Clearing the Air with Frankincense

Lately I’ve been feeling hate—hate towards my husband mostly. One day, that was all I could think about. He got home from work and I felt this negative energy consuming me. He got close to me and placed his arm around me—I wanted to push him away, almost in a rage. I didn’t know why.

Being a problem solver, I begin going through everything I’ve learned in my life so far. I realize my anger must be with my father, but why? I begin analyzing. Though it’s all making perfect sense (I’ll save the results for a later post) I admit there is a negative energy present.

Yesterday, I felt it. My mother is a big believer of spirits and I worry about her. I feel I’m here to protect my family. Several things have happened which have no explanation, and though I try to ignore such things, I admit I do believe in energy. After all, that is what moves us all.

I’ll keep this post short and share only the need to clean the air every now and then. I’m not an expert on everything; I don’t know why this works, but it does.


I found an article with some information I’d like to share. Apparently, there are different incense for different needs. For example, I didn’t know one shouldn’t burn Myrrh by itself!

“Unless it is mixed with an elevating incense it is liable to bring negative things to the person using it incautiously.” [article by Draja Mickaharic]

I think this would be a MUST read for those interested in incense. I’ll only share the title:

Cleansing Your Home and Environment with Incense


Will and Testament

Yesterday was a lovely morning. My mom and I were bonding like we haven’t bonded in a long time. We were talking about books (one of our favorite topics) and I shared with her my next book. This time, she sounded supportive. I almost stopped several times since there were several interruptions, and expecting her to let me; but she reminded me to continue.

You see, my mom and I haven’t been the best of friends. We’ve always had animosity towards one another. There was even a time I could tell you I felt hate. Even towards my father.

There are so many mixed feelings about the experiences I’ve had with them in this life. My husband says I obsess about it but I call it something else. You see, I’m also a mathematician, a psychologist, a teacher, a counselor, a problem solver. I need to solve problems. I have to. That is what I do. People come to me to help them solve theirs but no one is as dedicated to solving their problems as much as I have been to solve my own. After all, that is how I fought and won my battle with depression.

After my wonderful morning with my mother, my father comes and reminds my mother they have somewhere to be in the next hour. I usually don’t ask them where they’re going, but this time, for the sake of keeping the conversation with my mother going, I ask. My mom tells me they’ve got an appointment with a lawyer.

“A lawyer?” I ask.

“Yes, for the will.”

I don’t dare ask anything else. At the same time, I’m fearing I possibly heard wrong. My expression is expressionless, unresponsive. I even feel guilty for not responding but I just don’t dare.

Two reasons: One, I’ve been accused of being a person of monetary interests by my mother. (That really hurt but the child who will always reside in me is willing to forgive her; for this morning she’s been kind.) Second, I don’t want to face the destiny that awaits us all.

Though I’ve had issues with my parents, I need them both, still. I feel an urgency to solve this puzzle. My time is limited and I must solve it before they pass on. I don’t want to live without them in an abyss of misery with unanswered questions.

In the afternoon, I hear again where they were. I finally gather the courage. I have to know, and I ask, “Lawyer for what?” My mother affirms my fears—to write their will and testament.

I wanted to cry but I didn’t. How do you react to that? Do you joke about it and ask for her book collection? Do you weep and fall to your knees and possibly make them feel worse about how close they are to moving to the next unknown? Again, I looked down, fearing my puzzled expression would show. I said nothing.


When is the Right Time to have a Boyfriend?

Back in junior high I was such a shy kid. I wore my bangs all in front of my face, making sure they covered my whole face. If a boy liked me, I’d just go and hide under a rock, seriously. It was so scary to me. Once, a boy grabbed my butt and it scared me so much that I avoided going to my locker (his was next to mine) for as long as I could. This was in 8th grade. I had no idea why anyone would want to touch my butt. As far as I was concerned, it served two purposes: to sit and squeeze out the poo. Why a guy would want to touch it was freaky to me.

High school was even worse. I was Death-Rock (now Goth) and wanted to have an artistic, complicated, Alien Sex Fiend (a band back in the day) kind of boyfriend. But how? I had no idea how to flirt; how to talk to a boy; how to even kiss. I felt I was falling behind in the ‘love’ area and it wasn’t long until the pressures of high school social life cornered me. I didn’t want to be the last girl to finally kiss a boy but I didn’t know why none of the boys wanted to go out with me. I thought I was ugly. I thought my teeth were crooked, my thighs humongous, my butt too flat and to make it worse, I was Mexican.

All my life I had heard bad things about being Mexican. Since I can remember no one wanted us in the US and my parents were fixing their immigration papers. They were a mess, trying to fit in and attain residency while little ol’ me, I was a mess just knowing their stomachs were in knots every time we’d come across border patrol. The hundredths of questions we’d have to answer as the officers shuffled through the stack of papers my parents had to carry with them at all times.

I just had too much to deal with and all this time I just wanted a boy to like me. Not like me and grab my butt, but the like me like Sixteen Candles, where the girl gets the handsome boy, who’s way out of her league, but he likes her because she’s got self respect. But what self respect if I didn’t even like myself? I hated my body, one boob bigger than the other; I wasn’t white enough to be death-rock and lure in that death rocker I liked; I was even the wrong type of Mexican. Often I’d hear other Mexican’s talk bad about those from Mexico City. I had no clue why but I knew my parents lost friends because of it. I thought we were all the same but apparently not.

So here I am, a mess. Not knowing where my place is but I just know I want to daydream; where the boy is sweet and carries my books to class. Instead, I start settling for less. I ended up kissing loosers. Really. There was this one kid who was a trouble maker and I kissed him after school one day. We kissed a few more times after that and I even allowed him to touch my butt, but nothing else developed from it. I was sad because not even the “worst” kid in school asked to be my boyfriend.

The moral of this blog is to advice young ladies when is a good time to have a boyfriend. I’ll say this, “It is when you can look in the mirror and see yourself and you like what you see. Love yourself, respect yourself; protect that which is most precious, you; because if you don’t, you WILL regret it. Watch my video on Youtube. I’m typing away and cutting so much out because I don’t want this blog to go on and on but I do say some meaningful advise on my video. Many times our parents have so much baggage and they just can’t help us with these types of life choices. I wanted to share a bit of my life and family so you can see how we all have something that can be used as an excuse to convince ourselves why we are not worthy. But I’m telling you, we need to raise our standards. Watch my video and remember, love yourself and accept nothing less.

Love big or go home! xoxo

When you don’t approve of your son’s girlfriend…

I’m not sure if I gave this one an appropriate title but I’ll leave it alone for now.

Where should I even begin with this one? I swear I’m going to write a book about this guy one of these days. So the other day my eldest overheard me say I wasn’t happy he had gone back to his gf. You see, back in February, they got into an argument where she ended up smashing his tv, called me up, told me he was a piece of crap, basically, and I had done a lousy job raising him—and I needed to go pick him up at her place.

Never in my life did I think I would receive such a call. I was angry, ofcourse, but I kept my cool and just told her I’d be on my way. I got in my car and headed over there. Within two minutes she texted never mind, she’d give him a ride (his car was in the shop). My immediate thought was the hell you will, and I hurried over. Once there I stayed outside and texted my son. I heard some squeals and saw my son coming out of an apartment with her crying behind him, begging him to stay. WTH? I’m confused. He forcefully said, “NO” and I couldn’t have been more proud. Her little boy peeked out the door and yelled something at my son. I was horrified at the situation.

I tried telling my son everything that was wrong with that picture. He made me believe he was done with her emotional outbursts. I pleaded with him to stay away but did he listen? Nooooo.

Immediately she blew up his phone with every promise imaginable. He said he was confused because no one had loved him that much. I warned him it was manipulation. (I mean, the girl wouldn’t even let him come spend time with us!) That night she called me and I answered (though I regret it)—I answered because I told myself she was young and troubled and I just couldn’t turn my back since my son must have had some fault. It always takes two to tango (I really shouldn’t have answered). First thing that came out of her mouth was that she was sorry, ofcourse, BUT that he had hurt her so much and she had given him multiple chances. I asked her then why did she want him back? Obviously he was no good for her then. In a nutshell (because I’m not going to go on a rant about her), I told her to get over her divorce first, take care of herself and her son and then think about being in a relationship. She didn’t listen. She didn’t call me again but instead kept bugging my son. She did come by with a card and a flower but I was cold with her and she got an attitude with me. I mean, come on! In her card she said how loving and caring my son was (I thought he was a piece of crap? “A horrible human being?); how mature he was and how lucky she was to have him in her life. WHAT?

I cannot stand this girl. This is when I wish my son’s father would come around and talk to him about this stuff. I feel because my son has been estranged from his father for many years, that he didn’t get that identity he needed from him. Instead, he got mine, in a way.

Having all boys, I’ve come to accept there are some things men just get from other men. I can talk and talk and give him the best advice and back it up with proof from psychological statistics and data but he won’t get it; until another male comes along—a male he respects—and tells him the same as I just told him; then he’ll get it. Sadly, all the men in his life are MIA when these issues come up. I wish my dad, my brother or my husband, one of them; I wish they’d sit down and talk to him—take him out for a baseball game, a football game, something; not just sit and scold and remind him what a kid he is, no, not that because we’ve all been there. He needs men in his life who make him feel he matters; that he deserves to be treated with respect.

I wasted so many years being depressed and not loving myself that this is what I’ve shown him. I tell him there’s a better kind of love out there; he just doesn’t know it because he can’t imagine it. I tell him how a healthy relationship should be but he can’t visualize it. This girl has got him like a crutch and it hurts me to sit back and witness it. It hurts to see her little boy in between all of this mess. I want a woman who will make a man out of my son but I see her enabling him, manipulating him into a co-dependent relationship. This can’t end well, but all I can do is wait it out. I told him my fear is that she’ll get more aggressive, more violent and next outburst will be worse. I fear that this girl can get my son into some real trouble. I tell him to just walk away if she ever gets like this again; to call me asap but do NOT stay and try to reason with her.

For anyone out there experiencing something similar, RUN THE OTHER WAY. People who are this angry, willing to destroy property and cause bodily harm, have been scarred for a long time and need help. It is a rage that has been planted in them since childhood. Most likely it is learned by watching their caregivers and it forms into a cycle. The daughter sees her mother’s anguish and anger caused by her father; she forcefully repeats the very same in her relationships as an adult. In her mind, there is no other way. I could have a whole new discussion on this subject but I’ll leave it for another time. As for my son’s low self-esteem, he saw me with one for many, many years. All my bruises were internal and left there by those who claimed to love me the most. It’s taken me years to get rid of my martyr ways. I’d like to end this by urging everyone to learn how to love yourselves. It’s URGENT—because we do pass this along to our kids!

Love Big or go Home! XOXO

Happy Dry-Hump Day!

HUH? What did I just type up there? Happy dry-hump day? That’s just disgusting and unladylike. Really? I do apologize. I don’t mean to be offensive but this truly happened. You may choose to leave my blog NOW…or keep on reading…

Ok, yes, that’s the title, but hear me out first. (LOL) I meant to type this one up yesterday, since it was Wednesday and, indeed hump day; but I just ran out of time—messing with other stuff which I’ll have to share with you later. Let’s get to the meaning of all this. Shall we?

So, yesterday morning I had a bizarre dream. I dreamt I was ‘dry-humping’ a woman!

OH MY! OH ME! OH WHY? (sigh)—Dreams—I tell ya; they are one way to tell how dirty your soul really is. LOL. And I found how dirty mine is…just kidding. If anyone is into dreams though, please tell me your interpretation of this one because I just don’t know what to make of it. (Please keep it clean…be nice)

I was somewhere, in some apartment building, walking, minding me own business, when these two women approach me. They weren’t good looking at all. One of them, the one I ended up dry-humping, actually had a triangular head, bushy, dark eyebrows, and a missing forehead. So, these two ladies are horny—super horny. They are rubbing on me and want to invite me to have a threesome. I am disgusted and mad that they are actually rubbing their horny, nasty, unattractiveness on me. I tell them I am not into that and I try to walk away, but they follow me and tag team me—one is in front of me and the other one behind me. For reasons only a man would understand (joke), I feel I have no other option but to give in to their sluttiness. I have the one in front, with the triangular face, lay on her back and as I lean over to lay on her, she lifts her legs up and opens them wide. She’s moaning like a crazed cow (I’ve never seen a crazed cow but I can imagine one) and I don’t know what the heck I’m doing. Out of nowhere, I begin feeling aroused! Yes, aroused! WTH? (This is pretty embarrassing for me to share but it’s just hilarious at the same time that I figure ‘why not share?’) —OK. Back to me feeling aroused. I start thinking, “What the heck. I wish I was a man so I can do this.” I start dry-humping this woman, with everything I had…

I’ll stop there. If I continue describing what I felt, I’ll just hide under a rock. I did share this with my husband and we were cracking up. His explanation was, “Well, maybe because your subconscious knew today was hump day. Happy Hump Day.” LMBO

Ah, the mysterious world of dreams. SMH

Autism-Unconditional Love

I want to share something I already shared on my Facebook page:

My son Everett asked me once if I felt sad that BENJAMIN had autism. I said NO. He was amazed and asked me why not. I said, ” …I saw a woman with a stroller talking to her baby…I then realized it wasn’t a stroller. It was a special kind of wheelchair for her daughter. Her daughter could not speak, her little body was in a twist as were her hands. Everett, BENJAMIN can run, walk, jump, swim, laugh, kiss, hug, play, eat, shower, go poo, be funny, be silly, tell us he loves us and sleep at night without any pain. I am thankful he’s only delayed in his speech and minor in other areas. As for the mother I saw that day, I am sure she has a lot to be thankful for too, since what I saw in her face was love.”

Here is a link to a video that just touched my heart.

I’ve been working on my website this morning but this video has been on my mind and I wanted to share it in my blog. I’ll share my personal experiences with my youngest and how we deal with autism at a later time. Right now I have to go off and help one of my other boys with something.


Leonardo Favio-Ella Ya Me Olvido

Today has been an emotional day again. Yesterday afternoon was too. I’ve got so much to post today. Many emotions…I don’t even know why they’re all enveloping me without mercy. This blogging thing takes a good while out of your day; especially when you’re a newb like me. Ha-ha. I’m not going to give it any more thought as to which story I’ll share first. I’m just going to start with the most fresh one…my parents.

It all started since yesterday afternoon, around 3pm. I was on my way to pick up my middle son when I began switching radio stations, trying to find something GOOD. I wasn’t sure what I was in the mood for. I just wanted something to grab me for a moment and take me on a road somewhere; away, away from my reality. Boy, did I find the right song.

I have been living in San Diego for hundreds of years; though I was born in Houston, my heart has always rested in Cali. For all the years I’ve been alive, here or there, I had never heard this song/singer on the radio. The only place I heard this was at home, with my parents. They hadn’t played him in years. Since they came to live in the US, they brought over hundreds of cassette tapes. Remember those? Yea, those. They don’t play them anymore; sadly.

So, here I am. Traffic light is near and this song come up. I leave it there since I know this song. This song is ancient! I loved this song when I was a little girl but had forgotten all about it. The song commences and it is passionate. It brings memories. I’m taken way back in time. A time when there where no cell phones and the color of the days where off tone. The old pictures come to mind. Those goofy checkered shorts my brother had—man they were short. My father’s young face, so proud to be in San Diego. My young mother, sweating her face off, trying to speak English. Me, a nervous wreck just from watching them struggle with the language. It must have been 1978 or so. I was tiny so the memory comes foggy, as if I could just reach the dinner table.

My parents were much more relaxed once they were back in our apartment, ofcourse. That’s when they played their cassettes. The noise was horrible; none of this HD stuff we have today. I could hear the crisp skips from the record player it originally played. My mom would let loose and sing from the top of her lungs. I thought she sang remarkably well and truly believed she could have been a star if she would have wanted to. Song after song, she’d sing them all.

They were mostly romantic songs. Incredible songs and music. I loved how passionate they were. Many of the artists were Argentinian or from Spain but I was five or six, they sang in a language I knew and therefor, they were Mexican to me. Now I realize they weren’t. lol. (Well, not now-now…you know what I mean. lol)

The tears ran down my cheeks as the foggy memories played in my mind. These memories when my parents were young. They came to a country without knowing what the HELL! Really! Who does that?? They were scared, now I know, but I still think they had massive balls of steel to leave everything they ever knew behind but a pillowcase full of cassette tapes. Cassettes which had records of memories that would tell their story. Stories about where they came from, who they were and why. Music filling the rooms with dreams and ambitions, passions and desires.

This one melody took me back. I cried and cried like a lost kid who’s been looking for their parents and has found them. Only now they are old and tired—and my mom doesn’t sing that loud anymore.

Once I got home, I looked this song up in Youtube and listened to it over and over. This morning again, but this time more songs came to mind and I’ve been listening to them all. With tears running down my face, I wonder how I’ll feel when my parents are gone and these songs come up? Will they come on ever again? Will I cry like a baby remembering them?

I told myself I’m going to learn these lyrics and play them loudly infront of my children. I’ll sing from the top of my lungs and pass these on to my kids.