I want my daughters to enjoy their childhood. My goal as a parent is simple; to love my children so unconditionally that they believe that they can do anything they set their minds to because I will always love and support them. My wish is that one-day they look back on their childhood with no regrets. Sounds crazy, right? I don’t want perfection, I just want them to be happy and feel free to be their best selves.
Childhood is for believing anything is possible, for unwavering faith in oneself and in the possibilities.
Childhood is for bravery and new experiences without judgment or prejudice. Childhood is such a fleeting moment in our lives but an absolute profound part of the person we will become. I want childhood to be limitless for my girls. I want them to play and soak up every single moment of wonder and happiness that can only occur in these years.
I won’t even tell you the lie that I let my children free-range. I’m not a chicken and they are not eggs. I also don’t want to have a heart attack wondering if my children are safe but I don’t want them to be afraid of the world. I want them to be up for challenges and, in all honesty, I don’t want them to be afraid of anything. I want them to make informed decisions but not be afraid to live because if you waste your life worrying, you miss out on all the beautiful, exciting, unexpected experiences that make life rich and decadent.
I want them to experience catching fireflies on warm summer nights, squealing with delight as they zip line through the world of wonder beneath our oak trees in the backyard. I want hours spent lying in the grass reading books in their teepee, as they are transported worlds away through words and their limitless imaginations. I want Saturday mornings together watching cartoons and laughing while trying our best not to shoot Frosted Flakes out of our noses.
That’s what childhood is all about.
I want made up songs and pretend fairies. I want them to have all the magic they deserve. I want them to linger outside under the stars, listening to stories by the crackling campfire. I want sunrises on the ocean and long talks beneath the majestic Blue Moon.
I want howling at the moon, fireworks and swinging so high that you scare yourself and swimming and cannonballing until you’re too tired to breathe and I want to be right there with them enjoying it all, giving them just enough room to do it on their own but always in my line of sight…even when they don’t realize I’m watching.
Childhood is for making memories and becoming who you want to be and I want my girls to look back one day and say, life is beautiful because when I was little my parents encouraged me to aim for the stars and when I couldn’t reach, they lifted me up on their shoulders just enough to touch my dreams.
It’s not impossible. Children want our attention and our love and that’s all. This summer I have made it my mission to unplug as much as possible and just play with my kids; listen to my kids and give them my undivided attention. I’ve learned so much because I’ve finally shut out the world and paid attention to what’s most important. I’ve spent the summer playing with my girls outside on the best children’s outdoor playhouse and traveling and exploring with my family. It’s been our best summer yet.
How are you filling your child’s memories with happiness?
Disclosure: This is a compensated post written for Frosted Flakes but all opinions on the magic of childhood are my own.
Do you like surprises? Me, neither. Unless it’s, here’s a bag filled with a million dollars sort of surprise. Still, I got a big one this Mother’s Day. My baby girl became a woman.On.Mothers.Day. If that isn’t putting a fine point on it all, I don’t know what is. I thought we had some time. She’s only 11, well, nearly 12. In a week, she will be 12-years-old. But if I’d been in any sort of denial about my baby growing up, welp, that’s all been slapped right out of my mind.
Mother’s Day wasn’t what I expected this year on any account. Normally, I relax and spend the day focused on myself, alone. It has been heavenly and indulgent and wonderful for my entire tenure as a mother because my husband is awesome. He gets me. He really does.
This year was different because mortality decided it wanted to pay me an unexpected visit just to remind me that I am not actually invincible. I am human. I err. I can die at any moment. We all can.
While I’ve been secretly patting myself on the back because I don’t feel like I’ve had a “midlife crisis” like some others who have told me they are in the throes of one, I got too damn big for my britches, as my southern mama would say. While I was busy not obsessing over my looks, rejecting bread like it was syphilis and trying to fight mother nature my body played a nasty trick on me. While I was being “cool” and “aging gracefully” my body had other plans.
Here I am with a health created, self-induced midlife crisis. Suddenly, the carefree, living in the skin I’m in, tired of being fat but not tired enough to do something about it woman is now, working out and eating like her life depends on it. I’m not fighting the hands of time but I’m trying to keep death at bay. I’m trying to reverse the damage a lifetime of abusing my body has inflicted.
So amidst all of this, on the bleakest of Mother’s Day, laying in bed feeling completely overwhelmed by my own inner monologue…living in this moment of the winter of my most discontent…an effing period snapped me out of it. My baby girl became a woman and put even a finer point on the fact that I’ve got work to do. My girls need me and there is no time for self-pity. Self-care yes. Self-reflection? Hell yeah. I need to be at my best because my girls need me for many more firsts.
She was a little scared. It’s new and it was her first. It was different than her sister, as they’ve always been. It was magical and scary for us both. But it was exciting too because it’s her first and she’s a young woman. This is the beginning of a lifetime of womanhood. We are all three of us women. We’re like a club or a coven or something but this binds us in an even deeper way. Then we went out to celebrate with Starbucks because in our house becoming a woman is cause for celebration.
My babies are growing up. One of them, quite literally, on Mother’s Day. The Big Guy and my girls have been my saviors in this life, more times than once. They give me reason and purpose and that is more than enough. The Big Guy saved me from myself when he came into my life. The girls rescued me from mediocrity. Having them has always made me want to do and be better. Because of them, I am becoming my best self.
How did you celebrate Mother’s Day? What do your children inspire you to do?
Have you ever suffered the loss of a pregnancy? Today is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day. I know October is National everything month but I would like you all to pause for just a moment today and remember all the mothers who lost their everything and children who never got to be held. We can’t forget the loss of a pregnancy is the loss of our child that would’ve been; it’s how to survive a miscarriage.
My story is not unique or special but my loss was life-changing for me. In that one moment, my life was altered for eternity. The loss of a pregnancy sounds so simple but I’ll spend the rest of my life learning how to survive a miscarriage. The statistics all say that it is common but it doesn’t feel statistically accurate. I can’t imagine how so many women are suffering so stoically, such a deep and profound sorrow. My heart was irreparably damaged and in its place, a gaping wound remains that can never be filled. It’s a kind of primal pain that is indescribable.
I don’t think that the loss of a pregnancy or infant is like anything else, we will ever experience in our lifetime and I can say for certain that it is nothing I would ever wish on even my worst enemy.
It’s like dying but still being alive. It’s having to carry on when you want to crawl into yourself and cease to exist. It’s survival at the most. It’s a vulnerability that, to this day, still brings me to my knees on occasion. The only thing worse that I can imagine is losing a living child who’ve you’ve spent years loving and knowing.
The worst part about the loss of a pregnancy or infant is what a single solitary loss it is. Surviving a miscarriage is like surviving the apocalypse and your entire family dying, do you even want to survive?
You will never feel so alone as you do when your womb is empty because you feel like your body failed you and no one feels it the way you do. Others know that you lost your pregnancy or your infant but in a few weeks or months, they can forget it if they choose and carry on. And they usually do and you are left feeling like a crazy person who misses terribly this tiny person we never met. You begin to question your sanity, especially when others look at you like “when is she ever going to get over this.” Worse, they actually are afforded the luxury of forgetting that it ever happened to you. Oh yes, they do and no I never will “get over it”.
Every May 1st (The day I survived my miscarriage) and November 24th (our child’s due date), I observe as days of remembrance. I feel the loss every single day but on those two days of the year, I allow myself to feel all of my feelings. Sometimes, I sob the entire day, sometimes I am numb and others, I am still and thankful that even for that short time, my baby was with me and for the two beautiful children that I do get to hold because there are those of us who never got to hold any of their children.
I am past the point of feeling raw or envious when friends tell me that they are pregnant. I am happy for them. In fact, I love seeing them get to experience that love and complete sense of purpose. I no longer ask “why me?” because there is no point. My little one has finally stopped asking for a sibling, and that has helped immensely. My guilt is beginning to alleviate some. My feeling of failure is slowly fading like an old photo.
I do however know how fragile and fleeting life is and that has made me a different kind of mother to my children. If I am being completely honest, I still don’t think that I could survive a loss of one of my girls. (That’s not a tempt fate, so please forget that I even thought that) but the pain nearly killed me and for a little while, it completely destroyed my sanity. It’s hard to be rational when you are a frightened, exposed nerve in the world. I am aware that I am a little more protective of my girls than maybe I should be but you have to understand, they are my everything.
I’ve been searching for something to immortalize the baby that I lost, to give me closure in a way. I feel like I need something to mark his existence, proof that he ever existed at all. That he was here. That the Big Guy and I loved him more than anything else in the world, just like we do our two girls. I know that nothing can fill that hole in my heart but I want people to know that I am the mother to 3 children. I was pregnant 3 times. It happened. I’m not crazy. I didn’t imagine it. I am not over it.
I’ve finally decided on a tattoo that I think is perfect. It’s a poem, one that I’ve quoted to my girls since they were babies. I am going to have it tattooed on my left-hand side rib cage, near my heart because that is where my children always are with me, in my heart, forever…even if you don’t see them or forget they exist. For me, they are always right there with me.
If you’ve ever experienced the loss of a pregnancy take today to feel your feelings.
Be kind to yourself. There is no right or wrong way to feel. There is no expiration date on loving a child. It doesn’t matter who else remembers or cares, you do.
We all have our wounds. They might not show on the outside but they are there. Be kind to one another and cherish every single moment with the people you love, especially the little people, because time is fleeting.
Miscarriage Reminder from Baby Center. Due to the holiday and a lot of moving and packing and general exhaustion in the 107 degree weather, I was a bit discombobulated and Throat Punch Thursday is a day late. Yesterday, as I was packing up our home for our final good-bye, Baby Center sent me a “Congratulations, you are at the half way mark in your pregnancy”… Only, I’m not because I miscarried May 1st at 10 weeks and 4 days. I know this because every 1st day of the month, I am stabbed in the chest with a little knife that reminds me that I am missing something followed by my shark week that starts a few days later just so the point is driven home that my womb is EMPTY. So fuck you very much Baby Center, I didn’t need the reminder of what could have been because I’ve never forgotten! I know I lost my pregnancy, I don’t need bells and whistles as a reminder.
I got a bill in the mail today and I can’t let it go. Believe me I believe in paying for services. I pay my bills. I always have but there are some things in life that should be free and the fact that people have to be charged for these things makes me feel indignant and stabbity.
Oh yeah, the outrageous bill that I just received is what I’m being charged for my D&E. This has me truly indignant. In my mind, I KNOW it’s a surgery and it saved me from infections and all sorts of other painful repercussions but it’s not fair. I can’t even believe they charge for this. I understand that there are charges involved. I understand that doctors need to be paid, surgeons, anesthesiologists, nurses, medication needs to be dispensed but fuck me. In my heart, I don’t understand. I want to stomp my feet, scream at the top of my lungs and say “HELL NO! WE WON’T PAY for MISCARRIAGES!! THIS IS BULLSHIT!”
No Charge for Miscarriage Please
Paying for an unwanted D&E (is there such a thing really as a “wanted” one?) after my miscarriage is as awful as charging parents for their child’s pediatric cancer treatment. It’s like charging to give someone a drink when they are dying of thirst in the dessert. It’s like charging to throw someone a life preserver when they are drowning. It is withholding the cure for cancer because someone cannot afford the cure. It is bullshit.
There are just some things in life that should be free and a D& E is one of those things. There’s nothing quite like billing a broken woman for her own misery. Talk about insult to injury! I want to punch the hospital billing department square in the gullet just for having the audacity to bill me for my miscarriage. If anything, I feel like someone owes me something, an explanation would be nice. Maybe insurance should make pregnancy lossone of those things they pay for in its entirety, like getting your teeth cleaned. I’d considered it well being, its something that had to be done to keep my sanity after the loss. Paying for a miscarriage feels like paying for my own hit. I want to scream and yell for it to stop. I don’t want to pay for something I never wanted. I wanted my baby. I never wanted the miscarriage or the D&E. At the very least, maybe there should be a 6-month grace period before a bill is sent to the victim patient.
I guess it’s all still too fresh for me because Baby Center, the outrageous bill that I have to pay for something I NEVER wanted and being told, “I Bet you wish you would have sold all those baby toys at the garage sell now, don’t you?” makes me what to throat punch the lot of them and so I am. Throat Punches to Baby Center, the billing offices and the other asshole who shall remain nameless for being completely insensitive and douche canoes.
Who would you Throat Punch today? I know, I am in a really bad mood with this one. Sorry if I sound like a complete loon but honestly, leave it to all this emotional shit to surface right on shark week. This would be one of those posts where I cringe and hit publish anyway. I know it’s not politically correct to talk about the cost of a miscarriage or to be irate at Baby Center for sending me a reminder to celebrate the biggest loss of my life but it’s how I’m feeling today and I love you all for listening.
I am being featured at Erin MargolinAnd Your TRUTH Shall Set you Free today telling you all about my writer roots. You may be shocked at what you learn about your Truthful Mommy. I share my truth, no holds barred. Hope you will read and comment and stick around and check out Erin’s site. She is a wonderful writer and you will be glad you did. Have a wonderful weekend. Enjoy the moments with your family because that is what counts and try not to melt in this ridiculous heat. I’ll try not to bitch slap the next person who reminds me of my miscarriage.
On the wall in my office, these words, “Doubt Kills More Dreams than Failure Ever Will,” are posted as a reminder. A reminder to not compare myself to others but to work my tail off to be my best self. I want to do better and be better as a human being; as a wife, mother, friend, sister, daughter and writer. First thing’s first, stay in my own lane and don’t even look to the other lanes.
Let’s talk about envy and competition. I hate both because it involves comparing myself against others which is unfair because we’re not the same. Competition takes life and turns it into an unending race rather than the journey that it’s meant to be. It’s exhausting and seldom enjoyable. It’s not the road I want to take.
How can we enjoy life when we’re constantly measuring ourselves against someone else. How can we compare our worst day to their best and ever feel like we’ve succeeded? How can we even have authentic relationships if comparison enters the picture? My whole life I’ve been pushing comparison to others to the side and trying to ignore it but still, it remains like a soft whisper reminding me of ways that I’m falling short.
I’ll be 1000% honest with you, I struggle with not using others as a measuring stick of my own success. It’s hard because I’m always striving for perfection and that doesn’t even exist so not only am I running this constant race but the finish line keeps moving. Did I mention that I hate running?
Envy steals rational thought
I have the privilege of surrounding myself with hardworking, overachievers and I’m so happy and proud of them. Their hard work is paying off. But sometimes, I find myself asking, “Why not me?” I know it’s petty and childish but it’s not something I deliberately do. I’m genuinely happy for their success and at the same time disappointed in myself. There I go comparing myself to them.
I don’t think any of this is luck. They are not lucky. In fact, if we’re being really honest with ourselves, we know why “other people” are living their best lives and seemingly always succeeding. They are tirelessly working to achieve their goals, they are pushing past the fears to make their dreams a reality and they are sacrificing. There is no such thing as luck, it’s hard work.
Maybe I’m succeeding by someone else’s standards but by my own, I’m treading water. I take full responsibility for this situation. I’m dead afraid of failure. I want to succeed but sometimes I’m so afraid of being exposed as an imposter that it’s easier to hide behind the status quo. I’m a control freak so when I fail the onus is directly on me.
I try to do everything myself. I have issues trusting others to complete tasks and I always find it easier in the short run to only depend on myself and that’s also a part of why I can’t achieve what I want to. No woman is an island. We all have different strengths. We need each other to succeed. I need to let go. I’m working on that. I’m trying to ask for help when I need it without worrying that I’ll be outed as an imposter.
When I find myself envying my friends, my brain says don’t compare yourself to others but something small inside me feels less than for a moment. I feel like I’ve failed myself. Worse, I feel like I’m not good enough because if I were I’d be the one getting chosen. Then, rational thought kicks in and I remember to stay in my lane. It’s a process.
Success is relative. If I were basing my success on my relationship with my girls and the Big Guy, I’m winning. If I’m basing it on my Instagram, I’m failing. If I’m basing it on my opportunities, it depends on the day of the week.
For now, I’m trying to follow my own advice and remember that I’m not you and you’re not me. Our definition of success is probably different, as are our priorities. I’m trying to learn to measure myself only against who I was yesterday compared to who I want to be tomorrow. I want to be the best me that I can be and I really am happy for you, even if for 1 split second I wonder why not me.
Do you ever struggle with feeling like an imposter? Do you ever experience envy? Do you ever find yourself asking, “Why not me?” You are not alone, we all have those moments. We’re only human. They key is not to dwell there. Don’t live there. You are better than that and so am I.
How do you move past your envy and remind yourself that doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will?
Last night, I dreamt about a baby. A tiny, baby boy who perched his little bobbling head atop my shoulder right in that perfect cradle made just for babies between my collar bone and my ear. Then his tiny head would wobble and bob and little lips would fall on my flesh like kisses from heaven.
I woke up this morning feeling happy with my visitation from the sweet baby boy in my dreams. Then, I realized that it’s November 24th and it wasn’t just any baby, it was our baby. The one who should be turning 4-years-old today. Instead of celebrating together, I’ll be choking down tears and turkey while he (that pregnancy just felt completely different than either pregnancy with my girls so I assume it was a boy), my sweet Declan Wayne (that would have been his name…in my heart it already was) will be missing from our table and our lives.
It’s been 4 years and I still can’t feel the loss any less. Only now, it seems my sadness is turning to bitterness and anger. It took 4 years but all I keep asking God is why? Why did you take my baby? Why must I survive this?
There are so many unwanted pregnancies and babies, so many children born into families where they are mistreated and unloved and all we wanted to do was love our baby. All I wanted to do was hold him in my arms, even just once. It wouldn’t have been enough but it would have given me closure. Instead, I live my life like an open wound that never closes; vulnerable to all of existence. I need some kind of closure, some tangible marking that you were here, so I am writing you this letter.
Dear Declan,
I wish you were here. More than anything in this world, I wish that I could hold you in my arms and feel your little heart beat against mine. I wish I could see your sisters love on you and fawn over you like big sisters do. I wish I could see the pride in your dad’s eyes when you two connected over something boys do. I wish there was a little Big Guy in the world.
I wish you were here to have booboos kissed and tears wiped. I wish you were here to smile lovingly at your sisters when they had a long day at ballet or a hard day at school. I wish you were here to make us smile and giggle as only little boys can do. I wish you were here for me to see grow up.
I wish you were here to love because you see each time I got pregnant, I fell deep in love and my heart grew to accommodate that enormous love. Only now, who am I supposed to give all that extra love to? You made me better before you were ever here.
I won’t talk about the day I lost you or how my entire world crashed down on me. I won’t talk about how all I wanted to do was be with you, to stay with you forever because if I do, I’ll start to cry. I’ll never forget you, my sweet boy, and you will always be in my heart. That’s where I carry you. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say it once more and every single day for the rest of my life, I wish you were here.
Forever yours, Mommy
I know it’s Thanksgiving and I am thankful for all that I have but it’s also what should have been the 4th birthday of the baby that I’ll never get to hold. So while I am thankful for all that I have, including those few short precious months of pregnancy with my third baby, I am still sad beyond belief that I will never get to celebrate his life with cake and ice cream surrounded by family and friends.
I will never see him play soccer or go to prom, get married and have children of his own and every November 24th, I will be just a little melancholy around the edges knowing that one child is missing from our table and from our life. I don’t think that sad emptiness ever goes away and to tell the truth, I’m not sure that I want it to because it is the one reminder that I have that he was ever here.
I have, literally, been trying to write this post since the day after the inauguration of Donald Trump but I can’t form my thoughts into coherent words because every day there is some new mind boggling executive order being passed down. What I do know is that we have to resist. We the people have to resist.We cannot go gently into that good night. The man is on the fast track to being a dictator the likes of Hitler, Pinochet, and Castro.
My mind has been having a hard time keeping up with everything going on during this first week of Trump’s presidency.My heart is heavy but my mind says resist. Resist the urge to lay down and curl up into the fetal position. Resist the natural response to drown in my own tears. Resist the wrong that is being inflicted. Stand up. Fight. Now. Use your voice.
I feel like we are all patiently awaiting the purge. Those who are complacent are part of the problem. Quietly disagreeing is no longer an option. We’ve gone way beyond that point. You must be prepared to stand up and speak out. You must be prepared to fight because your life is at stake. Your basic human rights are in jeopardy. This man is turning the United States into a sinking ship and we are all being held hostage aboard the S.S. Hate.
I am a woman. I am a Latina. I am the daughter of an immigrant. I am the mother of a new generation of Latinas. I do not have the option of being quiet and not fighting. I choose action, for my father, for my children, for myself and for you!
Women, United we Stand and Divided we Fall.
Ladies, what are you doing?We’re fighting with each other over who should march and who shouldn’t. And while we’re not paying attention, the government is slowly putting its hands on our uterus while Trump is single-handedly stripping us of our basic human rights. If you are a woman and this doesn’t scare you, you might want to get a dictionary and Google Women’s rights.
Resist the urge to turn on one another. This is the time for unification, not separation.
Marching was not just about the right to choose. It’s about the government telling women what to do with their bodies. How we reproduce. When we reproduce. How we feed our babies. How we deal with the loss of our babies. The punishment for not carrying a pregnancy to term for several reasons, including rape, incest, medical reasons and yes, even choice. It’s about men having domain over our bodies when we don’t give consent and even when we say no. It’s about women being treated like livestock and not humans. It’s about every single human being born with a vagina and a uterus.
Last week’s March was an amazing show of solidarity in a time of turmoil. The American women came out in powerhouse droves to stand up for their rights as human beings and their reproductive rights. Women across the world put everyone on notice that we are no longer going to stand silently by as the patriarchy treats us like second class citizens.
I’m still having a hard time understanding why our reproductive rights are a point of discussion at all. Why is it anyone’s business what we do with our bodies? How does my choice to do what I want with my body fall under government jurisdiction?
If men can justify this behavior and the right to have dominion over women’s bodies, why can’t we women make federal law on how men use their reproductive systems? What if we banned all the Viagra, imposed vasectomies on any man we saw unfit to reproduce and, just for shits and giggles, give every man a good lecturing about how he should not be masturbating because it is fornicating and that is a sin under God’s law? What if we made touching your balls without permission a sin punishable by jail time, just because?
You know what’s even more disgusting than men having their hands metaphorically in our uteruses, controlling how we use our own bodies? Women who mock the feminists, the marchers and the women fighting for equal rights for women. The ladies who stand on the sidelines and support a man who categorically believes you are a second class citizen.
You ladies are self-loathing pieces of shit and I wish there was a way that you could sign a petition to show your lack of support for women’s rights so that when we do get our rights fully and unequivocally, you can have yours taken away. Your body, your choice. You don’t want them. Hand them over. But, I’m not going to fight against you, my sisters, because I will fight for you and whether you know it or not, you deserve to be treated and paid and recognized as a full human.
I will resist my urge to abandon and mock you.
We have to stop fighting each other because our daughters are not equal to our sons, not in the eyes of the law. Not in pay. We are not the same as men. We are not equal. Sit with that for a moment, we.are.not.equal. Not under our government. We are second class, at best. Is that what you want for your daughters?
Equal rights for others does not mean less rights for you, It’s not pie.
Censorship of the United States
We are being censored to our death. Since before the election, people who have defended their choice to vote for Trump have always prefaced it with,
“I don’t think he is actually as racist/anti-woman/homophobic/xenophobic/anti-disabled/anti-poor as he pretends to be.”
Apparently, none of these people have ever heard of the saying, “when someone shows you who they are, believe them.” Actions speak louder than words and your vote said everything.
Now, we live in a world of censorship where randomly shutting down U.S. government social media accounts that tell a truth that contradict the alternative facts, ignoring the press when they ask hard questions, shutting the press out and eliminating the transparency of the presidency, “alternative facts” and straight up lies are all acceptable behavior by our leader.
We are beginning to get only the news Trump wants us to have. Where was the coverage of the protests the night before the inauguration? The coverage of the women marchers and the #NoBanNoWall protestors? Trump even brings along his own people to applaud when he gives these unbelievable speeches to fool us into thinking anything he says is worthy of applause. It’s a tactic used to deceive us into believing we are misunderstanding because surely there would not be applauding for something so outlandish as the complete deconstruction of our government.
The man is playing the shell game with the American people, in one hand he is signing outlandish orders and while we are protesting he is quietly slipping Bannon, a known white supremacist, into his cabinet. The man is filling his cabinet, one-by-one, with less and less qualified people.
Trump is turning the United States into a sinking ship that he nor none of his cabinet know how to drive and all the American people are stuck along for the ride. His entire cabinet is made up of billionaires who are not qualified for their positions and who are so out of touch with the average American that it is ridiculous to expect them to be able to relate. Pay attention people, this is your life we are talking about here.
Resist like your life depends on it because it probably does.
We’re not paying for the fucking wall.
A few years ago, when I had my miscarriage, I got a bill for a few thousand dollars to pay for what the hospital referred to as a “Missed abortion.” To say I was insulted and hurt would be the understatement of the year. It’s like someone murdering you and you going to jail. The miscarriage happened to me. It was bad enough that I had to pay for it like it was a new bag or I got new a new nose or something but then to call it a “missed abortion” that cut like a knife. That’s about how the Mexicans feel about paying for a wall to keep them out. Are you kidding me? No, they’re not paying for a wall that so clearly puts them on the receiving end of the biggest insult the U.S. government could issue against an ally.
My dad is an immigrant who has papers to legally be here. He’s lived here for almost 50 years. That’s longer than he lived in his native Mexico. He is now retired and currently in Mexico, as he goes there for the winter months. I don’t even know if he will be able to come back, at the rate Trump is throwing people out. What if his papers get revoked? This is a very real and legitimate concern of mine.
Trump enacted the Muslim ban. If you don’t see the problem with this, then there is something wrong with you. Our government is actively detaining people at the airports and sending people back. People who have lives, families, and jobs here simply because their skin is brown and maybe, they don’t worship like we do. Saying all Muslims are terrorists is the same as saying all Christians are members of the Westboro Baptist.
I’m a Christian. I am Catholic under a pope who does not condone this Muslim ban. You cannot call yourself a Christian and disobey the fundamental teaching of the church to love your brothers and sisters as you love yourself. So to ban Muslims under the guise of Christianity is simply dressing your hate up as religion and it is not possible. The two do not line up.
America is a country born on the back of immigrants. The whole premise of our country is that it is a place where people could come when fleeing religious persecution and unjust, tyrannical governments to pursue a better quality of life. This is why we are known as a melting pot. This is what makes America great but Trump doesn’t agree.
photo via Instagram @nicoalexa
Keeping people out of our country, turning children in need away, sending people seeking political amnesty from a tyrannical dictatorship goes against everything this country stands for. It is issuing a death sentence. It’s like locking people in a burning house. We are killing them.
Calling people rapists, drug lords and terrorists are doing nothing but villainizing the victims. Have we all forgotten what happened to the Jews during the Nazi reign? And it wasn’t just the Jews that Hitler destroyed.
Hitler put 6 million Polish people (Jewish and Christian) into his concentration camps, as well as people from Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Ukraine, Russia, Holland, France and even Germany. There were 11 million victims of the Holocaust. He targeted Jews, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Roma Gypsies, Courageous Resisters, Priests and Pastors, Homosexuals, people who were disabled, Black children and anyone in an interracial marriage. Does any of this sound familiar to what we are looking down the barrel at right now?
“First we need to examine Hitler’s egocentric and maniac ideology. Hitler, who was Chancellor of Germany during the Holocaust, came to power in 1933 when Germany was experiencing severe economic hardship. Hitler promised the Germans that he would bring them prosperity and that his military actions would restore Germany to a position of power in Europe.
Hitler had a vision of a Master Race of Aryans that would control Europe. He used very powerful propaganda techniques to convince not only the German people, but countless others, that if they eliminated the people who stood in their way and the degenerates and racially inferior, they – the great Germans would prosper.
Neighboring Poland – The First Target: “All Poles will disappear from the world…. It is essential that the great German people should consider it as its major task to destroy all Poles.” Heinrich Himmler
Hitler’s first target was Germany’s closest neighbor to the east, Poland. An agricultural country with little military power. Hitler attacked Poland from three directions on September 1, 1939 and in just over one month, Poland surrendered — unable to defend itself against the powerful German prowess.
In Poland, Hitler saw an agricultural land in close proximity to Germany, populated by modest but strong and healthy farmers. Hitler quickly took control of Poland by specifically wiping out the Polish leading class — the Intelligentsia. During the next few years, millions of other Polish citizens were rounded up and either placed in slave labor for German farmers and factories or taken to concentration camps where many were either starved and worked to death or used for scientific experiments.”
Edmund Burke once said, “Those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it.”
Please know your history or you will fall victim to it. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to be a part of a history that destroys our country under a government that cares nothing for us but for what we can do for it.
I will not stand idly by as my rights are stripped away one by one. I am a human being and so are you and we have to stick together to fight against what is sure to be history repeating itself. It’s already begun. It’s been a week. What do you think this will all look like in the history books in after 4 years? Viva La Resistance!
It’s time to mobilize. Get into formation ladies, gentleman, children, homosexuals, Muslims, Latinos, Disabled people and the poor and disenfranchised. Time to protect our freedoms and our human rights and dignity.
Give us your tired, your poor and your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
When the Big Guy and I met, we were in college. We, literally, had nothing to offer one another but ourselves. We were young, babies really; at the funny age where you look like an adult but you just don’t have the wisdom and experience in life to be a real grown up.
Ours was not a typical love story. We met, neither of us wanting or expecting anything out of the meeting, and somewhere between being completely unimpressed and a long walk home on a random autumn Monday night, we fell head over heels and we didn’t even know it. All we knew is that we craved the other’s company like air and before we knew it, being together was as natural as breathing.
It was easy, passionate and deep like most things in life tend to be in your early twenties. It was like coming home to the one place you were always meant to be, someplace that belonged to just the two of you.
There was no pretense of forethought in our relationship, we were completely ourselves and that was more than enough. Soon, he was my best friend and I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else. When I say soon, I am not exaggerating. He proposed to me after dating for just under four months.
The impetuousness of our youth was what made the impossible possible. If we had been older, less trusting or worldlier we would have never jumped so blindly into the biggest decision of our lives. We would have over thought it. We would have waited. None of it made sense. It wasn’t love at first sight but from the first night that we spent talking, I knew he was someone that I wanted to get to know; someone worth knowing. Then, somewhere between physical lust and eternal devotion, we found unconditional love.
In those days, we were as happy sharing a bowl of Frosted Flakes on his futon as we were eating a five course meal at a five star restaurant. We were as happy camping out under the stars as we were staying in a chic diamond hotel in a booming metropolis. It’s never been about what we’re doing or where we’re doing, it’s always been about who we’re with. All we’ve ever needed to be happy is one another’s company and sincere conversation.
Though life has changed drastically these days and we no longer live in a tiny one bedroom apartment all we still need to be happy is one another. These days there are children deadlines, boards, travel and a million other responsibilities in our lives but at the heart of it all, we are still those two college kids sitting on the futon falling head over heels in love over a bowl of Frosted Flakes.
Disclosure: This is a compensated post written for Frosted Flakes but all opinions are my own.
I drove the long trip home with the test, it seemed like hours; it was only 20 minutes. Next to me, on the passenger side of the car, sat a tiny plastic bag that held a small pink box, that held the key to my future. I felt slightly nauseous and filled with trepidation, exhausted and scared. This wasn’t what I had planned. This would be a life changing surprise but one that I think I knew the answer to before it was even asked. He knew the answer. He had a feeling. I think I knew, I was just afraid to say it out loud. If I say it out loud, it will be real. I drive in my denial of silence a bit longer but this is all speculation. This tiny little box with a tiny little test could change my life forever.
My mouth was dry, it was impossible to swallow.The car was so quiet I could hear the road meeting the tires and the wind as it hit the car. I could hear the line in my forehead furrowing as I drove in deep thought. I could barely remember to breathe. I drove in solitude, completely alone. Just me. Inside my head. Alone. Well, maybe not completely alone but that was the million dollar question that the stick in the tiny little pink box was going to answer. I could hear the blood rushing to my head at a dizzying rate. I inhaled deeply. I was driving but I wasn’t seeing anything. I was on autopilot. I was exhilarated. I was terrified. This must be what it feels like when you get everything you ever wanted and didn’t realize it.
The Test
Breathe, Debi. This may not have been planned exactly but you can’t really be shocked. After all, you are a grown woman. You know how the works. You’ve had the talk…decades ago. Breathe! You may be surprised but you know how and when this happened. You made a choice. You both did.
I pull into the driveway and, as if in slow motion, I make my way into the house alone. I walk to the bathroom, remove the tiny stick from the pink box and follow the instructions. I hold my breath and I wait for my life to change and then I took three more tests, just to be sure. The first test that truly changed my life was the positive pregnancy test with my first daughter. How did you feel the first time you took a pregnancy test?
Time to get healthy. It’s that time of year again when I’m not quite sure what day it is and my jeans no longer fit. Even the jeggings are being pushed to their limits. Well, technically, I can still zip my skinny jeans but they are functioning more like a tourniquet these days than actual clothing and there is nothing “skinny’ about the situation. Unless you consider the magic they hold that can hold a 10-pound sack of ass in a 5-pound bag sort of stretchy magic. I’m afraid I’m going to be in public and a bend in the right direction is going to send my derriere publicly exposed in all directions.
I am in full on Humpty Dumpty land and feeling every bit of all of those holiday carbs that I’ve been shoveling into my face between Halloween and the New Year holding their hands up and demanding to be counted. This happens every year. Somehow, I slowly phase out the cute skinny jeans for full skirts, A-line dresses and the dreaded Christmas leggings and voila, here we are…”fat girl in a little coat” ( or jeans as it were) time.
It sucks. I hate feeling perpetually bloated. And I’ve convinced myself that my skinny jeans have to weigh at least weigh 15 – 18 pounds. It’s not me. It’s them and they need to get on a diet STAT. It’s the only logical explanation. I’m sure this new egg shaped physique that I’m sporting has nothing to do with all the cakes, pies and alcohol that I consumed at all the holiday gatherings. Oh and I blame my period, as I always do. Has to be. I mean that’s at least another 5-10 pounds of water weight, right?
All I know is that if this state of being is not remedied soon, I’m going to go postal in the nearest fast food joint or maybe the nearest 1200 calorie latte serving Starbucks. Sonsabitches, I knew that caramel crème brulee latte was French for fat girl. Bastards. The thing is no one made me eat it. No one forced me to sip that sweet, overpriced, calorie stuffed latte. I wanted it and with wild abandon, I consumed in typical American nature. Moderation? I don’t need any stinking moderation. Come on we all know that I operate on two speeds; restriction or no moderation whatsoever. It’s a sickness. Really.
Anyways, you know me, I’m not one to go gently or silently into anything. I’m scrappy and I’m going to fight it to the death. It’s that time once again when I feel the need to beat the fat back into submission. Okay, all joking aside, I’m not delusional. I’m never going to sport the waif like body of my 20’s ever again. Mostly because I’ve been in eating disorder recovery for nearly 20 years and I can’t relapse into full on anorexic, not with tween girls in the house, that would make me a terrible role model. Hey, I didn’t say it’s right but everyone has their thinspiration’ mine just happens to be healthy for my girls without being off the rails mentally ill in front of my girls while doing it.
It’s a daily battle that I’ve mostly been winning. I won’t lie, there have been days when I’ve purged out of guilt after a particularly rich meal or simply passed on something I should have eaten because I needed the control on that day and there has even been the bad choices of mania laden juicing or over exercising. I know my triggers and I know, like an alcoholic, I’ll be in recovery (one day at a time) for the rest of my life. Eating disorders are a life sentence. Nobody tells you that.
I don’t want the setback if I can help it so that means I have to jump into that familiar territory of “healthy living” or as I’d like to call it “Moderate restriction with good intentions.” Don’t worry, it mostly entails actually watching what I’m eating, getting those 10000 steps in a day and just saying no to all the cakes, pies, fast food and alcohol for a while. But don’t feel sorry for me, it also means looser jeans, better fitting tops, lower blood pressure, lower sugar, feeling sexier in my own skin and feeling strong and the cherry on top, being a good role model for my girls.
I’m sharing a few of the things I’m using to get healthy in 2017. Because I don’t care what the number on the scale says anymore. I do, however, care about how my clothes fit me and that I have enough energy to play with my kids. They are tweens now so we’re not chasing them on the floor but the hours they can walk in the mall is mind boggling. I may as well put on a pair of good gym shoes and become an undercover mall walker. Plus, side note, no one wants to be their kid’s very own Gilbert Grape’s mom, right?
I’m sick of feeling sick and tired. Also, after the break last year and the subsequent loss of weight, now that I’ve gained it back, I can really feel the effect it is having on my knees, ankles and back. It’s not good.
Here are my favorite tools in my arsenal to battle the holiday bulge.
ExoSOLS inserts: These are awesome because they are custom-made orthotics that are made specifically for your foot, to give you the support that your feet need. No prescription is required, simply download the SOLS app and capture images of your feet to render your true custom foot support. Made for you, on-demand, ExoSOLS will be shipped six days later.
Gel-Nimbus 18 Lite Show by Asics: I found out that I suffer from supination or as you runners call it underpronation.Basically, my ankles roll out in a state of sprain your ankle or stress fracture your legs at all time so I need to take precautions (Along with my physical therapy and orthotic inserts…see above) just not to fall.My world is filled with metaphorical banana peels.
TRX training: Get the workout of your life using your own body weight and it’s easily taken with you and doesn’t take up a lot of space. TRX, the global leader in Functional Training and creators of the Suspension Trainer and Suspension Training, has teamed up with PEAR Sports, the leader in app-based, real-time audio coaching focused on performance and fitness, to provide world-class interactive training to TRX newcomers and devotees anytime and anywhere, at home or on the road.
Qardio scale: This is my favorite scale ever because it not only sleek and beautiful, it is a very functional, wireless smart scale and body composition analyzer that provides users with in-depth knowledge and a broader view of fitness goals by measuring body mass index (BMI), muscle mass, body fat percentage, and water and bone composition, in addition to weight.
QardioArm Blood Pressure Cuff: High tech blood pressure cuff that works wirelessly through an app on your phone. It is accurate, convenient and awesome. It offers users a convenient way to take medically accurate measurements of key heart health metrics including blood pressure and heart rate. It’s a great way to be proactive about monitoring your health.
PEAR Sports: PEAR Sports delivers an innovative and intuitive technology that guides users through every step of their fitness journey. With over 500 unique workout programs including running, cycling and strength, users can experience real-time, interactive audio workouts and personalized training from some of the world’s most talented athletes and fitness experts. Utilizing biofeedback and data, PEAR’s interactive software empowers its users to train smarter, keeps them motivated throughout the process and shares in their successes. PEAR is helping the everyday fitness enthusiast achieve better results, faster.
Huawei Watch: I wear my elegant like it is going out of style, which it never will. With the Huawei Watch, classic Swiss design meets smart technology to create an enduring timepiece. A superior full circle display offers a window onto the world. A wearable to be worn in the gym, to the office or on a night on the town. I loved it so much I got my husband the classic for men.
Portion Control boxes to measure my food because I need portion control in my life badly.
Oh and CIZE and Pure Barre videos because honestly, I love to do classes but I just don’t have the time and money right now to be on someone else’s schedule at the gym.
Now, I start the work. I’ve already begun the portion control and better choices, less carbs and alcohol part of the new year healthy living plan. Tomorrow, when everybody goes back to their respective places, I will begin my workout regime. Wish me luck.
