4 Challenges in 40 Days

“Long have I waited

For your coming home to me

And living deeply our new lives…” “Hosea” by John Michael Talbot.

lent-2017

This Lent, I am taking on a 40 blogs for 40 days as part of the 4 Lenten challenges I will be completing.

One challenge is joining the now-viral #40bagsin40days challenge to clear up clutter. This has been an ongoing challenge. I have read Marie Kondo’s book, The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up, which had an impact on my wardrobe. I have also read numerous blogs and articles on thrift shopping and capsule closets which changed how I purchase and keep clothing and shoes. However it is a work in progress as clutter continues to consistently affect our home and my office at work. Purging daily, whether it is paper clutter or material items I don’t need, will clear space. I don’t need much. What I need is love, family, discipline, and positive outlets. I have those blessings in place. It’s a matter of clearing space, energy, and time to truly enjoy them.

Rather than completely fasting from Facebook, I will be reducing my presence on social media. If I’m doing a 40 day writing challenge, social media is the best way to share my work. I will use social media purposefully. I will post images and links related to my Lenten challenges and reflections. Another reason to revisit this traditional practice of reducing my time online is my actual enjoyment of this fast. Fasting from social media has gotten easier. I don’t want my Lenten challenges to feel as if they are not sacrifices such as “Oh I’m giving up chocolate.” I moved away from that type of material sacrifice years ago because it doesn’t change me from within. Giving up Facebook and not posting status updates or sharing memes does not make me any less petty. Usually I get back online Easter Sunday and I’m posting a blog about how fulano de tal ruined my Lent. It’s not pure pettiness; there is some reflection involved. Being off line is no easy fix. I will move past venting through my writing over the course of these 40 days.

A challenge I began in therapy and within my immediate family is my commitment to stop being a mean mommy.(Can-do attitude)M has always been articulate in expressing her opinions and feelings. While she is outwardly not thin-skinned, she’s much more sensitive than when she was 7. When I hear her say, “you’re mad at me”, “you’re mean to me” or use negative self-talk like “it’s my fault that…”, I cringe. I am responsible for prompting my child to second-guess herself. In these 40 days, I will make a conscious effort to hold my tongue, monitor my body language and facial expressions, and modulate my tone of voice. I will be firm and tough but do it in a way that is nurturing, not demoralizing. Given our family’s histories, M is prone to anxiety. I will not be an additional stressor in her life. I want M to look at our relationship as one that strengthens her.

Finally, I will pray more in these 40 days. M and I will be praying the rosary during our commutes again. Instead of listening to New Edition during my morning drive to work(I’m not swearing off NE for 40 days! That blog is forthcoming), I will listen to gospel music.I will do some spiritual reading. I will participate in Best Lent Ever through Dynamic Catholic. This program has changed the way I experience Lent. Lent has become a beloved season which I anticipate yearly. I love what Lent offers my family, my prayer life, what it does for my relationship with myself and ultimately my relationship with God. God bless.

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To learn more about the #40bagsin40days, visit 40 bags in 40 days

To join Dynamic Catholic for the next 40 days, sign up at Best Lent Ever

Can-do attitude

Feb11

When I was a little girl, my father worked in a food canning factory. Canning plants could be found all over the Bay Area back in the day: the Shasta soda plant we saw on the drive across the San Mateo Bridge 812f141d-5bac-40e1-b164-8e391df5afb8_d

or the smells associated with various foods being processed in Hayward or San Leandro. In my own home, an elderly neighbor taught my mother how to can jams and jellies. This personal history with canning has been lost on me. I have lost my ability to can.

When did this happen? When this 45^th Republican regime came into power? When the third white boy from Peyton Place Bay Area cussed me out at work? There was some kind of perfect storm this fall. sean-bean Winter isn’t coming, y’all. It came. Ya llegó.

I have fought back in the usual way. I have been focusing on getting fit. I have continued to dance. I have taken refuge in TV shows and books. But my signature patience has worn thin.

Given the current state of the state, lacking patience may be a good thing. It’s time to stop suffering like a santita and get into warrior mode.

My favorite saints carry swords. Saint Barbara

My fear is that I’m taking it out on the wrong people. I have become much less patient with my partner and my child. Y eso no está bien.

Rambo was and is a soldier. He can take my stank attitude for the most part. He also has no problem checking me when I get to be too much. M, on the other hand, is sensitive. Don’t let the sass and side-eye fool you. My daughter is sensitive and I am the person who has the capacity to hurt her feelings the most. She has told me so. I am committed to being the great mother she deserves.

So while I’m freezing, it’s time to power through this change of seasons. winter-is-coming-1050x600 While I may not be able to can with the trifling behavior of spoiled teens or the shenanigans occurring on a national scale, I know damn well there’s nothing to stop me from being my best self. I can and I will.

wonder-woman-punches-trump

The Curse of the Witch Doll

Aug21

Nancy Drew doing her thing

Before Nancy De La Cruz(the Latina Nancy Drew) could hop in her hybrid and head to the farmers’ market, she found her elderly Italian neighbor, recently subject to religious persecution(The case of the missing memento), was unconscious and lying behind a wall. Nancy questioned the poor woman but the victim had no memory of her removal from her home. After questioning potential suspects, Nancy’s worst assumptions were confirmed. The longtime accuser had been joined by another religious zealot so the old woman went into hiding. It was time for Nancy to get chola on these fools!

Must find this shirt!

Unfortunately, neither Nancy De La Cruz nor Nancy Drew is about to throw down in the streets. She uses logic and seeks understanding. So while the ongoing drama over witchcraft allegations may resurface now and then, it will be handled rationally and civilly.

It has taken me years to cultivate a sense of calmness. It’s one thing to have a game face. It’s another to calm the hurricane within your mind. But with time and quality moral support from family and professionals, I have mastered the art of keeping it together. In the face of varying levels of tomfoolery, both personally and professionally, I keep my cool and take time to think about next steps. It takes effort, sometimes a monumental effort to not lower the standards I have set for myself. I work.

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La befana is back in place at the mantel. She is harmless, as are the close-minded people who shudder when they see her. I have no control over others’ thoughts and actions. I’m not about to do wrong by losing self-control.

Pray for me, y’all!

The case of the missing memento

Jun26

The mystery began with a disappearance. The grizzled old woman in the black headscarf went missing one morning. Those familiar with her knew her to be harmless; still negative perceptions persisted. She was suspected of being a witch. Even in 2016, there are those (okay so it’s one person) who would believe a hunchbacked old woman is partaking in the black arts. I had a suspect. I had a motive. It was time to get Nancy Drew.

My girl. I used to want to be Nancy Drew. How about Nancy De La Cruz?

I began by questioning witnesses. Had the one person, the one fearful of witchery, been seen with the missing person? It didn’t take long before an eyewitness confirmed that the old woman was forcibly removed to an area inhabited by several international residents. The eyewitness had defended the old woman from the witchcraft allegations; the old woman now had a new home. I resolved to protect the old woman from continued harassment. At one point, I had to physically escort her home because the old woman was once again forcibly evicted. For now, she is safe.

Antes que llamen a la policia, know that the tale I have told is fiction loosely based on a true event. When sharing your home with folks, be they family or friends or tenants, things will sometimes get misplaced. While I may give the side-eye, I don’t make a fuss. I play detective and right the wrong as best I can. The high road is best in these situations.

For the record, la befana is a witch but she’s not a sign of my participation or endorsement of black magic. In Italy, the befana delivers the Christmas gifts on Epiphany eve, rather than Santa. So while Italians do have Christmas trees, the tradition continues.

Does this look like a sorceress to you?

I got a Befana doll in Piazza Navona as a keepsake from my trip with my parents to Italy where we spent an amazing Christmas complete with Midnight Mass with St. Pope John Paul II. To me, the befana reminds me of those happy memories and, ironically, as a reminder of the faith my family shares. She used to be in my kitchen but now hangs over the fireplace in the company of Russian nest dolls and Thai elephants on the mantel.

Family dynamics can be complicated. (Previously on our family sitcom) One minor change or disagreement can trigger uneasiness, tension, and confrontation. With patience and a sense of humor about these situations, those negative feelings pass.

M’s boho mama

May8

“…what she gave instead was her own DNA, her own boho mama-in-the-black-stockings self, and she trusted that this would be enough.” Lisa Jones, Bulletproof Diva

Five months ago, one of my dance sisters approached me via social media inbox. An outspoken woman, she prefaced her comments by saying she likes to say things directly to folks. What followed was a discussion about my relationship to M. The conversation truly touched me. It not only made my day, a typical busy weekday at work (which has provided endless writing material, nuff said!), but it helped me reflect on my motherhood for weeks and even months. How unlikely and yet so necessary that I had the opportunity to do so.

Motherhood happens. My choice to have M and the million choices I have made in raising her have sometimes been unconventional and non-traditional, but never irreverent or irresponsible. Because while parenting is intuitive and flying-by-the-seat-of-your-pants spontaneous, it is also a huge undertaking. It is THE big deal. No amount of writing and talking about tiger moms or helicopter moms or free range moms or any combination of these can change the fact that motherhood and fatherhood matter. Yes, I don’t often plan how situations will play out; I can’t. My seven-year-old has been her own person for as long as she could speak and stand up on her own; basically I’ve been dealing with this independent-minded individual since she was 10 months old. Every day I am learning something new about her, about myself, and about the world through our relationship. When I get a rare opportunity to really think, reflect, and plan for our relationship, I take it and revel in it.

About a month and a half ago, one of my closest friends asked to interview me as part of her women’s studies project. She had decided to focus on the parenting choices of the children of immigrants. We enjoyed a deep discussion on motherhood. I wasn’t discussing writing or dance or education and yet all these folded into the conversation. That is how my experience as a mother has evolved. M experiences the vast majority of my experiences with friends, culture, food, and the arts. What we miss from traditional play dates, I hope is more than made up for in making memories.

Post samba class selfie

Easy as pie

Nov15

“A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.” – Tenneva Jordan

I have given up pie recently. I don’t mean the holiday variety; I’m quite sure I will indulge in a slice or two. In the last few months, I have passed on activities and events that I would not have missed in recent years. It’s not the blues or penance. It simply is a choice, one made for family.

The most striking example was opting out of a reading and book signing by my idol, Sandra Cisneros. I bought my ticket and her new book in advance. I began planning what I might wear, what I might say. Would I be brave and ask for a photo? Would I make it on time on a Tuesday after work? Tuesday happens to be our busiest weekday. M has cheer practice and competitive dance team practice. I had made arrangements for her transportation with my folks; Rambo would handle homework and bedtime. The Monday before the event, I was chatting with the attendance clerk at work. We got to talking about kids. While her children are in their twenties, we could definitely relate to one another on the frustrations of being working mothers. Then she made a comment about bathtime, how she had read that it and other everyday routines were the best times to be family. I thought about that conversation many times. On the drive home from work the following day, I called my mom and said I would make it to get M from practice and that I would be driving her to dance. I was home with M for bathtime. I don’t remember what I discussed with M but I know I smiled the rest of the night. Mija has that effect on me.

I have chosen family outings and gatherings over samba class on Sundays for the last 12 weeks. I have made only one Sunday tea dance in the City since it debuted three months ago. This weekend I would have been on retreat but my godson played in his first soccer tournament and we are honoring my Tio’s death anniversary at Mass today. I have always taken pride in how much I do for myself. Now I am doing for my family fully and willingly. It is a change I embrace. After all, I am a mujer ever evolving.

Not about me

May10

My mom once told me that Mother’s Day was not about me, despite my role as a mother. She said it was a day to celebrate her and the women who came before me. See, my momma doesn’t play; don’t let her sweet grandma demeanor fool you. She’s more a whoop your butt with the cucharon type of mom with an occasional Mommy Dearest moment. (What, like you don’t have those?)

Tina, bring me the axe!

Momma will tell you what is what. So when she checked me on the Mother’s Day situation, I listened. She explained that is a day to honor the hard work and effort our mothers make. She added that M and Rambo had to honor me. So, instead of viewing Mother’s Day as a new holiday in my honor, it continues to be a day where I thank my mom.

Mom and M’s first picture together

Despite all our battles, Momma is my role model. I know no other woman who has worked so hard outside and inside the home for her children. I know no other woman who has parented siblings, nieces, nephews, cousins, even play cousins by marriage(who are so trifling they don’t deserve her) with so much patience and generosity. No one keeps a clean house like my Momma. No one can cook a dinner party for dozens of people like my Momma. No one best take on my Momma because she will let you have it.

My mom has shared that her own mom, mi abuelita Chelia, has always been tough and brutally honest. She has told me stories of Chelia’s harsh discipline. Mama Chelia is known for her blunt rants on everything and everyone. I remember a trip we made to Churin. My mom, who suffers from chronic back pain due to a slipped disk, was miserable during the bumpy bus ride back to Huacho. She gritted her teeth and braced herself to no avail. Tears of pain flowed silently down her cheeks. Chelia leaned over and asked, “Que le pasa a esta mujer? Estas llorando? Te voy dar un lapo si sigues llorando.”(Translation: Woman what is the matter with you? You crying? I will slap you upside your head if you keep crying.)A few moments later, she wiped my mom’s tears and rubbed her shoulders without another word.

Chelia sharing her wisdom with me

Because motherhood isn’t only nurturing and caretaking, it’s butt-kicking, name-taking, history-making, and barrier-breaking. To be a mother means to be a woman of strength and character. So to the assertive warriors who came before me, my models of strength, Feliz Día de las Madres.

Sitcom storyline

Apr19

La verdad and we ain’t ashamed: some of our family time is spent watching TV. We don’t just settle on the couch, Simpsons style, zoning out before anything. Now that M is 6, we are much more thoughtful about what we watch together. Gone are the days of watching trashy VH1 reality shows (thank goodness M was a baby and will never remember I Love Money) or hoping that the Glee storylines wouldn’t get too sexy because those musical numbers were so awesome (Rumor has it/Someone like you mashup days). In recent months, we have been watching sitcoms about families not unlike our own, namely Fresh off the Boat, Cristela, and Blackish. Interestingly enough, we are living one of the storylines.

Rambo’s mom now lives with us. M gets to enjoy spending more time with her Nana. Rambo is watching his use of profanity. Yes, the house is tidier. But, as witnessed on a few of the episodes of the previously mentioned sitcoms, living in a multigenerational household has challenges—and we don’t have the benefit of writers crafting a script that resolves those in half an hour.

Lest you think I’m living out a Monster-in-Law feud, I’m blessed. Nana and I have never exchanged unkind words and probably won’t, given the positive nature of our relationship over the last seven years. An old friend of mine used to endure insults about her appearance from her longtime boyfriend’s mother. In spite of that, she would bring the woman souvenirs from business trips, only to have them rejected. Not surprisingly, the relationship ended when the boyfriend stated his intention to have his mother move in when they married. I took notes on that situation. I am grateful for a decent suegra.

Nana has joined us in watching our shows. She was not too impressed with Cristela (too Americanized) and Blackish (she thought it wasn’t funny) but she did like Fresh off the Boat. What we love about watching these shows together is that they speak to and for us. They reflect loving families, families that we can relate to culturally, philosophically, and experientially. Besides, a thirty-minute time limit on any family problem is a good goal to have.

My newest theme song

Mar7

“Once I get you up there, where the air is rarified

We’ll just glide, starry-eyed

Once I get you up there, I’ll be holding you so near

You may hear angels cheer ‘cause we’re together,” Come Fly with Me”

La vida da vueltas. Life moves in cycles. At least once in a week in our house, these cycles can be broken down into choreography, “all the way around…all the way around”. My daughter is now a competitive dancer and more than ever, she is dancing with all of her being. She dances with her limbs and, when her confidence is strong and the music fills her, with her eyes and her smile. She is beginning to understand why dancing is such a wonderful expression of self and joy.

It has been a season of milestones. As we prepared for M to take part in her first competition, I underwent a new series of medical examinations. At first I suspected a flare-up in my IGM. So we began a round of antibiotics. After an ultrasound revealed changes in my gall bladder, I have been assigned a new surgeon (the wonderful surgeon who oversaw my recovery last years has retired) and I will soon be discussing next steps. I am feeling better physically but emotionally I have my moments of panic and wistfulness. Last year’s journey was challenging. I don’t want to miss out on M’s season of competitions and shows. I don’t want to miss out on another Carnaval. It doesn’t take much for me to become tearful.

As one of my favorite writers Hettie Jones writes, “See we tender women live on.” I was grateful to focus my energy on M’s dance journey. It was a whirlwind weekend in Dance World. Her costumes were adorable. Her makeup looked great. My mom and I were schooled in the art of putting up thick, heavy hair into a French twist. I cried happy tears as M danced her first routine before the judges. The song they danced to felt like an anthem.

When we got home, I continued to sing or whistle “Come Fly with Me, “both at home and at work. Why had it resonated with me? The lyrics are a romantic invitation to travel. The song is a reminder of the importance of taking opportunities to enjoy love and life. I realized that it is my time to fly with my daughter and my loved ones. No matter what doctors may tell me, my heart needs to rise and soar. Every day, I am invited to fly. Every day, I will take flight.

Because it’s my year to review

Jan1

I clicked on the Facebook year in review. It wasn’t all bad. As a matter of fact, it featured postings and photos relating to my samba school, my beautiful, loving tribe that truly deserves a piece of writing dedicated to them(2015 seems a good time to do so). While I smile when I remember all the dancing, laughing, and celebrating we did, I realize that the story of my year is much more complex. Facebook may have some matrix that detects the number of likes and comments; I know better.

In terms of my personal growth and the strength of my family, 2014 was a challenging and therefore inspirational year. We have weathered illness( and major surgery)and the death of loved ones among other troubles. I learned a long time ago that my attitude in trying moments is in my control. I can choose to love, smile, pray, breathe, be.

The following are seven photos from last year. I look forward to another year of love, unity, and peace.

Great America Dance Day 2014 : By then, I was on my third round of antibiotics and within two weeks I would be hospitalized for emergency surgery. Pero ni modo, my baby comes first. I love to watch her dance so this day was no different.

Photo by Elise Evans. Look closely at my right shoulder. I am wearing Mr. Backpack. I had to make my final payment on my Carnaval costume even though I knew I most likely wouldn’t be able to wear it. So even though I was sad, angry, and exhausted, I was happy to see my dance family practice.

Mr. Backpack: gone but never forgotten

Photo by Rambo. The Four Generations photo he had planned since we decided we were going to Peru.

My family at the most beautiful place on Earth

Photo by Soul Brasil Magazine. San Diego Brazilian Day Parade. I finally did get to dance with my samba community.

My inspiration

Mujer Evolving

musings on the personal, political, pop cultural, and maternal

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