tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-217134772024-03-07T05:58:30.341-04:00Mary P. leaves the building...Minus the Umbrella....and the excess baggage...EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comBlogger742125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-62540847504157027252014-12-29T00:53:00.000-04:002014-12-29T00:54:39.752-04:00New Years Deja VuThe Holidays are hard for a lot of people. For those who live on this island, the Holidays, which are about a three month festivity, can be hell.<br />
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#TheHellidays<br />
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I try to go with the flow. For the sake of the kid and sanity. But I could do without a day in particular:<br />
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New Year's Eve.<br />
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From ever since I can remember, it is a day where at the stroke of midnight, many drunken folk cry and hug and apologize for being assholes, make promises they know they won't keep and take the civil human being out for a stroll. As a child, it was a night where my parents, drunk to their armpits would make us accompany them to whatever party and then take us to a secluded place of the house to countdown till 12, just us four. Sounds sweet, even pretty unoffensive. But they were drunk and cried and slobbered us with Coors Light smelling kisses. As a teen it was equally painful. The difference being that my folks no longer spent it together. We always got stuck with Vader and Vietnam would call in at 12 sobbing that next year he would spend it with us.<br />
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He never did.<br />
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Now as an adult and with the booming age of technology, New Year's Eve is equally pathetic and entertaining. All the chain, generic text messages, some from people who you don't have a clue cause you don't have their numbers stored. Vader and Vietnam on my case as to where I'm gonna spend it. My bro and his wife kissing at 12 while I sip on my Red and wonder when I can go to bed. And the ever so entertaining texts of the Walking Dead exes who get nostalgic.<br />
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Have you've gotten the underlining of how I dislike this evening?<br />
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I make no plans. No resolutions. I don't look back on the year. I refuse.<br />
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I cried. I laughed. I learned. I move on.<br />
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So this year I am again ready. Vader will make us watch some cheesy local countdown. Vietnam will call and cry. Bro will kiss his wife. And I will sip Red while the kid kisses me.<br />
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I will laugh. I will cry. I will learn. I will move on.<br />
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<br />EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-5149717777413359502014-12-09T20:19:00.000-04:002014-12-09T20:43:32.532-04:00Santa MariaIt happens twice a year, every year. Final week of school meltdowns. For both of us.<br />
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Add in the tween component and it is an episode of the Real Housewives of Bayabronx.<br />
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I hate studying with her. I hate it when you ask her what we need to study and she has no clue. I hate when you ask her a question, give her the answer, immediately ask her the question again and she stares at your forehead like the answer is gonna Ouija its way on there.<br />
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Sir Francis Drake? Columbus? Spain's Queen and King? Nada. Zilch.. Zero.<br />
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Then she cries and balls up her fist and I can see the vein in her throat pulsing.<br />
I hate she makes me angry. I hate that I yell.<br />
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Patience wears thin at this time in the semester.<br />
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I hate this age of hers. It adds flair to an already heightened event.<br />
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When she rolls her eyes and mumbles under her breath...<br />
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Tweens, just like wire hangers, deserve a special place in hell.<br />
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And so tonight, just like every other week of finals, she cries and yells and adds phrases such as I "ruin her life".<br />
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And I turn into my mother pointing out I had "no one" to help me study and she is ever so fortunate. <br />
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And we sleep without another word, between Columbus, the Spanish Royalty and me feeling it has all sunken down with the Santa Maria and we just need to make it to shore.<br />
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<br />EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-89577962985971628032014-11-17T19:17:00.000-04:002014-11-17T20:24:55.618-04:00Running on CrazyI was always different. I've been teased and taunted and called by various names; from nerd, to geek to freak in the younger years and then weirdo, bitch, butch, dyke in my latter years. My feelings at times, hurt and bruised. But since we came from a house where we were sometimes called worse, it didn't phase me much.<br />
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The kid has joined the freak club. At 12 she looks, on the surface, like your regular tween. But at this young age she bears a list of diagnosis: Aspergers, Severe Depression, Anxiety and now Trichotillominia, which is a new one, brought on by her anxiety. This last one is the one where she plucks her eyelashes, eyebrows, hair, skin...etc. Peels and plucks like crazy. Skin is scarring and nails are non existent.<br />
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These are the things you see when you scratch the surface. These are the things the other kids have started to see, along with her obsessions on Pokemon and My Little Pony. <br />
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So they have noticed. And they know how to get under her skin. She says they call her "Pokemon" or "My Little Pony" to taunt her. She says they throw paper balls at her. They fuck with her head and self esteem to the point where she broke down in therapy and cried and asked "Why do they do this to me? Why are they mean?"<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
kids are assholes.<br />
but I couldn't say that.<br />
<br />
I wish we knew the answers to those questions. I wish people would embrace the quirky, oddball, exceptional children we have. I wish I could magic wand all this shit away. I wish she were strong like me.<br />
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I wish, like me, that she wouldn't give a rats ass on what other people thought. But this is not the case.<br />
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She is fragile and sentimental and naive. And that hurts, because I can't protect her forever.<br />
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I want her to embrace who she is, love her differences and wave that freak flag, like her momma and give a big middle finger to the normal cats that don't get her.<br />
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Fuck normality. Cause we run on crazy in this house.<br />
<br />EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-65606023885597005842013-11-10T15:59:00.000-04:002013-11-10T15:59:22.518-04:00People do not change. That is not an opinion. It is a hardcore fact. No religion. No love. No massive quantities of therapy can change the core essence of a person.<br />
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That is the harshest reality for me right now. Even harsher when you try to play by the rules, keep the peace, in vain.<br />
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I will never change as well. What I have tried to supress and channel slowly unravels and I am back at square one.<br />
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You cannot compromise your dignity, your heart and your family on the idea that people will change. You cannot live your life turning a blind eye. It doesn't work that way.<br />
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Ultimately you decide.<br />
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What and who you put up with is on you. And as we continue our paths ignoring red flags, compromising our being and believing in change, we only cheat our selves. And sooner than later the gig is up.<br />
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So we expand like rubber bands, changing and stretching our limits to accommodate others and hoping others will do likewise, until we snap.<br />
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And that hurts.<br />
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<br />EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-57332131180307689412013-07-23T21:42:00.000-04:002013-07-23T21:42:08.859-04:00he who cannot be named.I don't speak of the word "love". It is difficult for me to pronounce. It gives me chills. It makes me nauseated. I am not the opposite of it, but I am not its counterpart. It is like, the unspeakable. Like the bald villain from Harry Potter, who I always forget his name, but know, his name cannot be said. But yet, you anticipate and wait and sometimes even yearn for it.<br />
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It is, the complete opposite of what I was brought up on. I was brought up on, no hugging, no kissing, no iloveyous, no tenderness when you got a boo boo, no mushy mushy shit. I was brought up on the unconventional, non-traditional, even ridiculous, borderline unlove, love. </div>
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Due to this, I have never had a stereotype of love, an image, a portrait, a standard, a how-i-would-like-it-to-be. That has manifested itself and projected on my dating history.</div>
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I have dated the good guy, the friend turned boyfriend, the jock, the guy who's parents hated you, the guy who's parents loved you, the guy all the girls wanted, the guy no one wanted, the bad-pot smoking guy, the tortured artist, the older man, the much older man, the man who still lives with his parents, the guy with a kid, the single guy, the guy who's hustling, the unemployed, the guy who makes you look cool, the one you make look cool, the guy who breaks your heart and you vow never to let him break it again and he does it anyway, the jesus freak, the political rebel, the nerd, the one who can't spell for shit, the fat one, the skinny one, the guy who wants to move in after a month, the younger guy, the much younger guy, the mushy one, the cold one, the nature guy, the yoga-zen guy, the guy who never has a clue, the guy who thinks he knows it all but actually doesn't, the one who didn't get me and made me stay and waste my time, the one who got me and scared me and made me haul ass...all the shapes and colors and variety the world can offer. </div>
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Yet I cannot pinpoint 'love' anywhere. Or my type, or standard or frame of reference for it. Is 'love' a Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks movie? Is love "The Notebook"? Is love "Blue Valentine"? Tortured and painful and aching? </div>
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Is "love" what I am looking for? Is it looking for me? Would I know it, if it hit me? Is it insomnia? Is it a stupid ass smile during the day for no reason at all? Is it the most unconventional, random, neversaw it coming event? Is it?</div>
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truth is, I haven't got a clue. I don't know what it looks like and all the data I have collected over the years (yes my failed diverse dating was actually data collecting) has not helped me establish a pattern or plan or course of action. I dare not to speak it's name, but just like the Harry Potter flicks, life would be so much different and less exciting without it. </div>
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EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-2295229156876441582013-06-21T02:13:00.001-04:002013-06-21T02:21:08.207-04:00Compromise...this past week my eyes have been a victim of things, no eyes should see. And memories resurface like old stains on a good ol' shirt you've lost too early. Funny how memories can open up a whole lot full of emotions and scars and bullshit you thought you were over. Funny how the human mind loves to relive all this stuff in all its rawness and gory.<br />
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I have seen the rise and the fall. The up and the down. The negative and the positive. All flash like a blink. I have seen priorities shift and compromises and morphing and conjoined twins and relationships blossom in the oddest of places. I have seen people compromise and give it all to lose it all and wonder if these people now bang their heads and hold their hearts in their hands, crumpled up, in a pulp, bloodied, heavy, and regret every single thing ever done in the name of love and compromise.</div>
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I heard of a friend (not me) who had a pretty shitty life and had finally gotten back on track and was doing great with her daughter. She met a guy. A good guy. And after many a begging the guy convinced her (he had no children and she is advanced in age) to have another child. His child. After many a debacle, she decides this is the man she loves and this is what she wants to do, only to hear, after she gets pregnant, that he can never really love her and leaves her. Now she is left pregnant with a fatherless child. Fuck.</div>
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This is the shit you can't make up. This is the shit that terrifies me. The fucking compromise. The letting the wall down, the letting the other person in, the stop-being who you are and stop-standing for what you believe in, to get screwed over.</div>
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And yes, I know that no relationship can stand without compromise; without some kind of eye-to-eye, without some kind of common ground. But at what price? When does compromise turn into, becoming a wuss?</div>
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Even with the kid, compromise is essential. I had to learn to pick my battles, know when to stand firm and know when it wasn't worth it to drag out an event or point. Cause my mental state depended on it.</div>
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But I have the kid for life. I have no choice here. I can't cop out.</div>
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I see this situation with my friend and it hurts. It really hurts. She has put herself out there to get fucked over. And it scares the hell out of people like me. </div>
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In my eyes, after all that I have been through, compromise is vulnerability. It is learning to quiet my mouth, sedate my actions, not demand what I deserve. I don't know if that can be accomplished. I see women morph into their men. I sometimes don't see couples, I see conjoined twins. And that is abominable.</div>
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There is a fine line between compromise, settling and copping out.</div>
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I don't know if I can tell the difference. I don't know if I can compromise without feeling helpless, vulnerable and exposed. I don't know how the dynamics work.</div>
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And sometimes, just sometimes, for the sake of many things, I wish I did.</div>
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Damn, I wish I did.</div>
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EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-54333089823535569082013-05-21T23:35:00.000-04:002013-05-21T23:38:23.722-04:00One: Best Company...As I primed our outfits for Miss C's Honor Roll Ceremony tomorrow, a haunting thought came to mind. A thought that has come to mind many times before but today as it rang in my head and pounded in my chest, I just had to catch my breath.<br />
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I have done this shit alone.<br />
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Alone.<br />
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We have survived alone. <br />
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And in these days of me being uncharacteristically happy, I realized that alone maybe not that bad.<br />
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I wasn't sad at the 'doing it alone'. I was no longer bitter at 'alone'. I was in fact, stoic. I can zip up my own damn dress, most of the times. I can wash my own car. I can hold up a full time job and be a full time mother to a child who is a handful. I have done it alone. I mean, I have had my small corner support team and Miss C's dad is always hands on, but he doesn't live here. I have the kid 24/7. Enough to make me wanna drive off a cliff, literally, a few times.<br />
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I have done this alone. The Dx, the tantrums, the job loss, the no money, the heartbreaks, the men that worked and I pushed away, the men that didn't work and messed me up, the parents who could give a shit, the fucked up jobs, the nights where I wanted to just send it all to hell and disappear and never come back. Alone. Alone and I am still standing. That has got to mean something. Something. Damn it.<br />
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and maybe a day will come when I will have someone to zip up my dress, or sit and be a political junkie with me and talk bullshit and watch a game and just chill. <br />
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And maybe I won't.<br />
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Regardless, when tomorrow the kid goes on stage to get her recognition and we both look fabulous I will know I can pull my own weight.<br />
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and to that: Fuck yeah.EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-61498491142059727432013-04-10T21:37:00.003-04:002013-04-10T21:37:57.025-04:00Against the ClockAnd as the water ran, I opened my mouth to scream...and nothing came out. Nothing. I screamed in silence. Complete and utter silence. I am consumed. I am consumed by the kid. I am consumed and tired.<br />
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Tired.<br />
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All I could replay in my head was her face an in between her pink and red bows, her new bald spot.<br />
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She is yanking out her hair in anxiety.<br />
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I could see it over and over and hear her say: "I think I am going crazy".<br />
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It was all my head could replay.<br />
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No child should ever think they are going crazy.<br />
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No<i> one</i> for that matter.<br />
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I am consumed and tired of this crazy roller coaster of emotions. I am tired of the "tomorrow is another day".<br />
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"Tomorrow things will be better".<br />
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When it comes to my child, I am a selfish bitch. I don't want things to get better tomorrow.<br />
I want them to get better <i><b>NOW</b></i>.<br />
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I walk a thin line between anger and pain. I want to be angry at her. I feel sometimes like I do harbor feelings of anger towards her. This afternoon, I couldn't stand to look at her, or speak to her.<br />
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But I also feel pain. Deep, unfathomable pain. Pain so hard, so paralyzing I cannot sleep, or think or breathe at times. Pain that cannot begin to be compared with the pain my daughter feels. I see it in her face. I see she cannot control herself. I know she tries. <br />
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And I am going to say what many people will debate, but <i>we have all</i> thought at some moment:<br />
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<i>Am I doing all I possibly can?</i><br />
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At times, like this week, I feel like a failure.<br />
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And I know it is not in my hands. And I know that it is not my fault and that it is what it is...but the helplessness can lead you to think this at times.<br />
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Even when I know it is not true.<br />
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But the pain is there regardless and the silence of my immediate family sharpens the pain and makes things more unbearable.<br />
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And in this month of April, the month of Autism Awareness, I cannot help but feel nauseated and sick each time I see a ribbon or a poster or a "Light it up Blue"...because it is a reminder, we are no where closer to finding a cure, which means my time is running out. <br />
<br />EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-39410453321825084512013-02-03T12:22:00.000-04:002013-02-03T12:22:04.095-04:00Be Mine"Isn't Valentine's the best Holiday"-the kid
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"No, it isn't"-me<br />
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and she stared at me and demanded to know why I had stabbed her in her little sweet ol' heart.<br />
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I started to think how to put it diplomatically But really, there was no way. I cannot tell a lie. I couldn't lie to her either. Valentine's is a crock. And I don't say that because I don't believe in love. I say it, because it is. It is a crock. A commercial crock. It is the day of the year I wish I didn't have to leave my house. People in red, the flower sending, the chocolate buying, sugary lovey dovey, restaurant filled, motel packed day of the year. Cards for lovers, husbands, wives, friends, grandparents, dogs, cats...dammit. The chalk tasting hearts with crooked printings of "Be Mine"...the Peeps...well, the Peeps aren't bad...I can deal with the Peeps, but...all in all, aren't we a little overboard?<br />
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And who can forget: The proposals!! Oh God!! The proposals!!! (which not so long ago I was subject to on a Valentine's Day and I swear I could hear the God's laughing).<br />
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Really? Really?<br />
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Is this all necessary Do we need, just like Mother's Day, ONE day to tell someone you love them? With a pink and red 6 foot plush Teddy Bear that plays "Great Balls of Fire" when you squeeze it's paw???!!<br />
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Then: the possible break ups, the back to ignoring your loved one, the screening of the incoming calls, the pouring over facebook statuses to analyze what his/her post ment and if it was directed to you. From "in a relationship" to "it's complicated". <br />
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The aftermath of the sugar induced future diabetics of the planet. <br />
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I am not pessimistic or loved scorned. I do believe in love, in being there for your other mate, in showing some kind of affection, whatever your choice maybe. I just don't go with the masses or the crap they try to feed us. I don't need a 6 foot teddy bear. I need someone to be there for me. To mean what they say, to stick it out in all types of weather, to hold down the fort with me. I need people to be nicer to each other, everyday, love their kids, neighbors, planet, the guy at the light asking for some change.<br />
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Love is and should be in constant motion.<br />
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No one should wanna be someone's Valentine's....you should wanna be their love.<br />
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So I opened my mouth, ready to give my 101 reasons why Valentine's sucks and as the kid stood there demanding my explanation, all I could muster was:<br />
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"Just kidding!! Valentine's is awesome".<br />
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Her face was relieved.<br />
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Just like Santa and the Three Kings and the rest of things in life that seem real but are fake, she had enough time to find out on her own, without me pushing it, what a crock this was as well.<br />
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For now, let her love, even if it is in the sake of this fake saint. And let her, wanna let me, be her Valentine's.<br />
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<br />EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-70582648185436198132013-01-27T20:50:00.001-04:002013-01-27T21:30:59.775-04:00The UndermineThis week I got one of the many episodes I get from people who have barely seen the kid during her life and have all kinds of opinions of her diagnosis, prognosis and other misconceptions they like to add on.<br />
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Case in Point: "You sure it was Autism? I think maybe she was misdiagnosed, because she looks perfectly normal to me, blah blah blah. I have seen kids with Autism and they don't look like her".</div>
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Yes. I made the whole Autism thing up cause I enjoyed all the hell we've been through the last ten years and it makes for one hellava victory story and all the pity I get from people feels oh so good.</div>
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Don't get me wrong. I love the fact that the kid is back on track and is almost unrecognizable compared to her peers, but do not undermine my last ten years.</div>
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Do not undermine the fact that from day one she was born I knew something was wrong; she cried non stop; she was probed and examined by every single emergency hospital during her first month trying to pinpoint what was wrong. Do not undermine her hand flapping and complete zoning out during her first year of life. Her severe tantrums and incapability to cope in public. Do not undermine her diagnosis at the age of two. Her walking on the tip of her toes, her body rocking, her screaming with each haircut. Do not undermine all the nights I had to rip her off my body in severe temper tantrums. Do not undermine the time she bit into my arm at the grocery store and ripped the first light layer of skin and the hell of a bruise it left behind. Physically and Mentally.</div>
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Do not undermine the 2 psychological therapies, 2 speech therapies, 2 occupational therapies, 1 physical therapy, 1 kinesiology therapy she took weekly and the gluten free casein free diet we did the first three years of her diagnosis. Do not undermine the nights I lay in bed debating whether to pay on time the electric bill or pay an additional therapy.</div>
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Do not undermine all the birthdays and Holidays she just sat there, blanked faced, completely unaware of what the hell was going on. Do not undermine all the nights I lay in bed wondering where the fuck I went wrong? What the hell was gonna happen to her if I would die? How on earth was I gonna survive the week?</div>
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Do not undermine all the days I had to nearly kill someone at the Department of Education to get what the kid deserved. Do not undermine the tears, the screams, the frustrations, from the kid and from me.</div>
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Do not undermine the kid's summer of 2011 where she had a horrible set back and refused to leave the house for the entire summer due to being terrified of getting sick; such paranoia that led her to vomit and want to hurt herself. Do not undermine the fact that she takes 2 different pills to cope. Do not undermine that a couple of months ago she ripped out her eyebrows, again.</div>
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So, it is not all in my head. Lord knows I wish it wasn't. And though I am comforted by the fact that she is better and most people that do not know cannot tell, I can. Just today I noticed how she still cannot alternate her feet climbing or walking down stairs or get metaphorical jokes, or how she broke down in hysterics because she could not complete a simple one instruction task I gave her, which was getting something from the kitchen.</div>
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I can see it and I know how hard it has been. For both of us.</div>
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So next time someone wants to undermine and doubt what we've gone through, I will let them know.</div>
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We have been through hell and back, and hell and back and hell and back....and there is no for sure way to know how this story ends, but it is Non Fiction and it happened to me and lots of other parents...and that is never to be undermined.</div>
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EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-73283430305540354092013-01-23T20:19:00.000-04:002013-01-23T20:35:17.055-04:00CLASSSo today I received a Multimedia Message on my phone. You know the one with Gene Wilder, as Willy Wonka? Where he says something smart ass along the lines of:<br />
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"So you...." blah blah....</div>
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you<i><b> got</b></i> to know the one, cause there are tons of them all over the place.<br />
Well this one started off with the sentence, and I am gonna repeat it for the sake of writing, because believe me kiddos, I would rather not repeat this one...."So you have big tits...."<br />
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Insert long ass pause here.<br />
Insert bewildered, whatthehellano face in here.<br />
<br />
I mean, we are all adults, and I received some cray-cray texts and pics from my female friends and we kid around a lot...but this, coming from a member of the <b><i>opposite sex</i></b>; a member whom I don't consider in my inner circle of<b><i> "ifyougetarrestediwilljoinyouintheslammer"</i></b> friends.<br />
<br />
I, the woman with a thousand words and quick wit, was astonished. Flabbergasted. Offended.<br />
<br />
Should I answer<b><i> and how?</i></b><br />
<br />
"Asshole"<br />
<br />
It was all I could conjure that could every so eloquently speak my mind.<br />
<br />
I was immediately accused of having no sense of humor.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Dude, do I look like I'm 17 and shop at Hot Topics?</i></b> I am a woman...a grown ass woman. You are a grown ass man. Ever wonder why you're still single? Hint, muthableepin', hint.<br />
<br />
I have a sense of humor, a dark, dry, sense of humor, but alas, I do have one.<br />
I can be witty, funny, charming, comical.<br />
<br />
I like humor.<br />
I don't like crass.<br />
<br />
There is a difference.<br />
<br />
"CRASS". There is a reason "ASS" is in that word. It ain't no coincidence.<br />
<br />
So I curse you technological Gods for creating Multimedia Messages and giving people the sense that crass and vulgar and cheap, equals funny messages to share with people you don't barely see or hang out with.<br />
<br />
And I thank you because in that same world, I can choose to unfriend and delete such crud and block further bodily parts and function jokes from every invading my space.<br />
<br />
I have bodily parts and functions...but my ASS has CLASS.<br />
<br />
That's the difference.<br />
<br />
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EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-76307548819491955122013-01-22T20:26:00.000-04:002013-01-22T20:26:59.774-04:00The ScientistSo there was a time I could not listen to Coldplay's "The Scientist" without completely breaking down. It was automatic. I heard that song and I would just crumble. I would be driving and had to contain myself to avoid looking like a raccoon once I arrived to work, or school, or wherever Sometimes I even played it when I needed a good cry. Just to get it out of my system. I would, as in the video, go back, rewind and reminisce; of all that has gone to shit.<br />
<br />
My relationship with Vader, Vietnam, the kid's Autism, my crappy job that I justify with "it pays the bills", relationships gone bad, sour, wrong, lost...all the disasters a human can collect throughout their existence.<br />
<br />
I would go back and try to pinpoint the exact, precise moment it all went to hell; trying to see what I did that made it all go wrong, since I have always believed, that since I am the common denominator in all the scenarios, I must have some kind of partial responsibility. Maybe if I tried more, maybe if I was less stressed during my pregnancy, maybe if I was nicer, smarter, quieter....enough maybe's to haunt you two lifetimes and back again.<br />
<br />
But today, today as I sat and drove and listed to The Scientist, I was bewildered. I did not cry. I did not even make an attempt to tear up. Nothing, zilch, nada. I realized I was so over so many things. Over the drama with Vader and Vietnam, over Autism and all the crap it carries along, over relationships that don't have a point being remembered, unless it is to give you a swift kick in the ass so you don't forget your errors. I was over it. I was over it for today.<br />
<br />
That doesn't mean that all will be well; that my relationship with Vader will be mended, or that all will be peachy with the kid; doesn't mean I will be happy-go-lucky everyday on my way to work. It just means...that as they come, I will deal and when I'm done dealing, on to the next....no hanging around for second blows or being masochistic and rewinding every single event to pinpoint my faults. <br />
<br />
It would be so easy to "just go back to the start"....but "no body said it was easy"....and I'm done with the instant replays...what's done is done...and I'm feeling so much more like "Paradise" right about now....<br />
<br />
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EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-48536587059338573492013-01-20T22:18:00.000-04:002013-01-20T22:39:02.728-04:00Braving the Cold Weather<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"It's cold out there" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had not heard a more accurate or real as hell phrase that so bravely and so boldly expressed in a nutshell what the dating world is...or relationships in general.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is a cold, cold world as Gza would say.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dating is hard. Dating with a kid is harder. Wanting to date, is a whole 'nother story.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am single, by choice. I don't mean that in a cocky manner. It's not like I have a line outside my door of suitors wanting to date me (though I should, cause I am awesome)....all jokes aside...I have had my share of experiences in the dating world and have found some interesting, good people. Just not interesting, good people for me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Truth is, I still cannot come to terms with giving up control.
But even as I sit and type this and even if I say in millions of conversations that all is swell and that I love my liberty...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I realized this past New Year's Eve, that I got cold, I got the chills.
As the clock struck twelve and my lil' brother kissed his wife, I couldn't help but feel a bit cheated. I bit like, has this world gone mad? My little brother has a relationship. And I by choice, have decided to stay on the sidelines. I scrambled as far away as I could, in a room, and couldn't help fight a couple of tears as Empress called and told me "it will be better".
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I am at this crossroad. Do I want it to be better? Do I wanna take the chance? Can I bare exposing myself and risk becoming one of THOSE people I loathe at times? The ones who talk all giddy about their other half and seem, at times, like conjoined twins.
I did that and in retrospective realized I had lost myself; and am back on the road to recovery. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, yes, it does get cold out there. Yes, there are times I might feel like maybe I'm missing out and that I am walking a very thin line to becoming the crazy cat lady but then again, maybe I won't. Maybe there is a happily every after, with a conjoined twin...or not... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Either way, I brought my sweater, if it gets chilly, I'm ready. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Always ready.
</span>EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-76930395217404147482013-01-17T20:54:00.001-04:002013-01-17T20:54:38.490-04:00The new blackIt has been a long ass time. Too long to be quite exact. Funny how when we get involved with other beings we forget the things we most loved to do. In my case, write.
A little older, a lot more wise and supremely more kick ass...Mary is back. So bare with me while I get this all updated and up and going once more....
Back is the new black.
Fresh is the new 2013.EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-37674425457019021432009-04-07T15:15:00.000-04:002009-04-07T15:15:44.681-04:00Surf's Up!!!April is Autism Awareness Month.<br />
<br />
For all those who don't know, Autism has been a major part of my life since August of 2004, when my only kid was diagnosed.<br />
<br />
Since then I joined <a href="http://www.alianzaautismo.org/">Alianza de Autismo de Puerto Rico</a> and been trying to spread some education of this devastating condition that affects 1 out of 150 births.<br />
<br />
This weekend we had a very, very, VERY special event.<br />
<br />
We had our first Surf Camp with <a href="http://www.surfershealing.org/">Sufer's Healing</a><br />
<br />
I cannot tell you how special this event was.<br />
<br />
This organization along with local surfers from the Puerto Rican Federal Sufers Organization.<br />
<br />
They took our kids, deep, really deep and had them catching waves all day long...<br />
<br />
My boss lent me her surf house and we had an awesome weekend.<br />
<br />
I have to admit that I almost cried when I saw Miss C on the board. Miss C conquering the waves, conquering her fears...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcDapmg-HXpyJojeq2FzvI8mlOzaAPR-16VsQGA9YrEixJlf75lnNJ0qfJhCz-8RiVOKaCH3LwW8pAhwXwa-DG8ghi2YbUei_2bkyb4jThvxoKfpq3e1-v3wNmR-h6hsID9vjz/s1600-h/comp2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcDapmg-HXpyJojeq2FzvI8mlOzaAPR-16VsQGA9YrEixJlf75lnNJ0qfJhCz-8RiVOKaCH3LwW8pAhwXwa-DG8ghi2YbUei_2bkyb4jThvxoKfpq3e1-v3wNmR-h6hsID9vjz/s320/comp2.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">in the future, she will know all the other things she has conquered!!!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tBFY_7yuZZAQoEV27uMlz6oTP2tQLzChCOQfzLtLVew02GcvD19AidHIhfxpZfQCbO4d2w9VrxWTBPuTMV72vQsaIvOi-caV_Q4JnAR2vmc8EIP7EdDi_DClUgutDG49BNuw/s1600-h/compsurf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tBFY_7yuZZAQoEV27uMlz6oTP2tQLzChCOQfzLtLVew02GcvD19AidHIhfxpZfQCbO4d2w9VrxWTBPuTMV72vQsaIvOi-caV_Q4JnAR2vmc8EIP7EdDi_DClUgutDG49BNuw/s320/compsurf.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><br />
<object width="576" height="432" ><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://www.facebook.com/v/75029262154" /><embed src="http://www.facebook.com/v/75029262154" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="576" height="432"></embed></object>EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-31061613856961867932009-03-12T11:29:00.000-04:002009-03-12T11:29:04.815-04:00Out of the mouth of Miss C<i>"Woooohoooo....on Thursday the 12th I'm on vacation".</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"Vacation?? I didn't see a note in your notebook"</i><br />
<br />
<i>"Moooom",</i> she then rolls her eyes in display of her lack of patient with me...<i>"it's godmom's birthday, there is no school and no work. It's a national holiday".</i><br />
<br />
<i>"You wish and so does your God Mom, the only lucky bastard for life is your uncle who was born on Veteran's Day, you have school tomorrow".</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"Awww man...I've failed again"</i>, she answered<br />
<br />
<i>"But hey, can I ask you a question? Is my birthday a Holiday?</i>", I stupidly ask.<br />
<br />
She pauses and thinks too much for my taste.<br />
<br />
<i>"No, your's is on a Saturday".</i><br />
<br />
That's what I get after 9 months in waiting and a having a child ripped out of my midsection: an announcement that the day I was born ain't so special in her books.<br />
<br />
Ain't kids grand?EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-75568305934708530992009-02-23T12:07:00.001-04:002009-02-23T19:24:20.721-04:00Common DenominatorHave I ever told ya' the one about how relationships are complicated? and mind you I said "relationships" and not "love", because technically "Love" is easy. Just like Hate. It's there. It happens. <br />
<br />
But relationships, in all the different genres are complicated and at times, nasty, hard, hurtful and harder to maintain than a salt watered fish tank.<br />
<br />
Miss C obviously has a problem with relationships as well. Especially daugther-mother ones, where the mother figure is in charge. She seemingly believes it's rubbish and thinks that telling me to shut up in front of a crowd of people is terrifically swell. That is, until I find it terrifically well to take her outside and giver her a piece of my mind.<br />
<br />
Yeah, because it's complicated.<br />
Then she drives off in the night with her Dad, my X, who is here on an emergency trip and I'm left alone in bed. Missing her.<br />
<br />
Did I mention complicated?<br />
<br />
Vader is another complicated subject. I love her. See that was simple to state, but it's complicated tip toeing around her wrong doings and not wanting to shake her a little when she doesn't pick up her phone (cause she's out frolikcing) yet has the balls to write me up on my parenting skills.<br />
<br />
Vietnam has gotten better. We no longer throw things at each other. Just the other days I felt even, dare I say, "special" when he invited me to NYC next week, offering to pay my ticket. Only to later find out he offered a ticket to Vader, my brother and probably the Mail Man; anyone capable of driving and taking him sightseeing.<br />
<br />
And then there is your significant other or as we say here is Puerto Rico, your "media naranja" (half orange), the person who you probably love the most and yet want to push down a short flight of stairs every so often. Just because. I guess that's why they call them "oranges"...insert squeezing the juice of them joke right here___.<br />
<br />
<br />
It's the little things that annoy you (me), the little things that sometimes get in the way of the big nice things. It's the ever so dreadful time consuming dwarf that only allows you half a day to spend with this significant other and since sometimes you spend the 90% of that day bickering you can't wait till it's Monday again.<br />
<br />
I see those relationships, all kind of relationships, that look so happy, so joyful and I can't help but wonder what's behind closed doors. Because they can't all be so happy now can they? I see my bro and V kissing and then 5 seconds later pushing each other off their seats because my brother cheated during our card matches on Fridays and saw her cards and I remain still not undertanding the dynamics of what makes a relationship work. <br />
<br />
And I lay there in my empty bed or sit at my lonely desk or look at my silent phone and wonder, since I am the common denominator of all these relationships:<br />
<br />
Am I the problem?<br />
<br />
But I can't be now can I...I mean, I love shoes, I love puppies, I love people and I use reusable grocery bags.<br />
<br />
How can I be the problem...??<br />
And the face...just look at the face!!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0d0v7MBTwE3RMqPu-1gz4wk5B2I456fVIdwXei46xbkByHWX69s7OfaL00rdHfukRJ3wow8kk7KwnPBBhAq8i2IFDXOAMI7syYfRRuyWdBXjJ1ZhgKxKTV1unI0fsyIevxgXQ/s1600-h/navidad+238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0d0v7MBTwE3RMqPu-1gz4wk5B2I456fVIdwXei46xbkByHWX69s7OfaL00rdHfukRJ3wow8kk7KwnPBBhAq8i2IFDXOAMI7syYfRRuyWdBXjJ1ZhgKxKTV1unI0fsyIevxgXQ/s320/navidad+238.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">How can <i>I </i>be the problem??? </div>EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-35861487210070090672009-02-10T13:47:00.006-04:002009-02-11T11:44:12.373-04:00Awarding good behaviorSo we've been working on this new behavioral modification program for Miss C. Seems like she is quite the terror at school and once again all school officials are "worried", translate that into: "they don't wanna bust their asses".<br /><br />So, me and the kid made an extra deal aside from the ones at school. I promised her that if she were good everyday, I'd give her a treat. The treat could vary from a simple toy or different coupons to redeem for different things, like for example: bedtime an hour later then the usual 8pm, pizza for breakfast, home movie nights, or 1 hour of quality mommy and me time to do whatever she pleases.<br /><br />Well, I didn't know what I was getting into. The first day last week, she was excellent and what did I give the kid: One hour of Mommy time.<br /><br />What did the kid wanna do?<br /><br />Play with her Little Pet Shop figurines, FOR A FULL HOUR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwGxV1zCa7Vax0vaohoJUImXL1B_JQCD5WO71vjQ1NzZh7ZzpgpnYfe_IV4UlkK9RLndl4Yf2w2fj8' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />I have definitely got "Openmouthclosefoot Syndrome".<br /><br />Definitely.EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-38925504905511760392009-02-03T10:43:00.001-04:002009-02-03T10:45:39.663-04:00My FamilyMiss C had her first oral report last Friday. She had to talk about her family, the people she lives with. Just us two. The shortest oral report in 1st grade history. <br />
<br />
Near the end of the video I scold her since she starts picking up a wicked spanish accent when she is in fact, and let me pat my back here, accent free. Go figure.<br />
<br />
<embed width="448" height="361" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" src="http://i62.photobucket.com/player.swf?file=http://vid62.photobucket.com/albums/h96/enix_r/navidad231.flv">EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-3847467746922270472009-01-30T11:25:00.011-04:002009-01-30T11:44:24.914-04:00As Seen on TVMiss C is officially hooked on infomercials.<br />
<br />
After getting some Blendipens and Bendaroos for Christmas, for which I had to take up a Master's in Engineering to figure out, she is convinced that these are life changing items.<br />
<br />
If by life changing you mean the guy from the Shamwow looks like Gollum and that can be a life changing experience, since you don't wanna purchase towels from a goblin who was obsessed with a ring..<br />
<br />
Yeah, I guess.<br />
<br />
She insists I get the Spacebags and is totally convinced that all I need in my life right now is a Snuggie.<br />
<br />
Because you know, reading and balancing an oh-so slippery blanket is a tricky task. Especially if you have just showered in olive oil. <br />
<br />
The Snuggies are my favorite. You know, the people who go out to the sports games looking like monks or people in line waiting to get their degree.<br />
<br />
It's inspiring.<br />
<br />
No more cold feet for me...no more complicated socks or pants for the cold. <br />
<br />
A Snuggie is just the option, especially if that nasty remote control always gets in your way.<br />
<br />
What Miss C especially loves is the "Wait there is more".<br />
<br />
I mean, who doesn't? Who doesn't love a free bargain, an extra, a bonus?<br />
<br />
"Miss C's mom, her therapies are all set...but wait there is more...you won't have to come into this office to file a complaint EVER again".<br />
<br />
Now, that's a bargain.<br />
<br />
Miss C somehow thinks that the free reading light that comes with the Snuggies is just right for me.<br />
<br />
"Momma, so you can see better, don't ya think?"<br />
<br />
Honey, I just spent $400 on a pair of glasses, I think the whole "seeing better" issue is resolved.<br />
<br />
But I admire her hope, her innocence, and her ability to believe in anything and in anyone. That hope and lack of doubt that glows from her insides. Even when she screams that we should get that scissor that cuts pennies in half and I try miserably to explain we are in no condition to due such atrocious thing.<br />
<br />
We need all the Lincoln's we can get...especially if we want that new Slider Station from Billy Mays....EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-86606338510607324952009-01-26T09:44:00.002-04:002009-01-26T09:45:06.474-04:00Things that make ya go humI just saw a convertible BMW with it's top down.<br /><br />The license plates were from out of town.<br /><br />Anchorage, Alaska to be exact.<br /><br />A convertible from Alaska.<br /><br />?EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-66973379235299760762009-01-22T10:21:00.000-04:002009-01-22T10:23:21.145-04:00Malibu KenCall me a little delusional, but I think there is a father at school who is checking me out.<br />
<br />
One of those midlife fathers, who drives a sports car and always drives up just as the bell rings and I’m exiting out of the gate.<br />
<br />
Let me just add: <i>Ewwww</i><br />
<br />
He’s one of those dad’s who had dedicated the later part of his life to make sure his torso is bigger than his head and that he won’t be able to put his arms side by side because of the size of his “guns”. He also has a punk haircut with blonde frosted tips.<br />
<br />
Adding again: <i>Double Eww</i><br />
<br />
He eyeballs me as soon as he sees me and gives me his best: <i>“I could rock your world baby smile”.</i><br />
<br />
I try not to attack him with some <i><b>Ms Clairol number #2 in dark adult male black.</b></i><br />
<br />
I wanna scream out to him <i>“What part of me screams out mid life crisis lover?”</i><br />
<br />
So I try to zoom by as fast as I can and try to get in my car to put a abrupt end to his eagle eye.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I just wish he were staring because I have some odd stain on my blouse, but is it not the case.<br />
<br />
I mean, don’t get me wrong, a small particle of me or of any woman would feel slightly flattered that out of all the mom’s there, because let me tell ya, it looks like a fashion show in the mornings at that there school, someone puts an eye on ya…kinda feels nice.<br />
<br />
I said <i>“Kinda”</i>.<br />
<br />
Cause I’m not interested. He looks like Malibu Ken and we all know that poor Ken is anatomically incorrect.<i><b> Very incorrect indeed</b></i>.EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-87853903884277553572009-01-21T10:48:00.001-04:002009-01-22T09:36:56.700-04:00The "Professionals"So we've been having trouble with Miss C. School troubles.<br /><br />After a month without school or therapy structure, she obviously was a tad haywire the first few days of school. Screaming, kicking, crying, begging for her mom. <br /><br />After the third day back, her teacher called.<br /><br />When she calls, it's not good.<br />She can never call to give good news, it's always <i>"Um..hello Miss C's mom...she just stabbed a child in the cafeteria, but don't get too worried".</i><br /><br />Or something like that.<br /><br />So there she was calling. Miss C was upset, I could hear her screaming.<br /><br />The teacher went on about how worried she is for her well being and then hit me with this:<br /><br /><i>"Is there anything going on in the home that we should know about? Anything wrong?"</i><br /><b><br />WHATKINDOFHELLOFAQUESTIONISTHAT<br /></b><br /><i>"No. We are a happy little routine family. Me and the kid, no one else, nothing else, why would there something wrong in MY neck of the woods".</i><br /><br />She stammered.<br /><br /><i>"Well, because it is not normal for Miss to have this behavior this far along in the school year, we had already gotten a hold of her behavior."</i><br /><br /><i>"Well, let's recap, shall we. Her main problem is her obsessive hold on routine. Her need to have everything planned out for her. Her need of control, of the same thing everyday. They had school vacations for about a month and half, with toys, no teachers, no schoolwork, Miss C had major mommy time and now she's back to school, on a Tuesday, no less, thrust back into school, into the peer pressure to be good, to be "normal" and you people ask me what is wrong in <b>MY </b>house?? You can't expect her to fit in right away. Your goals are way to unrealistic and then you call me every five mintues while I'm at work, with a screaming child in the background and expect me to DO something. You people are the professionals and you've had her since August and still can't manage her. Then you have to rethink your strategies."</i><br /><br />What I got from her was silence.<br /><br />She apologized and hung up.<br /><br />The kid came home and was punished with no TV. It hurt like hell. She cried. She apologized and I told her that apologizing wasn't enough.<br /><br />"<i>But momma, I don't know any other word to tell you it was my fault".</i><br /><br />I had to hug her. Because kid, deep down, I feel that we are the ones that have to adjust to you and not vice versa. <br /><br />If I only had a magic wand.EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-13354042361751346542008-12-30T08:55:00.005-04:002008-12-30T11:11:34.529-04:00Holidays GaloreSo, the fat man who takes all the credit is gone. Only 20 more Holidays to go....<br /><br />Ok. Not 20 but close to 10 more....<br /><br />Christmas went by without any major glitches, just a child who kept screaming at the top of her lungs that Santa has forgotten a present or two or three...I kindly explained that he had left some of her list for 3 Kings Day, but she wasn't having it...<br /><br />I ignored her for most of the afternoon, because that's what I do best.<br /><br />She woke up at 7am on Christmas morning, wanting to open presents and me wanting a bed, a big bed.<br /><br />I ended up playing V-Motion with her till about 9am and making swans with her new Bendaroos. She gets the toys and instructs us to play. Ain't she dear?<br /><br />I spent Christmas at my house with my family and friends and Kamila....it was swell.<br /><br />Christmas Eve was spent trying to avoid the rain, with a scarf over my head, speaking like a Columbian Gyspy reading "tarot cards" to family members.<br /><br />I had never seen my aunt cry so much.<br /><br />The next day, EVERYONE wanted a 'reading'.<br /><br />I might have a part time in the psychic industry after all....<br /><br />Miss C got a bike, she loves it, but hates to ride it, she commands that I push her every 5 minutes...<br /><br />I hate the bike.<br />It wears me out.<br /><br />She only rides it for 5 mintues at a time.<br /><br />True says I need a bike.<br /><br />I say bikes are the creation of the devil.<br /><br />I may be right.<br /><br />I've spent the rest of the days taking Miss C out, enjoying the time off and trying to get some sleep...all in all...it has been good.<br /><br />Santa even got me a new camera...so my old one has been put to rest.<br /><br />and the new one has already been put to good use...enjoy!<br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="visibility:visible;"><object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://widget-27.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" height="320" width="426" style="width:426px;height:320px"><param name="movie" value="http://widget-27.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" /><param name="quality" value="high" /><param name="scale" value="noscale" /><param name="salign" value="l" /><param name="wmode" value="transparent"/> <param name="flashvars" value="cy=ms&il=1&channel=72057594050289959&site=widget-27.slide.com"/></object><p style="white-space:nowrap"><a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=ms&at=un&id=72057594050289959&map=1" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-27.slide.com/p1/72057594050289959/ms_t000_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide1.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=ms&at=un&id=72057594050289959&map=2" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-27.slide.com/p2/72057594050289959/ms_t000_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide2.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=ms&at=un&id=72057594050289959&map=F" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-27.slide.com/p4/72057594050289959/ms_t000_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide42.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a></p></p>EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21713477.post-16547969780612897492008-12-23T13:07:00.000-04:002008-12-23T13:33:39.556-04:00Happy Holidays....The plans are already set. The dates are almost completely plotted out and the menu is read’ to go. Nothing extraordinary. I mean, besides the extraordinary people who will be with me. The longest Holidays in the world (we finish about the second weekend in January) with the people I love and hate. Bro, his girl, True, my aunt, Vader, Miss C, Empress and mini Empress Kamilia. I pitty the fool male in our presence.<br />
<br />
Card games await, “briscas” (Spanish cards), UNO,<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coquito">coquito</a>, and jokes (I’m already looking some up) and of course a little girl who will say:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwgUYHzGl3bM2xymMlKTo-cY59ZyhXCDOShDJ1AOyFNJ7d2uNumjsF4KRK4AhzeNwBKGfTT8CkwtCyuFx6EGArn0sh-MIL8jse9X27B_U1YJybKEr2K6sj2CdRiGT1BeXblqs2/s1600-h/enix+133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwgUYHzGl3bM2xymMlKTo-cY59ZyhXCDOShDJ1AOyFNJ7d2uNumjsF4KRK4AhzeNwBKGfTT8CkwtCyuFx6EGArn0sh-MIL8jse9X27B_U1YJybKEr2K6sj2CdRiGT1BeXblqs2/s320/enix+133.jpg" /></a></div><i>“You people seem like you are fighting. You talk too loud”.</i><br />
<br />
Honey, we are Nieves (our last name), we were born with a Bose system inside the box of our lungs.<br />
<br />
The presents are under the tree with no name tags because Miss C has acquired the Skull of Reading. So, bro, if you by any chance get Vader’s underwear by mistake, please do not try on, since I cannot return anything due to hygienic reasons.<br />
<br />
Las night I watched my daughter in her first Christmas (I say “first” because it is the first where she experiments the Holidays in all their splendor), as she prepared gifts made by her little hands for everyone, gifts such as geometric figures cut out of colored paper and toys she is donating. I watched as she wrapped with such care and placed tags on every gift. I saw her illusion, that magic, that enormous heart, thinking about everyone, so everyone can be “happy”.<br />
<br />
I thought that for the first time, Christmas will be celebrated at my house, with the people I most love, cherish and admire. We will celebrate in health, with a roof over our heads and delicious food. I thought about those ugly shorts my mom got me one Christmas because there wasn’t money for anything else. I thought about my destroyed illusion. I thought about my reborn illusion by a maternal love that covers everything, supports everything and heals everything. I thought about Vader’s words as she saw me parading about with my new Zune this week:<br />
<br />
“I’m so glad you got that. I wanted to buy you one, but I didn’t have enough money”.<br />
<br />
That gesture was enough and I almost forgot about those hideous shorts that I wore on that Christmas day so she wouldn’t feel so bad.<br />
<br />
I thought about all the things I wish I could buy everyone; all the spectacular gifts in those catalogs across stores everywhere; all the gifts that not even my five pockets could afford to buy. I thought about all those gifts direct from the heart that we bought this year; all those handmade gifts, made by people dedicated to their art, craft, and their talent. I thought about all the glue I still have underneath my fingernails from all that gluing colored pipe cleaners and felt to our gifts for wrapping.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I thought of those who have nothing and my heart shrunk a bit. I thought of He who has given us all, and gave thanks.<br />
<br />
Thanks for the Coquito, the presents, that superkickassspectacular dress I bought that fit and didn’t make me suicidal, my mom, my best friend, my family, my new niece and my daughter and her Christmas Illusion on her First Christmas.<br />
<br />
And I asked God to direction to remain equally grateful and be able to see those small details of love towards us, every single day and asked for the ability to keep giving and loving and appreciating all that He has given us…and before I ended my prayer, I asked for one more thing…<br />
<br />
I asked to keep giving us that winning streak we have at cards over my brother the ex-card champion…<br />
<br />
Because winning feels good…and that’s all I want for Christmas.<br />
<br />
Happy Holidays to all, pass the keys and put aside your differences and give the best of yourselves to He who gave the best to us…<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Mary P. & Miss C.EdotRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15594269107573649919noreply@blogger.com