The Couch Chronicles...Continued

I  recently had a discussion with a work colleague about how traumatic events  impact the students we work with.  She explained that when she presents a workshop on grief, she has her participants fold a piece of paper in half.  In the center of the paper, on the crease, she tells them to imagine whatever it is they are grieving...to the left they write down what life was like before the event and to the right of the crease, life after the event.   That was so profound...I immediately folded my own piece of paper in my mind.  There it was, clear as day:  Me before Jonathan's death (crease) Me after Jonathan's death.  But it didn't stop there...there were so many more before and after events I needed to acknowledge.  It was a lightbulb  moment!  It's no secret I am a different person than I was 17 months ago...life will not be the same ever again, but it is my life to live.  

When I was a very little girl, I apparently had trouble saying my name and so what came out was "Nini."  As a result, I can walk in to a place and hear someone shout, "Nini!"  Now don't get excited and think, "Oh, I'm going to call her that when I see her."  Let me just say this, "Don't!"  That special name is reserved for extremely close friends and family.  So if that's got you thinking, "Damn.  Fine.  I'll just call you Bitch because that's how you're acting" go right ahead.  "Nini" is special in that it was used and still is used by a group of people that have known me since time began, well at least since my time on this earth began.   So that got me thinking about the special names I have given people over the years and the significance to the relationships that go with it.  You see some names are given out of pure spite, others out of fun and still others from pure affection.  For example,

There comes a time in your life when you realize life is about to change...life as you know it will never be the same. The birth of my son was one of those times and the birth of my daughter was another.  The tragic death of my nephew was yet another time when I knew, life as I knew it, was over. Today, as I make my way back to the great state of Texas, I'm wrestling with a familiar feeling.  I felt it when I boarded the plane...that pull from deep within, the sixth sense, the gut feeling.   In the past I would do one of two things,  roll with the flow or fight that feeling.  Not this time, this time I  want to embrace it, fuel the fire that's burning and for those of you who have worked with me, it's not my gastritis (pronounced in Spanish).  It's something, like before, that's going to be life changing.  It's already starting... This time, it's all about a boy...

Sometimes it's too much to think about, too tragic, and I don't believe it.  I wait for a call or a random text, to hear your voice and your laughter...I get nothing.  I  see your picture every day.  It's sits on our fridge in a make shift altar Thomas made for you as a school project for Dia De Los Muertos...I can't put it away.  I don't want to put it away.  If it had been anything else, the kids would have already asked, "Mama, why do you still have that up there?"  They need it to stay in place, just like I do.  It's off limits, no one can touch it.   It's been a year since I received that phone call.  The call I knew was a joke, a prank, some kind of terrible mistake.  You couldn't be gone.  We hadn't done all the things we said we would do.  You hadn't grown up yet.   I spent the next month in a fog.  I was like a functioning alcoholic. (I bet this made you laugh.)  I woke up, I went to work, I cooked and cleaned and went through

I must admit this is a very catchy slogan from the folks at Corona.  Most people thoroughly enjoy the beach and can recall a pleasurable moment.  So when the camera zooms in to that ice cold bottle of beer dressed with salt and lime, over looking a crystal blue sea and white sandy beach, and the announcers encourages you to "find your beach" what comes to mind?  Drinking?  Vacation?  A scene from a black and white film where a couple shares a passionate kiss as the waves crash against them?  That particular movie scene makes me cringe at the thought of sand in unmentionable places, water up my noise, and salty kisses.  Not that all salty kisses are a bad thing...a salty kiss with a hint of tequila and lime can be a good thing, if memory serves. If "your beach" is metaphorically the place that brings you happiness, than my "beach" has changed over the years.   When I was a kid, my beach was Disneyland or anywhere that was fairy tale and fantasy.  In my ea

and she's on fire..."  My second biological was born ten years ago today.  She is more than I could have ever asked for and being her mom is an honor.  Today's blog is dedicated to my baby girl. My Dearest CRR, Wow, God sure knew what he was doing when He sent you to me.  I haven't figured out what He was doing, but I'm glad He knows.  :) On this day, ten years ago, Dr. Van set you on my chest and I knew at that very moment that you were going to be a dynamo.  You were already mad as hell and you let the entire delivery room know it.  The tiny little curls shaped like the letter C all over your small precious noggin left me wondering how on earth I was going to tame what would soon be a wild mane or like your brother once described it, a bird's nest. So today baby girl, on the day of your double-digit, decade birthday, I want you to know a few things: pray in good times and in bad times talk to me about things even if you think it will upset me rem

Ok I couldn't type that without laughing like a damn fool.  My bestie will know why.  I'm not sure if she'll remember the "turbo lover" but she will definitely know the "I want you" nonsense. As I embark on a new chapter in my life I'm left feeling a tad bit vulnerable and somewhat out of the loop when it comes to members of the opposite sex.  For the record, I've not exactly been very smooth in that department to begin with.  Honestly, I'm surprised I've added any notches to my belt with the down-right tomfoolery that has been my dating experience. Let me start way back in elementary school when I had a crush on a certain bad-boy who's name I still remember but just don't have it in me to embarrass myself or him in the event that he's recognized by one of my many followers (you can stop laughing).  So I thought, (let's call him "Michael") was cute and was hoping he would notice that almost every Friday I was

As I played with the idea of sending out a virtual shout-out to my best girlfriend, I kept hearing a classic, orchestral tune in my head, like something from a cartoon.  So I set out to find the tune and the definition of an ode.  I discovered the tune was Vivaldi's Four Seasons, Spring and there are three types of odes.  The Pindaric, named after the Greek poet Pindar, the Horatian named after Roman poet Horace and finally the Irregular ode.  The Irregular ode retains some of the elements of the Pindaric or Horatian, like four lined stanzas but authors have the freedom to experiment.  There wasn't a doubt in my mind as to which ode I would choose to create for my Bestie.   This amateur author is totally loving the freedom to experiment...with her writing people...with her writing! So here is my Irregular Ode to my Bestie...I love you chingos (Spanish slang for a lot ) Friend! Ode to My Bestie We met years ago at a school in the barrio I bitched about Paul

I have mentioned the need to go back to certain steps when you recognize that you need to check yourself.  Well, I literally heard a voice in my head that said, "You better check yourself!"  It wasn't a weird, "I'm hearing voices and they want me to hurt someone."  It happened as I reread a text message, pondered the situation, and realized what my father has been known to tell people about me is right..."She has a lot of pride."  Uh...hellooo Father...where the hell did that come from?  Did I not hear, "People don't take pride in their work, people don't take pride in their house or their neighborhood, you need to have pride in what you do" and blah, blah, blah.  Damn right I have a lot of pride.  You said I should!  But really, I don't blame my father for being prideful.  I thank him for instilling that value in all three of his girls.  Unfortunately, I don't think he realized how serious we would all take it.  Now, I

I was recently asked by a blast from the past, if I would ever consider pushing the envelope a little with my blog...let's say making it somewhat sultry, risque...a sort of secret diary, adult style.  I reminded my old pal that a good girl does not kiss and tell.  His rebuttal...ok, "good girl with bad girl tendencies."  (Did anyone else think "KISS Catch Phrase?" You 'member?  You 'member!) So I did what I normally do with a blog idea...I sit on it, I wait, I think about it, I let it marinate...This time I also chatted it up with my work son and expressed my concern for privacy.  I really don't kiss and tell with the exception of this one time...not at band camp...that I called my Bestie at a very indecent hour of the night to tell her...and she is taking it to the grave.  And it really was just a kiss so no need to get crazy and start thinking all sorts of nonsense. Now, back to the steamy stuff you have been waiting for...I'm sticking to m

Years ago, during a professional development session on writing, I created a short list of the things that made me who I am.  To my surprise, I enjoyed creating this list and can still remember some of the things that were scribbled on the sheet.  A recent tragedy in my life shook me to my core and by core, I mean the very essence of my being, my soul, all I am.  When the quake was over and the dust settled, I began to collect the pieces that were scattered around me.  It was time to find out, without inhibitions or fear, who exactly I was.  Basically, it was time for me to show myself what exactly I was made of, what I was willing to accept as truth and what the hell was I going to do about it!  So here I am, ready to let you in on a lil' something... I'm the youngest of three girls and I recently discovered by way of my father that my birth was somewhat of a miracle. "I told your mother two kids was enough."  Uh...maybe he didn't realize he was saying that

Recently I shared an article with a fellow "triple F" friend of mine and by "triple F" I mean, Fabulous, Fierce and Forty!  Now there are a few other "f-words" that I might use to describe this "old" friend of mine but I shall save that for another blog.  Let's get back to the article I shared.  In a nutshell, the author made a list of the many things she could do at 40 that she wasn't able to do at 20.  The list was good, the article was funny and it inspired me to create a list of my own.  You see, something happened when I turned 40, besides polishing off three bottles of wine and hanging out with some of the coolest people on earth, my family and friends, I realized that 40 wasn't so bad.  In fact, 40 was pretty damn great.  So on Sunday, the 5th of January at 5:10 p.m., I turned forty-one!  I didn't have the usual birthday week shenanigans or birthday weekend celebration I have had in the past.  No, this year, the weekend

So I don't know why I was dreading step four.  It's step five that's a son-of-a-motherless-goat!  It was pretty easy to admit I have some character flaws.  Really, who doesn't?  Admitting that there are some things I need to work on was not as bad as I thought it would be.  At my age, you pretty much know you are not invincible and may have a few rough edges to smooth.  The cool thing about being fortysomething is knowing you can handle constructive criticism AND you have enough sense to do something about it.   Step Five - Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.   One of the "light bulb" moments I had in Al-Anon is being told that "we are only as sick as our secrets."  So I can list all the liabilities in step four, but in step five I take a much closer look and become aware of how much I 'deluded and justified' to myself.  And when it comes to justifying nonsense, I rank supreme!