I killed Chin-Chin *

I would suggest you keep your pets away from me. Yesterday we were driving to a near-by town called Litibu to visit some good friends, and out of nowhere, a dog runs out in front of my van, and eventually under it. Out the rear-view came the same dog, but doing what can only be described as a break-dancing move. Well, it wasn't dancing. Poor puppy! I started hollerin' to Andrea that we had hit a dog, we pulled over and out I went. To add to the bummer, 2 twin girls about 10 years old were walking by the dog. I asked if they knew who's it was, and one of them pointed to the other saying "it's hers". Mind you, they were twins. Anyway, I felt even worse!! Ug. Then the parents came up, and that is when the lesson in Mexican culture began. As I apologized and tears filled my eyes, they just laughed and said "it was Chin-Chin's time". As I kept feeling bad, they said "Don't worry...watch this" and proceeded to tell the kids to say bye to Chin-Chin - and suddenly they all said "bye Chin-Chin!", laughed and turned away. That was it, all over. They actually tried to make me feel better about it. I offered money, they wouldn't take it, and we all parted ways. Luckily our friends helped me forget it even happened...or was it the tequila?

Today a mouse ran in our front door, and behind a painting of mine sitting on the floor. I flew to action, as did Dulce our Dachshund. As Dulce tried to corner it, she knocked the painting on the mouse, killing it via blunt cerebral trauma. We were sad, but since we have had many mice lately, we decided glad was a better emotion - in the end at least I didn't kill 2 animals in 24 hours. My accomplice killed one.

Ok, I wrote too soon about the end - as I am writing this note, my dog kills another mouse right on our doorstep. Totally weird. The deathcount keeps rising...

* To all animal rights activists, and general living-thing lovers, please know that the mice were getting into our Cous-Cous - so really, they had to die. Chin-Chin on the other hand was innocent, as far as I know. So that is sad.

I love being a father.

Maximo is now 2 months and 3 weeks old, and as proportionately fat as a 13 year old Star Wars fan who lives near a candy store. Perfect protective baby fat, guarding his veins safe from mosquito attacks, proclaiming to all that there is no worry of starvation in the Villarrubia household. People most often comment that he is as big as a child months older, and that he is very aware of his surroundings. Maximo likes to look around, up mostly, but when he makes eyes with things, he locks. I tell everyone that Maximo came out of his mother immediately making eye contact. Like he was going to a business meeting and someone told him this was proper etiquette when entering a room, not to mention a new life. He is awesome, and I am totally in love with him. I speak of his smiles often, and now he gets so happy that he has to look away, like its all just too much - too much joy and rightness in his little limited world. I have felt like that, but often it took chemical prodding to reach the final look away. Are we subconsciously trying to get back to our baby-ness and complete curiosity of things when we dope ourselves up with whatever our bag is? Surely deep-down trying to travel back to a time where everything and anything held it's original "wonder" that sparkles but fades in later days... Anyway, this is science and love all in one tiny, fat little body. Fucking + Awesome = Maximo, the fucking awesomest.

Since I wrote the above paragraph, I have fed my son a bottle of mother's milk, literally. Delicious food of the gods, giving my son all that he needs to live - absolutely amazing mom magic, and I am in constant awe of what a gift Andrea and all mothers have. Today is one of those days that my son and I spend mostly alone, with the occasional super cherished visit from love-wife-mom. We have a wedding today, and Andrea is off orchestrating the entire fandango, while I play Micheal Keaton's Mr. Mom on dope 2008. As much as we all prefer to be together as the trio - slash - street gang we are, I do cherish these little forced bonding days with my boy. We are a bonding-type family to start with, attatchment parenting at the front of it all, but nothing beats hanging with your child. I have only 2.5months experience, and I well know that the months and years ahead will bring me some of that "wonder" I spoke of earlier. This is "new". This is like I am the baby, getting my first glance at my new life.

father and son - walking the sandy streets of our home, Sayulita Mexico