Que Onda, Guero?

Dear Rio,

It has been well-chronicled in this very blog over the past two years how much your sister looks nearly identical to me in physical appearance, in mannerisms and in idiosyncrasies. If I can ever get all those on a list it would make for some good reading. So, anyway, identical. It's uncanny, really. For the past two years people have thought that your mother was Lily's nanny, or upon hearing that they were directly and biologically related, would say, "Oh, your husband must be very dark, then." I like to think of myself as more of an olive tone.

And for these past two years I have joked with your mother, half-seriously, that my Mexican-ness trumped what her gene pool had to offer and that she made a fine host for my replica. I fully expected, unreasonably so, I guess, that you would be another iteration of myself. I should have kept my mouth shut.

Blonde hair. Blonde hair? Blonde hair! Really, dude? I was in the room so I know you weren't swapped. I guess your mother got her revenge.

Well, son, since you are fairer skinned and lighter haired than me or your sister, but since you are still half Mexican, there is some vocabulary you should be aware of. We have a name for people like you. You, my son, are a guero. Guero, pronounced thusly - gue (pronounced like the "we" in "wed") and ro (pronounced like the "dd" in "ladder" with an "o" tacked on at the end [weddo]). Technically, there is a diaeresis (two dots) over the "u" but I don't have the keyboard shortcut for that.

Guero is a Spanish term of endearment used primarily by Mexicans to describe a fair-skinned person and/or one with light hair and is used somewhat ironically/playfully with such a person of Hispanic descent.

You are my guerito and I love you very much. But I should pick up some spray tan for you at Walgreen's, though. People might think I stole you.

Love,

Dad

Order For Pickup!

Lily,

Ramirez Family guilty pleasure - we regularly order pizza on Fridays from our favorite local pizza establishment instead of cooking dinner. Side note, we are the only people who order a large pizza with pepperoni and bell peppers in this town, so they always know it's us calling and I always get a "this one's for him" when I walk in to pick up the order. By the way, people in Pennsylvania don't call them bell peppers, they call them green peppers. Whatever.

Anyway, the reason this is a guilty pleasure is because Mommy does her best to make sure that the food we eat is not only healthy but also responsibly grown, raised, butchered, transported, chewed, disposed of, thought about, etc. If it says organic, we're buying it. If it says free range cage free, we're buying two. If it has more than five ingredients, take it out of the cart. If we know the cow's name, we'll give it a shout out when we say Grace. Now we're not like Peter and Nance from the the show Portlandia, but we try.

I also thought we had done a good job so far from insulating you from junk/processed food and thought that you'd paid no mind to our greazy, cheesey indiscretion, until a couple of days ago when you again proved to us how much you listen to everything we say.

The other day you were pretending that a small bottle of lotion was a phone while you were sitting on the potty and you said something I didn't at first understand. When I asked you to repeat you looked at me and said, very squarely and clearly, "Order for pickup. Pepanonni." I was floored - I didn't think you were listening and internalizing every time I ordered a pizza. What else have I said that you weren't supposed to hear that you'll repeat in line at the grocery store? I guess we can't even hide from our own child that no matter how hard we try to be responsible consumers, we really love a good, unhealthy, processed, not-organic pizza. Your parents are imperfect people.

At the Park

Dear Rio,

We had such nice weather the other day that we thought it would be a great time to take you to a park for the first time.

Here I am with Lily in a fire truck (mostly).

And here is your mother in the background engaging in some acrobatic behavior getting into the same fire truck. Are we sure that she just gave birth less than two weeks ago?

Love,

Dad

First Bath

Dear Rio,

As expected, you're not such a fan of baths.

Love,

Dad

Just Loungin'

This parentin' is some tough stuff.

Soccer Game

Dear Lily,

I took you to a soccer game the other night. You had the most fun putting your hand on your heart for the Star-Spangled Banner, clapping in synch with all the soccer hooligans, but mostly the chocolate ice cream that you got all over your face.

Love,

Dad