Sh*t Gringas Say. Now playing on a You Tube near you.

Do you think these ice cubes are purified water?   Click to view Shit Gringas Say Part Uno.

Zapatistas are so hot!   Click to view Shit Gringas Say Part Dos.

Why do they put chili on everything???

I had a blast writing and directing these shorts with the amazing improvisational actress Megan Martin. Enjoy!

Lo and behold.

I have a confession to make. I made a deal with my daughter when she was still on the inside. I wrote her a letter and told her that I knew she could beat her brother’s time. You see, Max is like a super Flash Ninja baby. He came out on his due date in a record 5 hours 15 minutes. I told baby girl if she could beat him, if she could get here swiftly, like super duper fast with no complications, I would give her a little more leeway in the teenage years. I’d forgive her if she stole my car or raided my liquor cabinet or lied to me and went to see a boy instead of sleeping over her best friend’s house. I assured her that I wasn’t trying to promote any kind of bad behavior or competition between she and her brother, but I wanted her to beat him. Cause girls can and do beat boys. Cause she’s my little rock star and she’s gonna rock it right out of the park. And boy, did she ever. Here’s how it all went down.

It was a Wednesday. A perfect Wednesday morning. Miguel, Max, belly and me woke up just like any other day in the Oaxacan countryside: roosters crowing, donkeys hee hawing. The normal chaos of morning had us tripping over wooden blocks, rushing to get ready, pack bags, feed kid.

After dropping Max at preschool, we head down to Oaxaca’s center. Sunny blue skies stretch out over Santo Domingo. We find a shady spot and eat breakfast under the Jacaranda trees. Then we move to our favorite coffee shop. Computers back to back, coffees side by side, we work. A few hours slip by and it’s almost time to pick up little man.

On our way to the bus stop, I impulsively stop. “Hey Papi! If we take a taxi instead of the bus, we’ll have time to hit my favorite photography museum… Please?” It doesn’t take much to convince him. The space is all ours. Sparse rooms house beautiful black and white portraits of Oaxacans taken by Oaxacans. We pick our favorites, then snap a few shots of our own and we’re off.

When we get to Max’s school, head teacher asks me if I’ve had any contractions yet. “Nope, not yet!” Ironically the very moment I say this, I feel a strange, more intense than normal tightening of my belly and think, ‘Hmm, this isn’t the standard ‘baby breakdancing in there’ feeling I’ve been having. Could this be it? Naaah. Couldn’t be.’ I don’t mention any of this to Miguel as we moto-taxi to the bus stop. I suppose I don’t want to psyche him out.

We board a rickety old bus circa 1995. The ride is bumpy. The aisles are crowded. The sky has turned a deep grey now. It feels like it might rain. Miguel gets a seat in back and Max falls asleep in his arms. I half-sit half-squat over my metal seat up front. I don’t want to sit down, as I’m convinced that the massive potholes in the rocky-dirt road will toss me and belly hard enough to break my pelvis, or tailbone, or some other really important body part on landing. So I hold myself there, like a surfer – bracing, balancing. I try not to entertain thoughts of, “what if my water breaks right here on this little old farmer’s sandals?” and instead lose myself out the window as city turns to country.

Just before our block the driver suddenly stops the bus and gets off. No need to worry, Oaxacan bus drivers sometimes do this. They usually go to get a Coke or chat/fight with another driver. I think ours went to take a look at his tires, but who cares because – how appropriate – Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns and Roses just came on the radio and I have this urge to sing it. Loud. I’m a pregnant Gringa and I can do that if I want. Nobody’s gonna stop me. Ooooooo yeah heaaah. I control myself at a normal Karaoke level and we get off just before I’m able to break into the air guitar solo.

Back home I realize that I better get napping if I’m gonna make it to Pre-Natal Yoga. Damn, I love Mexico. This siesta thing rocks. Papi puts Max in his room to continue his nap and we lay down together. It’s 3:15. As we snuggle into place, Miguel hugs me tight and says, “I just want you to know I’m ready for little lady to come. I’m ready to hug her and kiss her and change her diaper…and…” “Yeah yeah, I’m sleeping,” I mutter.

A few minutes pass and I’m juuuuuuuust about to fall into a deep sleep when all of a sudden I’m startled awake. VVVVVOOOOOMMMMM. An INTENSE rush of indescribable pain surges through my pelvis, belly, being. I sit up, scared, out of it. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Miguel literally jumps out of the bed. Are you alright? Que pasó? Was that it? Is this it?!! He smiles giddy, bouncing around with excitement.

I’m still sitting on the bed. I’m nervous. Is this it? Nah. This can’t be it. Can it? That was a really intense feeling. I know that feeling. Man, I HATE that feeling! That shit hurts! Okay, no worries. Let’s just get up slowly, go get a glass of water, walk around the house. I move into the hallway and VOOM. There it is again. Oh no. Back to the bedroom. On all fours, on the bed. FUCK.

All of a sudden the phone rings. It’s Miguel’s mother who always starts the conversation these days with, “Ya? Is she in labor yet?” Miguel says yes, but I tell him, No! We’re not sure yet. Tell her you’ll call her back! The contraction subsides. I try to get back to that glass of water, but SON OF A MOTHER! There’s another one! I rush back to the bedroom. Damn, they’re coming fast.

I resign myself to the fact that this is it. It’s actually happening. I’m having. another. baby. Right now.

Miguel lays my yoga mat on the floor next to the bed. I kneel down and take myself back in my mind to the last time I was in labor. I remember it vividly. I spent a long time in the beginning resisting the pain, fighting it, clenched jaw, clenched fists, but not this time. I’ve decided that I’m going inside the pain from the start. I place my palms and fingertips slowly, purposefully on the mat. Okay baby girl. We got this. I lean over and let my forehead come down to touch the mat between my hands. Here comes the next wave. I breathe. I chant. Open open open. Come fast come fast come fast. I see myself from the outside for a moment; I look like a Muslim woman praying, bowing, folding towards Mecca. The wave passes and I slip into Child’s pose to rest.

When I open my eyes, I see them. Under the bed. Jesus, they’re everywhere. Dust bunnies. Migueeeeeeel! He runs into the room. Que pasó mi cielo? Are you alright? Papi there’s a lot of dust under the bed! I can’t look at that while I’m in labor! Can you sweep? He laughs, shakes his head and reappears with a broom. Man, I love this guy.

Just as he’s finishing up under the bed, Little Maxwell is startled awake. My bad. I’m pretty loud. Poor Miguel tries to tend to his cries and mine at the same time. After Max calms down a bit, he comes to see me. He pushes me over, plops himself down on the mat and says, “Yoga with Mommy?” God he’s adorable. He looks up at me and puts his little hand on my cheek, understanding that I’m going through something. “It’s okay Mommy?” I hug him tight and think how lucky I am. This pain is without a doubt the most intense pain I’ve ever felt in my life and I shudder just thinking that it’s coming back in a minute, but now I understand the payoff. And when I look into my kid’s eyes, I honestly feel that it’s all worth it. That said, here comes another wave and he can’t be here. I need to focus. Miguel takes him out of the room and I’m left alone.

I brave a few contractions sola, and soon feel the need to shift positions. I drape my upper body over the side of the bed, my arms stretched out and my knees on the mat. I’m in a constant conversation with myself to NOT TENSE UP and LET THE PAIN COME. I’m trying to stay open but it’s really hot in here and it fucking hurts and I wish Miguel were by my side but he can’t be here cause he’s gotta get Max’s bag ready, install the carseat in his folks’ car and keep little guy calm.

I try to find peace in the moments between contractions. I tell myself that I’m not alone. I remember, like last time, that 235,000 other women are doing this right now at this very moment. I close my eyes and imagine the woman physically closest to me. I drift up the Oaxacan hills to a small adobe hut, where I find a woman with long black braids, on her knees just like me, braving the waves. I salute her. We can do this.

It’s 4:00pm now, about 40 minutes have passed since my first contraction. Max is on his way to the grandparents’, and I’m happy to see my midwife Lauren. “How’s it going?” she asks with a hug and a smile. “It fucking hurts!” I tell her. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a fast birth!”  She and Miguel pull up some floor and offer support as the contractions build in length and intensity. I’m breathing heavy and sweating A LOT. I should probably take off Miguel’s thick hoodie, but I don’t want to. It makes me feel secure.

When my water breaks, Lauren reassures me that it’s all good. I’m so thankful I chose her. She knows just when to offer reassurance, advice or a wink. And Miguel. There he is, on all fours, right next to me, literally holding me up, my right arm braced over his shoulders. God I love him. But I need a break! The contractions are coming so fast now. It seems like there’s almost no time to rest in between.

At one point, Lauren asks me if I’m pushing. I respond in a very strained Nooooooo (but I guess it sounds like I am pushing.) I explain that, No, I’m not actively pushing – it’s my body, not me! I mean, I’m not helping it, it’s just happening! You know, like Ina May says – Sphincter law? Is that okay?  Of course, she says, it’s fine – your body knows. During this little exchange, I realize that I don’t even know how dilated I am, so I ask her. She replies, “Yeah you’re almost there, almost done, just a few more pushes now.”

Wait, I’m sorry, WHAT?  Did you just say I’m ALMOST DONE? Miguel and I look at each other in utter disbelief. What do you mean I’m ALMOST DONE?! I JUST STARTED!! “Well, I can see the head now, so just a few pushes…” Holy mother of all that is good and gracious, HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE??!! I laugh and smile and stare at Miguel in awe. “Miranda, are you kidding me? No manches! You’re amazing! How is that possible? How did you do that??!”  I don’t know, I can’t believe it! I can’t fucking believe it!  Really? This pain is about to be over, and I’m getting my birth AGAIN??! I can feel the adrenaline rushing through me. I’m shocked and humbled and overjoyed and euphoric.  “Papi, Kiss me!” I tell him. And we lose ourselves in the most perfect kiss.

When we’re done making out Lauren reminds Miguel,  “Hey, if you want to catch the baby, you’ll need to come over here by me.”  He had wanted to catch Max but it didn’t happen, and he was really looking forward to receiving Lola, but he said when it came down to it, he felt like going “over there” was a mile away, and he didn’t want to leave me. He looks me in the eyes and says, “No I want to stay here with Beth.”

Just knowing that I’m close gives me a massive boost of strength. I take a deep breath. I’m on all fours, knees on the mat, left arm on the bed, right arm over Miguel’s shoulders. I’m ready. Lauren reminds me that she can see the head, so when the next contraction comes, I should welcome it with a deep breath and push s-l-o-w-l-y. Okay, slowly. (For a change.) Got it.

I do what she says. I trust her and I trust my body. I brace myself, focus and breathe in. I push once. The head is out. (Ouch Ouch Ouch, HATE that the head is out and I have to wait for the next contraction to push again.) I breathe in. I push twice. Wait, something’s weird? Maybe I’m not positioned right? Breathe in. LAST PUSH. I give it all I’ve got, and I feel the need to stand, so I follow my instinct and push myself up. As I do, I feel a shift and our daughter spirals out into the world.

Epilogue

She’s here, but this all just started a minute ago. Okay, not a minute ago – 1 hour and 30 minutes ago. Our second midwife didn’t even make it here in time. How is this possible? We can’t believe it, but we’re thrilled. I’m in awe of my body and the transformational power of birth. And I’m in love with this little lady. I can’t wait to tell her how awesome she is.

Miguel goes to get us some water, and as he looks out the window, a little yellow bird flutters towards him, perches on a wire for a moment, then flies off into the Oaxacan hills.

City Mouse Country House

When we came back to Oaxaca this past September, my husband and I were set on one simple idea: we were going to find a cute little flat in the city center – close to coffee shops, galleries, laundromats and restaurants. You see, we’re city folk. We like the conveniences. We like the parks and cultural events and being able to walk or bike everywhere.

But this time around it seems Oaxaca had something else in store for us. After an exhaustive apartment hunt in various barrios around the center, we realized that the best deal by far was a quaint little country house in the hills of San Felipe. Way cheaper rent, a patio, a washing machine (!) and a lovely view all beckoned us to the outskirts of town. It has been an adjustment, but a really good one.

Here are some observations:

In the city my two year old runs to the window to watch the street sweeper go by, screeching: Stee Steepuh! Fssshhh! Fssshhh!
In the country my two year old runs to the window to watch the donkeys walk by, screeching: Donkeeeeey! Hee haaaw, heee haaaw!

In the city we take evening strolls down 5th Ave.’s perfectly paved sidewalks.   In the country we take evening strolls down the dirt path next to the cornfields.

In the city we get Pizza, Sushi, Chinese, Tacos or Thai for dinner.
In the country, we get whatever Mami is cooking for dinner.

In the city a breath of fresh air is hard to come by.
In the country the air is so fresh it’s sometimes overwhelming.

In the city you’re forced to make peace with pigeons, rats and roaches.
In the country you’re forced to make peace with spiders, scorpions and slugs.

In the city the cacophony drowns out your thoughts.
In the country you can sometimes hear your heartbeat.

In the city bumping into friends everyday is a given.
In the country you can only hope that friends will make the trek out to see you every once in a while.

In the city you choose between an indy flick, a gallery opening or a new restaurant.
In the country you choose between a book, a DVD or the World Wide Web.

In the city you walk outside and spend 20 bucks in less than two minutes.
In the country, your wallet remains buried at the bottom of your bag.

The city is definitely for me. I love it, and I’ll happily return to the hustle before long. But the country is not so bad after all. I’m actually really happy that my newborn daughter gets to spend her first months breathing in fresh air, and soaking up mountain vistas. Viva San Felipe! Viva el Campo! Viva Oaxaca!

Should I stay or should I go now…

Dear Oaxaca,

Hey love, how have you been? Just wanted to drop you a line and let you know that I’m back. I don’t know if you noticed but I took a little spontaneous trip to see New York a few weeks ago. I know, I know, I’m cheating on you again. But look on the bright side – I was faithful to you for an entire year without so much as a weekend fling with my old flame.

Forgive me, cariño. I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve been so good to me this year. I feel like we’re closer now than we’ve ever been. You’ve shared so much with me. And you’re so easy, relaxed, laid back. Sure, you’re not very punctual or organized and sometimes people and politicians take advantage of you, but I’ve got nothing but love for you. You’ve shown me so much patience and grace. Above all, you’ve been so welcoming and wonderful to Max. He’s yours, you know. We came here so that he would be a part of you, and so you would be a part of him. And he’s had such a fantastic first eight months growing up with you.

Okay, I’m sure you know where this is going, so I’ll just get to the punch.                 I’ve decided that I’m leaving you and I’m getting back together with New York.   Please don’t be mad. It’s been a really tough decision to make.  New York is completely the opposite of you. All crazy and busy and go, go, go, never stop. But whatever I do I just can’t seem to break it off with her. There’s something about her, her edginess, her confidence, that I’ve always been drawn too, you know?  (The Bagels and Pizza and amazing community of old friends doesn’t hurt either.)

Anyways, I didn’t want to just up and leave you without warning, so I’m giving you some notice. I’ll be leaving on the first of July, so that gives us one last month to live it up and enjoy each other. You’re so good at living in the moment that I’m sure we’ll have a great time these last few weeks.

And I promise you that this is by no means the end of us. We’ll maintain the long distance thing (like we always have), and before you can say Guelaguetza, the holidays will be here, and we’ll be together again.

I don’t really have anything more to say except thank you. Thank you for everything, mi amor.

Love always,                                                                                                             Miranda.

Hot damn Tio Sam, it’s about time.

This morning I woke up alone for the 29th day in a row. Okay, I’m exaggerating (there’s always the little babe to snuggle with) but my man is gone. He’s spending six weeks solo up in NYC while he waits for his absolute last and final appointment from US Citizenship and Immigration services. On April 23rd, he’ll take his Oath to become an American citizen. Yep, he’s done it: gone GRINGO. It’s hard for the both of us to believe. I still have nightmares that he’ll show up at the Oath and they’ll find some way to reject him. I suppose I’m a bit skeptical after a long, arduous process.

It all started in July of 2002 when we met by chance here in Oaxaca. We hit it off, spent about a week together. I returned to NYC and my life, and he returned to his. But when we separated we were both left with a yearning.  So began our long distance courtship. In a pre-Skype era, I became a phone card connoisseur. We talked for hours, began to know one another.   We sent packages back and forth. Then I started going down for visits. Day of the Dead, Christmas, Spring Break. After my fifth trip and a summer back-packing Central America together, we thought that Miguel should come to NYC.  It seemed the natural progression of events in a normal relationship, no?  Alas, borders cause problems. And so our roller-coaster of Immigration trials and tribulations had begun.

2002  – Applied for tourist visa. Denied.

2003  – Applied for tourist visa again. Denied again.

2004  – Applied for K-1 (fiancé) visa. (Please send proof you are in love.) (Good thing I take lots of pictures and save my airline ticket stubs. It also doesn’t hurt that Miguel is an amazing graphic designer who can whip up some faux wedding invitations in a jif.) Approved! (Please proceed to US Immigration office in Ciudad Juarez (yes, that Ciudad Juarez) right across the border from El Paso, Texas to get your physical, fingerprints & stamp for entry into the US.)

Fall 2004 – Miguel packs up his entire life, is thrown multiple going away parties, says goodbye to his friends and family, and makes his way to Juarez. Day one, receives physical. Day two, receives fingerprints. But no stamp. (We’re sorry sir, but you cannot pass into the US.  Your name needs to go through a terrorist check at the Dept. of Homeland Security. We’ll let you know via mail when you are able to proceed.)  You’ve GOT to be kidding. Miguel returns to Oaxaca crushed. I return to my empty NYC apartment crushed. (My roommates had moved out, and I had left the place bare so that we could re-arrange and decorate together when he got there.) Sigh.

Spring 2005 – Miguel decides that while he waits for the letter he’ll finish those last six credits he needs to officially complete his undergraduate degree. Submits Thesis. Receives Diploma. Letter arrives. (Your name has been checked and you are not a terrorist. (YAY!) Please proceed to US Immigration office in Ciudad Juarez to receive your stamp for entry into the US.)

Summer 2005 – Miguel packs up his entire life (again), says goodbye to his friends and family (again), and makes his way to Juarez (again). Receives stamp and crosses border! Arrives in NYC-JFK on K-1 Fiancé visa. Conditions are as follows. You MUST marry said fiancé within three months of entry into the US. You cannot work legally in the US. You cannot leave the US. If you do decide to leave for any reason, you will not be granted another visa for entry.

10.28.05 – Miguel and I dress in black and get hitched at City Hall in Lower Manhattan. We walk across the Brooklyn Bridge in celebration, and share a large pizza pie at Grimaldi’s. We promise ourselves that this is NOT our wedding, and one day we will have a big fat Mexican wedding with all of our friends and family.

Fall 2005 – Miguel applies for permanent residency (green card). Until he receives said document, he cannot work on the books. He also cannot return to Mexico unless he asks for a special visa (only granted if family member is sick or in dire conditions.) We are told that before he receives the green card, we will be called in for an “interview” to prove that we are actually married.

Spring 2006 – We are wondering how our application is doing, and go online to check the status of Miguel’s case. There we find that on multiple occasions USCIS has tried to send us correspondence in the mail, but the letters have been returned to Immigration Services as “UNDELIVERABLE.”  We have no idea what this means. We go to the post office. They have no idea what it means either. We go to the Immigration office in Lower Manhattan to ask what the letters were.  They tell us that they do not have that information, and we should “fix” our mailbox situation, if we live in a building with multiple units.  I show them certified letters from our mail carriers and insist that all of our other mail has been delivered. We leave the office with no information, no explanation, and a ton of frustration.

Summer 2006 – An envelope from USCIS miraculously arrives in our mailbox. Your green card has been APPROVED! We can’t believe it! We didn’t even have to go to an interview to prove we’re a bona-fide couple! In this package we also receive all of the previous letters that were “undeliverable.” We take said letters to the post office. Clerk tells us that USCIS has been printing their barcodes upside down and they cannot be read by the post office sorting machines. We wonder how many zillions of cases besides ours this little problem has wreaked havoc on. But we’re so ecstatic about getting approved that we quickly brush our shoulders off.

August 2006 – Two-year green card arrives.  Wahoo!  Miguel is free to work on the books. He gets a nice jobby job. We plan our first trip back to Oaxaca for the coming December. Miguel hasn’t been home in a year and a half.

August 2008 – A whole two years pass with minimal worry and paperwork. Two year green card expires, so Miguel applies for the 10 year one.  We are told that we will DEFINITELY be called in for an interview this time.

May 2009 – Me, Miguel and belly make our move to Oaxaca.

June 2009 – 10 year green card arrives! Again, luck is on our side, NO INTERVIEW necessary! (Before celebrating, we go online to check random immigration law sites and listservs to be sure that this is possible.) It is!

Sept 2009 – Maxwell Ayuso Botshon is born.

Oct 2009 – Although he doesn’t want to leave me and brand new babe alone in Oaxaca, as a legal permanent resident Miguel cannot stay out of the US for more than six months at a time. He goes back to NYC and puts in his application for Citizenship so as to avoid this re-entry ridiculousness in the future. After app is filed, Miguel waits for a notice telling him what to do next.

Nov 2009 – Four weeks later, Miguel is called in to get his fingerprints taken (to make sure he is not a terrorist, again.)  Fingerprint clerk tells him a letter with a date for his Citizenship interview should arrive in the mail within the next six months.  He rushes back to Mama and baby in Oaxaca.

February 2010 – Letter arrives. You have been granted your citizenship interview. (Please prepare a folder with originals and copies of birth certificates, passports, tax returns, bank statements, utility bills, leases, destinations and dates of exit & entry into US, and a ton of other papers. Also be sure to cram for the US Civics and History portion of the interview. Do you know how many Representatives are in the House? What the Federalist Papers are? What James Madison did?)

March 2010 – After studying for days and triple checking all documentation, Miguel dresses up sharp and heads downtown to his interview. He’s so happy to get a patient, good-hearted officer. He breezes through the Civics questions, answers simple application questions correctly and hands in requested documents. After a total of 15 minutes, the officer tells Miguel they are done, and that he is going to recommend him for Naturalization. He sits patiently in a white waiting room for the final word and final letter… It’s for real. Please present yourself on April 23rd to take your Oath to become an American citizen.

As I think back on all the years of stress, worry and wonder, I remember the first time Miguel and I had a conversation about starting the process. It was December, five months after we met. We were in the kitchen of our little adobe rental in the hills of San Felipe. We had very little furniture, so we ate dinner on the cold red tiles. I remember his big curly hair and the love in his eyes. I remember how he looked at me and said, “One day I’m going to come to your city, Miranda. You’ll see.”