We Three Kings

Like many families in Spain, we will be exchanging gifts on Kings Day (January 6th) this year. Nativities are an important part of Christmas in Spain, so part of the fun has been watching Alleke wake up each morning and discover that during the night our three little kings have journeyed a little closer to the nativity scene on the corner shelf.

Watch to find out where Alleke discovered the three kings this morning.


Watch We Three Kings on Vimeo.

Also, here are a few photos I took of one of the nativities downtown.

Christmas Breakfast

When I put Alleke to bed on Christmas Eve, I thought twice about telling her about the presents we would open in the morning and the party we would go to at her friends' house.

Like most kids on Christmas Eve, I thought she would wake up ridiculously early looking for presents and party food.

I should have known better.

Alleke is just like her mother. Her idea of a party is lying in bed until she can't anymore.

So, while I lay in bed thinking about my presents, April and Alleke slept, dreaming about sugar plum fairies, I suppose.

Eventually they rolled out of bed at 10:45.

Christmas Brunch
Christmas breakfast became Christmas brunch since we didn't sit down to eat until around 11:30, but all the ingredients for a special morning together were still the same:

First Ingredient: Christmas cheer


Second Ingredient: Scrambled eggs


Third Ingredient: Fresh-squeezed orange juice (I got hooked on fresh-squeezed orange juice when we lived among the orange groves in Valencia.)


Fourth Ingredient: Cinnamon rolls (Alleke is pointing them out for you.)


Fifth Ingredient: The Christmas Story


Sixth Ingredient: Stocking presents


Seventh Ingredient: Presents from friends

Le Manège Carré Sénart

After flipping through the Madrid Christmas guide that I picked up at the tourist information office in Plaza Mayor, April suggested we walk to the park this morning (Christmas Eve) so Alleke could take a ride on a carousel that had been set up in the park for the holidays.

I groaned. I didn't want to walk all the way to the park just to ride on a merry-go-round. That is, until April handed me the guide and I saw a picture of it. I was intrigued.

Here's some pictures I took of the carousel, so you can see for yourself. I rode on a gigantic buffalo and waved at April and Alleke who were wheeling around the outside on a praying mantis and operating its dangling arms with levers. Deep ocean fish on hydraulics arms swam over our heads, kids aiming their glowing fish eyes at us.

















Alleke keeps asking when we can ride the carousel again. Since the tickets are only 1€ per person, I'm wondering the same thing.

More information (in Spanish):
www.esmadrid.com/navidad/ciudaddelosninos/carrusel

Politically Correct

Alleke crawled to the end of her bed and switched off the lamp, then found her blankie and buried her face in her pillow.

I knelt down next to her bed and began softly singing a lullaby.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry.
Go to sleepy, little baby.

Alleke sat up in her bed.

"Daddy?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Um...Alleke...baby...no," she said. "Alleke...girl."

I thought for a moment, trying to make sense of what she was saying. She usually spoke in riddles, like Jesus.

"Alleke's not a baby anymore. She's a girl?" I asked, taking a shot in the dark.

Alleke nodded excitedly.

"So, you don't want me to sing lullabies about babies anymore?" I asked.

Alleke nodded again, this time bouncing up and down on her bed.

I laughed.

"As you wish," I said. "No more lullabies about babies. Only lullabies about little girls."

Once again Alleke snuggled up with her pillow and pulled her blankie close to her chest.

I took a deep breath and began again.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry.
Go to sleepy little girl...

12 Ways Alleke is a Little European Girl

1. She greets her friends with two kisses and says "ciao" for goodbye.

2. She lives in an apartment (750 ft2).

3. She had already been in five countries before she was born.

4. If you give her a ball, she kicks it like a soccer player.

5. Her clothes dry on the line all year round.

6. She doesn't have a backyard, only the playground on the square.

7. Her bedroom window looks out over a cobblestone street and a convent.

8. She has learned to navigate the mine fields of dog poop on even the skinniest of sidewalks.

9. If she wants candy, she asks for a Kinder Egg or a Chupa Chup.

10. Her favorite snack is a croissant.

11. She uses public transportation. (It's very cute now because she holds onto the pole in the subway to keep her balance like everyone else.)

12. When we go grocery shopping, she begs for free grapes from Justo at the fruit shop, a free slice of cheese from Antonio at the cheese stand, and candy from Pablo at the bakery, and she always gets what she wants.

Casserole

Casseroles & Gravy by Cameron Nordholm.

I helped Alleke pull on her stocking cap and tied it under her chin, then lifted her into my arms and took one more look around the apartment before we would catch the metro and surprise April at the airport.

The toys were put away. The floors were mopped. The laundry was folded in neat stacks on the couch. The table was set for three with a warm casserole in the oven. A pan of muffins was waiting on the counter for the following morning.

April had been gone for four days at a conference in Amsterdam. It was the first time in over two years that April and Alleke had been apart for more than a day, and the first time I had taken care of Alleke for that long. We had survived—all four days, all 96 hours, all 5,760 minutes, and it was a cause for celebration. As a result, I had spent the day getting the house ready for April's return.

Still, as I stood there at the front door looking around the apartment at my handiwork, I suddenly wished I had spent the day differently. Alleke and I had finished a marathon week of dinners with friends—five nights in a row. Today was the day I had set aside for Alleke and me, but I had spent it getting the house ready for April to return.

Left to parent Alleke by myself, I could see more clearly how my parenting style was distinct from April's, which included my endless compulsion to get things done.

I set goals. I make lists. I do things. I'm an achiever to the very core of my being, but as I thought back through the day, it became painfully clear to me that doing one more thing for someone is not always enough.



At one point during the afternoon while I was making the casserole Alleke woke up from her nap. I didn't have time to stop and cuddle with her like April usually does because I had a pot boiling on the stove, so I put her in the baby carrier on my front and let her snuggle up against my chest while I cut up vegetables and listened to NPR. Alleke was trying to tell me a story, and I guess I wasn't listening well or at least not looking at her because eventually she took my head in her hands and turned it to face her, so she had my attention. She said she wanted to get down, and she wanted a snack. I unclipped the baby carrier, let her down, and handed her an apple.

"Go nuts," I said, hoping she would wander into the living room to eat her apple so I could keep cooking.

Instead, Alleke reached for my hand and pulled me into the living room. She demanded that I close the kitchen door behind me, and she pointed at the couch.

"Sit," she said. I sat down and waited while she disappeared in her room and returned with a stack of books, which she set on my lap before climbing on the couch and taking a bite of her apple.

"Read books," she said, having to coach me step-by-step through this simple exercise in quality time.

I think I read maybe one book before making some excuse about having to stir the veggies boiling on the stove.

I regret cooking and baking and mopping and tidying and folding clothes instead of reading books or blowing bubbles or playing with finger paints or going for a bike ride. Alleke just wanted some attention, but I chose to get things done instead.

We surprised April at the airport, and talked all the way home. By the time we made it to the apartment, and after much giggling and cuddling and a quick game of hide-and-go-seek, it was late. Much too late for a casserole dinner.