A Special Gift on Mother’s Day

My middle son gave me a special gift on Mother’s Day. All my boys are sweet, but this year, it was Everett’s turn to make me cry and boy…he got me good.

A few months ago I had told him how much I loved DR Seuss’ book Oh The Places You’ll Go! I had never known of such book until I had to read it in front of my son’s classroom last year. I barely got through the book but as soon as I walked out of the classroom, I couldn’t stop crying. It just had so much meaning to me, to my life at that moment.

I was forty-three or maybe I had already turned forty-four but I had just been going through so much in my life. It’s weird to think how different I am now from who I was last year. I was just waiting for earth’s gravity to squash me…pretty much.

But I hold Dr Seuss’ book close to my heart. It is so dead on. Watching those children in my son’s classroom that day, it just filled me with sadness knowing that each and every one of them would go through dark roads…and that some roads are only wide enough for one. I think of all my dark days and how many times I felt so alone. I wonder who these children will think of when these trying times grow near? God? Their angels? Their parents, family, a role model?…God, I pray whoever is their caretaker adds the tools they’ll be looking for so desperately when the time is needed.

I’m forty-four now, soon to be forty-five. I’ve been through clear roads, scary roads and hopeful roads. I’ve been alone at times and with company at others. I can definitely say that I am still learning so much, every day. Today, I am less afraid, less sad…because I’ve faced many of my fears and demons but I’ve had help. There is ALWAYS help.

I realize now I am a spirit…having a human experience…that I have a home, in another place…but that I CHOSE to come here for a reason…a reason my children and strangers help me remember every now and then. That reason is simple…to spread LOVE so that this planet can heal. Slowly, I am beginning to realize Dr Seuss was very right…

“And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)”




Past Lives

(Sorry if I jump around too much. It was four in the morning when I began typing this and was still sleepy. lol  But I knew if I didn’t do it then, I wouldn’t do it. I might fix it later.)

When I was a little girl, maybe around kinder or first grade, my mom tells me I used to tell her about my mother, Manuela.

“Yes…don’t you remember her? You two were friends!”

My mom says at times I’d give her chills with some of the things I said. LOL

I do remember something about me having a sister–who pinched me and wore glasses. Oh and that we had a little dog…white poodle or something like that.

Then, in my young adult years, I began having dreams that I had been a man, a very good-looking, young man; and I had messed around with many women. These women were so attracted to me, they’d do anything for me. They were so gullible and I took advantage and broke many hearts. I took it as a weird dream but wondered what it meant.

When I was a teen, about thirteen, my mother would tell me what an awful feeling she felt when I was born. She said as soon as she saw me she thought, “Oh NO! It’s HER! NO! NO! NO! Please! NOT HER!” And she felt an awful feeling in her gut, as if someone had punched or kicked her. At thirteen, this hurt my feelings. I mean, COME ON! But then, I had always felt my mother didn’t love me and I figured it was just her being mean to me, again.

As an adult, I grew tired of her telling me the same story…about how awful it was once she saw I was a girl…once she recognized me and I was HER. I couldn’t believe she’d tell me this. So, for a long time, I dealt with depression. I felt unloved by my parents but mostly by my mother. It was a pain so deep, I sometimes didn’t know how I was going to make it in this life. I figured, “what was the point of living if I didn’t have my mother’s love?” My depression went on for so many years…maybe thirty years because I felt it since I was a child.

I tried to kill myself twice. They were clumsy attempts really. The first time I was about ten and the second, a young teen—but my parents never knew. Around my mid twenties, I ended up seeing psychologists and psychiatrists, and little by little, I met amazing people who helped me grow strong, mentally.

It was weird because although my mother and I did not get along and she always made me feel like I was the “other woman”, we did come together at times…these were the best of times. She did teach me about God and kinder things. We connected when we talked about books, reading, spirituality, a loving God, hypnotherapy, past lives, regression…She was always reading a book and she’d share it with me.

I began getting interested in my spirituality and read many books she recommended, like Dr Brian Weiss, and others I came across on my own—but I’ve felt I’ve been searching for answers as to why she has pushed me away.

To cut this short, it wasn’t until earlier this year, once I made up my mind that I didn’t care if my mother loved me or not—and I recognized I was loved by many other important people in my life—that I came across a friend of the family who helped me figure all this out.

She used Spiritual Response Therapy. At first, I was skeptical and a bit scared. I wasn’t sure what to think but it ended up providing me with the answer I’ve been searching.

But first, let me jump around some more…in the past, I also had dreamt a shocking dream and woke up thinking, “I was the other woman!” In my dream, my mom and dad were not related to me but they were an item. I was a frivolous woman and had an affair with my father, her man. The woman, my mother, never forgave me. It makes sense because in this life, I have felt a deep respect with my fellow females and I have been careful about not making them feel I’m a threat. I’ve never been about taking someone’s man, competing for a man or anything like that.

So, back to this family friend. She came back with a surprising story but it made sense to me. She said she only went back so much but that my mom and I had been an “item”. She had been very cruel with me and emotionally, mentally abusive, to the point that I killed myself in despair. She told me that was why I suffered from depression in this life.

It took a couple of days for me to put together all the clues. I summed it all up: When I was a man, I broke a woman’s heart. She finally met her match in another life but I took him from her—he and I had an affair. We met again romantically, this time her, the woman and me, the man— but she had not forgiven me…and emotionally abused me and manipulated me so much that I took my own life.

In this life, I am now her daughter. That’s why she recognized me at birth. That’s why she had thought “NO! NOT HER!” That’s why she was jealous of my relationship with my father and made me feel like I was THE OTHER WOMAN. That’s why she told me once to take care of my own husband and to leave hers alone—I used to think my mother just had a sick mind. That’s why she was doing it all over again in this life, being emotionally and mentally abusive towards me. That’s why I felt depressed and wanted to kill myself…again…because no matter what I had done to show her I was sorry, she hadn’t forgiven me…and I hadn’t forgiven myself.

In this life, as her daughter, her opportunity to forgive me is evident. She had me inside of her, I was a product of my father and her. I came into this world from her womb. She’s had to bathe me, clothe me, feed me, clean me, watch me, soothe me…yes…SHE’S HAD TO LOVE ME. Growing up I sensed her mixed feelings of love and hate towards me.

As for me, in this life as her daughter, being female I had to feel what other women I hurt have felt. More importantly, I had the ultimate test and opportunity…an opportunity to realize that I had to FORGIVE MYSELF…that it didn’t even matter if my own mother, who is supposed to symbolize love and life, didn’t forgive me. I rejoice because I first forgave myself because I knew God loved me and his love was much, much greater. Knowing His love was what saved my life and what has brought me to this conclusion.

Finally, I approached my mother with all this information. I figured I’d give it one last try and asked her to be open minded. After all, I knew she believed in past lives. I ended up telling her everything I knew and apologized one last time.

“Mom, if I have hurt you in a past life or in this one, I am sincerely sorry.” I meant it with all my heart. She didn’t comment about what I had just told her. She just listened and I could tell her brain was absorbing it. But she did say, “Me too. I’m sorry if I have hurt you in a past life or in this one.”

That was good for me. In this life, her as my mother and I as her daughter, we’ve had to love one another no matter what our past has been. As a daughter, I’ve had to respect her and as a woman, I’ve had to understand her. And her, as my mother, she’s had to care for me and forgive me and as a woman, she’s had to empathize with me.



Autistic Love of Mine

I said I would share how this journey has been for our household and I’m finally finding the time to sit down and share with you all about it.

My Benjamin was born with a perfect pink little body. Three pushes and out he came. I was forty when I had him and stayed healthy. My doctor had me walking a strict line that when I told him I ate a cookie, he scolded me and made me blush.

Benjamin was beautiful. I counted his fingers and toes and listened to him breath…perfect. I was tired after giving birth and when he cried I did get frustrated at times…going on very little sleep; it takes its toll on the mind and bring you to a delirious state of exhaustion. Nevertheless, I was determined to be a better mom; especially since he was my last baby for this lifetime.

Crawling, walking— all came fine. I never noticed anything wrong. It wasn’t until he was two years old and he began trying to speak. He began making loud noises and then full out screaming. He’d scream and scream for no reason— it seemed to me. At first I didn’t know how to respond. I thought it was just as all toddlers begin to do but his was just louder.

At three I noticed more of a defiance character and I thought I should be quick to correct it. Putting him in time out was challenging and often drove my blood pressure through the roof. People were telling me I needed to spank him and for one who believed in no spanking, I finally caved in and I spanked him… only to have him scream louder and get more frustrated. It was a nightmare.


We couldn’t go anywhere…restaurants, malls, visiting friends, etc. We had our house in TX but moved to San Diego and were staying with my parents for a while. But when we bought a fifth wheel and parked it in my parents’ driveway, we just moved in it so that his screams wouldn’t torment everybody else inside the house.

My son Everett, my middle child, had won a prestigious award in fifth grade…only very few got this award and only one in his grade level. It was a president’s award and I missed the ceremony. My Benjamin threw a fit just as I was trying to get him ready. It was a tantrum full of loud screams and kicks. All I could do to keep myself from beating him out of frustration was to let my knees hit the floor and sob. I had so many pity parties for myself during that time.

People couldn’t believe I missed the ceremony and when I’d explain about my Benjamin, they looked at me in disbelief. Parties, birthdays, events, we could never go. I lost friends and soon people stopped inviting us. In a way it was a relief because it was stressful to always say no as well.

I’m giving a fast version of the events ofcourse, since I’m not planning on writing a book about it…at least not yet. But it wasn’t until one day, when I had just had it. I was tired of being unhappy and not knowing how to show my son any love. I had always been a fun mom with my other two boys and I felt like a failure here with my very last one. My face dragged to the floor, my hair was beginning to turn white, I gained so much weight from being depressed and not going anywhere public anymore. My blood pressure was bad and I woke up with my eyes blood shot on several days. I began praying for answers and I wasn’t getting any. My husband worked and when he got home he wanted no responsibility whatsoever with the boys, especially none with Benjamin. My marriage was deteriorating…I was full of resentment. Pity party.


Why was I doing this all alone? Why was I failing at the one thing I wanted to succeed in the most in life?

All the psychology I knew was out the window. All the Child psychology, Child Development courses I had taken meant nothing because I had no CONTROL of my son.

I collapsed on the step of my fifth wheel, inside by the bedroom. I cried and cried and buried my face in my hands and cried—exhausted.

“I’m trying Benjamin…I’m really trying…”

Just then, I looked up and I see Benjamin walking towards me, he’s stopped crying too and is no longer screaming. He touched my face and wiped a tear away…with so much tenderness, so much empathy. How could this three year old possibly understand me? I looked in his eyes…I mean deep in his core…as if he was allowing me to do so…he could not talk…all he could do was make noise and in his stare I saw what he told me.

“You are too…huh? Benjamin?…you are also trying— huh?”

Instantly, our worlds changed from that day forward. I don’t know how it was possible but we understood each other. It was as if we were lifted in a space bubble, both sharing this moment and in it, God gave us the opportunity to find comprehension. Autistic son with his mother and Crazed mother with her son.

Once I comprehended that he was trying…a lot harder than I was…my approach changed. I mean, after all, he had only been in this earth for three years and I had been here for forty three now and still feeling sorry for myself? I realized I was his mother for a reason and I brought him here so that I would just love him. I was the one who had to adapt.

We chose to choose our battles from now on. I opted to having more kisses and hugs and fun and tell him how much I loved him than getting angry because he won’t get his shoes on…or because he doesn’t want to wear a jacket. We began to compromise and I started trusting him more with things and letting him have responsibilities.

It’s been great. I try to get him to sleep early so he can be feeling good in the morning. Before he goes to bed I kiss him and tell him I love him. I smile often and model behavior. If I tell him not to scream, I can’t be loosing my temper either. If I’m upset at something, I tell myself to count to ten and breathe in and out and say, “Calm down Emma…breathe.” I know he’s watching. Seldom do I give him a time out anymore but if I do and if he cries and throws a fit, I tell him he’s off time out when he is calm and stops screaming. As soon as I hear he has stopped and is calm, I call him over and with a stern voice, I tell him I didn’t like the behavior but that I love him and then, with a stern/sweet voice (I’ve mastered it), I tell him to give me a hug and I kiss him and tell him I love him. It make his day and mine and we are all good again.

It’s been working out for us. If he thinks I’m upset at him, he quickly searches my eyes and I make sure I communicate love for I know that is how he sees me, through my eyes.

I love my Benjamin so much. I love him for who he is and what he’s come to teach me. My life is so much more free. I don’t care if friends are gone right now, they’ll just have to understand. He’s my priority and I am so grateful. I even stopped working just to share these moments with my son. I was scared that he’d be off to school and I wouldn’t know him but now I know him and we have bonded like no one would have ever imagined.

Benjamin is now in a Special Ed class-prek and is doing fabulous. He goes part time, leaving me a few hours to continue with my writing and my blog. When the bus picks him up, he loves going in the bus and thinks he’s such a big boy. My mom, my dad, my eldest and myself walk out to the front of the house and excitedly wave him off and send him with blessings. He is always in a good mood for school. When he returns, my mom, my dad, his father and his middle brother, we all stand outside to greet him and ask him about his day even if he doesn’t answer. He comes home happy and hungry for dinner.

Sometimes he doesn’t like what I’ve set up in the dinner table for him to eat and he’ll push the plate away. We’re working on what to do when that happens. Also, his vocabulary has expanded and he doesn’t scream like before.

Well, this is us in a nutshell. I wouldn’t advise anybody anything because I know every child is different. All I can say is that we found something that works for us and we’re loving life. ❤ He’s got so much love at home that I don’t care who is ok with him or not. He’s got his family who accepts him and supports him and we’re all working together now to make his existence a spectacular one.

Tomorrow we are traveling eight hours to go to a friend’s baby shower. There will be many other kids there too. I think he’s going to do great but we’ll see. Either way, I’ve got a Plan B and Plan C. LOL. I’ll post on here about our trip on Monday, hopefully. Stop by and see how our weekend went! =)



Easter-What Came First? The Chicken or the Bunny?

Easter. I was brought up Catholic, strict about sex but lenient about alcohol and smoking (Though for the record, I HATE SMOKING and I don’t drink much nowadays…oh and sex? Not much of that either nowadays…lol). Let me clear that up for you since I brought it up. My mom used to smoke many years ago, and my dad wasn’t an alcoholic but a social drinker with a two drink maximum. There. Can I please go on now? Ok. So they did take us to mass every Sunday, we had a bible study at our home for a couple of years, and Easter Sunday was a huge deal—with lots of prayers as we prepared for the big day. We’d dress up and head to an overcrowded mass. Everyone there was wearing pastels and looked like they were all headed to the Del Mar races afterwards. After mass, we’d come home and nothing much would happen after that—at first.

When my parents began having more American friends, that’s when we started going to Easter egg hunts. I don’t remember thinking much about it except that it was fun to be playing with a bunch of kids and getting candy and sugar.

When I became a mother, I followed the Easter egg hunt tradition with my son but when his father and I divorced, I just let him take over. I didn’t have family here in the US and my brothers didn’t marry nor had kids so, I thought he should stay with his dad and he’d just bring him in the evening. His father had like seven sisters and plenty of nieces and nephews and I was sure my son would have more fun with his father’s side of the family. So, for many years, I didn’t have the spirit of Easter and chicken and bunnies and hunting.

Through the years, I let my Catholic faith go and decided there was a little bit of truth in ALL religions but I wondered why this Easter bunny thing was as it was? When did this Easter egg hunting come to be? Sure, it’s fun for the kids but I just didn’t understand why it should be fun? At least make chocolate crosses and have the kids look for them? Or make plastic, hallow faces of Jesus and put candy inside and have kids find them? I don’t know. (humor)

It was until yesterday, when my parents, still following the hunt tradition for my next two children, and I were sitting in the backyard; relaxed, stuffed from all the delicious grub, began to talk about the meaning of Easter. My mother, who loves history and loves reading, had an answer to almost all of my questions. She even mentioned that the Jewish also celebrate an Easter. I did not know that! I was full of more questions. We went all the way back to Abraham and Egypt and each time I had more and more questions. I realized I just wanted to know too much and my mother began feeling frustrated (I should do my own reading). LOL. I left it alone but from all the questions I asked, she did not have an answer for one. She could not answer why the bunny and the chicken? LOL

Good day my PEEPS =D