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.