Finally, I blog about breastfeeding...

I sit down after a stressful couple of days and I find this little gem... oh where oh where should I begin (hahaha, you probably thought I was going to say "could my little dog be?"). 

Let's start with T's eczema.  Does he consume dairy, Valk?  I know, I know-- your people and all, but it's worth looking into.  Eczema can definitely be a symptom of an intolerance to casein.  Not human casein.  Other casein.  Is it bovine casein?  Yeah, that.

You guys crack me up.  I have to tell you I think Sujong hit the nail on the head when she discussed breastfeeding being "biologically normal".    I am currently about to quit my job over this same argument, no lies, because some people I work with insist on discussing ad nauseum (sp?) the "benefits" of breastfeeding.  It is this superior attitude that is absolutely NO different than the disgusted attitude Kim K had in her stupid tweet.  I can't remember who said it but I was not at all shocked that Kim K did not show Kourt any sort of sensitivity since it is so in character for her to only think about herself.  I think she's the middle child or something.  Anyway...

Valk!  You have to learn to NEVER READ THE COMMENTS!!  Those people are fucking idiots!  All of them!  Just like the ones that go on there and start professing how they nursed their babies for x amount and "all my baby gets is booby milk!" and they want a pat on the back.

Disclaimer:  I want a pat on the back.  I wanted it soooo much more before.  But now, now I think I want something even more.  I think I want it to be the most boring, normal thing for me to have been nursing every single day of my life for the last 5 years, 3 months and 9 days.  I don't want it be shocking to anyone anymore.  I want it to be such a non-issue that I don't even ever think to count the time.  Why?  Because, really, there isn't anything special about it.  Sad to say, but I must soon find another claim to fame.  Maybe I can make it big blogging about guarding and protecting hearts or something. :)

Women pull the damn guilt card because as a society, we allow them to.  We sit here and hand hold and tip toe because we don't want to make any postpartum mother feel "bad", as if we were so fucking powerful that we had the control to make someone else feel a certain way.  I'm so over people not taking responsibility for their own damn actions.  There's a big difference between presenting facts in the  matter of fact way they simply are and lacing your facts with breastfeeding nazi rhetoric.  I'm not talking about the latter.  I used to be the latter.  Now, I just discuss the truth.  Why?  Because no one would worry about making a smoking, heroin shooting crackwhore of a pregnant mother feel guilty, would they? No, because the facts are the facts and the science is the science. 

And, as a decision maker, you cannot feel guilty for that which you did not know or know how to execute.   You make the best choice with what you have to work with.  The mother who really thought, because she bought into the million dollar advertising campaign that formula was "just as good" or who knew breastmilk was the obvious choice, but had no idea and no support on how to execute her plan shouldn't feel guilty.  The mother who came across a trusted nurse or pediatrician who began supplementing the baby at birth and sent mom home with enough samples of formula to get through the Apocalypse shouldn't feel guilty.  She should feel ANGRY.  Not at herself.  But at us- the public health community.  *We* failed those mothers.  No one else.  

And we all continue to do so when  as a society, we go on and on about the supposed "benefits".  We need to just stop with the benefits bullshit.  Breastfeeding has no benefits.  I think that's why I loved Kourtney's blog the most - because she was just so nonchalant about it.  She was very "this is me, this is what I want to do, the end".  I have a lot of respect for that. 

I think we should just begin to discuss the obvious and that is that NOT breastfeeding is nothing short of a landmine of risks. 

You know what pisses me off MORE than the personal choice argument?  The "I fed my baby formula and he/she turned out just fine"!  Yeah, well, my dad used to give me sips of beer when I was 5...do you think if I do that Jonny will STFU about his arm already?! ;-)

BTW, Valk, you and everyone else have every single right to be angry because it DOES affect you.  Among many other things, thanks to all those moms who made the "personal choice" to not breastfeed or made the "personal choice" to ignore the help that was offered, your insurance premiums are higher, your Danny is exposed to a shit ton of sickly children whose germs he then brings home to you, your seats on planes are getting more expensive because of the obesity issue, your Earth is being polluted with the byproducts of manufacturing formula, and most importantly, that Womanhood you stand so proudly for and represent in such exquisite fashion is being destroyed.

I will be the first to admit that breastfeeding my children was a personal choice-- I had the audacity to want to reduce my predisposed genetic inclination for breast cancer by 37%.  It was a selfish choice I made, which in turn became a selfish choice I continued to make every day because it empowered me as a woman.  The other stuff is just the fruit of my labor. You know, in the same way that pushing a baby out of my vagina or withstanding an asshat of a doctor while she chopped me up to give me Bryan made my fabulous children the fruit of my labor.  Should I be awarded for that? Given a fucken medal?  Or maybe acknowledged as having done what the human race is supposed to do- carry on?

So, carry on, my friends!  :)

An Ode to the Jode - My follow up to "Survival of the Fittest"

Dear Jodi,

I wonder if you know that I feel so lucky to have you in my life.  I was just thinking about that today when I was making dinner.  This whole distance thing really blows.  Who do you think we were in past lives that we're able to call each other "friends" without having ever seen each other's faces?  

When I read your comment, half asleep at 8pm EST in bed, my immediate thought was, "WAIT, WHAT?!?   Why the fuck didn't you SAY Pantley's book was the answer to all my prayers?!?!?!"  Sadly, I am not kidding.  

You see, I'm not that "excellent" mom who just roughs out a phase or who puts her life aside to go to bed at 8pm for the last 5 years.  I mean, at least I don't do those things cause I'm "excellent"...I do them cause I'm clueless.  And hopeful.  Really, I do hope that eventually, one day soon (preferably), Bryan will let me leave his side for a moment without waking up in complete and utter disarray.  Or wake up without crying hysterically if I happen to be in the shower instead of by his side.  You know, because setting my alarm for 5:15am every morning so that I miss his light sleep stage which doesn't happen again until 5:45am is not fun.  Taking a shower all nervous thinking I'm hearing yells from the other side of the door is not fun.  But still, I remain hopeful.  More than anything, because the alternative is not something I think could work and I haven't reached my wits' end yet, but definitely not because I am an excellent mom. 

Honestly, I think that excellent mom is the one who is so in tune with her baby that she sees the baby is ready for a change and tries it out, not being stuck on any one decision.   That's the mom I know you are.  And  the excellent mom is you for having found what is clearly working in a very real and positive way for both you AND Katherine.  That speaks volumes.  That's what the excellent mom does.  

Anyway, I just wanted to clarify my position.  I do recommend cosleeping.  I can't imagine my life any other way.  I do believe wholeheartedly that babies younger than 18 mos are very rarely ready to make the transition from out of the family bed and into their own.  I believe it because of research I've done and read, but mostly because of my own heart strings which tug and pull at the mere thought of my babies not wanting to sleep with me.  But even more than that, I believe in YOU and loving, caring souls I'm blessed enough to call my friends like you who make different decisions and I respect and believe in their decisions for them and their kids.  I know you know it wasn't directed at you, but I am sorry if any of it sounded judgmental because it really wasn't meant to be that way at all and really isn't how I feel. 

As for Pantley, have I ever told you I am so freaking stubborn that I have no problem shooting off my leg to save my foot??  My problem with her is that she advocates her method (which I admit to not knowing much about because of the following premise alone) with babies as young as four months, and I take real issue with that as I'm pretty sure you do, too.  So because of that, even if she is the answer to all my prayers, I won't read her.  

I love you very much, Jodester, and it is mothers like you who inspire me to be a better mom every day. 

Survival of the Fittest

**Originally written, but never finished, on March 9th**

The other day, I was speaking with a first time mom of a four month old baby girl.  Like any attentive mom of a four month old, she was sleep deprived and wondering if her baby would ever stop nursing through the night.  

I remember those days.  I remember the days when I wasn't confident enough in my own mothering abilities that I doubted my only working practice to get my first born to sleep, which consisted of nursing him to La-La Land each and every night and not being able to move for fear of him sensing a wayward boob in the middle of his drunken sleep and waking in pure anger.  How dare that boob try to get away?

Back to the mom. When I asked her if she considered bringing the baby to bed with her, I heard my own doubts in her answer.  "Hmmm, but then to get her out of the bed is just too much of a problem.  We only have a queen sized bed and you know, she needs to learn to sleep on her own."  I briefly brought up sidecarring the crib, but knew I'd hit a wall.  I never feel like I know what to do when I hit the wall.

I remember the day we gave in and decided to just bring J to bed with us.  It was around the 5th day post partum.  We'd spent two days at home, doing everything possible to get him to sleep in his bassinet.  It was as if it had pins in it.  I remember Ray telling me to lay on the pillow for 15 minutes so it was hot and smelled like me and then trying to "transfer" the baby to the hot pillow, hoping that would work.  I remember putting my milk stained bra in there.  I remember rocking. Singing. Crying.  I remember wanting to hold my baby in my arms all night long and feeling like I couldn't.  I remember going online the next morning and making sure we weren't doing permanent damage to him if we did sleep with him.  And I remember finding Dr. Jay Gordon.  

Back to the mom.  What I wanted to tell her was to read Dr. Gordon's book on cosleeping.  What I wanted to do was explain that now, as a mother of two little ones who sleep in our bed, our upgrade to a king was not only the most useful purchase ever, but also the most enjoyed.  What I knew I shouldn't do is tell her is that in the last five years, my confidence in my judgment as a mother had grown, and that my almost 3 year old still nurses about 3 times a night (and has yet to fall asleep without a boob in his mouth).  No need to make her any more scared than she already was. I know enough about people and am humble enough at times to not push my ideals onto others. 

When Jonathan was around 1, I remember searching on the internet and coming across this amazing article from Mothering.com talking about this very thing and helping me to feel normal.  Who cared if my newly categorized "toddler" had switched from waking up 3 times a night to every hour on the hour?  Pshhhhh, who am I kidding??!  I did!  I was sleep deprived and pregnant and working 40+ hours a week.  I get it.  I get that mom and all the other moms worrying about their kids and sleep, as if all the other kids in the same age bracket that they know don't have the same issues.  But after nursing for 16 months, I'd also gotten that two things always rung true when it came to parenting.  Half asleep, I remember chanting my mantra..."This, too, shall pass".    And I also learned that other parents lie. A lot.  As much as I hated it, I knew it was temporary.  I knew that for a reason I was not privy to, my baby needed me more than I needed sleep.  What a crazy thought!

There's a part of me that lets me look at children in different times, cultures and settings.  I think about where my child would be sleeping if I were Japanese.  Would it be culturally accepted if I tried to put my kid to sleep in a different room?  What if I lived in a cave...  would my baby who sleeps through the night just two feet away survive?  Or get eaten by a saber tooth tiger?  Was there a reason why pacifiers were invented?  Does it mean that the need for my baby to "pacify" himself at the breast is a very real, innate and dare I say, normal behavior?  My years of nursing were leading me to believe so.  Not because I'd come across any amazing research in my studies, but because I needed some sort of rationalization for the way my children behaved.  The truth is, thinking about these what ifs validated the way I mothered.  And it helped me cope.  Forget the fact that now, after nursing every day of my life for the last 4 years, 11 months and 25 days, I finally realize I really was right.

The other day, I had the honor of shadowing one of S. Florida's best lactation consultants.  She's also a doula and as part of her doula services, she does a lactation consultation at any point post partum.  We went to visit a mom of a two month old who was nursing wonderfully.  During the consult, the mom mentioned that her husband was frustrated by the nursing.  She said he'd said he felt "breastfeeding was highly overrated" and didn't like that the baby was "on top of his wife" all day.  He told her that if she put the baby down for a second, the baby cried.  Knowing this husband personally, it was one of those situations where you had to walk the line between empowering the mom without pissing off the very controlling husband.  It's a fine line.  A very, very fine line.  

Despite all my own wonderings about saber tooth tigers, the LC said something I'd never considered.   She turned to the mom and said, "think about how it was when we were cavemen.  That baby who cried every second was the one who was going to get picked up by his mother for fear of that baby making such a ruckus that a wild beast might find them.  The baby who was content being put on the floor and quietly gazing at the sky while some beast snuck up behind him wouldn't make it," she said .  Then she turned to the mom and said, "your baby is the smart one.  Your baby knows about Survival of the Fittest."  Hmph.  Talk about inflating that dad's ego, if only he were there to hear it...

I wish I had a good way to end this post, but I don't.  Baby sleep is elusive and frustrating for everyone but the baby.  My "babies" still give me a hard time, as evidenced Saturday night when my husband and I tried to go out for his birthday, but no one could put either baby to sleep, despite them being 5 and 2.   But, I have a pretty good idea that the same way they won't be drinking kegs of breastmilk at college frat parties, they also won't be needing their momma to fall asleep either.  This, too, shall pass...

*Sigh*

I seriously have about a gazillion things to blog about, but no time to do it.  I don't even know where to start.  How is everyone?

Jon Jon's birthday was last weekend.  I am officially the mom of a 5 year old.  It's heartbreaking.  Ray's birthday was last weekend.  Oh, wait, that can't be right...  ugh.  I dunno.  I've had 2 birthdays and 2 birthday parties 2 weeks in a row.  I am pooped.  With a capital P.  Pooped.  

You know, as much as I love being out and about and really can't be home for longer than a day without getting cabin fever, I like doing it on *my* terms.  I have some huge event or another every single weekend from 2 weekends ago until after Mother's Day.  I seriously can't stand it.  I just want to VEG and do nothing or do whatever I want to do, but I can't, because I have best friends having babies and other ones getting married and special people having birthdays and really, I just want to do NOTHING!

Ray went to some business seminar last week and he saw John Walsh speak.  He says that Mr. Walsh went into every single detail about his son's disappearance.  Every single one.  I get goosebumps just thinking about it.  We had just gotten to this country when it happened and lived about 10 miles south of where his son went missing and I remember the absolute paranoia that surrounded, rightfully so.  It was supposed to be this inspiring story because due to his loss, he invented ways to look for other missing children nationwide and some sort of uniform system and protocol to when a child goes missing, but seriously, I can't stomach thinking about it for too long.  Ray was bawling in the middle of the seminar.  Anyway, Mr. Walsh said he has some legislation he's trying to pass that Congress keeps holding up and I'm seriously sick and tired of every single fucking politician out there.  I am so angry with all of them.  Stop the fucking bullshit.  Stop the goddamned special interests and pass a fucking bill that MATTERS.  That goes to this Congress, the last Congress, the future Congress and just as many presidents.  I'm over it.  If and when I remember, I'll google the bill he's talking about and expect each and every one of you to contact your congressmen and tell all your friends and non friends to do the same.  

Lent.  I couldn't decide what to give up for Lent this year.  I really didn't want to give up Diet Coke.  So instead of giving up Diet Coke, you know what I decided to give up?  Being mean to my mom.  Thank God Lent is only 40 days.  Hahahaha!  You know, I'm just tired of being mad about it.  It's not my estilo.  I'm a happy person.  I don't have the attention span to hold on to things and really hate playing the "woe is me" card, so my continuous, unrelenting anger towards her is really so very unbecoming.  And it's beyond my control.  Lent is the obvious time to try such a grand maneuver.  I'm happy to report it's working out great.    And that I also inadvertently gave up Diet Coke, too.  For the most part. 

My potty training experiment with Bryan is going really well. What's the experiment, you say?  Well, actually potty training! Hahahaha!  I haven't eliminated night time and nap diapers yet, but only because I am too tired with this damn social calendar to wake up in the middle of the night to try to get him to pee.  But I have started to remind him before we go to sleep that he has to tell me when he has to pee and in mid-dream, he has said, "Mami, pee pee, pee pee, Mami!!".  By the time I get up, he's already peed, but still.  It's progress.

I am 4 chapters behind on my studying.  Oy.

Ugh, someone is crying.  That's never good.  Ok, so I'll end this on a funny note:

The other day, Jonathan says to me, "MAMI!  Do you know that in AFRICA, the kids WALK to school?!".   And I said, "Yeah?  Did you know that Abu walked to school, too??" 
Jonathan responds, "ABU lived in AFRICA?!?!?!?!??!"

I need daily sunlight.

I noticed last night that I just do not go outside anymore.  I don't know when it happened or how it happened, but I'm pretty sure it's contributed to my rageful craze lately.   So Saturday, I woke up very early (thank you, Bryan) and cleaned the house head to toe so that I could spend the day doing something fun without feeling guilty about it.  Ray was so sweet and found this county park for us to go to and I will admit that at first, I wasn't too excited.  I wanted to go to 1st Street Beach to see how pictures of the boys would turn out there because they have this really cool rock type pier and it being the last place where the beach and sea meet, it's bound to be different, but I am so glad I sucked it up and went for the unknown instead.    My goodness, what a hidden gem!  I'm sure there are tons of Miamians who know about Matheson Hammock Park, but I was not one of them.  It isn't even really far- I seriously cannot believe I have never been there before.

Part of the reason Ray picked it is because online, he read that it had "beautiful scenic views" and there was a "beach" and a park, too, so he thought it would be great for all of us, and he was right.  It was really cool here yesterday-- definitely too cool to go to the beach, but perfect to find a hidden gem like that because I am sure that when it's hot, the place is as packed as a can of sardines.  There is this historic restaurant that I had never heard of called the Red Fish Grill and when we got there, a wedding was going on.  So live music for free! woo hoo!  Jonathan walked by and said, "wow, Papi, it smells DELICIOUS!".  Hahaha.

I'm going to take you on a photo tour of our day, even though you've already seen some of these on the other blog:

While trying to find the "beach", we came across this flag planted in the ocean.  How beautiful, huh?

 

These are mangroves, as seen while driving by.  They are really amazing and something unique to our tropical region.  I saw on wiki that parts of Louisiana and Texas also have mangroves.  I would not be caught DEAD in this park at night.  Mangroves are really creepy because the root of the trees grow above ground, too.  You can't really see that here, but it almost looks as if they're tiptoeing on their "feet" (roots) and they are all intertwined with the other.  

  

My sex-ahy husband looking dapper.  Or trying to.  

  

And this picture sucks because I didn't see the damn tree branch shadow on his head, but I needed to put it here because do you see that?  Do you see how big my Jonathan is getting?!?  Ugh.  He will be five this week.  I seriously can't handle it. 

 

He fell right after we took the picture on the rocks.  He was running and the flip flop tripped him up.  The problem with historic parks is there's lots of gravel.  Gravel = bloody knees.  But look...look at Ray taking care of him.  He really is the sexiest man on Earth and a lot of that has to do with these tender moments.  And his yummy lips.  woo hooo!

 

So as long as I wasn't trying to take a picture of him, it was ok for him to laugh.  Little Booger.

 

 

Jonathan had no problem posing for pictures.  Or demanding they only be of his "good side". 

  

This kid...he seriously infuriates me and cracks me up at the same time.  Look at this pout!

  

  

  

Squirmy Mc Squirmy.  Anything to get away from the camera.   

  

  

  

"What's the problem?!  I'm not that wet!!"  And then he complained when he froze his tush off because he was SOAKED and the sun went down and he was COOOOLD. 

  

  

 My almost five year old. *tear*.

  

He seriously sat there and told me he did not want me taking any more pictures.  He told me to go away.  Look at his hands!  This is apparently his "I mean business" pose.

 

  

This is Jon Jon's "I love you, Mama" face.

The Longest Day Ever

That's what yesterday seemed like...the longest day ever.  But when I was thinking of the title for the blog, I remembered that the day I gave birth to both my boys seemed like that, too, although with very different, happy outcomes.

Let me start by saying I promise there's a point in here somewhere...bear with me.  Or is it bare with me?  

I am signed up for MSNBC texts, so whenever they feel something is "breaking news", they send me a text, regardless of the time.  Sometimes, it's totally worth it, like yesterday...sometimes, not...like when some Olympian I've never heard of wins a gold for something I've never heard of.  At 2 in the morning.  

I turn the ringer to my phone off so I don't actually hear anything, but I am uber sensitive to light and when the screen lights up, believe it or not, that wakes me up.  So, at 2:21 am EST, I got the text about the 8.8 earthquake in Concepcion, Chile.  

Now, I don't know my geography in Florida, so knowing it anywhere else is really asking way too much.  Half asleep, I start googling from my phone where Concepcion is and it says something about the South and a border and maybe it was the midnight haze, but then I panicked because my grandma lives in Peru in the city that borders Chile and wow, please don't tell me that two families may be effected.  I should add that I think I'm getting J a globe for his birthday.  Ok, so back to reading - Concepcion is a crapload of kilometers away from Santiago, which, if I knew my metric conversions, which um, I don't, it would have or have not reassured me that everything is ok.  All this background work was done  because I was trying to determine if I should wake up my mom who is working in Puerto Rico and for sure had no idea what was going on.  All our family is there.  Everyone.  Hearing that an 8.8 mag earthquake hits where all your family lives is really bizarre, especially at 2:30 in the morning.  I finally called her.  It didn't matter much because my mom turned her phone completely off and there was no way of getting in touch with her anyway.  My mom really sucks for emergencies and is always completely unresponsive and inappropriate, so really it was probably for the best. 

Finally, I decided everyone was in a deep enough sleep that if I turned on the TV to see what was going on, no one would wake up.  I get to Channel 356 (MSNBC) and they're showing "Lock Up".  Switch over to the Weather Channel and they're talking about the wintry weather (sorry, wintry weather friends, but earthquake trumps snow).  Hmmm.... what's left?  Ugh.  Fox News has Glenn Beck on.  CNN?  Dammit what channel is CNN?  Part of my marriage vows surely consisted of not watching CNN...  

Of course, Anderson Cooper was ending and CNN was the *only* news network that had coverage.  Ummm, why did MSNBC find it ok to text me at 2:00 am only to not have any actual coverage? Grrrrr!  

I finally decided to try and go back to sleep, deciding there was nothing anyone would know other than it hit because it was still nighttime over there and more than likely, all power was out.  But I was shocked to find out that despite it being over 200 miles away from the epicenter, Santiago (the capitol) was hit pretty bad, too.  Unfortunately, that was where all my family lives.

Sleep was elusive.  At 6:30 am, I turned the news back on and this time, rewarded CNN with my viewership because they were the only ones covering immediately after, and was really impressed at the organization I saw.  Police were out, the President was in view, the citizens looked worried, shaken, but like survivors.  I love Chile.

It just so happens that my favorite aunt happens to be visiting Miami right now, so I called her and thankfully, she'd already heard from her two sons and everyone was ok.  I sent an email to my uncle, who unfortunately is not in Chile with his wife and kids, but is on assignment in The Congo.  He had, however, already heard from his daughter and apparently, they were all ok.  No power, no phone lines, but with internet and alive and well.  Yay!

We moved here when I was 4.  I've never ever lived in Chile and I've only visited once, although that trip is still very vivid in my memory.  I remember the ocean and the salt banks and the mountains and a beautiful hill with a statue of the Virgin Mary on top of it.  I remember the supermarket selling the best strawberry yogurt ever and the beautiful trees dripping with ripe, orange apricots.  I remember meeting my 95 year old great grandma and staying at this beautiful oceanfront home on a long and winding highway.  I remember feeling a small earthquake, or what they call "un temblor" -- a tremor -- during my cousin's birthday party in one of my families' backyard.  I remember drinking one of those delicious coca-colas that come in a small glass bottle at a time when "the New Coke" had taken over in the States and you just couldn't find real coca cola anymore.  I remember collecting antique keys and steel cast irons I later used as weights in remote little towns for my mom's collection. 

Because we moved around so much, I really can't say I feel like I belong to any country.  It's so hard for me to understand the depth of love Ray's family has for a country they were forced to leave - country they associate so much with, yet push away with the same intensity.  I admiringly envy people like Valk and Jodi who are just so patriotic and PROUD to be Americans.   I'm proud, too, and I know I live in the best country in the world, but I'd be lying if I said I felt "American".  I am an immigrant and that fact never ever eludes me.  I was born in Peru, but I can't say I've ever felt particularly Peruvian.  I love the food and the Incas amaze me.  Whenever someone questions my breastfeeding practices as weird or even disgusting, I remind them half-jokingly that I am an Inca and that is what my people do.  I really probably am not at all Inca, but you get the point...I channel the country I need to channel when it works for me.   But not yesterday.  Or today.  I feel like I felt as I watched the Twin Towers crumble.  Sad, helpless and...dare I say it?  Yup, patriotic.  The fact of the matter is I'll always be from all over.  But I find a lot of happiness in realizing that my heart belongs to two wonderfully amazing countries, both full of people with great hearts and unparalleled resilience. And, thankfully, their flags are the same color so as not to confuse me too much. ;-)

Having only one cousin here, it's insane to me to know I have so many cousins in Chile.  There's one I've only met thru Facebook.  His name is Felipe and he's the total cool guy you want to be friends with in high school.  I have another who is in a rock band.  Actually, that's my second cousin in a rock band.  The other one lives here and now he's an investment banker, but man, in a past life...I remember seeing his records at the Virgin Music in Times Square.  I'm not starstruck often, but my cousins definitely make me proud. 

Anyway, all this happened by 9 am.  My mom still remained asleep and had no idea what was going on, despite everyone with a working phone calling her and letting her know.  She says she woke up to 12 messages and an ungodly amount of missed calls.  Duh.  On a side note, I could never be that oblivious.  I could never be that disconnected.  Especially not when my family is somewhere else.  That isn't a criticism of her- I actually think it's pretty amazing to just sleep-- I'm just saying I couldn't do it.

Really, I could go on and on and tell you that I spent the day shoveling shit, literally, and working on the yard and catching up on RHOC and checking in with family and I even had a date night at home with my husband where we ate ceviche and lomo saltado and watched Couples Retreat, but at the end of it all-- and really, it took forever and ever and ever-- all that mattered was my family was ok, and my three boys were here with me.  I can't ever describe the love I have for them, and I don't ever want to.  Part of what makes it so special and intense is that there are no words for it. 

P.S.  I just want to add that while my disdain for Fox News is for obvious reasons, I still did not expect them to ever give me a valid reason, outside of political differences, to loathe them.  Would you believe that when  Ray started switching channels (he'd had enough of CNN) at 8 am, every news network and most local channels were covering the earthquake except for Fox?  I get that demographically, South Americans vote blue, but I expected even YOU to have half a soul, Fox News.  Fuck you.  Fuck you bigtime. 

Crier, Crier...Pants on Fire

Valk just wrote a blog and in it she talked about crying.  It's all I could think about as I sat there in my study group, fighting back emotions to a) pummel the teacher in the throat and b) curl up in a ball and cry.  And cry and cry and cry.

I managed to just cry.  I tried to fight back the tears.  I tried pinching my thigh and biting my inner cheek really hard.  I tried deep breathing and really, anything that would NOT show that weakness, but alas, the tears started falling.  It's been 8 hours and my cheeks are still stained.  I have really salty tears.  

I don't mind crying.  I'm not even an excessive crier.  I bawl at movies (which is why I never watch any), Johnson & Johnson commercials and that's about it.  Oh, and of course, when I'm so angry I can envision blood splat on the wall.  Then I cry.   And then I cry some more because I am so damn mad at myself for crying.  It's so unprofessional.  And immature.  But there is no way I have found to control it.  And that's what happened today.

I hate feeling censored.  I hate feeling confined.  I hate rules.  I hate being talked down to.  And I hate threats.  Really, if you want to piss me off and evoke emotion you've never ever ever seen in me before, do any one of those things.  I know we live in a world of rules.  I'm ok with that.  I'm ok with that because I am a good person and am guided by my moral compass and because my moral compass is a very reliable measuring tool, I rarely do things that require extreme rule breaking.  I mean, I don't get all hot and bothered about making more than one copy of an article when I'm only allowed to have one, but you get me. It's because of my moral compass that rules bother me so much.    Because at the end of the day, I don't really give a fuck what the rule says if it offends my sense of justice, my sense of good, my morality and my ethics.  Really, I do not give a fuck.  And you can try all you want to threaten and censor and guess what? I still don't give a fuck.  And please, don't think that me not giving a fuck somehow means I don't know the rules.   On the contrary, I know them so well that I have figured out that they are for stupid people and that offends me even more.  In a past life, I can promise you I was one hell of an attorney and while you were busy citing the rule, I already found my loophole and can argue with you til you are blue in the face about why I am right and you are wrong.  And I will.  I do beat dead horses.  All the fucking time. 

The problem is when I get to the point where all I see is red, I have no problem cutting off my arm to save a finger.  And that sucks.  Because I don't need to be all self-sabotaging.  I mean, it's bad enough you saw me cry and are probably thinking it's because you hurt me in some way, and God does it bother me when anyone thinks that.  When I'm hurt and sad, I strap my big girl boots on and actually say, "you know, I'm hurt and sad, how can we get past this?".  But when I'm angry.... whoa nelly!

Amy wrote about PMDD and while I still don't know what the last D stands for (deranged? delusional? delectable? delicious?), I'm pretty sure something's going on.  I say every month I'm going to track my period, but I never do.  It does seem like I have 2 weeks out of the month where I am unbearable.  Two whole weeks.  My poor husband and children.   And my poor other personalities.  Ugh.  So I bought this supplement called "Mood Balance", but I'm a little scared to take it.  I also noticed today that I'm a nervous eater.  I don't know when that happened, but all I could do in that study group was stuff shit in my mouth.  That's a new habit I must have picked up in the last few years.  Fun. 

Ray took me to eat sushi today.  He was the highlight of my week.  We had $30 to spend, which is HILARIOUS because Ray and I both think we're heirs of the Rockafellers and are almost incapable of budgeting, especially at dinner.  But we did.  We got out our phone calculators and tabulated to the last dime.  I loved it.  Of course, the sushi place we go to has this special roll they make for us which is just deeeeeeeee-vine so we ordered more.  And then with more, I had to order another drink and more ginger dressing.  Ray just had me peeing.   I can't remember when we've laughed so hard.  It was awesome.  What was more awesome is that he did this because tonight he's going to watch MMA at his best friend's and tomorrow he's going to play golf so he really made an effort to carve out some time for us knowing we wouldn't have a lot of it this weekend.  That was the best part.  Effort goes a long way. 

I've had a good week.  I hope you did, too.  And here's the take away message:  Make your own rules.  Live with the light of your heart guiding you and make your own rules.   Once a rebel, always a rebel...