The Madre

I would like to devote a little bit of time to discussing my relationship with my host mom--and at this point I mean "mom" in a much more literal sense. It's uncanny that, like my real mother (I LOVE YOU MOM!), she knows exactly when I return to the house at night, and cannot rest easily until then.

The bottom line is that I LOVE my host mom. She is a very funny and genuinely caring person. She calls me "Cariña" and hugs me and is invested in my well-being. On the first day that I had to take the metro to school, she called the school to make sure I had arrived safely!

That being said, due to culture differences, language barriers, and probably my own obliviousness at times, we have had some hilarious incidences. I am all the time--unintentionally--giving my host mom heart palpitations for one reason or another. Probably my favorite example of this is what I like to call The Toilet Tragedy. (Maybe it's indelicate to talk about this on my blog, but really it's too good to pass up.) So, one day, one week into my stay here, my host mom (let's call her "P") comes to me and starts to explain that I need to be very gentle when I go to flush the toilet. If I use too much force, she tells me, it will break. I understand this, and henceforth try to be very conscientious about flushing the toilet. But, perhaps on one of these occasions, I did not use ENOUGH force, because the next day P confronts me again. She says, "I don't think you understand much of what I say." I protest that I do. She says, "Well, I don't think you understood about the toilet--I think you thought I said you shouldn't flush the toilet at all!" I become very embarrassed, and try to tell her that yes I absolutely had understood her instructions. I go to explain that maybe I hadn't put enough muscle into it, but I find myself at a loss for the vocabulary to remedy this situation, so I just let her think that I hadn't understood, but I understand PERFECTLY now. Luckily there have been no toilet issues since.

Other more minor occurrences include me not turning my clothes right-side-out before I put them in the laundry basket, or me not folding my towel the right way. There was also a situation in which I told P that I would like to try a mushroom dish she was going to make, even though I don't particularly enjoy mushrooms, because I was trying to be open-minded about my food intake. I received, then, a HEAPING plate of mushrooms, which I truly tried to consume, but just couldn't physically finish. P: "You don't like mushrooms." Me: "I will eat them! They're just not my favorite." P: "Why didn't you tell me? Then I wouldn't have spent all the time making this only to have to throw it out!" At which point I felt very bad and apologized profusely.

In short, one phrase that I hear pretty regularly (in the most loving manner possible) is, "¡Voy a matarte!" or, "I'm going to kill you!" I think that means we're bonding. :)