Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Spending time with my Loveys

Hi lovey. 

I have no idea what I'm going to write to you today.  But let's just go with it, shall we?  I'd like to just spend some time with you.  How does that sound?  I have my coffee and I'm letting my fingers do the talking today.  With no purpose to this post, but to say hello and I'm happy you're here. 

How has your day been?  Mine has been pretty good so far.  I didn't get a lot of sleep last night (went to sleep at 11:30pm 'cause I was busy watching the last episode of the Walking Dead with the Hubby), but I still woke up rested.  No nightmares in the last two nights!  Total awesomeness right there!

I've been really happy that I've been coming back to this space consistently for the last three days.  I'm making time for this space.  This space is important to me.  I had a conversation last night with the Hubby about writing on this blog.  I was telling him that I don't think people are really reading here as much as they used to.  I don't get as many comments, blah, blah.  You know, the regular venting of a blogger.  He said something to me that put me in my writer's place, "Love, are you blogging because you love to write or just to get comments?  Are you writing for your passion to write or for validation from what others say about your writing?"  Um...I married a smart man, huh?

I write on this blog because I love to write.  Period.  I love to put my thoughts down and spend time with this passion of mine.  But I also love the interaction I have with all of you, my loveys.  I have noticed though that although I may not get as many comments as I used to, I still have that interaction with you.  My loveys comment on my instagram posts.  I get text messages and emails from you.  That should be enough.  I have to remember that I'm not here for the pageviews or numbers.  That's not what is important.  I'm here for me.  I'm here for the writing.  I'm here to spend part of my day with you.

So, I guess that's what's most important to me.  Spending time with this place...with you...pouring out my heart on this virtual written page, and looking forward to doing it again and again.

Thank you for coming here each day.  Thank you for sharing a small, precious moment out of your whirlwind of a day.  Thank you for reading my words.  You really do bring out the best of me.

Because without you, this place would be empty.   You are that "remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most.  Of everything."  You're my good and I thank you for that.

Love you, my loveys.  Have a blessed day...
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Tuesday, October 21, 2014

All About That Bass

I don't know if Meghan Trainor knew what she started in me when she wrote this song.  
I know she wrote this song for an automatic Top Ten hit, of course, but did she know what it would do for me?  Did she know that it would empower me to embrace myself just the way I am?  Did she know that her song would hit a nerve within a 40-year-old that has always felt bad about her, for lack of a better word, "bass"?

I have always been on the heavier side.  I always had "all the right junk in all the right places".  I've always been told how pretty I'd be if I just lost a little weight.  Each time I talk on the phone with my dad who lives all the way in Peru, the conversation always leads to my weight.  
"Are you exercising?" 
"How much weight have you lost?"
"How much do you weigh now?"

I finally told my dad in one of our last conversations, that I had been exercising (a white lie) and that I had lost seven pounds recently (truth).  Then he asked me how much I weigh now and when I told him, he said, "Ay, Renesita." (sigh)

I don't blame him for being obsessed with my weight.  He's always been that way.  He was raised that way.  Not his fault.  But, it also doesn't mean that I have to feel bad about the way I look just because he feels that way.

See, the thing is.  I've always berated myself over how I look.  I know I've written this here before:  I've struggled every morning to find something I like in the mirror.  But that has changed in this last year.  It's a wonderful gift to myself.

When I look in the mirror now, I see a girl with dazzling brown eyes.  I see a girl who has beautiful curls that others pay good money for.  I see curves and love every single one of them.  My body is a product of being pregnant three times.  It's a product of yummy food that my hubby makes every night.  It's a product of knowing what to wear that will flatter my figure.

I love how my body moves.  I love that my brain tells my fingers what to write.  I adore the way I can belt out a song and it sounds good...really good.  I love that I can dance and know how to.  My body isn't the typical "stick figure silicone Barbie doll" and I'm thrilled it's not.

"Because you know I'm all about that bass" and I'm pretty proud of it.  I brought "booty back" before it was lyrics to a song.  I've been shaking and grooving this body from the moment my mama gave birth to me.

And, that's another thing, all the women I look up to - my mama and paternal grandmother, for one - had bodies that would bring all the boys to the yard.  I am not only a product of all the things I've done with this body, but I am the sum of all the women before me.
Abuelita Adriana - with my grandfather loving on all her "bass"

I can rock this body like nobody's business.  Just like my mama has and my abuelita did...
...It's all "about that bass" after all.
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Monday, October 20, 2014

I'm jealous of my kids

This morning as I was preparing for the day - getting everyone up, dressed, getting breakfast and lunches ready - I looked at my kids. My beautiful children with not a care in the world. Their biggest worry is if they have time to play a quick game of Mindcraft before leaving for school. They're pretty lucky. 
I'm jealous of them. 
When I was their age, I had a lot on my plate already. Yes, I worried about that last bit of morning cartoons and making sure I finished my breakfast, but I also worried about so much more. 

I worried about being touched every day. I worried about getting taken to school by grandfather and what would happen in the car. I was a stressed child at their age. It sucked. 

I haven't thought about what happen to me in a while. 
Who am I kidding? Something triggers the memories of abuse every other day or so and I can usually handle it. It's when the memories seep into my dreams. That's what breaks me. 

I don't even have to dream about the abuse, really. The dreams come to me and usually it's normal stuff.  I'm just hanging out in my old family home in Los Angeles. Or I'm hanging out with my family from my past, out and about like everything is normal. 
Last night's dream crushed me as I woke up. I was sitting around a table with my abusers and they were asking me to open up and talk about what happened.  It was surreal.  It was as if they were trying to counsel me or something.  I couldn't wake up.  I tried.  I knew it was a dream, I just couldn't break from it.  The only thing that saved me was my alarm to wake me up.  For once, I was happy to wake up on a Monday morning.  
It's hard to be happy and all there when your brain attacks you. And no pill can help that. There isn't a pill in the world that will erase my past.  Memories cannot be erased.  I know it's not happening anymore.  That all stopped when I was thirteen, but the consequences of my past haunt me.

Sometimes I'll be driving and I'll see a man that reminds me of one of them.  Or I'll be out to dinner at a restaurant and I'll hear someone's way of breathing at the table next to me.  I'll smell something in a room that triggers a memory.  All of these are constant reminders of what I had to go through as a child.

It sucks.  So, yes, I'm jealous of my kids.  Not sometimes, but a lot.  They are so lucky to have overly protective parents.  They're lucky that every person they come into contact with is combed over and they are never left alone with adults.  They're asked everyday about how their days were.  I have long talks with my children that they never have to be afraid of telling me or their Daddy anything.  We'll never be mad.  They will never be afraid of getting blamed.

I'm jealous of them, but so thankful for them as well.  They are evidence of good parenting and safe lives. All they ever need to worry about is normal things in their lives.  They are good, well-rounded kids with a good head on their shoulders.  They have parents that would kill for them.  Yes, I would.  

There is no happy ending to what happens in my dreams.  The happy ending, I suppose, is when I wake up, knowing that it's not happening anymore.  That my biggest worry now are the normal things in life.  Just like my kids...

I know I'm stronger and more resilient because of my childhood.  I know that I am brave.  I know that I am enough.  Just sometimes...sometimes the little girl inside of me wants know that I'm all those things.  She wants to know that it all ends.  She wants to feel safe.  She wants to know the future.  
She needs for everything to stop, so that she can have her happily ever after.

It will happen, sweet girl.  It will.  I promise.  Some days will be bad, but others will remind you how strong and brave you've always been. 
 Look at what you have to look forward to. 
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Friday, October 17, 2014

Grateful Week Re-Cap {TIGF}

Hey loveys!
Happy Friday!  Actually Happy #TIGF!  Things I'm Grateful For...the weekly link-up!

Another week has come and gone.  It's been a really good one, too.  :)

I got accepted to the University of La Verne!

Had a "I'm beautiful" moment.  Love those kind of mornings!

A Starbucks Decaf (?!) Iced Americano before Economics class on Wednesday night.  It hit the spot!

Thank you for your responses on this Instagram post.  If you have any other pointers, I'd love some!

It was Boss' Day yesterday.  We got our boss a beautiful orchid and some Dots cupcakes.  She loved the love.

This is my favorite Instagram pic of my week.  The love these two have for each other is fierce!

Here's a little Happy Friday from the both of us.  Wishing you an easy-going Friday and a blissful weekend!
Love ya, my loveys!

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Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Your Problem...or Mine


I get it...
I see your picture perfect life. 
I see all the weight you lost. 
I see the beautiful little walks you take with your kids. 
I notice every single outfit you wear. 
I notice that your makeup and hair always looks "just right".
I understand that this is what you show to the world. 
I understand that you want me to believe that you don't care about the numbers. 
I get that what you show on all those social media posts is just a part of your real life. 
But why can't I get past that?
Why do I feel lonely when I see you out on the town for a girls' night (day, whatever)?
Why do I feel like less because you look like you are never sad or alone or feel less like I do?
I get that it's all for show. 
It has to be. 
You can't have that perfect of a life. 
You've got to have struggles like the rest of us. 
You must feel overwhelmed sometimes right?
How is it that you're always surrounded by family or friends? 
How can you afford to go to all these places?
How can you always have a babysitter?
How are you able to have date nights?
Don't you ever struggle with money?
Do you ever get disappointed?
These are the thoughts in my head when I scroll through social media. Why? How? Sometimes I get depressed looking at my feed on Instagram. I see all the comments. The hundreds of likes. All those things you are doing that I'm not. 

Sometimes I don't want to look at another photo or read another Facebook post you write because I just can't. 

But, I get it. 
It's not your fault I feel this way. 
That's my shit I have to take care of. 
But sometimes, just sometimes, I'd love to see the real you. That one photo where you look a mess because you don't actually wake up like that. 
Oh shit do you? 
That just can't be fair. 
But I understand. I get it. I do the same shit. All the damn time. Because God forbid someone might see that my life isn't perfect. 
That I have complete and utter breakdowns.
That I get frustrated and overwhelmed with life sometimes. 
Or what would people say if they knew how much I wish I had friends. Friends I could call up and say, "let's hang out tonight and #overgram the night away!"

But that's not my life.
Or my truth.
So I'll just keep showing what I do. 
And you do the same. 

We all have to play the game. 
You know... The one where we all pretend we don't have insecurities and meltdowns.
Let's keep playing that game. 

Or maybe, just maybe...we can stop pretending and be real. 

Will I ever really post this? Maybe not. Or maybe I will. Hey, maybe someone out there feels the same damn way I do. 

I get it. I really do. I just don't always have to like it. 

See you in your picture perfect world.
I'll be following for sure.
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Monday, October 13, 2014

The Penelope Chronicles


There once was a girl named Annie
And oh she was smart and sassy
Her mommy was in a flurry
With all kinds of worry
Over her Annie
Who was so smart and sassy --
The writing that comes out of me sometimes gets on my nerves.  That little kid's poem has been stuck to my brain for over a week.  Penelope keeps reciting it, repeating it, over and over and over...and I can't figure out what she's trying to tell me.  Why must she make me feel psychotic with her voice in my head?

I know Penelope is frustrated lately. She wants so much.  She wants life to be the way it used to be.  She wants it to start over so that she can change things.  Pen wants the ending to change.

I know Penelope is a writer that is too afraid to publish anything.  She has notebooks and pads of paper filled to the brim all over her studio apartment.  I know how much she wants to have the confidence to write her words so that the world can see.

I know this because I feel the exact same way.

Penelope "Pen" Walker is my character.  She is the heroine of my unpublished, not yet written, book.  And lately, she has been screaming into my head to give her a voice.  I think it's time to lose myself in Penelope and let her take the wheel.

What will she make my hands scribble over paper after paper?  Will she wake me up in the middle of the night willing me to get up and write down her thoughts?  Will she give me her whole story instead of always in little fragments?

I know what happens at the end of her story.  I know the tragedy that awaits her.  I just don't know what part of the story before the horror happens that she will tell me.  It's not enough that her words torture me to make time to write them.  It's not enough that her story's end repeats itself like a broken record.

She's pretty annoying, actually.  I know I need to give her a voice so that you can hear it, too.  I need time. I need time to get all the words out.

She's just so impatient.  Kind of like her creator, I suppose. :)
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Friday, October 10, 2014

Free Time Gratefulness {TIGF}


I had a rare moment at home yesterday.  It was freaking wonderful!

Since I work 8-5 every weekday, it's a grateful moment when I can be off work for a couple of hours.  My daughter had an ortho appointment yesterday, so I got off work and stayed home with my son while Daddy took her to the orthodontist.  Two whole hours to be able to do anything I wanted while my son was reading at my side.

I got the dishes done and put some of the dinner to start and then freedom.  Freedom is very rare these days. I am always so on the go-go-go, that just knowing I had two hours to do stuff I want was so cool.  So, what did I do after the little fast chores?

I wrote!

I had forgotten what it was like to just let my run free across a page.  I had forgotten what it was like to do anything I wanted.  I wrote and wrote freely, without the inner criticism.  It was exactly what this mama needed.

This is one of the many things I was grateful for this week.

What else am I grateful for, you ask?
  • Group text messages from my blog #soulsistas.
  • Grocery shopping after a few tight on the budget weeks.
  • The #bloggerlovedare and realizing how strong my marriage is.
  • A "just because I love you" hug from my son.
  • Good night cuddles with my daughter.
  • Class cancelled this week.  What?!
  • Getting lots of work done at the job - such a relief to not feel like you're behind.
I loved how this week went.  It was good one.  A real honest-to-goodness great week!

Here's to another weekend to refuel and be ready for whatever comes next week!

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