I was Exit 16E. You?

Hello, New Jersey. Welcome to the Boonies. While I currently live in a tiny town in Tennessee -- where the cultural highlight is the Sonic drive-thru -- I once lived among you. Exit 16E, to be exact.

Que what is happening here today? The Boonie Blog has been linked by the Newark Star-Ledger today in a column by a Cuban-American mom whose kids are refusing to habla, habla el espanol. (Hermana, you're in Jersey, you can do it. We do it here in Tennessee. De verdad! Though your situation is amazingly common among us second- and third-generationers.)

So, about Jersey, which I realize I haven't talked about much. I finished my last two years of high school in North Bergen. I got pulled from my little 99% Cuban Presbyterian school in Miami, with an average of 30 kids per grade, and deposited into a graduating class of 400. It was the best thing that happened to me. Hello Path Train! Hello NYC! Every.chance.I.got. Those two years also were full of Bergenline Avenue (Que rico Little Marcy's) and Hoboken, though it smelled like pee pee. (It was the '80s). I ate at a lot of diners and drank my first Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill on a cliff in Guttenberg overlooking twinkling NYC. Stupid, but fabulous! The people who became my friends had roots in Italy, Russia and India. I saw the world through their eyes. For that, I always will love NJ.

After college -- in yet another culture-deprived town in Illinois -- it was back to Jersey to work as a journalist. I commuted the long distance from Hudson County to Somerset County and then finally found an expensive little apartment just off of Rt. 22. I was off every Friday, and every Friday was spent in the city. Twenty-two and hanging in New York. It doesn't get much better than that. Another fabulous haunt was Lambertville. Beautiful.

The move South happened 2.5-years later because I honestly believed I was too young to be a Type A and too young to be killed on the Turnpike. Tightly wound, I was and, so it seemed, was everyone around me. (Now, I know it's a reporter and not necessarily a Jersey thing.)

I still get back to Jersey, as my brother and his family are there, as well as a few dozen hard-partying cousins, aunts and uncles. No matter the comedy one-liners, I've always loved New Jersey. It helped me grow up, find my independence.

So, New Jersey, thanks for visiting me here in the Boonies today. You've brought with you good memories. Too bad you couldn't bring some chocolate rugelach too.

The Hunt for the Perfect T-shirt

As I sit here, I am wearing a size Large T-shirt and feeling very much like a sausage, or Pamela Anderson, not sure which. This Large is tiny on me and I'm generally a small. So, this one just won't work, despite the delicious color.

The T-shirt is a sample as we hunt down the perfecta/o tee for the adult line. Some are too short. Some are too long. Some are too thick. Some have huge arms. Some have thick neck binding. Feos! The ones we used for the Cuba Nostalgia show this year are absolutely wonderful, but run very small. Not ideal for Latina curves -- or anybody other than las flacas Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen.

Some of you responded to our recent poll (or sent e-mail) and asked for Made in the U.S.A. Amores, I am so trying. The options are limited. Very limited. I recently spoke to a T-shirt distributor who had some tees made locally. It is an expensive nightmare, he said. I told him I had a bit of a nightmare talking to a local manufacturer too. Maybe even the same one. There aren't that many, though Tennessee used to have a lot of fabric mills. We laughed about it and agreed that perhaps there is a reason practically everything apparel-related is done overseas.

Of course, the right cut, fit, color and price is out there. We found it for Los Pollitos and we'll find it again. It'll just mean trying on a whole lot of T-shirts. (Lots for the yard sale pile later!)

In the meantime, if you have a favorite T-shirt brand, feel free to let me know.

The Pink Princesa

"This is not a baby shower, it's a coronation!''

That was spoken by my best friend (a Nebraska native) as she walked into the hall on Calle Ocho in Miami where my Cuban-style baby shower was hosted. She was right. My mother and aunts turned that simple little place into a regal palace of pink. They made little candle favors and pin favors with prayers and "Carrie's Baby Shower'' printed on them. Pink balloons, pink tablecloths, pink frosting. Pink everything. They willingly became my subjects -- or subjects to the unborn child every single one of them had helped me pray for.

I had made no secret of the battle with infertility we had for 18 months. I made no secret in the 10 years before I already knew it would not be easy. Every person at my very Latina baby shower -- from tias to old neighbors to best friends from grade school -- rode the wave of expectant joy with me when it finally happened in my 36th year.

A few weeks later, in the long hours I labored with Maria, the image of those women huddled together in their perfumed glory, giving me Mami advice, laughing at my plans for natural birth ("que loca!") helped minimize the fact my hips felt like flying out of their sockets each time a contraction hit. I meditated on them. I needed them.

My daughter was occiput posterior -- head down and sunny side up. Not the ideal position for unmedicated delivery by a first-time mother. She was stuck. (The image of mi familia and friends, by the way, always will compete with the memory of my yelling "The butt, the butt!'' and begging my husband and midwife to squeeze my hips together...but that's another post.)

At hour 37, Maria Felice was delivered by C-section as my exhausted midwife cheered. My husband and I cried the instant we heard our daughter's fierce howl. She was pink, hairy and a little banged up. But, strong and perfect too.

She was born into a gang of people in various cities and countries who loved and adored her way before she was conceived. I am not an overly cautious or fearful mother. You would think, given the fact we're "older'' parents who overcame infertility, that I would be. But, if I had to give a reason, I would say this child has been so wanted and so lifted up by the prayers of my people, that she will be fine, fine, fine. She is a happy, healthy and tough little chiquitica. Crowned as La Pink Princesa de Calle Ocho and Middle Tennessee, how could she not be?

Maria is 4-years-old today.

It's time for Guava Glazed Turkey and Chilean Butternut Squash. Praise be.

Never did I dream I would spend so much time worrying about the color of fonts, but oh yes, I do. Yesterday was spent writing and formatting our latest newsletter -- the one launching the funny new T-shirts -- and writing a press release to send to members of my former tribe: Reporters.

I looked up and several hours had passed. The day was pretty much shot and though the newsletter and the release got written, I had not decided on my Thanksgiving menu. And really, shouldn't that be the priority?

So this morning, at the crack of dawn, Bustelo and I trolled the internet and paged through cookbooks for some deliciousness to accompany the star of the show, the guava port wine glazed pavo.

At last, here's the menu. It's simple:

The bird as mentioned above.
Cranberries, made with real syrup and orange rind.
A salad with figs, Manchego cheese and Serrano ham (which a friend gave me from this month's O at Home magazine)
Chilean Butternut Squash Casserole. I so cannot wait for this one. Spicy comfort food!
Green beans for the unadventurous among us.
Roasted rosemary fingerling potatoes (for my husband)
Crusty bread.
Flan, the traditional kind with lots of caramelo.
Cafecito

I usually have dressing and black beans, but this year, no quiero and no one seems to be requesting them. Part of me is tempted to go Puerto Rican and roast the turkey in mojo, but given that I live all year for this glaze, I'll pass on the urge.

Additionally, I've been toying with making a dessert I made up last winter -- blueberries, port wine and guava paste cooked up together in a saucepan and drizzled over vanilla ice cream resting in puff pastry. It is mind-blowingly good, but I'm opting for the Nigella way of hosting by not spending all my time in the kitchen.

It'll leave more time to count my blessings, grab seconds and lick my fingers.

Many good wishes for a loving and warm and filling Thanksgiving to you, my amigos.

Out of the mouth of babes...and to God's ears

I came back from a day of hawking baby tees at a local show (it rocked) to hear my little daughter chatting away in Spanish with her abuelitos. My husband, certainly thinking of the Spanish immersion school tuition bill, joyfully reports it also happened all yesterday evening while I was gone setting up the show booth. My mother reports Maria was "en fuego.'' On fire.

During her bath, she kept repeating -- and I do mean repeating -- a prayer my father taught her earlier in the day:

Con Dios Me Acuesto
Con Dios Me Levanto
Con La Gracia de Dios
Y El Espiritu Santo.

I would liken it to "Now I lay me down to sleep..." I asked her who she thinks God is. She told me God is all the angels who protect you at night when you are sleeping. I agreed and added:

"And God is also what it feels like when you see things like a beautiful tree, a baby deer, or a smile from someone you love. God is all good and wonderful and beautiful things.''

She thought about that for a second, raised her pointer finger into the air and shook her head: "But not spit.''

A break from madness for peace

It is most certainly Fall here in Tennessee. There was much talk during this summer of drought that our colors would not be as famously brilliant. Perhaps they are not, but yesterday morning brought golden light and soft breezes. The afternoon brought a nap-inducing rain shower, though I was, most unfortunately, not napping. It was a perfect day.

So, here I offer you a snapshot of home. It's a little Oprah Breathing Space, just what I need right now, as I sit in the middle of holiday sales plans and home cleaning in preparation for the arrival of mi familia for Thanksgiving.

It's about to get very loud over here -- Cuban Loud. A good thing. A welcome thing. But, in the meantime, sweet, gentle Tennessee peace:

The educational merit of a Potato

In my next life, I may just request to come back as a writer for Dora the Explorer. They seriously must be smoking the wacky up there all day and having a good laugh at those of us who will watch anything.

You see, I planted Maria in front of the TV today so I could tag T-shirts. We've got a show this weekend. I look up to see Dora's friend Benny the Bull has accidentally turned himself into a .... Potato!

A Potato? Really? Why a potato? Why not sashimi, a Gucci bag, or a tire swing? Anything more clever than a potato, please. (How much money do you people make?)

I can hear the writers:

"Dude, I'm blocked. Send it over.''
"Oh yeah, yeah, I know...Benny could accidentally turn himself into a frankfurter!''
"Nah, that would piss off the vegetarians.''
"But, that's, like, seriously funny. Do you get it?''
"Nah, man, you know what would be, like, seriously funny? If Benny turned into a giant potato!''
"A new potato or a baking potato?''
"Hey man, don't hog the stick.''

See previous Dora rant here.

Los Pollitos Dicen hatches new Latino t-shirts and onesies for the holidays

The latest chicks from Los Pollitos Dicen have hatched.

Introducing "Despertador'' or "Alarm Clock'' and "Ni Un Pio!'' or "Not a Peep,'' our version of "See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil" and otherwise known as the thing my Abuela said most commonly to her grandchildren: "No quiero oir ni un pio!'' The perfect toddler tee!


These funny Spanish T-shirts and onesies are our holiday 2007 offerings. They will be sold solo -- no box -- and each will include a card with the lyrics to Los Pollitos Dicen, the traditional lullaby we take our name from.

Despertador is available in 0 to 6 months and 6 to 12 months; Ni Un Pio is available in 2T and 4T. Both are 100% cotton and made in the U.S.A. $18.

Buy them here.

And finally, we've added "Fo!" in white with a chocolate brown image to our regular line-up. I personally, adore this funny, stinky, little chick.


We hope you like them, we hope they make you laugh, and of course, we hope you'll buy them for the bebes and children in your lives.

Why it is important to have a Spanish-English dictionary

My mom was telling me about surgery a relative had on her "matris.''
A while later, I was on the phone with a Mexican-American friend and asked her if she used the word "matris'' for uterus.
She said no, but while we were talking, she pulled out her Spanish-English dictionary.
"Matris: Womb, Matrix, Screwnut.''

Each quite fitting for our kind, I would say.

La Candela

This is George. He is 1. George belongs to a lovely woman in my mom's group. I love George. George is the kind of baby who makes you want to have more babies. George makes you believe the Universe is kind and grand and generous. George is absolute fabulousness. And, his last name happens to have the word "fire'' in it, so the Candela tee fits him in more ways than one.

Deep Thoughts or Kicking Fear in the Culo

So, because we are starting again, taking a dip in the "let's see what happens'' pond of Latino T-shirt designing and selling, I've been thinking a lot about how we started the last time. It's been two years since we launched Los Pollitos Dicen. And before that, we spent nearly a year researching, talking, planning.

A business plan, advice from well-informed smart people, feedback from friends and family, but we had no idea what would really happen. And yet we jumped in. Big splash.

What it took, overall, was letting go of fears and what-ifs. What it took was to begin to think in terms of "Why not me?'' And to keep thinking that -- even when things don't go as planned or expected.

When I wrote recently about the maniac days of multi-tasking a small business and a family and a house, I was reminded of how I felt back then. I was excited. And yes, very often, pushed that dreaded, but comfortable friend, Fear, to the side. "What if we flop?'' The answer: "Who cares? You tried.''

I admit, there are moments of freak out over this one. Here we go. Adding more work and more "What ifs.'' But, then comes the "How could you not?'' and we move forward.

Have you read Eat, Pray, Love, the best-seller by Elizabeth Gilbert? She gave up unhappy comfort for an unknown and hit the Happy Jackpot. I'm reading it now. It has helped my spirit and served as inspiration.

So, all this to say: What do you want to do? Are you planning it? Doing it?

If yes, acknowledge the gift to yourself. If no, what holds you back?

I have done things I never dreamt I would, things that even in the moment, I have pushed against. (Starting with sticking the needle in my belly to conceive this kid of mine...) But, walking toward everything I've wanted -- and letting go of what I didn't -- really has been about putting Fear in the corner. (Sadly, it's a constant exercise as Fear never stays put.)

So, today I ask you, where is your Fear? Holding your hand, or banished to the corner?

You probably didn't come here for therapy today. Sorry. It's just what has been on my mind. I'll work on a post with fun words like Fuacata or Descarado soon to make up for it.

Showering my baby with caramelos

We celebrated Maria's 4th birthday a few weeks early so we could do it at home and let the kids play outside in the woods. There were about 20 mobile kids here and I am either crazy or inexperienced at the Mami game, but truly, it was a lovely and simple event despite the numbers. Lots of free play and the ingestion of sugar in the form of sprinkles sugar cookies from wonderful Mexican bakery and the ugliest cake I've ever made. And unlike our adult pig roasts of years past, nobody got drunk and everyone was gone in three hours. OK, so the kids were a little tweeked on sugar, but I wasn't putting them to bed.

Maria had a wonderful time. She told everyone she was turning 5.

Success.

The only non-success: The pull-string pinata I found at a big box party store did not explode and offer up that delicious "Pop!'' and "Sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle.'' I had to shove my fist into it and shower the plastic frogs, dino tattoos and chocolate Kisses all over the anxious, sweaty mass.

The horror and shame. The failure to explode never would have happened with the pinatas I grew up with in Miami, but not one Cuban pull-string pinata was to be found in Middle Tennessee. (Hello, any Cuban/Latino party store owner want to move to beautiful Nashville?)

Fortunately, I don't think the kids minded.

New Poll: What kind of t-shirt gets your Latin on?

I am looking at T-shirt samples for the upcoming adult line. I'm a little dizzy, to tell the truth. There is so much variety in color, fit, cost, material, origin. But, I love looking at the colors. Like candy, they are.

I know what I want: A bright, fitted, soft cotton, preferably made in the United States. I'm OK with paying more for it if it is going to last. It would be a bonus if it were organic or bamboo, but those are some serious bucks. (Sadly, there's a huge difference in wholesale cost for organics and bamboo.)

What about you? Tell me about your favorite T-shirt. What does it feel like? Has it shrunk? Faded? Do you care? Is it an inexpensive T? Is it a fabulously luxurious one? What color is it?

Help us give you the best T-shirt possible. Please, take a moment to answer the Poll to the right and give me whatever feedback you like here or via e-mail. (You can select more than one choice in the poll.)

It wasn't very difficult to pick the Pollito tee manufacturer. Hands-down the best private-label manufacturer we found out there. And, we custom dye the chick tees, so picking colors from a selection -- and overloading my brain -- isn't an issue.

By the way, my favorite T-shirt all summer long has been the Tocororo we sold at Cuba Nostalgia this past May. That pajaro tropical is definitely going to be a regular in the new line-up.

Thanks for your help!