Fools Rush In

And here I am, making some Puerto Rican food no one likes in the hopes that it comes close to what my <em>mami </em>makes. What's on tonight's Family Doesn't Like menu? <em>Arroz con habichuelas y bistec</em>. Where is the man I love? Working very hard to provide for his family.

It was a hot and humid summer day in Atlanta. My classes started that Wednesday and I was really excited to begin this new phase in my life. The sounds of change sliding down the vending machine, chairs banging against the tables, murmured conversations, and the beeping of that damn microwave filled the walls of the eating area. The smell of microwavable popcorn, cheese fries, and chicken fingers lingered in the air like <em>eau de teenage male parfum</em> in the boys locker room.

I was the fresh meat and I sat alone at the rounded table. Happily keeping to myself by writing letters to my friends back home. I guess I just have that "I'll cut you" face. No one came near me, until someone did. Some brave soul dared to interrupt the flow of my words to paper. He was well dressed in light bluish button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark slacks, and black shoes. He balanced his chicken fingers in one hand while grabbing for a chair, turns to me and asks me politely,  "Excuse me. Is it alright if I sit there?" I nodded. He sat and began to inquire about the obvious things. Are you new? What's your name? What's your major? I asked him where the computer lab was. He walked me up a flight of stairs, we traded numbers, and began dating that Friday. We got pregnant in December of '98 with Belle got married in June 19th the following year, and had the baby in September
.
We've seen each other at our best and at our worst. I am so thankful that he is in my life. I'm glad that he is the more analytical of the both of us. It helps him keep me and my dreamy meanderings in check. I believe we compliment each other perfectly. I don't want anyone else in my life but him. I feel stronger and better supported because of him. Who knew that that geeky, comic book loving, animé watching, kenpo styling young man was going to make such an impact in my life and in our children's lives? I'm glad we decided to rushed in. Best decision I ever made.

Lost In Translation aka Bilingual Problems

I grew up in a Puerto Rican household within the U.S. We had arroz con habichuelas, perníl, pasteles, along with tacos, hot dogs, hamburgers and everything that the good ole' U.S. of A had to offer in the ways of food. We also spoke español. That's all that was spoken in the house, amongst friends (dad was Army), and at church. We really didn't begin to speak English until around 4-ish. Thanks to many, many, many episodes of Reading Rainbow, Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, and Sesame Street, I am able to speak pretty good English without an accent and people wonder where the hell I'm from. I can't really say the same for when I speak Spanish and unfortunately, I write Spanish sentences using the English sentence structure. I have been reprimanded by my daddy many a time because of it (and also for using double negatives).

Being bilingual has its advantages. Being bilingual, light-skinned, and blue-eyed has some real advantages. You can listen in on conversations and no one is even the wiser. Seriously, no one suspects me speaking any Spanish at all. Been asked if I was Greek (Greek, really?), but never Latina.     Anyways, another advantage is when I say full names and sentences in Spanish, I'm suddenly the drill sargeant that says, "JUMP!" and they say, "How high?" There are days when I do feel that I need to learn some angry sounding languages to keep this fun going (German or Russian anyone?) Supposedly, you will get hired faster if you are bilingual. Meh, don't know really know how true that is when people tell you you don't look "Latina" enough. Yeah...sorry, I don't look like your ideal Latina/Hispanic chica, bitches.

That's another post all together. Now, the one disadvantage that I always seem to run into is when I talk in English. The first time I encountered this was when I was 18. We were waiting to get measured for our cap and gown. I asked my friend about the toga.
(Yes, my friends, toga is what we use for cap and gown in Spanish...well, at least in Puerto Rico 3 years prior to that incident). She gave me this look like
I lost my mind. Who knows...I may have by then.


Another bilingual snafu was when I told my daughters that they were "out in the street all day." It made total sense to say this in my mind because my mother would say, "A estado todo el santo día en la calle." Of course, I get that confused look from my girls as if I was speaking in some sort of alien language and they have yet to figure out how to communicate with me. Then when I try to explain, their beclouded looks become glazed and I'm forced to admit defeat by uttering, "Nevermind." Always good to know that I can bore them with tales from my youth. It doesn't matter that they may learn something from it. It's just too damn boring for my 13 and 8 year old to process. So much for sharing my wisdom with them.

I have also just realized that because of this language word cross over in my vocabulary, it has lead to some minor miscommunication between the hubby and I.
After 14 years, we figured out why we have this miscommunication about cups, mugs, and glasses. He would tell me to get him a cup of milk and I would bring it in a small glass. A cup of coffee was pour in a mug. A glass of tea was poured in a tall glass. He didn't understand why I would pour him milk in a small glass when he asked for a cup. Finally, it dawned on me that one plus one doesn't always equal two when you're speaking more than one language.
Now, that we have explained to each other our language conundrum, things go a tad bit smoother. After being together for almost 15 years, we finally understand where we are coming from. At least, when it comes to what drink goes where. I laugh at myself thinking how long it took us to get to this point.