The Life and Times of a Not-So-Perfect Mom

An Open Letter to My Parents on my Birthday...

2010-08-29T14:47:00.000-07:00

39 years ago on August 31st, you brought me into this world...and on this day, when I'm the one receiving all the hugs and happy birthdays, I wanted to take the time to acknowledge you both and say thank you...thank you for my life.

I've learned a lot and have seen a lot in the past 39 years that has forced me to recognize how blessed I am to have such wonderful parents who gave me such a happy childhood

From the day I was born you've always been overprotective. I never had a smudge of dirt on me, my hair was always fixed, my clothes were always ironed and you'd carry me so I wouldn't scuff my shoes. Even though dad was gone a lot overseas, you mom, made sure you played both roles when necessary.

Mom, I remember the first day of 1st grade, how tightly you hugged me outside my classroom while I had tears in my eyes. And even though I was reluctant to step inside my new surroundings, the warmth of your smile and the security of your hug was enough to give me the confidence I needed to get through my first day. You never failed to leave an impression. I will always remember the late nights that you would stay up and make cupcakes for my class and hand decorate each cupcake with different roses with your special butter cream frosting. And as I grew older and more of a pain in the butt, we bumped heads a lot because I thought I knew everything. I was always pissed off that I had a 12midnight curfew...even in college. But you did give me a choice: stay in the house & go to college & not pay for anything or move out, get a job and support myself. Obviously I chose to stay and suffer the curfew rule. You were education oriented and could never stress enough how being educated was the most important thing I could ever do for myself. I've never been a kid to disobey, break the rules or push the envelope. I think the most hurtful thing I could ever do would be to disappoint you...and that was enough to keep me on the right track.

Dad..we've always had the closeness that many kids wish they had. You always brought laughter and music into the house. If it wasn't for you, I would've never learned all the lyrics to The Sugarhill Gang's Rappers Delight. I still remember the vinyl record sitting next to your record player and how often we'd listen and dance to it. And when it came to Freddy Fender or Little Joe y La Familia playing, I was quick to jump on your shoes and hug your waist and dance with you while you lifted your feet to the music. I could never do wrong in your eyes, dad. And when I made mistakes in life, you were always there to pick me back up with your reassurance and love. In a world where there aren't a lot of girls with fathers in their lives, thank you for being such a strong, positive role model. I'm know you are the reason why I have zero tolerance for idiot men. Pat yourself on the back for raising a woman who doesn't take shit...and who is raising her own daughters to be the same way.

Even though you both lead separate lives now, remember always, that you BOTH raised an amazing girl..who is so thankful for such a wonderful childhood and amazing life you've given her. Not a day goes by that she doesn't thank God for you both.

Every year, you always ask what i want for my birthday.
But you've given me more than I could ever ask for...

you gave me the gift of life...

*I love you*

67 Life Tips I'll Pass Along to My Kids (Part 1)

2010-08-24T15:28:00.000-07:00

1. Whenever you have a bad cough/cold, slather your feet with Vicks and wear warm socks to bed. It will suppress your cough overnight

2. If you have problems with your thick thighs chaffing because of the summer heat, rub some of your deodorant on each inner thigh. Because of the barrier the deodorant creates, you won’t have to worry about any rash

3. Spend money on good feminine products. Buying generic tampons is just inviting trouble and leaks

4. If a guy doesn’t call you/text you back right away..it’s not because he’s not thinking of you, it’s because that’s what guys do and he’s probably right in the middle of something

5. Crock pots rock. Invest in one. There is nothing like coming home to the wonderful aroma of a pot roast ready to eat once you walk in the door after a long day

6. Don’t be afraid to watch a movie by yourself. It’s very liberating to walk into a theater by yourself and totally immerse yourself into the storyline on the screen without any interruptions

7. Eat by yourself. Whenever the opportunity arises, don’t be self-conscious..and dine by yourself. Nothing screams “self-confidence” like a woman dining by herself

8. Smile at everyone you encounter. Every person that comes in and out of your life every day was meant to be there at that given moment. Your smile says a thousand words.

9. Laugh out loud. Who cares if someone thinks you’re obnoxious. There are people out there that would kill to have something to laugh out loud about

10. Appreciate your body. We all have a love/hate relationship with our bodies. But do what you can to be healthy and good to yourself. It doesn’t mean being anorexic, it means loving yourself enough to make healthy decisions about your lifestyle.

11. Don’t smoke. A no-brainer, right?

12. When you wake up every day, before your feet hit the floor..thank God for blessing you with another day

13. Educate yourself. An educated woman is a strong woman. An educated woman is open to many more opportunities. An educated woman has more options.

14. Never let a man raise his hand to you. If he did it once, he’ll do it again. Leave.

15. Never let the hand you hold, hold you down. Do not stay with a man that doesn’t uplift you. Jealousy and envy come from guilty men. Be with a man who makes you want to be a better woman

16. There is a fine line between sexy & slutty. If the world can see your nipples through your top and your coochie when you sit down…change

17. Real friends will tell you to change if they think your outfit is not flattering. Real friends will not let you leave the house looking like a homeless skank

18. Your best friend(s) will tell you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear

19. Life isn’t fair. But it’s up to you to choose how you will react in every situation. Your reaction will determine the outcome every time

20. Don’t date married men. If they were really unhappy, they’d be single.

21. When you can, turn the music up in the car and sing along loudly. It helps if it’s a rap song with bad lyrics

22. Eat cupcakes. Nothing makes me smile more than a cupcake with sprinkles

23. Travel alone if given the chance. Taking a road trip or flying solo can do wonders for your self-confidence.

24. Always say “Thank You” when someone compliments you. Even if it’s the perv at the gas station…

25. Dance with an ugly dude. When a “grenade”(aka ugly dude) asks you to dance when you’re at a club, accept the offer. It shows that you aren’t shallow and just want to have a good time

26. Acknowledge other women. If you see a woman dressed nice, great haircut, amazing shoes, etc., let her know. There is too much negativity amongst us women. We need to stop hating and start congratulating

27. When you’re about to sleep with a guy and you think he’s going to notice all the flaws on your naked body that you “think” you have…think again, guys don’t notice that stuff at that point. All they know is that they have a beautiful naked woman in front of them.

28. Protect yourself. Take the lead when it comes to birth control and protection. Never depend on a guy to handle it. Your life depends on it

29. Wax. Nothing more unappealing than a woman with a huge Chaka-Zulu bush between her legs

30. Never drink more than 3 Long Island Ice Teas in one sitting if you want to avoid being carried out of a nightclub in Tijuana

31. Drink a glass of water after each Tequila shot

32. It’s never a good idea to “try” weed right before a high intensity cardio workout at your college

33. Learn to walk in stilettos and spend money on quality shoes. Flats are made for weekends at home and do NOTHING for you

34. Always have a cute black dress in your closet. If all else fails, that is an item you can always rely on

35. Always have clean fingernails/toenails. People can tell a lot about you by the way you keep your fingers and toes up

36. Brush AND floss daily. No one likes a yuck mouth

37. Never believe a guy when he says “Just the tip..”

38. Take care of your car. Never let it go below a ¼ of a tank (so bad for the engine)

39. Let your date pick up the tab; don’t feel like you always have to be a feminist

40. Enjoy a weekend on the couch with your sweats watching the Lifetime channel with all the cheesy made for tv movies

41. Surround yourself with positive people. Negative people are a cancer and can steal your joy continuously

42. Alone does not mean lonely

43. Own a pet. At the end of the day, if there is anyone that loves you unconditionally (besides me)..it’s your dog

44. Nothing works like exercise and a well balanced diet. Save your money and don’t spend it on fad diets

45. Vitamin E oil heals every skin ailment

46. When you have poop cramps, do not attempt to fart. You WILL shit your pants

47. Never park next to a van in the parking lot and always act like you’re a bad ass when you are walking out of the store to your car. Be aware of your surroundings and lock your car as soon as you get in. Don’t be a victim

48. Volunteer at a food bank. It really puts things in perspective when it comes to your life issues

49. Remind yourself that you don’t have bad days; you have inconvenient ones. The parents of a child with stage 4 cancer…. that’s a bad day

50. Think twice about your road rage when someone pisses you off on the freeway. That person that cut you off could’ve just received bad news. Take a breath and let it go

51. Never kick a boy in the nuts

52. Ride a rollercoaster

53. Refuse to feel guilty when you want time to yourself. It’s hard when you’re a mom, but you need to take care of YOU if you’re gonna take care of THEM

54. Lunges and squats WILL change the look of your butt

55. Learn to swim

56. Don’t go to bed mad. Leave all your frustrations behind before closing your eyes

57. Don’t bring up things from the past; look ahead. There is a reason why the windshield in your car is so big and the rearview mirror is so small. The past is not as significant as the present or the future

58. Don’t burn bridges—life has a funny way of “recycling” people back into your life

59. It’s not true about the size of a man’s feet

60. Use flushable wet wipes instead of regular toilet paper

61. Pluck your eyebrows (don’t overpluck). It will change the look of your face

62. Take lots of pics…capture every moment in life you can

63. Go to a concert and dance in your seat

64. Buy colors and a coloring book and when you’re stressed, start coloring. It does wonders

65. Always remind your best friends how important they are

66. Send a card to your parents on your birthday thanking them for life

67. Listen to your heart..it’s God whispering

You Dirty Girl!

2010-08-16T16:50:00.000-07:00

Pet Peeve #76
Unsanitary Women

Nothing I hate more than public restrooms.
What’s even worse is walking into a ladies restroom and seeing how filthy women can be.
There are some women out there that have NO SHAME.
I’ve been witness to many things in the powder room and it ain’t pretty! Let me share a few of my favorite bathroom characters:

The Faux Washer- She is the one who comes out of the stall, sets her purse down and looks in the mirror pretends to fuss with her hair for a few minutes in front of the sink, but doesn’t ever wash her hands. She leaves like she’s in a hurry and smells her hands on the way out.

The Bloody Valentine- She is the chick that leaves her bloody tampon floating in the toilet. She doesn’t check to see if it was ever flushed completely down the pipe. She could care less for the next person that sees the aftermath of her bloody outpour. This character trait is not limited to just the teen factor. There are many grown ass women that can’t handle their red tide. Check yourself.

The Gangsta- She is quick to do a drive-by shit. She comes in with the quickness, doesn’t care who’s around and drops the biggest doo-doo ever and leaves.

The Queefer- She is the chick that comes in and lets out vaginal farts as she pees. If you look under the stall, she’s probably wearing some ugly ass Birkenstocks or Velcro, leather sandals. She’ll wait ‘til everyone is out of the restroom to make her exit.

The Pad Thai- The chick that still uses pads and doesn’t care to wrap the used ones up, but rips it from her panties and just throws it half-way into the miniature trashcan. It sticks out half way so that you have a nice visual of her blood clots and shit marks.

The Cougher- She is the one that comes in to take a dump and coughs to mask the splash of her shit hitting the water, or to cover the sound of her wiping her muddy ass.

The Talker- She is the chick that can’t put her phone down while she’s using the restroom. She is the one in the stall that is talking/cussing loud enough for everyone to hear about her baby daddy sleeping with her girl, LaQueefa .

The Sprinkler- This is the one that leaves pee-pee drips all over the toilet seat. You can’t seem to figure out how that happens if one wipes their vagina properly. But then again, we’re talking about dirty women.

The Flusher- The Flusher is the girl who comes in to take a crap and flushes right before it hits the water..and will continually flush to avoid the embarrassment and the smell (NOT to be confused with The Cougher)

The Panty Dropper- She is the chick that as soon as she drops her panties, the smell of day old fish and feet permeate the bathroom. As soon as you walk into the stall that she previously used the odor has the ability to render you immobile. Beware.

The next time you’re in the ladies room, take notice of these characters.

You will never, ever enter another public restroom the same way again…

In Her Shoes...

2010-08-12T13:58:00.000-07:00

The Shape-Up shoe has to be the ugliest shoe ever invented.

The Shape-Up shoe joins the ranks of Birkenstocks, Platform Flip Flops and Teva Sandals.

EWWW…

If you own any of the above, take them outside and burn them immediately. They are the most unflattering shoe a woman could ever put on her feet.

The Shape-Up shoe claims to firm buttock muscles, tone and firm thigh muscles, tighten abdominal muscles and firms calf muscles. I can think of a million other ways to firm my muscles than subjecting myself to ugly ass shoes.

Take a good look at these shoes…I mean really. Do not compromise your sense of style when trying to get your fitness on by sporting these kicks. There’s a reason Joe Montana endorses them…they’re orthopedic, fit for a dude and no one else would wear ‘em if they weren’t getting paid for it.

And let me talk shit about a few of the other shoes that have made Sandra’s U.S.L. (Ugliest Shoe List):

The Teva Sandals
Oh Lord! Ok, no offense to my lesbian friends. You know I love you and I always tell it like it is, but you guys seem to love these sandals! What is it with gay women and man shoes? Hazel? LeTonya? Can you tell me? Seriously, if I was batting for your team, you would get NO GAME if I saw you sporting these with your cargo shorts. No excuse ladies…gay does not mean style-retarded. Remember… Velcro (especially on shoes) is a no-no.

The Birkenstock
There is only one reason you should have a pair of these in your closet: you were actually AT Woodstock and kept your sandals for the great memories of your unshaved bush, smoking spliffs and having group sex in the mud. Get rid of ‘em if you weren’t part of that movement.

The Platform Flip Flop
Trailer Park. Dirty. Enough said.

I’m not trying to point any fingers or say that because you own any of the aforementioned shoes that you are fashion outcast.

But…

If the shoe fits…..

She Had Dumps Like a Truck...

2010-08-11T16:11:00.000-07:00

“She had dumps like a truck, truck, truck

Thighs like what, what, what

All night long….Let me see that thong…”
---Sisqo, Thong Song

I want a dumps like a truck and thighs like what.

I want a “thong-worthy” ass.

First of all, I wasn’t born with a nice firm, booty. Being Asian/Mexican, you think my chances of getting a nice, round full ass were in my favor.

*SIGH*

Unfortunately, God decided to give me the Asian, barely there, booty and the Latina hips and thighs…damnit! I wish we could reverse the two! I’d love to have no hips and thighs with a delicious ba-donk-a-donk.

And these thighs…are you kidding me?

It didn’t help that I started gymnastics at an early age. That just added to the bulk of these stems. And guess what happens when you grow up and stop your gymnastics workout? Yup…those thighs become jell-o. Then the weight fluctuations come and go and that’s when the lovely cellulite decides to set up camp starting from your inner thighs and slowly take over the rest of the outer thigh campsite. But the Cellulite family gets lonely, so they invite over the Stretch Marks. The Stretch Marks are a busy bunch. They love to hang out on the hips and stomach. They love to make long, lovely roads from your stomach to your belly button. They’re a committed family and will be with you ‘til the day you die. Comforting, right?

When guys started to refer to my junk as appealingly “thick” instead of fat, I started to think twice about rejecting my body. If you can’t have what you want, then work with what you got, right?

And so I did that.

I am no ass shaking, video chick by any stretch of the imagination (although that would be an awesome side job to be with rappers making it rain with the benjamins), but I look at these beautiful women (well, most of them are beautiful) with toned, thunder thighs and booties in these videos and I think, “what am I complaining about?” These women capitalize off their curves! I need to start embracing my thickness…

I took charge. My workouts, my cardio…all these have done wonders for my thighs AND my ass. I’m not in perfect shape, but I’m doing my best to mold, and stretch and tone out these problem areas. My thighs don’t even rub together anymore…now that’s an accomplishment in itself! Is my body in the condition I want it to be in?

Nope.

But I’m getting there.

Dumps like a truck? Not yet

Thighs like what? Not yet

Embracing and accepting my thickness….I’m there.

(I’ll let you know when I can crack a walnut with my ass cheeks)

"I Got This Ice Box Where My Heart Used to Be..."

2010-08-09T16:43:00.000-07:00

Nothing worse than opening up your fridge door and things toppling all over you with the “old food” odor dancing around your nostrils. I admit..I’m the worst when it comes to throwing crap out. The kitchen trashcan is about 10 steps away but it commands too much of an effort on my part to walk over and throw anything out. Like many household items, I have a love/hate relationship with my refrigerator…so let me share a few of my issues:

FTS “Fridge-to-Trash-to-Sink” Domino Effect
You may of experienced it, but let me set the scenario so that you are witness to the mindset of a madwoman: I open up the fridge. I see a bazillion (ok, 5 or 6) Tupperware containers of leftovers. I think to myself, “Hmm, Sandra, it would probably be a good idea to take those containers out and make more space..” Now, that’s what the level-headed Sandra thinks. But then the tired, working mom, Sandra says, “Shit, that means I’ll have to take all these containers to the trashcan, scrape out all the crap and THEN go back to the sink and wash them out! And it’s not going to be easy because there is food in those containers that I don’t even remember making and now have taken on a different life form..blechhh!” So, I convince myself that the smartest thing to do would be to throw everything out to “protect “everyone from any harmful bacteria. I’m very considerate that way.

Take-Out Graveyard
My fridge doubles as a graveyard for take-out food. Once those Styrofoam boxes, Chinese take-out boxes, paper bags and/or earth friendly containers hit the fridge, it’s lights out…literally. I can hear the food scream as I transport them from my car to my kitchen. They know that their demise is near. I don’t know why I am such a food murderer. I should leave that last bite of cheesecake on the plate, that last helping of Pad Thai, that last fork of feta chicken salad….but do I? Nooooo. I convince myself that I shouldn’t be wasteful and that there are starving children all over the world who would kill for those last three Pad Thai noodles. So I get everything boxed up to make it’s way through the food funeral procession to my fridge. My Take-Out graveyard also signifies how unhealthy I’ve been eating and how much money I’ve been throwing away. It’s just not a good look. Have I gotten better? Hell no. I just keep pushing each container until it hits the back of the refrigerator where it meets it’s untimely death and someone else ends up throwing it out. Forgive me, Father…

Condiment Crazy
I’m crazy about condiments. You name it, I have it. Ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, horseradish, relish, cock sauce (Sriracha), Cholula, Tabasco, wasabi, pickles, pickled ginger, pepperoncinis, soy sauce, fish sauce..just to name a few. And with the exception of the ketchup and mayonnaise, they’re all probably expired. But they look cute in the side door of the fridge and I don’t feel like throwing all those glass bottles out which in turn will make my trash bag heavier causing undue strain on my back when I’m forced to take the full bag out to the main garbage can. Makes sense, right?

Ok, maybe I’m a tad neurotic. I can deal with that…another time.
But for now, I gotta figure out what I’m going to wear to the P.F. Chang’s lettuce wrap memorial…

LAUNDRY LOVE

2010-07-19T13:51:00.000-07:00

They say that there are 2 absolutes in life: death and taxes. I think they forgot one more..
LAUNDRY..

When you’re single, all you have to worry about is your dirty crap. If you don’t wash, then there’s no one to blame but yourself. You end up grabbing clothes out of your hamper or off the pile on your floor, smell ‘em, then wear ‘em! Or if you’re like a few guys I know, take your underwear, turn them inside out and you’re good to go. More often than not, single people will walk to their communal laundry room in their apartment complex, quarters in hand and load the washers/dryers and if they’re feeling really brave, leave for the cycle and come back when it’s done. I’ve tried that before. Yeah, I got brave…and when I came back, all my thong underwear was missing. Scary.

Then your single life laundry quickly translates into “couple” mode when you start co-habitating with your significant other. At first, it’s weird. As you witness him attempt to do the laundry, you think to yourself, “Do I really want him touching my stuff? Is he going to throw my delicates in with his jeans? I hope he doesn’t see my “period undies”. What detergent is he using? Why is he folding my stuff like that? That top doesn’t belong in the dryer!”

But it’s not any easier when you’re the one taking on the chore: “Does he not understand what INSIDE the hamper means? Why does he throw all his shit AROUND the hamper? Why does he leave his underwear inside his jeans? Even worse, rolls his jeans off so his underwear is caught up in them?!” And just when you think you have a good system going…

The co-habitation leads to offspring…

This is when you feel like those women in Third World countries that you see on T.V. with 50 baskets of clothes, washing and banging their laundry against a rock by the side of a stream. The clothes multiply with children in the house. Not only do you find dirty clothes in the hamper, the kids throw their clean clothes in because it’s easier than putting them back in their dresser. You’ll also find toys, Barbie shoes, teacher notes, gum (my favorite..esp when it makes to the dryer), hair clips and anything else they can fit into pockets or up their nose. This is the laundry stage when the Sock Ghost appears. No matter how good your kids are at putting everything into the hamper, the Sock Ghost always manages to steal one sock from at least 3 pairs. And do you think he’d swoop down and steal the “unimportant” socks? NOOOOOOO…. He has to take the socks from their favorite pairs. You know the kind I’m talking about…the socks that they love to wear…the socks that will cause hyperventilating tantrums and heart failure if not found. I’ve almost lost a kid to two to the evilness of the Sock Ghost. There really isn’t anything you can do to exorcise the Sock Ghost (believe me, I’ve tried the Holy Water and incense..no dice). So, accept it and move on.. .it’s just easier to keep your sanity.

Along with the Sock Ghost, comes his friend the Laundry Basket from Hell. Everyone has the laundry basket(s) that become makeshift drawers for the entire family and will sit in the same location until someone (usually mom) is forced to unload it to make room for the new clean clothes. The whole family will live out of the Laundry Basket from Hell because they’re too lazy to go through their dressers or closets for clean clothes. Instead, they rummage through all the neatly folded items in the Laundry Basket from Hell to find that pink Hollister t-shirt with the white lettering on it and leave a trail of mass destruction behind.

And what happens after that?

You re-fold, then place their clothes in their bedrooms where they will sit until needed. The clothes won’t get hung (unless mom does it). The clothes won’t get placed in their dresser (unless mom does it). Instead, they will sit on the bed and then slowly become part of the comforter. Your kid won’t acknowledge that nicely folded piece of laundry. Your kid will instead slide up underneath the covers and pretend that it doesn’t exist. This stage is when you also become “bad mom”. When your kids can’t find what they are looking for and they swore they threw it in the hamper, it’s “your fault”. You and the Sock Ghost are in cahoots to make your kid’s life a living hell by hiding that Justin Bieber concert t-shirt. Bad Mom….Bad, bad mom…

At this point, all you can do is grin and bear it.

Life still goes on…the sun will still rise…the sun will still set…and there will always be dirty underwear waiting for you.

I could go on and on..but I got a date with a Sock Ghost...

Baby Mama Drama...overrated.

2010-07-12T15:35:00.000-07:00

Wikipedia defines BABY MAMA as the following: A baby mama (also baby-mama and baby-mother) is generally defined as a mother who is not married to her child's father, although the term often is used with other meanings as well.

After recently writing about the good and bad about fatherhood, I received numerous emails requesting my insight on Baby Mamas. When you think about Baby Mama Drama the first thing that pops into your head is the three-ring circus you see on Maury Povich or Jerry Springer with screaming people and paternity tests involving the baby’s dad, his brother, and his cousin. Yes, the media capitalizes off of it because society still has a fascination with other people’s misfortunes; viewers won’t change the channel because they want to find out of Tyrone is the father of little DeShawn and then in turn watch the Baby Mama fall to the floor or run out of the room when the results aren’t what she expected.

So, I thought long and hard about this subject because every situation is unique in it’s own and there is never one solution to end all issues with Baby Mamas. There are so many factors that play into Baby Mama Drama: the daddy, the mama, the girlfriend/current wife, the baby. But I decided to take the approach from my role as a life coach to many friends and offer a different view and give my advice to the girlfriend/current wife and the Baby Mama…

BABY MAMA..
First of all…kudos. Kudos to you for taking on the role of full-time parenthood. It’s one of the toughest jobs in the world. Hopefully you co-parent with your Baby Daddy to help make your world a little easier. And if you don’t, I’m sorry. Not all men step up to the plate like you’d hope. But I believe God never gives us more than we can handle and although every day can be a struggle, know that in your heart, you are raising a child that will always remember the sacrifices you’ve made when they grow up. I know it must be hard when you see a family together and you look down at your little one and feel as though you cheated him out of having the ‘perfect’ family by raising him in a single household. But you need to stop being so hard on yourself. Kids would rather have happy parents living apart than two who are together and completely miserable.

If you have a decent relationship with your Baby Daddy, that says A LOT about your character. It shows that you both have your child’s best interest at heart. You’re showing your child that you both respect each other, regardless of what drove you two apart and are BOTH on the same team when it comes to raising him/her.

Being Baby Mama doesn’t give you a hall pass to get involved in his love life whatsoever.
It is NONE of your business.
Part of having a decent relationship with Baby Daddy is also accepting the changes in his life when it comes to his new significant other. It’s a two way street. If you’ve moved on and are dating, more than likely, he is too. Should you at least know the person your child spends time around? Of course! Should you voice concerns? Of course! But that’s where it stops. He doesn’t owe you any explanation of their relationship. All that he owes you is the promise of care, guidance, respect and communication when it comes to your child. You should be able to trust his judgment when it comes to the child that you share together. And vice versa is true when it comes to your relationship. There is a reason you both aren’t together. Move on and use that energy towards making your relationship with each other more productive as well as your relationship with your new man.

Strive to become a better mother by becoming a better woman

Think about forming a cordial relationship with Baby Daddy’s girlfriend/wife. I’m not asking you to become best friends and hang out on the weekends. But go out of your way to show that you are a strong, confident, secure woman that doesn’t feel threatened by her. Make her feel that she’s important because she’s involved in your child’s life. Remember, she’s probably feeling just as threatened by you, as you are of her. And if Baby Daddy’s girlfriend/wife doesn’t budge…oh well! You know you’ve done your part and you move on knowing you’ve tried.

Do you find yourself taking things from the past and throwing them back in Baby Daddy’s face?
Stop it.
Stop it NOW.
It’s not solving anything and always makes the situation a lot worse. Refuse to go there. As much as you want to remind him of his shortcomings, stop yourself. I’m sure there’s a crapload of shortcomings he could throw your way, so think twice before you start hurling stones out of your little glass house. As long as you keep bringing up the past, you will never be able to move forward. You will continue to empower him by holding on to such intense negativity. Forgive him. Forgive yourself. Forgiveness is such a powerful thing. Life is short, get over it.

Your child is NOT a bargaining tool
Do not threaten your Baby Daddy by refusing to let him see his child when you’re upset with him regarding other issues. Again, think about what’s in your child’s best interest. Your child is not a weapon; as disappointed as you may be in Baby Daddy, do not get swept away by anger, rage and the desire to punish him.

You both brought life into this world
You both signed up for parenthood the minute you found out you were having a baby. For once…it is NOT about you. It’s about what is in the best interest of the child you share together. Put aside your differences and think about how every word, every action that emanates from your body is absorbed into the soul of your child. No one’s perfect. But strive every day to become a better parent…with all that you’ve got, choose to fully rise above the negativity. Its black or white, not a shade of grey, because when you love your child, there is no such thing as halfway.

Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of women out there that struggle to have that decent relationship with Baby Daddy, but it’s just near impossible because of circumstances beyond their control. But continue to move forward and refuse to let anyone steal your joy.

BABY DADDY GIRLFRIEND/WIFE…
I hate to say it, but you guys are always made out to be the bad guy. And it’s not very helpful when Baby Daddy tends to ignite the situation instead of offer solutions. But let me start by saying that when you got together with your man, you knew he had a child. And by becoming involved with him, this meant also being involved in the life of his child. This is not only an honor, but a huge responsibility. You know that along with the involvement with your man and his child comes Baby Mama in the package. And this is not always such an easy thing. So let me give you a little bit of insight into the role you play:

Congratulations on taking a step into the tough world of being #2.
Yeah..#2.
As long as you understand that his child will ALWAYS be his priority, you won’t enter this relationship with unrealistic expectations. I’m not saying this will be an easy task. It takes a secure woman to know who she is and where she stands and when to back off.

Being wifey/girlfriend doesn’t give you a hall pass to get directly involved in the raising of his child whatsoever.
Don’t give unsolicited advice and don’t try to put your two cents in. If there is an issue that affects you, discuss it with him. Your feelings are just as valid. For him, it can be hard to juggle such a sensitive situation.
Just be there.
Be there when he needs to vent.
Be there when he needs your shoulder.

As hard as it may be, do not bad mouth his Baby Mama, especially in front of their child.
It’s ugly, no one benefits from it and you just make yourself look like a bigger idiot. It’s a natural tendency to say things out of spite when it comes to the woman that used to have a life with your man, but go back to what your mama taught you, if you have nothing nice to say….

Keep in mind that Baby Mama has feelings and emotions like you
Remember that she actually loved your man at one time. It’s a hard pill to swallow when you think you’re going to marry your baby's daddy but end up a single parent… imagine the bitterness that can come when you’ve seen that he’s moved on. So, no need for jealousy on your part. It's his child who he loves, regardless of his relationship with the mother.When I said it was an “honor” to be involved in your man’s life with his child, I didn’t mean that lightly. You should be proud that he chose you; that he trusts you to share in the life of his child. And part of that honor is also the responsibility and acknowledgement of his eternal connection to his Baby Mama in some way, shape or form because of their child. As much as you wish she would disappear off the face of this earth, she's not going anywhere. So accept it. If you can’t, you need to cut your losses now and move on. Remember..it is not your job to get caught up in the “drama” .

Try and be her friend
Ok, you’re reading this and saying, “WTF?!” I know, I know…you’d rather have your toenails plucked off one by one than be her friend. But quite honestly, Baby Mama needs to be reassured that you aren’t trying to replace her. Acknowledge her bond between herself, the child, and your man. It can make all the difference knowing you took the time to recognize her relationship with them and reassure her that her child will still know who their mother is. Respect her role and be proud of yours.

Whether your Baby Mama or Baby Daddy’s girlfriend/wife, you need to continue to respect yourself and make sure to never lose sight of what’s important, and that is the welfare of the child involved.

Be open.
Be positive.
Be accepting.

You have the greatness to persevere, to forgive, to smile, to lift yourself and others up and to move on…

Be the one who makes the difference.

(this blog dedicated to llewelyn manzano…a nice baby daddy girlfriend)

Single Dads...

2010-07-07T13:27:00.000-07:00

Alright, I know it’s so easy for come down on deadbeat dads. There are a ton of articles on absentee fathers and what they aren’t doing, what they should be doing and the effect on their children.

But how about the single dads that ARE stepping up to the plate?

Did you know that one-fifth of single parents today are single fathers -- more than 2 million of them.

I don’t think we do enough to acknowledge the good dads. We are so quick to focus on the negative when it comes to fatherhood and what the man isn’t doing and exploit that, but when it comes to the good that a man does for his child, no one really cares.

There are A LOT of good men out there that are single fathers that take care of business, as well as men that have stepped up to the plate to be a father to children that aren’t even biologically their own. And how about the men that have taken over as mom AND dad because mom wasn’t up to task?

I have many single dad friends that I respect because of the love and responsibility they have for their children. And yes, I’ll take the time to acknowledge them: Scott Taylor, Joey Rodriguez, Jack Gordon Mills, Marlon Derraco, Daryl Stamps, David Butler, Jeff Guadarrama, Jim Simunek, Brian Carbajal, Ramses King Taylor, Oliver Ware, Kevin Ratcliff, Landy Parce,and Deonne McBean.

They are empowering men. They are men that are role models not only to their sons, but to their daughters as well. They are men that still respect their “babies mamas” regardless of the situation that broke them up in the first place. They are men that will go without so that their children will have what they need. Not only are these men there physically, emotionally, spiritually, financially…but they actively participate in their children’s’ lives -- finger paints, bike rides, playing tag in the park, throwing the football around and reading bedtime stories. And as their children grow they’ll be there to witness: their first date… prom… graduation..marriage….

Being a father… being a dad... isn’t a privilege, it’s an honor. You only get to do this gig once in this lifetime.

And~

That same little hand you held from the minute they entered this world...

will be the same one you hold when you leave it….

It’s never too late to be a good dad.

Make today count…

An Open Letter to My Cousin's Father...

2010-07-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

An Open Letter to My Cousin’s Father:

Wait, let me retract that…An Open Letter to My Cousin’s Sperm Donor:

I used to like you. I really did. You married my aunt, who I considered my sister, because of the close proximity of our age. We had a special bond. Everything that she felt, I felt. Every sorrow, every joy that she experienced..I experienced. Every milestone in each of our lives was celebrated immediately with each other over the phone. And when she found out she was pregnant, she was nervous…but excited to bring this beautiful being made by you two into this world. I shared in this joyous news and you seemed to be equally excited…at the time.

When your son finally entered this world, everything changed. My aunt’s life no longer revolved around you. You were no longer #1. You were no longer catered to. You were no longer the center of attention. You couldn’t handle that. And although she still struggled to make you feel important and loved, it was never enough. You started to withdraw…you started to lie…and your needs became more important than your family. Even when you were around, you were still absent.

When you weren’t up to the task of being a husband and father, did it feel good to walk out the door and not look back? Did it feel good to charge up all the credit cards with purchases for your skanky girlfriend before you left? Did you just never feel good enough because your wife was an intelligent, college-educated woman? It’s funny though,your son didn’t seem to notice when you left. I guess you had to drop to your level and mess with the barely-getting-G.E.D. skank that you must’ve picked up at the local carnival…and then end up marrying her at a local Texas Chuck E. Cheese-like entertainment center before the ink on your divorce was dry.

You’ve always been one for timing, right?

You fought so hard for visitation and custody for your child during your divorce. You were such a great actor. You wanted people to think that you were doing the “right” thing; that you were looking out for your child’s best interest...but it was all a show; Academy Award worthy. In the beginning, you picked him up like clockwork (that was part of the script, right?) and then slowly but surely, the visits became far and less between. You always had an excuse for not showing up. (I hope you put “excuse-maker/liar” on your resume when you lost your job and used my aunt as a reference, she’d totally vouch for you). But my aunt knew you too well. She never told my cousin about your scheduled visits to pick him up because she knew better. She knew that you wouldn’t show. And the last thing she wanted to do was break his heart.

You know what you don’t realize? You don’t realize how much my aunt does to save face when it comes to your child. I know it’s hard for her not to call you a fucking asshole and to tell your son that you’re a loser. You know what she does? She makes excuses for you in order to save him from a world of hurt if he knew the truth. When it comes to your whereabouts, she does her best to conjure up some undeserving excuse for your absence. She knows you think he’s an inconvenience. You’d rather spend time with your step-daughter than with your own flesh and blood. You let your carnival wife dictate every move in your life which in turn affects your son. You go for months not seeing him, not calling him and then wonder why he looks at you with the warmth he would a total stranger. And when it comes to special occasions, you’re predictable. You got him the same thing for his birthday this year as you did last year..nothing. You're always asking for your child support to be cut down so that you can support your trailer park lifestyle. And even though you barely pay enough, my aunt makes it work. She sacrifices so that your son has whatever his heart desires. But, YOU are the one that’s supposed to be his hero and set the example. YOU were the one that was to provide for the family and keep him safe. That's what daddy's do. They’re supposed to be there through the good times and the bad times.

Not only did you lose your way...you lost a good woman.

But good riddance for her. God is going to bring her a MAN that steps up to the plate and treats her like a queen. This MAN will love your child and put his needs first. Your son will have a father that plays ball with him, takes him to the movies, helps him with his homework, takes him camping, plays in the park, or just sits with him and holds him. Who knows? She just might have that going on already.

You know..it's really hard for me to hold back and not print your name so that everyone knows that you're a piece of shit. But..I'm not going to use my blog to waste space and acknowledge your name that your son will forever carry. Everyone that knows me..knows of you...and that's enough for me.

Just so you know, you’re really missing out on a wonderful person. Your son is so smart and loving. He has a smile that can light up a room and at nine years of age, has an infectious personality that can capture anyone's heart. You need to thank his mom. She's raising such an amazing boy that will someday change the world.

I hope that one day, when my cousin looks back at the pictures of you holding him as a baby, he knows, that at one time..

you loved him…

and that at one time…

you would conquer the world for him…

Smile Now, Cry Later~ My Relationship with my Bathroom Scale

2010-06-24T12:02:00.000-07:00

There aren’t too many things in life that I have a love/hate relationship with. But my relationship with my bathroom scale probably ranks right up there with my love/hate relationship with my thighs. Since I started working out and losing weight I’ve become obsessed with my scale. Oh, it’s not one of those funny, ha-ha obsessions; it’s an unhealthy one.

I drag my $19.98 Wal-Mart digital scale out every morning I wake up. Of course, first I pee to make sure I get rid of any water weight. I carefully place the scale on my tile and slowly get on. If I don’t like the number I go through the whole rigmarole:
1. Take a dump. Nothing like cleaning the pipes, right? Rid myself of any unwanted waste and the chicken pita from the night before
2. Do a few jumping jacks
3. Scoot the scale onto a different floor tile and another and another
4. Log my weight in my handy-dandy journal that I keep in my vanity

Does it work?

Hell no! I usually end up weighing more than I did before I took a crap and did the jumping jacks!

It’s so frustrating. Maybe it was better when I didn’t care about my weight. I used to go to my annual gynecologist appointment and dread the whole weigh-in. I’d sit in the lobby with all the other women and think about that stupid medical scale. When the nurse would finally call my name after 2 ½ hours, she’d go through her whole spiel:

“Hi, Sandra. How are you today? If you wouldn’t mind hopping on this scale so that I can get your weight and then I’ll get your blood pressure…”

I place my purse on the chair next to the scale and proceed to take off my heels, my necklace, bracelets, earrings, watch, wipe off any excess blush, brush out any added hairspray and remove my nail polish that might interfere with my true weigh-in. If I could get butt-naked in the hallway, I would. I stand on the scale and tell the nurse:

“Umm, I am going to turn away while you take my weight. I do NOT want to hear you sigh. I do NOT want to hear the scraping of that big ass square weight slide across the metal that alerts me that you need to add more lbs to the scale. I do NOT want to hear your pen write the 3 digit numbers on my file. I do NOT want to know what my weight is. Just smile and return the metal square thing on the scale back to it’s original position when you’re done. And by the way, when was the last time the Department of Executive Administration Weights and Measures came by to conduct an inspection on this particular scale??”

A bit drastic? Not to me.

I sit down and she takes my blood pressure. She tells me that my blood pressure is a little high. NO KIDDING? After placing my fat ass on the scale, my blood pressure probably won’t go back to normal for at least a few hours.

So, as you can see…it’s been a turbulent relationship-me & my scale. I try and keep the healthy mind-set of ‘As long as I look and feel good, who cares what the numbers are’. Yet, there are those mornings that I want to take the scale and fling the damn thing out the window…

but then…

I’d have one less thing to complain about.

An Open Letter to My Vagina...

2010-06-21T15:25:00.000-07:00

As most of you know by now, I'm pretty open when it comes to my body parts and all the primping and upkeep that I speak so freely about. But when I came across an article about 'Vaginal Trainers' in this month's Cosmopolitan, I thought it was a joke. Yes, there really are V.T.'s out there that will help get your vagina in tip top shape! It's not enough that we're forced to do Kegel's to keep those muscles in shape, but now we have weight sets? This article moved me to write an open letter. Yes, an open letter to my vagina....

Dear Vagina,

I hope you know how lucky you are that you have an owner that takes such good care of you. When I was young lass, I would jokingly refer to you as the 'front butt' or 'pee-pee' or if I wanted to go back to my ethnic roots, 'chocha' or 'pek-pek'. You weren't of much use to me back then, you were what you were.

Then puberty hit...

I didn't want you to grow hair. I think it was partly because I knew that it meant I was leaving my Barbies and cartoons behind and now entering the world of bras, boys and pads (ugh).

I resisted.. but you insisted. And you started to sprout hair every which way you could. The once lovely, pristine patch of skin was now overtaken by an ugly, wirey sparse rug of hair. I was scared to shave you because of all the horror stories about hair coming back 3x thicker. But as time passed, so did my wrath against womanhood.

I knew the time had come to embrace you; because with you came boobies....yay!

I remember when you decided it was time for me to have my first period. I was turning 13 and you couldn't wait until I was at home or maybe in the shower. No..you waited until I was walking on the balance beam playing around behind the school with my friend, Cheryl Delz. She noticed the rust colored spot on my jeans and informed me of my impending doom.

"WHAT?! No! I can't start. I'm athletic, I'm skinny, I'm too young to start my period!! I probably held my pee in for too long!"

I was in denial.

But you remained adamant.

You insisted I move into the next stage in my life.

I know you hated being suffocated by the pillow-size pads that my mother insisted on buying me. And God forbid if I asked her about tampons. Tampons were for 'non-virgins' and I'd "rupture my hymen" if I tried sticking a tampon in you. Girls were dying all over the world from Toxic Shock Syndrome! (Mom had a way of being a little over dramatic). I hated going to the store to get the big, orange box of Freedom pads. There was no way to be discreet when you were at the grocery store. The big ass box took up half the shopping cart and I always prayed that I wouldn't run into any cute boys from school when we lugged around this box of pads with a graphic on the front of a woman in a flowing dress running on a beach; that cheesy picture will forever be imprinted in my brain.

The teen years came and gone. And as the years passed I became more comfortable with you. Sure, I know there were times when I was a teen when you felt you were ready to take that big step and leave the 'V-Squad' (Virgin Squad), but I held onto my morals and didn't let that happen too early. It wasn't easy. Oh boy..it wasn't easy...but I knew you were too precious to give away to just anyone. And when that time finally did come, I made sure the it was right and that you, along with my heart, would walk away unscathed. I know it wasn't all that it was made out to be...it was my first time..and yeah, I agree..it pretty much sucked.

I was so proud of you when the time to have babies came around. You refused to let me go to the operating room and have my gut cut open. You insisted that you were going to help me push these 10lb babies out naturally. I worried that you'd be stretched out forever...that you'd never go back to normal...that sex would be like throwing a hotdog down a hallway. But you again, you didn't dissapoint me. You regained your strength (and some muscle, I might add).

When I decided that I wanted to change you around a bit and chose to introduce you to Brazilian bikini waxing, I know you were nervous. But I could tell you were excited and impressed by the end results. You looked like a new 'you'. You had the option of the "Playboy"- clean cut and bald or the "Landing Strip" (aka as The Hitler)...and you looked glamourous either way. You could pull both looks off and I was rather impressed. You were red-carpet worthy.

As I've gotten older, I've also tried to keep you in shape. No,I haven't resorted to the vaginal weight set. But I do the Kegels when I'm at a redlight. I hope you've noticed how strong and more limber you've become. I think I see some definition forming!

The whole concept behind this letter to you, was one of gratitude. I also want you to know that I will always have your back. I will never let you down. I will never let you look like Chewbacca from Star Wars or subject you to any piercings. I will never, ever suffocate you with XXL pads again (Tampax Pearl tampons are the best, don't you think?) or ever wear cameltoe jeans to irritate you.

I hope you appreciate all the effort that I put into you to make you look snazzy and feel your best.

We only get one vagina in life...and I'm glad you're mine.

Self Nurturing~ The Art of Being Good to ME...

2010-06-17T14:13:00.000-07:00

I recently attended a women's empowerment seminar and learned a lot about "Self Nurturing".

As a mother, this word was foreign to me. I really couldn't comprehend the actual nurturing of myself. I mean, really... my family came first and if there was a miniscule of time left, it didn't go to me. It went to other areas of life that needed tending to (i.e. baked goods for school, Girl Scout meetings, science projects). But for the last 8 months, I've been trying to carve out that "me" time...

Alice Domar, Ph.D. defined self-nurture as "caring for yourself and putting yourself amongst your own list of priorities." Right away, we automatically think about how selfish a behavior that would be. But...why is it selfish to want to be happy and to take care of yourself and your needs? Stress, right now, is the number one problem cited by American women, mostly because balancing work and family is so hard. And when we juggle them, we leave ourselves last which takes a huge toll on our mental and physical health.

Self Nuture. That's what I've started doing 8 months ago. I've dedicated time to myself to get back in shape, reconnect with close friends and just take that 'breather' that I need. I'm not a party animal on the weekends by any stretch of the imagination, but I've been carving out time, every couple of months to fly out to my hometown, San Diego to see my family and friends...solo. Even for just a couple of days, I truly appreciate that alone time. I think it's made me a better person with a more appreciative, more grateful view on life.

It's hard amidst all the chaos of our daily family routine to find restorative moments that can be squeezed into the schedule. But, I'm much more conscious about my life and find myself deep in thought about what will help me get through this time better, what my needs are, and what I can do for myself the next day. Even something short and very simple, like my drive home from work listening to my iPod, can help me regroup.

I get very emotional when I think about this "perfect person" that I've been struggling to be all my life: the perfect wife, the perfect mom, the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect friend. And it's still a struggle to give myself some compassion instead of pretending to be strong all the time. I stop myself during these moments and I think about what's worked in the past to make me feel better~ calling a friend, watching a funny movie... I think about what recharges me and brings out my strength. And when I think about it..it is my San Diego getaways that I do by myself. For a few days, I don't have to worry about anyone but myself. I don't have to bathe anyone, cook, clean or break up fights. I don't have to clean up dog poo or do laundry. For those few days, I can be irresponsible (to an extent). But most of all, I feel like I'm giving myself the gift of time, and I really enjoy it...and I'm blessed to have it.

The catch? The catch is that to find that time, and then take it, we need to believe we deserve it -- and the bottom line, it seems to me, is that we must. I was always the one saying, "I'll take some time after they get out of school.." or "When things slow down at work, I'll do that...." Postponing self-care until "life calms down" can mean a very long wait.

And life is too short.

I truly believe the words of Dr. Alice Domar, "From my experience, you are not the best mother, daughter, wife, sister or friend if you have depleted yourself. When you feel exhausted, resentment starts to build up, and your loved ones can sense it. . Taking "you" time is crucial and should be guilt free.."

In the end, it's not selfish to do what allows us to continue giving to others.

It's not selfish to treat ourselves with the same thoughtfulness we show those we love.

When I'm doing for myself, every cell of my being is fully alive...and nothing could make me give it up.

I owe to my family....

but most of all, to myself.

An Open Letter to All The After School Moms with Shitty Attitudes

2010-02-24T20:28:00.000-08:00

"..You say High Maintenance like it's a bad thing..."

Dear After School Moms with the Shitty Attitudes:

Do I care about the way I look?
Yes.
Do I try and dress in things that flatter me?
Absolutely.
Do I love my shoe and purse collection?
Ab-so-freaking-loutely.
Do I give credit to other women when I see them "put together"?
Totally!

But you know what pisses me off? When I get looks from you After School Mothers that pick up your kids when I do. What "looks" you might ask?

Well...

Let me get up on my soapbox for a minute, because I really have to get this off my chest (and if I offend you, I'm sure you'll get over it)...

It never fails. I will always get the "look" from you After School Moms. You know the "look" that comes so easily to you~ the one-eye-brow-up...the full body scan from head to toe...the neck roll from side to side...the pursed lips...the non-smile...the avoidance of any eye contact.

You After School Moms fit a certain profile, too. You are the ones that are unkept, sloppy and wear your husband's sweatpants. You are the women who are 250+ lbs and wear your greasy hair in a ponytail. You are the women wearing the Wal-Mart flip-flops with dirty feet and pizza-stained Nascar t-shirts and waist purses. You are the women that volunteer for every freaking school function and then try and make the working moms feel bad when they can't make it to the class Play-doh party.

I cannot tell you how much effort I put into being social and nice just to break the ice with you women and I just can't make any headway. So then I choose to dissect your psyche...

Maybe you're unhappy with your life.
Maybe you feel that being healthy and clean is not a priority.
Maybe it's easier to be unfriendly.
Maybe you're upset because your baby daddy doesn't even acknowledge your presence
Maybe you feel threatened by a woman who can balance a family AND career and STILL take the time to look good.

But don't be mad at me because you've given up on yourself.

I think women, especially mothers, need to come together and be more supportive of one another. I don't think we take the time to acknowledge each other like we should or give compliments like we should.But we are so quick to be so judgmental and critical of one another.

And such is life...

I will continue to smile like I always do (even when you look away). I will continue to acknowledge your presence (even if I am invisible to you) and I will continue to wear my Christian Louboutin heels (even if you are flopping around in your Walmart flip flops with the Tweety Bird plastic character).

I will continue to be the woman my daughters look up to and respect and want to be like.

I am not claiming to be better than you, I'm just claiming to be me.

And I kinda feel bad for you, because you're really missing out on a pretty nice person....

Sincerely,
The Smiling Mom with the red-bottom shoes

Sriracha-cha-cha!

2010-02-23T21:53:00.000-08:00

PARENTS, TAKE NOTE:

Your children are ALWAYS listening. Oh, they act like they aren't..but they really are. Behind that Dr. Suess book they act like they're reading- they're really listening. When playing their Nintendo DS- they're really listening. When watching The Wizards of Waverly Place- they're listening. They have supersonic hearing that starts at birth and grows in sensitivity as they enter "tween-hood"...

Let me use an example and let you decide if you change your mind about watching what you say around the kiddos..

We love taking the kids to Pita Jungle. Great, healthy, menu with lots of choices. The staff is friendly, the place clean and the food comes almost instantaneously. Part of enjoying our food is squeezing the Sriracha chili sauce on everything. The bottle is dark red with a green spout and rooster on the bottle. Because I can't seem to ever pronounce 'sriracha' correctly, I always privately joke about calling it "cock sauce" because of the rooster on the label.

Unbeknownst to me, Mia would continually hear me refer to the tasty sauce in this manner. She loves the hot sauce and is actually the one at the table that uses it the most. Well, on a recent outing to Pita Jungle she decided to order for herself:

"Could I please have the pita with chicken and a side of spinach? Oh, and could I please get some cock sauce?"

Umm, yeah...

Just so you know, the correct pronunciation for Sriracha is SEE-rah-chah...and the whole family now knows how to say it.

And remember, the kids are ALWAYS listening!

Booty Pop

2010-02-23T15:13:00.000-08:00

Call me gullible.

I just had to order them.

I want a Kim Kardashian ass.

I don't want to pay $11,000 for an ass implant, but I will pay $20 for a pair of panties that give me that "lift" I need.

Yes, I gave in and ordered the BOOTY POP undies.

You're probably wondering WTF?

Let me give you a quick recap on how this went down....

My friend Jaclyn McGill, always complained about not having a butt. She is 5'9, 110lbs and beautiful, but always complained about not having enough junk in her trunk. Recently we had lunch together with some friends and she spoke about how she received BOOTY POP as a gift. At first, I didn't know what she was referring to...a candy? A music video? A porno?

After our lunch I went back to the office and googled Booty Pop and I was pleasantly surprised to see a cute pair of panties with shapely butt padding! So..I didn't stop there. I am a researcher at heart and continued to delve deeper into reviews on this product. Everything came back positive. Then I saw a video clip of the women on The View talk about it and Kelly Ripa try it out. (Ok, Kelly Ripa is what sold me on it). I logged onto bootypop.com and watched the infomercial. The girls looked amazing in jeans wearing booty pop. I wanted to look like that! No amount of working out and doing lunges is gonna give me an ass like that!

So I'm cheating. I'm buying a pair. And the best part, I get one free!

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate my ass. I come from an Asian/Latino background. Unfortunately, I was blessed with the Asian ass, which means it's pretty much non-existent. No offense to my mother, but I would've much rather had the Latina ass in exchange for the thighs and hips. I do have a "bump"...just not a nice, plump one; a biteable one..a la Kim K. I want a video chick ass like the ones you see in rap videos. I want the ass that "...swallows up a g-string..." (ok, ok..maybe not THAT big).

I'll let you know how they work out.

If worse comes to worse, I can always use them as padding when I take up snowboarding....

Mia & Sofia's Conversation of the Day...

2010-02-23T13:55:00.000-08:00

Sofia: Ewww, I have a uni-brow! It looks like a caterpillar!

Mia: Don't worry, when you get older, you can get it waxed like mommy does her pee-pee.

Wiener on Parade!

2010-02-23T12:26:00.000-08:00

So it's the typical elementary school program. All the parents show up with their cameras, video recorders, Blackberries, iPhones, etc. to tape their little munchkin sing the well-versed medley of America's favorites: a remix of It's a Grand Ol' Flag with a touch of America the Beautiful peppered with The Star Spangled Banner. The music teacher is a flustered mess as she races from one part of the stage to the other. The usual cast of characters take their place on stage: the crying kid, the kid that won't keep his hands to himself, the clean kid that looked like she just stepped out of a Nordstrom catalog, the booger eater and the mannequin kid (you know that kid, the one with the eyes wide open and lips sealed shut that don't move).

Of course my 6 year-old, with the stage presence of Oprah Winfrey and the charismatic voice of Celine Dion, is in the front row singing her heart out void of shyness. This is the same kid, when at home, asked what she was singing for the program responds with a disinterested, "I don't know" or "I don't remember" and runs off to tackle the dog.

The show continues and the 2nd graders now enter and partake in the familiar sounds of patriotic hymns. And, like the 1st graders, the cast of characters aren't too different: crying kid and mannequin kid are on stage along with booger eater...but now throw in wiener boy*.

Yes, it is EXACTLY what you are thinking. Let me paint the scenario...

The 2nd graders are on stage doing their rendition of It's a Grand Ol' Flag and I see a boy on stage fumbling around with his pants and messing around with his zipper.

At first I thought, "Ok, the kid is just nervous, he doesn't know what to do with his hands..."

Then he started fidgeting and pulled his zipper down.

"Ok, maybe he's fixing his underwear..."

Then, in a Matrix-like, slo-mo fashion, he whips it out.

Yes... he pulls out his wiener.

And continues to sing loudly in his most patriotic voice while his little baloney pony stands at attention.

Parents who were sitting in the front row flew up in a rage to grab a teacher nearby to yank wiener boy off the stage. The teacher was oblivious to Admiral Winky & the Twins coming out for the show. So, wiener boy was pulled off the stage instantaneously and whisked away like a criminal...

Enter wiener boy's dad.

Wiener boy's dad races towards the teacher demanding to know why his son was pulled from the program. While I didn't hear the conversation...his facial expressions said it all. He made a beeline to the back of the auditorium where wiener boy was sequestered for the rest of the show.

The parents who had front row seats to the shenanigans were so up in arms and talking about how awful it was. But.. you know what? I thought it was fricking hilarious.

Inappropriate? Yeah, ok...

But I'm chalking this up to this kid "being a boy". Yeah, he's 7 years old and old enough to know better and ok, hold him accountable by punishing him appropriately....but then...let it go.

I don't think this kid premeditated anything. He wasn't at home before the show strategically planning on how he could display his frank & beans and piss people off.

Sometimes in life, we just gotta learn to laugh and not take life too seriously.

This kid could very well be our next president.

If not, his parents will always have a funny story to tell...

*name has been changed to protect the very embarrassed parents of wiener boy

Hi-Ho-Hi-Ho..It's Off to the Gyno I Go!

2009-08-26T21:58:00.000-07:00

Ugh.

The yearly exam.

The poking.

The prodding.

The Pap.

I have to be honest. I skipped out on my last year's appointment and that is very unlike me. I know, I know...shame on me. But ever since my husband got 'snipped', my reasons for going to the gynecologist have been put on the back burner. Ok, so I need to get back in for the yearly cell scraping of my uterine wall and boob massage. Doesn't that sound like fun?

Preparing for this yearly venture is a task of it's own. I feel like I'm getting ready for a porn shoot the night before my appointment-- Haha, 'Saturday Night Beaver'. But seriously, I make sure my nether regions are primped and manicured and fresh before my appointment. And as I prepare for my ' yearly prom date', I start to think about how my appointment will go from beginning to end:

3:15- Walk into doctor's office, sign in, update my insurance information hand over my $20 co-pay

3:20- Sit down and survey the waiting room. The usual cast of characters will be there: the screaming kid rolling on the floor while mom ignores him, the teenager wanting to get on the pill, the chick with the cellphone that insists on talking loud enough so that everyone knows her 'baby daddy' is a cheating asshole, the overweight lady with the 7-11 Thirst Buster cup wearing a red "Sexy Bitch" tank top that is 5 sizes too small and dirty flip-flops (who is also pregnant and can't tell), and the 89 year old lady that doesn't hear her name when they call her for the umpteenth time.

3:30- My appointment is supposed to be at 3:30, but they won't call me until 3:50

3:50- The medical assistant will call my name and of course mispronounce it

3:51- The dreaded scale will await me. I will take off everything I can,even my earrings and I'll look the other way as she scales the weight 'thingy' back and forth on the professional, piece of crap scale. I will cringe and not want to know the result

3:55- Blood pressure will be taken and then I'll be asked to pee in a cup

3:56- I will have saved all my pee from drinking the gallon of ice tea I had on my way to the appointment

3:57- Stage fright. I'll think of warm beer

3:58- I'll pee and miss the cup

3:59- I'll try again and I'll manufacture enough pee to serve a Brownie troop refreshments for a month

4:00- I'll walk my warm pee to my examing room and set it on the the counter

4:05- The medical assistant will walk in and tell me to disrobe, tell me to place the paper top on
backward and pull the paper sheet over my legs

4:10- I'll place all my clothes carefully on the chair and hide my thong (I'll normally do this when I'm not wearing cute ones), pull on the gynecological couture and sit on the crinkly paper and wait

4:13- I'll text my friends and makes jokes about where I'm at

4;15- I'll think to myself that most of my time is spent waiting--the exam itself really only takes 15 minutes

4:16- I'll look at the stirrups (the metal things connected to the chair that you place your feet in) I'll think how considerate they were to cover them with a soft 'oven-mitt' type of material so that my feet won't be cold

4:17- I'll look at the posters on the wall about the different parts of the vagina and think about how many vaginas my doctor sees. Does it phase her? Does she look at vaginas and think about how ugly they are? I start to imagine the different smells she must put up with. Does she go home and talk shop over dinner? As she's eating her roast beef dinner, does she say, "Oh honey..this reminds me of a woman I had in today..her labias were gargantuan!"

4:20- I'll start to fidget and wonder if I should put my stilletos back on to elongate my legs while they're in the stirrups. I'll look at my thighs as they peek out from under the paper blanket and think about how thick they look then become instantly depressed

4:30- I'll start to notice how cold it is and how my nipples could cut glass. I don't want her to think this exam is turning me on, so i try to massage them back in

4:35- I'll find a dumb magazine like "Quilt Making Made Easy" and try to pass time

4:45- The doctor will come in with her nurse practioner and ask me the first day of my last period. I never know, so I usually lie.

4:50- The doctor will look at my chart, make small talk, ask me about what I did during the summer, how work is going and start to examine my breasts as we continue to talk about traffic and the housing market in Phoenix. Her hands will be cold and I'll pray she doesn't find anything unusual

4:55- She'll tell me to scoot down a bit, so that my butt is right at the edge of the examining chair. My vag will be close enough for her to see my tonsils. She'll tell me to relax as I place my feet in the stirrups and let my knees fall to the wayside. The nurse will stand there and observe as if she is watching the doctor carve a turkey for a family of 12

4:56- I'll be relieved that I didn't take a dump before my exam. I wouldn't want to show up with poo residue

4:57- The doctor will douse the speculum (it looks like a metal duck) with enough lubricant (for Phoenix and the surrounding cities to play slip & slide) and place that bad boy in my birth cannon and crank that sucker wide open to scrape out some lovely cells for examination

5:00- She'll take the 'car jack' out of my vagina and then tell me that she'll be doing a quick anal exam as well. One in the pink wasn't good enough for her- now we go to one in the stink. Not fun..but again, glad I didn't drop a deuce before the exam

5:05- She'll tell me everything looks good, pat me on my shoulder and send me on my way..and there I will lay..a lubricated mess, with nothing but my paper ensemble

5:10- I'll get dressed, walk out & into the waiting room past all the characters waiting to be seen. Each one of them will know that I was just penetrated by metal and fingers

5:15- I'll get into my car, thankful that it's over and immediately start dreading next year

Why is this such a chore? Why do I make this so much worse than it really is?

I need to stop being a whiner and be grateful.

Yes, be grateful for the top-notch medical care that's available to us in this country; let alone, the services that are available to us as women.

In other countries, women aren't so lucky.

In America, we don't realize how good we have it.

So~ I'll stop being a little, whiny bitch...

until next August.

:)

An Open Letter to My Boobs...

2009-08-20T21:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Boobs,

I remember when you first popped into my life. I was 11 years old. It was a brisk fall day and my mother made me stand under a cherry blossom tree to take a picture wearing a tight, cream turtleneck sweater. When she developed the pictures, there you were..poking out in broad daylight, like aspirins on an ironing board. I refused to accept that you were going to be a part of my life.

When my Wonder Woman Underoos weren't doing the job anymore, I started to wear tight tank tops under my shirts to conceal you. I wanted to hide you from the world because I wasn't quite ready to advance into 'womanhood'. My grandmother would refer to you as 'mosquito bites'. All the other girls I knew were already wearing bras and the boys would joke about "Over the Shoulder Boulder Holders". I didn't want any of that attention, but you didn't listen. Noooo... you just insisted on growing and forced me into the teen bra section at Sears- damn you.

But over time, my resentment of you started to fade away. It was hard being in junior high and seeing 'Tina' with the biggest blouse bunnies one could ever imagine...in the 8th grade. (Everyone has a 'Tina' in school--that one overdeveloped girl in their class that the boys flock to.)

As I started to take an interest in boys, your interest in growing seemed to be put on the back burner. You just couldn't make up your mind. You started to frustrate me and I took it personal. It was like you were paying me back for being such a bitch to you when you made your first appearance under that cherry blossom tree.

High school is when you and I started to become allies. You decided that it was my time to shine and you transitioned from mosquito bites to boobies. You weren't as big as I wanted...yet. But I was happy to occupy my bra with your presence. I started to feel more like a woman instead of a prepubescent schoolboy.

By the time college came around, you were in full bloom...your prime... you weren't boobies anymore..you were tits. Sexy tits. Victoria's Secret sexy tits. I referred to you as 'The Girls' and boy did you get a lot of attention. You were fondled, you were pinched, you were grabbed, you were sucked, you brought ecstasy to my life. I never realized how sensitive you were. You were perky and cute yet erotic and strong. You gave my self esteem the boost I needed. I was no longer embarrassed to be associated with you or my sexual self. You had become one with me.

Life went on and then came marriage and babies.

I never knew how much you would change when my babies entered the picture. Our relationship had become a roller coaster of emotions. When I was pregnant, You decided to transform into sloppy, ugly National Geographic fun bags. You were no longer 'tits'..you became 'breasts'. I couldn't even look at you in the mirror. You disappointed me...but I never gave up on you.
You redeemed yourself right after I gave birth. You became delicious flesh melons. I changed your name to 'stripper boobs' because you were perfectly round and voluptuous---- you were back to tits. I missed you. I wanted you to stay like this forever...

But life goes on, seasons change and so do boobs.

I would never consider replacing you with fake ones. You've been good to me. I'm blessed to have you. I'm sure that there are a lot of women out there with cancer-stricken boobs that would kill for a pair like you. So, just know, that I appreciate you and have never taken you for granted and never will.

We've had a love/hate relationship up until now and you will always be a part of me...

(even if I secretly wish to have the stripper boobs back )

Love Always,
Me

Sexy Mother Packer

2009-07-28T14:44:00.000-07:00

I confess.

I'm a serial over packer.

I will take EVERYTHING I can and pack it... 'JUST IN CASE'.

That's my excuse everytime..

Charlie: Why are you packing shampoo? They have it at the hotel.
Me: Just in case

Charlie: You're bringing a blow dryer, too?
Me: Just in case
Charlie: And... 10 pairs of panties?
Me: Just in case
Charlie: Do you really think you need all those shoes? We are only going to be gone for the weekend!
Me: Just in case
Charlie: And...the fur-lined parka & snowboots?? It's Arizona and 100 degrees outside...
Me: Just in case!

I can't help it. I like to be prepared!

My husband's mantra is, "...just buy it when you get there.."
He can fit a whole year's wardrobe into a Nike carry-on bag and be fine with it.
Me, on the otherhand, need a forklift to help me hoist all the heavy luggage for a weekend trip to San Diego.

It's gotten even worse now that I have kids...

Charlie: Why are you packing 6 toothbrushes? We only have 2 kids.
Me: Just in case
Charlie: Do you really think they need 3 pairs of pajamas and all this underwear?
Me: *sigh* Just in case!
Charlie: We are only going to be gone for 2 days. What's with the sweaters, ski masks and 5 pairs of jeans for each of them?!
Me: *roll my eyes*..Just in case
Charle: And stuffed animals, coloring books, a DVD player and the Barbie apartment/condo? Do they really need all this stuff?
Me: Just in case!!!

By the time I've packed everything but the kitchen sink, I've managed to load up 4 suitcases and 2 duffel bags. And I know, nine times out of ten, I really only use a quarter of what I brought. But, hey...I am always prepared! Why buy it when you have it at home? (Or in my case, in your suitcase?!)

What also changes when you become a mother is your handbag.

Oh, the lovely little handbag metamorphasizes into 5x's it's size when you have kids. You no longer have the cute little clutch..you now have the 'mom purse'..ouch!

I remember how cute my 'pre-mom' bag was..it was like yesterday...

It was the cutest little Louis Vuitton handbag with a matching coin purse and wallet. I loved that bag and the contents inside:

- Dior compact with rosy lip gloss
-Matching Louis Vuitton check book holder with pen
-Chanel blush
-Leather business card holder
-Cell phone neatly placed in the inside pocket
-Tiffany heart keyring with a few keys
-Concert tickets
-Brush
-Mint Gum
-Chanel perfume
-Dior sunglasses

And then.... it all changed after I shot my offspring out my birth cannon....
My cute little handbag turned into a monstrous, Mary Poppins, bottomless, pit of a purse overnight.

I now lug around the handbag from hell.

Let's take inventory, shall we?

- Dior compact w/ a broken mirror and smudged gloss
- Receipts
- Check book is now unbalanced and bent with pages folded over
- Receipts
- An unopened Capri Sun drink with a missing straw
- Receipts
- 3 different packs of gum with only one stick left in each pack
- Receipts
- A lollipop with crumbs and a paperclip stuck to it
- Receipts
- Movie ticket stubs from Hannah Montana
- Receipts
- Chuck E. Cheese tokens
- Receipts
- Cellphone with fingerprints and a sticker on the back
- Receipts
- Expired coupons
- Receipts

- A Polly Pocket shoe and skirt

- Receipts

- Polly Pocket's head (yes, just her head)

- Receipts
- Free panty coupon for Victoria's Secret that expired last Christmas
- Receipts

- Restaurant crayons with only 2 in the pack

- Receipts

- A rock

- Receipts

- A broken hair clip

- Receipts

- High School Musical lip gloss w/ Corbin Bleu scratched off because he's 'ugly'

- Receipts
- Recipe that I ripped out of a magazine at the dentist's office..last year
- Tampons
- Receipts
- Advil
- Receipts
- Camera to record all the kids' special moments (as soon as I erase the full memory stick)
- Receipts
- Hand sanitizer stuck to an appointment card for my gynecologist (that I forgot about)
- Receipts
- 3 packs of Spongebob Fruit snacks

I find it quite humorous as I take inventory. Wow..has my life changed. But I savor every minute of it.

And yet... it's kinda sad.

I know that before long, my babies will be all grown up and my huge, monstrous purse will slowing change back into the small handbag it once was... but for now, I will continue to immerse myself into the joys of motherhood...and hang on to the Chuck E. Cheese tokens...

JUST IN CASE :)

The Ghosts of Boyfriends Past...

2009-07-23T21:38:00.000-07:00

"Maybe the past is like an anchor holding us back. Maybe... you have to let go of who you were to become who you will be...." Carrie Bradshaw, Sex in the City

Boyfriends.
Do I have any regrets about my past or who I've dated?
Absolutely not.

Do I sometimes question the decisions I've made when it came to the colorful personalities that I've have shared my life with?
Absolutely.

I know that God brings people in and out of our lives for a reason. And I've taken away so much from each relationship. I have learned a lot about myself and about life from each and every one of them. Although I don't mention every single guy I've dated in this blog (please don't take offense), you've all made an impact on my in some way, shape or form. I've learned how much my soul can tolerate and how much my heart can forgive.

To all the Ghosts of Boyfriends Past, I'd like to thank you...

D.R.: You were my very first boyfriend in 8th grade. You were the first to hold my hand and you were my first kiss. In junior high, when I was going through my 'ugly duckling' stage, you thought I was cute and it really boosted my self confidence that a popular boy like you found a goofy, clumsy girl like me attractive. But then you decided to 'cheat' on me with Veronica because she let you feel her boobies and go down her Jordache jeans. I was crushed. But I want to thank you. Thank you for bringing out the stronger side of me at such an early age. It felt good to know that I could make wise decisions and stand up for myself and not give in the pressures of intimacy at such an early age.

E.A.: We were together for 2 whole weeks in junior high. That's equivalent to a year in real life ;) You had the best handwriting, you were smart, funny and brought out the intellectual side of me. Thank you for helping me overcome my fear of revealing the "smart " side of myself instead of hiding it for fear of being classified as a nerd. I still have the love notes you sent me and will always cherish them. And now you're in heaven, your life taken too early. Miss you lots, Eddie.

D.S.: You were my first car date. You were the first one my mom let me stay out with until 10 p.m. You respected me and you never tried anything inappropriate. You were on the baseball team and had your head on straight. You had the Suzuki Samurai that screamed 'chick magnet'. You gave me all your attention and I think I took advantage of that. I want to apologize for being such a spoiled brat to you in high school. I want to apologize for breaking up with you and believeing your "friend" who told me that you were seeing other people behind my back when you really weren't. I didn't realize he had other motives. I will forever carry around the guilt and I am truly sorry. I know that you and I remained friends afterwards but I don't remember why we grew apart- it was probably my fault. But I want to Thank you. Thank you for showing me that guys in high school can still be gentlemen and loving without expectation of a physical nature. Thank you for bringing out the laughter in me.

B.G.: I had a crush on you in 11th grade, but we technically never dated. You were a baseball player, cute and always flirted with me and so I thought there was a chance for us. When i finally revealed my true feelings to you, you crushed me by telling me you had a girlfriend that attended a different school. WTF? You never, ever mentioned a girlfriend before. I felt like the biggest loser, And when things didn't pan out with her, you tried to get with me. But it was a little too late. THEN...I find out (22 years later) that you lied to me about my boyfriend (D.S.) cheating on me. You lied just to get me to break up with him. I don't think I will ever forgive you for that. I lost a very special person in my life because of you and I will always carry around the guilt for hurting him. Yet, still..I want to thank you. Thank you for keeping me grounded and bringing me to the realization that life isn't fair and that it goes on with or without me and my broken heart. A harsh reality to swallow at 16.

M.O.: Took you to my prom, dated for over a year and thought things were 'ok'. It was the 'football-player-meets-thug' swagger you had, that attracted me to you. Or maybe it was your cockiness that fascinated me. And there were some things that I thought I could change about you, and I tried. I thought that if could just change those 'little things', our relationship would be perfect. As I graduated, we grew apart...naturally. For the record, I never cheated on you. What I am guilty of, is knowing in my heart that it was over between us and not being upfront about it. Thank you for helping me learn that I cannot change anybody. I cannot 'fix' people or go into relationships thinking that this person will change for me. I either accept them for who they are or move on.

F.L.: When writing this blog, i told myself that I wasn't going to bash anyone. But with you, i will make an exception. I wish I could say one nice thing about you, but I can't. It's taking all I have in me not to mention your name. I don't know what i was thinking when I met you. Maybe it was the 'bad boy' image that created the excitement of being with you. I strayed from my norm and took a chance with you. Being an adult woman, i thought I knew what I was getting myself into. I thought I knew better. I never expected our relationship to be such an abortion. You tore away at my soul until there was nothing left of me. My spirit was drained and replaced with such negative energy and hurt. Your controlling ways brought out your demented world of insecurities and your physical abuse revealed the coward in you. You cheated, you lied and you blamed the world for your situation instead of looking within. I didn't like myself when i was with you. I actually loathed the person I saw in the mirror. I wasn't the happy, go-lucky girl that everyone knew. I had transformed into this sad, empty shell of a human being. I alienated my best friend and my family when I was involved with you. They couldn't bare to see what I was putting myself through for you. But I didn't listen. They loved me enough to let me follow my own path, but stayed right behind me to catch me when I fell. I didn't want to face the reality that they were right about you. I was your arm candy. That's all I was. Delusional, you were. But...I started to fight back, and you didn't like that. I started to place you in the backseat of my life, and you didn't like that. I started to regain my confidence to leave you, and you didn't like that. But-- I want to thank you. Yes, I want to thank you for testing my faith and my unwillingness to give up on myself and my future. I want to thank you for showing me that I was stronger than I thought I was and that I could fight my way back and become whole again. I want to thank you for forcing me to find my own wings and fly away. And...I also want you to know that I forgave you a long time ago. I knew I came to a crossroads in my life when I was able to forgive you and find closure. You need God, I hope you find Him one day, as I know you have a lot of free time in prison.

The Ghosts of Boyfriends Past will always remain a part of me. I wouldn't be the woman I am today making unusual efforts to succeed without the life experiences of Boyfriends Past.

No regrets. Just lessons.

Off to NYC!

2009-06-22T07:32:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I've been on the road without without my kids..probably about 9 years ago when I used to work for a record label and it was a weekly occurrence. I've really settled into such a comfort zone with my daily routines and the monotony of daily life (which I love).
Leaving my kids behind for less than a week is excruciating. As I sit here in the airport I see kids pass by with their parents and the feeling of guilt overwhelms me. But I constantly gotta remind myself that what I am doing is for the better of my career which also affects our family. I gotta remind myself that I can be a strong, confident, successful woman in my career while also being a successful mother as well. It's not easy balancing motherhood and my career. But it IS do-able as long as my priorities stay straight and I keep family #1.

I'll probably blog about something funny later...like what people wear to the airport or the bags they carry..or maybe the Croc shoe invasion....

*Sigh*...is time to fly back home yet??

Dance with My Father

2009-05-18T21:23:00.000-07:00

It seems like just yesterday that I danced with my father.

I remember when I was 5 years old and running to him the minute I'd hear a Freddy Fender song play and stand on his feet and grab his waist so that we could dance together. Before the Last Teardrop Falls, was one of our favorites and he would hold me as we danced together across the room...I never wanted the song to end. And the lyrics were fitting:

I'll be there anytime
You need me by your side
To drive away every teardop that you cried..

I share a lot of blessed memories with my father along with life long lessons:

- Dad taught me that that cleanliness is next to Godliness. I never had a hair out of place, a stain on my clothes or a scuff mark on my shoes. If he could carry me so that I wouldn't touch the dirty ground, he'd do it...even now, if I'd let him.

- Dad could do the laundry, wash all the cars, vacuum the entire house, dust and cook up lunch all before 12noon.

- Wrinkles were not allowed. My brother and I walked around in starched and pressed clothes. Our creases had creases! Dad was a slave to the iron (It had to be the Navy man in him)

- Dad knew I sucked at math and he was always patient with me. My math problems never made sense until he'd show me how to do it

- When it came to deadbeat boyfriends, he'd let me fall. He always trusted that I was smart enough to make my own decisions when it came to guys and in the end I'd always drop the zeros

- My dad was in the military, so there were many times where he'd have to go out to sea-- 9 months to a year at a time. I remember how he'd take the family out for a drive the night before he had to leave and we'd get ice cream and just enjoy driving around with him until the sun set

- I remember when the morning would come for dad to leave to the ship for Westpac and I'd cry uncontrollably after he'd leave. I never wanted him to see me cry because I didn't want to make him sad or have his last image of me in tears

- I remember the Grease soundtrack that my dad bought me. I played it so much that I wore the tape out and he ended up buying me another copy

- I always looked forward to the road trips we made to San Antonio, Texas in dad's brown Camaro

- Because Dad was a stickler on having a well manicured lawn, he never let us have a Slip-n-Slide. "It damages the grass!" he'd say

- I remember the purple bike he taught me to ride without training wheels. It was the coolest bike ever and I'm sure he was on the verge of having a coronary watching me fall constantly. I'm surprised i wasn't wrapped in bubble wrap from the first attempt

- If my brother or I got hurt, Dad would automatically get upset, "WHAT?! What NOW?!" He immediately went into panic mode

- One of the hardest days of my life was having to tell my father that his dad, my grandfather, had passed away

- Dad was the first person to ever introduce me to rap music! He had the vinyl record for The Sugar Hill Gang, Rapper's Delight. I loved the song so much, that to this day, I still remember every single lyric. (I'm a pretty big hit at karaoke bars)

- My dad always waited up for me when I went out with my girlfriends. I'd always bring him home a late night treat like a dessert or Mexican food and we'd stay up in the kitchen and just talk

- When my mother would cook liver and onions (a dish I despised) Dad would say, "Mmmm, hígado (Spanish for liver)..eat it! It'll put hair on your chest!"

- My dad is an obsessive compulsive when it comes to locked doors. He'll quadruple check the front door and garage door before he goes to sleep. He'd always tell me to keep my car door locked when I went out and made me prove it as I backed out of the driveway

- When I decided that it was good idea to "bleach" my brown hair in the 8th grade and it turned orange, he said I looked like an Aztec Indian. I scoffed..but now looking back at the pic- Yikes, it was horrible.

- My dad washed his hair with soap and always smelled good

- Dad could always bake up a mean Bundt cake and cheesecake

- My dad was a stickler when it came to time management. If my curfew was 12 midnight, he meant 12 midnight on the dot. Not 12:01, not 12:03. If I wasn't through the door at exactly 12 midnight, I would expect him sitting and waiting for me on the stairs with a clock in his hand asking me if I knew what time it was

- "Where's my change?" was his favorite line

- "Dad, do you have a couple a bucks?" was mine

- I remember when The Wonderful World of Disney would come on TV when I was little. I would grab a pillow and make myself comfy on dad's lap and we'd watch it together

- I'd always pretend that I was asleep in the car when we'd drive home late from somewhere and he'd end up having to pick me up and take me to my room

- My father was such a great husband to my mother. He loved her and I reveled in the affection he showed her

- When mom and I would get in a disagreement, I would run to him and he'd listen- even though he'd usually be in agreement with my mother, I still felt like he had my back

- Dad was the only one who could make me laugh until my sides hurt

- Even when I visit my father's house today, the flood of warm memories fill my soul as soon as I walk through his front door.

My father was and still is, the epitome of a great man. His love and inspiration have transformed me into the woman I am today. He taught me to never settle for second best and brought me up knowing that I could have anything I wanted with hard work. His encouraging words and unconditional love continue to resonate. Every chapter in my life from childhood to adulthood to marriage and children~I continue to look to him for guidance.

The last time I danced with my father, it was during my wedding. And like the Freddy Fender song, I didn't want it to end. Deep inside, I felt that once the song ended and he let go..that I'd have to move on and let go of him. But..I haven't...and never will.

If I could get another chance... Another walk, another dance with him I'd play a song that would never, ever end. How I'd love to dance with my father again....

Happy Father's Day, Dad... I love you.

Mom...

2009-04-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

This picture sits in my office at work.

I can't help but smile when I look at it.

It has all the elements that make me happy: the wind, the beach, the white sand between my 4 year old toes...and my mother...

I look at this picture and I see a child with no worries in the world with a mother who constantly dotes over her with all her love and support; a father behind the camera who captures the moment on film knowing that one day his daughter will look back on this photo with heartfelt emotion and love.

I still hear the waves crashing in the background and the seagulls fluttering above.

I still smell her Oil of Olay cream and the scent of her flowery perfume. It's a perfect mixture with the fresh ocean air and warm sun.

Her warm hugs and infectious laughter still resonate within my soul.

The joy, the energy, the light in her eyes when she looked at me. I was her world.

The smiles...the happiness...the comfort of being a kid.

A blessed childhood.

A moment in time captured to remind me of the simplicity of life and what really matters: Family-Love-Togetherness

This photo captures the essence of who I am today: a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend.

Time goes by so fast, I can hardly catch my breath.

I now create these memories with my little girls. I, now, the doting mommy with all the love and support to give.

In my daughters' eyes, I'm now the hero.

But...I still need her.... my mom...my hero...

If I could just hold my mother's hand and dig my four year old little toes into the white sand once again...

Stars...are they squishy or hard?

2009-04-08T22:19:00.000-07:00

My five-year-old, Sofia has a great mind.

Her thoughts amaze me and really bring me back to the simplicity and wonderment of life. Let me share some of her most recent thoughts and comments:

- Sofia didn't want to participate in her school walk-a-thon because she thought it was a

walk-a-THONG and that everyone had to show up to the school track in a THONG

- She told me that she was thinking about the stars in the sky and wondering if they were "squishy or hard"

- She asked how soon she could get her hair cut into a "side bang"

- She recently asked her Godfather "who" he was wearing. He didn't quite understand until she pulled back his collar and and read the label. She then responded, "L.L. Bean?! I've never heard of it.."

- Sofia found a penny on the ground and said, "Look mommy, a penny from heaven! God is reminding me that He's thinking of me!"

- She claims to have voted for Obama

- I took her to The Gap to get her a few things and when I picked out a cute dress she said, "SERIOUSLY?" in her most serious tone ever

- She plans her birthday gift list 12 months in advance. She has the "Smooth Away" hair removal kit as well as the Bendaroos as #4 and #5 on her list (As Seen on TV is a fave of hers)

- Sofia told me that she heard a kid on the playground call another kid a bad word that started with an "A". I tried to guess, "Hmm, did he call him an ASS?" She rolled her eyes and said, "Worse! He called him an IDIOT". At that point I was confused and ended the conversation there

- She decided that she needed to leave the table at dinner and go poop. While we were all sitting & eating, she came out of the bathroom, spread her buttcheeks and asked if it was all gone. (She was proud of her wiping job)

- Sofia says she knows how babies get inside the tummies of mommies. God comes at night and takes a tiny egg out of his pocket and pushes it through the mommy's bellybutton into her stomach and it grows and grows until it's time to push it out of her butt

- She loves infomercials and can recite any commercial from the Sham-Wow to the Aqua Globes

- She believes that Santa watches us through all the vents in the house throughout the year

- She refers to any song that I sing to on the radio as "Old School"

- She dropped out of karate because she felt that it was incomprehensible that the sensei would make a 5 year old do push-ups

- Sofia believes that cotton candy is a good breakfast

Only through the eyes of a child do we remember how funny and wonderful life can be.

Thank you, Sofia for reminding mommy that even with all the daily stresses and challenges,

life is still beautiful and simple and fun...

I love you.

Mia Turned 10

2009-04-02T22:13:00.000-07:00

Today my daughter turned 10.

It's a bittersweet moment for me. I'm excited that she's entered the double digits and has a lot to look forward to come her teenage years...and yet...my heart is heavy with the thoughts of yesterday...

Ten years ago at 9:43am and four hours of labor, she entered this world- all 7lbs 12oz. of her. Like any new mother, as soon as my eyes met hers, the love was instanstaneous. Her tiny little hand grasped my finger and she fit so perfectly in my arms; at that very moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

I named her Mia Angelica. I wanted a name that was short and sweet but exuded confidence and strong will. After seeing the world renowned soccer player, Mia Hamm, on T.V. I knew that was the name I wanted.

When we brought her home from the hospital, she had what seemed like, a never-ending bout with colic. There were many sleepless nights and endless tears (and that was just me). I thought I was supposed to have one of those "perfect" babies that you see on T.V.- you know, those shiny, smiley babies that never cry. I was in for such a rude awakening. She hated sleeping in her crib, always wanted to be held and insisted on falling asleep on my chest every time.

Mia hated to be away from me. I could not leave the room without her wailing like someone was pulling her toenails out one by one with a pair of rusty pliers. She always wanted to be carried and had to have me at arm's length at all times. I thought this phase would never end and that I would forever be joined at the hip with her.

But as time went on, she started to need me less and less...

She no longer needs me to kiss her goodbye when I drop her off at school in the morning (that just doesn't happen in 4th grade). She pours her own milk in her cereal bowl. She showers and gets ready for school by herself. When she talks with her best friend, Jade on the phone, she leaves the room. She doesn't need me to hold her hand anymore when crossing the street. She closes the bathroom door now and and can tie her own ponytail. She has her own opinions ...her own thoughts...her own dreams.What happened to that little hand that grabbed my finger so tightly 10 years ago?

All this time, she had been letting go; without me noticing, she slowly unleashed her grip from my finger and also...my life.

Independence replaced me.

As I sit here tonight watching her sleep, I can't help but feel sad. My little girl is growing up. Her little round face has metamorphasized overnight right in front of me. Her long bodyframe and her size 5 narrow feet show all the signs of a beauty in the making. I no longer see the chubby, fat toes of a toddler or a sticky mouth of a first grader.

I wipe away my "happy tears" and bend down to feel her cheek and kiss her forehead...

and out of nowhere...

she reaches for my finger

and holds tight...

Attack of the Panty Drawer

2009-03-24T21:44:00.000-07:00

When you become a mom, practicality takes precedence over fabulosity. And this is quite evident when it comes to my underwear. I can't bear to throw away my most favorite, my most comfortable, underwear.

I will be the first to admit, I will hold on to a pair of panties for years until the elastic is ripping through and the material is almost transparent. It's sooo hard to let go. So I convince myself to just throw them back in my panty drawer and get rid of them later. From time to time, I will do my best to "clean out" my underwear drawer and this is when I start finding different types of panties and thongs and question why I never wear them...until I try them on:

-too tight

-pinches my gut in half

-rides up my buttcheeks

-squeezes my outter thigh fat

And you think I'd just get rid of 'em right??

Wrong.

I throw them back into my drawer so as not to hurt their panty feelings.

But this does give me a reason to go panty shopping.

Shopping for undergarments takes all day and it's excrutiating; kinda like standing in line at the DMV or getting your wisdom tooth pulled.

First stop: Victoria's Secret.

I ask myself what the hell am I doing in here? I browse around amongst all the 16 year olds shopping for push-up bras and lace thongs. I really don't like the way Victoria's Secret panties feel... I don't care what you call them: V-string, Brazilian cut, Very Sexy..they are all very uncomfortable. The elastic digs into my muffin top and keeps riding up my butt. They're made for women who are about 60lbs with no curves and no ass. Why don't I look like the model in the pic when I wear these panties?

I end up leaving with lipgloss and body spray.

Next stop: Fredericks of Hollywood.

Again, I ask myself what the hell am I doing here? I walk around the store and every picture seems to have a woman posing with one finger between her painted lips and every pair of panties looked like they'd be painful to wear. With names like "Naughty Knickers" and "Hollywood Exxtreme", you'd think I was getting prepped for a porn scene with Ron Jeremy. "Cotton" is a foreign word; leather, lace and crotchless? Then you're speaking their language.

I leave with mints shaped like lips and a pink hair tie.

Final Stop: Macy's.

I decide to forgo the sexy undies and stick to what makes me the happiest~ cute, cotton, bikini Jockey brand panties in the 3-pack. Very unsexy, but practical and oh-so-comfortable-- like me! And they're on sale! Woo-hoo! I'll take two! I merrily skip out of the store with my plastic white bag.

I've come to realize that my panties don't define me. I'm the sexy one, not my underwear. Nothing is sexier than a woman comfortable in her own skin and confident in who she is.

These are the moments that matter.

So bring on the ugly, high-waisted grandma panties..I'll rock those and still be stunning!

(..and then they'll join the rest of the panty posse in the back of my drawer.)

Shout Out to Thefreshfiends.com

2009-03-23T21:59:00.000-07:00

I gotta give credit to a couple of pretty, intelligent, classy women who created a fun, positive website with a focus on street savy style and sisterhood with a sprinkle of entertainment in top!

Lady La and Miss Summer bring you http://www.thefreshfiends.com/

THINK: Harajuku Lovers meet Hip Hop Love

Both La and Summer keep it real and keep you in the know with everything trendy. I guarantee, once you've had a taste of http://www.thefreshfiends.com/, you'll be coming back for more!!
Much love to my girls xoxoxo

My Car...The Traveling Junk Drawer

2009-03-02T20:20:00.000-08:00

Yup. There is no denying it. My car is a traveling junk drawer.

The thing about it is...it's not any ordinary, small junk drawer.

It's an SUV, TAHOE- SIZED junk drawer.

BUT, I have an excuse.

I travel 36 miles to downtown everyday to drop off my kids and go to work and then I drive 36 miles back home in the evening. We spend A LOT of time in the car- which means A LOT of crap accumulates. I knew it was time for me to clean things out when everytime I took a turn, I felt all the junk fall from one side of the truck to the to other.

I took inventory the other day when I attempted to just "pick up" a little bit and here's just a few things I came across:

-overdue library book from the Phoenix library

-Barbie with no top

-Broken yo-yo

-DVD's with missing cases

-DVD cases with missing DVD's

-Hair clips

-2 tubes of Hannah Montanta lip gloss

-2 kick balls

-Half eaten bag of melted M&M's

-Homework from 2 months ago

-1 empty Capri Sun

-2 quarters, 3 pennies and a nickel with hair

-Pack of Bubblicious

-Jonas Brothers book

-School uniform top

-Crayons

-4 markers

-Girl Scout cookies in the box

-Pillow

-1 flip flop

-Headband

-Stickers from the Dr's office

-4 goldfish crackers

-Littlest Pet Shop toys

-Nintendo DS games

-Bookmarker

-Movie tickets

-Farting slime (stick fingers in a bucket of slime & it makes fart noises)

-Sketch books

-Stuffed monkey

-Stuffed puppy with a hot pink tutu

-A McDonald's french fry

-Sonic cherry slush stain on the rug

Oh...I could go on and on, but you get the idea. It was enough to start my own little retail business. I constantly tell myself that I'm never going to let it get like that again ! But I fail miserably everytime.

I used to be envious of other people who had spotless cars that smelled like crisp, new leather. No smudges on the windows or sticky residue on the seat. They were the ones who didn't have to throw things under the seat or hide all the crap under a jacket when other people rode in the car with them.

I used to be envious.

But now I realize how lucky I really am.

Taking inventory of my car also forced me to take inventory of my life and how blessed I really am. I have transportation. I have beautiful, healthy children. I have a car of things that they love. It will only be a matter of time before those childhood items will be replaced with memories. It's hard to accept that one day I won't have my "junk drawer"to complain about. (It was hard enough getting rid of their infant car seats).

I sigh heavily as I hold the stuffed puppy in the hot pink tutu close to my heart. I place it back in my car...along with the pillow,the topless Barbie, stuffed monkey, Nintendo Games, crayons, markers...

and yes...

even the farting slime :)

Mom Jeans

2009-02-18T21:44:00.000-08:00

If you're like me, you can never find the perfect pair of jeans.

I admit, I'm hippy and yeah- I'm still holding on to some of that post baby weight from my youngest child who will be 6 this year (I swear, I'm working on it). But no matter what kind of jeans I try on, they never look as good as they do in magazines on the models. I can never find jeans that are cute and comfortable while at the same time preventing the "spillage" of fat over my waist or what most would call "muffin top" or in Spanish llanta- tire.

Jeans can age you. They really can! I know some women who are in their mid-20's that wear the "mom jeans" and they're immediately thrust forward 20 years. We all know the mom jeans: high, skinny waist, no pockets, tapered legs and pleats that accentuate your gut. And the look wouldn't be complete without the infamous "tucking in" of the t-shirt into the jeans and adding a belt. Ai-yi-yi... this style does not look attractive on anyone!! You could probably get away with this look when you're 80.

How about the cameltoe jeans? Jeans so tight that everyone can read your lips. How can having a wedgie in the front be comfortable? It isn't sexy when guys point and laugh at your "moose knuckle". Plus, i don't think it's very healthy for you either. Leave the cameltoe pants to ice skaters, ballet dancers and porn stars.

And where would we be without the low-rise, hip-hugging jeans that allow you to show your thong? Very classy. And why is it always the 300 lb. woman I see flashing her thong atop her low rise jeans?

Nevertheless, one day I will find that perfect pair of jeans that will shrink and lift my butt, slim my hips and suck in my muffin top....

Yeah, right~ who am I kidding?

"...You Have Such a Pretty Face..."

2009-01-28T21:12:00.000-08:00

Today I got together with some girlfriends for lunch. The conversation quickly turned from discussing outfits to wear to the Phoenix Open to a funny bitch session about one particular phrase:

"You have such a pretty face..."

We all agreed that it was code for:

"Too-Bad-You're-a-Fat-Cow-Because-Above-the-Neck-You're-Cute-And-If-It-Wasn't-For-Your-Body-I'd-Take-You-Out".

MEN: No matter how you phrase it, it'll never come out right. It's not a compliment. Refrain from ever using this line again with any woman. Think about it this way: you wouldn't want a woman saying "Size really doesn't matter to me" after seeing you naked.

Ouch. You feel the sting?

Instead, try saying, "You're pretty". Those two simple words will suffice. You'll get farther with that. I guarantee it.

And WOMEN: stay away from anything related to size when seeing him in the buff. A few different words will suffice (feel free to combine the words at different times when necessary): "Remarkable" or "Wow" or "Oooo" will pretty much mask the disappointment.

Choose Your Words Wisely.....And that, folks, is my lesson for today!

Why do I look like the "before" pics in diet ads?

2009-01-23T21:49:00.000-08:00

It's true.

Everytime I come across those damn diet ads in magazines or on T.V. I look at the "before" pics and think, "Geez, I could make some dough as a "before" model!"

Don't get me wrong, I don't walk around with a half shirt with my gut hanging over my jeans. I know how to hide the flab and I think I do a pretty good job at it. My tummy isn't as cute as it used to be with the battle wounds of birth (i.e. stretch marks) and the post baby fat (my kids are both 5 & 9 years old and I still consider my flab post baby fat).

It's hard not to envy those celebrities that pop out a few kids and 2 weeks later are walking along the beaches of St.Tropez in a teeny, tiny bikini. What the hell? It's just so unfair; granted, they have trainers and personal chefs that help them bounce back into shape~ but it doesn't help my esteem any! For me, 2 weeks post pregnancy, I'm still wearing my grandma maternity panties and ugly ass, breast-feeding bra with the leak pads inside.

But honestly, I take full responsibility for the shape I'm in.

Am I morbidly obese?

No.

Could I stand to lose a few pounds?

Yes.

My excuse for not exercising and eating right?

Time.

After having kids, priorities change. Your time becomes their time and the hours in your days become shorter-- there are never enough of them. And when things slow down and you do have any extra time (like around midnight)- all you want to do is sleep. Sometimes I feel like I'm on this treadmill of life without a slow down button.

But.. I keep going.

My kids are my life and well, I'm a glutton for punishment.

Maybe one day I'll have the time to work out, diet & purge a la Victoria Beckham. But until then...my gut and I will gladly apply for the position of 'before' model.

Argh- the Grocery Carts from Hell

2009-01-09T22:36:00.000-08:00

They really thought they were making our life easier when they introduced this contraption to us.

They thought that every mom with kids under the age of ten would be thanking the Lord for the introduction of this vehicle into the shopping world.

It would be a tool to help make all mothers shopping experiences more pleasurable....

so they thought.

If you're a mother, you know exactly what I'm talking about---the grocery cart from hell...

The makeshift truck, fire engine, rocket ship, whale, police car, grocery cart for kids that holds about $5 worth of groceries.

I'll be the first to admit that initially, I thought it was a great idea. What more does a kid want than to be pushed around in a rocket ship shopping cart while mom loads it up with food and snacks?! Awesome idea, right?!

Not so much.

Here is the real deal of what goes down with these carts:

Mom drives up to the grocery store.
Kid insists on sitting in a rocket ship grocery cart.
It's a Saturday, so inventory is low on the cool carts.
Kid cries and whines.
Mom scours the parking lot looking for one to shut the kid up.
Mom finds one.
The one mom finds is blocked by 10 regular shopping carts in the cart return area and has a loud squeaky wheel.
Kid is still whining.
Mom manages to pull it out after getting bumped and bruised.
Kid whines because it's not the "right one".
Mom bribes kid with candy.
Kid accepts bribe and gets in cart.
Mom maneuvers the rocket ship with the grace of a bull in a china shop through the small aisles.
Mom barely gets past the fruit & vegetable section and kid is dragging one of his feet outside the side door as mom pushes the cart.
Mom starts to shop a little faster and gets to the dairy section.
Kid is now on top of the rocket ship
Mom pulls him off
Kid starts to whine and now insists on sitting INSIDE the cart with the rest of the groceries.
Mom refuses.
Kid whines and asks if she's almost done shopping.
Kid wants a doughnut.
Mom is frustrated because there is no where to put the 20 lb bag of dog food, 12 pack of Bounty paper towels or the Charmin 24 count package.
Kid whines about being bored and tired and that his feet hurt.
Mom picks up kid and carries him the rest of the way while pushing the rocket ship cart .
Kid is no longer piloting the rocket ship- the 20lb bag of dog food is now occupying the space.
Mom's child-induced scoliosis is aggravated by the weight of the kid on her hip.
Mom doesn't look forward to check out time.
The kid bagging the groceries shoves $179 worth of groceries into the rocket ship instead of getting a regular cart
Mom, still holding kid, tries to maneuver the rocket ship cart back to her vehicle in the parking lot
Mom is swerving left and right
Kid still doesn't want to be put down
Mom bumps and scratches the car with the rocket ship cart
Mom places kid in car seat and pushes the rocket ship cart back to the return area
Kid cries for the rocket ship cart
Mom slits wrists

Sound familiar?

The mothers of America need to band together to rid our grocery stores of these contraptions. We no longer need to be subjected to the abuse of the pimped out grocery carts!

Mothers unite.
Join the fight: Mothers Against Pimped Out Grocery Carts

And... well... until then just leave the kid at home.

Mantyhose..are you kidding me?!!

2009-01-09T22:03:00.001-08:00

You think I'm kidding, don't you?

I came across an article on MSN today about the new trend among men....MANTYHOSE.

I thought this was joke when I read the headline. But come to find out there are men out there that utilize this piece of constricting legwear. It's touted as "... tougher, less delicate than women's pantyhose, but not as bulky as long underwear."

As I read the rest of the article it goes on to say that men want to shape, lift, sculpt and suck in their beer bellies and this contraption will do the trick. And if they aren't happy with the Mantyhose, a Mirdle (Man Girdle) is available for purchase.

Blame it on the Europeans. It all started with the men over there who've been sporting the hose for several years. The disturbing part of it all is that the Mantyhose come in a variety of different designs and colors! If my husband ever came to bed wearing a pair of purple fishnets, I'd have to revoke his "man card".

Quite honestly, I love my big guy- gut and all. Nothing is sexier than a guy comfortable in his own skin. And nothing is more unattractive than a guy that is so self-absorbed that he feels a need to wear mantyhose....(or a Speedo-- but that's an entirely different subject).

Long live the beer gut.

Long live real men.

To Mia & Sofia...

2009-01-08T20:39:00.000-08:00

To Mia & Sofia to Read When...

You Attend Your Senior Prom

It's a magical time in your life when you get asked to your senior prom. I think every girl starts fantasizing about her senior prom as soon as she hits high school. You think about the dress, your hair, make-up, the limo, the dance, the guy. You want it be like the proms you see in movies and Seventeen magazine. You want to make memories that you'll live to tell your kids about.

I want you both to know that you are both special girls and any guy that has the honor of taking you to prom needs to be advised that your father will be waiting, with heavy artillery, if you are not returned in the condition you left in.

My senior prom was interesting. I ended up taking the guy I was dating at the time. He was alright..a typical jock. I wore a pink gown with lace gloves and matching heels and corsage. I wore my hair down but teased about an inch high. My date wore a white tux with a pink cumerbund with his hair gelled back. (Geez, it's starting to sound like the making of a bad 80's teen movie).

I didn't go in a limo. He picked me up in his mom's freshly washed Nissan Maxima and took me straight to prom. We didn't go to a nice restaurant like the rest of my friends did, he said we'd get something afterward. (Here's where it get's interesting...) We stayed until the end of prom and then he took me to Subway for a footlong sub. (No, I am not making this up) Then he mentions that he got a room at a local motel.

There I sat at a gross Subway shop in my pink prom dress with matching heels and lace gloves pondering my decision on why I took this guy to my last dance as a senior. I sat in front of my footlong seafood and crab sub with a blank stare. Is this how my senior prom date is going to end? At a dirty sub shop in San Diego at midnight? WTF?! He seriously thought that I was going to give it up after going to prom (which we didn't even dance at) and dining at Subway!

It wasn't my idea of how I wanted to finish the night. I always envisioned going to a prom after party with all my friends and hanging out 'til the wee hours of the morning toasting to our impending college life. I wanted it to be like the ending in the movie Footloose, when Kevin Bacon and the rest of the high schoolers dance the night away under all the glittery confetti raining down.

Unfortunately, it didn't end that way. I had him take me right home after the fine dining experience at Subway.

Is there a point to this story?

Yes, there is.

I want you both to enjoy your prom. I want you to have the time of your lives surrounded by all your good friends. I want you to have your dream dress and spectacular limo. I want you to take tons of pictures to capture the magic of the night. I want you to go to prom with someone who respects you and wants to be a part of giving you the time of your life.

(I don't want you to give it up to some guy who buys you a sandwich and thinks he can have his way with you.)

But most of all...respect yourself.

You're my girls and the most precious things in my life. You deserve the best and no man will ever be good enough for you in my eyes. So find someone worthy of your time and affection..

Because...You both deserve the glittery confetti...

Friendship

2009-01-07T21:18:00.000-08:00

I've had the same best friends for 23 years.

I don't think many people can say that. It's easy finding a best friend when your a kid. You spend almost every waking hour with them and when you're not with them, you're on the phone with them. You go through heartbreaks together, graduation, college, marriage, kids...

The hard part of growing older is nuturing those friendships so that they don't become just another closed chapter in your life. We all get so caught up in the hustle and bustle of life that we forget about reaching out. With technology: texting, e-mails, myspace, facebook..there isn't any excuse why we shouldn't be in touch. But then again, it's so impersonal. It seems to take so much energy to pick up the phone and just call. Nothing is better than hearing the laughter of your best friend on the other line. But I always seem to find excuses- "I'll call when the kids are asleep"..."When I drive home from work, I'll call"....."I'll call this weekend"..."I'll call during the week"..."I'll call on Christmas.."

There really shouldn't be any excuse- living in a different state shouldn't make a difference. I want to be a better best friend to Ana and Lewie. They mean the world to me and deserve that much.

My two best friends are not only the Godmothers to my girls, but they've been there for every poignant moment in my life. No one else, besides my family, know more about me than Ana and Lewie. We've shared everything from broken hearts to broken families...asshole boyfriends to awesome husbands...weight loss to weight gain! We've shared it all!

Here's a quick stroll down memory lane:

Ana- I will always remember:

- the red leotard and red tights you wore in Mrs.Wade's dance class and how we both were total Valley Girls

- the time we hung out at a bonfire at the Bahia and got caught in the crossfire of gang warfare

- when we went to Tijuana for the first time and I got drunk on Long Island Ice Teas

- how much we laughed when your old school limo pulled up to take you to prom and your limo driver looked like Rick James

- how you'd graffiti all over the inside of your mom's car with "Ana was here"

- the times you'd tell us how you'd walk in on your mom and dad having sex

- laying out at Mission Beach in our bikinis and random dudes coming up and trying to spit game

- the "fudge smudge" you left on the blanket and the vomit/gag face it gave your ex

- the "Canada" shoes

- coming back from clubbing in Mexico and going straight home to get ready for church

- getting high with you and some random cute guys in college then going to our Reebok Step class and watching you turn green

- how your mom's car was always filled with food from the Sweetwater High cafeteria

- your dog with the over sized hemorrhoid

- the way Aldo used to tease me about my tight black and yellow "Samoan" dress

- my crush on Topo

- Tio Juevos

- your obsession with Tony and Ronnie

- that you were the one who woke up at 5am to go with me to get my ear surgery

- cruising Highland, hanging out at the Jack in the Box in the corner and then hiding me from Mike when he drove by

- posing in the MeCha pic in high school just so we'd get some extra coverage in the yearbook

- getting me to use lipliner and acrylic nails

- laughing at me when I tried to do my own acrylic nails

- our knee high boots

- how my cousin spilled water all over your new suede boots

- Nancy Nails

- Miriam

- getting free food from you when you worked in the concession area at Target

- talking shit to the hookers as we drove through Chula Vista

- that all you wanted was the best for me when you wanted me to leave the asshole ex

- going with you to get your Raiders tattoo and then ending up getting my Baby Sylvester (what the hell was I thinking?!)

- Mia going poop through her diaper as I got my other tattoo

- Seeing you in the stands at both high school & college graduation with my family and Lew and Adam Weikel

- taking you as my "date" to my 10 year high school reunion

- Being my Maid of Honor and doing all that you did for me for my wedding

- You accepting the honor of being Godmother to my babies

- that you have been there unconditionally since day 1 and have never left my side

Lew- I will always remember:

- the endow you did on your brother's bike while sporting the bleach streak in your hair

- how you pushed out the glass roof of my Honda civic and had to hold it as we drove around

- how we annoyed the hell out of Gaylord

- our DJ crew with Lulu- The LSL Crew and how we thought we were going to really DJ parties by practicing on your dad's old turntable

- how we died laughing when Lulu slipped and fell under the parked car as she went to go check the mail

- how I had to borrow your strapless bra for my sweethearts ball dress.

- when Allan had a crush on me and gave me your mother's pearl necklace

- singing freestyle songs and doing commercials with you, Ana and Lu in the jacuzzi

- how we took over the dance floor at my Uncle Zaldy's wedding

- attending your Rainbow Girls ceremonies

- watching you doing the letterette thing

- helping me with math

- how flawlessly you put on make-up

- walking with you on Sherbrooke and having to pass by Peanut's house and hear him say disgusting things

- always hanging out at Plaza Bonita on Friday nights

- your obessession with Ferdie

- seeing you in the stands at my graduation with Ana

- singing karaoke (esp. Journey songs) at your house

- walking to the Ralph's shopping strip to get flavored seltzer water

- you taking over my position at Leo Hamel when I left

- the sadness you & shared when both our parents split up

- when you were also a Maid of Honor with Ana in my wedding

-accepting the honor of being Godmother to my girls

- your delicious sinigang

- how we'd crack up discussing Lu's leopard lingerie

- your dad's brown station wagon

- your buttplug story

- that you've been there unconditionally since day 1 and have never left my side

You both mean so much to me. You've enriched my life more than you'll ever know. Thank you both for accepting me as I am, nuturing my soul, and walking with me every step of my life. I miss your laughter, I miss your hugs...but most of all, I miss you.

Here's to renewing our bond...our friendship in 2009 and planning our girl's weekend in Vegas.

I love you...truly.

A Day at the Movies...solo.

2009-01-06T18:10:00.000-08:00

I never thought I'd do it.

But I did.

I went to a movie... alone.

Now, I've always been urged by my husband and even my mother-in-law to go take in a movie by myself; to get away and have a day to myself. But when you're a mother, you're always thinking about what needs to be done around the house, errands that need to be taken care of and the guilt of not spending any extra time you may have with your children.

For me, it's hard to relax. I am a clock watcher. I am constantly looking at my watch because there are never enough hours in the day and I have this internal schedule that I try to follow with dinner, bedtimes, baths, etc.

So, on Monday I dropped off the girls at school and decided that this was going to be MY day. I was in a pretty good mood. I drove to Starbucks got myself a grande, skinny, vanilla latte and then headed towards Borders bookstore. It wasn't quite 9am yet (the time it opened) so I sat in my car and waited for the Border's guy to open the door. I sat and sat...checked my email...texted a few friends while scanning different radio stations. I ended up leaving it on 90.3, a Christian station. A lot of spiritual, feel-good songs came on and I started to get all weepy. Geez, how pathetic must I look sitting in my car crying to all these Christian songs, texting friends while waiting for Borders to open. Ugh.

Finally, I spotted the Border's guy opening the doors and a few people started to pour in. I wiped away my tears, blew my nose and headed in. It felt so good, not to be on anybody's schedule but my own. I walked through the many shelves of books and came across a huge one: The World's Must-See Islands. I sat down and started to fantasize as I turned each page of beautiful islands from the pink sand beaches of Cat Island to the beautiful isles of Greece. I spent about an hour island hopping before I realized that I needed to head to the movie I decided to see...

The Curious Life of Benjamin Button.

Like I said before, I've never gone to a movie by myself before. This was going to be an experience. As I pulled up to the Harkins theater, I noticed that the parking lot was already filled with movie-goers...all about 40 years older than me. I grabbed my purse and headed towards the ticket counter...

"Hi..ticket for one for Benjamin Button at 11:10"

(Wheh... that wasn't so hard)

I went inside the theater, went pee and then ordered a child's popcorn combo (I'm trying to watch the fat, ok?) I head towards theater 1 and I feel like everyone in the building is looking at me. I grab a seat right in the middle and get comfortable. Wow..I like this. I don't have someone twisting and turning knocking their popcorn over asking me when the movie was going to start. I don't have another person asking me to take them to the bathroom and for an oversized Icee. I don't have to tell anyone not to kick the chair in front of them or to lower their voice.

This was freedom.

It was a three hour movie that was outstanding. It was a three hour movie that captured my attention and not once did I have to turn away from the screen to attend to someone else's needs. It was a three hour movie that wasn't interrupted by potty breaks or "I'm bored" sidenotes. It was heaven...with Brad Pitt!!

I will never go to another movie with someone else again. (Ok, the kid flicks~ I'll be at) But the Mommy movies...It's all me, baby.

Just me, myself & I. :)

What Wakes Me Up in the Middle of the Night...

2008-12-23T22:13:00.000-08:00

I'm a heavy sleeper.

The Polar Express could run right through the middle of my room and I wouldn't budge an inch.

But something that instanteously disturbs my slumber is...

My dog licking his balls.

I hate it. It equates to someone running their fingernails across a chalkboard.

My 6 year-old Shih-Tzu, Gretzky (appropriately named after the Great One, Wayne Gretzky) loves to lick his nuts, smack dab in the middle of the night in our bedroom. He's not discreet about it either. You'd think he'd like some privacy as he cleans his fuzzy peaches, but he really doesn't care. Although, he does make sure he is sitting right by my side of the bed when starts his nightly routine.

He licks his nuggets with the precision of a pornstar and then pants heavily afterwards.

Ron Jermy has nothing on him.

By the time Gretzky is done, I'm wide awake. Digusted by the slurping matinee. I open my eyes to catch him staring at me. I throw a pillow at him and turn to try and get back to sleep...

and then...

I glance back to see act 2....

Pillow Humping.

Ack!!

Having a Bad Day?

2008-12-22T22:34:00.000-08:00

After seven years, I lost my job.

Yes, I became another one of the casualities of this economic war.

It's a rough time out there right now and no one is immune.

I always wondered how I'd react if I was ever let go. I've never in my life been fired from a job so this was pretty interesting. I'd always imagined that I'd get emotional, maybe knock a few things off a desk or two and storm out on my own accord.

But...it didn't happen that way. I was calm, cool, collected. I was assured that it wasn't performance based, but that the company had to make cutbacks and that my position was being eliminated. Did it suck any less? No. But I decided that I was going to leave with my head held high. I was an awesome, loyal employee for seven years and I wasn't about to throw everything I'd worked so hard for out the window by reacting unprofessionally.

I'm hard on myself more than anyone else will ever be. So of course, I ran the gammet of emotions from sadness and hurt to dissapointment and hate. I felt like a failure as a parent; as a mother. But in the end, I felt this overwhelming sense of relief. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I felt like this huge weight was pulled off my shoulders. And believe it or not...I became excited; excited about the new chapter that God had waiting for me.

Anyone that knows me, knows that I'm a pretty spiritual person. If it wasn't for my faith, I'm not sure where I'd be. I live my life with the utmost gratitude and wake up each day with a prosperous mind. I know as I continue on through my journey in life, I will never quite understand everything that will happen along the way, but I trust God.

It's times like these, when your foundation is shaken, that your faith is truly tested. It's so important to keep things in perspective. I've had better days but I look at my short stint in the unemployment field as a little "hiccup" in life; it's an inconvenience.... I'll recover.

And that is exactly what it is: inconvenient.

You know what I define as "having a bad day"?

- When your life is turned upside down after you find that your 11 year old daughter has brain cancer, like my close friends Anthony and Sue

- When a F-16 yet plows into your house and kills your wife, your two babies and mother-in-law while you are at work, like the man in San Diego had happen to him

- When you discover that your grown daughter murdered your 3 year-old grandchild, as in the case with Caylee Anthony in Florida

Those are people with BAD days. I pray for them daily while acknowledging the blessings that I have in my life. I don't have bad days, only inconvenient ones. I know that I can't put back together what God has taken apart..or put a question mark where He has left a period. I just continue to breathe and keep moving forward.

Tomorrow the sun will still rise,

and I will wake up

knowing

that

living

is the ultimate gift.

Why No Christmas Picture Cards?

2008-12-17T10:32:00.000-08:00

Ahhh... don't you love 'em? The good ol' Christmas picture cards that you get in the mail during the holidays. You know the ones I'm talking about-- the one with the whole family gathered together in matching holiday sweaters in front of a mock fireplace with the family pet. It's even better when they send along a family letter about all the achievements of little Tad or Morgan...

"...while managing to maintain his 4.2 grade average, Tad is excelling in soccer, football, baseball, band and water polo. His early acceptance into Yale as the youngest genius in history is quite incredible....."

"...Morgan graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Princeton and will travel to Slovenia in the summer where she will continue her Christian mission work..."

If you're a holiday family letter writer..more power to you. It's just hard not to sound like you're gloating when writing those things- as if there isn't a touch of any dysfunction. As proud as I am of my children, I choose not to throw it (via holiday letter) in other people's faces. I just think about the families I know that are going through different issues with their kids and know that the last thing they want to read about is how my kids are kicking ass in everything they do.

And the picture cards...

My picture cards usually consist of Mia and Sofia (and sometimes I'll throw in an animal or two for good measure). But they never include me.

Why, you may ask?

Well..here's the condensed version:

I'm not as "svelte" as I used to be and I'm pretty self conscious about it. And when people send me their Christmas picture cards and I've noticed some of their weight gain, I'm the first one to bring attention to it. I'm just being honest. So..I choose not to send any cards out with me in it.

It's just a matter of fact.

And if you can sit there and tell me that you don't do that when you receive holiday cards, you're full of crap.

You know that when you get that Christmas picture card in the mail with all the fun holiday stickers on the envelope and open it to the pic of Tom with his arms wrapped around morbidly obese Nancy with her Christmas sweater and holiday light earrings with their offspring gleefully posing in their reindeer print turtlenecks next to the Christmas tree..........you talk shit.

Don't lie. It starts with a closer glance of the pic to make sure it's the same people you know, then it's a snicker then you call everyone in the household to come check out the pic and see how big Nancy got. Then it's a phone call to everyone that you know that knows her.

Such is life.

And THAT, my friends, is why, you will never receive a Christmas picture card with ME in it.

Happy Holidays!

Things I Ponder...

2008-12-16T08:50:00.000-08:00

My mind is always on overdrive.

I think about things that run the gammet from silly to sophmoric.

I seriously think it has to do with being a mom. I think that once you start having children, your hormones work together with your brain cells and say, "Hey, let's really screw with her..." (If you didn't know already, the right side of the brain controls creative activity, while the left side controls logical verbal activity; both of which have been highly affected by motherhood).

Here are a few things I ponder...

Why does my 5 year old need to go potty "real bad" right when the food is delivered to our table at a restaurant. Even after I asked almost 10 times before hand?

Why does my SUV look like a family of 20 live in it? There are crumbs everywhere, books, Happy Meal toys, water bottles, movies, blankets, artwork, socks, hair clips, stuffed animals, fruit snacks and enough jackets to clothe an army.

Why do my kids like the clothes I pick out for them at the store, but once it's time to wear them, they find something wrong with them?

Why are my kids perfectly behaved and neat, model students at school, but are messy and fight like banshees at home?

Why does my 9 year-old insist she needs a cellphone? She doesn't know anyone but us.

Why do I bother printing out those "How to live on a budget" articles and never read them?

Why does everything look better in the catalogs? Nothing worse then getting that cute nightie set from the Victoria's Secret catalog (hoping to look like the waif who modeled it) and then being dissapointed after seeing it on-- looking like you just walked on to a porn set of a Heavyweight Humpers film.

Why is my 5 year-old obessed with the word TAMPAX?

Why do I become so judgemental when I see another women driving the car that I want (BMW 7 Series)? Right away I assume she's a gold digger.

Why do I obessess over the un-perkiness of my breasts?

Why is half my closet filled with stuff I wouldn't wear anymore?

Why do my children look like little cavepeople when I pick them up from school? Their hair is knotty and messy...clothes unkept...shoes untied. These can't possibly be mine.

Why do my kids whine and cry when I comb their hair but when dad does it, they're totally fine?

Why does the dog decide to shit a towel and diarrhea all over the place when my husband isn't home?

Why do I get poop cramps an hour after eating at McDonalds?

Why is my husband so particular about the type of toilet paper I buy? It's to wipe shit. Enough said.

Why is some toilet paper made with lotion? Who wants a moist bunghole?

Why, at 37 years of age, do I still have period accidents like a 16 year old?

Why can't I ever be the winning 1,000,000th visitor through the gates at Disneyland?

Why do I not have any willpower when it comes to desserts?

Why does my dresser look like a clothing bomb exploded inside?

Why do my children tell me they need to bring in a store bought snack to school at 10pm the night before it's due?

Why do I feel like keeling over from a heart attack after walking only 4 flights of stairs?

Why has my eliptical machine become a clothes hanger?

Why does my oldest kid not want me to kiss her goodbye at school anymore?

Why do I hate camping?

Why do I pray everytime I see a stranded motorist but never stop to help?

Why do I get drunk after one glass of wine?

Why do I become self conscious when I'm having sex and the dog is sitting there watching?

Why do I tell the nurse at the gynecologist's office not to tell me what I weigh? I turn my head when I step on that dumb scale.

Why do I think about all the vaginas my gynecologist sees and wonder if mine is the best looking?

Why do I lie when my doctor asks me if I do my own breast exams? Does my husband fondling them count?

Why do I look like the "before" pictures in magazines for weight loss ads? You know the ones I'm talking about- the fat, jelly, cellulite butt in a white thong next to the "after" pic of the tan, hard- as- a- rock touchable booty.

Why did I say no, when the urologist asked me if I wanted to watch while my husband got his vasectomy? Ugh, just the thought of burning penis skin turns my stomach.

Why do my towels have to be folded a certain way when they get out of the dryer?

Why am I convinced that my kids' stuffed animals reproduce like rabbits?

Why couldn't I have inherited the voluptous butt from my Latin side instead of the flat butt from my Asian side?

Why do I have to go to bed matching?

Why are men obessesed with Playboy nipples? They think all women should have light, little, perky nipples that stay that way--- forever.

Why do all my favorite panties look like they've gone to Iraq and back?

Why does my singing voice never sound as good as it does in the shower?

Why does the car always need repair right before a vacation or the holidays?

Why, when I see really obese women, do I think if I closely resemble them?

Why have my bikini waxing sessions become therapeautic?

Do you ever wonder these things?

It's just me, right?

or... is it?

Reflections

2008-12-10T21:58:00.000-08:00

Ugh. I hate them.

Mirrors.

Dressing Room Mirrors.

Reflective glass.

I can't help it. I constantly catch myself looking at ...well..myself...off the reflection of glass. It's everything from the glass in the hallway at work, the glass door at the front entrance of the building, the glass in my car window to the reflection off of someone's sunglasses.

It's not pretty.

Reflections add 15lbs to your body.

Reflections enhance every pucker, every wrinkle.

Reflections inflate your thighs and double your chin.

Reflections make your hair look unruly and your arms "sausage-y"

Why do I put myself through this?

I guess I want to see what other people are seeing when they see me. Do they see what I see?

I see a mother who could stand to lose a few pounds (ok..more like 20), a neurotic perfectionist with teased hair, and ridiculously expensive shoes?

Why do I care what other people see?

I don't know. I say I don't care--but, I do.

Reflections are even worse in the fitting rooms. It seems like the more expensive the store, the more horrid their mirrors are. You'd think that the department stores would wise up and invest in mirrors that make you look 10lbs thinner. Revenue would skyrocket from all the women happily picking out clothing after looking like Kima Kardashian in the "trick mirror". I know I would.

Especially during bathing suit season. To be honest, I don't even consider any season bathing suit season. But you know it's fast approaching when every magazine on the store shelf reads "Get that Bathing Suit Body Now" or "The Bathing Suit Workout!" and all the 20-somethings at work are talking about getting into the gym before the summer or sharing tricks on how to make yourself puke after you eat.

Yeah, yeah~ who has the time for that? I'm a full-time working mom with two young kids and a husband and 3 dogs. I don't have the luxury of any "me" time. I do have an elliptical machine (that's been used approximately 7 1/2 times in the last 2 years) and a variety of different workout DVDs. My favorite part of all the workout DVDs is when the instructor starts the routine and you're huffing and puffing..sweating...and jumping; gasping for air. You're dizzy from the heavy workout ready to keel over. You need water. And then the instructor says, "Ok, that was a great warm-up, now let's start the workout!" That's when I stop the DVD player and sit down with a bowl of ice cream to cool down.

My favorite is when I stop off for my coffee in the morning and I see other mothers in their tennis outfits or workout gear hanging out with no particular place to be. They're all so neat and perfectly tan conversing with one another while sipping on their morning latte, skinny, no whip. "Must be nice.." is all I can think.

And as I walk out of the coffee place, I see a reflection in the exit door. It wasn't the nuerotic, perfectionist mom with a few lb's to lose. It was a pretty cool chick, who's always smiling and living a life of gratitude; a talented, confident woman

THAT is the reflection I choose to see.

(or at least until I get my butt back on my elliptical machine)

;)

Redlight Men

2008-12-03T21:00:00.000-08:00

Call me self- conscious.

Maybe a tad neurotic at times.

But if there is one thing that bothers me most, it's the men you come across at red lights.
You know what I'm talking about. You're driving, minding your own business and you come to a red light. And out the corner of your eye, you see another car pull up next to you. You continue to keep looking straight to avoid any eye contact with the car next to you..but then you do it. You sneak a peek and the dude is staring straight at you. You turn around quickly to play it off by either grabbing your cell phone to check messages or focus on your radio trying to act like your fumbling with the stations.

You can feel him undressing you with his eyes.

You slowly look down to make sure you're covered up. The last thing you need is any kind of extra boobage hangin' out of your bra.

The red light seems to be taking an eternity to turn green. As soon as the light switches you press on the gas and the car next to you manages to keep up with you so that the perv inside can keep staring.

There are a variety of men that you meet at a red light. And they run the gammet from professionals to scum bags. Let's take a look at a few that we're all familiar with:

The Landscapers
The landscapers will usually roll up 10 deep~ 5 smooshed together in the front cab of the truck and the rest hanging out the bed. At first they stare, and if that isn't enough to make you turn around, the whistles, kissing noises and "mamacita" cat calls usually do the trick. They like to pull up and get in front of you once the light turns green so that the rest of their crew in the bed of the truck can stare straight at you as you drive behind them.

License Plate: LUVSBUSH

The Dad
The Dad will pull up alongside you in his old Astro van or Hyundai circa 1988. The windshield has a crack in it with dirty sippy cups on the dashboard and the side windows are marked with handprints. He'll usually have a couple car seats in the back (with the kids actually in them if you're lucky) with a swing set latched on top of the car. The dad will typically have a "laid back" type of pose as he sits at the steering wheel and tries to grab your attention. He'll smile and nod like "Yeah, baby..I know you want a piece of this..." When the light turns green he pushes down on the gas so that he stays up with you side by side to increase the burning desire within you to join him in his sin wagon.

License Plate: 4SKIN

The Boys
The Boys that you'll encounter at the red light usually fall in the 16-20 year old demographic. If they aren't driving mom or dad's car with their friends, they 're in a late model car with rims and a booming system so loud, it'll make your ears bleed. When The Boys try and get your attention, it's always just to show off in front of their homies. They'll try and spit game using lines like "Wassup' baby? What's your name? You gotta man?" And when you continue to ignore them, they'll flip you off and call you a stuck-up whore as the light turns green and they take off. License Plate: BONGHITZ

Mr.Corporate
Mr.Corporate will pull up to the red light with anything red and European (BMW, Audi, Mercedes). It's always an added bonus when it's 120 degrees in the Arizona heat and he has his convertible top down so that you can notice his spray-on tan as he talks loudly on his phone and tinkers with his Blackberry and two-tone Rolex. He does eveything he can to nonchalantly capture your attention. He wants you to want him. He runs his fingers through his hair as he screeches off at green light.

License Plate: GR8-LAY

The Perv
The Perv is a passive agressive perv as he drives up to the red light. If he's not driving a pick-up, he's in an older Yugo with the metal "naked women" silhouttes hanging from his mudflaps and a huge sticker on his back window that reads "Official Bikini Inspector" with the Peeing Calvin sticker in the far corner. The Perv, overweight- wearing his mesh half shirt, will look over at you and raise his eyebrows and pucker his lips. He'll keep his eyes fixated on you as he turns his 2 Live Crew "Me So Horny" cd up loud enough for everyone in passing cars to hear. He'll throw up the "V" sign with his fingers and wave his tongue through it. As the light turns green, he makes the cheeseball "double gun" motion towards you as he drives off.

License plate: BVR PLZR

Notice that these are usually the type of men that you'll encounter at the red light who need attention. It will never be a Brad Pitt or George Clooney look-a-like tht pulls up alongside you to whisk you away.

But don't let that steal your joy.

Keep looking forward and proceed with caution.

There will always be red lights and mystery men.

Be flattered and thank God that you still attract that type of attention....BVR PLZR or not.

What's That Smell?

2008-11-26T09:04:00.000-08:00

"Mommy, what's that awful smell?"

I roll down my window to take a whiff. "Eww."

"It smells like feet and throw up and glue!" says Sofia

"It smells like that stuff that mommy uses in the wash to makes the white. That bleach stuff! Mom, what's it smell like to you?" asks Mia.

I take in another whiff of the air. It did smell kind of bleachy, kind of bitter--

a scent that only women and homosexual men would recognize...it smelled like semen! The spermatic aroma danced through the air as it poured from the hundreds of trees that lined the streets of the school.

I thought I was being my usual overly-dramatic self. So I decided to do what I do best...Google it.I pulled out my smart phone and logged on to the internet.

And thank goodness I did. There ARE trees out there with this foul smelling odor!

According to Wikipedia, they're named the Trees of Heaven, (or Ailanthus altissima), an invasive species from China, brought to California by Chinese miners and railroad workers around the turn of the last century. They has since earned the monikers “stinktree” and “ghetto palm” (for their ability to grow in the harshest of urban conditions).

Ok, not only that..but there were MANY inquiries about this "Sperm Tree" online. A few of the questions ranged from:

There's this tree that sort of smells like human sperm in summer (I think when it flowers). A pretty strong distinct smell. What's it called? Is there a plant/tree that smells like male sperm?

to comments like:

. . .when I took those deep cleansing breaths this morning, I caught a whiff of Sperm tree in the air, and it was it was pleasing to the senses...

So, remember- when you're driving around town and smell the fragrance of semen, it's most likely the beautiful Trees of Heaven and not you... or George Michael.

"Hey mom..you still didn't answer my question! What do you think it smells like?!"

I smile and reply, "Almonds... yes, almonds...."

And with that, Mia sits back in her seat and mumbles, "Ugh, if that's what almonds smell like, I will never, ever eat almonds...even when I grow up...ever!"

I smirk- Thatta girl...

;)

Never Buy a Joke Book for a 9 Year-Old

2008-11-26T07:35:00.001-08:00

The sound of my childrens' laughter is music to my ears.

It's hard not to smile and laugh with them when you hear the deep, belly laughs emanating from their little bodies. Both my children have inherited one of the greatest things that man can ever receive: a great sense of humor.

But... they are not stand-up comedians...yet.

On a recent trip to Barnes & Noble, Mia (my 9 year-old) decided she wanted to get the alamanac of joke books: 500 Hilarious Jokes for Kids by Jeff Rovin.

It should've been called 500 Ways to Annoy Your Parents and Drive Them to Drink.

Like most people, I enjoy a good joke or two. Yes... A good joke or two; not 500 within three days. So, we check out the book and she starts with page 1...in the car. And usually- I'm overly animated at the beginning with my laughter and Sofia (my 5 year old doesn't "get it"):

Mia: Hey mom, What color is a burp?

Me: I don't know. What color is a burp?"

Mia: Burple!

We all laugh in unision. "That's a good one!" I say.

Sofia: I don't get it!

(Sofia starts to get irritated)

Mia continues...

Mia:How do turtles communicate with each other?

Me: I don't know. How do turtles communicate with each other?

Mia: With their shell-phones!

Again- we all laugh in unison

Sofia: I don't get it! (Sofia crosses her arms and is starting to whine at this point)

17 jokes later-Mia still continues-and I become a little shorter with my rhetoric

Mia: Oh wait..this is a real good one!

Me: what?

Mia: this joke.. it's a real good.

Me: (frustrated) Geez..well then tell it already.

Mia: Ok, ok...oh this is funny.... ok...What did sushi A say to Sushi B?

Me: what?

Mia: You want to know the answer?

Me: Yeah

Mia: You really, really want to know?

Me: Yessss

Mia: Guess.

Me: NO! I do not know what the hell sushi A said to sushiB!

Mia: WASABI?!

Sofia: I don't get it. (tears are shed)

AND.. the jokes kept flowing even after we got home:

In the kitchen...

"Mom-Why did the dog go to court?! He got a barking ticket! Get it?!!"

In the bedroom...

"Mom- Why did the orange stop half-way up the hill? It ran out of juice! Get it?!!

In the garage...

"Mom- What do you call two spiders who just got married? Newlywebs! Get it?!!

While I'm on the toilet...

"Mom- Why did Tigger look inside the toilet? He was looking for Pooh! Get it?!!

She would not go away. The jokes just kept coming and coming and coming. As I screwed the cap back on the Cuervo Gold, I had formed a plan. The next morning, Mia walked into the kitchen looking for her joke book. It had magically disappeared . Awwww....

I re-directed her attention to a new episode of The Dog Whisperer on T.V. and she forgot about it for awhile. I gave it a few days and then it magically re-appeared. She was so excited when I gave it back to her. I suggested that daddy would LOVE to hear her jokes. She skipped off...

"Daddddyyyy....I got a good one"

Yes! Let the other parental unit share in my suffering! Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha <---my evil laugh.

"Mommy.."

I looked down. It was Sofia.

"Knock, Knock....."

The Thong

2008-11-24T15:33:00.001-08:00

I have to admit... when the thong became THE item to have, I was a little resistant. I mean, how comfortable could a piece of material rubbing between your buttcheeks be?

Don't get me wrong. I like sexy underwear. They say wearing sexy panties underneath your work clothes can make you feel sensuous...like a naughty vixen underneath the conservative outer wear. But honestly, if I'm sitting at my desk trying to pull a piece of lace out of my labia, then it aint' happening. Plus, after having two children, I'd rather not look at myself wearing a piece of silk with dental floss attached. The tummy and booty aren't what they used to be- especially when the tiny little straps dig into my fleshy hips and the butt floss is wedged so far up, I get a rope burn on my brown star; just NOT a pretty picture. And you gotta make sure that you're waxed and smoother than a baby's bottom down there if you're going to attempt to wear a next-to-nothing-made-for-a-porno thong; there's nothing worse than looking like you're hiding a Furby in your undies (doesn't do anything for the look you're trying to pull off). It doesn't help either when your 5 year-old goes, "Ewwww" when she walks in on you changing into your thong. My 9 year-old is more inquisitive, "Mom, are you missing a part of your panties? Am I going to have to wear those when I'm older? Do all mommies wear those? How about my teachers?"

But...I do buy thongs; pretty, breathable smart thongs. I buy thongs for the reason they were intended- to avoid any pantylines. I like to be comfortable. Normally, I prefer the Jockey bikini panties. No, they aren't the high-waisted,Little House on the Prarie, grandma briefs that you're thinking of. They're the cute, cotton panties that are a tad more flattering.

Would my husband love for me to walk around the house with nothing but a thong 24/7?

Of course.

But..really? Who does that??

Here are a few things that irk me about the thong:

- When ladies/girls wear low waisted jeans so that their thongs show on purpose

- When 400 lb ladies/girls wear low waisted jeans so that their thongs show on purpose

- When you put on a fresh, clean thong and then have to take a shit

- When the material in the front isn't enough to cover the tummy bulge

- When you try your thong on and you look nothing like the models who wear 'em

Another thing that bugs me: when I walk into Victoria's Secret and I see 13 year-olds' buying thongs. What the hell? They barely have hair 1 on their "cha-cha" and they're going through the bins of thongs with careful precision like they have someone to impress. Scary...

If it isn't bad enough...

Then Sisqo goes and makes a song about it..

"...Baby make your booty go da na da na

Girl I know you wanna show da na da na
That thong th thong thong thong..."

As much as I complain about the thong, I'm also thankful for it. (And also maybe a little jealous that I can't walk down the runway like a Victoria's Angel with the perfect little butt and not a stretchmark in sight.)

Long Live the Thong....

Just Swing

2008-11-21T21:20:00.000-08:00

It's not easy for me to relax.

I'm not a relaxer.

It's part of being a mom. There are always a million things going on and you feel you're on this endless treadmill. And life can become overwhelming. But, I must admit, I recently found a way to escape, if only for a few minutes, from the hustle and bustle of my daily life.

I came across it unexpectedly on the playground at the kids' school. I've always passed by them and never thought twice to try them out...

The ever-so-lovely, swings.

Like I said, I didn't plan this. But one morning, Sofia asked me to come to the playground area before school started. She wanted me to push her on the swings. So I made my way to the sandy play area and started to push her. And the higher she went, the louder she squealed with delight. I sat on the swing next to her to take a breather.

I started to sway back and forth..back and forth...back and forth. Hey, this was pretty cool. I then grabbed each chain to hold on to and started to pump my legs back and forth. I had a pretty good rhythm going and I started to go higher and higher. I probably looked pretty silly as I swung in my Christian Louboutin heels, but I didn't care.

As I rose higher with every swing, I was magically transported back into my childhood. I felt like I was in Kindergarten again with my dad pushing me higher and higher until I felt like I could touch the clouds. I felt the wind blow my hair back while the morning sun warmed my cheeks. I looked down at my feet and I no longer saw my heels, they were transformed into my red, Keds sneakers that I used to wear on my little 5 year-old -feet. I was free without a care in the world. I was a kid again.

Tears started forming as I basked in the glory of it all. I didn't want this ride to end. I wanted to jump off this magical time machine and remain 5 years old...

But the bell rang. My swing quickly slowed down and my heels reappeared. It was time to go back to real life, grown-up stuff. I hugged my kids before they ran off to their classrooms- each of them carrying a piece of my heart with them.

I walked away from the swing and then had to take a look back.

"Thanks," I said, "for letting me be a kid again...."

I pull my car keys out of my pocket and walk out the gate into my reality.

The Great Poo Stand-Off

2008-11-21T12:57:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I feel like my brain lives in a Jerry Seinfeld-esque type of world.
I think about the most insane things and find comedy in the minutiae of every day life.

Like a few days ago...

In our office, the bathrooms are out in the hallway and we share the facilities with all the other offices on the 4th floor. It's a pretty intimate atmosphere in the ladies room. There are only four stalls and everything echoes... everything.

That's why, when nature calls and I gotta "back the big brown motorhome out of the garage", I take the elevator down to the 1st floor where usually no one uses the restrooms. My code for this is "2-on-1". (Thank you to Cindy Dias for sharing the code).

On this particular day though, I had company. As I was sitting in the stall, trying to take care of business, another woman walks in. And out of all the eight empty stalls she decides she is going to take the stall right next to mine.

I hate that.

I start to contemplate whether I should just finish up or wait. I hate to be rushed. She probably just came in to go pee. So, I decided to hold it all in until after she left.

But..

She didn't leave.

She had the same intention I had.

She was doing a 2-on-1.

She started to tap her foot. She wasn't leaving anytime soon.

It was a Poo Stand-off.

I wasn't about to give in.

I started to whistle.

She started to hum.

I refused to lose this battle. I would not go down without a fight.

I could feel her smirking on the other side.

Who did she think she was?! I was here first!

I started to play solitaire on my phone.

Then... I heard it....

The burst of a fart, a splash and the unraveling of toilet paper.

Hahahahahahahahaha (that's my evil queen laugh).

She quickly gathered her belongings and left the ladies room as I proudly did the cabbage patch dance while still sitting on the toilet.

Was there a point to this story?

Not really. It was just one of the little annoyances in life that I'm pretty open about.

Now you will never visit another ladies room again without thinking of me and my
Poo Stand-off.

2008-11-21T11:54:00.000-08:00

“Lee Lee Can’t Go to School Today”

So , it’s 8pm on a Saturday and I’m in the loft of my house watching an addicting Lifetime channel. You know the ones I’m talking about- the shows that suck you in after watching two minutes of it and then when it cuts to commercials, they run a preview of the next Lifetime T.V. movie (usually starring Valerie Bertinelli or Judith Light) to play right after the one you’re currently watching. And the shows all have cheesy titles: My Lover, My Son or A Father for Brittney or the ever so popular Bastard Out of California. I confess, I am one of the millions of women who get sucked into these programs. It’s like crack. I’ll even hold my pee just so I don’t miss the good parts! Thank God for TiVo.

My 9 year old, Mia is sitting with me and a commercial comes on. The screen opens up to a small African village with a sad girl sitting outside a hut. The male voiceover has a serious, yet sad tone:

“This is Lee Lee. She can’t go to school today because she has her PERIOD..” (extra emphasis on the PERIOD).

It was a sanitary pad commercial for the Always company with their charity initiative in Africa. Part of the proceeds from the purchase of any Always product will go to helping women in African with their sanitary needs.

Mia looks at me with her eyebrow raised, “What’s a period?”

Ugh. THE question. How am I going to handle this? Do I tell her the truth? Do I dance around the question? Do I fake a coughing fit and leave the room?

Damn that Lee Lee!

"Well, honey- having your period is a part of womanhood. All females, even animals get it. As your body matures, you will bleed once a month.Girls can start as early as 10 years old. But all this is necessary as you get older in order to have babies. It’s nothing to be ashamed of- it’s a part of life. It's a part of being a woman."

She looked at me like she had just witnessed me skin a cat.

"Are you serious?!" she asks.

"Yes"

"Well, where will I bleed from?"

"Your vagina."

At this point, she looks as though she was going to faint. I continue to keep a straight face as she is thoroughly disgusted.

"THAT IS GROSS. How do you stop it from getting everywhere?"

"Well, honey..pads or tampons. They both are made out absorbent material, such as cotton, that comes in various sizes that fit snugly in or outside the vagina to absorb the flow. And you have to change it every few hours"

I felt like I was in the middle of a really, awkward after school special.It was killing me to be so "technical".

"So... is that what you do?" she asks.

"Yes"

"At work?!"

"Yes"

"At your desk?!"

"Uh, no honey..i leave my desk to go to the bathroom."

**Silence**

"Oh boy..I can't wait to go to school and tell Jade!"

I patiently discuss that the conversation needed to stay under our roof and that there might be girls at school who's parents don't think they're ready to hear about periods. She understood and that was the end of the "talk".

Mia became pretty comfortable discussing this in the open with me. It actually started to make ME uncomfortable. I was in the bathroom one day and she knocks on my door. In our house we never lock our bathroom doors, normally everyone does their business with the doors wide open. But on this particular day, I just happened to close the door...

Mia knocks.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?" Mia asks

"Going pee"

"Are you sure you aren't putting one of those tampons in your butt again?!"

I locked the door and vowed that i wouldn't come out until she was 40.

I have an amazing relationship with my two girls and they've both inherited my sense of humor and sarcasm. I'm not perfect and maybe our "talk" wasn't ideal..but what I do know is that she knows that she can discuss anything with me regardless of the topic and we'll always find humor to navigate our way through.

It's been a few months now and I think she's over the shock of it all (as am I). I click on the T.V. and get comfortable to watch my Tivo'd Lipstick Jungle episode. I turn to hear footsteps and it's my 5 year old, Sofia.

"Mommy...what's a period?

"Miaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Keeping up with the Baumunks...

2008-11-21T09:27:00.000-08:00

Friends are always asking my 2 daughters what they want to be when the grow up. My 9 year-old Mia wants to be a marine biologist and my 5 year old wants to be a veterinarian.(And so do their friends). I think animals are an obsession for little girls (maybe it's the innate sense of nuturing that females are born with). Recently my friend, Teri told me that at her son's kindergarten graduation each child had to tell the class/parents what they wanted to be when they grew up. The occupations ran the gammet from firemen to NBA stars...and...SEVEN, yes, SEVEN dolphin trainers. Sea World will never have to worry about a shortage of trainers for our friendly ocean friends.

Before my girls were born, i had a plan for their future. My children would grow up to be corporate attorneys. They'd share a practice Baumunk & Baumunk with Disney as their top client. They wouldn't have to worry about men or $. Because the world would be theirs. Of course, they wouldn't want me or Charlie to work so we'd just travel. As toddlers, I even had them trained:

"Mia/Sofia, what you do you want to be when you grow up?"

"corprit turneys"

Unfortunately, that is not how I see things laying out. Mia insists that she'd have her own medical marine biologist office and she'd also work part-time at the zoo and I would answer the phones back at her office. After she'd get done helping the animals get better at the zoo, she'd go to her waitress job at RA sushi. Sofia just mimics what her older sister says, "And me, too!"

Mia has also questioned me regarding different occupations:

While sitting at a stop light waiting to turn into the AZ Mills Mall she looks over to an establishment on the right hand side of the street:

"Mommy, why are all the men going into that building?"

I look over and see that the aforementioned establishment is "Christy's Cabaret" strip joint. I smile and look back at her and tell her that they are picking up doughnuts. It's a doughnut shop.

She stares back at me with a "you've-just-insulted-my-intelligence" glare.

So..I decided to give her an honest answer...

"Well, Mia..when you drop out of school and don't go to college and get your education, that is where you'll end up."

She furrows her brow, "What exactly do you mean?"

I continue, "If you don't get your education, you will end up dancing naked in front of fat, ugly, sweaty men on a pole."

Her jaw dropped, "ARE YOU SERIOUS? THAT'S DISGUSTING! That is what happens there?!!!"

And with that, the conversation ended.

A few months later my father was visiting and we came to the same stoplight in front of the mall and Mia taps my father on the shoulder,

"Grandpa Bernard, if ya' don't get your education you're gonna end up working there...dancing naked on a pole in front of fat, ugly, sweaty men."

My father just shook his head.

"And another thing grandpa-- they don't serve doughnuts there."

So needless to say, I am still trying to steer them in a positive direction when it comes to their future careers. If caring for animals is what she and her sister choose as their career path, so be it. I will love them no matter what they decide to do--(yes, even if it is swinging on a pole). But the marine biologist/ veterinarian gig seems to be on top of the list right now and I will do everything I can to encourage them to live their dreams.

---But I'm still making the Baumunk & Baumunk wall plaque (just in case)

To All the "Other" Women

2008-11-21T09:16:00.000-08:00

A few years ago, someone very near & dear to me experienced what could be one of the most life challenging moments a person could ever endure: after 20 years, her husband left her for another women….and married her.

There are never any words that can help ease the pain of the situation. Yeah, I can call him every name in the book, talk about how idiotic & self-centered he is, question his sanity..etc. But I'm going to take a moment and reflect on the decisions that "the other woman" makes when she decides to get involved with a married man…..

An Open Letter to all the "Other Women":

The world is full of men. The world is full of a lot of single men. What is the attraction of getting involved with a married man? Some might say that you're insecure and don't feel that you're worthy of getting anyone better than someone who is already attached. Is that true? Did your daddy not love you enough? Did you not get the attention from your father that you so desired as a girl growing up? Was mom out whoring around the trailer park with every Tom & Billy Joe Jim Bob? Are you so hurt from your own family's dysfunction that you want others to share in your misery?

Desperation comes to mind when I think of you. Were you really so desperate for a man that it didn't really matter that you were taking someone else's? I am sure that it doesn't bother you that his wife and 5 year old son are paying the price for your happiness. I'm sure it doesn't bother you to know that he gives his wife only $200 a month for food & necessities to support their child that she is now raising alone..just so he can afford to buy you the new Coach bag you've been wanting

It baffles me to think why you would want to be involved with a man, who 8 years ago, stood in the presence of his family and friends and swore before God that he would be faithful to his wife. How can you spend time with a man that can't be trusted? Do you think that you're so special that he would never lie to you?

Oh.

But Wait. I forgot.

You're different.

With you, he's a different man. With you, he is a gentleman that makes you feel like a queen and spoils you with diamonds and fancy dinners. You love him the way he needs to be loved. You understand him. He treats your 5 year old daughter like his own. He promises you the world and romances you with wine and flowers. He listens attentively to your dreams and ambitions.

You're different.

You don't f**k. You make love. He makes you feel special and you do things in bed with him that his wife couldn't compete with…(or at least that is what he tells you.)

You're different.

He'd never leave you for another woman. Your body is addicting and leaves him wanting more. It's golden.

You're different.

I hate to break it to you, but your coochie is no better than hers, the waitress at Chili's or the whore on the corner selling it for profit. A man is going to screw anything with a hole.

But, oh yeah—you're different.

You've never met his wife, but you've affected her life more than you'll ever know.

I know one day that you'll end up being the "other woman". And believe it or not… I don't think his wife should hate you. All she can do is pray for you.

Just remember that what goes around comes around and it's your turn next.

Here's to you getting what you so richly deserve...

Platform Flip Flops

2008-11-21T09:06:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's me. Maybe it's a sign of getting older. Maybe when you hit motherhood, cells automatically form that give you an acute sense of fashion...

An open letter to all the women out there who think that platform flips flops are the shit.

Nothing ruins a cute summer outfit than a pair of ugly ass platform flip flops. You know which ones I'm talking about, the thick-3inch-sole flips flops ...Ew.

I'm not sure who thought it would be cute to design a flip flop such as this? I believe the first pair that I saw over 4 YEARS AGO were made by Steve Madden. And women are fooled to think that just because Steve Madden came out with it, it's stylish, hip and cool. Don't get me wrong, I love Steve Madden. But there is some shit that he comes out with that makes you wonder what the hell he was smoking when he sent these awful mounds of rubber into mass production. Before long the shoes end up on the shelves of Marshall's and Ross where they lay to rest before they're donated to the orphan children of Tijuana, Mexico. (And even they won't wear 'em).

Oh but wait, you can purchase them in a rainbow of colors from daisy yellow to trailer park white. Trailer park white is the best because then you can see how dirty your feet constantly are by the brown imprint it makes inside the flip flop as well as on the outside.

Oh hold on.. it's not just the flip flop, it's the ugly, dirty feet that go inside them that make them "oh so attractive".Nothing screams "white trash" more than a woman wearing these horrible flip flops with jacked up toes , chipped nail polish with the visible dirt resting behind the yellowish toe nails.

Why does this bug me so much?

I don't know. I think I have pretty good taste in the shoe arena.I admit, I'm a shoe whore. And to see such a horrible accessory screw up a cute outfit is such an outrage.

So ladies, go to your closet, your sister's closet, your friend's closet and even your mom's closet and start a bonfire with these monstrosities.

And really, ladies.. take a poll. I did. Men don't like 'em either. If your man says he does, he's lying and just wants you to break him off some.

Open a new chapter in your life and go buy your self a decent pair of flip flops (Old Navy 2 for $5).

You'll really thank me for this later....

The Vagina Monologues

2008-11-21T08:52:00.000-08:00

The Vagina Monologues... is made up of a varying number of monologues read by a varyin number of women. Every monologue somehow relates to the vagina, be it through sex, love, rape, menstruation, mutilation, masturbation, birth, orgasm, the variety of names for the vagina, or simply as a physical aspect of the body. A recurring theme throughout the piece is the vagina as a tool of female empowerment, and the ultimate embodiment of individuality.

A play with various women who share their views about their vagina with the audience

Wow. Can't beat that right?

My Vagina could tell a story or two. It wouldn't be crazy exciting- not too many tales to tell- but yet.. interesting.

When I went to The Vagina Monolgues event, the roles consisted of Angry Vaginas, Sad Vaginas, Vagina Happy Facts, Vagina Village and yes, Reclaiming "C*nt" and a lot more. Very touching performances by a lot of intelligent, inspiring women.

The crowd that attended was an interesting one. You had women from all races, you had couples, bi-racial couples, lesbian couples, single women, married women, groups of women. And we all had one thing in common that brought us together....our vaginas.

I walked out of the performance, enlightened; Proud.

I will admit. I am a slave to the monthly $60 primping and manicuring of everything "below the belt". But the Vagina Monologues did get me thinking...

All the waxing, the primping and attention to detail that I do for my vagina doesn't change who I am inside, my sexuality as a women or the way my husband views me. It doesn't define me as any better than the woman who decides to grow her pubes out into a mini afro.

Does it make me any more shallow, though? The fact that I will spend $60 for a brazillian every 5 weeks on something no one else but my husband will see?

I could probably feed 100 kids in an underdeveloped country with $60!

So I know what you're thinking...

Am I going to give up the bikini waxes?

Will my "feminist" side kick into high gear and say "F**k it All!"? Will I grow my pubes out Bohemian style, wear some Birkenstocks and proclaim how much men suck and are the death of us all and that all hairy vaginas rule? Will I bring all opressed women into the light by not getting my wax on?

Hmm...not quite.

The thought of a hairy cooch actually nauseates me.

I will continue to get my brazillian while at the same time continue to love, honor and cherish my vagina and respect the women who decide to keep their "locks of love".

I am who I am...... bikini wax or not.

And this too shall pass...

2008-11-20T15:30:00.000-08:00

I am the mother of Mia (9) and Sofia (5). We constantly visit the stage of , “she-copied-me” tantrums, “she’s-looking- at- me” outbursts and the ever so famous backseat boxing matches. My mantra has come to be, “and this too, shall pass..” It’s what keeps me sane.

If you’re a parent, then you are pretty familiar with the “she-copied-me” tantrum. It can be anything from one child copying what the other child says to the more common act of imitating the other child’s physical movements.

I’ve learned to be pretty passive about this until chunks of hair and clothing start flying all over the place. That's when I throw the “red card” in and break it up as opposed to my husband who will just yell from his office, “WHAT IS GOING ON OUT THERE?!” and then continue to go about doing whatever he does.

Does he investigate the disturbance that is happening during the Wizards of Waverly Place show?

Noooo, that would be too easy.

That’s when mommy comes in with her black and white jersey ready to eject the players.

“She’s looking at me!”

Ahh..the sound of those four words is enough to make my skin crawl. Just when you think they are getting along you hear this line. You’d think that there was some retractable, evil beam coming from each other’s pupils.

This usually leads into backseat boxing.

I believe backseat boxing dates back to when the first car came off the assembly line. If you have a brother or sister, you know what this extracurricular event entails. Let me delight you with one of my experiences:

It’s been a long day and we are driving home from school and work. Mia says something that Sofia doesn’t agree with (it’s usually something as trivial as determining who’s mommy I am) and kicks her leg. Mia retaliates with an arm nudge. The whining starts and Fairytopia Barbie with one boob hanging out, goes flying across the seat and hits Mia on the leg. Mia cries bloody murder (the older one is always the more emotional). Then the “Everybody Poops” book is heaved across the car seat and knocks Sofia in the arm. Now..the heavy artillery comes out. The next thing I see in my rearview mirror is a Nintendo DS game machine chucked to the right and a Hello Kitty backpack fly to the left.

I try to keep my eyes on the road while threatening them with solitary confinement in their room of bazillion toys. But that just triggers the accusations that usually start with “She did it first!”

I am so exhausted by the end of my work day, I don’t have the energy to discipline my girls. So instead, I calmly talk about how grandma (my mom) used to drive with a fly swatter and every time that my brother and I acted up, she’d swat that thing like she was Barry Bonds. Their eyes widened with interest.

I continued, ”Now, would you like me to bring a fly swatter with me every time we went somewhere?”

They both looked at each other and shook their heads. Everything returned to normal for at least the rest of the drive home.

I started to feel a sense of peacefulness as I drove into the driveway.

And then…

Fairytopia Barbie’s magical unicorn hits me in the back of the head.

How many more years until college...out of state?

To Mia & Sofia...

2008-11-20T15:26:00.000-08:00

To Mia & Sofia to Read When...

Your Heart gets Broken for the First Time

The time will come when that special boy will break your heart. It’s a part of life; it’s part of growing up—but you don’t want to hear that. Right now your world has stopped and it feels like someone ripped open your chest and danced around on top of your heart with football cleats. Your chest hurts, your head hurts from crying and you can’t eat.

Every song you hear reminds you of him and it seems that everywhere you turn you see a couple holding hands and laughing without a care in the world.

You question whether you were good enough or pretty enough to be with him in the first place.

You will never love anyone like you loved him.

You will never recover.

No one understands your pain…

But I do.

The first time I ever had my heart broken was by my very first boyfriend in high school. His name was Dinky (yes, go ahead and snicker). He was the first boy I ever held hands with and the first boy I ever kissed. At 15, I had my whole life planned out: We’d graduate high school together, go to the same college, get jobs in the same city, have a dream wedding, raise a family in a big house with two dogs…(You get the picture). Anyway, I had it all planned out at 15. Unfortunately, his plans didn’t match mine.

There was a dance coming up and he told me that the dance was going to be boring and that he wasn’t going to go. So I decided to also skip the event and stay home with my family. A few hours into the evening, my phone rang and it was one of my best friends calling me to tell me that Dinky was slow dancing with some 9^th grade skank named, Veronica Galvan. She wasn’t even cute! She was tall and lanky with buck teeth and bad hair. As I listened to my friend fill me in with the sordid details of his juvenile tryst, I felt my heart slowing slipping into the pit of my stomach. The tears that I tried to fight back started to pour down my cheeks- slowly at first, then uncontrollably the next minute. I started to shake and told her to tell him that he was….(ok, I feel like a dork)… I told her to tell him that he was a gigolo. If you don’t know, a gigolo is a male prostitute- a man that sells his body for money. Yes, that is all I could think of at the moment and plus, I didn’t cuss back then! So gigolo seemed quite appropriate for the moment.

I ended up showing up at the dance and confronted him. He didn’t deny anything and acted like what we had was nothing. I gave a good three months of my life to this boy and my feelings were irrelevant! I guess that was the worst part for me- Dinky acting like I was invisible. I stood there like an idiot as he continued to slow dance with her to the beat of Wham’s “Careless Whisper”. And yes, he did end up leaving with that Veronica Galvan. Apparently, she was giving him something that I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

After that, I was convinced I’d never love again; that I’d never find someone who’d care for me like he did. I was never going to recover. I would forever carry this heavy heart doomed to walk the earth alone for eternity.

But…(and you know how I hate to be wrong)…it did get better.

Your heart and your soul may be hurting more than ever right now. (That’s why they call ‘em crushes. If they were easy, they’d be called something else.) But you know what? Everyday, a little bit of that pain will go away and before you know it, it’ll be gone. You’ll move on and you’ll be a better person because of it. If he wasn’t able to see all the special qualities that you have, then he doesn’t deserve you.

As a mom, I want to protect you from anything and everything that would ever hurt you. I want it to be as easy as it was when you were five years old and I’d kiss your boo-boo and make it go away. But it’s not as easy this time around. I know this is a time that no matter what I do or say, it’s not going to make that hole in your heart go away. You just want me to stop talking, shut your bedroom door so you can scream into your pillow while thinking of ways to make his life a living hell and…at the same time…figure out how you can get him back. As demented and crazy as that sounds- I get it.

Know that I’ve been there, I understand, and I love you.

And when you feel like opening that door up just a little to let me in…

I’ll be there.

Separation Anxiety

2008-11-20T15:05:00.000-08:00

Separation anxiety. Every mother has been through it and doesn’t wish it on her worst enemy. At about eight to ten months of age until 2, your baby starts a painful stage of development.

When Sofia was a toddler she became increasingly attached to me day after day, as I met her needs on a regular basis. When I'd leave her at daycare, she'd suddenly start crying. Big tears would roll down her chubby cheeks, and her lower lip would roll out and quiver. I sensed her anxiousness, and that parental instinct kicked in. I'd reach out to take her back in my arms and with comforting words whisper that I was near. She'd calm down as I'd wipe away the tears and the snot. Then she turned back into the happy girl I knew. I'd hand her over to another pair of arms and she'd wind up again like a siren. She'd do the “back arch” move and fling her head back in discontent.

So anyway, this is was a taste of my experience with separation anxiety.

There’s good and bad news about it.

First- The good news was that I'd come to realize that I’d done nothing wrong. (This was my second child and it took me this long to understand that). I'd get to the point sometimes where I’d just wait for Child Protective Services to ring my doorbell and whisk her away to the “perfect mommy”. I sit and rack my brain trying to figure out why my child was so “pissed off”. The “I’m-a-bad-mother” emotions would start to flow along with my adrenalin and I'd dp practically anything to make things better and to keep her calm. Now, If you’re employed outside the home like I am and leave your baby in the arms of another, you are not making it worse or better. If you are a stay-at-home parent you are not making it worse or better. It is a stage of development as natural as learning to walk.

After much research, I come to find that my child was actually experiencing a burst of development in two areas. Sofia was experiencing more long-term memory, or what experts call cognitive growth. What was once “out of sight out of mind” is now out of sight and still in mind. The thought of me leaving her sight was causing her grief.

I couldn't even use the toilet without my little Sofia sitting on my lap. Now, you can get a visual of how this worked:

I'd sit on the toilet with the bathroom door open, she'd sit on my lap where she could view the T.V. and watch The Teletubbies while I (with precision, mind you) read a magazine. As soon as she'd hear the toilet paper roll start to unravel, she'd start to hyperventilate because she knew I'd have to take her off my lap for a minute. This is when Scream Fest 2004 began.

She was quite sensitive to the comings and goings of the important people in her life. She was also progressing in her social skills. While she needed me, she also wanted to separate from me. This inner conflict of dependence versus independence and learning to separate can be quite troubling. The bad news was that separation anxiety had to take its sweet time to blossom, wither, and pass away. ThenI had to look forward to it blooming again when she was three (Mia went through it at 3) and even as a kindergartner. Just thinking about it drains me.

During that "phase" my husband, Charlie had to go out of town for 3 weeks. So not only was I dealing with a hysterical toddler, I had to be “sane mommy” for my 5 year-old, Mia and my 2 dogs. I’d be lying if I said things went hunky dory…to put it in a nutshell, they almost became orphan children. Granted, they missed daddy and Christmas was right around the corner, but waking up at the crack of dawn and trying to get them used to a routine sans daddy was not easy.

Let me give you a taste of how a typical Monday went back then:

3:16 a.m.: Sofia wakes up. I grab a pacifier, lay her in my bed and she falls back asleep.

5:15 a.m.: I wake up and see that both of my little ones are still fast asleep. I’m elated! I will actually get to take a few minutes to apply make-up and wear something unwrinkled! I tip toe to the bathroom and even before I flick the light switch, I hear Sofia start to cry.

5:20 a.m: Exhaustion is the reflection I see in the mirror…this will be the onset of a tough morning.

5:25 a.m: I change her diaper, give her milk and lay her back down, she flings her bottle across the room and sits up and starts to whine.

5:35 a.m: I convince myself that she’ll be ok and that she’ll stop crying. I start to get ready. Her crying reaches indescribable decibels. I’m sure people on the neighboring continent can hear her. Frustration starts to set in. I try to tune her out as I do my hair. With every spritz of hairspray, her crying increases. She hates me. If she could talk, I’m sure she’d tell me to go to hell and throw up the middle finger.

5:45 a.m.: I finally pick Sofia up and attempt to console her. She lays her head on my shoulder and snuggles up to me. Guilt starts to seep through my veins. I think to myself, “Geez, Sandra, this is all she wanted!! Work can wait! This is more important! Who cares if you’re late?! Who cares if you have one eye of mascara and no deodorant?!”

6:00 a.m.: Mia must have felt for me because she was the perfect little 5 year-old. She got herself dressed, brushed her hair and fed the dogs.

6:15 a.m.: I try to sit Sofia down next to me on the couch so I could put my shoes on. She has the death grip on my neck. I pry her off me, I pluck her fingernails out of my trachea and place her next to me. Oh yes.. I set off the “tantrum” button. I quickly get up, grab her and get her jacket on, Mia’s jacket on, put the dogs in the laundry room, lock up the gate, then realized I forgot my purse.

6:45 a.m: I unlock the baby gate, grab my purse, and the diaper bag and a snack bag. Sofia is in my right arm. All other bags hang off my left arm. I am sweating bullets. I look like a frickin’ human Christmas tree. Then.. The phone rings.

7:00 a.m.: I thrown everything but Sofia on the floor, unlock the gate again and grab the phone. It’s my husband, Charlie. “Hey you! How are things going?!”

7:01 a.m.: I start to cry. Sofia starts to cry. The dog starts to hump my leg.

7:10 a.m.: FINALLY..everyone is in the car. I thrown on a Disney Princess DVD, give Sofia her bottle, Mia her snack and in less than 10 minutes..the Baumunk girls are fast asleep on their way to school. They look like angels.

7:30 a.m.: I slowly take the 9mm away from my temple. Maybe life isn’t that bad. This is all a part of motherhood. I look over Mia’s head and through my passenger window and see the sunrise. I breathe and I thank God for my blessings. What a lucky woman I am.

What could be more rewarding??

And with that, my thoughts are soon answered…with a flying milk bottle hurled towards the back of my head.

Ahhhh..Motherhood.

The Rearview Mirror

2008-11-20T14:44:00.000-08:00

I used to use my rearview mirror to adjust my make-up, fix my hair and yes, actually look at traffic behind me. Now that I’m a mom, it’s become more than just a “mirror”. It’s been a live motion camera that captures the very essence of my existence—my children.

We’re driving home and my daughter Mia (who was 5 at the time), pipes up,

“This is taking too long!”

I look back at her and reassure her that we would be home in no time.

“I’m not talking about home,” she says, “growing up is taking too long! I am tired of being little. It’s just taking too long!”

I adjust my rearview mirror to see her sitting like a little lady next to her 1 year-old sister, Sofia. It seem like only yesterday she was in her rear-facing infant car seat gurgling away without a worry in the world. Reality hit me as I stared into her big, brown eyes from my rear view mirror. She was growing and I could actually see her maturing 5 year old face in my mirror…only 5 - not yet a “big kid” but no longer a toddler. When did that happen?! She had opinions now, she showed her emotions now and somehow I didn’t want that that to happen. I wanted to press the “slow motion” button and savor every moment of her being. I wanted to hold her little hands in mine and smell her sticky, strawberry cheeks..I wanted to savor her innocence and stunt her growth..

But in this I have no say.

She is growing and moving away from me like the waves on a beach, slowly but with unstoppable momentum. Nothing I can do will stop the waves from coming. With each lost tooth, each new word, every grade passed...another chapter in my daughter's childhood book closes forever.

I don’t want it to end.

On her 4th birthday, Mia started to ride a “Big Girl” bicycle. She decided she was done with the tricycle and spent a lot of time riding around in circles up and down the sidewalk. We spent the weekend running up and down the sidewalk right beside her, holding her by her seat as she fought for balance. Out of sheer exhaustion, I finally let her go...if she fell, she’d be ok. She had the Disney Princess helmet, gloves, knee & elbow pads to protect her. I was amazed and just a little sad, to see her ride down the block without me, not once looking back.

Her stroller, crib and high chair have been passed down to little Sofia. After she gets her use out of these items, they’ll be handed down to Goodwill and that era in our lives will be over. These items rendered obsolete overnight…reminders of how quickly babies grow to children and children grow to teenagers and teenagers leave home.

The day she learned to say “Mom” instead of “mah” nearly broke my heart.

I try not to be too sentimental about these things. Spring turns to Summer, kids grow up.

Believe me, the day I changed my final diaper went down as one of the most unequivocally happiest of my life. What can I say? Some stages are easier to let go than others. You can imagine how broken up I was when Mia stopped asking for Barney. (I kept Sofia away from PBS)

Honestly, i can't wait until she gives me one of those "Harvard Parent" car stickers or "I'm broke. My kid's at Princeton" stick-on.

And yet.

Parents are meant to prepare their children for the outside world, to make them strong and independent. So why am I feeling left out because she doesn’t need me to dress her anymore? Or help her wipe her butt after using the toilet?

I look back into my rearview mirror and answer her...

“If you grew up too fast, mommy would be sad because we wouldn’t be able to enjoy all the fun things you can do as a little girl.” Somehow my answer seemed to suffice because she didn’t say a word. (Either that or she was just too pissed off that the drive was taking forever.)

I kept driving and once again I look back and re-adjust my rearview mirror to glance at my firstborn and look back at my toddler. I dread the day when that backseat will be empty. No empty juice boxes or Cheerios lying on the floor. No baby bottles or strollers. All the half-naked Barbies and storybooks will have disappeared like the sticky fingerprint smudges on the glass windows.

And I’m going to keep on adjusting my rearview mirror until that day comes…

20 Things I've Learned

2008-11-20T14:37:00.000-08:00

The 20 Things I’ve learned as A Mother (so far)…

I’m going on 9 years of motherhood and I have to say that I’ve learned a lot so. Here are 20 of my favorite!

I’ve learned:

That no matter how many freakin’ toys you take with you on the airplane, it will never bee enough to satisfy your squirmy 2 year-old.
That even if you do wake up two hours early to get “pretty” for work, you still leave the house a sweaty mess with a stain or two on your blouse after a morning with the kids.
That no matter how much your 7-year-old daughter tells you she likes the shoes you bought her; she will find a problem with them the day she has to wear them. And if it’s not the shoe, it’s the sock.
To expect your child to sleep soundly all the way up until you want to get romantic at 3:31am with your husband. At that point they are either standing at the side of your bed or whining in theirs.
That if there is anyone that can be honest about what you are wearing, ask your child. They will not only inform you about how good/bad you look, but will inquire about the jiggly-ness of your thighs and butt.
That no matter how long you’ve been a mother, boogers and barf will still nauseate you.
That you will forever call chicken strips, “Chicken McNuggets”. I call them McNuggets when I drive through Burger King and it seems to annoy the hell out of the drive-thru gal.
That whenever you ask your children what they want to eat, it’s always two things: I don’t know or Chicken McNuggets.
That they will always need to use the potty and have their butt wiped when you are in the middle of dinner.
That whatever restaurant you dine at, your youngest will need to check out the restroom as soon as you sit down.
That when you ask your 1^st grader if they have any homework the answer will always be “No” until the following morning when you are getting into the car and then they remarkably remember the crushed up math sheet in their backpack.
That when you pick up your kids from school and ask them what they did that day the answer will always be, “Nothing”. If they feel like volunteering any information it will be when you least expect it.
That your kids could be model children all day along but as soon as you pick up that phone to make a call, it will trigger fights, whining and unnecessary needs.
That your kids will feed your dog anything and everything he will open his mouth to. (Including floss…and that’s not a pretty sight to see mommy reeling out the floss from Sammy’s butt flower.)
That the only evidence you have of the dog stealing the kids’ crayons is from the Technicolored-poop packages left in the yard.
That whatever you discuss at home will inevitably find it’s way back to your child’s class. My daughter’s 1^st grade teacher and I have an agreement. She believes only 50% of what she brings to the classroom and I believe on 50% of what she brings home.
That by 10 years of age, your kids will accumulate enough stuffed animals to donate to all the children in China.
That there will be a phase in your preschooler’s life when they will be paralyzed from the waist down. They will be unable to walk anywhere. They will need you to “CARRY” them everywhere. It’s the “Carry-Me-Until-You-Get-A-Hernia” syndrome. Don’t worry it slowly goes away when there’s a toy store or pet shop nearby.
That no matter how cute I do my daughter’s long hair in the morning, by the time I pick her up from school, she looks like a Janis Joplin reject or Cousin It.
That no matter what kind of day I’ve had at work, my day always ends on a positive note when I see Sofia’s sticky face and Mia’s crazy hair.

Boys have Penises, Girls have Vaginas

2008-11-20T14:23:00.000-08:00

Since my oldest, Mia was old enough to understand, I’ve tried to teach her about good and bad health habits... especially, smoking. We talked about how bad was for your health and how it shortened your life, made you smell, etc.. Well, back when she was 4 years old, Charlie quit smoking. I'm not sure what sparked him to give up that nasty habit.

Could it be the big deal Mia would make when she would catch Daddy smoking in the backyard? (Charlie never smoked around the kids and never in the house. So she would actually have to catch him in the act outside on the patio..and believe me, she busted him numerous times.) Could it be the haunting phrase he would hear over and over again from his first born, “OOOhhhhhh, you’re going to get “concert”! (she meant Cancer) I am going to tell mommy on you!” Or maybe it was the way she fine tuned her little jig and skipped around him singing “You’re gonna get Cancer, you’re gonna get Cancer!” Or could it be the way she pointed her stubby little finger at him and yelled, “YOU’RE GONNE DIE!” with direct emphasis on “DIE”.

Personally, I think it was when she started to taunt him with the word Emphysema.

When a 4 year-old cares enough to learn the word, Emphysema and what it means, it really stops you in your tracks. Telling him that he was going to have black lungs and “En-fa-seena” (as she pronounced it) might have been the final straw and helped him lay that last cancer stick to rest. After that, she resorted to taunting him about his “big belly”….it was enough to force him back into lighting up a big, fat one.

Mia has always been somewhat amazed and interested in the human body. I made sure that when she started to learn about “private parts” we would teach her the correct terminology. Penis and Vagina. These words are clinical yet interesting to a four year old who loves the way they sound. Her thirst for knowledge was astounding. Could it be we were raising a young Kurt Vonnegut or maybe a young Emily Bronte (Wuthering Heights)? We were such proud parents to have a “Baby Einstein” living beneath our roof! But my dreams of raising a child protégée had soon vanished.

What I did have on my hands was a phenomenal telephone/answering machine operator. Unbeknownst to us she had mastered the art of the record button on the answering machine. It wasn't until we had 5 messages asking us between snickers and snorts if we had listened to our outgoing message. I was scared. My palms started to sweat as I could feel the rush of blood drain from my face. I slowly leaned forward and pushed the bright, red blinking button next to the “5 messages waiting” sign. “Hi, this is Mia..” (Wheh! I sighed with relief, a cute little message) BUT…to my dismay, it wasn’t over…”we can’t get to the phone right now, leave a message. Oh yeah…boys have penises and girls have vaginas. Have a nice day!”

“MIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!” was the last word that left my mouth before the receiver hit the carpet.

Penis, Vagina….Vagina, Penis. Oh, she loved using them, especially in public places.

“Mommy, ladies have vaginas, right?”

I just nodded my head as I loaded the rest of the groceries on the conveyer belt.

“Mommy, did you hear me?"

I said, “LADIES HAVE VAGINAS, RIGHT?”she questioned even louder.

I couldn’t even hear the beep of the scanner as I tried to redirect her attention. I whispered in her ear, “Yes. Ladies do have vaginas, but let’s not talk about it right now. At home you can ask me more questions.”

She studied my face and nodded, “Ok, mommy, I won’t talk about vaginas.”

The cashier smiled, trying to hold back her laughter and the customers in line behind us were finding the humor in this as well (Thank God).

I rushed to slide my debit card in the machine to cut short the impromptu show she was staging when low and behold Mia tugs at my sleeve and points to the cashier..

”She probably has a big vagina.”

I could feel the tears well up behind my eyeballs. I grabbed my receipt, my bags and my shopping cart and I never looked back Goodbye Baby Einstein….. Hello, Dr. Ruth Westhiemer.