Friendships Are Made in Unexpected Ways

By now you probably know that friendship is an intrinsic part of my life. That is why one of the most challenging things of this move out-of-state was leaving my friends, my different networks, my community, my tribe.

It takes a lot to cultivate those relationships and even more so when we are apart so I’ve been moping about on-and-off these first weeks in Pennsylvania. Then of course, as soon as you stop thinking about it, the universe seems to sense what you were in need of and surprises you with it.

Last week something pretty cool and rather unusual happened to me as I finished a yoga class in high spirits. I was headed for the showers at the gym, distracted and thinking of the day’s to-do list in my head. I forgot my shampoo and when I returned to fetch it, I saw a shopping bag from a Mexican department store on the bench!

I looked up in search for the owner and ventured the question: ¿Eres mexicana? (are you Mexican?) and yes! Of course she was, and she belongs to a big community of Mexicans living in this state, and she has children the ages of mine, and she stays at home. So yes! I had found the holy grail of friendship as the newby in town. How lucky and how unexpected but how welcomed this encounter has been for me.

Naturally, I’m very excited to getting to know her. I also, once again, was reminded that it takes time to get adjusted and is just matter of exercising patience and to be attuned to what the universe throws at you.


When Tragedy Strikes

In my last post I talked about the holes dug in my heart from not partaking in the joyful moments of my friends and family who live away from me. Today I want to talk about the heart-wrenching feeling of uselessness after the terrible crisis following this Tuesday’s earthquake in Mexico City.

My husband called me after he received the notification of a 7.1 earthquake affecting Mexico City. He had already connected with my brother, who lives there, and he was fine. However, he was unable to locate his wife and his son’s school was not responding either.

I called my brother who at that point was filled with anguish as he was trapped in the gridlock of traffic with all the other people trying to get to their loved ones, knowing that he was on the opposite side of town from his son and wife and having just learned that some of the collapsed buildings were right in the areas where they were. His desperate voice: help me reach them!

For about an hour I tried without success calling the school, looking for any updates on the social media, getting a hold of my sister-in-law. I even reached out to a friend who I know works closer to the area where my nephew was, to learn any information she would have to offer. Nothing, just more news updates of the devastation, of collapsed buildings and of gas leaks.

My heart sunk to the ground, but even more, thinking about the eternal wait for my brother. He reached out, he’s son’s school had been evacuated but all the children were safe. His wife was able to connect soon after. As he grew desperate to reach them, he parked his car and proceeded to walk 12 kilometers in the chaos and massive hysteria of a city too immense to let help reach their destinations.

It took them five hours but finally they were together and reached out to us. They were safe but not their apartment building, which suffered the kind of structural damage that warns you not to stay there. They headed to my sister-in-law’s aunt. Her place was safe.

My brother who is a doctor recruited during emergency situations, such as this horrid day, had to head to the hospital where he learned of tragedy after tragedy. He worked through the night and well into  Wednesday afternoon when he called me to tell me was safe, his family safe, him and his wife ready to help.

I haven’t been able to sleep well and cannot stop thinking about the terrible images, the fear and the unanswered questions of when things would calm down. However, I’m forever thankful for their safety and for having a brother willing to give it all to others.

As I read of the news, I find this weight on my chest that doesn’t let me breath, I wish I could help more but not being physically there prevents me from being actively involved. So I come to this blog to share of some ways in which people like me (away but willing to help in any way) can make a difference.

Consider donating to the following organizations:

MEXICAN RED CROSS (monetary gifts):

MEXICAN RED CROSS (wish list):

BRIGADA DE RESCATE TOPOS (Moles Rescue Brigade): PayPal donations at


A Heart Full of Holes

I love baby arrivals! It is a time of entrancing joy and love that I really enjoy being a part of. It is especially joyful for me to visit my close friends in the first few weeks or even before they leave the hospital. I just cannot get enough of that.

Unluckily, many of my closest, most adored friends either had their babies before we met, or live so far away that I’m not able to go see them. I can’t bake my traditional butter cookies for them or hug their little one as they tell me the story of the baby’s arrival. I have to be content with a brief exchange of WhatsApp messages filled with emojis and to wait until we can find the time to FaceTime and visit a little bit more “proper”.

You would think that after living away from my home country for 17 years now, I would be used to not being around for the life-transforming moments in my loved ones lives but, sometimes it isn’t that easy.

Recently, one of my soul sisters -my youngest child’s godmother- had her second baby. With half a continent between us, it is not entirely feasible for us to see each other so the whole weekend, I walked around with a hole in my heart and a need to bake cookies.

I had anticipated my lack of physical presence in such a momentous time, so I was able to send a little care package with her mom. Though I know she loved it knowing that it was my way to be with her, I still find myself a little sad.

It is hard to be away from the people you love. The holes pierced in my heart are due to those milestones missed in the lives of my friends but also the ones they have missed in mine. Sometimes, distance is just hard.



When I was nineteen years-old, I flew to the U. S. as a freshman in college. I had only seen my university in brochures and through the photos on its website. I had only conversed with the people in the international admissions office via email (except for the recruiter who persuaded me to go to Grand Valley State University). I had no idea of how empty my room in the shared apartment was going to be nor did I anticipated the need for kitchenware and food and anything else other than the provided bed and mattress.

Nonetheless, I was excited and happy to be there. The campus was beautiful, green and filled with summertime flowers and sounds of nature. I met the rest of the international students who had come the same year as I did, the day after as we started our orientation. Standing in line with people from every continent, I felt so different and at the same time so connected to them. I did not know it fifteen years ago, but my new life began then.

Having the opportunity to attend college in a foreign country was a challenge that in so many ways, I was not ready to confront. At the same time, learning how to navigate the syllabuses, schedules, pressure and new culture, gave me a kind of internal strength, that I doubt anything else would have ever given me. I became confident as I was able to find answers to the many hows and how comes; as I overcame obstacles on my own, without my parents’ help.

Living in a different culture helped me reaffirm the things that I liked about my own, but it also helped me question so many traditions and parts of myself that had been a part of me more out of routine than because I believed in them. Surrounding myself with my fellow international students helped me learn about so many different views about one issue all at once.

The adventure of attending college in the U.S. was an enriching one; however, it wasn’t always gratifying nor easy to maneuver. I experienced reject, racism and prejudice for the first time in my life. Not all classmates were thrilled of having someone with an accent as a partner in projects. Barely anyone talked to me in the classrooms. Arriving to class filled with freshmen was the equivalent to staying in your room by yourself. I found it baffling that not a single person would say hello or good morning as they sat by you. There were no invitations to coffee or lunch after class (as it would happen in my native Mexico). I found that very hard and started to feel isolated. I found solace in my group of international student friends. Many of whom were as shocked as me by the lack of interaction between students in the classrooms.

As the semesters passed by, I developed friendships with some students with whom I had more than a class with, with the professors who took an especial interest in me and with my co-workers. More and more, I felt like I had carved myself a place in college and in my new surroundings. Yet, I longed for getting my degree and going back to Mexico, to my life there.

Along the way, I was charmed by a wonderful international student from Lebanon. Our love for each other was so deep that early on in the relationship, we both knew that we were going to get married. When we decided to get together, I knew that I was saying goodbye to Mexico for good. But when I was with him, nothing else mattered.

And so we embarked in the little-known world of getting a sponsor to give you a work visa. Then, after years of uncertainty and hefty lawyer fees, we jumped from the work visa to a green card. We bought a house, we had children and when we realized it, we had been living in the U.S. for longer than a decade.

Our personalities have morphed so many times that we were unrecognizable in our home countries, our believes had been shaped by our experiences in our host country and the many cultures that we had come in contact with. We had found a duality in our being that only people who live abroad can understand.

It is a bit odd to find that you are a dual being. I love where I come from and have deep roots in Mexico. I’m proud of its colors, music, flavors, history and the ease in which friendship flows from one person to the next. At the same time, the more time that I have spent in Michigan, the more that I have learned to love its nature, cities, freedom and easy-going way of life. I have made such great friends here that I now feel just at home.

It is easier to explain this sense of duality with the analogy of a tree with deep and strong roots. Without them, the tree would not stand tall. The roots represent my upbringing in Mexico. But this tree needs the right kind of soil to grow stronger and feel grounded and enriched. This soil is my husband and the sense of belonging that him and I have forged for each other and our children. The tree would not be much without its ever-reaching branches and leaves. That is what my host country had been for me. Every teaching moment a new branch. Every life-changing experience a set of leaves. I could not be the woman that I am today without my both nations vibrating underneath my skin. I am roots and branches. I am this duality. 

A month ago I found myself standing tall in a new line of people from 31 different countries. All with our different believes and religions, all with roots from different places, but all of us with our hearts beaming with excitement as we prepared to become U.S. citizens. Nearly fifteen years had passed but I took the oath of citizenship with the same pride that I had come to the U.S. as an international student to break stereotypes, to challenge and be challenged. Tears of joy streamed down my face as I sung God Bless America while holding my eldest daughter’s hand. I finally had a voice. I finally would be able to make decisions for my children and my family in the way of a vote. I finally felt that I had a right to defend our believes. I finally had become a dual citizen.

The Richness of Positive Cultural Exchanges

Sometimes the shortest trips, the ones taken within your own region of the country, are the ones that turn out to be the most contrasting with our quotidian lives. As it was the case of our most recent visit to Chicago.

Not even four hours away from us, right on the other side of Lake Michigan. This big city is one of our children’s most favorite places to visit. They like the cars, and the noise, and the endless lines of people walking up and down the main streets. They enjoy the view of the tall buildings and the sky lighted with tiny windows in the horizon at night.

It is a place of wonder for them. Frankly, for us as well. We like the variety of restaurants, the racially mixed families that mirror our own, and the  endless cultural opportunities.

Although we go to Chicago often, this last time was very unique as we visited my cousin and his family in their diverse home. My cousin is also Mexican but he’s married to a French girl and together they have a son who was born in Mexico and a daughter born in the States. (You did not think I was the only one in the family who started a multi-racial clan, right?).

As soon as their son opened the door, we were immerse in a weekend-long cultural exchange. A mix of English, French and Spanish set the tone for our adventure. My kids were exposed to quiche and brioche with salted butter, which I now have had to make available for them at our own home, per their request. Their children tried pretzels filled with peanut butter and were on-the-go more hours than what they are used to, keeping up with my gang.

We talked about my latest post about the challenges of keeping a bilingual house and they pointed out how in their case, French is the main language because is spoken both at home and at school all the time. They gave me more ideas to keep Spanish more present in our lives, and I even caught myself speaking it less and less in this multi-lingual weekend adventure. (Mental note to correct that).

Along with our families’ cultural exchanges, came the concept of how to navigate around in bigger cities. After we said hello and unloaded our car, we headed to the neighborhood park. The kids on scooters, bikes and strollers following our 4-year-old tour guide on wheels. It seemed that, even at a younger age than my 7 and 5-year-old kids, our tour guide knew the rules of stopping at every street corner before crossing, making room for other pedestrians on the sidewalk and being aware of the cars at all times.

Now, is not like my kids were running around and crossing the streets without looking, but, they certainly had to be reminded to use their street smarts more than a few times. The fact that they didn’t know where they were going didn’t help to keep them on their side of the sidewalk either. But I think they were very impressed by their little cousin who was used to the “urban rules”. On the way back, they were certainly more conscious of what they were doing. It was a good lesson learned.

During this short time we had sharing sinks, and cleaning after 5 children, the four adults got a glimpse of what life is like for other multicultural families. We influenced each other in a positive way and our children spent meaningful time individually among each other. It was wonderful to hear my 2-year-old daughter and our little tour guide engage in a conversation at play time -when they thought nobody was listening. It was equally amusing to hear my 7-year-old responding in Spanish to a sentence said in French.

I love having this connection with my multicultural cousin and his family as we always get something positive out from our encounters. In this case, it was the opportunity of engaging my children in activities out of the norm for them. They loved having breakfast à la française and listening to our multilingual conversations.

I believe that while our goal to raising bilingual children has met some challenges as of late; the one of raising multicultural ones is right on track! Just ask them what some of their favorite foods are and you’ll find a colorful blend of cultural backgrounds.

I say we can feel pretty victorious at the moment!

I Give Up

OK, I admit it… I can’t be solely responsible for my children’s bilingualism. There, I said it. I’m giving up. But not in the sense that you might think. 

I will continue to speak in Spanish to them, to encourage them to read in Spanish, listening to music in Spanish, and celebrating our multicultural traditions. Perhaps even device strategies to help them engage in conversations in Spanish in a more organic way (one that doesn’t requiere constant nagging on my part).

However, I have finally understood that I cannot do it alone -even by being a Stay-At-Home-Mom. 

So I’m giving up on the idea of doing it all by myself. I need reinforcements from the community and family and friends. So I have come up with an alternative plan. One where I model behavior and try to keep my kids’ bilingual and multicultural knowledge growing as they mature themselves.

I wish we had the option of enrolling them in a Spanish-immersion program but that isn’t the case right now. That’s why, I have contacted a tutor specialized in children to help me teach my children how to read and with whom they would only speak Spanish to -if only for a set period of time every week.

I encourage them to call their grandparents in Mexico as often as they can so they can practice conversation (even though they don’t know that they are doing it also for academic purposes).

I also joined a playgroup in Spanish so that my youngest one can increase the exposure to the language outside of the home.

This journey to bilingualism doesn’t stop here. It doesn’t end with the tired children who prefer to speak in their main language only. It may be a childhood-long learning experience in which breaks will now be allowed, but where the main goal of full bilingualism will always be in sight. 

I’m giving up direct control over the situation but I hope the combination of outside influences and constant modeling will rekindle my kids’ interest in Spanish.

Wish me luck! And as usual, I welcome any ideas and experiences in your own journey to raising bilingual and multicultural children. 

To You, Natalia

I could not write any new posts without dedicating a very special one to you, dear Natalia Gomez. You were my champion from the first posts, an encouragement whenever they were raw and full of emotion, a guide and an inspiration. You were a friend and sometimes a role model.

I remember when I first met you as a freshman in college. I did not take any of your classes but, as homesick as I was, found comfort in some of the faculty members who spoke Spanish. You assessed my skills as a Spanish tutor and gave me my first job in college. You also, on occasion, heard about how much I missed my home. You listened carefully and helped me find ways to stay connected with my culture -even when I felt so alone. The doors to your office were always open for me.

After graduation, I found my way back to you when working with the Sister Cities committee. You were always so willing to participate in any efforts to enrich the community and to get the university involved in cultural opportunities.

Not much longer after that, I became a mom. I remember how when you came to meet my baby you encouraged me to get out of the house and suggested I joined any of the organizations for moms in the community. You told me how much joining one had helped you meet people in those lonely times that come when you stay home with young children. You taught me about hiding vegetables in the most ordinary things, like pancakes and macaroni and cheese. You repeated once and again that there was no shame in looking for help when we needed it, and how great it was to have more than one reliable baby sitter on speed dial.

Whenever we got together, you shared about the very many ways you were trying to make a difference in the community, always insisting that I joined you in at least one of your efforts. And when you first were diagnosed with cancer, you were not passive. You looked the illness in the eyes and made every effort to get healthy again. You didn’t stop being involved. Instead, you helped write the new law that will help thousands of women in Michigan that have dense breast to have the right to require more tests and more information in order to detect breast cancer early.

You got better and continued to be a source of inspiration to so many. Even when you were not 100% better, you gave me a very cute baby shower for my second child, because you knew that we have one for every child in Mexico, because you knew I was homesick, because that was you: always trying to brighten up the world.

We didn’t see each other frequently. Your young family, the community and unluckily the cancer needed your attention. The later perhaps too much. However, whenever I saw you, your positive aura surrounded me and I always left our encounters feeling empowered, happy to be dedicating my best to my children, happy to be writing this blog.

One of my last truly happy memories of you is from about two years ago, when you came to see me at the hospital after I had my third child. You were so nervous to hold a newborn that it made laugh a little. You were so happy to be in that moment with me that we shared some joyful tears.

This year was a very hard one for you. You could not get as much done as you wanted to; yet, you were able to continue helping people. Like that time when you read my blog post about getting rid of my baby stuff and immediately getting a hold of me so that you could buy whatever was left to help a young mom. When I came to deliver the stuff you were very weak so I couldn’t see you, but that didn’t stop you from sending the most heartwarming text.

You were grand. A beautiful soul full of light, full of warmness, full of gratitude for every extra day you were able to spend here with us. So amazingly strong that you even pushed yourself to finish your poetry book just a few weeks ago.

I will miss you Natalia, but I am happy to be a part of the tribe of people you touched and so grateful to have had you in my life. Your children may not know yet of the very many people who have a little bit of their mother in their hearts, but I am sure they will always be reminded of the greatness of your heart and your joie de vivre.

I wish I could have done a lot more for you than what I did. I wish I could have spent more time with you. I wish to always have you in my heart and I wish to have your strength and your commitment to live life to the fullest.

Rest in peace dear friend. I will always think of you fondly.

Opening Little Minds to Tough Topics

Sometimes I have the most profound talks with my children when I am the least prepared for them. Some days ago, this image on a party item that I had stored in my closet prompted a very important talk about race with my kindergartener.


For Martin Luther King Day, my kindergartener learned for the first time about racial inequality and segregation. She learned that people with dark skin had to sit in different places and where not allowed to go where they wanted to go. She drew and wrote a touching little assignment with a sentence reading: I have a dream that our world would let everybody go everywhere. I know this was mostly prompted by the lesson taught at school but I also know it got her thinking.

Many weeks later, as she was with me when I was putting away some clothes in my closet, she found the party piece in the photo and after asking me what was for she started the following exchange:

Is my skin color darker than yours? -Yes, but just a little bit, look.

Are we different than most people? By this, she meant around our community where more than 90% are Caucasian. -Well, different in skin color and hair, yes. But we all are different and alike in many ways.

If we lived in the time of Martin Luther King, would they have let us go to the same school and ride in the front of the bus? -To be honest, I am not sure. But I’m guessing some people wouldn’t have liked the idea of us being so close.

Are they still people that don’t like others because their skin is a different color? And this was the hardest thing I have ever had to answer to my children so far. -Yes, unfortunately, there are people who feel their skin color or the country that they are from makes them better than others.

With a sad face she said: that’s mean.

I took advantage of this crack in my little girl’s mind to open a window to an issue that we will have to deal with in our life time. Racial inequality, intolerance and xenophobia are not topics that I planned on covering when my kids were in kindergarten. In fact they are the type of topics that I hope wouldn’t cross my young children’s minds. But they are topics that every parent should cover with their children and since the opportunity presented itself, I had a very honest talk with my little girl.

Having two of the most criticized stereotypes in the U.S. right in our household (Middle Eastern and Hispanic), I feel it is important to slowly but effectively arm my children for the racial battles that may await them in the future. So I wasn’t going to sugar-coat the situation for her. Instead I insisted that while there might be people out there who do not like us because of our skin color or nationality, they are many others that are our friends, and we should always value that.

I proceeded to tell her that when I first came to the U.S. to attend college, many classmates didn’t want to be on my study groups or do projects with me because they thought that since I had an accent, I was probably not that good of a student. I had to deal with some discrimination and intolerance, which made it hard for me, but I ended up meeting wonderful friends and that helped me ignore the negative people.

I compared that experience to when she’s at the playground and she gets excluded from a game. I emphasized that there are always other people to play with. I also was very clear to tell her than when people don’t think that you are good enough simply because you are different than them, then they are not worth the effort to befriend.

One should always be polite to people and show respect to all classmates but I told her that there’s a difference between a classmate and an actual friend. Not everyone who comes in touch with you is your friend and that is why true friendship is very valuable. Your true friends don’t care about your skin color or where you are from, they just want to play with you.

I think that answering her question truthfully without any scary details was the best way to start talking about racism. But I also feel that if I had ignored it or played it down, I would probably have close the important channel of communication that I wish to have with her and her siblings. I always want to be one of the main people that they turn for advise and for truthful answers.

I cannot say that my children have experience any racism at school or anywhere else, but I think that is important to think of an action plan should the occasion arises. As their parent, your children are always learning social cues from you. The way in which I respond to racism will shape the way they deal with it in the future. Like for everything else, I just want to be prepared.

Kindergarten Progress Reports and Bilingual Goals

Progress Reports for the month of January have been sent home and I was very nervous to receive them as I did not know what exactly to expect from my kindergartener who had been struggling in the area of English Language Arts.

As I have said before, all the books about bilingual and multilingual children that I have read, encourage parents not to give up when the children find it challenging to keep up with more than one language. But that is certainly easier said than done.

For starters, the planning one must do selecting media and books for the children can be overwhelming. It is also very hard to try diverting conversations from the main spoken language to the one that is only spoken by the parents at home. The lack of vocabulary in the home language is sometimes frustrating for young children who are just eager to share whatever exciting thing they learned about in school.

Lastly, like it was in my case of course, children often face difficulty grasping the phonetics of one language. Having more than one language to learn at the same time, can be very challenging -especially as children start learning how to read in the main language and continue to speak the secondary languages at home.

When my 5-year-old faced the problem of sounding out the correct phonetics in English as she started to learn sight words and how to read, she found it confusing to read our books in Spanish at home. After talking with her teacher, we decided to stop reading in Spanish to push the learning process in English.

I felt like I was loosing some kind of war at that time. I did not want my child to loose interest in speaking my native tongue -especially since she had acquired a larger vocabulary in the recent months. However, I knew that reading in the main language is an imperative need in order to succeed in school and elsewhere.

We have focused on reading only in English, the prominent language, for about three months now and this is what I have seen:

  • A more confident child in the area of English Language Arts. She now allows herself to make mistakes as she tries to sound out words. Most of the time, she can read them on her own.
  • An increase in vocabulary and in the number of sight words she knows.
  • A better understanding of the text. She is able to explain what the text is about, even when I ask her to tell me in Spanish.
  • A much better performance in her evaluations.
  • An increased interest to learn how to read also in Spanish. This came as a pleasant surprise to me. I’m very excited that now that she has the theory of how to read in English down, she’s feeling confident and is curious to apply it to Spanish. I’m going to hold off on that until perhaps this summer of maybe in the Fall when she starts first grade. I want her to get one language down before we move on to the next challenge.

To summarize, books and advice from other people who have raised bilingual children is a great tool to have -even when it seems impossible to overcome the challenges of keeping both languages at equal levels of fluency. They are a good reminder that other people have been able to succeed at the task and they can also be good encouragement during the times when our children seem like they are ready to leave the second language behind.

There will be times when we will have to push one language over another, but the most important thing than one can do to promote bilingualism, is keep modeling it ourselves. Luckily for me, I have plenty of opportunities to speak in Spanish in my daily life and my profession as a translator always allows me to have an opportunity to talk to my children about the advantages of knowing more than one language fluently.

We are taking one step at a time but after the initial hiccup that kindergarten presented in my goals toward bilingualism for my children, I feel more confident that with a little patience and more planning, I can teach my children how to be bi-literate as well.

Love Actually Is Everywhere

I have always had a love-hate relationship with airports. They are covered in tears. Some are sad good-bye forever, come-back-to-me-safely tears. Some others are joyful gestures of excitement to welcome someone we love.

The movie Love Actually puts this last thought of joy being ever-present at airports in such a romantic way. I love seeing the embraces between family members, dear friends and lovers as the image brings me to the many re-encounters that I have enjoyed after traveling from one place to another.

The movie starts by stating: Love actually, is everywhere. Which is exactly my perception of this Christmas season in particular. I guess, if someone would have followed my little clan around, we could have been the cast of a Christmas comedy. You see, my parents who live in Mexico, had never been in the U.S. to spend Christmas with us. My husband and I, have only spent Christmas in Mexico once in our close to nine years of marriage. Our children had never experienced what it was to be around family for the holidays. But this year my husband decided to change that by having my parents over.

We kept my parents’ visit a surprise for the kids, because who can resist to add that kind of excitement to the season? They arrived in Chicago from where my husband and our toddler went to pick them up. All seemed to be happening right on schedule and I had managed to keep the older two children occupied so that they would not notice that their father and their little sister had been gone for too long. But of course, no adventure is perfect and our special guests along with my husband and little girl got into a little car accident.

Nothing happened to anybody (thankfully) but there was a need to call for a tow truck and a rental car. As the trucker loaded the misshaped car, and in the true spirit of Christmas, he decided to load the whole family in his truck so that they wouldn’t have to wait any longer to reach their destination. That wonderful man drove my family for two hours so they could arrive before bedtime and to make the whole surprise really work.

I was so anxious to welcome our guests too. Particularly, because after hunting for a gingerbread house in many stores that morning without succeeding, my sad 5-year-old proclaimed that in a time like this, the only thing that could brighten her up was going to my mom’s house. I just couldn’t wait to see her reaction. How many wishes do come true like that in real life?

I stalled the kids by having a movie and popcorn. There we were just playing in the living room when the doorbell rang. My daughter darted to the door and as she opened it and realized who was behind it, she twitched in excitement letting all the pure love, that only children have in their hearts, out. It was as if a cloud of love surrounded her and dispersed through the house. She couldn’t believe her eyes and repeated my parents’ nicknames a couple of times, almost as if she was trying to convince herself they were really there. My parents couldn’t contain their joy either. Even my son who had been a little bit under the weather that day, came out from under his blanket. His little heart beating so fast under his shirt.

That moment, which was planned and imagined for over a month, lasted less than a minute but it was magical, pure and full of love. I’m sure that it will be with all of us forever.

My parents’ time here was short but we took advantage of it. My mom made a piñata and a gingerbread house with the kids (yes, we ended up finding one); my dad and my toddler became inseparables but he stilled managed to play with the other two individually as well; we cooked a lot together; we even made time to visit some local traditional places and to have some friends over.

We closed the Christmas season surrounded by that cloud of love my daughter dispersed through the house and found that love actually is everywhere if we care to take a moment to find it.