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.

Little Spiderman Shirt

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


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!