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Tag Archives: Mom

I have a feeling this will only make sense in my head.

That moment when you forget you had something in the oven so you rush to rescue whatever is left of it, but then you get there and the cheese is overflowing and the chicken is all “Rawwr,” and you’re like “Get over it, chicken. You’re just a chicken,” and you realize how much you miss your mom.

Does this make sense?

chicken-ham-and-cheese

This is the look I was going for, I guess. The actual end result was… well… a bit scarier.

 

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Happy Father’s Day

Today I want to acknowledge a very important person in my life.

The person who was and still is a source of inspiration to me.

The person who thought me that when you fall, because we all do, you get up, shake it off, and keep going.

The person who gave me the tools to create life the way I wanted and to pursue my dreams.

The person who taught me how to navigate through the roads of life with its unexpected turns and twists.

The person who taught me to dance in supermarkets and enjoy life.

The person who is the kind of parent I want to be to my own children one day.

The person whose love and support make me want to be a better person.

Happy Father’s Day, Mom!

Thank you for always being there.

Thank you for all you did and still do.

Thank you for being the kind of person I want to be when I grow up.

 

 

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Happy Mother’s Day!!

To my Mom (and all other Moms out there):

Thank you. Thank you for teaching me respect, confidence, and proper etiquette. Thank you for the amazing support, and encouragement. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for letting me find our way when all you want to do is to protect me. Thank you for all your love and for all that you do.

And thank you for never ever giving up, no matter what.

I love you! Today and always!

XOXO,

Your Daughter

 

P.S.: Have you hugged your mom today?

 

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I’m an only child. With a few siblings on the side.

Are you an only child?

Whenever people ask me that my first reaction is to say yes, but then I catch myself wondering, “Am I?” I mean, I grew up as an only child. My mom says she got it right the first time and didn’t feel like she had to try for a better one, I say she was traumatized and didn’t want to risk getting another one like me. But I’m pretty sure it’s because my parents got divorced when I was too little and didn’t have time to have another one. Then my mom began her life as a struggling single mom and that took so much of her time and energy she didn’t even dream about having another baby.

My dad, on the other hand, didn’t feel the same pressure and soon found my stepmother and they started having kids. They have five boys, so I guess I technically have five half-brothers. Well, six, if you count the one my dad had in between my mom and his new wife. So six half-brothers, or three whole brothers, math-wise. But since I didn’t really see them much growing up, I always considered myself an only child.

I had friends and cousins to play with, and a mom who always allowed me to go to their houses or have them come to ours, so I had plenty of opportunities to play with others. But nothing compares to playing by yourself. I had endless hours to play by myself, just me and my wild imagination, and I always loved it. I did ask my mom for a little sister from time to time, but honestly, I loved being an only child. Plus I had this very close friends who was like a sister to me. Really. We even got into fights all the time, like sisters do. The only difference is that we’d punch each other instead of just pulling hair like most girls do. But that’s a story for another time.

Although I do think playing with other kids is awesome and necessary, I think every child should have the opportunity to have some alone playtime. It’s great! When you play by yourself you do whatever you want. No one says no, no one thinks your idea is not good, and no one tells you what you should or should not do or say. Seriously, I always hated when a friend would say “Now you say this.” It made me want to say, “You know what? You don’t tell me what to say, I decide what I say.” But only I was too shy and would never dare to say that. Anyway, when you play alone, you decide everything. And that requires a lot of imagination and creativity.

I often see children now saying they are bored when they don’t have people to play with, or saying they can’t play something because they don’t have one specific thing, and I don’t think I ever thought that when I was a child. I always found something to do, and if I didn’t have exactly what I wanted, I’d just imagine I did, or get something else and pretend it was what I needed. I learned to use my imagination in my favor.

I think every child needs some alone playtime as much as they need to play with others. Because when you play alone you have the opportunity to explore your creativity and imagination, and you discover you can be very resourceful.

 

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Because life is about learning to dance in unusual places

I was born twenty minutes after the eleventh hour of the eighth day of the third month of a long-ago year. I was an average size baby, I’ve reached my developmental goals as was expected of me, and was a pretty normal child. Let’s just say I didn’t do much damage. And I was even sure I’d never leave my city.

Yep, I was a pretty boring child, and I’m sure my mom would agree with me. She’d tell me to be crazier, that it was okay to be silly sometimes. I remember her dancing around in the middle of the grocery store, swirling her skirt, trying to make me see the joy in being silly in public. I was embarrassed by that when I was little, but I also felt jealous. I wanted to be like her, I wanted to dance and not care if someone would see me or what they would think of me. And as years go by, I try as hard as I can to care less about what others think. It’s not always easy, but I try.

My mother is pretty amazing. I also remember her saying lines she had to memorize with her colleague on the streets. I was mortified, because she’d say things like “he shot himself right here” while sticking her finger in her mouth to show were exactly he had shot himself. I knew it was part of a theater play, but others didn’t, so you can imagine the looks they gave us. To be honest, I never even saw anyone looking at us. I was too busy looking at my feet and blushing three shades of red to notice anything else. But in my head I was sure she was drawing attention to us. And drawing attention was something I dreaded more than anything else in the world. It was worse than getting hurt.

The first time I did draw attention to myself, on purpose I mean, not by accident, was when I shaved my head. I was sixteen at the time. I have to say I was pretty happy with the result. I think it was then that I finally realized I was pretty. I was so afraid people would think I was a boy that I started wearing clothes that would show I was a girl. I started wearing make-up, big earrings, skirts, tights, and even showing some cleavage. Not that I had much to show, but whatever, I had some, and some was better than none. When my hair started growing I decided to give it a bit of a red tone. As time went by I started adding more and more red. It was like a drug, it was never enough. Now my hair has to be apple red for me to be happy. I tried to go back to brown, to even go with blond or black hair, but I always ended up going back to red. Red is my color. Red is me.

After that a lot of things have changed. My life changed quite a bit. I almost got married. I no longer live in the same city. Well, I don’t even live in the same country anymore. I moved to a different country, with a different culture and a different language. And although nothing happened as I expected, I’m glad things happened the way they did. I’m happy with the way things are, although they are so different from the plans I once had for my life.

And from times to times I start dancing in the middle of a grocery store. Just because.

 

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