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

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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.

LOVE BIG OR GO HOME =) xoxo

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.

Little Spiderman Shirt

So, today I was cleaning and sorting and moving furniture around when I came across a small Spiderman shirt.

 

kbz_spider_shirt
Little Spiderman shirt

Immediately, I began feeling things I wouldn’t know how to describe. My heart squeezed and a lump went in my throat, it was my son’s shirt from about twenty years ago.

There’s much I regret. I once, for many years, claimed I never would regret a thing, for all I would regret has made me into the woman I am today—but I have a different thought today. I carefully took the shirt out from it’s place, as if it was from the days of Egyptian Pharaohs, afraid the fabric would disintegrate, and I held it up to breathe it all in. I smelled the still soft fabric as it felt cool to the touch, and in some ways delicate; it smelled fresh as if it was just washed yesterday.

The feeling, the coolness, the softness, the freshness, it all took me way back, some twenty years ago. I very much remember that shirt. My eldest was only three and a half or four at the time, and I must have been twenty four—the age he is today. As I type this here I am getting choked up. Tears are running down my face and I tell myself it is just a memory and why does it cause me sadness or pain? Well, I clearly answer myself back saying there are things I will never quite understand. The twin in me challenges to try. So, I take on the challenge.

I think about the pain I’m feeling. I’m attempting to reflect upon it as if I was there now, twenty years ago. He’s come home, my son, so happy and proud, excited to show me what he has done at school. I am smiling, I adore this little boy. I hug him and tell him how cool I think it is. He wears it for days and days. He one day outgrows it so I put it away for him, for safekeeping so that one day he may show it to his children.

This little boy grows up and is now a man. I am left feeling regret. “What regret?” I ask myself.  I wish I wouldn’t have been so messed up in my twenties. I wish I wouldn’t have had my stupid depression, which did nothing for nobody. Such a waste of time. I’m sitting here feeling angry, rebellious—because that depression came from my parents. I wish I would have taken him more places like the crater in Arizona, the great Redwoods and Yosemite. I wish we would have gone to see the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Mount Rushmore, Mall of America, etc. I think back on how I believed he was so special. Such a sweet boy with so much potential. I think of all the things we could have done, the places we could have explored, but it’s all useless because I do remember playing with him lots, reading and talking and joking and laughing; kissing and hugs. It finally dawns on me—the answer to how I could have made this little boy’s life so much better—I wish I could have loved myself.

I realize that is where I went wrong and hence, my pain. I wish I would have loved myself so much that it would have poured on to him like a silk blanket. I wish I would have known love and introduced it to him. The only love I knew was that which I felt for him, but I’ve been so ignorant for the love he’s always needed was the one I couldn’t give to myself. That’s the kind of love which would have made him believe in whom he is to become.

What are blogs for?

Good morning sunshines! I’m new at this blogging thing. I have no good excuse— after all I do have a degree in Media Arts with emphasis in web design and animation. LOL. I used to be BOSS on the web. HA-HA. So, what happened? Family life happened. Listen, I look horrible in hats but if I did wear hats, I’d take off my hats to those women—and men who are stay-at-home parents and still manage to work from home, create blogs, do crafts, etc. Me, no, I can only do one thing at a time. Ha-Ha. So, I let my webbing go and focused on raising my family. I paused just before ending that sentence. I was going to say ‘raising my kids’ but soon realized I have been raising my husband also. Therefor, I’ve been raising my ‘family.’

Any who, I realized starting a blog was inevitable. My youngest was beginning school and now I’d have all the time in the world to pick up where I had left off.  (I’m finding it difficult to concentrate at the moment since my husband is next to me watching Paranormal Witness. It’s quite intense for a Sunday morning while trying to write my first blog. Ha!) I started writing my book, The Silent Life of Genevieve, back in 2010. By 2011 I was a student at UNT-Denton and met Megan, an English Lit major. Because my husband and I had been on one income and had just bought our new home, I didn’t have money saved up to hire an editor. Megan was interested in taking on the task to edit my book for a reasonable fee. After the editing, I wanted to self-publish my book so I rushed and did it but was not pleased with the cover at all. Twenty twelve, I had my hands full with—A LOT which I’ll get to later—so I put my Genevieve away for two years. In 2014 I used LuLu.com to self publish but rushed into making the cover—again.

It wasn’t until two weeks ago, when my four year old began preK, that I had more time, downloaded Photoshop, and finally put the time into designing a pleasing book cover.

small

In those two weeks, I finally put the time to find out how other self publishers have found it successful to sell their books. (Well, throughout the years I had known ‘Blogging’ was a big deal but I new I didn’t have the time.) Now, here I am. My first REAL blog. Technically, this one is my second. He he.

So, what are Blogs for? I have found they are for many things, really. I’d say ‘Sharing is Caring.’ After reading several blogs, I think I am going to love blogging. I love sharing—and I have lots to share! For me, this blog will be just for that, to share. I want to share about my life and experiences. I am really looking forward to this blogging thing. LOL. I’m hoping it’ll help with the sales of my book, The Silent Life of Genevieve, ofcourse. We’ll see how this train goes. As for today, I have really enjoyed typing this up. Though I’d recommend NOT watching Paranormal Witness while blogging—LOL—because it will take two hours to type a few paragraphs!

Peace, Love and Chicken Grease!