Funeral

I’m not the kind of guy to cry at funerals. I didn’t cry at my grandma’s, I didn’t cry at my grandpa’s. Lately, I’ve wondered if that was a reflection of me or them. I don’t think it’s either. A lack of tears is not a lack of love. Don’t worry, this post isn’t going to be a somber one. It’s just something that’s been on my mind for some time now.

I guess what got me thinking about death and funerals and my lack of waterworks is all the good that is happening in my life right now. For the past year and a half Cristina and I have struggled financially. Living paycheck to paycheck is sometimes the best we could hope for. And though we haven’t fully emerged from those mirky waters, I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I'd be remiss not to acknowledge that us coming this far without divorcing or sacrificing the well-being of our children is a testament to the loving, selfless family members we have. I personally feel inclined to mention that my mom has been our rock that we can always count on. Whether it is spotting a month of rent or “lending” (because God knows I haven’t done good to pay back my debts, but same day I will!) us a money to pay for gas and two weeks worth of groceries, she always does whatever she can (and can’t) to help our little family through the hard times.

The overall tone of Avocado Mornings has been light and funny, accentuating only the good in our lives,  but the truth is without the dips and valleys, the peaks don’t seem as high. When the kids get to this blog post in an attempt to get a glimpse of what was going on in their home around this time, I hope they realize that they became the people they are not just because Cristina and I did all we could, but because Cristina and I did all we could and had the help of our families to fill in the gaps of our shortcomings. 

Three day weekend

Lately I've been scheduled to work Monday Tuesday and Thursday, (at least for the last three weeks) and let me just say I look forward to the weekend more and more with each fourteen hour shift that passes by. These wonderful three days where I feel like a stay at home mom are everything to me. And my favorite part is answering baby Darcys unrelenting question "mom are you going to work?" With a big NO! and of course a happy dance to follow.

Then of course Sunday rolls around and ugly sister Monday is so close by that it makes me wanna stop time or quit my job. 

And In hopes of my babies reading this when they're older, I've decided to start documenting anything and everything. (Sorry guys my posts won't be as eloquent as the ones Darcy posts)

With that said here are a couple of pictures from our Sunday cook out. We made burgers and hotdogs (well for Darcy a weenie burger) and of course everyone's favorite ... corn! Even Dexter had some ... well no, not really breast milk only for that fattie.  

 

Speedy Gonzalez and Her Little Mexicans

     Patis (or as my Millie Cakes seems to prefer, Nana) took her grandkids shoe shopping yesterday, giving me some time to work on real estate stuff and Dexter some peace and quiet to get some rest. Really, he always gets rest but when Mills is here the house is anything but peaceful.

     It’s funny to see your kids take on their own personalities and develop their own tastes in things. My mom let them pick their own shoes and Darc came back with some stylish blue Nikes, while Millie picked some neon tangerine ones. Though Millie can be rough and tomboyish, she does a good amount of acting like a dainty little girl.

     Once Cristina got home from work, Darc made sure to put on a display of how fast his shoes made him run. And of course, like the awesome young mom my wife is, she suited up and joined him at the starting line. I swear if Darc bears an uncanny resemblance to Cristina, in any respect, it’s in his long lean legs. Why Cristina didn’t end up a cross country Olympian, I don’t know.

     I can just imagine her now, racing to finish line, winning gold and doing a touchdown dance of unholstering her guns and blasting them high in the air – Speedy Gonzalez, the pride of the Aranda family. 

You say Weenie Burger, I say Burger Dog...Tomato, TomAtoh.

     It's been a little over a month and a half since we graduated from our humble little apartment in the lower valley to a quaint house with the one thing that Cristina and the kids had been wanting for awhile - a Yard. And even though we were unpacked over a month ago, the place just hasn't felt like home. 

     That all changed this weekend. With my parents nursing hangovers (well maybe that's a little harsh, they were just really tired) from a birthday party hosted on Saturday, and Cristina's parents enjoying a Sunday to themselves, we took it upon ourselves to throw our very first family cookout. The burgers and weenies were a little over cooked but ultimately, I got the job done. Darc even got a chance to reenact a dish from one of his favorite shows, Uncle Grandpa. 

 

     He calls it a Weenie Burger, but I think it looks more like a Burger Dog. Either way, I can think of more unappetizing things I concocted as a child. Have you ever heard of a Hot Cheetoh Sandwich? Or how about a Hot Sauce Burrito?

     Millie had a blast in the three kiddie pools (thanks Mom!) that Cristina arranged into a makeshift miniature Waterpark. I'm pretty sure that when we make our next big move, a pool will be a must. 

    I can see now why it was so important for Cristina to have a yard. I guess I forgot all the fun that comes with enjoying family and the sun in your own little private escape. 

Brain Drain

     Before I weave this blog post's theme from a list of excuses as to why I haven't found the time to post, let me just assure you that when life happens, the last thing it leaves room for is documentation for future reference.

     But the Arandas are back baby, and with a new vengeance! No, not really...there's no vengeance, just a whole lot of spit-up, poopee diapers and teeth pulling when it comes to teaching Darc to peel his eyes from technology and feast his gaze on more educational things. 

     Despite Cristina and I wanting him to dabble in the finer things, as we did when we were children, like reading Goosebumps and learning to work with numbers using a makeshift Abacus made of strings of corn husks and dry frijoles (that was Cristina, by the way), I must admit that Pokemon on Netflix and his fascination with Mario on my old Super NES has brought us closer together. Hopefully nobody catches on to the fact that I like those things more than he does, though. 

 

     Everyday is a struggle when it comes to finding the balance in our household, and the virtue least regarded is always cleanliness...NO, NO, NO...we do shower! And when I say "we" I literally mean "we all shower together"....sometimes. If you're a parent, you know that the word privacy is...wait, what does privacy mean again?

 

     In the end, I'm happy to be posting again. Especially because I've returned with a new take on composition, one that's more sustainable. Before, I aimed for a carefully scripted thematic approach, where if the blog post didn't feel like it had a purpose then I'd sit on it for days and days until I could manipulate the rhythm and flow so that it felt like a story, carefully crafted into a poeti....blah blah blah...you get the idea. 

     Not anymore, though. Now, you get what you read - the thoughts from my head as a slush of brain drain.

Birds and the Bees?! Dad, Please...

     This post is long overdue. To be specific, it is two weeks late. That is because two weeks ago we welcomed the arrival of the fifth member of our family, Dexter Christopher Aranda.

6lbs, 18inches, and, most importantly, healthy.

Unfortunately for little Darc and Millie, Dexter's birth was something out of a movie.

     You know that opening scene where the main actor reminisces on the one traumatic childhood event that forever influenced the course of his life. That will be Darc, reflecting on the birth of his little brother and how, at four years old, he had learned more of the birds and the bees than any four year old before him. 

     In short, Darc saw more than he should have and in case you're still wondering exactly what I mean just know that little Darc was so close to the "explosive" miracle that is child birth he could have delivered his brother himself and cut the umbilical cord - which by the way, I didn't even get to do this time around. 

     Before you go revoking my father of the year title, though, just know that everything that could have gone wrong that day, did go wrong. 

     For starters, earlier that day, Cristina demanded we have Peter Piper Pizza for dinner, despite my craving Papa John's. For crying out loud, she didn't even get a chance to eat a slice before the contractions literally knocked her off her feet.

     With both her previous pregnancies, cramps were nonexistent. And because the birthdays were both planned, she always had an epidural in place just before she could ever fully appreciate the existence of epidurals. Not this time.

    As if that wasn't enough to set the tone for an event that was going down three weeks too soon, we found ourselves in a hospital - which we hadn't yet registered Cristina in - with nobody to watch our kids. There I was, crammed in the corner of the delivery room with two toddlers witnessing their mother in the throes of childbirth and I didn't even have my selfie stick to get a properly angled photo.

   

   
     It's like Dexter knew that the growth of our little family would culminate with his birth and so he had to "go out with a bang." I just didn't think he would take it so literally.

     Amidst all the confusion, and moments before the doctor coached Cristina through the final big push, I noticed Cristina's leg was slipping from one of the leg holsters, so I stepped up to reposition her and offer my support, leaving behind the kids. Looking back now, that's when it all went wrong. Naturally, Millie burst into tears, so after I took her into my arms and returned to Cristina's side I didn't realize Darc followed after me. By this time, the doctor told Cristina that Dexter was halfway out, and this is where Darc's curiosity got the best of him.

     "There's too much blood. I don't like blood," resonated throughout the hallway as I carried him and his sister out to the waiting room.

     The whole situation left a bad taste in our mouths, the doctor's especially. Maybe that will teach her to wear a face mask next time.

     After the dust subsided, what emerged was yet another reason for Cristina and I to feel like God is smiling down on us.

       

Flamenchy Purse

When I'm in my early forties and my teenage daughter is begging me for whatever high end purse is trending at that time and I'm wondering why in the world a simple generic brand won't suffice, show me this picture and slap me in the face.

For the past month, my dainty Millie has been clutching anything with a strap in the same fashion she is this Flamingo handbag we found at the mall, so it was inevitable that I'd find myself buying a purse for my petite princess. But, of course, Cristina didn't want just any old knockoff knapsack. She turned into one of those crazed pageant moms that go Dr. Frankenstein on their glitter-dunked mini Gagas, and deemed unworthy every bag we came across.

In the end, I'm the one who spotted this flashy fowl and I knew Cristina would approve. She did... and so did Millie.

Looking at this picture makes me incredibly satisfied as a father, but I can't help but think I've created a monster.... a credit card maxing, head-to-toe matching, never enough accessorizing, mall monster. And just like Dr. Frankenstein destroyed himself trying to silence his horrid creation, I too will eventually attempt to silence the mall monster that is my offspring.

Except, when compared to a young woman with all her complexities, an eight-foot tall, freak of experimentation with incredible strength and a penchant for bloodshed is a complete teddy bear. I'll tell Emilia that "enough is enough" and that no 16 year old needs a Givenchy, then three minutes later, after the wrath of Hades is unleashed, you'll see me with my tail between my legs and Cristina trying to pick up what's left of my manhood.

To be honest, though, as long as I get a slice of cookie cake from Mrs. Field's, my little monster can have whatever she wants.