family pictures

I do hate to leave you with that first impression of us. Here's more.







































This last one is my favorite. B is holding M. L is spacing out. Bruce is in his typical laid-back pose. And I am in the middle - just where I should be. (I was also freezing as it had dropped below my comfortable 70 degrees this day.)

My family is not perfect, and we certainly do not take perfect pictures. I love them more for it.

Thanks, Josh.

i like these moments

The ones that make you grateful for motherhood and somehow cancel out the 50 other things they did that day that made you want to rip your hair out, lie prostrate on the ground and light their toys on fire.

And I say you and not me, because I would never own such insanity. And also, M looks like an orphan with her orphan hair, but doesn't it feel better than a hairspray-crusty ponytail? Perfection is overrated.

born to run

At any given time, I might be in the middle of three books or more. There is usually one in the car, one (or several) on my nightstand, and one in each purse. I don't like to be without reading material or something to do. A habit I picked up from my mom. "Always bring something to do," she would say.

Right now, this is one of the books:



Amazon.com book description:

Full of incredible characters, amazing athletic achievements, cutting-edge science, and, most of all, pure inspiration, Born to Run is an epic adventure that began with one simple question: Why does my foot hurt? In search of an answer, Christopher McDougall sets off to find a tribe of the world’s greatest distance runners and learn their secrets, and in the process shows us that everything we thought we knew about running is wrong.

Isolated by the most savage terrain in North America, the reclusive Tarahumara Indians of Mexico’s deadly Copper Canyons are custodians of a lost art. For centuries they have practiced techniques that allow them to run hundreds of miles without rest and chase down anything from a deer to an Olympic marathoner while enjoying every mile of it. Their superhuman talent is matched by uncanny health and serenity, leaving the Tarahumara immune to the diseases and strife that plague modern existence. With the help of Caballo Blanco, a mysterious loner who lives among the tribe, the author was able not only to uncover the secrets of the Tarahumara but also to find his own inner ultra-athlete, as he trained for the challenge of a lifetime: a fifty-mile race through the heart of Tarahumara country pitting the tribe against an odd band of Americans, including a star ultramarathoner, a beautiful young surfer, and a barefoot wonder.

With a sharp wit and wild exuberance, McDougall takes us from the high-tech science labs at Harvard to the sun-baked valleys and freezing peaks across North America, where ever-growing numbers of ultrarunners are pushing their bodies to the limit, and, finally, to the climactic race in the Copper Canyons. Born to Run is that rare book that will not only engage your mind but inspire your body when you realize that the secret to happiness is right at your feet, and that you, indeed all of us, were born to run.

So I'm fascinated by this book. I read it all with a grain of salt, but it has me putting on my running shoes and wondering if I am doing more damage in my Nike Zooms than if I were to just run barefoot (Mexican city living aside). But it makes sense. Why do we encourage babies to run around barefoot when learning how to walk? Our feet are packed with nerve sensories and a quarter of the bones in our body. If we were all running around barefoot, would we adjust our gait accordingly instead of masking the pressure of our landing in gel-packed soles an inch or so thick and taking the brunt of it in our hips, knees and ankles? Anyway, now I'm eyeing these babies and wondering if I am... unconcerned enough to pull it off, as I am sure to get all sorts of stares:



See the full Vibram FiveFingers Line here. It would mean I would have to get serious about my running. And I don't know that I'm committed enough to go past my lame three- or four-mile jaunts. We all know I am inherently lazy, and the only thing that drives me is a fear of finding myself on Oprah two-hundred pounds later, cradling a tub of Haagen Dazs, saying, "I don't know how I got here, Oprah. It's just this stuff made me feel like there was a little more love in the world. That's all."

ummm... yeah, so this pretty much defines it.

These were dear friend Josh's words to us in an email tonight as he sent one "teaser pic" (if you will) from an attempt at family pictures this afternoon. Josh is a good man to take out one hour of his busiest work week yet in order to take a few (hundred) pics of this motley bunch of scallywags. Feel bad for him. As you can see, it was a hopeless affair.



Horrors abound in this photo. From Bruce's glaringly offensive white ankle socks to the ginormous boot soles out of nowhere that suggest this family may have actually been the ones to kill the Wicked Witch of the East.

And please. Don't even get me started on B.

dia de los muertos

Day of the Dead. A holiday celebrated by Mexicans to honor family and friends who have passed away. Traditionally, they set up "ofrendas" or altars with sugar skulls, marigolds and favorite foods of the deceased (see more here). I remember when L came home last year and was like, "Hey, Mom! We have an altar with a skeleton head on it at school! And we have to find food to put on it!" and I was like, "Wha...?"

But now I think, you know, it's kind of nice how they actually celebrate their deceased on a holiday rather than America's manufactured tradition of dressing up in costume while handing out bucket loads of high-fructose corn syrup, perpetuating the nation's demise in obesity and type 2 diabetes. But I still won't buy their sugar skulls. Which come in all shapes and sizes, by the way. And if you are looking for a creative way to send a death threat, you can have a name etched across the front of these sugar skulls - for the same price. Who doesn't love bargain shopping.

This little market can be found in Toluca, a small town located about 30 miles outside of the city. The kids and I made our way there with friends.















Looking at these sort of makes me throw up in my mouth a little.





50 pesos is equivalent to about $4.50 USD. They even leave a little space for the name across the front. I mean, who wouldn't want these?





The boys were a little creeped out.





This is the stuff nightmares are made of.



Dead nun or... dead angel? Seems like a bit of an oxymoron, if you ask me.





Filming some kind of news story or something.



These little treats were full of tricks...



Mini coffins. Quaint. They are about the length of my index finger.





Mini ofrendas. About 3 inches across. Cute, non? I'm a sucker for mini anything.



How creepy are these little beauts?



We eventually made our way out of the marketplace and over to the botanical gardens. Apparently, there was a Japanese man who lived here in Toluca and he created these botanical gardens inside this building of stained glass windows. 











Another picture, Mom? I can't help it. L likes to meander; therefore, he is easiest to catch on camera.







B, on the other hand, prefers to run like the wind. Just call me Spidey!



M just tries to catch whomever she can. Where are my brothers?



L making a wish with his one peso. Dream big, buddy.









Exhaustion finally overtook her. It was all those chocolate skeleton-pops.