physical beauty

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Parenting 101

REPOST from Sept. 15, 2012: (stands the test of time…)

brad, age 13

There’s this fine line between disciplinarian and friend, when it comes to being a parent. Kids need rules, yet, they also need someone they trust. Someone to talk to. Someone like me.

I’ve never grounded my kids. Rather, I find quiet moments to talk about a situation, without making a big deal. Which in turn develops a bond between us. A solidarity.

One day, when Brad was at a friend’s house, I took the opportunity to clean his way too messy room. As the pile of clothing, and other junk, began to diminish from the top of his dresser, having settled back into the drawers, I spotted the Kindle Fire. I had forgotten about the electronic reader, as I had given it to Brad to use for school; so, for me, it was out-of-sight-out-of-mind. During the summer, he said he wanted to spent some time getting acquainted with the gadget, to just play with it, learn how to use it.

Sounded good to me.

I picked the Kindle up, which was tucked into its black leather jacket that I had bought, to protect it. I stretched the elastic band off the cover, flipped it open, turned it on, and browsed through items Brad had downloaded. Just checking in, one might say. Games, Facebook, and a few magazines.

I should have guessed, but I hadn’t. Nor was I surprised. Or even mad, that one of the magazines included lots of photos of girls; young women, actually, in teeny-tiny swimsuits. HOT women, emphasizing breasts and rear-ends.

I laughed. To myself.

Later, when Brad was lounging on his bed, I walked in, asking how his day was. It was fun, he told me. And he thanked me for cleaning his room.

“Oh, and by the way, I was looking at the Kindle,” I began.
Brad gave me a sideways glance, narrowed his eyes, and smirked a bit.
“I saw the magazine you downloaded. The girls,” I continued.
He just looked at me. Waited for me to do some more talking.
“I see you have good taste,” I joked.
He smiled, and looked down.
“And, well, anyway, I have no problem with you looking at those pictures, but a word of advice.”
He waited, patiently.
“You need to delete them. The Kindle is for class books, for reading, and I don’t think your teachers would like those photos on campus.” I finished.
“OK,” Brad answered.

The night before his first day of school, I asked him if he had everything he needed. If he was all packed up.
“Yep,” he responded. “And, yes, the magazine has been deleted.”

I am sure he will not be surprised when another respect for women conversation drops into ours lives somewhere down the road.

I am building a lifetime with him. A trusting relationship, so that he knows that no matter what, he can always count on me.

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Lemons and Liz

IMG_8262IMG_8164Liz is my pal. My friend. My daughter. And when she talks, I listen. When she gives me advice, I’m focused. Tuned in. To everything she has to say. Including healthy advice. Things she’s learned about eating properly, ideas that make my day brighter, lighter, uplifting, and overall body-better feeling.

So, when she brought up the importance of drinking lemon water I couldn’t wait to get home and slice up some of those sunshine-yellow nuggets.

I know. I know. Nothing new. Heard it before. Just a reboot. An old idea renewed. But a valuable idea nonetheless. And, honestly, coming from Liz, it’s an old idea that she believes needs new attention. And, well, I consider her a valuable healthnut guru. Why? You might ask. She’s healthy, love-wealthy, and definitely wise, I’d answer.

Therefore, I’ve been drinking it up. Water saturated with lemons. So good. So refreshing. So easy. So worthy. So me. So Liz.

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Being Human

roberto age 4:5

When Roberto was born, his head was perfectly shaped. Perfectly proportioned. With perfectly placed facial features. He was, in my opinion, a natural born attention-getter.

When he was a very young boy, Roberto was guaranteed to hear how beautiful his big blue eyes were. How cute he was. Yet, I made sure to counter-comment, after he would thank them for the compliment, with an observation of my own.

“…and he is such a nice, kind person. Smart too!”

You see, as far as I was concerned, and what I’ve wanted Roberto to embrace was that more than his good looks, concern for humanity should be a top priority, along with respect for others.

No longer a very young boy, Roberto is now a young adult, and his handsome features have not wavered, and neither has his appreciation of human life, and accepting people for who they are. As has always been important to me, Roberto also believes everyone should live their own life, in the way they chose, as long as they are not harming themselves, or more importantly, not hurting anyone else.

Roberto is what many call the life of the party. The person you can count on to bring happiness to any situation. A true, loyal friend. Someone dedicated to improving his own life, while enhancing the lives of others. He’s respectful, complete with morals and values. A well-rounded human being. Someone who will bend down and look a child in the eyes when talking to him or her. He will listen, with enthusiasm, to an elderly person, gaining valuable insight from the life of someone who has a story to tell, memories of long ago. Roberto enjoys the company of family, as much as he does his connection with friends.

As his mom, I am impressed and proud of the open-minded person he is. So, when he told me, with no fear of rejection, that he is gay, I warmly welcomed him into my embrace, because of the young man I know him to be, and because of the love he shares willingly, without conditions.

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i am a writer

me blogging

As far back as I can remember writing had never been my thing, the thing one thinks of as a passion, a lifeline, something one needs to do to feel whole. I have always loved the written word, yet I never considered myself as a writer.

I even proved as much when, during a teacher prep course in college, I wrote a very mundane story about me, a bathroom, nine brothers, a sister and a waiting line. I had no clue how to make what could have been a hilarious tale into an interesting read.

Years had passed since that book was turned in, and the only writing I had done since was scribbling my thoughts into a personal journal.

Until one day, several years later, when Rudy moved to Arkansas, to take a job out of necessity. My writing journey unexpectedly began with stories about us, living separate lives. My thoughts, tingling to my fingertips, spilt onto the page, revealing true, heartfelt bona fide affairs.

It was then that I knew I could write, pulling from emotions that are always on the edge of my mind, waiting for their turn.

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Men and their Penises

Girbaud_Color_Look_BookA penis is a penis is a penis.

So you’d think.

But apparently not.

Not when it comes (no pun intended, seriously, I’m being serious here) to length and girth.

I happened upon a documentary on Netflix™ called UnHung Hero about a guy named Patrick Moote whose marriage proposal was turned down by his girlfriend because his junk is too small.

Which led him on a journey, throughout parts of the United States and across the world, exploring what size means to different people, different cultures, different industries.

The overriding sentiment is that it’s not the size that matters, it’s the person. Women tend to agree; they are more impressed with a man’s skills than the size of his knob.

As we all know.

Right?

Right.

But still, men will be men.

It seems they continue to discover their worth amongst other bejeweled men while ⇑manning-up⇑ in the locker room.

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Watch This. Listen, too.

IMG_6824

I seriously love to people-watch. I am enthralled with the social aspect of human nature.

Every avenue of relationships pique my interest. I am oh-so curious how people, all kinds of people, everywhere, all over the place, in various situations react to this, that, and the other.

I like to dig deep into what is happening, simply by watching. Watching. Watching. Watching. And listening. Trying to decipher what is really going on. Deep. Down. Below. The. Surface.

I wonder, quite often, what would I do without people. People all around. People adding a dimension to my life that deepens my feelings toward the world at large.

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Be True to Yourself

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I get it, I do. In this day and age, in order to be considered cool, you need to be hip with what’s going on around you, and even more so, follow the trends out there. Whatever they are.

Just be careful, though, that the outside appearance you possess doesn’t interfere with your inner true self. The uniqueness you possess. The confidence you behold. The curiosity you cause.

Always maintain who you truly are. An original you. Possessing a demeanor that’s very personal, and uniquely yours. Living your life, finding your dreams, and feeling your happiness.

Recently, I listened to someone talk about how original they are, how no one is like them. Later, I logged onto Instagram™ only to be bombarded by photos depicting the same originality, claiming that no one is like them (either). They all looked the same. So cool. So hip. So like the latest trend.

Well, I can only hope that they each think, and feel, as individuals, true in their own thoughts, pursuing a life as individual as they are.

Yet.

It is what it is. I understand. We all want to fit in. Know what’s what. Participate in life, similarly to everyone else. Feel part of the crowd.

Be careful, though, because that’s where your true self can get lost. Lost in the crowd. You are no longer unique, but rather you’ve become just like everyone.

Unless. You uphold the value of Be True to Yourself. Then. That’s when. You will truly feel fulfilled.

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#instyle

SAMSUNG DIGITAL CAMERAHave you ever wondered where you get your sense of style from and why you choose to dress the way you do? As of today, after reading a piece – Women & Clothes. Discuss. – in September’s issue of Glamour, I found myself considering my own personal style.

Suddenly my thoughts raced back in time.

In my mind’s image, I see four young kids. Me, the only girl, and three of my brothers, two older and one younger, looking like quadruplets. Each of us had some version of long, blond hair, angular faces and blue eyes. But the best part of that image is that the four of us were wearing blue jeans and white t-shirts.

As that youthful tomboy, I wasn’t thinking about style. I just wanted something to wear that was functional while I crawled in the dirt, navigating my way through nature-made tunnels in the local park. Or, when, on hot summer days, I’d drop down onto my hands and knees, dirtying my clothes, when inspecting trapdoor spiders.

Without realizing it then or for many years thereafter, it was those no-nonsense blue jean days that had determined the way I choose to dress.

When I became a mom and started dressing Liz, my daughter, I began incorporating the concept of layering cotton shirts and blouses, not only for her, but for myself also, giving our outfits a more creative look. While she was dressed up in layers of colorful concoctions mixed with her personal style of pretty headbands and interesting necklaces, I preferred, and still do, simple layering of two or three different pieces of clothing over my jeans. Different colors. Different prints. As Liz grew, adapting her own style, she too maintained the layered look, only she preferred to add a touch of interest by using unique accessories and standout stylish shoes.

The clothing I wear, the clothing we all wear, tells our story. Mine is that I am a simple person, a person who lives one day at a time, not taking anything for granted, instead living, as best as I can, a positive, carefree, no-nonsense life style.

And so it is, today, the here and now, that when asked where I get my style from, not only does it come from my youth, being a tomboy, from the simplistic look of jeans and a t-shirt, but I also look to Liz, who has perfected a style that I adore, a style that is all the rage, a style I will continue to wear regardless of a season’s must-do, or don’t.

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And, well, I Walk because That’s What I do.

IMG_2045Long ago I joined the gym, stayed for several years, then realized it was outdoor, not treadmill, walking that I preferred. So, I quit. Didn’t worry about the machines anymore. I mean, seriously, when I was somewhere around two years old, I’d walk. My mother told me so. She said I’d walk all over the place, up and down streets, without a word of complaint.

I’m older now, much older than two, and I still prefer to walk, generally as exercise, but, hey, take me somewhere where walking is involved, I’m game. I will walk, and walk, and walk. Well, until my feet are so sore I just wish I could sit, take a load off.

Like today, when I left the house, planning to walk through the hills behind our neighborhood, into the wild blue yonder, with the idea of pumping some heart, strengthening some muscles, I veered off my path, instead walking up the boulevard, up a steep incline, turning into the ticky-tacky row of houses, you know the ones that all look the same, and continued up, up, and away, and not in a beautiful balloon. I just walked and walked, up and up, until the street ended, right at a point where a locked bar stopped car traffic from entering, but not foot traffic, and I continued to walk, up, until I reached a herd of cows, grazing, resting, and enjoying their sunny California day.

My feet were feeling it, they. were. sore. But, I had no choice, or, well, I guess I did, I could have called Rudy to drive up and give me a lift, but no, I am a walker, and I simply turned around, walked back down, and continued my journey, returning to where I had come from.

Home.

Fresh, much needed, water-bottle in hand, I walked down the long hall, to my room, and plopped my fatigued self onto the bed, and breathed, deep, feeling the bulk of my phone inside my pocket, calculating the duration and the miles I embraced. 2:12:31 hours/minutes/seconds, 6.74 miles. Long time, long miles, and those miles sure wrenched my side and reddened my feet, but hey, I’m not complaining, I’m just saying, I walk. That’s what I do.

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whoa! or woo!, which one are you?

liz's butt in jeansOkay, so you’re walking down the street, or along some path in the park, or maybe you’re at the mall, or the grocery story, or it could even be that you are working out at the gym, entering the movie theater, maybe you’re at work, or at your child’s day care and it’s in the afternoon and your walking back to your car, kid slung on your hip, or you’ve just walked outside your place of residence to grab the mail, or maybe you’ve knelt down to pick up the cell phone you just dropped, or….. well, let’s just say you are anywhere and a guy looks at you, a girl, a woman more like it, and he says WHOA!… as you walk by. Or, rather, instead, he says WOO! 

For some odd reason these expressions sparked some interest during a sit down dinner, or maybe it was just a casual conversation, with the ratio of men higher to the total women in attendance, when a light-hearted debate ensued trying to decipher the meaning of both seemingly quick assessments. No one really was able to define each compliment (it is? isn’t it?) but rather gave their – lot’s of laughter issued here – opinion. Most assumed whoa! was when a guy was likely responding to the girl, or woman, wearing something tight, like a skirt, any length above the knee, but that is snug on her round rear-end, and cinched in, making the waist small, the butt rounder. The hot girl. Whereas if a guy says woo! – the cute, or pretty girl – she’s still looking good but in a more comfortable way. Someone who’d be wearing jeans, perfectly fitted, not too tight, not too loose, with a basic t-shirt, or a pretty blouse and sandals or some other carefree type of shoe, with hair flowing loose, free from the binds of bands or pins.

Well, now, not that these expressions are even relevant, or as some might say, maybe they are just stupid sexist hoot-and-hollers that men make, but our conversation about them did produce a fun and lively conversation, and tons of laughter. So worth it!