A music man in the making

Like any two year old, Simon likes to say "no". A LOT. At first, I joked with him that maybe his name was really No-mon instead of Sí-mon (As in “yes”-mon, except that in Spanish, his name gets an accent later: Simón). He thought that was funny and called himself that on occasions, with a big smile.

And then we graduated to "No, Mommy! No, Mommy!" That gets tiring after awhile, so I started singing “No Mommy” back to him as the refrain of El Debarge’s 80s hit “Who’s Johnny”, with some edits to make the song relevant to our circumstances. Simon liked it and would suggest variations for me to sing: No Daddy, No Dieuwe, No Bow-Wow, etc. Watch the video for Who's Johnny on YouTube for a blast from the past; it is hilarious. And then follow that up with Rhythm of the Night; it's even better! El Debarge's hair there reminds me of a certain track coach back in high school...

While I haven’t heard “Who’s Johnny” while in Peru, I should have: 80s music is super prevalent here! I’ve heard more UB40 in the last two months than I have in the last 20 years. 80s music is on the buses, the radio, the streets. I had been hoping to learn more about Peruvian musicians just by soaking up the ambient music, but instead I’m reliving parts of my adolescence as I sing along with Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Depeche Mode, Michael Jackson, Men at Work, The Police, a-ha, and Duran Duran, to name but a few. 

We eventually expanded our musical repertoire by singing “No Mommy” to the tune of Dona Nobis Pacem. We have since brought the tune of Frere Jacques into the fold as well. Simon’s even finally branched out to Heads Shoulders Knees and Toes and the Itsy Bitsy Spider, and really dances his heart out when Sam sings variations on "The Twist".

It’s fun seeing Simon sing his own music, dance with zero inhibitions, bang on the drum, pluck on Sam’s guitar strings, or just groove to music in his head, always with the words "No Mommy!" I can live with that.

Proof that Simon is a Hess

Hesses (my dad’s side of the family) love their condiments, especially ketchup, jam, and peanut butter. 


As an example of our excess, but also to explain that my dad would take exception to that wording, I will quote him: "On the first day, God created ketchup. It's not a condiment. On the second day came peanut butter. Everything else is a condiment."


My dad and I once ate the entire contents of a Heinz ketchup bottle – and made significant headway on a second one – while enjoying our sides of fried potatoes at breakfast at The Cup in Tucson. Sam always makes fun of me about how much ketchup I consume when we eat burgers or papas. Whatever! Whenever we are at a cookout, I secretly eye everyone else's burgers – topped with a tiny smear of ketchup - and pity them for missing out by not having half of the bottle on their burgers. Ah well, more for me!

Jam isn’t meant to be a tiny, barely visible layer on your toast; it should have some height to it. Ditto when one eats peanut butter. PB&J’s are thick, substantial, wondrous-to-behold delicacies. This obviously means we go through jars of jam and peanut butter frequently too.

To be fair to the Hesses, I’m generalizing about Hess behavior based on my dad, his four siblings, two of our nephews, and my brother and me. I'm not entirely sure where my cousins stand on this all-important issue. I missed the last family reunion and therefore couldn't track the quantity of jam/PB/ketchup consumed over the 3-day weekend.

Before we came to Peru, Simon didn’t really take notice of delicious items like ketchup or jam. That changed in October, when we spent a week at the beach in northern Peru, recovering from the señora and getting ready to start volunteering with Manos Amigas. He liked the toast Sam prepared for him each morning and started asking for more – more butter, more jam. 

Butter + jam + beach = happiness

Simon is now making up for lost time with his toppings. He likes peanut butter so much that we hide it and save it for special occasions, like travel treats. He has the toddler manner of throwing himself into whatever he’s eating, so he’s kind of funny with butter faces especially.

Butter + dinner roll - bib = potential disaster

Simon has been known to call his Grandma Schumacher via the ketchup bag. It's cheaper than Skype but very one-sided.

Simon knew we were going to make papas for dinner and so he immediately got out the ketchup from the fridge, climbed up into his chair, and commenced being protective of the bottle.

Butter + breakfast roll + jungle vacation = content child

Then again, maybe Sam is a closet Hess, too. The other morning we were making a list of things to get at the store. Sam told me to add ketchup to the list. “Are you serious?” I asked. “We have tons of ketchup!” “No, we’re all out,” he said. “We need more.”

I gathered up all of the as-of-yet unopened ketchup, all purchased by my lovely husband at one time or another, loaded up Simon’s arms with it, and told him to go show Daddy how much we had.

A slightly ridiculous quantity of salsa de tomate in our household. This makes me think that while other people stock up on water for natural disasters, we must stock up on ketchup.

We did not end up buying ketchup.

Another cup of tea?

As part of his generally helpful nature, Simon likes to help me make myself a cup of coffee in the morning. It's my "congratulations for getting up hours before you would like to be up" treat and therefore has milk and sugar in it. Simon spoons in the sugar, usually asking if he can put a little bit more in after I say enough, then I pour a little milk into a cup, which he then pours into my mug. He stirs it all together and starts tasting it. We judge when a perfect coffee-sugar-milk ratio has been achieved and then he sneaks about five (admittedly tiny) spoonfuls more, then we move on to another early morning activity, thusly fortified by our coffee.

Ratio perfection has been achieved.

I wasn't surprised that Simon enjoys the coffee ritual, since it’s something we do every day (since Sam and I both really like good, strong coffee) and Simon can help out with it by spooning coffee grounds into the filter with me, telling me what step to do next, etc.

But tea is not exactly as popular of a guest in our house. I have started drinking a lot more of it now, since it's cold and wintry (for Lima, anyway) and I don’t drink coffee after breakfast. At a coffee shop a couple of weeks ago, I ordered rooibos tea and Simon asked to try some. I figured a sip couldn’t hurt, so I let him have one. Then he drank two cupfuls!

Several evenings later he saw me make myself a cup of mint tea, and he asked for some too. Now I get a kick that he appears to have mostly forgotten about helping with the coffee (which definitely makes making the coffee go that much quicker) and he requests tea when I start making coffee.

He likes to drink his tea with his breakfast. I think it is especially funny when he gives it a two-thumbs-up designation, which he learned several weeks ago when a man on the bus really liked that Simon recognized the Peru brand on his shirt. He was very animated, giving Simon two thumbs up and saying, ¡Muy bien! ¡Muy bien! repeatedly. Since then Simon has been busting out two thumbs up when he hears us say ¡Muy bien! or when he really likes something.

Simon's current favorite breakfast drinks: tea, jugo, and yogurt.

Two thumbs up!

Sam, worried that perhaps tea was not the best thing for Simon to drink, did some quick research and ensured that unsweetened mint tea was just fine for him. I think it is quite funny that every other toddler in the world is probably asking for more juice or soda, but this one is begging for another cup of tea.

Warning: dangerous cuts ahead

Simon needed a haircut. My last few attempts to give him one had resulted in him crying and hating the whole process… not to mention a really lopsided cut. I decided to take him to one of the official little kid haircut salons, even though the cost was outrageous.

At 38 soles a cut (roughly $14, high for this market), I would expect a massage, a free gift, or something spectacular. Sam’s and my haircuts are only 11 soles at the neighborhood peluquería a couple of blocks away… but then again, we are pretty cheap. (Whether we are cheap enough to try out the one I saw yesterday for a rock-bottom five soles a cut is up in the air.)

My rationale for forking over soles galore was that they would know what they were doing. And they did! It was worth every sol. Simon was fascinated in his little car, looking at his cute self in the mirror, never once squirming, complaining, or being anything less than enthralled. 

Simon now spots the kiddie haircut cars at random spots, tries to climb into them, and mimics scissors cutting his hair. He actually asked to get his hair cut the other day. I am ready to swear allegiance to this kiddie salon. 

Sam isn’t, however. A couple of weeks ago, he found a peluquería with kiddie cars in Barranco for seven soles. “Let’s go there next time,” he suggested.

One of my favorite parts of Simon’s haircut involved a seatbelt. In nearly every taxi we have ever been in here, the seatbelts don’t exist, fit, or have the necessary other half. Maybe, as the bus driver illustrates below, the critical part is to just have it draped across your midriff.

Yet Simon's little car had a well-fitting seatbelt, and he was carefully strapped in before his cape was velcroed on.

Seatbelts for haircuts is such a brilliant idea. I hate getting my hair cut and tend to panic halfway through each one. But with a seatbelt (and maybe a pisco sour), perhaps the experience would be a calmer one.

We’ll check out the Barranco barber for Simon’s next cut… if there are seatbelts. Do you think they would notice if I brought my own flask with me? More importantly, do you think they would let me sit in the kiddie car? 

Construction zone

Lima is in the middle of a construction boom, and in the blocks near our home, the construction sites are mostly apartment buildings in various states of completion. Due to the frequent earthquakes, Lima has a regulation that buildings cannot be taller than 30 floors. Still, this provides for some tall buildings to watch as they are built, floor by floor.

I get scared just seeing them build; look at them, balanced on a board, putting in rebar! 

This is a closer view in case the earlier photo was not spine-tingling enough.

Simon has really developed a love of construction equipment while here, including making up his own signs for certain things like buckets (they are always two, on a pulley system, and so his sign is using both hands, one high, the other low, and then switching their places) and bulldozers (he pushes out one hand like the bulldozer pushes out its shovel).

Buckets, take 1

Buckets, take 2

A backhoe was parked near our apartment while the driver took a nap inside the cab... Simon seized the opportunity to try out the loader. 

My parents gave Simon a little excavator, which has been a huge hit (as you may have guessed from earlier posts), especially on artisan visits or at mealtimes at restaurants when we linger longer than we would at home. There are so many things to put in the loader and move around, like lots of coins or rocks. 

The excavator (and juice) buying us time to enjoy a coffee

The excavator buying us time at an artisan's workshop

They also brought Simon a cool book about 100 different trucks which is helping me to increase my vocabulary so I don't keep stammering, "look at that, uh, truck" or "the thing that moves dirt". It's been fun to see how Simon now notices a whole new class of trucks as a result, like tow trucks and impact hammers.

A regular activity with Simon is to go on a walk to check out various construction sites. Watching excavators fill trucks with dirt and rocks, or workers filling wheelbarrows with cement, then wheeling them to the elevators running the backbone of the building's skeleton, or cement trucks piping in the next wall or floor layer: there is always something fascinating going on. 

Relaxing on the sidewalk, watching the construction show

Once, while we were traveling through the Sacred Valley and enjoying seeing intricate ruins and gorgeous landscapes, I was recounting the day’s adventures with Simon as we were winding down for his nap. He bolted upright and mimicked an excavator’s scooping and dumping, reminding me that not only had we seen an excavator working, but that it had been working in the middle of a river. How could you forget that, Mom? That was the highlight of the day!

While Simon likes to check out what equipment is in use at each one, I like to inspect the signs. 

I pretend that these signs mean that the construction workers take frequent breaks to do aerobics, or at least that it is a caution to be aware that construction workers may break out with a dance move while shoveling dirt. 

I suppose it's just the orientation on this one... but they almost never have it oriented so that the worker is leaning over; he's always busting a dance move with the shovel!

This is another favorite. Doesn’t it look like they are reminding people of a rule to wear underwear? Or perhaps underwear with suspenders?

If there were no accompanying text, I could convince myself that it were true, instead of being about a safety harness.


I also like these. Some joker with a stencil flower put flowers in and around the various signs at this site.

I can think of a certain husband who might benefit from the one below as a street sign, to aid in avoiding tripping over curbs.

I just like this sign, what with the drama of the slipping person.

The construction boom is far more dependent on manual labor than in the States. An example: to move a pile of bricks, there is a chain set up of perhaps 15 men. One picks up a brick from the pile and tosses it to the next man, who tosses it to the next, and so on. The bricks move slowly from outside on the street to inside the construction area. They make it look effortless, as if they were tossing pillows around. These men are strong. And yes, it’s always men. I have yet to see a woman as a worker on a construction site. 

Another example of manual labor: note that there is a ramp of boards set up against the dumpster. This dumpster was slowly filled, wheelbarrow load by wheelbarrow load.

I'm not sure what the safety standards are... this worker is standing on a board, which is balanced on two ladders, drilling holes into a concrete wall. 

I'm secretly hoping that one of these days someone will invite us in and let us sit in the cab of the excavator while it moves around and does exciting things. Did I say Simon was fascinated by the construction sites? I suppose it is rubbing off on me, too... I want to operate the excavator!

Machu Picchu with a two-year-old

“Are you seriously thinking about taking your son with you to Machu Picchu?” the man asked. It was late October, he had just returned from a visit to the Inca ruins, located high in the cloud forest, and was giving us advice about how best to acclimatize to the high elevation of nearby Cuzco (11,000 feet). We hadn’t considered not taking Simon; we pretty much do everything together and when Simon can’t walk around due to safety reasons, we carry him in a sling or carrier. 

“Well, if you have to take him, you’ll need to hold him the entire day,” he said. “There are so many drop offs. You will walk to the edge of a terrace and see the river far, far below. There are no guardrails. I would definitely not take a two-year-old there!”

We heard enough variants on this advice over several months that we reconsidered. We were planning to visit Machu Picchu twice, once when my parents came and then again when Sam’s mom came. What if we went on alternate days with the grandparents, and Simon stayed at base camp each day?

To get to Machu Picchu involves various travel steps. First, you fly to Cuzco. Then you proceed to Ollantaytambo either by leisurely wandering down the Sacred Valley over several days, stopping in small towns to visit their markets and hike the countryside, or you take a bus directly from Cuzco, about 2 hours. In Ollantaytambo, you catch a train to Aguas Calientes, about an hour and a half away. Then you take a short, 20 minute bus up the mountain to Machu Picchu. You can do it in one very long day, but we wanted to take our time and wander.

We decided that Simon is a genial enough traveler – and accustomed to being carried while walking in traffic, when we need to get somewhere quick, etc. – that we would chance it. We also didn’t have enough time in our itinerary to spend two days at Machu Picchu, especially after we missed our first chance to visit when my parents came. We told Simon we would need to carry him for most of the day but that we would let him down when it was safe and that he could also tell us when he needed a break. 

Passing all the guides on our way to meet Sam. Simon strikes me as such a confident, growing kid in this picture.

It worked out pretty well. Simon was smart enough to grab his excavator toy over my protests, and so while the rest of us listened to our guide, Simon played in the dirt, loading rocks into his excavator and dumping them wherever he deemed necessary. Sam strategically placed himself between Simon and whatever drop off was closest.

Sara quietly supplying him with a stash of rocks

Simon was pretty oblivious to all the things we were blown away by: the views, the stonework, the history. I think he thought we were crazy for not playing in the dirt too.

Finally, he says, a bigger rock for the excavator!

Look at his gleeful self in Pisac, throwing stones into the can

I hadn’t fully realized just how much hiking up and down there was, so I was pretty exhausted. And as we traveled through the Sacred Valley, we visited multiple Inca ruins and were up and down stone steps and traversing stone terraces nearly every day. My muscles haven’t ached like that since certain swim workouts in college and track sprints in high school. People looked at us a little curiously and I wondered if everyone thought we were crazy. But the sling and carrier were invaluable with their smart redistribution of weight. 

Climbing up, up, up at the ruins at Ollantaytambo

It didn’t seem as scary to me as everyone had mentioned. Perhaps we had so many warnings that I was prepared for the absolute worst. As we were leaving, a large group of indigenous women and children were waiting in line to enter the ruins. I wondered what their child safety strategies entailed and whether people had advised them that they were crazy to bring their kids too.

In the end, instead of being hypervigilant all day, we were able to enjoy the time we had there and take in all the beauty and drama that Machu Picchu offered. The images speak for themselves.

We hiked out to the Inca Bridge and were shocked and amazed to see how much it clings to the cliffside. Do you see a little white dot on the left? That is a man's hat. Two people are standing there, looking at the bridge. The bridge is near the bottom of the picture, a tiny piece of wood on top of a rectangle.

This is a close up view of the bridge, a slab of wood on top of a stone wall. On either side of the bridge you can see what look like small stones jutting out. Those are steps to get up to the top of the bridge. Access to the bridge used to be unrestricted until several years ago when a hiker fell while trying to cross and subsequently died.

This is my favorite image of the day: the clouds blowing around the Caretaker's Hut