Embracing 2008, looking forward to 2009

Props to the hundreds of thousands of bloggers, especially those with children (whom I will NOT automatically call mommy bloggers :)), who can keep up with photos, videos and heck, even posts themselves this time of year. I find myself at the end of the holiday months, the longest and best I've had in years, if not ever. Work simultaneously invigorated and overwhelmed me. We welcomed lots of new friends in a new house. Julian could identify Santa Claus and open presents on his own. Ian and I kept up our positive attitudes and couldn't pinch ourselves enough to make sure all this happy goodness was real and not just some wistful dream from earlier in 2008.



People keep saying what a crappy year 2008 was. It most definitely held unprecedented lows, both personal and economic, but with a new president, a new job, a new partnership, a new home, a new social circle (even for Julian) and a new wardrobe and subsequent quasi-fame, I am having a hard time remembering anything but the good from '08.



In terms of my own person growth and change, 2008 was right up there, if not ahead, of 2001, 2003 and 2006. Look at the hardship and joy suffered in those years: starting college and 9/11, followed by exiting adolescence and living in Spain, then moving to Austin, losing Troy and embracing Julian.



I'm just thankful that this year, like the others, the lemonade we made quenches our thirsty lips.



My hope is that our collective momentum will continue into this new year. 2009, as every year before it, holds countless opportunities for my family and yours, and my wish is that we all greet them with open eyes and a straight head.

Sueños con España

Blame the nisperos, but Spain has been on my mind this week, even moreso after reading Lucy McCauley's "Lesson from the Road" essay on mothering.com. She wrote about traveling in Europe with her kiddo and how wonderfully different (and challenging) it was. I can only imagine, but what I wouldn't give to try. Here's her take:

On our final day in Madrid, when I was trying to get us out the door to see some last sites, my daughter stopped me mid-motion. Unceremoniously plopping her little bum on my lap, she sat looking out the balcony windows, contentedly drinking from her sippy cup, as if we had nothing else to do. When I tried to move and get us both up and going, I was stopped by the sheer pressure of her body—and by the view in front of me, which I hadn't taken time to really notice before.

Two windows opened onto a wrought-iron balcony and a clear-skied fall morning in Madrid. Sunlight played on an ancient, five-story, ochre-stained building across the way. Each floor had balconies, and the shades were pulled out and over them—how the Spanish let in the air and keep out the sun. The scent of café con leche wafted up from the streets below, and I could hear people greeting one another in staccato phrases as they passed by.

We sat a long time gazing out that window, my baby and I, taking it all in as if we had nowhere else in the world to be, as if we had come all the way to Spain for just that moment. And in a way, I guess you could say we had.

Alicante, Spain, September 2003

Luscious loquats

Loquats are ripening around town. When I first saw the clusters of bright orange, egg-shaped fruit on trees in Austin, I could hardly believe it. We'd eaten nisperos by the kilos in Spain, but I'd never seen or heard of an equivalent in my own language, on my own terrior, to borrow a wine term I've been around lately. It's those Texas winemakers who've pointed out to me lately how similar Texas growing conditions are to Spain's. The heat, the infrequent, unpredictable rain, the lack of deep, hard freezes. So it was in Austin where I first plucked a loquat/nispero off a neighborhood tree. The city-grown ones are much smaller and more tart than the ones we used to get for cents on the pound at the biweekly outdoor produce market in Alicante, but they are a bittersweet reminder of those beloved days abroad.

Julian got to try a loquat today and he proceeded to drop it off the porch and return to his uvas. Yep, it's official. Julian has a Spanish word. Since "uva" is easier to say than "raisin," we used the Spanish word with him — well, technically, pasas are raisins and uvas are grapes, but I'll explain that to him in Spanish 2 — and sometime in the past few days, he took to it. I've been doing the same thing with fresa (strawberry). I think Ian uses ami (friend), one of the French words he remembers from Canada, with Julian. Call it smorgasbord language education if you like, but I'm OK if he combines different languages and signs to communicate even if it means fewer words overall for a little while.

Another fun new thing that I forgot to post about was that Julian drank out of the hose the other day at Tom's. He was exploring the yard and was extra curious about the hose and spicket. So I turned on the water and his first instinct was to put his mouth in the fresh cold stream for a sip. Then he shared with his oh-so-proud mommy, soaking us both.

Get this, there was a San Francisco band called Loquat at SXSW this year. They're not half bad.