How Many Cuban Girls Does it Take to Get ONE Photo?

So, remember when Amy and I were in Las Vegas a few weeks ago? While we were there I had gotten it into my head that I wanted to take a picture of us in the elevator.

But let me explain....

The elevators at Bally's (where we were staying) were mirrored. And you know how much I love Now-and-Then type photos.

Somewhere, I remembered, there was a photo of Amy and me that I had taken in a mirror. I'm pretty sure it was taken in Las Vegas. I wanted to recreate that shot.

I remember that I had the camera and I was pointing it at us in the mirror. It was quite good. And I remember liking it a lot. (Where is that photo? I know I've seen it recently...)

On our way out for the evening I tried to take the shot, but I wasn't sure it was coming out just right.

"Let's do it when we get back."

So, it's after midnight (which means nothing to most people in Vegas) and we're both exhausted and it's super-stinking-but-it's-a-dry-heat hot. Still I insist we have to do this photo shoot in the elevator. (Where is that original photo? I know I've seen it somewhere just recently....)

We get into the elevator and at the last minute A Strange Person gets in. (Of course, this is not at all strange in Las Vegas, land of Strange People, but that's not important right now.)

Amy and I both sort of panic when he asks, "Going up, or down?" (Argh! He's speaking to us! What do we do?? What do we say??)

At the same exact time: I say, "Down." She says, "Up."

We exchange a quick glance and AGAIN at the exact time time: I say, "Up." She says, "Down."

I'm the calm and quick thinking one... "Umm...so, is it after midnight?" I ask Strange Person who might be wanted in a few states - he's got a shifty look to him, who then goes off about how it's after 3 am where he's from way down in South Texas, "way down by the Mexican border" - like I was really interested in just how far he had to run to escape his chain-gang in south Texas that he was from and seriously, can't he see that all we want is for him to vacate so we can  have this elevator to ourselves so we can take the stupid picture and just go to bed?

Of course, I did not let on to Strange Person in the Bally's Elevator After Midnight* that I really did not care.  This made my (not as cool as I was at that moment) daughter collapse in a fit of laughter once Strange Person in the *B.E.A.M. (=D) had made his exit.

I was still very focused on trying to get the photo I wanted. She was not cooperating very well. In fact, she was seriously handicapped and was doubled over laughing so hard at what will forever be known as the Elevator Antics At Bally's.

Exhibit A:

 

Me? I was intent on getting that photo. (Darn it! I know I have seen it just recently! It's right on the tip of my brain. (As in that's how you would have something on the tip of your tongue in the same way.)

If I could get Amy to cooperate, I would just take the photo and then hunt for the original when I got home and do one of my Now-and-Then posts. (Where was that photo? This was sooo bugging me!)

I surely was completely incapable of blogging about the entire Bally's Elevator Scene with Strange Person. I'm just not that articulate.

Finally!

We got the photo I wanted...

I realized way later in sort of a slow-motion a-ha moment where I had recently seen the original mirror photo.

You are probably much quicker on the uptake and may have already noticed it...

See the first photo on the left of my blog header. That's Amy and me. In Las Vegas in 2006. We took the picture in a mirror. We. Did. It!

 

Shut up. I know.

Cuban in the USA - Hey! That's me!

Sometimes I find myself in the oddest places. (There are so many ways this could be interpreted, but that's not important right now.)

Just this past week I found that My Big, Fat, Cuban Family was featured on an interesting site called Pocket Cultures under Blogs of the World. The title is Cuban in the USA.

 

Who and what is Pocket Cultures? From their "About" page:

PocketCultures is an independent site which aims to provide a guide to world cultures. The best way to learn about life in different countries is to go there and see for yourself, talk to people from that country. However travelling abroad is not always possible. PocketCultures would like to be a place where you can go to find out about what life is really like in different countries that you haven’t travelled to, and hopefully to find even more information, and join in the discussion about countries you have visited. PocketCultures is still young. We’d like to become better known in order to help raise awareness about different world cultures and the importance of being globally aware. Please help! Spread the word, link to us, tell your friends (and anyone else you think might be interested).

We’d also love to hear from you if you have any suggestions on how we can improve, any content you would like us to feature, or even if you just want to say hello. All content suggestions that we publish will of course be credited. Please write to info@pocketcultures.com

**********************************************************************

So go. Now. Poke around on their site. It's really fascinating and very well done. Thanks, Pocket Cultures!

Once again, I feel so accidentally cool. =D

Must Have Cuban Coffee

Kikita wrote this post under the influence of caffeine. You have been warned.

Mmmmmm . . . do you smell that?

That is the smell of the perfect Café Cubano. One more time, deep breath . . . Yes! Glorious!

Everyone grab your "tacita", sit back and enjoy it!

What's that?

YOU. DON'T. HAVE. ANY. CAFE????

**Kikita se desmayo!! (Kiki has fainted!!)**

**Mami holds a cafecito under Kikita's nose to revive her.**

Ok, so you don't have coffee to make espresso with. That's no problem, I'm sure you have regular coffee.

WHAT???

This is supposed to be the BEST part of waking up! Beyond that, it's supposed to be the best MOMENT at ANY time of day. It's the afternoon/after-lunch pick-me-up.

"It's terrible and wonderful at the same time! It's like freedom in a cup!"

Not to worry! I, Kikita, can help you! You know I have a guy (bueno, gal) on the INSIDE!

Through the magic of Facebook, I was introduced to a yummy new supplier.

Kaña Cuban Coffee Roasters.

I asked them for a sample and I couldn't wait for it to arrive in the mail.

When it finally did, it was an event!

(Isn't it beautiful? So full of promise!)

EVERYONE had to have a taste.

Everyone came to the same conclusion: RIQUISIMO!! (DELICIOUS!!)

So, I strongly encourage everyone to try Kaña's Hialeah Blend (espresso grind) and then come back here and Learn How to Make Cuban Coffee OR you could get CRAZY and Learn How to Make Cafe Con Leche. Either way, you gotta try this coffee.

I know you won't regret it.

In fact, you'll probably start singing (the way we all did when we had our first taste) . . .

God is in the details.

When I was a kid in Cuba and lived in Havana, we never spent summers in the city. Never. We would leave the heat and humidity behind and head out for Varadero Beach.

Ahh, Varadero. Home of pristine white sand, warm water and some of the best family-summer memories of my life.

Varadero is where we "did summer." And we did it well. In grand Cuban style.

Varadero. (Vahra-deh-roh) It's like a magical word, isn't it?

Where we were never more than a stones throw away from sand and water and food and a sweet independence. (I know. Cuba - independence. How ironic.)

We would travel in sibling/cousin-packs, wandering the strip of beach and vendors and having adventures on a daily basis.

We would always eat late (9-ish!) as is the Cuban custom, because of the heat. To this day, I love that so much. Late dinners and playing games until we were too tired to stay up any longer. And everybody was okay with that.

We would stay in a house that was practically-on-the-sand. And we'd swim in the warm waters. For hours. (days? weeks? years?)

Such sweet memories. It saddens me that our kids will never know that kind of summer freedom.

However, this year we managed to take a week off and get away. Just an hour's drive from here to fabulous La Jolla. (It was a little over an hour's drive from Havana to Varadero. Coincidence?)

And we stayed in a right-on-the-sand-old-school resort, aptly named The La Jolla Shores Hotel.

This is the view that greeted us each day...

We spent hours (days? weeks? years?) in the warm, clear water.

Lucy and Jonathan managed to escape from us to explore in the walking-distance-from-our-hotel vendors.

And we relaxed. And played together. And laughed.
And ate dinner at odd hours because we always waited for the sun to set before we would leave the beach.

Of course, my camera was my constant companion.

I'll say this for my husband... he knows the value of a relaxed andcontented wife. We're going back in just a few weeks. (Or he may be sick of my nagging...but that's not important right now.)  =D

It was absolutely wonderful to do nothing but play with my husband and the kids. To dive and dip and laugh in the waves.

Just for a few days, (maybe only for a few moments, really) I reached back through time and distance and once again, became that little Cuban girl with no decisions to make except for what flavor of granizado (shave ice - not a snow cone!) to buy from the corner vendor.

And so my kids were able to get a taste of that sweet summer freedom, after all.

Which only goes to show that God does answer prayer, and He can always make a way.

****************************************************************************************

Check this out....I have a hand-painted-by-me (shut up. I know!) Varadero Sign. (wooden. about 18 inches long. suitable for hanging.)

For a chance to win it, please leave a comment and tell me your favorite summer memory.

(No, you don't have to be Cuban to win! =D)

I'll do the drawing on Thursday, August the 27th at 10 am Pacific Time.

Come on, tell me everything. I LIVE for stuff like this!  ;-)

Fiddling on the Roof

The following post was written by Kikita.

For Lucy's Happy Sweet 16^th Birthday, Mami got tickets for us all to see the stage show “Fiddler on the Roof” on opening night. (Luckily, opening night also happened to be Lucy's birthday, is that so accidentally cool or what?)

Anyway, the moment Topol walked out onto the stage the audience burst into applause and I got chills. I felt like I was watching history in the making.

 

Before I was able to think about what was happening, the first song started, “Tradition,” and I was instantly transported elsewhere. The tears just started to roll. I couldn't help remembering the video I'd made a couple years ago and how much I missed my Tio.

At intermission, I overheard two women speaking in Spanish. They caught my attention so I stopped and asked them were they were from, “De Cuba, Oriente.” They'd been here for over 30 years.
One of them said, “I guess we are more American than we are Cuban now . . .”
But the other quickly chimed in, “We will ALWAYS be Cuban.”
I had to agree, “We will ALWAYS be Cuban.”

As I sat down to watch the 2nd half of the show, I was rather distracted. My thoughts kept straying back to Cuba. I couldn't stop thinking about all the Jews that had ended up there after being forced to leave their homes as in this story.
What really hit home with me, though, was how parallel the story was to any given Cuban's story.
There it was, the home and family being ripped apart. Losing everything and being forced to start over . . . and heading to America.

The people of Anatevka were singing:
“Soon I'll be a stranger in a strange new place,
Searching for an old familiar face
From Anatevka.”

And, having just had a run in with people from my own “Anatevka,” that line meant so much more to me. I cried harder than I would have because now I was missing Cuba, not just suffering with the characters in a play, now this show was about me. My family's history was intertwined with theirs.

After the show I was deep in my own thoughts and waiting for the rest of my group when there were the two Cuban women I'd met. They came up and hugged me tightly. The hug said it all. I wasn't the only one who had felt the parallels. We are happy living our lives in this great country that we have made our home, but incapable of forgetting where we came from.

What does it all mean? I have no idea.
The best I can do is accept that no matter how alone I feel, I'm not. That it doesn't matter what my geographical location is, if I am meant to meet someone, ANYONE, I will.

God has a plan.

Everything is under control.
So, despite the painful reminder of the loss of my familial homeland, sharing that moment with those two women gave me hope.

Monday Blog Hijackery or Parrots, El Puma, y el Cubaneo

Today's Monday Blog Hijackery is brought to you by my friend, Chantel Acevedo.

You'll find her linked in a few places here on my blog. She is part of the blogroll titled Smart Cuban Women and Friends. Her personal blog is called Yuca Baby. (Go there. Right now. Tell her Marta sent you. =D)

You'll also find her listed in the Smart Cuban Authors section.

Her book is Love and Ghost Letters and according to Oscar Hijuelos (another celebrated Cuban author. Actually, Mr. Mambo King himself. Shut up. I know.) her debut novel is...

"... enchanting;a heartfelt story. It tells volumes about the intimate life and loves of a family in pre-Castro Cuba. Along the way, it captures, beautifully, the atmosphere and emotions of a time which, both Cuban Americans and many an American reader, will find both reminiscent and fulfilling. A great debut.”

Personally, I couldn't put it down, but that's not important right now...

I had the happy privilege of meeting Chantel face-to-face last year (at Disneyland, of course!) and I felt like we were insta-friends. I know you're going to love her, too.

Without further ado, please welcome Mrs. Chantel Acevedo to My big, fat, Cuban family. (APPLAUSE!)

******************************************************************************

Why I want a parrot...

I want a parrot. 
Specifically, I want a Sun Conure.  One of these guys:

I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now, considering what kind of cage to buy, where to put it, what to do with the bird I’ve already named “Sunshine” (not so creative, I know) when I’m out of town. 

All of this, even though I know I’m not getting the parrot.  He’s wee, but expensive.  Loud.  Messy.  Yet, if I close my eyes, I can imagine his minimal weight on my finger, the downy feathers against my cheek, the soft scent of seed in the air.

Where does this desire come from?  As all things in my life, I can trace this one back to my Miami childhood, and my very Cuban upbringing. 

I grew up in a house full of birds. There were the canaries in wicker cages in the Florida room, a dishtowel hung up between the cages so that the canaries, unaware of each other’s whereabouts, would sing operatically, trying to locate one another. 

One of the canaries was named Jose Luis Rodriguez, and the other, Julio Iglesias.

Remember El Puma, guys?  Vintage yum.

There were parakeets, all blue, because my grandmother said the green ones tended to be mean.  I named them all Tweety. 

And outside, the flocks of green Cuban parrots, having found their way to Miami like so many of their human counterparts, created swift, moving shadows on the ground as they flapped loudly above us in happy, squawking groups.

Everyone I knew had pet birds. 

My aunt, bless her, had a Tweety of her own, a most unfortunate creature that got trapped in the refrigerator, smacked around by a ceiling fan, and nearly drowned in a fish tank. Yet it lived over a decade, and learned to call my cousin’s name, “Andrea, Andrea,” in a sweet, parroty voice. 

My husband’s family had birds too, a host of finches in an elaborate glass cage in his mother’s house, while his grandmother had a penchant for canaries named Caruso.

There’s some irony here I’d rather not explore, this idea of caged things among a people who once lived on a caged island…

It seems my childhood had wings, or at least, it did in my imagination. 

So, as I psychoanalyze myself here on MBFCF, wondering why there are birds in everything I write, why I have a pair of bronze parrot bookends on my shelf, and why I’m longing for a Sun Conure, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s all about home, about that añoranza Cubans feel all the time, a word more suited than “longing” for what we feel. 

For me, I am doubly struck by it—desiring a Cuba I’ve never seen, and now, nearly a decade away from home, missing Miami the way one misses her mother. 

As Cubans, this is our cross.  We lighten it each in our own way—the lovely and talented Marta cooks and blogs, our mutual friend, Val, champions the cause dearest to his heart with everything in him, I write about Cuba in my fiction every day and really, really, REALLY want a parrot, if only because it reminds me of home.

Thanks for letting me hijack the blog, Marti.  I suggest we meet again soon, preferably while eating Dole Whips in the Enchanted Tiki Room.

************************************************************************
See what I mean?
Thanks so much, Chantel!
Dole Whips in the Enchanted Tiki Room??  I'm in!

(*sigh* A girl after my own heart....)

Monday Blog Hijackery or Hey, isn't it still Sunday?

I am hoping that by introducing you to my friends that 1) you'll go visit their blogs and get to know and love them as much as I do. And 2) That you'll forgive me for not posting as often. 

Today's Monday Blog Hijackery is courtesy of my friend who's practically a sister, Amanda Dufau. She blogs over at Brandon's Puppy on her day-to-day goings on, and about her beautiful sons and husband. Hers is more classically diaryish. And when I say classically, it's because that's usually the word that pops into my head when I think of Amanda.

Let me introduce you to my classical blog-friend, Amanda.  ("Hi Amanda!")

I asked her to please do a Monday Blog Hijackery for this week. Of course, she agreed. But being the over-achiever that she is, she posted on Sunday night. Classic!

I would tell you how besides cyberspace, we are connected, but I've already blogged about that before.
Be sure to follow the links, they tell more of our story.
And thanks, Manders. I appreciate your visit to my blog-casa. (Let's work on getting you out here to visit the REAL casa, okay?

Besos!!

******************************************************************

It’s Sunday night, about 8pm.

As I type this entry, I am waiting for our rice cooker to go off.
In it are the ingredients to Marta’s Arroz con Salchichas. It’s a regular staple at my house, I make it every couple of weeks. It’s one of those meals that I can whip together in less than 30 minutes, and I know that hubby and the boys will love.

It’s quick and easy, and the best part? It’s made with love. No really, I’m not being corny.

Didn’t you know? That’s Marta’s secret ingredient in all her recipes. You won’t find it in any of the ingredients lists of any of her recipes, but it’s in there. Just ask her!

In my particular case, that special ingredient planted a seed a long, long time ago in a little house in Manatí, Cuba.

That seed grew (a lot), and now stretches about 70 years and roughly 3000 miles across the country. Oh, and of course, it’s all over cyberspace too…that little guy gets around!

In a nutshell, MBFCF is part of MRLEF (My Real-Life Extended Family, aren’t I clever?!), so much so that I’ll drop whatever I’m doing if any Darby is in town just to visit with them for a bit, and I’ll willingly offer my couch or an inflatable mattress if they need to spend a few nights at my house. I know if I flew over to the West Coast, they’d do the same for me and my brood in a heartbeat.

Amanda & Amy Kikita feeling the Cuba Nostalgia vibe. Miami, 2008.

Thanks Marti, for letting me ramble a bit around here as your new Monday Blog-Hijackee.

I know technically it’s not Monday, but I figured being early is better than being late (If only I could follow that advice in my day-to-day life…).

I’m off to enjoy dinner with my family, sprinkled with a whole bunch of love on top!”

******************************************************************
Thanks, Amanda!
It was a lovely hijack. =D

If anyone else out there wants to hijack my blog on any random Mondayjust shoot me an email. Write Monday Blog Hijackery in the subject line so I don't accidentally delete you.  This could be fun. =D

My Big, Fat, Cuban Family - The Book.

One of the reasons I started blogging was for my posterity (which is just a fancy way of saying "future generations.")

But let me tell you why...

I am blessed with having my 95 year old mother still around with her mind still sharp and her enthusiasm for life (and my projects) still intact.

That was not the case for her. She left Cuba and her beloved mother, my grandmother, at the age of 47, never to see her again. She often says that if she had known that she might not have made the decision to leave. I think that because of the pain this caused her, there are memories she just refuses to access. It makes me sad.

What we left in Cuba, besides a tight-knit extended family and our home, was the minutia of day-to-day life. All the simple, yet important things that illustrate our existence.

My mom tells stories, not just of people, but of places I may never see. Also, of things, like my grandmother's stove, or her collection of placemats - 52 sets - one for each week of the year, or of a teacup that was in her great-aunt's collection of antique china.

I think that growing up hearing these things made me aware of a greater loss. There are entire lives that were lost. By that I mean that in our need to move forward and assimilate, not to mention the pain involved in remembering, that our celebration of the everyday was muddied. I feel that acutely sometimes.

I have a few things that have family history attached: my grandmother's sewing box, a bedspread crocheted by a great aunt. I insisted that my mom write down (in her own handwriting) the significance of each item on a notecard.

Because documenting these things has become so important to me, I have become by default the Family Historian.

It seems that in this 21st Century, blogging is the natural way to record and capture the day-to-day, the celebrations, the minutia, if you will, of our lives.

My friend, the class factotum, (whom you met the other day) lost years of her blogging and hence the documentation of her memories to a crummy now-defunct blog platform. And I thought how much I'd hate to lose all these hundreds of hours of blogging, so I've been looking for a way to preserve my blog, again for posterity. =D

I have been thinking I would just copy and paste each entry into Word and try to find the pictures and well, you can see that this was turning into a not-so-fun project. Then I toyed with the idea of re-creating each page in Photoshop. I could totally do that, but umm.. no. Frankly it was much more of a pain than I wanted it to be.

(Yes, it's me. It's got to be fun, okay?)

So, I've been mulling this idea over and wrestling with the how-to of turning my blog into a book. While I was on Facebook the other day I saw an ad for SharedBook Blog2Print in the sidebar. I compulsively clicked on the link and within minutes I had uploaded My big, fat, Cuban family, Volume One - from October 1st, 2006 to September 30, 2007 - into a big, fat 400 page memory book. 

(I wish they were paying me for this glowing product endorsement, but they're not. Sad!)

 

I didn't have much creative control, which, for this particular project, I was okay with. I put aside my perfectionism issues and just went with it.

I love that all I had to do was choose the time frame and add my blog header to the front. The program created the Table of Contents automatically and slurped the entries into the book one after the other, automatically paginating as it went. (Anal-Retentive Me would rather have one neat entry per page, but that's not important right now.)

 

 

There was a spot to add a picture to the back and so I did that and hit the "order" button.

 

I just received the finished product and can I just tell you how pleased I am with the outcome. But I couldn't help but wish that I had something like this from my grandmother. Or my mom. Or my dad. But, happily, I have included many of their stories on my blog.

And now in this Big, Fat, Cuban Family Blog Book. (I'm ordering Volume Two as we speak.)

No, it's not for sale. It's just for me.

And my posterity. ;-)

The Star-Spangled Banner

Today's History Lesson for Your Edification:

There was a young and deeply religious lawyer by the name of Francis Scott Key, who had a well-established law practice in Georgetown, near Washington, D.C.

Although he was opposed to the War of 1812, he had a deep love for his country and served in the Georgetown Field Artillery in 1813. He devoted himself to helping many people, some even British soldiers when they were sick or wounded. The British had captured his friend, Dr. William Beanes.

On September 13th of 1814, the British prepared to attack Baltimore. The British agreed to release Dr. Beanes to Mr. Key and another friend John Skinner, but required that they stay on board a British ship until they had finished their attack.

The three Americans could do nothing but watch and wait as the British navy fired huge 200-pound bombs and rockets at Fort McHenry. There were so many ships sunk in Baltimore Harbor that the British could not get closer to land.

The British warships continued to fire upon Fort McHenry. They fired all night. They fired continuously for twenty-five hours.

After witnessing this horrendous bombing from their place on the British ship, the Americans were afraid that Baltimore would be conquered. There was no way to see what was happening because of all the smoke and the very dark night.

Finally at dawn, on September 14, 1814, Mr. Key looked through the telescope.  There in the early morning light, he saw that huge (30 feet by 42 feet) flag waiving proudly over Fort McHenry.

The Americans won the battle and he was overcome with joy. In his celebratory inspiration he wrote the following:

Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

When we visited Washington D.C. in May, we had the privilege of seeing the original Star-Spangled Banner.
Thirty feet by forty-two feet, made of wool and linen. It has been preserved and is on display at the Smithsonian Museum of American History.

The National Anthem always makes me tear up some. Especially at baseball games. (I know. Shut up.)

When we rounded the corner of that exhibit and saw the actual flag that was flying over Fort McHenry on September 14, 1814, as the Star-Spangled Banner played in the background, the tears started flowing.

This time I stood with Francis Scott Key, who felt defeated until the smoke cleared and he asked with awe and wonder:

O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave, o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

I stood before the original star-spangled banner and just wept as I asked that same (now more intensely poignant) question and answered with a resounding YES!

Yes, I am Cuban-born.
And yes, I'm proud to be a Naturalized American Citizen.
I'm fiercely patriotic.
I love this great country.
I love the American flag, as it is the symbol of freedom to the rest of the world.

Today I'm in awe of those who pledged their lives and their fortunes to secure the freedoms we enjoy.
I'm grateful that my kids have known nothing but freedom because we live here in America.

Happy Independence Day!

There are so many countries on this earth who wish they could say exactly that.
I'll never, ever take that for granted.

Lucy and Jonathan in front of the flag exhibit on Ellis Island. May 2009.

Misspellers of the World: UNTIE!

When I started the first grade here in the U.S. I had only been in this country for six months.

We were still trying to get used to life in America and spoke only Spanish at home. (That rule carried on for as long as I can remember.) 

My English at that point was only what I had gleaned from watching Captain Kangaroo ("El Capitán Kanguro") in the mornings. His sidekick, Mister Greenjeans (MEES-TERR GREEEN-YEENS) was particularly fun to attempt to pronounce, but that's not important right now. =D


Newly arrived Cuban refugee, Martica

But I persevered and worked hard on learning not just English pronunciation, but spelling also. I'm a living example that immersion works, but that's not important right now, either.

To teach myself to spell words, I often resorted to using mnemonic devices. (You know, like using Roy G. Biv to remember the order of the colors in a rainbow - red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet - that's still completely genius, isn't it?)

The upshot was that I really mastered spelling. It was crucial for me to learn to speak English in order to fit in to my new country and so I studied hard and learned not just to read, but to understand and to spell.

Fast forward to today. I homeschool my kids. And can you guess what my one pet peeve is in our academic world?

That's right. Spelling.

I don't care if they fumble grammar, but please, please, please! take that extra moment to look up a word and learn to spell it. (I'm on the verge of a rant here, but I'll refrain...)

I was delighted when reader Melek sent me the following:
The 25 Most Commonly Misspelled Words

I jumped in and immediately took the quiz. To my great disappointment, my score was 24 correct out of 27.  I should have gotten them all right! (*said the perfectionist!*)

Okay, so the truth is that there are still words that I totally space on when I am trying to remember how to spell them. I don't know if it's a problem of infrequency of use or that I just never learned them correctly in the first place.

There are two words in particular that I always seem to get wrong:

1) Vacuum
2) Exercise

I always want to add extra c's to both and make them more complicated than they really are.

Hmmm... I think my Freudian-slip is showing!  ;-)

If you like, go take the quiz and let me know how you did by leaving your score in the comment section.

Either that, or just tell me why you hate spelling (or vacuuming...or exercise...).  =D