that on all other days, Obama is wasted. By stating a selection of truth (because it would be true) as something remarkable, I am implying a negative view of Obama. This is essentially what Fox News does. The danger lies in the reception of this deceptive information as truth. Words are used to harness emotional power and move the audience to believe what is being said (Glen Beck, anyone?) Worst of all, news anchors and talk show hosts can get away with leaving false impressions because of their use of implicative truth. This is what we have defined in class as "epistemically defective", or saying things that have no basis in knowledge.

Well, there are still 3 weeks left in this class, so I'm sure I'll come up with a lot more ways to criticize media. Hooray! And tonight, BE AWARE! If you're tuning in to get News from the Fox network, pay close attention to statements of absolutes. That is your homework. Now go in peace.

Harper and the Technicolor Dream Heart: baby girl gets her Catholic on

Since we’ve been bringing Harper to Mormon church with us every week, we decided it was time to let her exercise her agency and get a taste of religious diversity. Luckily it happened to be Easter Sunday, which gave Harper the chance to check out a Catholic parade. Having witnessed the Easter crucifix pilgrimage in Spain, I was expecting something along the lines of men arduously carrying crosses followed by people cloaked in Catholic robes somberly waving incense. What we found was so much better. We parked (well, Rivers parked) beside a mote, which spiced the evening up right off the bat (see picture below). Once crossing the ravine, we followed the trail of rose petals to find…Men carrying crosses? Nope. Priests waving incense? Nope. Actually, we came to find a mass of people congregating around a Sacred Heart on a big screen lit up by a neon laser light show. Awesome. Harper seemed to enjoy watching the people dressed as angels, princesses and wise men as they paraded down the street to the sweet sounds of a live Latin marching band. In the spirit Hallow-Easter, I was going to offer Harper to play baby Jesus, but thought the gender confusion might have a lasting effect on our daughter, and Rivers reminded me that a baby wasn‘t so important for this particular holiday. At any rate, the verdict is out. Harper enjoyed the evening so thoroughly that she just might convert.