28.8.14

Monday, August 25th
Today we begin our hunt for uniforms.
Here's what's on my list:

Monday's uniforms:
white pants (or skirt), white sweater, red vest

Tuesday through Friday:
blue pants (or skirt), blue sweater, red vest

PE days:
full navy blue track suit with red stripes in the arms (they call those pants here in Mexico - it's like saying pants in english - but a spanish accent.  It's kind of awesome). Also, regulation T-shirt.

Swim class:
red suit, red flip-flops, red swim cap.

And of course, everything must be embroidered with the school emblem and/or names; don't forget the swim caps.

The sidewalk in front of the school is lined with uniform vendors. Apparently some vendors are better than others; I got a tip from a helpful mama who told me to get my pants from the vendor named SeƱora Mari, and that the bookstore across the street that also sells uniforms is a little bit pricy, but will pretty much have everything we need.

Whoah. let's do this.


Friday, August 22, 2014
And suddenly,
my kids are going to school!

(Well, it seemed sudden . . . the road we journeyed to get into the public school down the street has had so many twists and turns, and it seemed to go on so endlessly, that I kind of settled into thinking we would just be in limbo - forever)

We dropped them off at school today - I almost cried when I saw each one of them greet their stern teachers, hold their heads high, and set themselves in the closest available seat. 
Ay. I was so proud of them; my kids are so courageous. 
 
And when we picked them up,
Selma told me "a little girl bought me a treat from the treat cart with her very own money!"
Josu told me "I didn't spend the ten pesos that papa gave me for snack time because I had to get away from the girls"
Malachai didn't say anything to me - he was too busy calling out goodbyes and giving fist bumps (like all Mexican boys do) to all his classmates

I think it's going to be a good year . . .






















22.7.14























(as if regular visits from an accordion player weren't enough . . . )
Reason #2 that I'm pretty sure that my local Starbucks is better than yours: I can get my shoes shined while I drink my coffee.

12.7.14

When we went in to the public school down the street a couple of months ago, the principal of the afternoon school asked us to come back at the end of the school year (but, you probably already knew that; sheesh, I feel like it's all I talk about these days.) The kids would do testing and he would introduce us to the principal of the morning school; we would hopefully receive a clear confirmation regarding schooling for the kids there next year.

So this past Monday we gathered up every document we could think of, combed the kids' hair, and headed back out to the public school down the street.

We were supposed to be there at twelve-thirty on the dot. We were. We sat in the waiting room and waited for a really, really long time.  Selma colored. Malachai read his book. Josu sat on my lap and fretted "What time is it? When will it be our turn? Why aren't they here?"

I held him tight and whispered to him:
"God is near, sweet boy; He is not outside of this; we can trust Him"

We were finally called up, only to be told by the secretary that she had no idea who we were or why we were there. Neither the afternoon principal nor the morning principal were present; they had been gone for a while . . . we needed to leave.

And on our way out the door, we ran into both principals. The afternoon principal greeted us warmly and introduced our kids to the morning principal as future "academic olympians" for the school (it was like a reunion of old friends! crazy, I tell you!)

Ah yes, they still wanted to make room for us, but they couldn't guarantee anything yet. We needed return in the fall . . . on the first day of school. They could only tell us for sure then.

So, we keep slowly moving forward with our school plans; we'll show up on the first day of school with neatly groomed children and hearts full of hope.

Meanwhile, we are preparing ourselves for a possible last minute "no" from the school. We've been checking our budget numbers to see what line items could be cut if we needed to find a private school for the kids; we make mental notes of schools that we stumble upon on our afternoon walks . . . and very often, I whisper to my own heart:

"God is near, Naomi; He is not outside of this; you can trust Him"

11.7.14























Since I've been home schooling the kids, Selma's Spanish has grown a bit sloppy, and all year long I have found myself urging her to think, read and speak more in Spanish. To be quite honest, I don't love fighting that battle (but I do anyways because: bilingual child, right?)

However,

In this season of the World Cup... when everyone from the shoe shiner to the the executive businessman can be overheard talking about the latest game; when even the cream cheese company finds a way to incorporate a soccer ball into their advertisement; when school children get their classes suspended in order to be able to watch their national team play; when every social event is planned around the next soccer match . . . .

it shouldn't surprise me that this morning I woke up to Selma loudly announcing the play-by-plays of Malachai and Josu's finger soccer match - in perfect spanish. 

5.7.14























How was your 4th?  Ours was extremely average in every way.

We've deemed the 5th of July Interdependence Day, though, and it promises to be very spectacular. We've invited our community group, invited our friends, invited our neighbors. We bought a watermelon and are preparing to taste a whole spectrum of international foods.

(there may even be sparklers; it's going to be a good day)

28.6.14













































My friend Marta came over this week (If you don't know Martha, you wish you did!) We had coffee, and she played about a hundred games of Spot-It with Selma. Then we found out that it was her mama's birthday and Selma and I dragged her with us to the flower market so that we could send her with a handful of flowers to take to her mama.

I don't think I'll ever go to the flower market again without my 6 year old girlie; we got the royal treatment from every flower vendor that we crossed paths with, and Selma came home with a bouquet of her own.

This afternoon we head to the north part of the city for the wedding of two dear friends.
So I'm off to iron our fancy clothes.