Five White Girls Amongst Twenty Mexicans and My New Grandson, Other Stuff, Too

The above picture is four of my daughters plus me. Going left to right, Tinkerbell, No-No, Me, Ewee, and Sum-Sum.

Now imagine us in a room full of Spanish-speaking-Mexican women mingled with some of their men-wished I had pictures to show you.

Ewee’s quazi mom-in-law put a baby shower on for her. It was the longest one I’ve ever attended. From forty-thirty to eight-thirty, I was trapped. Everything was Mexican. Fried food galore-stuff I wouldn’t and couldn’t eat. All game instructions were in Mexican. All introductions were in Mexican. I’m sure you get my point.

“Mom. What are they saying?” One of my daughters asked.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll figure it out.” Good thing I took Spanish, Castillion not Mexican. There is a difference, people, but I did get through it. I listened with my heart.

Lesson here, I learned what it’s like to be the minority.

Now for my grandson:

 

Say hello to Jordan Kyle Alvarrez. He was born July 20, 2011. He weighed 8 lbs and was 21 inches long. He also, ripped mom on the way out.

A bit of karma is already happening to Ewee. Her weight and height were the same when she was born. She also ripped me on the way out.

So if I haven’t been by your blog or left a comment, the little guy above has a lot to do with it. This week I’ll get back on track now that I’m getting used to grandma-dom.

I even downloaded several books to my Kindle this week.

The Dream Spell by Emma Daniels

The Touch by Lisa Olsen

Angel of Mercy by Lisa Olsen

My Beginning by Melissa Kline

A Repeating Life by Christy Parks

Storm Chaser by Mark R. Hunter

Box of Rocks by Karla Telega

Next week, I’ll have a book review prepared on Beth Muscat’s Triology, Remember the eyes.

That’s all for now folks!

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!

Shelly

E-wee, Daughter Number Three, A Mexican Burglar, and My Grandson

This morning when I woke up, I decided to start my day going to pick up my co-op food. Carrots. Lettuce. Two lemons. Two onions. Six sweet potatoes. Three pears. Five apples. Kale. Two garlic bulbs. Six bananas.

Every other week I buy organic produce through a local health food store. The cost, twenty bucks. It helps the small American farmer and I get pesticide-free food at a low price.

Sometime later, I’ll make up a pot of lentils, some basmati brown rice, roast a range free chicken, and cook up a pot of soup with my co-op items. This will keep Sweetman and I fed for the next week or so.

After, I ventured out for more baby items for my grandson on the way. A hundred-twelve diapers. A box of five hundred wipes. To my surprise the diapers cost nineteen dollars and ninety-eight cents. The amount of formula caught my eye. Fifteen bucks. Holy shit! When my youngest was a baby, I had to fork up three dollars and fifty cents for a can. It made about eight bottles back in the day. A thing of diapers cost me about five dollars, but most the time I used cloth.

At this point, I’m wondering how E-wee-daughter number three-is going to make it on a Wal Mart salary and no high school diploma. You see, she was my wild child. Didn't take good advice. Bad boys were more interesting along with the assorted drugs she tried and got hooked on (before she got pregnant, she dried out in rehab- painful experience for both of us).

Two years ago, she hooked up with a Mexican thug. A couple months ago he was arrested for burglary.

When E-wee asked him, “Why’d you that dumb ass?”

“Well, I needed money for stuff. Since you don’t dance anymore, I ain’t got none,” he said, and shrugged.

“That’s why you need to get a job. That’s what fathers do. They get a job to work and support their family."

Since then E-wee’s packed her bags, and left. She’s renting a house with another single mom of three. So I’m angsting while I wrap presents for my daughter and my grandson. How are they going to make it in an economy that sucks as a slave for Wal Mart? America’s definitely going ass-backwards.

E-wee tells me, “You did it with five by yourself. I can surely do it with one.”

“Yeah. But, I had a high school and college education. I worked for a law firm making decent money with benefits and part time on the weekends cutting hair,” I said. I’ve told her this at least a thousand times by now.

This morning she called to tell me, “My feet are really swollen and can barely get my feet into my shoes.  And, I’ve got to work from one-thirty to eleven-thirty tonight.”

OMG. I never wanted my daughters to experience pain or poverty or have to work to the point of nauseating fatigue. Why can’t our kids follow our advice? Really. We do know what we’re talking about when we tell them to finish high school, go to college, and make sure you’re making enough money to support yourself and one other person.

So, what’s everybody else’s kids up to?

Shelly

PS This is not what I intended to blog about today.

PSS Didn’t get the rest of what I needed to do my spectacular interview of the fabulous screenwriter on the rise.

PSSS Sir Poops-A-Lot is working on his second book review for Saturday.