Thursday, March 16, 2017

The cry heard around the Internet



The cry heard around the Internet, Not today M** F**er!!!

My heroines include my mother, my grandmother, my aunt, Frida Kahlo, and now, a 36-year-old American woman who lives in Seattle.

I’m blessed to come from a long line of “muy chingonas.” You know, the kind that become the first Latina mayor of Cochise county. The kind that moves to a new country and raises five hard working children. The kind that leads the police into the projects to rescue her runaway niece.

Well thanks to Kelly Herron, who recently fought off a male attacker in a public restroom, “muy chingonas” everywhere, have a new motto.
Not today M** F**er!!!!!

So, when the President of the United States wants to grab you by the p**y, remember, not today M** F**er!!

When politicians want to take away your right to demonstrate, remember, not today M** F**er!!

And the next time you go into a public restroom alone, put on your pink pussyhat, blast some Beyonce on your IPhone, get out the pepper spray, and tell that heterosexual man hiding in the stall next to you, not today M** F**er!!

Thursday, May 5, 2016

Cinco de Drinko





As a closet gringa or as I like to call myself, a yuppie chicana, I’ve always wanted to celebrate Cinco de Mayo but it’s considered one of the cardinal sins for pochos.

Getting together with friends and family to eat, drink and enjoy each other’s company is so anti-Latino.

Everyone knows “real” Mexicans only party like that on September 16th.

If you ever happen to be in Mexico on the 5th of May you will find bars closed, tequila shelved and instead of families coming together, everyone sits in front of their TV’s ignoring each other.

Wait, maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe Americans like using Cinco de Mayo as an excuse to get together, because we don’t do enough of it.

Sure, some gringos might think its Mexican Independence Day but who cares? Did you know St. Patrick wasn’t actually Irish?

So go take a shot of tequila and together we can make America great again by pretending to be Mexican even if just for a day.

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

WWND?






While advances in technology make some areas of our lives easier, good old-fashioned child rearing has become more complicated.

In our grandparent's day, it was a simpler time. They didn't have the luxury of worrying about play dates and preschool applications.

I have a motto that has become a guiding principle for applying "old school" methods to present day parenting.

What would nana do?

I'm barely awake, preparing breakfast while holding the baby, trying to sip on day old coffee when my toddler asks me to cut her bread into shapes.

WWND? In nana's day, a square slice was the only shape you were going to get.

It's 4:30 pm, the witching hour. Despite the baby screaming all day, I've proudly set the table and prepared a healthy dinner. My toddler takes one look at her plate and breaks down in tears because she wants ice cream for dinner.

WWND? Nana had five kids and didn't put up with that sh#@. You ate what was on your plate or you went to bed hungry. PUNTO!

It's Sunday and we finally make it out of the house for a nice walk to the park. Our four year old wants to ride her bike so we dig it out of the garage and suit her up with helmet and all. Just as I breathe in the fresh air and begin to enjoy my walk, I hear a small voice scream at me to push her bike to the park because it's too difficult to pedal.

WWND? I think in this scenario nana would have either continued walking and ignored the cries while lighting a much deserved cigarette or she would have knocked on the neighbors door and handed them a brand new bike.

By today's standards, nana would be considered a mean mom and I strive to be like her. There's a message in the "meanness". The real world isn't going to cater to our children's every desire and we need to be teaching this sooner than later.

Nana didn't love her children any less just because she didn't buy them a toy every time they left a store. She loved them so much that she prepared them for life without her.

For the moms that make cute shapes with bread and push their kid's bike all the way to the park, I applaud you. You have more patience than I do.

But when it gets too much, fear not, for our nanas died to wash away our parental sins of hovering.

In the name of the grandmother, the mother and the blessed aunt, Amen!

Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Zoe's birth story




The word for life in Greek is zoe (ζωή). Here is the story of how our Zoe came to life.

It all started while on vacation on the island of Cyprus, also known as the birthplace of the Ancient Greek goddess of love, Aphrodite. Once back in the US, my husband and my daughter recovered from their jet lag while mine seemed to get worse.

This pregnancy would be nothing like the first. The first time around you have time to ponder what your baby will look like and sound like. You open your eyes in the morning before getting up for work just to rub your belly and smile with ease and anticipation. Every pregnancy symptom and movement is recorded and discussed. With the second, you are so busy caring for your first child, you sometimes forget you're even pregnant unless you are constantly sick.

My first trimester was brutal. I was constantly nauseas and would tire myself out so much with every day chores that my body would shake uncontrollably. I was in bed all the time or I was vomiting. There was an ER visit and finally I demanded an ultrasound even though I was only 10 weeks along. I wanted to make sure the baby was developing alright.

My husband and I held hands while the ultrasound tech talked to us and did her thing, but then came the dreaded silence. She was quiet. You just know. A roller coaster of emotions like I've never experienced before was about to take us on a two week ride of uncertainty and pain.

The baby wasn't developing normally and the OBGYN kept saying we would need to make some "decisions." Subconsciously I had already decided to choose life but that didn't ease my anxiety or stop the tears. I reached out to the three most powerful women I know when it comes to confronting life's obstacles, my mother, my aunt and my cousin. My husband was also my rock. I was very worried about his emotional state but he truly is brave and strong and he stayed calm for us both.

Apparently the ultrasound at 10 weeks showed chromosomal abnormalities that could be fatal. I've always been a religious God fearing person so I got down on my knees and I prayed. I pleaded and I cried and prayed some more. I asked for a miracle. I also made an appointment to see our priest. Together we all prayed for acceptance and strength.

Future ultrasounds with the specialist would show that our baby girl was developing right on target and that there were no concerns or abnormalities. Was it a miracle? Or was it just error on the part of the original ultrasound tech? It doesn't matter really. What matters is that we were reminded how fragile life can be. I knew the only name and the best name for this baby conceived on the island of love would be Zoe.

My goal was to deliver Zoe all natural. With our first daughter, I tried but opted for an epidural at 8cm. That's usually when most women request assistance with the pain. So I figured I needed help this time around and we hired a doula. It was the best decision I ever made. Zoe, like her older sister was a week over due. My labor stated at 5am on Monday June 8, 2015. Coincidentally June 8th is also my aunt's birthday, the same aunt I had confided in earlier in the pregnancy.

I labored at home as long as I could and the doula, Sarah, arrived at my house around 9:45. We left for the hospital at 12:45. Once in my hospital room, she put on soothing music, helped my husband get me out of the bath, walked the halls with us, and reassured us things were progressing normally. Then at 8cm dilated, her true talents came to play. The pain was almost unbearable and I was exhausted after 15 hours of natural labor. I asked for an epidural. At every contraction she had me visualize a wave that was bringing me closer and closer to my baby who awaited me on shore. The mind is powerful and it worked. We also had to play a game of "let's pretend the anesthesiologist is coming with an epidural" just to pass the time. During active labor there are really only two things you are aware of, your body and the people at your bedside helping you. I remember my husband being on my left by my head. I remember Sarah the doula next to him, the nurse on my right, the midwife in front and someone else on my right. According to my husband, there were only four people in the room yet I felt and saw a fifth helper, a woman.

I think it was my grandmother who gave birth on June 8 albeit many years before. My grandmother died before I was born and though I never met her, I'm named after her and she has always been a part of my life.

Natural child birth is full of all the same aspects as medicated child birth. There's excitement, anxiety, pain, fear, wonderment, and pure joy. It was my goal to start Zoe's life all natural and I was able to realize that goal thanks to my mom watching our four year old at home, my husband supporting me, my doula's talents, the amazing midwifery team at the hospital and the spirit of my grandmother. The day Zoe was born, the entire maternity floor was bursting with life. Every room was full with laboring moms and the staff was running back and forth to catch the babies.

Our Zoe has no chromosomal abnormalities that we know of. She is a love bug and she and her amazing big sister are the best things that have ever happened to us.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Hermana








To my sister,

As I rock my second baby girl to sleep, I think about you and our mother. You were just a baby when a drunk driver caused your innocent life to end in a most tragic way. I pray you felt no pain and that God's angels quickly swaddled you up to heaven before you suffered.

I think about how unfair it is that we didn't grow up together or that our mother was robbed the chance to raise you.

You would have been my big sister. We would have loved each other's children, teased each other's husbands and cried on each other's shoulders.

I wish it had been me. I would trade places with you if I could to give you more time with our mom. She is amazing. You made her amazing. You gave her the first taste of true unconditional love with your smiles and coos. Though she lost a daughter that horrible day, I gained an incredible mother. She is the strongest woman I've ever met. She is resilient and fearless. She continues to reinvent herself and push the envelope in influential ways. Her love knows no boundaries. Throughout my childhood she always put me first and gave me opportunities she never had despite the trials of being a single mom and the tragedy of losing you.

Your death was not in vain. It has showed me that a mother's love can go on. It has taught me that even in the face of unimaginable loss, we can choose to be a victim or a warrior. Our mother chooses warrior every day that she lives without you.

So thank you sister. Though I never met you, I truly love you. See you soon, but hopefully not too soon.

Monday, August 24, 2015

How to pass as POCHO








If there's one thing I'm pretty experienced at, it's navigating between gringolandia and mi raza.
"Osea," being pocho.

As the racial landscape of our country darkens, for the better, and Latinos become the majority, proving your pocho-ness will become a valuable skill for all gringos, whether Trump likes it or not.

Follow these three simple steps next time you need to pass as pocho. Studies have shown the more pocho you are, the easier it is to get into law school, get that promotion or land that Hollywood role of a lifetime.

#3. Randomly incorporate scenes from the movie Selena into your daily routine.

Sing BIDI BIDI BOM BOM when something goes well at work or when your friend asks you for a favor, yell "Anything for Salinas!"

#2. Add some pocho words to your vocabulary.

Cheated - "Who ordered the tacos?" "Cheated!" (she did)
Chilis - " I live near my mama. Chilis round the corner."
(Courtesy of kappit.com)

And the #1 way to pass as
pocho,

If your last name is Martinez, pretend it's French and pronounce it Martenes because there's nothing more pocho than trying to pass as French with a big huge nopal on your forehead.

Good luck and may the most pocho win!

Wednesday, January 7, 2015






Oh baby!

If someone threw me into a boxing ring or an MMA octagon, I wouldn't last one round, much less two. Sure, I'd get a few flailing punches in but after two minutes, I'd probably curl up in the fetal position and sob until they called the fight. But I survived round one of growing our family although there were a few times I curled up in the fetal position and sobbed but I got back up before the ref in my head called the fight.

Now I'm training for round two. By training I mean gaining weight, wearing nothing but leggings, eating shit I haven't eaten since high school, like Taco Bell and McDonald's and let's not even talk about bodily functions.

Okay, let's do.

Nausea - You know that horrible stomach cramping you get with food poisoning that comes with dizziness and headaches? Now imagine that all day every day for weeks on end. Good times!

Vomiting - I hate vomiting, always have. Now I can vomit at the drop of a hat, make dinner, set the table and carry on a conversation with a toddler about Frozen for the one millionth time.

Hunger - When I'm pregnant, hunger takes on a whole new meaning. I get Hannibal Lecter hungry. If I find myself in a meeting and it's been three hours since I last ate, I start making that Hannibal Lecter noise with my tongue and lips. I start eyeing body parts on people and imagining bacon or spare ribs. Yummy!

Sleep - This also reaches a whole new level during pregnancy. I get so tired, I get serial killer tired. If you're talking to me and I want to take a nap, and you keep talking, within five minutes I've come up with twenty ways to kill you so I can go take a nap in my car.

The ironic part of pregnancy is that growing the baby is the easy part. Once the baby is out, the sleep deprivation, constant crying and hormonal imbalances make a girl wish she was still pregnant.

I'm super blessed to be able to continue to grow our family with what will hopefully be a second healthy baby soon. After this round, instead of those oval bumper stickers people place on their cars that advertise 13.1 or 26.2 miles, I'm going to get one that says, BIRTHED TWO HUMANS AND I DIDN'T EVEN GET A FREE T-SHIRT.

With love from chunky Yuppie Chicana - gotta go eat now

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