Heroes of Cosplay and my Banshee...

I like watching the SyFy channel. The shows on there are good and in spite of the occasional bad word, the girls can watch it with me. We watch Ghost Hunters together, we watch FaceOff together, and just recently, we all got hooked on Heroes of Cosplay. And no, I only let them watch the repeats with me. All these shows run during bedtime!

For those of you not in the know, Heroes of Cosplay follows a group of talented people at different ComicCons around the country. They fashion amazing costumes in a matter of days, so that they can compete in the various costume contests. It is very cool stuff, as we get to see the costumes start off in brainstorm mode, to actual work on the costume, to the finished project on stage. The judging on these costumes can get very intense but most of the participants remain steadfast that if they aren't having fun, then it is not cosplay.

The girls love to see the work that people put into these costumes! They build dragons, learn how to shoot arrows for a Merida costume, drive racing cars onto a stage, turn into Ironman...you name it! It is really hard not to get hooked on the awesomeness of watching someone put hard work into something they love and journey with them through their creative process. 

What I didn't count on, is that the girls would start to think about their Hallowe'en costumes in this fashion too. Pixy wants to be batgirl with functioning wings and well, we all know what Banshee wants to be: Irongirl, duh! I think I may have dug my grave here, folks! It isn't like I am a stranger to making things by hand or perfecting something someone else has done. I love to do that! In fact, when I was teaching, I was known for changing lessons, creating new projects, and even making a class movie full of costumes....just for the thrill of seeing your hard work turn into something cool. I am just not sure that I can ever reach the calibre of the costumes the girls are loving on TV.

The prospect of building/making these costumes by hand becomes more daunting, as we are considering taking the girls to ComicCon in NYC this year. Banshee, who is probably the coolest three year old I know, has some special friends at Marvel Comics that she'd love to visit with and meet in person. The Sailor and I want this to happen for her very much...but. Yup, here comes a big BUT....Banshee and Pixy now want to go dressed up. Sigh! I am buckling under the pressure.  What if I let them down? What if I can't make their costume dreams happen? What if, by some HUGE miracle, they want to do one of the kid contests? WhatamIgonnado?! Sigh!

Part of me is kicking myself. Why did I let them watch this show right before Hallowe'en? Seriously, I wasn't thinking. Now, the bar has been set high and there will be no return from it. The other part of me is silently giddy at the thought that maybe this opportunity might be good for the girls, especially for Banshee. Her ASD causes her to be shy and have social issues as herself, but put a costume on her and she feels stronger, more social, more awesome. Pair that up with the Pixy...well, now we have something super awesome happening. Something to think about, huh?

I am still in the brainstorming stages, and in the end, might just go with something pre-bought that we fix up and make our own. I will take it one step at a time. I just hope that the kids' judge, if the girls do the contest, isn't Yaya Han. (Pssstt...we love her!)

              What are your plans for Hallowe'en? Homemade vs. Pre-bought. Talk to me! :) 

Renaissance Family

Today was a great day! We decided to surprise the girls and take them to the Maryland Renaissance Fair. It is probably the best decision we have made in a while. It is full of shopping, good food, lots of entertainment, and of course the joust!! I don't think I have ever seen the kids jump into the car that fast...ever!

Off to Crownsville we went, all giddy with the expectation of crossing off items on our personal 'Renaissance To Do list". Sailor wanted to eat a turkey leg or two, Pixy wanted her hair braided, Banshee wanted to take a picture with Queen Katherine, and I wanted to look at getting some new shoes for my pregnant-sized feet. (Yes, they are all kinds of swollen now.) It was exciting to know that this year, the girls would really get to enjoy the whole thing and take part in it.

We decided to get both girls' hair braided and then immediately off for a ride on the elephants. The girls looked like two cute Renaissance maidens with their hair in braids and escorted for a ride by their father. Nevermind that the ride actually lasted all of one minute--they were on an elephant for goodness sake! It was nice to catch the Sailor smiling from ear to ear, as he bounced along on the elephant's back.  We all needed this break from the craziness in our lives (the move is only a week away. Did I mention it is the same week as the first week of school? Yeah.)

From there, we went off to grab some lunch, after a quick stop at the Reptile Museum. The girls got to hold a snake and pet it: "Ooh, you're a nice girl, aren't you snaky?" Yes, that really did come out of my children's mouths. The snake's handler was very impressed by their bravery, to which he was told, "We've wanted a snake for a long time, but we just don't have the room at home." Really? Fill me in on the exact moment I said that, girls? Lunch was lots of fun, as we ate at a table with some revelers dressed in their renaissance gear. They were so into their roles, that it was interesting to see how the girls interacted with them. I have to say that they did well for their first time hearing and interpreting Renaissance speech. Go girls!

That was a couple things taken off our personal lists, just a couple more to go! We caught a couple shows, bought some magic wands for the girls, and I got to look at shoes. I swear the only shoe that I have been able to tolerate during pregnancy, is made at a store in the Renn Fair. Medieval Moccasins makes the most comfortable shoes ever! I use them all year round and honestly, it is time for a new pair, as my maroon shoes are a little lighter in color. They still look great but come on! I can so use another pair. I looked at all the colors and couldn't make a decision, but this gives me a chance to go out to the Fair again. HAHA!

I didn't get to revel in my plan too long, as I looked down and saw that my three year old was not smiling and not happy. Great! This experience has been too much for her, despite the fair not being too overcrowded or noisy. I looked at the Sailor and saw that he had noticed too. We all stopped our walk so we could ask Banshee what was wrong. As she put it, very simply "We haven't seen Queen Katherine to take a picture with her yet." After a promise that we wouldn't leave without finding her, we kept walking through the grounds(which promise you a workout) to take in the sights. Finally, as we were nearing the entrance...our salvation! King Henry and Queen Katherine were standing right in front of us inviting the children to come take pictures. "Banshee!! Look!! There they are!", Pixy shouted. The girls ran to the wonderful actors and curtsied, to which I received kudos on teaching them courtly manners. Yeah, baby! I rock!! They took their picture and the day was saved. I want to say that the Sailor and I high-fived 80s style, but I am sure he is going to deny everything, so I will just say that we were happy that all had turned out well.

In the car, after a requisite visit to the Privies, we all shared our simple joy of the day; a new routine since Banshee attended Kennedy Krieger. Sailor said, "My simple joys were that I got to eat yummy food and spend lots of QT (quality time) with all of you." Pixy said, "My simple joy was getting an elephant ride with Banshee and sharing a frozen lemonade." Banshee said, " My simple joy was everything today. It was special." Finally, when it came my turn to share, I wasn't sure that I knew what my simple joy was. The whole day had been wonderful! The weather was perfect, the crowd was great, we got to check off our to-dos while at the fair...I honestly didn't know what it was. As we drove home, I kept mulling things over and looking for my simple joy of the day. I didn't find it until we were on our driveway. "Eureka! I know what my simple joy is!", I called out. "My simple joy is that all day today, we were all smiling and happy. No tears, no sadness, no tiredness....just pure and simple joy." The car was extremely quiet. I looked back and....everyone had fallen asleep. Go figure! That's ok though, I know what my simple joy for today was and it is just fine. But if they ask me tomorrow what it is, I am going to say getting hit on by that saucy knight, hands down! Yes! Mama wins this round!

Embracing fairy tales

"Why do you read those to your kids?", my friend asked.
"They're fairy tales. They all have a lesson to be learned." I said
"Yes, but you read them the original ones. Everyone dies in those. why cant you let them watch TV and be done with it?"she looked at the book in disgust.
"Well, yes, but reading these tales fosters their imagination and problem solving skills. I mean, how else would you know how to handle a big bad wolf, or a giant? Do YOU know when it's appropriate to call out Jack Frost's name?" The blank look she gave me told me everything I needed to know. She didn't. What a shame.

This was probably the zillionth time I'd had this same conversation with this same friend. She honestly believed that I was harming the girls by letting them learn about all kinds of mystical creatures and old folklore, because that's what fairy tales are. In her mind, they're old, have no lessons whatsoever, and therefore, no value at all. I disagree completely, which is great, because that alone fosters discussion...but, I digress.

Fairy tales are wonderful! They do teach lessons, no matter how embedded in the tale they are. They are meant to be frightening because the world is not always such a kind place and their value is astronomical! These tales were collected from elders a long time ago. We should treat them as treasures and not some stories meant solely for the entertainment of children. When did it become ok to dismiss these stories this way? How is it harmful to feed a child's imagination?

I love watching children's faces as they hear about Hansel and Gretel, about Little Red Riding Hood, about Snow White and Rose Red, about creatures that haunt the woods: pixies, fairies, goblins; you name it. It's akin to lighting a torch in a dark cave! They want to know what the lesson in each story is, how the problem was solved, how they could have done it better....it's a perfect way to engage them in conversation. Why not foster that? I mean, it's wonderful to teach children facts, give them the truths of daily life, but why take away all magic? I think my friend is missing that part of it all.

I get a little mad when I have conversations like this. Not because I have to defend my position, there just isn't one right answer when it comes to how people parent their children, but because people are losing their love of reading and the magic that comes with it. That's really what it boils down to. It's ok to watch a show about facts, the reality of life, but it is absolutely boring to pick up an old book and get lost in it. There is magic let loose in the world, when a book is opened. You're absorbed, transported, taken away to a different place, different worlds, and take part in an adventure that is unfolding right before your eyes. What is so harmful about that?

My friend just doesn't see that. It doesn't make sense to her because she has replaced books with electronics. She loves techie stuff, which is probably where the disdain for books and fairy tales comes from--it's just not "in" enough for her. That's fine for her but not for me. While I love the techie stuff too, I respect these tales from long ago. Someone thought they were valuable enough to put into a book, to preserve for future generations. This information, no matter in what form it was presented, was deemed valuable or essential to life. Surely, they still hold weight today, in this age. At least, they do at my house.

So, our friendship plods on, not as strong as before. My friend has since moved away, life gets busy. My consolation: when she does come to visit, she can continue to look at me blankly, or even shake her head at me as I teach all our children about when to call on Jack Frost, or how not to upset a house brownie. Deep down, I know the little girl in her is listening and thinking about walking to that dusty old bookshelf and letting a certain book's magic choose her to be its next great reader. There is magic everywhere, you just have to know how to find it, right?

The pond, the geese, the Juneau, and the beaver. Sigh!

Juneau is a wonderful dog. He is full of energy, gentle with the girls, and super quiet. He came into our little pack on Mother's Day, because his time was up at the shelter and they were going to put him to sleep. I am glad that he came home to us, as he had been treated very badly and needed lots of medicine to get his under-nourished frame back into top shape. It was serendipitous, right?

Turns out that while Juneau is amazing, he doesn't think things through, and is often getting into trouble because of it. Enter our walk to the park with Banshee. Banshee had done a great job at school the day before, and as a reward, we all decided to take her on a walk near the ponds to the playground. She decided it would be nice to bring Kai and Juneau along too. Since, the boys really needed their walk, we agreed with her--it was a beautiful day! We quickly leashed up the boys, packed our water bottles, and set off.

It was wonderful! Banshee got to walk Kai on his leash, as he is gentle about walking and looks out more for her than himself when walking. She was in heaven and proud of herself for doing something that only big kids do. Juneau, on the other hand, is a horrible walker! He wants to sniff everything and run ahead, turn around, skip..you name it! In spite of his usual leash nonsense, we got to see a blue heron, a beaver, various birds, and a couple of neighbors fishing. We were actually all giggling, as Juneau decided he needed to commune with nature by rolling around the grass upside-down. "Come on, Junebug!", we called, as we started to walk towards the observation deck to see what the beaver was up to.

Banshee and Kai got to the deck first and were watching a flock of geese on the pond. I got there next and was pointing out the beaver to Banshee, while the Sailor and Juneau walked up to the deck. No one is sure what happened next, because all we heard was a huge splash and Juneau's leash went taut. "Where is Juneau?!", I screamed out, after I saw that Kai was shepherding Banshee away from the edge of the deck. When he does that, it usually means danger. Something was terribly wrong. It was then that we saw exactly what happened...Juneau was in the pond.

Panic usually sets in very quick and you start to look for solutions to the problem, but when we all got a good look at what Juneau was attempting to do, it was actually hard not to be mad. He was chasing after the geese, and the beaver was chasing after him. This totally looked like something out of Grimm's fairy tales, or perhaps, like something out of America's Funniest Home Videos? Yeah. The situation got hairier, as the beaver totally went under water. Thanks a lot, Juneau. Someone was going to have to go in, and it sure wasn't going to be me. The Sailor looked at me and grimaced. He decided he would use the leash to guide poor Juneau out of the pond, hopefully, before the beaver decided he was a threat. Not that we were too worried about Juneau. He is a good hunter; the beaver might have gotten some good blows in, but Juneau would bring him home as dinner. I remember saying: " Not that that makes it any less scary, but we need to get him out now!". The leash lead Juneau up onto the bank, carefully, so as not to hurt his neck or snag onto some unsuspecting goose. What walked out of the water, tail wagging, was not the usual white beast we love...oh no! This was Swamp Thing! Juneau was now pond mud black/brown/gray goo colored. Every single neighbor that was out at the pond, not only saw the whole thing, but were now rolling on the ground in stitches. It was hard to not laugh...it was just odd. What an adventure, huh?!

Banshee and Kai were waiting for us to bring Juneau up to the path, and were both so grossed out, that they decided to keep walking a little bit away from us into the trees to explore. The Sailor and I had to examine Juneau on our own. Oh man! He stunk to high heaven, even if he was ok and looked perfectly happy. The weirdo wasn't even shocked or nervous. It looked like our trip to the playground was going to be cut short. We couldn't let that stuff stick on his fur!

I want to say that we made the walk back home in seconds, it was that fast! We immediately, gave Juneau a bath, and no amount of Key lime Aloe dog shampoo was going to help that stink. We needed to go in again! And again! And again! I think we went through half a bottle of the stuff. Meanwhile, Kai and Banshee looked on and judged us on our washing technique. I think they were disappointed they had to come home too. After the bath, Juneau tried to make up to them, with no success. He knew he was in trouble with his 'siblings'. The Sailor and I just looked on to see what he was going to next. Juneau approached them quietly and laid a toy at their feet, which was huge because he still doesn't know how to play well. Banshee walked up to Juneau and hugged him: "Naughty Juneau. You don't jump in water. That is soo soo bad." He was forgiven there, but Kai wasn't having any of it. He looked on at them as if he was above it all. "Come on, Kai. Give him a break! He isn't a thinker. Juneau will do better next time," the Sailor said to him. Reluctantly, Kai did forgive him and lightly sniffed him. He did not stay near him though..he could probably smell something nasty that the rest of couldn't smell. Oh boy!

Did Juneau learn his lesson? Nope. While he hasn't jumped off another observation deck, he has gotten stuck in a tree log in the back yard, chased down a deer, and attempted to make friends with a skunk. He keeps all of us on our toes, that is for sure! We love him dearly, but you can't help thinking that whoever said little children were tough, has never had a Juneau in their life. They'd probably change their mind...in a heartbeat. Better yet, in the time it takes to jump into a pond. Sigh!

The Simple Joy Club

For years, I have kept a thankful journal. Every day I would jot down some things that I was thankful for each day and sign off with the affirmation I learned from Miss Stacey in Anne of Green Gables: "Tomorrow is a brand-new day with no mistakes in it."

After my father died, a couple of things happened. One of which, and perhaps the most profound, is the fact that I lost my thankful journal. It is nowhere to be found. And I mean, nowhere. I have torn up this house, only to find dust bunnies. Well, not dust bunnies, more like tufts of fur that the wolves have left during their shedding times. You get the idea. I felt so completely lost without my  journal, because it had somehow turned into a crutch; a getaway of sorts. I could always pull out some things from my day that I was thankful for. I was heartbroken.

Right about that time though, The Simple Joy Club came into existence. Yes, there is a slight reference to The Joy Luck Club with that title, even if the stories aren't the same--I digress. What is the club? Well, all the members are the mothers of Banshee's classmates and the "simple joys" is something we are asked to start our weekly pow-wows with at Banshee's school. It was a blessing in disguise. This was my way of regaining my lost thankful journal. 

The "simple joys" are something that brought us joy, it can be related to our children or just to ourselves. Anything goes, but the idea is to begin our weekly meetings on a positive note and know that we can find joy in the simplest things. This is something I try to do everyday, otherwise I would end up in grumpy-old-Puerto Rican-woman hell. (I have seen it, it exists.) 'I so got this!', I thought. Ha! I can write about one thing that brought me joy. Easy! Boy, was I in for it.

During that week's meeting, we were handed our first sheet with a spot on top for our simple joy. I think I stared at the blank spot for a very long time. My emotional baggage wanted me to say: You have nothing to be joyful about, but deeeeeeeep down I knew that I could find something to be happy about, despite the circumstances. The meeting went on as planned, we all got to share stories about our children, gave each other encouragement, and offered hints about things we could do to make our homework assignments easier. It was great, but in the back of my mind, I kept on thinking about the simple joy spot on the paper that I would have to fill. It became a big monster for me, because I honestly did not feel like writing anything down. I didn't have time for feelings, I had things to do, dammit! How can I think of a simple joy, when everything going on in my life was anything but joyous?! I will confess, that this simple task, was becoming a huge chore.

As the week progressed, the simple joy remained hidden from me. I kept looking for it and didn't seem to find it. I found many simple joys in my children, don't get me wrong, but I thought that maybe one time, I could claim a simple joy for myself and see where it took me. I brainstormed like crazy and found myself thinking of the women that made up The Simple Joy Club: each with their own story, their own daily battles, and their own simple joys. Suddenly, I knew what my simple joy was. I had found a new pack. That is what we are. Not a traditional pack with an alpha, but a pack nonetheless. We are there to help each other when we stumble, to cheer each others successes, to help find those damn simple joys when life has handed you a raw deal. THAT was my simple joy, but I didn't fill the spot on the sheet with that. Another less powerful simple joy happened that needed to be recognized immediately. If you are a writer, you will understand that need to get this one thing down on paper or it will be forever lost. If you aren't a writer, just think of writers as people with really bad OCD, where tasks need to get done immediately or you go crazy. It seems, the universe has a funny way of making things happen when they are supposed to and not when we want them to. My simple joy would have to wait for another time.

Finally, today, the chance to share this simple joy just seemed to materialize. I wrote it in the spot on the sheet prior to the meeting and I shared it. Granted, I was late to the meeting, I didn't feel up to being there emotionally, I felt drained and I want to say that I didn't speak very much during the first half of the meeting...but I did share it. My simple joy was having a support group of people I could talk to, knew what I was going through,  and look to for help. A pack. It felt good to acknowledge everyone in the room that way. That simple joy helped me to regain what I had lost in my thankful journal: the feeling of wonder, excitement, happiness at little nothings that happen throughout the day. Little nothings that without meaning to, pack a big punch and make you thankful for it all.  It felt empowering.

Yup, you know where this is going. This new world opened up before me and it led me to thinking, which led me to asking questions, which led me to this little nugget: why don't we share a simple joy at the dinner table every night to help us out of this funk? We tried it, felt a bit foreign at first, but we kept at it. Soon, we were sharing laughter and smiles at all the dinner conversation that these "simple joys" brought us at table. I still marvel at how something so "simple" as sharing one small thing that made you happy throughout the day, can have such an impact on how you feel.

I am still on the hunt for my thankful journal. It has to be here somewhere, but until I find it and can write about ten things that I was thankful for that day, I can keep working on my "simple joys" with the Simple Joy Club. It gets the same job done and helps me ease right back into acknowledging that only you are in control of how you view the world, simple joys and all. It is up to you how you want to harness it, digest it, and deliver it back out there to the world.

Simple joys...who'da thunk it? 

Exorcising demons: A letter to my old man on his death

To my old man, wherever you are(definitely Heaven, but where exactly, I am not sure):

Maybe I thought you were invincible and I never expected you to die so soon. You were 64, the same age your own mother was when she passed, so I probably shouldn't have been surprised. After all,  it is said our personal stories and their endings are written way before we exist. Perhaps this is why I hated the Ides of March so much in my younger days. Maybe I knew that March 6th, the day when Titi Emma died, would pop up again in my lifetime. Who knows? The certainty I have now is this: I hate the month of March with a vengeance. Especially my birthday, because it is a countdown to bad things, no matter what way you paint it.

I need to exorcise all these feelings, thoughts, whatever out of me so that once I put them out there into the great void, my load might feel a little lighter.

Dad, I don't want you to think that I am not sad, or that I don't miss you at all. I miss you terribly. Our nightly phone conversations, our weekend get-togethers, our chats about books, laughing at the girls....I miss it all. I think of how people thought we were all crazy working in the same school together, but to me, it was Heaven. I was able to share every single part of my life with both my parents at every single moment of the day. We were a unit in every sense of the word and we didn't know how not to be that way. It is hard to lose that. Often, I find myself thinking 'Oh, I can't wait to tell D that', and then I get mad at myself because you aren't here. It is horrible, this empty feeling that I just can't get away from. You were my best friend; a part of me that I can't seem to function well without. I need you to know that I will mourn once all the mountains of paperwork are taken care of, the boxes are put away, and the dust settles. There is just too much to do to waste it completely on crying and I can't fall apart on the people that are counting the most on me. You taught me that.

The prime example of those that count on me: your two granddaughters. They miss you terribly. Especially the little one, who has surprised us by talking about you, in spite of all her social limitations. Can you believe it? I am sure that you can. You see, Banshee misses her best friend too. Just as you were a huge force in all of our lives, you were just as important to her and one constant that she looked for to make her feel right about the world. You always understood her and the love you had for her broke through even the barriers of her condition. She was perfect to you in every way and I believe that is the reason why she asks about you or she looks up at a cloud to say wisely: 'Papa is watching up there'. On the other hand, Pixy misses you in a different way. She gets sad that she can't be praised by you, or that you won't teach her to read, or that you aren't here to celebrate the silliest things (Pixy still mentions the fact that you were all supposed to have an un-birthday party for the dolls). She laughs sadly at the fact that she named you after the character in the Disney movie and about the time she locked you in the bathroom downstairs. Fun memories that she will have with her always. It is as she says: "That's great but Papa isn't here." Don't you just hate how the smartest things come out of the mouths of babes?

All of it is hard. I won't lie to you. To know that you won't be here in person for all the rest of the milestones we have yet to cover, all the battles we have yet to fight, all of the tears, all of the celebrations...death is never convenient, is it? Your death is a horrifying and humbling surprise, that makes a person appreciate just how limited our time here on Earth really is. "We know when we get here but we sure don't know when we get to go". Ain't that the truth!

I need you to know that in spite of all my pain, I remain your creature above all things. I still treat the world as a never-ending classroom(can't let that teachable moment slip us by, can we?), books as the rarest jewels in the world, and am able to pull out of me strength and confidence when God knows I shouldn't have any. I can't help but smile at that. You taught me that hope is always the last thing to go, when in doubt wear red, the sun will always come up the next day(no matter what), dreaming is just as important as the steps it takes to turn them into reality, that hard work is never something to be afraid of and a blessing in disguise, always take a book with you and you won't ever be alone,  and that love is a gift that should be given freely to those around you, no matter what. As you used to say: "Otherwise what is the damn point?" I will forever think of that day when someone compared me to you and I matter-of-factly answered, echoing another great lady: "I am my father's daughter." I will have that always.

I want you to understand that part of me went in the casket with you on your burial day. I may not show my grief as other people do, but I wear it daily. I see it in the sad eyes of my mother, in the long conversations with my sister, in the hunched shoulders of my husband, and in the smiles of my children. They are a constant reminder that I have this cloak of grief about me that I will wear forever but won't ever surrender to. A reminder that I won't be able to fall apart. There isn't time for that. Life might get better, with time, but the grief won't cease to exist.  No one recovers from the death of their best friend, no matter what their demeanor tells you, or what their mouths are uttering. I won't succumb to being the hysterical kind of female that you hated. It isn't in me. You saw to that.

I want you to know that you played all the roles a man should play very well. I am not saying you weren't human, you had your faults, but perhaps the main reason why your family mourns you with all their beings(and in different ways), is that you were an excellent father, an excellent husband, a grandfather without equal, and a great human being. You left us all a legacy of love, knowledge, and strength that will live on in us until our last days here. Don't doubt it. Ever.

The only balm to my pain, to be honest, is that I have this crazy hope that one day while out and about, I will look up and somewhere in the crowd, I will see a familiar face. Or maybe just a familiar set of eyes. SOMEthing will make me take notice. I will stop and I will probably stare, because that is what I do. Then, a slow smile will start to blossom because somehow, I will know that I am looking at you.

I miss you old man and there ain't no more to say.

-Me

Happy birthday from the Mile High City

This weekend, today in fact, is my birthday. It is not a happy day for me at all. It is a day that comes with a lot of emotional baggage; a cousin who passed away at a young age shares this day with me, as well as the inevitable countdown to the death of my Aunt Emma (March 6th). So, needless to say, my birthday was not celebrated with too much pomp and circumstance. Oh, we had the parties and the family came over to have fun, but there was always that undercurrent of gloom. We knew what was coming around the corner, as it were. It wouldn't be until much later that I would figure out that I shared this day with Dr. Seuss and Jon Bon Jovi. THAT made it a bit more tolerable! Because of this stigma though, or in spite of it, the Sailor decided to gift me a trip to Denver, where the Navy Band is on tour. He was determined to make it a fun day, no matter what. Laissez les bon temps rouler, cher!!

As a birthday surprise, it is awesome. I got to fly on my own to Denver, a place where I'd never been. I am all for adventure at any time of the day, so it was not a surprise for it to begin at BWI Airport. In the TSA line, no less. Yup, there I was in the line, waiting to have my ticket and ID checked, minding my own business. The TSA agent was sitting on his stool and as I hand him my paperwork, he says: "You're very beautiful." Vanessa (my alter ego, who is always on the prowl for mischief), decided to show up right then, look him intensely in the eye, move a little forward to encroach on his space and answered: "Thank you." He was dumbstruck. I am not sure what did it. Maybe he has never experienced anyone staring him down or actually answering him, but he whispered: "WOW." I walked through the line, not giving him a look back, even though he was attempting to regain his composure. I believe the other agents were laughing at him. It was hilarious and classic behavior for my alter ego. Oh, Vanessa!, I thought. My birthday is going to rock.

Vanessa was born in my youth, due to some rogue pixie dust, some empanadillas(I AM Puerto Rican),  and an overactive imagination. She didn't receive her name until I was in my twenties, and it happened outside a club in DC. Go figure, right? A random guy in the club had been trying to get my attention and as we left the club, he saw his opportunity to approach. He invited me to an after-party at a different club and asked for my name. I told him the name was Vanessa, and immediately gave him the phone number for the Reject Hotline, all while laughing in his face. Vanessa, as an alter ego, is brutal. She loves strong women, hates lecherous men, and has a degree in mischief. She is the part of me that comes out when it is time to let loose and have fun. Naturally, she would make her presence known on my birthday weekend. At the airport. Sigh.

The flight itself to Denver was great. The lady in the seat next to me fell asleep and used my boob as a pillow. She was comfortable, so I let her stay there. Nice of me, huh? I was half asleep myself, but the funny thing was that her husband was sitting next to her, so I am sure he had all kinds of odd visions going through his head. I couldn't help but giggle once I figured out what was going on. WIN! Soon enough, we landed in Denver and the airport is huge. While I was waiting for my Navy Band chauffeurs to pick me up( I travel in style, baby! Ha!), I decided to people-watch.

The experience was amazing to say the least. I saw people meeting their family there, people arguing about who made who late in getting to the airport, babies running away from their parents(Run free!! There's freedom, outside!), and a rogue cowboy or two walking through on their way to their destination. Lots of interesting fashion, even more interesting shoes, and a nice mix of color. Enter my next adventure in the form of a young nice guy, who was waiting for his friends to make their way to the airport. He struck up a conversation with me and for the next ten minutes or so, we talked about my spawn and the Sailor. He also talked about his trip there and what he was doing. I remembered he did mention he was busy, so this was a nice treat for him. It was all very fun. Out of nowhere, a group of tween girls looked in our direction and started to squeal. I had been so immersed in our conversation, that I got startled and grabbed his arm. He mentioned that his sort of thing happens a lot, which I thought was kind of random. (Aside: I might have forgot to mention that I wasn't feeling well, and my brain is not functioning on all turbines at the moment, remember that as you read the next sentences.) The girls proceeded to ask him for a picture, to which he obliged. I thought that was nice of him too, and I watched the curious exchange--remember, I thought he was just a regular guy. It turns out, per one of the squealing tweens, he was one of stars of the movie Twilight. D'oh! I couldn't help but laugh at the whole thing. This was total Lisa-candy: make conversations with strangers and have them turn out to be famous. Sheesh! My sister is notorious for getting mad at me when this happens. She always shakes her head at me and says, "Are you serious?! Why does this keep happening?! You need to start taking pictures or SOMEthing. God!". I can't help but laugh because I think the same thing after the fact too. Sorry, Leelee.

Luckily, shortly after that the Sailor and another sailor buddy of ours arrived. It was very nice to see them both after their being away for tour. It had been a long tour for everyone, I am sure. We drove around the airport, saw the teepee-shaped roof, and the blue pony with the red eyes outside the airport--it was a blast! I remarked on the amount of wild rabbits jumping about the grounds of the airport and I think the Sailor mentioned he had counted quite a few on their ride over. Enter our next adventure, it now being 1am and officially my birthday. Yup, it got better!

We ended up having to take a cab back to our hotel, because our ride got a flat tire, and $75 later(or thereabouts), and quite a few local flicking off our cab, we made it to our hotel. I couldn't help but think that this was the way Denver was welcoming me: drunk people having such a great time, that they didn't realize the cab already had a fare, and needed to flick me off. HAHAHA! Vanessa did flick them back off! You get back what you put out there, right?! Right?! The hotel, though, is a nice joint! Kind of dead in the wee hours of the morning, but it was very warm and welcoming. We made it upstairs to our room and I found some cupcakes and a card that the staff of the hotel had left for me. It was perfect timing and a lovely surprise, as I was very hungry from the trip, and needed a little snack before bed. Talk about a great way to end the night!

Cue the sun; my nemesis. After a couple hours of sleep, he kinda gets on my nerves but I was determined to have a good time. After finding some awesome birthday wishes on Facebook, today's adventure led me to an awesome bookstore on 16th Street. Predictable of me, yes, but where do you think a bibliophile goes for their birthday? I guarantee you, it ain't gonna be the nearest bar. That's for nighttime!(giggle) I was able to browse the stacks, sit in the children's section there (a total happy place with lots of Dr. Seuss books today), and take a picture of a book with my mother-in-law's name on it so I could text back to her later. We walked around the mall area there and took in some local color. It was the perfect way to spend the day. I also got hit on again in the street, to which the Sailor and I laughed, because I haven't done anything different to myself. The Sailor seems to think that it is my eyes that are causing a stir. I recently colored my hair very dark again and naturally the gray color pops out. Personally, I just think that my boobs looked great in the top I was wearing, but I digress.

As far as birthdays go, it has been amazing. Full of fun tales to share with my spawn when I see them tomorrow (squeeee!). Most important though, I got to leave home and explore a brand-new place. I got to let Vanessa come out and just be myself, not have to worry about anyone else and spoil myself a bit(Buying books. Watch out! Big spender on the loose!). All that aside, I am grateful for my 32 years on Earth, and glad that I get to experience so many fun things daily, while totally making an ass of myself half the time. Why the universe keeps choosing me to experience so many interesting things, I will never know. I am going to enjoy it all to the fullest while I can, with my ragtag band of misfits, of course! I am hopeful that the spawn is not driving my mother and my sister insane. For the record, they were both laughing at the girls when I called, who apparently had decided to dance around and be silly.

As for my tonight: The night isn't over yet! My birthday is still underway. Who knows what new adventures are awaiting me tonight? Is it wrong that I'm hoping it involves a romp at a vampire bar,  a burlesque show, followed by some dancing at an LGBT dance club? Definitely not, I say! It's all about fun, plus the Sailor is with me. He is a good sidekick for everything! Happy birthday to you, says the Mile High City. I am wondering now what I will answer back later tonight. (Insert naughty laugh here).

The best thing about me: Random acts of kindness

I have training as a ninja. Well, not really. If we were to boil it all down, it would be more like really good espionage. It is a skill I am truly proud of too. There is no surprise too hard to handle! I have pulled off missions whose recipients are 'across the pond', and some clear across this country. It makes me feel good.

It all started with an obsession. The dark Goth/fashionista (strange combo to be sure) wanted something awesome to put on the girls bums when diapering. It gets extremely tiring to be changing the same boring cloth diaper, white in color, day in and out! Blah! I need color and excitement in my life. Thank YOU, Gen-Y Diapers! Their cloth diaper covers come in all prints, and are like Pringles; you really can't have just one! Due to my obsession, I joined their chat group(more like a group of enablers) to chat about diapers, babies, and sometimes life with other Mamas who were as obsessed with these covers as I was. Dangerous for the addiction angle of all this..oh yeah!

While chatting with these Mamas, I made fast friendships all over the world! I can now boast friendships all over the UK and all over the US. Yes, I am special! But, it also let me in their lives. Their everyday challenges, ups and downs, and of course, all the nice pretty things they coveted. This led me to think about how I could 'reward' Mamas who were taking time to be wonderful to others. My covert 'ninja missions' were born.

I would scour the chat for evidence of kindness, and immediately, jot the name on a list, along with what diaper cover they were most looking forward to owning one day. Needless to say, I was not the only one thinking this, and quite a few other Mamas(the original 7; grew to 12 rapidly) began to send diaper covers with little gifts to make the recipient one happy gal.

Oh yes, it got expensive very fast, but I found that what I was looking for was the feeling that something I worked hard on(trust me, the covers are practically collectibles and can be hard to find) would be enjoyed by someone else. Bonus: the Mama wouldn't know I was sending it, so finding her address was also hard work. I enjoyed the chase! The chase for information on the Mama, of course, and also the fun that here I was chatting with her everyday, and she didn't have a clue what was on its way to her. It was always amazing to find a thank you message in my inbox and a picture of the gift. While I don't do it as often now, I still love to hit someone with some ninja love when I can.

Recently, I was asked by a friend to write about what I thought the best thing about me was. I think I racked my brain for ideas, nixed quite a few, and finally I thought about my 'ninja gifting missions'. Huh. There might be something to that! I love doing a random act of kindness a day, simply because I liken it to a virus: once it is caught, it propagates very very quickly! It makes me happy, that through some small token, I can bring happiness into the daily life of someone else. I like helping others. THIS is the best thing about me. Well, one of them, anyway.

There's a lot more that defines me, to be sure, I really am like an onion. But, there is nothing like seeing the smile on someone's face when something you did, changed the course of their day or week. It is wonderful to know, that in spite of all the craziness in our lives, someone out there cares for you and thinks you are important enough to gift you with their hard work, time, and love. My hope is that by doing these things, silly as they may seem, I can teach my spawn about the importance of helping others. That even though we run as a family pack, we belong to a much bigger pack that we must take care of, as well. By planting one seed of kindness within this bigger pack, we have changed the dynamic in caring only for the self, into one where we think of others first. It is an important quality that must be cultivated, taken care of, and developed.

As for me, the random acts of kindness aren't limited to cloth diaper groups. Or even to other Mamas. I try to do as many nice things in my day as I can; to go that extra mile. You never know when a little something you do: a sign, a smile, a kind word, a letter, a song, a care package, or yes, even a diaper will help someone in need. Always. I am firm believer in that!  

You're taking this really well...

I looked at the doctor and I must have not given her the look she was expecting, because she said, "You're taking this really well." I moved my eyes off hers for a minute and looked at the Banshee, who was busily playing with a toy in the corner. She looked at me and smiled. I grinned at her. Banshee, so nicknamed by the primal scream that came out of her when she was born, is one of the best things I have ever made. Pixy being the other best thing.

It had been a long road to get to that moment. One we decided to keep private, mainly because the people we told thought we were crazy and went so far as to say, " I think you are the one with the problem." To us, her parents, something in the puzzle that is Banshee, was not fitting correctly. We suspected Banshee was autistic and we needed validation.

You see, in Banshee, there is a spot where the pieces didn't quite fit. Let me start by saying that she is a happy child. When the world has the rest of us down, she always has a smile to cheer the rest of us back up. She is extremely smart for her 2.5yrs of age. She knows her colors, uses 8 words or more in a sentence, and loves music so much, it is almost as if it is an extension of her person. All amazing traits in a child, but... she lacked social skills. She didn't like to play with children, not unless it was the Pixy. They didn't inspire curiosity in her, nor the need to be with them. We believe that there is no need to be social in her world because she is happy the way it is and that we are allowed in it because we inspire love and safety. We are her pack, along with our dogs, who are an extremely important part of her life. In our little wolfpack, Banshee is the lone wolf. Full of surprises and mystery. And awesomeness.

I guess when the doctor told me that Banshee was mildly on the Autism Spectrum, she was expecting denial, shock, tears, maybe even anger on my part. I am not sure, so the fact that I was smiling and breathing quite a few sighs of relief, really must have been startling to her. "I am happy that now we can start finding her the help she needs," I answered the doctor. To that the doctor replied, "Honestly, I am happy that you are ready to go. Let's get the ball rolling!"We talked shop: scheduled visits, took down some numbers of local agencies that can help us out, and completed some forms. Banshee, meanwhile, just played happily and would check-in with me by asking, "Are you ok, Mama?" The doctor loved this exchange between us and made a note of it, while telling us that our 2 hour ordeal was over. I couldn't help but thank her profusely, as I finally got the validation I needed. I wasn't crazy, or making up things, I wasn't even being 'too watchful' of my children. It made the load I was carrying on my shoulders feel quite light.

Still, as I broke the news, I was met with resistance. Perhaps it is because of the stigma that autism carries, or maybe people just don't  know enough, but no one wanted to believe that the Banshee could be mildly autistic. Let me tell you, that this inspired a bit of anger in me, which is always dangerous. The need to be fiercely protective of my family is so strong, that it trumps decorum any time of the week. I couldn't understand for the life of me why it was so hard for people to accept what was in front of them.  We could see it, why couldn't they?! I found myself speaking through clenched teeth things like, 'Yes it could be typical of a 2 year old to repeat certain things, but it is NOT typical for a 2 year old to repeat them ten times, and no it is not because the answer you gave her isn't satisfying. ' It was frustrating beyond measure, and still is to this day. This, however,  wasn't going to stop me from my mission of finding the help I needed for the Banshee, no matter what. Come what may.

In spite of all that, and with the help of some amazing friends who pointed me in the right direction(as in, met me there and walked me to the right office. You rock!), I was able to get in touch with a preschool program at the Kennedy Krieger Institute geared toward children like Banshee, who need a little extra help to understand the world around them. I was floored at how fast the process moved along for us and before I could process everything that was going on, I was told  that Banshee would begin school on Tuesday. WOW!

Needless to say, my head went into a tailspin. How am I going to do this? The Sailor isn't here (he is away on tour), I am on my own, and I have to get the Pixy to school every day. It was crazy to think that I could make all this work. I mean, I am good, but am I that good? 'I guess we shall find out soon enough!', I muttered under my breath. I took a deep breath, made the necessary arrangements to have Pixy get to school on time, and organized myself so that life would be a little bit easier for me. HA! Tack on appointments, activities, and just keeping up with the housework...well, let's just say that the calendar looks more like a rainbow than an organizational tool. But, it is there. Our new reality. In technicolor splendor; or something very close. I will say that we are lucky The Sailor is a phone call away and can keep him updated on life as we know it. He feels awful that I am on my own right now but his confidence in me feels good: "I have faith in you. I have never known a person that can take so much, and make it look like the easiest load in the world. You are one tough lady and I am proud of you." He makes me smile.

Every now and again, as I find myself meditating on life as it stands, I think of all the things that could have been different. I could have ignored my gut feeling, I could have never taken Banshee to the doctor, I could have even learned to dismiss what was in front of me. Maybe, I might have even told the doctor that I didn't believe it, or ignored my friends help. So many things could have gone differently...it humbles me. It makes me thankful that my belief that 'the universe always unfolds as it is supposed to' holds true, in everything. It might not take the route that we envision, but eventually, we get where we need to be. Come what may.

For now, I sit here waiting on tomorrow, when Banshee begins her first day at school and Pixy begins her first day in Before Care, not fully wondering how it will all go. No. I am thinking of taking that first picture of my youngest baby with her backpack and new clothes on, ready to face the future. I am thinking of hugs and kisses for each child at the door, of words of encouragement that today will be the best day ever, of the sigh of relief when everyone makes it where they need to be, and of the strength it takes to get it all done because 'I will be damned if I let all this beat me!'. Tonight, Mama Wolf just sits here, gathering her strength for battle, because we all know that she-wolves are never truly off-duty, no matter what. Come what may.

Mama and the Jabberwocky

Here's a conversation that I overheard on the monitor:

"I am not afraid of the Jabberwocky. Mama is MUCH more scarier than that."

I laughed out loud when I heard it! You never know how much a child retains from all you expose them to until they make such an interesting comparison. Yes, I have read the poem to the girls and yes they know exactly what it is. Why was this comment made? You see, I had just asked the Pixy to help clean up because the Banshee's bedroom looked like a horrid war scene. There were dolls everywhere, My Little Ponies strewn about like casualties, a princess castle looked like it had been stormed by a rabid group of Vikings--it was bad! I want to say that I laughed and that was that..but it made me stop to think.

It is no secret that as a Puerto Rican woman, I hold fire in my belly and use it as I need to. It's a great skill and I believe there should be an Xmen heroine that uses it. But, because of this quick temper, I really do try to be careful about exploding on anyone and it can be easily misunderstood for some other emotion. Those who know me well, always say that I carry this sort of intensity about me in everything that I do. As if I am busy taking in absolutely everything, internalizing the good things, and slowly burning up at the bad out there. That's fine. I am perfectly ok with that. The fact that my children think the Jabberwocky, a dragon-monster-nightmarish-nasty thing, is just a pet lizard and I am scarier than that, kind of bothers me. Who knew? She has feelings!

That being said, while I am patient with my children (and animals), I do expect certain behavior from everyone. Sure, we can have fun and play, but Mama's word is law and it must be done. No matter what. I expect them to treat others with kindness but suffer no fools. I expect them to want to learn new things every day. I expect them to put good things forth into the world, so that they may receive good things in return. Simple. Discipline(without harshness) is something that honestly comes naturally to me, as I was a teacher and I worked with children living with autism. Being proactive and getting things done is a must here, otherwise we run the risk of not getting a thing done. Life really is that hectic here, as the Sailor's schedule is anything but. In actuality, we live a crazy fun life, with lots of music, laughter, and mischief. So, it certainly surprised me when I got a report from the Pixy's teacher that she had misbehaved at school and called the teacher "selfish".

The incident? Well, Pixy needed to use the restroom and the teacher asked her to wait while another student finished up in there. Pixy exploded. Part of me was proud that she's a spitfire and is not afraid of saying what's on her mind, but I also couldn't help but feel sad that this was happening to her. It is my belief that she is acting out because the Sailor is not home and we are under what is lovingly referred to (note the dripping sarcasm dripping off the page) as "the adjustment period." Oh yes, that lovely period when the kids, the animals, and the Mama all try to make sense out of one of their pack members just up and leaving. Sigh! On a trip across the country. To play music for adoring crowds. Oh, and did I mention they are stopping in Disney? Groannnnnn....

Naturally, I had a good conversation with my daughter about respect and how we must always respect others, because it means that the person in question is important to you somehow. She looked at me, sheepishly, and asked what I thought the best course of action was. I turned the tables back on her, mainly because I believe that life is a huge teachable moment: "What would you do?"She said she would first apologize to her teacher, take away some of her toys, and turn things around. I thought that was a good idea and it was put into effect immediately with great results. I also was able to get the Sailor to talk to her via FaceTime and soothe her worry at his not being at home. I think that was the icing on that cake. Things, thankfully, took a turn for the better after that. 

Now, I am a tough cookie. Life throws punches at me and I am the type that says: "that all you got?" Very much a la Anita Blake. But, that was probably one of the hardest conversations I have ever had to "watch". Pixy was extremely down about the Sailor not being here. She was angry about it all and she confessed that she was taking it out on the wrong people. She also mentioned that she didn't like all the things that were going on with the Banshee and that she was sad she couldn't "protect her". (Banshee is currently being evaluated by doctors on her awesomeness level) It was heartbreaking. I think I took this all to heart and somehow turned it into failure. I felt like I failed my children. (They smell fear, though, so I had to put up a front) Talk about a weird feeling. Here I thought life was dandy. So, needless to say,  I was probably a bit tender when the Jabberwocky comment was made in brutal honest fashion, as children are wont to do. 

Truth is, life will be different for us without the Sailor being around for a bit. It will definitely be harder on the girls now, as they are more aware of their environment. However hard this may be, I am resolved to make this whole odd time called Tour, as easy on them as possible. We don't have much help, due to many factors, but we will tough it out together and make this look easy. I will try my best to not sweat the small stuff and put enough good energy out there to make these girls feel safe and happy (and stable). I want them to continue to be the happy little monsters that they always are. 

Now, as for the Jabberwocky thing. Well, I think I shook it off , laughed about it, and moved on. After all, what did I expect out of children who think zombies are fun playthings? Can't help but laugh at that!! I guess what I internalized from this is that even Mama Wolves have their little moments. What happens after that, well...that's what truly makes us leader of our pack or a spectator on the sidelines. N'est pas? 

Lost in Austen

I have been obsessed with Mr. Darcy since I was extremely young. I believe I found a copy of Pride and Prejudice sitting on a bookshelf somewhere and I was bored. I believe it was love at first sight...or first read. This love carried on, even as I picked up the book again and again. It was a constant. I was obsessed. Still am.

I have always had a love affair with books. My family used to laugh that if you didn't hear from me in ten days, the search party would only need to look in the nearest library, where I would be buried in a book completely oblivious to the world around me. Other girls had their dollies, their clothes, their dreams of being princess one day; but I always wanted to be Elizabeth Bennet. Don't get me wrong, I had all those things too, but books were more precious to me than anything in the world.

Every time I have been depressed, or just needed a quick escape, I have gravitated towards Pride and Prejudice, where I've gotten lost in the wonderful world of The Bennet family many a time. I am sure that Jane Austen never thought her work would speak to a young Puerto Rican girl, but there it is. It is my belief that she wrote it for women everywhere, regardless of where they were topographically speaking or where they were in matters of the heart. Maybe I lived in Georgian England in another life, who knows? Somehow, that book is real. It absorbs me and becomes a portal into that world.

Today began as any other Sunday. I was exhausted. I hadn't slept well the night before and I knew that we had to stop by church today. The Pixy had Sunday School and we needed to get there early because I wanted to get a seat before the crowd got there. Today, everyone would want to get to church early and pray--the Ravens were at the Superbowl later. The problem though, was that I couldn't get up. I heard the alarm from far away and just couldn't get up. I think I started to shout all kinds of obscenities at the alarm clock and I heard the Sailor say: "Today we are staying home. I am exhausted." I think I did a happy dance, albeit while half-asleep. As the Sailor and the girls made their way downstairs for playtime, I decided I would sneak away to Longbourne, with all the other crazy Bennet girls, through a movie called 'Lost in Austen'. Trust me, the book is sitting on my bedside table.

I believe this movie gives the novel a fun twist, and one that has probably been imagined by every single female the whole world over. Who has not thought of being transported into a novel and having to adopt the role of a main character, simply to meet the love interest? Most bibliophiles, I am sure. I, for one, never thought to plant myself in the story, much as the protagonist of this movie (Amanda Price, played by Jemima Rooper) has. She has taken Lizzy's place in the book and Lizzy has gone to live in modern-day London. A fun idea, to be sure! As for me, I always became Elizabeth Bennet; never switched places with her. I didn't want to. I saw through her eyes, and to a point, agreed with her view, regardless of how many other times I'd read the book before. I know..lunacy, I am sure. But, I treated myself to the film, no matter how different the movie is from the book, since my book club had just finished reading the actual novel and I needed a pick-me-up. Mr. Darcy=Lisa-candy, and everyone knows it.

Soon enough, I found myself in Amanda's shoes and thoroughly enjoying this new adventure. I found myself laughing along at Amanda's antics, shocked at the modernized Lizzy Bennet, and entranced by the first glance of Fitzwilliam Darcy. I know I always hold my breath at the first sight of him, maybe thinking that if I breathe, the spell will be broken, and he will be just a man in a funny hat. When I regained my composure, I found myself wondering what Jane Austen would think. I wondered what Mr. Darcy would think of this film. I also wondered what could possibly drive me to seek him out every single time something went awry in my life. Mr. Darcy MUST be my knight in shining armor.

You see, I remember reading the novel when I was younger and being made fun of by everyone, because it was a belief that girls who read were doomed to be ugly and boring once they grew up. Remember, I lived in prime beauty queen country and anyone who didn't really fit that mold, was ..well, odd. So, I swore to myself, I would never lose this awesome gift of reading just to become part of the throng. It worked.Very well. Quite a few people read(pun intended) my desire to pick up a novel instead of doing things typical for my age as a huge need to be completely antisocial. Maybe they were right. Who knows? In my head, though, I always hear my grandfather saying that a "woman who can read book, drink a beer, tell a joke, and hold intelligent conversation is a great one, and only a fool would let her go." He was really big on intelligence and always made me feel beautiful because of it and all the quirky things that made me who I was, regardless of the 'ugly duckling' thing I had going on. He was a good guy.

Soon enough, the movie was done and the spell was broken. I was brought back to the present by sounds of my girls fighting over who got to tell me that the broom had fallen on its own, which in my family's tradition means a visitor would come today. I also heard the Sailor tell them that no, it probably wasn't going to be Harry Potter, as he probably had a test to study for. I laughed out loud at that one. It seems that the gift of imagination was passed on quite well! Life got back to its typical rhythm very quickly, as it always does at our house.

 I still couldn't help but think that reason I am so drawn to this novel, so in love with the unfolding of events and its characters, is that they represent much more to me than what they are; fictional characters in a book. To me, they have become real people. I have assigned each a real world counterpart, even as I am the interloper in their midst, the one who they must accommodate every single time I pick the book up to read. A reader carries their own baggage, you see. (Thank YOU Thursday Next, for that wonderful idea) I also wonder, what about mean old Mr. Darcy is so attractive to me. What makes him the ideal? I want to say it is mainly because he is completely misunderstood. Events in his life have shaped the person he is, and until he learns another life lesson, he will continue to live on as he does. Or perhaps, it is because despite his flaws, he is not afraid to try new things,  showing himself to be courageous in spirit. I guess I am not sure.

Maybe, just maybe, I think of the one moment in the novel that pops out at me every single time. Yes, THIS must be why I seek out Mr. Darcy. For everything else he is or embodies, he likes a woman who reads. He told Caroline Bingley and Lizzy Bennet so. And a man who likes a woman who reads...well, he is a catch as well. No matter that the truth universally acknowledged is that "a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." Hmmm. Perhaps, there is also truth in that a woman in possession of a good book must always be in want of a new adventure. Yes, I think I like that.

On writing, or blogging as it were...

It had been 10 years since I could write. I had a massive writer's block episode and I couldn't break out of it. Writing prompts, doodling upside down, drinking absinthe...nothing worked. No, I won't tell you where but yes, you can still get it, illegal though it is. The Green Fairy helped quite a lot of writers back in the day, why couldn't it help me? Sigh. I went from writing daily in university, helping others brainstorm ideas,  and winning awards for my writing to doing nothing. Nada. The imagination machine simply ceased to work.

It was probably one of my darkest periods because it is the one thing I really wanted to do. To write. I loved grabbing my pen, or turning on the laptop and just letting it flow..whatever came out. It just wasn't happening. It was like the drive, the excitement of creating something had just dried up. During this time, one good friend(who sat next to me in all those writing classes, incidentally) kept encouraging me to write. Not to worry about anything, just try. With his encouragement, I did. Didn't get very far, but the effort was there on the page. Maybe this would go away and I could get a move on with things. Yeah, right!

Time went on and soon enough, 10 years had passed by. I still hadn't really broken out of it but this friend kept at me. He encouraged me to write, mentioned that one of our professors wrote his own book, and was just there always providing me with the fodder for creation. He is an amazing friend, to say the least.

 I don't know what did it. What turned the imagination machine back on? Maybe it was his stubborn encouragement, maybe the stars aligned in the just the right way, or maybe I finally had gotten over the need to create in order to please others and just please myself. I am not sure, but I finally decided that instead of writing a book , a story, poetry, I would write a blog. Weird leap, I know. Purists would say it is not even real writing. To me, after not doing it for a while, it is probably the best way to jump in with both feet and just do it. To write for the sake of enjoying writing and not to please those around me. Not for a grade, not because I was told this is a subject you NEED to write about....just for me.

I am writing almost every other day. Sometimes more than that, sometimes less than that. But, I AM WRITING. It is a release from a prison of my own making and can I just tell you how wonderful it feels? It is like a huge weight has fallen off my shoulders, because I am now comfortable enough to allow the ideas to flow.

I am hopeful that I keep it up. That nothing stops this new creative process, but what I most hope to gain out of this whole experience, is that I am doing something I love. I am writing this for posterity and also writing it for my friend. Because he believed in my skill more than I did. It's nice when someone believes in you like that, it keeps your light from dying out.

As I am writing this, in freestyle as it were, or a madcap diary entry of some sort, I can't help but thinking of Anne Shirley and her conversation with Gilbert Blythe. In that conversation, he told her to write what she knew about because there would always be plenty of people that would read her stories. Anne Shirley scoffed at him but when she had matured enough to heed his advice, she wrote and wrote about the things she knew about. She used her life as the starting point and went on from there to create a novel. A good one too!

I am hoping that I have now matured, like Anne, have the courage to write what I know about, and enjoy it. So that one day, my friend, Gilbert Blythe, can read it.

Games little wolves play...

Picture it! (No, not Sicily 1972) It is about 19 degrees outside and all is quiet. The snow is still falling and won't let up for another two hours. The Sailor and I were not looking forward to shoveling the driveway and the sidewalk. I think we savored our pot roast dinner longer than we usually do, just to avoid the last chore before bedtime for the girls.

I don't know who thought it first, or how we even got on the topic! After dinner, I was suddenly inspired to look for all the girls snow gear. It turns out that we didn't have any for the Pixy, since she had outgrown the clothes she had. (I will not mention that there was no snow last year AFTER I had bought all the necessary gear...thank ya very much Mother Nature!) Banshee though, was golden! All of Pixy's old stuff fit her. I gathered everything up, improvised a little, and shepherded everyone into the living room and started dressing everyone up to go outside. Well, not the wolves but you know what I mean.

I could tell that the Sailor was happy that he wouldn't be alone outside and he quickly got dressed. The cold seeped in through the doorframe, and the girls shivered on the landing. "Let's do it!", I said. "Who will fall first?", the Sailor asked the still night and we shared a chuckle. The boys, my two pups, were excited to go out too. Who would be the first to cave in and ask to go in for the night?

It was actually pretty cool to see the girls hesitate, as if the serene street shouldn't be disturbed. They stood and listened to the "sounds of Nature", a skill I feel is very important because if you can't recognize what Nature is telling you, then you might find yourself in a serious problem. Both of the girls swore they heard the snowflakes landing on the ground, and I agreed as I started skipping over the pristine white snow covered on the yard. I heard little squeals of happiness behind me, as they both struggled to catch up. My big white GSD, lovingly called "The Big Bad Wolf", complained a bit as the girls got a little too far from him. "Oh, it's all right! You can go grab them in a second", I said. My other pup, was just scouting the yard for trails of things to hunt. It was pretty cool!

"Mama, this is the most fun ever!", Pixy shouted. So much for keeping playtime quiet! The girls quickly got bolder and went exploring around the yard, because "it is so different at night!". I went to help the Sailor out by clearing off the truck of snow, as I hummed "who's afraid of the big bad wolf?". As I moved to the truck, I took a quick look around at the undisturbed snow. It looked like someone had dropped golden glitter on the ground. It was really beautiful and..noisy? The Sailor started attacking the girls by shoveling snow on their feet and the dogs were happily barking. He laughed and said: "Watch out! Memories being made!".

I thought about this, as I cleared off the snow off the cars and kept an eye on the adventurous spawn and the boys trying their best to keep them close to the house. We all access childhood memories, but can we access the small details? The sounds, the tastes, the feel of it all, seem to get lost somehow. I found myself trying to access any memory from my youth and see how many details I remembered. Immediately, I remembered one! As if by magic, I was transported to a warm afternoon in sunny Puerto Rico, which was ok with me! It was 19 degrees, remember?

Maybe it was the cold but I remembered the cold tiles on the porch of my grandmother's house in Guayanilla. The memories all started flooding back, building a scene whose small details I thought lost forever. Growing up does that sometimes, you know! Anyway,  I remembered the feel of the cement pathway on my feet as I made my way through the backyard to my grandfather's work space. As I kept thinking about this space, I remembered the feel of dog fur between my fingers. It was the family dog,  a big German shepherd, who I thought was my personal horse and best friend(probably where my obsession with these wolfy dogs began). I also remembered the feel of fresh sawdust on my fingers and the sharpness of fresh cut woodchips on the bottoms of my feet. You see, my grandpa was an amazing hobby carpenter and his work space was my playground. I shifted noiselessly in my snow boots, as if they were somehow slowing this process down.

The small details did not stop coming, though. I remembered the sound of my grandmother washing dishes and running the water. I remembered the feel of the heat of the kitchen, as the stove was on. But most importantly, I remembered the feel of sitting on the old wooden swing beneath me as I sat with my grandfather, whistling at the Coqui in the bushes, listening for an answer back. I was awoken from that memory, as the girls hit my face with a snowball. I giggled and chased after them, but stopped in my tracks when the Sailor said, " Do you smell freshly cut wood?". Huh. That's interesting!

It felt nice to remember that and I wondered if I was doing the same for my girls. Would this night, through the details, become so ingrained in their memory that they could access it this fully later on in their life? I could only hope so. They seemed to be enjoying it. I mean, it was almost as if we were all alone in a little world of our making. Our noise didn't draw anyone out to peek out their windows, nor were there many cars out. The night was ours and I wasn't going to waste it reminiscing.

We quickly finished the shoveling, cleaning off the truck, and went off to play with the girls. They were pretending to be pixies in the garden and the dogs were their guardians. The Sailor turned into the werewolf that howled at the moon, and apparently, I was the deer that was going to get eaten. The dogs, both white in color, got in on the hunting and brought me down very quickly. It was a fun romp. A LOUD one too! Just like that, the fun was over and we entered the house as one.

"That was really fun, Mama. Thank you," said the Pixy. " I loved it. We play in the nighttime," said the Banshee. As I looked at them, I couldn't help but think about accessing those details for the future. I tried to remember every single moment, as I patted my back for being the coolest Mom on the block. I wanted them to be able to recreate this memory of all of us being crazy enough to go play in 19 degree weather. At night. I wanted them to be able to access all the details so fully, that someone near them would ask, "Do you feel a cold spot?".

As I sit here typing this out, all warmed up, the house is now as quiet as the night was when we invaded it earlier. The girls and the boys are sleeping, the Sailor is working on his music, and the house is making the night sounds houses make when they are resting. Through the windows, moonlight hits the now disturbed snow, and though I would agree with the Sailor that our house cannot be mistaken for a house with no children or animals, all I see/feel/hear are memories . Let's hope that when the time comes, the girls can access them.

As far as my memory, as easily as I remembered it all, it has now been tucked away to access later. For when I really need to feel the warmth of a regular sunny afternoon in my grandparents' house in Puerto Rico.

On an airplane, with Anita Blake

I was tired. We were in the airport, after an uneventful flight, to visit the Sailor's family and I was ready to call it quits. Find me a cozy reading spot already, won't you?! We had woken up early, taken the boys to their sitter (a chore by itself, not everyone wants to babysit these two. They're huge), and made our way to our airport for an early afternoon flight.

I had packed my book in my awesome Little Red Riding Hood bag and as we settled ourselves into our seats on the plane, I told myself: I dunno why you delude yourself. The girls are gonna be jumping up and down and you are not going to get any reading done. But...I had to. You see, the book in my bag was an Anita Blake novel and it was begging for some attention. I had just left Anita in the midst of an encounter with some wererats and some vampires. I.must.read.

The plane took off and within 5 minutes, the Sailor and the spawn were passed out! EUREKA! All asleep. We use white noise at bed/nap time and the white noise created by the plane in flight sounded the same. It was perfect! I opened my book and escaped again into the world of Anita Blake, which let's face it, is an awesome place.

In Anita Blake's world, vampires are everywhere, ruled by Masters of the City in which they live, wereanimals live by strict rules and always look for loopholes for them, and zombies are a lucrative business. See, Ms. Blake is an animator. She raises the dead for a living, so that grieving families (and sometimes shady people with ulterior motives) can take care of any unfinished business between themselves and the deceased. It must be done within a certain amount of time after death, so out to the cemetery Anita Blake goes, and she takes care of business. Anita might think she does this because of her great work ethic. Me? I attribute this all to the fact that she is part Latina, Mexican to be exact, with awesome curly hair and a no-nonsense attitude that gets things done. YES!

 I am sure, that by now, you must be asking yourself: What the hell is so cool about that? Well, besides the fact that culturally speaking, the line between fantasy and reality is extremely blurry for Latin people, Anita Blake shares some of my characteristics. I have curly hair, I do not tolerate nonsense easily, I am comfortable in my skin (for the most part) and I get things done. I am also not tall, which is a Latin thing. Put me next to the 6ft. tall Sailor and I look positively puny. But, don't let the size fool ya! I have a temper on me that rivals whatever boogeyman you got hiding in your closet. Hell hath no fury like a Latina, baby.

Because I tend to lose myself in my reading, the short flight was even shorter. I had to put my book away. Sigh! We made our way through the airport and finally, met up with the Sailor's family. After our round of hellos and hugs, we made our way to the baggage area. As we were waiting for our bags, I grabbed my book, ushered the spawn to a nice seating area and began to read. In this certain passage, it seemed like Anita was wrestling with what her place in the world should be, and that hit very close to home. I may have mentioned before that the Sailor is bi-racial, Polish, Slovak and Filipino, and I am Puerto Rican (a whole 'nother kettle of fish as Puerto Ricans have African, European, and Native blood in their veins). My children are what is considered bi-racial here, and to be frank, if they ever ask me where they come from, I am going to have a hell of a time explaining everything to them.

While I was reading, the girls decided to start taking things out of my Little Red Riding Hood purse and play, but something about this must have made it different, or interesting. All I know is, suddenly I felt eyes on me. I closed my book and began to look around. There, in the corner, there were some people unabashedly looking at us. Nay, staring.

Let me clarify, I am by all accounts a nice person, but I am no shrinking violet. I am also really good at reading body language and I am not afraid to ask for clarification. So, as I saw this group of people staring my way, I stared right back at them. Enough to get them all to look away, except one. He had a mission, I could tell, and he soon started to walk over to us. Call it instinct or being overprotective, but the she-wolf in me was not happy and ushered the girls a little behind me. He came over but stopped about 4 feet away, since I hadn't stopped staring him down. I waited patiently for him to speak and this is what he had to say: "Excuse me, but your children are striking. What are they?"

I think I may have stared at him for a couple of seconds, as he repeated the question. I answered: " I got you. What do you mean?" I was a little shaken, because there I was reading this passage and being moved by it, only to be interrupted by this person asking me about the very thing that bugs me. He went on to explain that he was there with his family and they were drawn to the sounds of the girls playing. He said once he looked at them, he couldn't stop because he couldn't figure out what they were. Why does it matter?? I thought about his question, looking for the best answer. This is what I gave him: "Do you really want to know what they are?" He nodded. Oooookay,  "My husband is Polish, Slovak, and Filipino. I am Puerto Rican. They got the best of each of us." He looked at the girls again, who by now, were looking very curiously at him. He whispered, "Wow.", wished us well and walked backwards for a bit before returning to his group. I presume he shared his findings with them. Huh.

See, the thing is, after reading that specific passage and having this encounter, I realized my kids are totally like Anita Blake. Probably more like her than I am. They are the best of each of us. Just as she was the best of each of her parents(though I am sure she'd say no dice).  One has brown skin, the other has light skin. One has curly hair, the other has straight hair. They both have more than their fair share of sass and prefer Monster High dolls to Barbies (Banshee actually walks around with a voodoo doll in her pocket; a gift from a friend). They are perfect in every single way. What bothers me is that they might wake up a day not too far from today, and ask: What is my place in the universe? Do I live on the sidelines or take an active role in something? Where do I fit in? Maybe, I realized, what I am really afraid of is that I am not going to be able to answer and that they will be disappointed in me.

The rest of the day went by as any other, we got our junk, got to the house, had a great time with family. But this thought, this idea, would jump out at me in between chapters of the book. It became this huge monster in the room and I had to acknowledge it.

Finally, after an eternity, I did. I thought about what I would say to Pixy and Banshee... and the answer is actually quite simple. I am going to start by saying,  "I don't know. I have brought you here for my own amusement and you will deal with it." If that doesn't work, which I am sure it won't, I will say " You know, a long time ago, I was sitting in an airport reading a book...." I will talk it out with them and see where it leads. I might explain to them how I was always looking for my place in the world, questioning everything, and maybe how their Dad felt. Who knows? He might have something to say about fitting in too. How many Polish-Filipinos do you know that live in Milwaukee? 4. Just 4. I will also give them a copy of the book, so they get hooked but so they see something concrete of that day.

Sigh! I guess that is something I will have to deal with when the time comes, but one thing is for certain, I will try to answer it to the best of my ability and let them come up with their own conclusions. Because otherwise, I'd be teaching them that being afraid to question is ok, or that not pushing boundaries to get answers is ok, or that dealing with monsters is better than dealing with people because the monsters don't discriminate. Yeah, I like to think that Anita Blake would have a problem with me if I taught them that.

Here's to continuing a tradition of strong women who kick ass! Guess what I am giving the girls on their 15th? Thanks Anita.

On music, trumpets, sailors, and MLK

It was 3am. I think. I don't do early morning. Once the sun is out, my system shuts down. The alarm had gone off and I could hear the Sailor getting ready for work. Today was a special day because today was the Presidential Inauguration and the Sailor would get to march in it.

He got his uniform ready, and he felt prepared, as his usual practice routine got a little longer because of the importance of the event. I think I groggily asked him if he was getting ready to meet the other woman and I believe he answered: " She's polished and ready to rumble." He knows this is probably the only topic of conversation that will wake me from my vampiric-like stupor enough to crack a joke or two. You see, the "other woman" is a trumpet. The Sailor plays trumpet for the Navy Band. 

The Sailor's trumpet has a name, because being Puerto Rican, I have a tendency to name everything and give it life, especially if they are inanimate objects. HER name is "Lisa2" and she's the one that he spends the most time with out of all his instruments. Put simply, when we were dating, I never had to worry if I didn't hear from him for a couple hours. I knew he was spending time with "Lisa2", practicing an excerpt over and over again, until it sounded absolutely perfect. After all, that is the quest of any musician, perfection of sound and perfection of his craft.

"Lisa2" has been his constant companion for a long time, enough that she's a complete extension of the Sailor. They are fused together, one as much a part of the other. The quote by Duke Ellington: "Music is my mistress and she plays second-fiddle to no one", always pops in my head as I see him practicing because by all accounts, I am the other woman. Oh, it isn't that bad. Grumble, groan. You see, if he's going to be spending time with her, then he better be damn good at what he is doing, because he is sacrificing time with me. Let's face it: she's cold, I am warm, she is shiny in the sunlight, I clean up good...he is coming back to me. Whoa! This has started to sound a bit like Twilight. <Insert evil laugh here>. In all seriousness and severity, I am the Sailor's biggest fan and his worst critic.

During this morning exchange though, unspoken between us, was that today was also Dr. King's special day. You see, if it hadn't been for Dr. King, my husband would not exist and be able to take part of this historic event. His parents, a white American woman of Polish and Slovak ancestry and a Filipino man, would not have met and fallen in love. In the conservative Midwest. Whoa, 'nuff said.  Nor would I have been in this country and had our spawn. Gosh, they're cute girls; with a bite, but very cute.

It got me to thinking. How scary is it to think that if things had gone differently for Dr. King, life as we know it wouldn't exist? Pretty damn scary, to be honest, and this is coming from a woman who thinks werewolves are just big puppies.  Has it been that long that a single man had a dream? The answer is no. Is hate now replaced by love, as Dr. King preached? Hell no. Are we moving towards that ideal? Maybe. That's the truth, but the fear that we aren't appreciating this holiday as we should, is always just under the surface. I have heard friends argue the validity of this holiday and "can't we all just go on with our lives as we always do?'. Well, no you can't, dummy. Life as we know it wouldn't exist. Duh!

So, I humbly request that if you have children, please teach them to enjoy this holiday and remind them that not so long ago, black people(any people of color, Puerto Ricans included) and white people were not allowed to be in the same places. Not so long ago, celebrating our origins was completely taboo, and being different was not ok, by any means. That in spite of racism, brave couples of different racial backgrounds said: "I love you, no matter what they say and I will marry you, PERIOD".  That not so long ago, there was a man, who liked Star Trek, was a vegetarian, and could preach like nobody's business. This man had a dream that we all would love and live together in perfect harmony. He fought for his dream,  and gave up his life for it. He did all that so on a day like today, a day a lot of people dub "a day like any other",  a biracial trumpet player could march before a black President as part of the US Navy and help celebrate his inauguration.  

So, thanks Dr. King for all your hard work, for all your dreaming, and for giving up your life so that others could live theirs freely. In this house, we appreciate you greatly and your work has not been forgotten.

"Hey, are you from Baltimore?"

It was cold and quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you look around for shadows where there aren't supposed to be any. Then out of the quiet stillness came this: "Hey, are you from Baltimore?!" "Well, yeah and you're not," I answered as I ushered my little pack away. Score one for me!HA! The voice had come from a group of drunk guys, obviously celebrating SOMEthing.  They thought that I was extremely funny, and the Sailor just shook his head at me, smirking because he knew I couldn't leave it alone.

It isn't usually this quiet in Baltimore at ANY time(even with the screaming drunk guy), except that the Ravens were playing and it was 6:30pm on Sunday. The city was dead, which made me a little sad. Baltimore always offers some kind of pulse, even in the oddest of conditions. Suck it up, lady! Let's have fun anyway!

 I had won my spawn a couple of passes to the National Aquarium from the Pathfinders for Autism society. The night promised to be relaxing, as the Aquarium was closed down to the general public and only open to pass holders. They also made it more sensory-friendly, so the lights were turned down a bit and the music was turned off. The girls were extremely excited. In fact, so excited that they were skipping down Pratt Street in anticipation. It was rubbing off on me.

It wasn't that long ago that I would zip out of my university and come to this same place to sit in front of the dolphin tank to think. You see, every Friday you can stay in late if you get in by a certain time and boy would I milk it.I think most of my papers were written in front of the observation windows to the dolphin tank. While most college kids were closing down bars, I was closing down the Aquarium.  On Fridays, anyway.

We made it into the main entrance, after our encounter with the drunk kids on the street, took our coats off and went to touring the Aquarium. The Sailor was a bit excited too. It had been years since our last date there and the place "has changed quite a bit!" There was some construction going on, so the sting ray exhibit was closed off, but other than that...it looked the same, smelled the same, and the walls felt the same. Talk about a sensory experience!

Lots of families with children with special needs and children living with autism were present, which was nice since the night was so they could all enjoy the place without the crowds. In reality, it was quite loud and busy. I looked at my Banshee for the tell-tale signs that she was uncomfortable(she can't do crowds, at all) and to my surprise..she was ok. She pulled on my hand and said, "Mama, it's ok. Let's go."
 And go we did. We jumped on the escalator(Woohoo! You rock on escalators girls!) and managed to wade through all the exhibits(Sorry! Your butt was in the way), pouted when we saw that the Rainforest and the Dolphin show were closed(Why would they close the bestest parts?), and were excited to see all the awesome jellyfish floating about like spacecraft(Dude, those are SO aliens). She took turns looking at things, laughed when she saw the real-life Nemo and Dory, and "concetrated" (concentrated in Banshee-speak) when asked to find the tarantula in a certain exhibit. Even Pixy got in on the fun! We made a bet that whoever found the snake first, who was expertly camouflaged in a branch by the way, got the honor of buying everyone a snack. Pixy won! SCORE! We all had a good laugh and soon enough, two hours had passed and it was time to go. The Sailor had to work extremely early the next day and we wanted out of Baltimore before the bars let out. Gotta head home, chicas!

We made our way out of the Aquarium with lots of lamenting, because "we really want to stay with our dolphin friends, Mama" and "Daddy said we can hang out in Australia with the crocodiles"(I am SURE he did, girls), back out to the quiet streets. We walked in front of the Hard Rock cafe, behind Pier V, all in quiet observation of the night. "Can you hear what it's trying to tell you?", I asked the girls, "besides that the Ravens rule." I looked at both of them pointedly, which gave us all the giggles.

I am sure it was then that we all felt it. The city was welcoming us there. It was happy that we appreciated it. It's pulse or city-melody was intoxicating: the lights on the buildings like glitter, the drunken songs drifting on the breeze, the sounds of water hitting the pier, the smell of the sea heavy in the air, and the feel of comfort and safety all around us. It assaulted all our senses, which was ironic as we had just left a venue that was supposed to be "sensory friendly", and there it was...the nameless feeling that I always looked for in my youth and always found in Baltimore: the feeling of home and belonging somewhere. We belonged there. The city was ours and it was wonderful. She makes no apologies for who she is. In your face, friendly, full of shadows and light, happiness and sadness too. She is history made and history being made. She is Baltimore. Whoa!

On the drive back home, I kept thinking about the reason why I answered the drunken guy that way...besides me being a smart-ass, I mean. Maybe I read him too well and could tell he wasn't all there(he WAS drunk), maybe it was the regional US accent(he said BALTimore, not Bawl-mer), maybe it was the way he was dressed(like Zack Morris), or maybe it was just plain obvious that he didn't know where the hell he was or where the hell he was going...but I was certain of this: I knew where I was, what I was doing, where I was headed, and who I was going with. It felt good.

So, if I could have a rewind of that moment, please maestro!
"Hey, are you from Baltimore?", asked the drunken guy in an overly loud tone, while he weaved in between two other drunken guys.
"Well, yeah and you're not," answered the no-nonsense city she-wolf, as she ushered her littles and her mate to their destination, without a glance back...

Yup, it still seems like the right answer to me!