This coming Sunday, I will be celebrating the woman who brought me into this world and has been such an inspiration in my life. But not for the reasons you may be thinking.

Marta and her mom, Luza

When we left Cuba, I barely knew my grandmother and my own mother has never quite fit the bill of the classic abuelita. She inspires me in that she is much more like an interesting character in a novel than just “Mami.” And someday I’m going to sit down and write that novel. Until then, let me tell you about this character named, “Luza.”

My mother turned 98 this year. I have to start with that fun fact because when I tell the rest of the story you must keep reminding yourself that she is 98, and has lived almost a century.

Her given name is Luz Aurora, but her grandchildren gave her the nickname, “Luza,” and it suits her, so she kept it. She is Luza to all friends and acquaintances, including those who now know her through my writing.

Luza was born in 1914. The same year that Babe Ruth made his debut with the Red Sox. When she was around 19 or 20 (that would be around 1934), she and her brothers started listening to the World Series when it came around every year on the family radio. She has not missed a series to this day.

In 1927, Charles Lindbergh made his famous solo flight non-stop from New York to Paris. She and her family listened to the news of this amazing feat on that same radio and it so captured their imagination, they named their German shepherd, “Lindbergh.” But this was Cuba, 1927, so they pronounced it “LEEN-BERR.” She still remembers him fondly.

Luza and "Leemberr."

She has been a political refugee, a green-card carrying permanent resident alien, and eventually became an American citizen when she was in her 60’s. She has voted in every presidential election since 1974.

She went from her mother’s house to being a wife and a mother.

She has never worked outside of the home.

She has never driven a car.

She has always been provided for and has always gone wherever she has needed and wanted to go.

She loves to travel.

She still wears red nail polish, dyes her hair, and wouldn’t be caught dead without red lipstick.

She loses her balance occasionally, so she uses a walker now, but she still wears heels when she dresses up.

She only wears her glasses “sometimes,” because she’s a little vain about her appearance. She does not need them to read and only puts them on when her eyes get tired. (Let me remind you again that she’s 98, people.)

She saves every single greeting card from every single occasion and works diligently to get them pasted into her scrapbook. She is on scrapbook number 34, but that’s not important right now.

She loves juicy bits of gossip, watches way too many telenovelas on tv, and describes William Levy as a “muñecon.”

She’s still very bossy. (The apple does not fall far….)

She is a voracious reader, usually juggling 3 to 4 books at a time.

She has sixteen grandchildren and will tell you that although they are all nice looking, her own six children are much, much better looking. (This makes me smile every time.)

She knows about blogging and the internet and will happily tell you how the internet search engines work. (See the iconic, “Cuco and Yayo.”)

We got her a fur coat for Christmas a few years ago because she really wanted one. Now she wants us to take her places where she can show it off.

We never tell her anymore when we’re going to Vegas because she will invariably insist on coming along. She plays roulette, and always puts her money on #22, ” el sapo” in the “Charada China.”

She spends one weekend with my family every month. This last time, she arrived in her fur coat, with her walker and the first thing she said was, “I dyed my hair red. Do you like it?”

Luza in her fur coat and rocking the red hair.

See what I mean? I seriously have to sit down and write that novel.

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Un poquito mas:

1. What Do You Call Your Abuela?
2. Terms of Endearment
3. A Red Carnation

So, a couple weeks ago, I was in the grocery store line and saw the gloriously beautiful Salma Hayek on the cover of Lucky magazine.

My first thought was: “Salma and William Levy would make a beautiful baby.”

I have no idea why I thought that. Just being honest here.

So, I took a picture of her picture and set out to find out what Salma and William’s baby would look like.

Thank you, The Bump’s baby morpher. Check out their baby girl, above. I doubt Salma ever would put that hat on her kid, though.

And then since I was at it, I answered another question: “I wonder what my baby with este cubanito William Levy would look like?”

And there I went…despite the fact that at nearly 45, I have better odds of getting hit by lightning than of conceiving William Levy’s love child. (Never mind what my husband would say…)

So, let me present you with the little auburn-haired boy I conceived with William in my laptop. He’s freakishly cute-ish and I always wanted a boy! And I bet he would be a great writer/dancer/telenovela celebrity one day … just like his Mami and Papi. (And look, he is shirtless just like Papi often is…)

I think he’s cuter than Salma and William’s girl. What do you think?

And now, I really need to get something real done around here.

Enough de joder.

Y tu?

Who do you want to morph with?

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Un poquito mas:

1. Salma
2. Mira, Mira: Dora, Salma and Veggie Cuban

A Favorite Bedtime Story

I often wonder about what my children will remember from their childhood.

Any sweet memories I have of being little all involve my abuela. My grandmother is the one who raised me and when I think of the days of being a small child, it is her face I see and her voice I hear.

Bedtime was a favorite part of my day; my abuela made it that way. As it grew dark outside, my grandmother would gather my younger siblings and she’d set us all in one bathtub to soak while she’d watch over us and sing a sweet Spanish song.

She’d help us dry off and get into our pajamas, and when we were ready for bed, my grandmother would have us stand on our beds as she’d tightly twirl a blanket around us. We’d giggle as we’d be wrapped up tighter than a moth in a cocoon.

After we were washed and dried and wrapped, she’d lay us down and begin to tell us a story. Since my grandmother came to this country when she was almost 60-years-old, all of her stories were richly Latin.

There was one tale in particular that I begged for each night. I barely remember the full story, but I do remember how I loved to hear my abuela tell it. It was about a little frog who lived in a stream and a little girl that came to the river to wash her family’s clothes.

I always imagined myself as that little girl. This little girl thought herself very ugly, and each day as she’d wash the clothes, she’d cry over her misfortune of not being born beautiful and her tears would fall into the stream and be carried down the river.

One day this little girl’s tears made their way to the frog that lived in the water. This frog also felt he was ugly.  He was so moved by the little girl’s pain and understood her unhappiness so well, that he made her beautiful. When the little girl saw her beautiful reflection in the stream, she was so happy at how lovely the frog had made her that she picked him up in her hand, and not caring that he was ugly, kissed him.

Her kiss turned him into a  handsome young man and together they were happy and never lonely again.

Making Memories

I have such a rich, full memory of these times with my abuela, and it’s that reminder of how only 15 minutes in a day can turn into a memory my children will talk about fifty years from now, that keeps me from never saying no when my youngest asks me to sit and read with him.

No matter how busy I am, how many dishes there are in the sink, how many baskets full of laundry to be folded,  I never say no.

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Un poquito mas:

1. Soap and Memory
2. Questioning Latino Terms of Endearment
3. soy de tortillas y tamales

OK, if we’re talking about wanting bilingual toys for our kids, let me say this:

This Latina mom definitely looked for bilingual toys and dolls, but did ban the daughter’s grandparents from buying la nena a Spanish-singing little furry red dude. I didn’t care how well he habla-ed el espanish, no way, was that doll coming into my house.

So, I am only sort of like the Latina moms surveyed by BabyCenter en Español about their toy-buying habits.

The survey, released yesterday, found:

• Only 5% of the 400 respondents picked dolls with features and skin color that matched their family, but 16% looked for bilingual toys.
• 50% of the moms chose musical toys like drums, pianos and guitars. (At my house there long has been an accessible basket of musical instruments and I care not how loud it gets, as long as she bangs around on something.)
• And, it looks like we shop often, mi’jas. Twenty-one percent (21%) of the mamis buy toys every.single.month. Guau. Five percent buy something every week. (Are you wondering where they put all those trastos? I am…)

Around here, we put an emphasis on bilingual books and bilingual music, and even now that my daughter is 8, books and music still are her most common play things. Dolls never have been a big deal for her. And, gente, never would I buy a toy every single week. Ni me lo imagino!

And you?

What are your toy-buying habits for your little one?

Do you look for dolls that look like your child, your family?

What do you think about the options in bilingual toys?

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Un poquito mas:

1. Oye, Are You Really Bilingual?
2. Giveaway: Bilingual, Spanish Alphabet Learning Cards
3. Giveaway: Bilingual North American Map Puzzle

click on the image to go see the video/photos on BBC

My Sunday paper alerted me to an upcoming photo exhibit in Nashville of images from the new photography book, Old Havana: Spirit of the Living City by Chip Cooper and Nestor Marti.

Published by the University of Alabama Press, it is a collaboration between Cooper, an American architecture and landscape photographer, and Marti, a photographer living in Havana. A BBC story, with background, can be found here and the story I read locally is here.

A wonderful Tia of mine lives in a 5th-floor walk-up on Calle Obispo, just up the street from La Floridita, right in the heart of la Habana Vieja. It is a vibrant and beautiful corner of the world, and seeing this story made me miss the moments I have spent there.

Also made me long for an easy freedom for Cuba.

Cuba Now. In Pictures.

As did these other images of Cuba I have discovered of late.

• Spare Beauty: The Cuban Kitchen, a collection by photographer Ellen Silverman, of Cubans in their kitchens. They are sparse, beautiful, horrifying, dangerous, simple, sad, inspiring…You name it. An NPR story explains the works and we had a conversation about it on the Tiki Tiki Facebook page.
• The photographer Diane Cu, half of  the popular White on Rice Couple site, showed photos of her fall trip to Cuba during a session at the Blissdom conference I attended in February.  They are intimate and moving and they’re all shot and edited on an iPhone. Go check them out.
• The Denver Post has a striking slideshow of Pope Benedict XVI visit to Cuba last week.
• The photographer Ed Yourdon is one of my favorites to visit on Flickr. His NYC street scenes and photos of young mothers ignoring their children in favor of their phones or electronics always serves as a great reminder to me to unplug. But, anyway. Yourdon went to Cuba last fall for photo workshops and he created a collection of more than 300 images he shot in Havana, plus there is a nice written description of what he saw.

Here’s a slideshow of Yourdon’s Cuba photos:

Viva, Cuba Libre.
One day.

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Un poquito mas:

1. Labor Day in Photos
2. Cuando sali de Cuba…
3. Merry Christmas from Tiki Tiki Readers

Why Latinos are Late

Is it true? What they say about Hispanic Time? You know the joke: What time is it when a Latino arrives? Late o’clock.

If you are Latino, if you have friends who are Latino, if you are married to a Latino, I’d bet money you’ve heard anything from whisperings to chidings spoken out loud regarding Hispanic Time.

Hispanic/Latino time — or Cuban Time, or Mexican Time, or Colombian Time, etc — is the tongue-in-cheek saying given to the late arrival time of our people to social gatherings.

For work, business, meetings, school functions, committees, we are professionally prompt and on the dot.

But, invite us to a party, a wedding, a celebration, and let’s just say that chances are good we won’t be the first ones ringing your doorbell.

I don’t take offense when I hear joking about this late arrival time and Latinos. Within my own family we will jokingly ask before we meet somewhere, American time or Latino time? This is our way of asking Do you want me there at 6:30, or around 6:30?

The reasons for this cultural characteristic have been speculated about for years. I feel it’s expected of me to arrive late at a Latino event. I don’t want to arrive on time because I know my hosts will expect me to arrive at least half an hour later than requested.

Research into why there is this occurrence of arriving late in our culture leads to explanations of European background, Mediterranean roots, living in the present, not fully adopting the American lifestyle of “time is money”, and “the early bird gets the worm.”

I have read the proposed theories, detailing how Hispanics value peace more than stress, or  how the Spanish language and it’s verb structure create a lifestyle of living in the present. For me, it comes down to doing what is politely expected in my Latino culture.

Why I am Late

I feel my hosts need the time to prepare for my arrival. I don’t want to catch them before they are ready or make them feel rushed. The arrival time of 30 minutes later that I give them is like a safety net that I silently provide for my friends. I want them to be relaxed and ready for me. In my eyes, arriving later than requested is the considerate thing to do.

It makes my husband and his German family crazy that I aim for a late arrival on purpose. They can’t understand this. I have been told by my husband how important it is for him to arrive on time for anything. I hear him, I really do. But I can’t bring myself to do it. The way I see it, to show up on time puts me at risk of finding my hostess in her slip and hot rollers. With not a smidge of lipstick on.

But I’ve figured out a simple way to work around my husband’s German punctuality and my Latino Time.

I tell him an arrival time that is half an hour later than we’re actually expected. When we pull up to our friend’s home, he smiles thinking we’re wonderfully prompt, and I am able to breathe deeply, relieved we won’t walk in on anybody in their boxers and A shirt, dancing in the kitchen to Pitbull.

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Un poquito mas:

1. Time Traveling
2. Running on Cuban time
3. When Was the Last Time You Took a Quiz?

When did you get your ears pierced?

Mine were done at 2-months, in a doctor’s office. He pushed the earring right through my tender lobes.

My daughter’s ears were pierced at 4-months, by her pediatrician, who had just only recently received her infant ear-piercing kit. The demand was starting to grow in Nashville — right along with the Latino population.

Some people — the non-Latinos thought me a little savage on ear piercing the baby thing. And, I admit to a twinge of regret as my baby screamed her head off during the second poke.

But, the only answer I could offer was: I’m Cuban, man. It is just what we do. We pierce a baby girl’s ears. Y ya.

Why wait?

Yesterday, the New York Times published a column by Eleni N. Gage, a woman from Massachusetts married to a Nicaraguan and living in the tiny country of Miami, as she calls it.

Last week we pierced our 6-month-old daughter’s ears. I know what you’re thinking: what kind of parents are you?

And if you’re from Miami: How could you have waited so long?

Go read it.

It’s a great examination of Latin culture, where the piercing of baby girl’s ears sometimes happens immediately after birth, and of what it is like to live in Miami, the mish-mash of culture where doctor’s kiss your cheek in greeting and goodbye…and it’s OK.

If you’re dealing with pressure from someone not to pierce, send them this link.

Y Tu?

When did you get your ears pierced?

Did you pierce your infant nena’s ears?

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Un poquito mas:

1. Pierced-ear Princesas
2. The Baby Chrissy Christmas.
3. Inspiration from a Baby Abuelita Doll (Giveaway)

French Parenting Advice

I first heard about the book, Bringing Up Bébé: One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting by Pamela Druckerman from a journalist friend, Liz, who recently moved with her husband and two small boys from Nashville to Paris.

Her observations on French life often leave me in stitches as I read her Facebook posts. Finally, she has started a public blog: I am Carla Bruni’s Neighbor. (Go read it.)

Liz’s most recent post is basically a rebuttal of Druckerman’s thesis: that the French are fabulous and genius parents, that they “educate” their children by teaching them to wait and that they feel no parenting guilt. Here is a Wall Street Journal book excerpt, if you haven’t seen it.

Liz, who hangs with an international group of expats, writes:

“…they are much more willing to wage emotional and physical warfare with their children than my friends and I are (and remember, I’m representing not an American perspective but an international one). It obviously can’t be said that all French parents are the same, but what passes for acceptable here as a means to make children compliant is unacceptable to every expat parent, no matter the nationality, I know.”

If you have any inkling to go out and buy into Bringing Up Bébé, go read Liz’s essay first. Lots of first-hand look at what parenting in France looks like to an American raising children in France.

On Dominican Parenting

All this on the heels of the The Tiger Mom Amy Chua, who told us Chinese-style parenting was superior…and which many American parents bashed for its strictness.

Bringing the Latino perspective to the topic of the potential French parenting craze, is Carol Cain, in an essay titled: “Are French Parents Superior? Not More So Than My Dominican Ones.”

Carol says she sees similarities between the French method and the way she was raised by her Dominican mom.

We never spoke out of turn. We understood and accepted our place in a room full of adults. Though I remember being loved and nurtured by my mother and know she cared for us deeply, I don’t recall her ever sitting down to play with us or help us do our homework. My siblings and I would have never dared to throw a tantrum in a restaurant or anywhere, and if we did, once was all it took.

Carol says she’s taken the best from her upbringing, but modified it in her own family and she advocates getting rid of the parenting guilt.

…from where I stand, the only difference between the French – and Dominican – way of parenting, is that Americans are riddled with emotional guilt. So much guilt that we look to our children for guidance in how to raise them and give them what they need to be happy and fulfilled.

Cuban Parenting DNA

And me? I did a video (see above) and post a couple of years ago about the push and pull in my own little cabeza between Modern American Parenting and the more “traditional” Cuban-style I grew up with.

Time out? Qué es eso? You’re getting the chancla.
Do you want the pink sippy or the blue sippy? Ha! Te doy lo que te doy, y no jodas.

OK, OK, I exaggerate a tiny bit…but there was way less coddling on some stuff and no real room for negotiation y nada que una buena paliza wouldn’t fix. I would bet my family felt little guilt after discipline was handed down.

I’ve taken the best stuff from the parenting I got (and I include the discipline I got from abuelos and tias and tios) and melded it with what feels right in my heart, and what works best with my own kid.

We don’t spank, we try not to scream and we allow for some conversation and negotiation. But, we’re firm and we take no caca. Sometimes I cave, but ask personal friends and I will likely get voted the Hard Ass Mami — hard ass in comparison to them, I will say.

The longer I am a mother, the more I know I have no idea what works best for other families.

But, I will say that the “real” French way Liz describes gives me the willies.

Y tu?

Are you attracted to the French style of parenting Druckerman describes?

What parenting ideas did you keep from your own upbringing?

What are the benefits of cross-cultural parenting: Taking a little bit of the old and blending it with the new?

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Un poquito mas:

1. Torrejas: French Toast, but Better
2. Are You Taking Care of Your Elderly Parents?
3. Parenting Tips via Dog Training

screenshot from Black Sports Online

Hot Latina Stereotypes

So, Latina hotness, cultural norms, professional dress and Hispanic stereotype are all out there right now, inspired by one very tight red dress at the Super Bowl Media Day.

Inside the mini-dress was Mexican sports reporter, Marisol Gonzalez, a former Miss Universe contestant turned journalist. (Pictured, left)

The sports blogs went crazy, trying very quickly to identify the woman on the sidelines and/or posting her photos with headlines such as:

• Mexican Reporter Marisol Gonzalez Red Freakum Dress Takes Over SB Media Day
• Marisol Gonzalez: See the Red Dress Hottie That’s the Talk of Super Bowl Media Day

And this comment from The Big Lead:

“…her presence is nothing short of delectable. Based on Rich Ohrnberger’s sombrero, I’m going to take a risk and guess this woman is not an NFL beat reporter.”

But, alas, she is..she is a professional working journalist, and as such should she, or shouldn’t she be dressed like a Bud Girl?

As women we’re not supposed to get down on each other but Marisol Gonzalez’s attire — and that of other Hispanic media female journalists — has inspired comments about it being OK that she dresses like that because well, Latinas dress sexier and that’s OK.

No.it.is.not.

As a former journalist, I am saying that unprofessional in unprofessional, regardless of whether your name has an accent in it.

Representing a profession, a culture

This moment is all the more striking because not too long ago Lila Luciano left “Escándalo TV” for NBC News — and she left behind los aretones and deep-cut bustlines, transforming into a much plainer but more polished version of herself.

The Latin hotness factor is expected on Spanish TV, and las hot ones can, indeed, do interviews. But, what does it mean for us as women, and as a culture, when it carries over into mainstream media and the only thing the guys are asking is: Who is the Freaky Mami?

As the Marisol issue exploded, Mariela Dabbah is the CEO of Latinos in College, wrote this on Fox News Latino:

“Why do I care? For two reasons: First, because the journalism profession requires people who take their job seriously. Until the industry stops sanctioning looks over substance there will be limited opportunities for the thousands of brilliant female journalists who work hard to get in front of a camera. And second, because this lack of professional attitude (and attire) impacts all of us. Playing to the sexy Latina stereotype contributes to smart Latinas not being taken as seriously as they should be.”

On the Huffington Post, the story on the Red Dress — titled Latina Journalists Navigate Sexuality and Professionalism — offered this:

“Others, however, say that the marriage of female sexuality and journalism is part of Latina culture, and that the combination can be empowering.”

and this:

“But many who have seen both sides of the industry defend Latina newscasters, saying that both cultural differences and programming distinctions can contribute to more provocative clothing choices which are commonly misunderstood by non-Latino audiences.

¿Que?

Angelica Perez-Litwin, a psychologist and publisher of New Latina, answered with this comment on the Huffington Post…and I say right on:

“How Latina journalists dress at work is absolutely NOT an issue of “culture” or “choice” (in the part of the journalist). This has everything to do with the top executives at these media companies demanding and expecting these women to dress sexy.

Why? Two reasons: ratings and male chauvinism. They know that looking sexier will increase ratings. Unfortunately, these practices only continue to reinforce the overly sexualized stereotypes of Latina women on television. The solution? We need more Latina women executives and CEO’s heading television networks and print magazines, both in Spanish and English.”

But, I would add: Shouldn’t las mujeres say “Ya no mas!”

Interviewed on the Huffington Post, Maria Celeste of “Al Rojo Vivo” on Telemundo, defended the style of dress.

“I don’t make a judgment on the way a person dresses, I make a judgement based on the information, the delivery and the reporting that they’re doing,” Celeste said. “There’s not a right way or a wrong way to dress.”

I Only Saw her Bustline

Yeah, well, Gonzalez isn’t the first to get mocked and drooled over. There was Inez Sainz from TV Azteca last year. Remember?

Plus, here’s a top comment on a YouTube video where Gonzalez talks about becoming a sports journalist. The top comment on the video:

“ni escuche la entrevista solo le vi su escote”

Translation: “I didn’t even listen to the interview. I only saw her bustline.”

We, as professional Latinas, deserve more.

(click the headline link if you can’t see the video)

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Un poquito mas:

1. Happy Hispanic Stereotype Month
2. Don’t dress like a Vieja (Video)

Latina Like JLo

On my last birthday, a friend gave me a wonderful pair of earrings. I was grateful and appreciative that she thought of me and remembered my love of earrings when she came across this pair she thought I’d like.

As I was opening her gift, something slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it, and I could tell that she immediately knew it might not have been the best thing to say. We know each other well enough and what she said did make me laugh, but still, the weight of what she was saying remained thick in the air.

Just as I pulled the last piece of tape off the gift and went to open the box, she blurted with excitement: “I  just know you’ll love them. They’re by JLo!”

That stopped me in my tracks. There was so much about this that was funny. First, that my loving friend would think that if it’s by JLo it meant I would automatically love it because, well, I’m Latina. Second, the very moment she made the JLo comment, she began apologizing one hundred times in a row. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry…

I told her all was fine and put her at ease. And the truth is, I did love the earrings. And I do love most anything by JLo.

Do I love JLo everyday? No. Is everything in my closet and jewelry box by JLo? Again, no. I like variety as much as any other woman.

But Not Latina Enough For Some

Then, the weekend I was writing this post, I followed an online comment thread about a YouTube video that someone had put up. It followed the theme of the popular meme of “What XXXXX Women Say.” You know, the ones that have been going around.  In this case, the video was about Latina women, and what they say.

Some of the comments people left on this YouTube video were from those who thought they had to put this out there to the performer: “”You don’t sound Latina.” and “You don’t look Latina”;  ”You don’t act Latina”; and “Latinas wouldn’t say that.”

All that, despite the performer having Latin roots.

Someone once told me they were surprised to find out I was Hispanic. Their reason? “You don’t wear leopard spots ever.”

How many leopard spot-wearing days a year do I need to be Latina enough? Two times a month? Is that enough leopard spot-wearing to be considered Latina?

As an American with Colombian roots, the question comes to my mind: What is Latinaness? And I pose this not for the non-Latino population to determine, but for us to discuss amongst ourselves.

What makes us who we are? And why does it sometimes seem that our harshest, most intolerant critics are those among our own ethnicity?

What makes us Latina enough to be accepted by our own cultural group? What is it that the critics within our own cultural groups want to see? What would make us Latina enough for our own people to accept us?

Latina Enough

The barbs that sting me the most are the ones that come from my own people, with words of judgment, non-acceptance, and closed doors. (At least my gift-giving friend thinks me Latina enough.)

I want to say to these people, my own people, I don’t fit into the American culture, and you make me feel as if you can’t accept me into your culture based on standards that you determine.

Where would you like me to belong? Because I want to belong with you. You. Where my roots begin, where my heart lies, where my identity is grounded. Please, I may not be exactly like you because I am born here, or have lived here most of my life, but I want to be one of you: you’re my people, and I love you.

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