Category: Ramblings

Blog, Ramblings

Chocolate Dreams

Alexandra Alessandri

My son’s sleeping has finally become regular over the last few months. This semester was certainly much better than last, with only two weeks of multiple wakings due to a cold, croup, and ear infection. By 8 PM he’s in bed, and because he’s pretty much given up on napping during the day, he only mumbles, sings, chats for a few seconds before his eyes shut, his breathing slows, and soft snores escape his lips. In the morning, he’s up anywhere between 4-6 am, at which time he drowsily pit-pats his way into our room, climbs in bed with us and, if it’s our weekend (meaning neither of us have to go to work), he’ll keep sleeping until 7-8 am.

This morning was no exception.

His routine before settling himself back to sleep is as follows: Once in bed, he rolls from me to my husband. At each of us, he leans over, smacks a wet kiss on our cheek, and says, “Mommy [or daddy], I love you.” We say I love you back, he smiles, sighs, and turns over. Sometimes he’ll do that a few times before he goes back to what children dream of.

Occasionally, he’ll talk in his sleep. We know he is prone to sleep disturbances, as he’s had night terrors pretty badly, but on the smaller, less intrusive scale is the sleep talking.

This morning, after he’d fallen back asleep in our bed, he sighed, smiled, and whispered, “Mmmm, chocolate.”

Oh how sweet his chocolate dreams must be!

Blog, Ramblings

Growing Gardens

Alexandra Alessandri

In early March, a few month’s after my son’s school had planted a garden and my son came home excitedly talking nonstop about cabbage, broccoli, and carrots, I decided to try our hand at planting a vegetable garden. This was also around the same time that my health was pointing me towards healthier, organic alternatives. So son in hand, we headed to Home Depot and picked out a few seed packets, a greenhouse kit for kids (with cucumbers and tomatoes), and an herb set. We planted the cucumbers, tomatoes, lemon-basil, oregano, chives, and thyme first. In those first weeks, the herbs took off, as did the cucumbers. The tomatoes died.

As our “garden” started growing, we decided to invest in a larger area for the vegetable garden. In BJs, we found an inexpensive option for a raised bed, and converted a part of our backyard into our garden. We transplanted the four original herbs, and the cucumbers, and planted more seeds: summer squash, peas, lettuce, mixed greens, dill, spinach, and radishes.

The verdict? We’ve already harvested two cucumbers (and five more are growing), lettuce, and herbs. The peas are almost there. The radishes, well, those I had to replant because the first ones didn’t yield anything. The squash plant is large and leafy and healthy, but I don’t see any squash yet. I’ve already had amazing salad with my own lettuce and cucumber (and some organic carrots, nuts, seeds, raisins, cranberries, and chia seeds). I’ve already cooked meals with my thyme, oregano, basil, and chives. The dill is just getting ready to harvest, so I’ll be using that soon.

I’ll post some pictures soon. I’ve been feeling quite proud, as before this, neither my husband nor I have ever had a “green thumb” – this is certainly a step up!

Blog, Ramblings, Writing

Lazy Afternoons in the Backyard

Alexandra Alessandri

I’m sitting in my backyard today with my husband and son, amidst a lazy afternoon. The smoke from nearby brushfires is, thankfully, not blowing in our direction, and we can enjoy the sunshine (or in my case, the shade). A small child’s sprinkler – a kaleidoscope of greens, oranges, purples and blues – waves its arms relentlessly, spraying cool water as my son jumps and runs, squealing and giggling. My husband has fired up his grill, and the scent of the turkey burgers cooking reminds me I’m hungry. Our outdoor rock-inspired speakers sound off an eclectic array of tunes: 80’s, Disney, country, and pop/alternative. The simple breeze adds a backdrop to the tunes, a soft whisper. I love lazy afternoons like this; they make me feel content.

They also remind me of my childhood. I lived most of my adventures in the backyard of my Westchester home, la casita de Westchester. Though it was a humble home on the inside, just right for a family of three, its backyard was what dreams were made of – or at least, dreams for a six-year-old or eight-year-old. Or an eleven-year-old.

I can’t say exactly how big the backyard was; such exact measurements escaped my interest as a child. Instead, I was more interested in the ampleness of the grass, where I could try my headstands and cartwheels, falling laughing and laying there, arms stretched out, the soft prick of grass comforting as I stared out into the sky bright with the South Florida sun, imagining castles in the clouds and princesses waiting to be rescued.

Or, I was more interested in the two dips in the ground, one towards the center of the yard, the other towards the left, right outside my bedroom window. They became fortresses, lakes, obstacles. The one on the left became a pet-cemetary for my two parakeets when I was about seven.

Or, I would run with my dog, Lucky, waving an adult-sized full skirt, part of the traditional Colombian costume that my aunt (though which one, I don’t remember now) had brought me. Though I loved that skirt and how it made me feel (like a princess, beautiful and delicate), it was much too large, and it was much more fun to wave it around and watching Lucky snap at it erratically until he finally caught the material in between his teeth. I’d tug and pull and he’d growl, and then I’d turn round and round until Lucky would lift slightly off the ground, teeth still attached to skirt. When we both let go, he’d run to me as I lay on the floor, and I’d laugh while he licked my face.

Or, I would sit on the outside air-conditioner unit after having a fight with my father, my face tear-streaked and my chest heaving. The hum, and Lucky’s wet licks on my hands, would comfort me and there I’d imagine I lived somewhere else where “life wouldn’t be so unfair.”

That backyard was my haven, my domain. I could be anyone or anything.

At one time, my father said he’d build me a small house in the backyard and I could live there. I think I might have imagined that, but I remember the dreaming vividly: a small, wooden “house,” just one room with a cot and a window with flowers. It would be right next to the dip in the center, and I could enter and exit into my backyard as I pleased. I would have the stars at night for company and the next-door-neighbor’s banana tree for food. I really wanted that backyard house, like I wanted the Barbie doll house my father had started building me, but alas, neither became reality. The first was never started; the second, he destroyed half-way in a rage.

But sitting out here, in my own backyard now, watching my son play, I remember those afternoons in that backyard so many years ago. Much has changed since then, but the peace and possibility that arises from a simple backyard – that is still intact.

Blog, Ramblings

Growing Up

Alexandra Alessandri

Lately, my three-year-old son has become obsessed with growing up. It’s not the simple obsession of “My birthday’s coming up” or “I’m getting older.” No, he wants to be a grown-up “like mommy and daddy.”I’m certainly not ready for that yet. I’m still mourning the infant and the baby as he’s now an active, rowdy, funny kid. There’s not much baby left in him yet.

Yet the delicate balance between dependence and independence is such a wondrous phenomena, especially in children. They year to do things themselves (we constantly hear in our home: “No, I do it myself!”) but at the same time, they don’t want mom or dad to be too far away (we still get tears and sobs, with little arms clung to my legs and his sad voice begging “Mommy, don’t go. I want to stay home with you.”) At each stage, my heart melts and breaks, becoming an indefinite form of mush. At night, when he sleeps, I can only pray, God, please keep him safe always.

Last night, we were reading I Love You Forever, a children’s book about a mother’s love as her child grows up, through each stage, until the mother herself is old, frail, sick, and the roles reverse. It’s a beautiful book (though some find it creepy as the mother creeps into her child’s home to hold him, rock him, and sing to him – I take it figuratively), though I can hardly ever finish the book without a lump tugging and threatening to bring on the waterworks. So I don’t read it to him too often. Last night, when we got to the part of the teenager now grown into a man and leaving home, we have the following conversation:

Him: Mommy, why is the boy leaving his house?
Me: Because he’s a grown-up now, and grown-ups don’t live with their mommies and daddies.
Him: Why?
Me: Because they have their own houses and families.
Him: (pause, then eyebrows bunch up, head tilts back) I don’t want to be a grown-up anymore.

We followed this conversation in the morning, on our way to school.

Him: Mommy, I want to be a grown-up.
Me: But then you won’t live with mommy and daddy anymore.
Him: But I want to live with you! (his eyes were starting to shine)
Me: Me, too, baby. I want you to live with us for a very long time. That’s why I’m not ready for you to be a grown-up yet.
Him: Okay.

I know he’ll be a grown-up soon enough. Before I know it (or like Kenny Chesney’s song says, as I blink), he’ll be that teenager going off to college, getting married, having kids. And I’m so not ready for that yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be, but he’s already growing up way too fast and I’m afraid I’m blinking too much. He’s going to be four this summer; he’s starting Pre-K in Aug. Next year, he’ll be in Kindergarten. Yet, I feel as if I just brought him home from the hospital yesterday, cuddled him in my arms, nursed him, sat mesmerized by his gummy smile.

It’s bittersweet indeed.

Blog, Health, Ramblings

Finding My Center of Balance

Alexandra Alessandri

The new year is here, and with it, I’ve joined the gaming community. Well, “joined” is a strong word since I don’t actually do any online gaming nor am I playing hard core video games. Or maybe that’s just what’s inferred when one says “gaming community.” We simply purchased our first video game system: the Nintendo Wii and Wii Fit Plus. Our goal? Family fun games (with a three-year-old) that would also allow us to get healthy. That’s one of our resolutions/goals for this year: get healthy.

It’s been fun, actually, though already I see the beginnings of possible addictions. The first thing my son says in the morning and when we get home from school is: “Mommy, I want to play our game.” That scares me. So, we’re building it into our schedule. Just like we have nap time, play time, dinner time, etc., we’ll have game time.

I do like this game, though. The game console came with two games, Sports and Resort Sports (or is it Sports Resort…. I don’t remember), and the Wii Fit Plus came so many exercise possibilities that I haven’t missed a beat in the past seven days. I’ve moved my body more in these seven days than I have in the last few months – that’s got to be a great thing!

One of the things I like about the Wii Fit is the ability to track my own coordination and balance, in addition to weight, BMI and time spent “working out.” (It also has yoga and strength training poses that are great for beginners like me.) Every morning, I wake up and, while getting breakfast ready, I lay out the yoga mat and balance board. Every morning I turn on the console and select my little avatar. And every morning, I step on that board and do my weigh-in. After my balance (which is always slightly to the left or right, but never centered) BMI and weight are displayed (and after my Mii avatar gets socked with a sudden gut, belly rubbing and all), I am then guided towards the body tests, which supposedly test my balance and agility. Then, like in the Biggest Loser, I am given my approximate age based on how I perform on those tests. Well, the first time I took those tests, without knowing what the heck I was doing,  my “age” came back at 48 – I’m 31! Yea, that was fun. But, once I figured out what was expected, and once I warmed up, I was better. I’ve been able to lower my “age” to 27. Not bad. 🙂

Of course, what I find the most ironic is that my “center of balance” is off, literally. This I knew. I’m clumsy. I trip over my own feet. I’ve fallen down the stairs in my house, twice. I’m constantly finding bruises on my arms and legs because, well, I’m constantly hitting myself with things and bumping into tables, and chairs, and walls. So, when I stepped on that balance board, and the little machine came back and said I was off-balance and asked if I bumped myself or tripped often, I laughed. Out loud.

It’s not just my literal balance that’s off. I seem to be slightly off balance, period. I’m constantly trying to find that balance between family, career, and creativity. It’s hard. Freaking hard. And I’m still bumping myself along the way, finding new bruises just when I though I’d balance myself out.

The good news is that after day 7 of this Wii Fit thing, I’m almost dead center. The yoga poses and fun “exercises” and games have kept me going, and I’ve been losing weigh and feeling more flexible – hey, I can actually touch my toes now! In this new year, I find I’m also closer to finding that other balance. I’m trying to plan ahead, to keep myself on track, to sketch out times and assign priorities, so I can do it all. I CAN do it all…. I hope.

Blog, Ramblings, Writing

El Niño Dios: A Christmas Reflection

Alexandra Alessandri

While I was growing up, Christmas celebrations always centered around the coming of el Niño Dios, or Baby Jesus (well, actually, the literal translation would be something like the child God). Presents under the tree would be addressed from el Niño Dios, and, after I found the stash of presents in my parents’ bedroom closet, my father explained that el Niño Dios gave mommies and daddies the money to go buy the presents.

Santa Claus was an American abstraction. I don’t remember him much in my childhood, though I’m sure I must’ve believed in him somehow. After all, I grew up somewhere in the gray area between el Niño Dios and Santa – between Colombia and USA.

We spent the nine days leading up to Christmas Eve, the main celebration, migrating from family home to family home, reciting the prayers of the Christmas Novena (each day, a different prayer in addition to prayers for Baby Jesus, the Virgin Mary, and San José)  and singing villancicos, spanish Christmas songs. We’d bring out guitars, maracas, panderetas and any other noisemaker to accompany the songs: Tutaina, Rin Rin, A la Nanita Nana, Noche de Paz, Los Peces en el Rio and many more. We’d cram into the homes, because we were many and our homes were small, and lay out buñuelos and natilla to munch on after we’d prayed and sung. Then, we’d just talk, laugh, and spend time together, as a family.

(Side-note – this is the bulk of my memories as an older child/teenager/young adult. As a young child, when I still lived in Westchester and my mom’s family was still scattered between Cali and New York, I don’t remember lively Novenas. Instead, I remember my father teaching me to play the piano and then playing select Christmas songs in English and Spanish for my neighbors while reading verses of the Christmas story from St. Luke.)

On Christmas Eve, we’d gather in someone’s house, like with the novenas, and each family would bring a dish. Chairs would line the walls and the furniture would be temporarily rearranged to make room for everyone. When everyone was there, we’d pray and sing the last novena. The kids would run around (and there were always many kids), and the teenagers would meander around the front yard or sometimes sit on the stairs, rolling their eyes at the traditions but enjoying the time with their cousins. Adults would sit and reminisce, as is usually done when they get together, far from their native land. They’d say a lot of “Remember when…” The “party” would start anywhere between 6 and 8 PM, and we’d stay up past midnight. At midnight, we’d exchange gifts and then some would go home, some would go to midnight mass, and others would sleep over and leave the next day. Christmas day was spent quietly, in smaller numbers, with immediate families.

But celebrating Christmas was always about the coming of the Christ child. Baby Jesus. El Niño Dios. While Christmas trees and lights were nice, and we had both, they weren’t the focus of the holiday.

I see my son now, at three, beginning to understand what Christmas is and I worry. I love the “non-religious” associations of Christmas: the trees, the lights, the Santas (and snowmen). I love that it’s a time to spend with family. But I worry because sometimes it seems that’s all Christmas is today. If you go to the store, the commercialization of Christmas is evident. Isles and isles of indoor and outdoor decorations, lights, presents, and knick knacks fill the stores. Neighbors try to outdo each other in decking the homes with “Christmas cheer.” But ask anyone to talk about the real meaning of Christmas, the reason why we celebrate, and people get quiet. They whisper.

Of course, that’s not everyone. I smile when I see nativity sets embedded in the Christmas decorations. It’s a way of saying: I enjoy the outward showings of this holiday, but I know why I’m celebrating it.

My son doesn’t yet understand Santa. When he had his picture taken with Santa, Santa asked him what he wanted for Christmas. My son replied: jingle bells and a star. (That might be because he was watching Mickey Mouse Christmas DVD, but I found it cute that he didn’t ask for presents.) But everything we see on TV about Christmas is related to Santa bringing presents. There’s no mention of Baby Jesus at all. I mean, I like Santa. He’s a nice guy and he’s got a giving heart. I love watching the Santa/Christmas shows that show good values, the “Christmas Spirit,” etc. But what worries me, I guess, is that if I didn’t explain to my son why we have Christmas, all he’d know is that Christmas is a holiday to spend with family and get presents from Santa. That’s certainly part of what’s done in Christmas, but it’s not the reason we have Christmas.

(Side note, I’ve realized I don’t know much about Santa, either, other than what’s been fed to me by the media. I mean, how did the figure of Santa come to be? Why is he known as Santa, St. Nicholas (who was actually a Catholic saint), Kris Kringle? I’ve heard rumors of him being a pagan figure to representing the winter solstice. Someday, I’ll find the time to read about the history of all that with which we associate Christmas.)

But I want my son to know why we celebrate Christmas. It’s because el Niño Dios was born, the first Christmas gift given to a world that was in need. It’s because we’re celebrating the birth of Baby Jesus. There are other good associations that I want him to take from Christmas: hope, faith, love, family. Doing good. Helping others. Of course, many of these should be done year-round, but Christmas seems to be a good time to remind ourselves of those things that are important to us, really important (not the latest video game or gadget – those are nice if we can afford them, but they’re NOT the reason for Christmas). In the middle of it all, though, is that lonely manger where God’s only son was born. That’s why we’re celebrating.

There’s a beautiful section in Epcot’s Candlelight Processional, possibly one of my favorite renditions of the Christmas story, and it says something along the lines of this: of all the kings, armies, parliaments, put together, none have affected mankind the way this one man, Jesus, has for over two-thousand years. Jesus’s birth is the reason we celebrate Christmas.

I’m still trying to find ways of merging the two forms of celebration so it’s seamless for my son. So he can understand. We bought a Christmas flag recently, which I think sums it up nicely:  Santa is kneeling down besides Baby Jesus, his head bowed. Underneath is an inscription: Santa’s first stop.

I’ve made a decision: Santa’s not bringing my son presents this year, el Niño Dios is. But I’m not going to keep Santa away, either. Somehow, someway, I’ll make the two fit together so it’s understandable for a three-year-old.

Blog, Health, Ramblings

Fibro-what? Oh yeah, I’m Back.

Alexandra Alessandri

The semester is finally done! Though I’m going to miss my students, I am happy to have a break. This semester has been beyond rough for many reasons, the biggest one being my health.

Right before the semester started, I began with some joint pain. The pain progresse throughout the semester to the point where I was having trouble doing the basics, like brushing my teeth, walking. And then I had an anxiety attack. Not fun. Well, I went to see a rheumatologist mid-semester (I blogged about that before) and then I just waited – first for the results of blood work, and then for the follow up appointment so I could talk to my doctor.

(The pain, while better, hasn’t gone away and, in fact, had been getting worse this week. My hands and fingers, especially, have been aching so bad I was having trouble driving and typing. But yesterday, after all grades were in, I felt the culmination of pain: I couldn’t move because every movement was excruciating, from my arms, to my wrists/hands, to my hips, to my legs and knees. All I could do was take some Advil and lay down.)

Wednesday morning I had my follow up appointment. My blood tests came out, to use the doctor’s words: “perfect” except for Vitamin D being slightly low. This is very good as that rules out other, more serious illnesses like lupus or rheumatoid arthritis. Or, rather, it rules them out right now. She explained there is a possibility I could still have any of these diseases, but at the beginning stages where they wouldn’t register in blood tests. Great. Comforting.

She did the physical examination again, which consisted of pressing several areas around muscles and joints, which hurt – a lot. Diagnosis? I don’t have one yet. I have obvious inflammation throughout the body. She said while she won’t call it fibromyalgia just yet, I seem to be headed in that direction. The first step, for now, is to “fix” my sleeping, since that may be triggering the pain response in my nervous system. She prescribed a small dose of a muscle relaxant and some pain medication to see if it helps me. I’m to take these for the next couple of weeks and see if my sleeping improves and if my pain subsides.

I go back in two months for another follow up.

So though I still don’t know what’s going on with me, I’m a little closer to finding out. I’ve realized a few things:

1) Glucosamine seems to help me a bit, especially the knees.
2) Caffeine, even in the smallest quantity, seems to make me feel worse, so I’m taking everything decaf for now.
3) Stress makes me feel worse. The worst I felt this semester was during midterms and finals.
4) Sleep helps.

Most of this seems basic. All I can do is try little things that will help me out. I am praying this doesn’t develop into anything worse.

I also think a lot about my grandmother, who I never met. She suffered from inexplicable pains and was sent to “warmer climate” to get better – this was in Colombia in the early- to mid-1900’s. My father, too, was always in pain. I wonder if their unexplained pains are the same I have now. I guess I’ll never know because both have passed on.

Blog, Ramblings

Pardon the Small Hiatus

Alexandra Alessandri

I’m taking a small hiatus from blogging. The papers to grade have accumulated, the Thanksgiving weekend (and Black Friday shopping and Christmas decorating) demanded my attention, and I got sick. Too much for one person, I tell ya. So blogging has taken a back seat.

I will say, however, that soon (I just don’t know HOW soon yet) I will be on here to write my review for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I, which we saw this past Saturday night. In short, I was disappointed. It wasn’t as magnificent as it could’ve been. But perhaps, no movie could ever live up to the book’s expectations. I don’t know. I’ll explain more when I write the review. I want to try to churn it out before things get really sticky since we only have a week left of classes (and two more weeks if we count finals) and I have A TON of grading to do. Way too much grading. Did I mention it was a lot of grading? Oh yea, I did. Sigh. I never learn.

But anyway, I digress. Writing on here is taking a small backseat. But when I come back, I have plans. Oh, so many plans, so I hope you stay tuned. 🙂

Blog, Ramblings

Grasping for Patience

Alexandra Alessandri

I’ve debated whether or not to blog about this. On the one hand, I don’t have any concrete answers. On the other, I feel I’m *thisclose* to finally getting some answers, whatever those may be. One thing’s for certain: the last couple of months have been rough physically and emotionally.

Last Friday I went to visit a rheumatologist because the pain in my joints had started to interfere with regular activities, like brushing my teeth, walking up stairs, typing. The beginning of the semester brought with it subtle pains in my jaw and my wrists, but by last week, I was aching in elbows, ankles, fingers, toes. Forget wearing heels – I couldn’t do that (I tried, heeled boots, and boy did I regret it!) Added to that was the fact that sleep has been shaky for the bulk of this semester. My son went through over a month of night terrors, and while he doesn’t have those severe episodes anymore, he’s still waking up at least once or twice throughout the night (monsters, shadows seem to be the culprits). My memory has been fading. All this I understood to be part of the role of a parent. Suck it up, right? Then, why, when he does sleep, do I still have trouble sleeping? The few times he slept through the night, or those Saturdays when my mom took him, I still woke up a few times or, if I slept through, I still woke up tired. And the week before Halloween, I had my first anxiety attack. This can’t just be a turning-30 thing. There’s more, but I’ll spare you the entire clinical symptom list.

During my regular doctor’s office, when I had the anxiety attack and she claimed I was too young to be having a heart attack, she suggested if the joint pain continued to go see a rheumatologist. So I did just that (right when I struggled to brush my teeth and, after, dying my hair, my left arm became practically useless).

I took a leap of faith and picked a name out of the listing. I saw some reviews, all positive, online, so I went with my gut. I wanted a woman doctor (for whatever reason I feel more comfortable with them) and received my appointment with one of the newer doctors in the group the Friday after I got back from Sanibel. After a slew of questions and xrays to the wrists/hands and knees, this is what she said: From the physical examination, she suspects fibromyalgia. I looked up the symptoms to fibromyalgia and they do seem to fit. However, apparently, fibromyalgia is only diagnosed through exclusion of other diseases with similar symptoms: hypothyroidism, lupus, rheumatoid arthritis (RA), vitamin D deficiency, strep-induced RA. So I got six vials of blood taken and I’m anxiously watching my phone for the results. One reason why I’m anxious is because back in 2005, my ANA (antinuclear antibodies) came out positive/elevated and since then, have for the most part remained positive (they have gone back to “normal” once or twice – I get them checked every year). Positive ANAs are, sometimes, precursors to autoimmune disorders, like lupus and RA. So of course, I’m nervous.

The xrays showed I have the beginnings of osteoarthritis in my knees, which really means I have to get up off my behind find time to exercise and lose weight. Walking, according to the doctor, is not enough. I need something like an elliptical machine. Which means gym. And I have no time for gym. I barely have time to grade all my students’ papers! But whatever- I have to figure how to make it happen.  The xrays also showed some possible inflammation in my fingers.

But I can’t jump to conclusions, so I not-so-patiently wait for the blood work results (which I was told could take up to a week). All I really want is to find out what’s going on in me so I can get some energy back and not feel like I’m falling apart. Is that really too much to ask?

Blog, Health, Ramblings

Unhinged

Alexandra Alessandri

I feel myself becoming
unhinged
the seams tearing
one by one,
breaking.
Submerged, perhaps,
but more than that
sequestered
inside the four walls
that bleed yellow into
a flowered wallpaper
like my father had in my Barbie house,
long ago, before he became unhinged.
The voices don’t speak,
I hear silence except for the
pat-pat-pat of my heart,
the tempo rising so I cover my ears
but I still hear it.
Loud.
Strong.
My hands shake, my chest caves in.
I can’t breathe.